Ama (3 page)

“Itsho. Nowu is all alone in the compound. He is feverish. Go for him. Please.”

Itsho stood at a safe distance and watched them pass.

“Nandzi. I have heard you. I will do what you say. Never fear. We will rescue you as soon as darkness falls. The Bedagbam are cowards. We will kill them all. To the last man.”

Damba watched him uneasily, bow at the ready. When they had passed by, he kept looking over his shoulder.

Nandzi saw Itsho follow the horses' tracks back towards the compound. Her pain returned. But the encounter had given her comfort and hope. She fell into an exhausted, uneasy sleep.

* * *

Nowu was lying under Tabitsha's mango tree, fast asleep. Itsho felt his forehead. He was still warm, but the high fever had passed.

“Nowu, wake up. We're going to look for your Mama.”

“Where's Sister Nandzi?” asked Nowu.

“Now up on my back,” replied Itsho, not knowing how to reply.

“Bad men took Nandzi away,” Nowu said, to no one in particular.

“I know, Nowu,” said Itsho. “And just as soon as I have handed you over to your mother, I am going to chase those bad men and beat them and bring Nandzi back to you. I promise.”

* * *

By the time Itsho reached the dead man's compound, the funeral party had left for the burial ground. Itsho handed Nowu into the care of Sekwadzim's wizened elder sister.

Sekwadzim's clanswomen were carrying his body, wrapped in cloth, to the grave side. As Itsho arrived, the cloths were being unwound. The dead man was laid naked on the ground, his hands over his genitals. Itsho could say nothing until the ceremony was over. One by one the elders addressed the dead man, reciting his virtues and asking him to greet their ancestors at the place where he was going. Impatiently, Itsho shifted his weight from foot to foot.
To whom should I tell the bad news
? he wondered.
Tigen is always distant when I greet him. Tabitsha, I know, is fond of me, but her father is only now being buried. It is a bad time to approach her. Moreover
, he thought,
this is a matter for men
. He moved closer to Tigen. At last the body was laid gently in the grave and the clansmen began to throw soil on it.

Itsho tugged gently at Tigen's sleeve.

“Father of Nandzi, I must speak with you. It is urgent.”

Tigen looked at him in surprise. He noticed that Satila, Nandzi's husband, was watching them. It would not be wise for him to be seen talking to his daughter's lover in public. But the serious expression on Itsho's face disturbed him.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked.

Itsho drew him aside and spoke in a low voice. He came straight to the point. There was no time for the customary civilities.

“Nandzi has been kidnapped,” he said. “The Bedagbam have taken her.”

He told Tigen all he had seen.

“I will call the elders together,” said the old man.

“There is no time,” said Itsho. “If we do not start soon, we will miss their trail in the dark.”

Tigen nodded. The grave was now full of earth. The women were making their way back to the hamlet. The calabash of Sekwadzim's spirit was broken and the young men pressed the pieces into the mound.

Tigen started to speak.

“Attention. Attention,” he called.

Itsho asked him quietly, “Shall I go to break the news to Nandzi's mother?”

Tigen nodded. The mourners were silent, waiting for him to continue.

“This young man, Itsho, who is known to you, has brought me very serious news. A party of our hated enemies has raided my compound and abducted my daughter, Nandzi.”

Satila stepped forward but Tigen motioned him to silence.

“They may have taken others. We must raise a war party of the young men immediately. There is no time to waste. They must track the marauders and attack them before dawn. I apologise to the elders for not asking their approval first, but action cannot wait for custom at a time like this. The young men should collect their weapons and meet at once at late Sekwadzim's compound. Itsho will lead them to pick up the trail. May Sekwadzim's spirit and the spirits of our ancestors guide them and bring them success. Death to the Bedagbam!”

The funeral party broke up in confusion.

Satila said to Tigen, “I will join the young men.”

Tigen moved to pacify the elders, apologising for his lack of ceremony.

“No, no,” said one greybeard, “You did right. The ancestors will smile upon you.”

