Ama (7 page)

Cautiously she rose and stepped through the doorway into the empty courtyard. Far away a dog barked. It was bitterly cold. She rubbed her arms in turn and wrapped herself tightly in her own old cloth and the one that Damba had given her for the Na's inspection. Then she made her way silently towards the entrance hall. The brass bells which hung around the necks of the tethered horses made a tinkling sound at every slight movement. A guard lay stretched across the outer doorway, asleep. Slowly, step by step, she picked a way across the room. A horse whinnied and she froze, her heart pumping. The guard turned over in his sleep. She took a careful step. Her bare foot landed on a pile of fresh horse shit. She cursed. Another step. She heard snoring: there was at least one more guard lying hidden in the dark recesses of the room. She wondered whether these sleeping guards would also have their heads chopped off when her escape was discovered. Then, at last, she had stepped over the form at the door and was free of the prison compound.

Only the drone of the cicadas and the horses' bells disturbed the silence of the sleeping town. Like a wraith she moved through the shadows. As she reached the last compound, a dog rushed out at her, snarling. She took to her heels and ran. Reaching the limits of its territory, the beast stopped and stood in the pale moonlight, barking after her. She ran without stopping until she reached the dawa-dawa tree at the edge of the thicket where they went to cut firewood. There she collapsed on the ground, her chest heaving and wet with sweat in spite of the night chill.

When she had recovered her breath, she sat up and listened. An owl hooted nearby.
An ill omen
, she thought. The bird sat on a high branch, staring down at her.

“Whoo, whoo,” she whispered.

She collected her hidden treasures: an iron cutlass, presumed lost by a firewood party; and an empty drinking gourd. There was no time to lose. She looked back at the sleeping town, taking her bearings. At the well she stopped to drink and fill her gourd.
Keep the town at your back and the moon on your right
, she told herself.
Keep going straight and in three or four days' time you will walk into your father's compound.

* * *

She had not come far, yet she was already exhausted.

She could find no tracks in this bush, not in the dim light. She had started to hack a way through with her cutlass, but that was hopelessly slow. They would laugh at her, think she was mad, if they captured her, cutting traces through the scrub from nowhere to nowhere. “Where did you think you were going?” they would ask her.

But they must not capture her. They would surely kill her if they did.

The gourd was barely half full: much of the water had spilled. She stopped to take her first sip. Then she set off again, using her slight body as a ram to force a way through the long dry grass, changing course, even sometimes retracing her steps, when she met an obstacle. The brittle reeds tore at her cloth and scratched her skin.
If I step on a snake
, she thought,
that will be the end of me
. She struggled on. It was hopeless, she knew it was hopeless. She had no idea where she was or in what direction she was going. She came to a small clearing and lay down on her back to rest. The sky was dark. There were no stars. Only the pale moon had the strength to penetrate the dust of the harmattan. The cold night chilled her through and through.
I must decide what to do
, she thought.

The rasping cough of a leopard came floating through the night air. She sat up in alarm. There it was again. Fortunately, she judged, the beast was off her track and up wind and would not have picked up her scent. But if she continued to force her way through the bush, it might well hear her. Leopards have extraordinarily acute hearing, Itsho had once told her.

Then a thought occurred to her. It was the leopard, so Tabitsha had taught her, which in ancient times had brushed the path of the fleeing Bekpokpam with its tail, hiding their tracks from their Bedagbam pursuers. Perhaps Itsho had sent this leopard to protect her in the same way? Perhaps; perhaps not. It would be better not to count on it.

She forced herself to concentrate. The moon would soon set and then it would be completely dark until dawn. She had worked a full day pounding shea-nuts and had had only a short sleep before stealing out of the prison and the town. Now there was a very real danger that she might be torn to pieces by a wild beast. There was that sawing cough again. She shivered. A fire might keep the leopard at bay but she had no means of making a fire. She stood up and looked around her. Silhouetted against the waning moon there stood a tree.

