Nomvula

22 - The Folly of Lions

As Dumani inspected his shield, the ship's Vice pulled two wicker chairs from the captain's office and placed them on the prow of the lower deck, against the raised platform of the upper. Ndlovu settled into the larger one, but when it creaked, he threw it aside in favour of sitting cross-legged on the deck. Nomvula turned her chair around so that her back would be to the fighting. A woman witnessing a man's duel was almost as unlucky as the opposite, and though she had goaded Dumani into it, she had no care to watch.

"What's this rumour of the General fighting your boy?" Ndlovu asked.

Though Nomvula was seated in a chair and the Chief was on the deck, Ndlovu's head still came up to her shoulder. Even so, it was impossible to look down on the Great Elephant, mountains were not moved by the condescension of eagles.

"Ndoda got into a fight with Lifa, one of the General's cousins," Nomvula said. "Dumani challenged him as he challenges your soldier now. Ndoda was hot-headed enough to accept a duel. They'll meet in a fortnight."

"Your boy will die," Ndlovu said.

"He's gone to seek Qaqamba's aid."

"Then he'll die a little slower than expected." There was no malice in the words; he could not have said the sun will rise tomorrow in a more casual voice.

The ship was mostly silent now. Most of the crew had given up any pretence of work in favour of the day's entertainment. They leaned on railings, stood on barrels, and lay on hanging nets to see over those crowded on the deck. Even the Kemite officers and maintenance men leaned in with an odd fascination. Only Nomvula was turned away, but her ear was sharp.

A pair of bare feet scuffed the planks, the sliding step of a man giving ground with his balance low. The second pair of feet were the silence of a man walking normally, though there was the drum of a club being mockingly beaten against a shield. The engagement had started.

"The General is arrogant," Ndlovu said, resting his head on his fist and looking on with mild interest.

"It's a show," Nomvula said, picking her nails to distract herself. Three sharp clacks as the clubs met, then silence. A test of speed, both equal to it. "He thinks I'm here to negotiate a marriage between Jabulani and Buhle, which he would want but on his terms, and so he must prove himself to you."

"Only peacocks are desperate to show their feathers."

"Dumani is a lion."

Despite his laxness, Ndlovu's eyes never left the duel. "Queen, anyone who praises lions has not seen a buffalo angered."

Or a night adder startled. "All the same, you are right, he will kill my son."

Ndlovu shrugged his heavy shoulders. "Men you love have a habit of dying around you. My only advice would be to pray your youngest stays a boy."

Nomvula's fist slammed into the armrest of her chair, cracking the wicker. The smile under Ndlovu's beard reached his eyes, but something worse caught the Queen's attention. When she pulled up her hand, there was the tiniest nick along her smallest finger, little more than a scratch, not even deep enough to break the skin, though she could see the blood there eager to push through. It was a weight of a swelling dam held back by a pane of glass. With a hand she could not keep from trembling slightly, she reached for a tiny vial of plaster paste she kept with her at all times and applied a tiny smudge over the crack. It numbed reassuringly.

Ndlovu's focus was still on the fight, though there was a small crease splitting his brow now. Nomvula's ears picked up the scuffle of two people now, and the thuds and clacks and insults of full engagement. Nomvula relaxed. Once ego and high exertion entered the mix, a mistake was never far. Someone would land a blow that drew a yield soon enough.

"Let us make one thing clear," Nomvula said, "you and I will make nemeses of each other forever, and our only respite will be the years when one of us dies and waits for the other."

"All this is true," Ndlovu said.

"But for the sake of the Elephant Lands and the Hundred Hills, I am willing to hold off our fighting until the afterlife, where my ancestors and yours will watch us settle our grievances once and for all."

With great effort, Ndlovu drew his focus away from the fight which showed no signs of slowing down. "And what should we do in the meantime?"

If one exists, we find a peace that will outlive us by more than just a few years. Sonele, do not try to forgive me.

Nomvula couched her injured hand inside her other one. "You and I are at a stalemate, Chief. The only thing we can do is ensure that we leave behind a kingdom for our children to inherit, and maybe live long enough to see Ndoda and Buhle make us grandparents."