* * *

For a moment, Nandzi wondered where she was.

She rubbed her eyes and then remembered: she was playing a part in a nightmare. The first dim glow of dawn was in the sky. Around the walls of the room she saw the sleeping forms of her fellow captives. She badly wanted to piss. In the doorway the guard lay snoring. She rose quietly and moved to an empty place along the wall, lifted her cloth and stood with her legs apart. The urine hit the earth floor with the sound of a cloudburst. She looked around, but no one had woken. Her beads. She noticed they were missing. Of course, that monster had ripped them from her waist. How would she manage, she wondered, when her period came in a few days' time? But so much could happen in a few days.
Maybe Itsho will rescue me and I will be home by then. What has happened to Itsho and the men? Surely they must be out there in the dark? But if they delay just a little longer, it will be light and then it might be too late.

She strained her ears. The guard was snoring. Outside all she could hear was the hum of the crickets. The Bedagbam had talked late into the night.
They must all be asleep like the guard at the door. Itsho! Come now! Attack! Attack!
She willed them to action.

There were four in the assault party. Each wore only a loin cloth. They had smeared their naked bodies with shea butter. Their task was simple but dangerous. It depended on all the Bedagbam being asleep. Timing was critical. Too early and it would be too dark for the archers to find their targets. Too late and they would lose the element of surprise and with that, probably their lives too. Silently, taking extreme care with each footstep, they crept into the ruined compound. Quickly each selected his victim. At a signal they slashed simultaneously at the exposed skin of the sleepers with their razor sharp knives. Their aim was not to kill, but to cause as much pain and bleeding as they could. Even as the first cries of their bloody victims rent the early morning air, they slipped away into the half light.

The screaming caused instant panic. The Bedagbam, waking, believed the enemy were amongst them. They struggled to their feet, grabbing their weapons, rubbing their eyes. The wounded cried for help, but their comrades' first priority was to save their own skins. Man for man, the Bedagbam feared the Bekpokpam. They would do their utmost to avoid fighting with them hand to hand. Yet, as they grasped their swords and staffs, ready for just such close combat, there was no enemy to be seen. Their assailants might just as well have been ghosts.

Abdulai came to his senses first. A cruel man, he inspired fear amongst his subordinates; but he also inspired respect and they depended on his leadership.

“The horses, the horses,” he cried. “Leave the wounded. We will come for them after.”

His men grabbed their saddles and rushed towards the horses, which had been tethered by a thicket of cassia.

As the Bedagbam warriors emerged from the protective mud walls of the compound, somewhat clumsy in their heavy leather armour, they made a perfect target. Itsho and his comrades rose to their feet and fired their first volley of poisoned arrows. It was still too dark to make out the individual forms and they shot indiscriminately into the moving mass of men. Others shot at the horses. Some of the Bedagbam tried to return to the compound, but Abdulai was there, urging them on. He knew that once they were mounted, no one could match their speed and the extra range their height gave them.

“The horses, the horses,” he cried, again and again.

Their leather armour was protection against all but the swiftest arrow. To achieve a kill, the poisoned tip had to enter exposed skin. The horses were a more vulnerable target, but they were tethered close together and the poison took time to act. So the horses nearer the attackers formed a protective barrier for those behind. Disturbed by the noise, the arrows, the wild whinnies of pain of those which been struck and the evident panic of their masters, the tethered beasts tried to rise on their hind legs. Their masters swore at them as they quickly and skilfully saddled up.

Again and again, the Bekpokpam loaded, drew and released. The poisoned arrows whistled through the air.

Nandzi moved from captive to captive, trying to release their bonds, but the knots had been well tied and her fingers were stiff. The first man she freed stood undecided whether to help her or to flee. Outside there was confusion. It was impossible to tell from which direction the attack was coming. Unarmed, he did not know what to do.

“Run, run,” she told him. “Run round the back of our people and join them.”

She was struggling with the next man's bonds.

“If only I had a knife,” she thought.

Abdulai, already mounted, urged his followers on.