* * *

Damba was fond of Nandzi. He had thought of asking leave to buy her for himself, taking her as his concubine or even as a wife.

However he had been present when the Asante Consul had placed an embargo upon the Na's lust. There was no way that he could ask for that which had been denied the King.

Damba did what he could for Nandzi, though with discretion. He had given her an old cloth of his mother's and he brought her food from time to time to supplement the spare diet which she shared with the other slaves. When he inspected the prison camp at dawn each morning, at the changing of the guard, he made a point of looking for her and greeting her.

So this morning he noticed her absence almost at once. The guards knew nothing. The girl had been there the previous evening. They had all been awake throughout the night and there was no way she could have climbed the outer wall or slipped out through the entrance hall.

Then Damba saw the footprint which Nandzi had left in the horse shit.

* * *

The dew was already dry when they rode up.

Nandzi was still fast asleep. She was sitting upright on a branch tied to the trunk with her old cloth.

While two men held his great white horse, Damba stood on the saddle. Leaning his body against the tree he removed Nandzi's home-made safety harness. She did not resist as he lifted her down and placed her on the saddle before him. He noticed how hot her skin was and felt her forehead. She had a high fever.

* * *

Fearing that he would be punished as Abdulai had been, Damba sought a private audience with the Na and told him exactly what had happened.

“Where is the girl now?” asked the Na.

“She is very ill, delirious with fever,” replied Damba. “She is in no condition to repeat her attempt to escape. I took her to my mother's house. My mother has knowledge of the use of plants and she is treating her. It was my mother who insisted that I report to Your Highness at once. As soon as she can walk, I will send her back to the slaves' compound. Unless, of course, Your Highness orders otherwise.”

“She will have to be executed,” said the King, “as an example to the others. I am sure that that is what Nana Péte will require. But let your mother first restore her to good health.”

* * *

Damba's mother looked after Nandzi well.

At first she was only pandering to the wishes of her beloved first-born, but as she nursed the girl, she became fond of her. Using Suba, who was now staying in their compound, as an interpreter, she asked her about her home and family. She fed her well and soon Nandzi began to put on weight. As soon as she was able, she insisted on sweeping the compound and helping with the cooking.

Nandzi's outward display of gratitude and humility concealed an inner turmoil. In other circumstances she would have calmly considered her position and weighed up the choices open to her. Now she was scared of thinking, terrified of what she might find in her own mind. She no longer attempted to communicate with Itsho. She no longer thought of her mother and her small brother. Inside her, she was already dead.

She was troubled by terrible nightmares, from which she awoke screaming and sweating; but by morning she had lost all recollection of their content, or, indeed, that she had dreamed at all.

Suba was a constant visitor. Somehow he sensed the change in her and realised that it would not be wise to question her about her attempted escape. He now had a good command of Dagomba and was learning Asante from one of Koranten Péte's personal slaves. He was disturbed at the silence between them. In an attempt to penetrate her reserve he started to teach Nandzi something of what he had learned. She picked it up quickly, but in a mechanical way.

“What is wrong with Nandzi?” he asked Damba.

Damba watched her with concern, troubled by his awareness that her life was forfeit. He had convinced the Na that it would be bad for the slaves' discipline to return her to their compound, but he was running out of arguments for the further postponement of her day of reckoning. He wondered whether she was aware of the awful fate in store for her.

* * *

Na Saa Ziblim and Nana Koranten Péte sat side by side on their carved Asante stools, alone together in the deep shade.

A slave, standing at a discreet distance, charged their bowls with pito when summoned. The King's stool was a gift from the Consul. They were dressed casually: the Consul wore a batakari, a gift from the Na; and the Na wore cloth, a gift from the Consul.

“I should like to see this young woman,” said Koranten Péte. “The case intrigues me. It takes some courage to venture into the bush all alone at night. It is not often that you find that quality in a woman, let alone a slave. Or is the girl mad, perhaps?”

