All this was occasioned by our stopping at a village the night before-the northernmost of those ruled by the king, Unguja says. When we were about to leave it, Myt-ser'eu learned that the ship she seeks had passed it yesterday.
She would have had us press on all night, if necessary, to overtake it. Now she hopes that we may find it tomorrow. I asked whether it was rowed or sailed. She said it was sailed, and only rarely rowed. If that is so, her hope is well founded; there has been but little wind. AT THIS VILLAGE the river divides. Its forks are called the Blue and the White. We will follow the White, the river on which the ruin the king seeks lies. It was here that the king was born, the queen says, though his capital lies far to the south. From here he left to join the army of the Great King who rules her native city, and Myt-ser'eu's as well. I spoke to him of that, and he listened attentively. The queen translated his replies-I cannot say how honestly. When he first knew me, I commanded a hundred soldiers from my own city; he commanded men from his village and others. They would have fought, but he and I prevented it. His eyes told me many other things had happened, but he would not speak of them. Perhaps he does not wish the queen to know certain things. Myt-ser'eu has told me how he freed us from slavery. We clasped hands, and I declared that because he had freed me I would fight for him whenever he required it.
In truth I have little to fight with. His warriors have big swords, shields, spears, and bows. I have a club carved with two words, and a dagger better suited to murder than to war. My club is heavy and well shaped, but it is only a club. I HAVE BLOOD guilt, of which I shall tell the king in the morning. Myt-ser'eu says we often stop at villages like this. I hope the rest will be more fortunate than this one for me. The king and queen took the best hut, as is fitting. Myt-ser'eu and I were to be given another, but the woman and children who sleep in it now would have had to sleep outside. I saw how frightened the woman was, and said I would sleep outside if they would permit Myt-ser'eu to sleep in the hut, if the man slept outside with me. This was agreed.
Now I sit by the fire, read, and write. He is dead. I have blood guilt of which I must speak here and to the king, but first I must say that there is a barrier of thornbushes around the village. We are within it, and for that reason I felt there was nothing to fear. When the sun set, the gate was shut by dragging a mass of thornbushes into the opening. I asked how we were to leave in the morning, and the man who is dead now showed me the poles that would be used to push it aside.
As I sat reading by firelight, a ship glided past, some distance away, toward the middle of the channel. The current here is slow, although this scroll says it was swift in certain places to the north.
I felt that the ship was certainly the one of which Myt-ser'eu spoke. Since we had seen no such ship all day, there could not be many such ships here. I ran to the gate, but could not find the poles in the dark. Very eager to stop the ship if I could, I pushed the gate to one side with my club, moving it only a little and tearing the skin of both arms.
By the time I was through the gate, the ship was out of sight. I pursued it, running as fast as I could. There were crocodiles on the bank not far from this village; thus I could not run there. I turned inland but was soon stopped by thornbushes and trees. I turned aside, but found only a swamp in which were many crocodiles, and returned to the village.
An animal like a big dog-though a dog of no breed I know-stood over the man who had slept at our fire. Thinking it only a village dog, I kicked it. It bit my foot, and I struck it with my club-twice, though the second time its jaws were at my throat. It fled, and I found the ropes and pulled the thornbushes to close the gate.
Now I have washed my leg and foot, though I can clean nothing well and they still bleed, soaking the strips I tore from my tunic. The man who slept beside me is dead and his face torn away. Laid bare, his skull grins at me as I write this. THE WOMEN SAW the dead man. They screamed, as was to be expected. I went to the king as soon as I could gain an audience with him and explained everything that had taken place. I spoke only the truth. He said that the man's family-in this case the whole village, for they are all related-would choose. If they wished, they might seek vengeance, choosing one of their number to fight me. Otherwise, I would be left to the king's judgment. I said of course that I would accept whatever punishment he chose to give me.
Now my wife (her name is Myt-ser'eu, as she has told me) and I are outside the village. She has washed my leg, and will salve it with medicines an old man (a friend of the king's) has given her. When it is salved, she will bandage it with clean cloths the queen provided. I have told her of the dog, and how I struck it to make it release its hold. She feels sure that it was the sacred beetle I wear that saved me. She once had an amulet that protected her always against crocodiles, but it was cast away. She laments its absence.
She asked whether she had been a good wife to me. She was weeping when she asked, so I swore that she had, and comforted her. The truth is that I do not remember. Yet I know I love her. Any wife who is loved has been good enough. SOON I AM to fight a man of the village, a relative of the man who died. I will have my club, he whatever weapons he brings. I asked whether he would be permitted to shoot me with a bow. I was told that he might bring a bow, but we would stand close and he would not be allowed to take an arrow from his quiver until the signal was given.
He will have a spear and shield. Unguja says this.
My foot is still swollen, tender, and red. WE STAYED HERE many days, Myt-ser'eu says, so I might fight about a death. Now the fight is over. This dead man's wife and children are mine now. So are his hut and boat. I have two wives, which the king says is common among his people. He himself has more than twenty, the queen being his chief wife. My old wife, the slender brown woman: Myt-ser'eu. My new one, the large black woman: Cheche. There are three children, two boys and a girl. I do not know their names.
Nor do I know the name of the man who fought me. I felt no enmity toward him, but he would have killed me if he could. We fought outside the village, in a pasture in which the villagers keep a few wild-looking cattle. The king called us before him and had us turn to face each other. We were five steps apart, perhaps. We were to fight, he said, when he clapped his hands. His warriors would keep the dead man's other relatives from interfering.
When he clapped I flung my club at my foe's face. He jerked his head away, and I think brought up his big shield. I cannot be certain of that, only that I dived at his legs and brought him down. He was a strong man, but not a good wrestler. I stabbed him with the knife he wore, and the fight was over very quickly.
I had my little dagger, too, but did not use it.
There was a small man in the crowd who seemed familiar, an older man than I. His face is brown, like Myt-ser'eu's. He says he is my slave, and she says this too. I offered to free him-am I not myself a free man, though she says I was the king's slave once? He would not take his freedom, saying that he wishes only to free me. He was on a ship, he says, but dove from it when he heard my voice. He swam to the wrong bank of the river, and thus it was some time before he found this village. I must ask Myt-ser'eu more about this man, and she must teach Cheche to remember for me as she does.