“Mount, mount,” he cried.

His horse prancing, he glanced around. Now there was enough light to see those of his companions who lay where they had fallen, begging for help as they died a slow and painful death. There was light enough, too, to see the enemy. Impatiently, he waited until he judged sufficient of his band to be mounted.

Then he cried, “Attack, attack.”

Shooting fiercely, Itsho was the first to run out of arrows. Throwing down his bow and quiver he ran towards the compound, intending in the confusion to liberate Nandzi, if that was all he could achieve.

He had chosen the wrong moment. Abdulai's horse ran him down. A hoof crushed his skull.

Seeing the horsemen approaching at a gallop, the attackers fled in disarray. The Bedagbam chased them ruthlessly, shooting from the saddle, slashing with their swords or driving their spears into their enemies as they passed. The attack had failed.

CHAPTER 3

Abdulai called in his men and counted his losses.

Two were dead, victims of poisoned arrows. Another was paralysed and would die soon.

The medical orderlies, old soldiers, had already used their plant medicines to staunch the wounds of the four men who had been slashed in their sleep. One was fanning the patients with a therapeutic cowstail.

Three horses had been struck by arrows and would not survive.

One of the captive slaves had escaped in the confusion. A number of the attackers lay dead in the long grass: food for the vultures which already circled overhead; and for the hyenas.

“You, you, you and you,” said the commander, “dig graves for our dead.”

This was work which could not be left to the slaves.

“Damba, take two slaves and bring water from the river.”

“Issaka, take another two and collect firewood.”

They had not eaten a cooked meal since the previous day.

He sent men out to hunt for antelope or guinea fowl; and others to patrol the outskirts of the camp: the surviving attackers might just be stupid enough to regroup and return.

Young lads, apprentice soldiers, unsaddled and groomed the horses. Then they hobbled them and put them out to graze.

Abdulai took off his heavy leather armour. He spread his mat where the ruined building made some shade, washed his face and hands and settled down to pray. When he had completed his obeisance, he folded his legs before him and, fingering his beads, considered his position. In Yendi he would have to explain the loss of men and horses. It was a high price to pay for the twenty slaves they had captured. He knew that it was inexcusable: if the guards had not fallen asleep it would never have happened. Yet he was the commander and the Chief of the Horses would hold him responsible. Somehow he must contrive to shift the blame onto the guards. They would be tried and sentenced to death for dereliction of duty, but that would have to wait until their return to Yendi. These days it was only the Asante conquerors who had the right to carry out executions.

He might be put on trial himself. That would be wholly unjust, he reflected. He had given the necessary orders. It was not his fault that they had been disobeyed.

“There is no justice in this world,” he whispered to his beads, “If they put me on trial I shall have to pay a heavy bribe to the Court of Eunuchs to secure my release.”

* * *

Nandzi listened to the confused tumult with mounting excitement.

Itsho had not failed her. She could see nothing of the battle: the walls were too high and a guards remained at the doorway, threatening the captives with a whip, demanding that they stop whispering amongst themselves. Then the shouting outside became less strident. The voices were still the voices of their captors. The attack must have failed. Nandzi despaired.

She sat down with her back against the wall, clasped her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. She must not give up. Itsho would never give her up. While he lived, he would struggle to free her. The man whose ropes she had unbound and then helped to scale the wall would take her message to Itsho.

Damba came into the ruined building.

“You,” he said to Nandzi and signed to her to stand.

He looked around and chose a young lad. He cut the ropes that bound the boy's wrists behind his back.

“Get up,” he said.

The boy rose, massaging his arms.

“Take the calabashes,” he told them.

“Out!” he ordered, indicating the doorway with a nod of his head.

The boy led the way down the hill. The dew had already dried on the long grass. There was no path and he had to force his way through. The sun was hidden in the dusty haze of the Harmattan.

“What is your name?” Nandzi asked the boy.

“I am called Suba,” he replied shyly, turning his head to look at her.

He turned into a crude path which someone had beaten through the grass ahead of them.