The king has many daughters and many sons, too. His palace is ten times larger than the other huts, a whole series of huts in which one opens into another. His children play everywhere in it, laughing and shouting. ANOTHER DAY. NOW the sun is setting, and the wind grows cool. I do not know how many days have passed since the last on which I wrote, only that my ink was dry and hard.
Myt-ser'eu and I have been speaking with the queen. She told us how much she wishes to return to her native city, if only for half a year. She made us promise to help her in this. Myt-ser'eu sounded much the same. She is from a place called Sais, and begged me to return her there. She had jewelry and money, she says, and gained more on the voyage south; but she lost everything when we were enslaved. She does not understand how I kept the gold beetle. She wept, and embraced the queen, and swore that she would rather be penniless in Sais than a queen here. I had to translate all this for the queen, which I did badly.
Earlier I attended the king's court. I do not speak his tongue well, and I often found it hard to understand what was being said. Many of these cases concerned witchcraft. One accuses another of being a witch and laying a curse. The accused denies it. In each case the king asked again and again how the accuser knew that the person he had brought to court was the witch, but he seldom got a satisfactory answer.
A young girl came. She testified that she was oppressed by a demon, accusing no one of having cursed her, only asking that the king order the demon to quit her. He did, and the demon laughed and mocked him.
It angered me. I came forward and asked the king's permission to attack it. I speak the tongue these people use only a little, but I managed to make my meaning clear, and the king consented.
I struck at the demon, but it dodged the blow and closed with me, clawing me as it had clawed the girl. Many people screamed and ran. It was smooth and oily, but I jammed my thumb into the yellow flame that was its only eye and bent it across my knee. There was too much noise for me to hear its spine snap, but I felt it. At once it was gone.
The king had left his throne. There was fear in his face, but his spear was ready. Most of the others had fled, knocking down children and old people. We spoke as friends, the king and I, when we had helped the old to rise and comforted the children. There is a greater king here whom his people never see, a kind old man fond of music. I touched him once, the king said, then everyone saw him. So it was with the demon. When it closed with me, all could see it. This is very strange. I wish Myt-ser'eu had been with me. She might explain more.
The girl the demon clawed will not leave me. When I tell her she must go home to her mother, she insists she has none. She is afraid her demon will return to her, but that will pass. Myt-ser'eu calls it a xu, though Myt-ser'eu did not see it. MY SENIOR WIFE says I must write on this scroll every day, and read it, too. Otherwise I forget. The light is fading, and I know it is not good to write by firelight. I will write first, telling all I know, and read much afterward while a little light remains.
There are five boats. The first is the king's, with twenty-six warriors, the queen, and others. The second is Unguja's, with fourteen warriors, some women, and many children. The third is mine, with twenty warriors, myself, my chief wife, my second wife, and our warriors' women. The fourth is my children's, with ten or twelve warriors, my servant, my chief wife's maidservant, and more women as well as many children. The fifth is the boat of the king's servants, with sixteen warriors and their women, the servants, and our supplies. It is larger than the king's, but is the slowest.
Our boats are hollowed from logs, which seems strange to me. The tree from which the king's was made must have been very large. Fires are laid on the log and carefully tended. When they go out, the charred wood beneath them is chipped away. Making a good boat takes great skill and many days of careful work. Boats are made of reeds as well. These can be built quickly and easily, but soon rot.
My chief wife's maidservant has brought me a gourd of good water. She is a girl older than my daughter. Some beast has clawed her, leaving scars like mine on her arms and back. These are healing, I think. I asked what beast it was. She does not know its name, but says I killed it. Her own is Mtoto. I WROTE THAT I would not write by firelight. So much for my wisdom! There is a madman laughing outside our camp. I asked Mvita whether we should not go out and drive him away. He said that there are many dangerous animals here and many demons. They will try all sorts of tricks to lure us away from the fires, and that we must not go. THE WOMEN ARE breaking camp and will not let me help them. I will write of what I saw last night. A panther as large as a lion prowled around our camp. I woke and saw this. At times it came very near the fires. It was blacker than the night and very beautiful, seeming to flow from one place to another, but looked as dangerous as a chariot with blades. I held my spear, which I had driven into the ground near my head before I slept. Our sentries never turned their eyes toward it. If it was before a sentry, he looked to one side, or down, or up at the moon, or shut his eyes. This I saw more than once. It seems strange to me, and I wish to set it down. Perhaps it was a dream. WE HAVE STOPPED at a village in which there is a man who is said to know where the temple we seek lies. He is hunting, and we wait his return. His name is Mzee.
Binti has been crying. I tried to comfort her. When I asked what was wrong, she said that when we find the holy place I will remember other people and go away. I said I would not, but she insisted. Perhaps she is right, I cannot say. I would have promised to stay, but what good is a promise from a man who cannot remember? I said that if I left she must come with me. It ended her tears, or nearly. MZEE HAS RETURNED at last. He is older than I expected, the oldest man in this village, though he still hunts-and hunts well, for he brought a fine antelope. He warned us of the holy place, saying that there are many snakes. Uraeus says that we need not fear them as long as he is with us. My sons boast that they will kill them. I have warned them to leave them strictly alone. Snakes and boys are a bad combination at the best of times, and the snakes in a sacred place are surely sacred.
Myt-ser'eu talks of her home in Sais, of the kindness of the priests and of singing, playing, and dancing at parties where she drank good wine until she could scarcely stand. I said I was sorry that I had taken her so far away. She would not blame me, or anyone, saying it was the will of the gods-if she had stayed at home, something worse might have happened. She would implore the pity of her goddess, and her goddess would help her, if only she could find a temple. Hathor, she names her goddess. I said that the sacred place the king speaks of might be sacred to Hathor, and we would pray there. As I spoke those words the gold scarab on my chest stirred like a living thing.
Mzee has given his antelope to the king, and the king has contributed it to the feast Mzee's village is preparing for us tomorrow. I will hunt tomorrow morning with Vinjari and Utundu, and we will contribute any worthy game we take. If I can teach them nothing of hunting (which is what they say), it may be that they will teach me something.
31
WHERE WE ARE camped, there is no water. We have some in gourds and in skin bags like wine skins, but not enough. Mzee says we may find a spring tomorrow, before we reach the temple. There is game here, though not much; the animals must get water somewhere.
We marched far from the river today, following a dry stream through a deep gorge that may once have been a major tributary. I no longer remember leaving the river, but I know we must have left it at dawn from what Cheche and the children say.