“I am told that she has recovered from her illness,” said the Na.

“The girl is your property, my good friend,” he added. “You must dispose of her as you see fit. However, if the decision were mine, I would have no hesitation whatsoever. A recaptured runaway slave is good for only one thing.”

He drew a finger across his throat and chuckled.

“To serve as an example to her brothers and sisters. Do you understand me?”

“I understand you very well, Majesty,” replied the Asante Consul. He was becoming bored with the Ya Na and his dull court.

“Shall we see her now? It would serve to pass the time.”

* * *

Nandzi was on her knees fanning a reluctant fire when Damba came for her.

“Put on your cloth and come with me,” he said abruptly, hiding his anxiety.

Nandzi looked at him curiously. He usually spoke to her more kindly. She wiped her hands and wrapped her upper cloth.

“Come,” he said. She followed a respectful step or two behind.

He spoke over his shoulder, slowly and deliberately.

“We are going to see the Na. He has sent for you.”

Nandzi understood the words yet she wondered what they could signify.
I shall know soon enough
, she thought.
It doesn't bear thinking about. I shall just have to deal with the situation as best I can.

“Damba?” she said.

She had never addressed him directly before. The sound of his name on her lips moved him.

“Thank you,” she said in his language.

“Thank you? What are you thanking me for?” he asked.

“Thank you,” she repeated.

* * *

“What is your name, child?” asked Koranten Péte.

“Nandzi, your majesty.” She was pleased that Suba had started her lessons by teaching her the greetings.

The two men laughed.

“That is not the King,” Damba whispered at her furiously.

“Never mind, young man,” said the Ya Na.

“Will you understand me if I speak Dagomba to you?” Koranten Péte continued.

“Please, sir, I hear a little, but I cannot speak.” Nandzi stuttered.

Suba was summoned. He couldn't believe his luck. The King and the Consul were using him as an interpreter. He smiled nervously at Damba and Nandzi.

“I want to know why, what's-her-name, yes Nandzi, the name is strange to me, it sounds like our word for . . .,” the Consul rambled, “but never mind. What I want to know is why Nandzi tried to escape.”

What should I answer
? she wondered, and asked for the question to be repeated to give her a little longer to consider her reply. But there was no time to prepare an answer which her owner might favour. All she could do was to tell the truth.

“I wanted to be free, to go back to my family and my home and to live as I lived before I was captured,” she blurted out.

Suba hesitated, afraid of the effect that her frank confession might have. She nodded at him and he translated.

“I see,” said the Consul. He paused and decided that it would be best at this stage not to commit himself to a reply. “Were you not afraid of being all alone in the dark, with the spirits of the bush and the wild animals? I am told that there were leopard tracks at the foot of the tree in which you were found.”

“I was afraid,” replied Nandzi.

“Did you see the leopard?”

“I heard it. That is why I climbed the tree. I did not see it. I must have fallen asleep. I was very tired. No one has told me of the tracks.”

“What you did was not clever. Don't you know that leopards can also climb trees? You are very lucky to be alive. No one in his right senses wanders out into the bush alone at night. Yet I must give you credit for your courage.”

He paused. He appeared not to expect a reply. Nandzi remained silent.

“The penalty for attempted escape is death. By rights you should be executed as an example to your fellows.”

Nandzi dropped her head and began to sob.

“Stop crying, girl, and listen to me,” said the Consul.

Nandzi wiped her tears with her cloth.
Let them kill me
, she thought,
it would be better to die than to continue this life as a slave.

“Because of the courage you displayed,” continued the Consul, “I might ask the King to pardon you, but only on one condition. That condition is that you promise not to try to escape again. Do you agree?”

“I agree; I promise,” she said at once.

Then she sank to her knees and bowed her head.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

“I shall present this girl to our Queen Mother as my personal gift,” Nana Koranten told the King after Damba had taken her away.