Sanakhou by Elizabeth Evans - Exclusive Excerpt

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Sanakhou by Elizabeth Evans - Exclusive Excerpt

The messenger had ridden nonstop, eating and sleeping in the saddle, to deliver the urgent message from the mighty king to his sanakhou, Faony Mansa of the Konde. Faony had always imagined that in exchange for the peace and prosperity that his small kingdom had enjoyed under the protection of the Mandinkan ruler for so many years, the most he would be asked to do would be to join Sundiata in another battle or offer his services as a spy among the vast holdings of the Mali empire.

But this. How to tell his son. How to tell the boy’s mother! And so, of course, he told the boy’s mother first, without guile or hesitation, for guile, no matter how well he might use them in dealing with others, neither worked on his queen. He could hide nothing from his clever first wife, Toumaini.

Toumaini’s response had been predictable. She did not weep, did not show any emotion; she considered the news with a passivity she did not feel. When the queen finally spoke, it was in a clear voice, its lower ranges mellow and soothing. “You shall tell him straight and to the point. Then you shall allow him time to take in what you have said, to accept this news, to get his thoughts ordered. Then you shall invite him to ask questions.”

Then she had turned and left him sitting there on his chief’s stool under his favorite acacia tree. He knew that she would find a private place in her garden on the edge of the royal compound to rail privately against this cruel edict that was taking her beloved first-born son away from her. She would not allow the court to see her weep and thus imagine her weak. They had all come to depend on her strength and common sense. Toumaini had never disappointed them, but at night in the privacy of their bedchamber, she would weep into her husband’s broad chest and allow herself to be weak and protected by his strength.

As usual, Mansa Faony Konde had followed his wife’s advice. “Son, you will go to Niani to marry the daughter of Sundiata Keita,” he had intoned, his deep voice revealing none of the deep sadness he felt. He waited in silence, giving Ayinde time to grasp his words before asking, “What questions might you have, my son?”

Stunned, Ayinde had asked hesitantly, “You mean, the unmarried … the one they …the one they call the Buffalo Princess?” He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath and then another deep breath and rubbed his hands down the sides of his face. Then, standing tall, he dropped his hands to his sides and stared at his father.

“Is that the one? The one with the hump on her back, like the buffalo? Ayinde fought the tremble in his voice. “That Buffalo Princess?”

His father nodded solemnly. “Yes, that one. She is his favorite and it seems he can no longer stand to see her unwed.”

“But why me? Why not someone in Niani? Someone among the Mandinka?”

His father had just shaken his head and shrugged his shoulders in reply

Ayinde had paced in small circles in his father’s spacious council hut. Its decorated, mud brick walls seemed to press down and squeeze the last breaths from his chest; the closeness of the council hut’s air seemed to blur his vision.

“Is she so horrible, so hideous, that no one among the Mandinka can be forced to marry her, a royal princess? There is no one? Not anyone who would want an alliance with the great king and would … would do anything … even marry a hideous princess.”

His father sat uneasily on the high-backed chair covered in the cured skins of antelope and decorated with the bold symbols in blue and ocher positioned to protect the chief when giving counsel. His feet rested on a matching stool. The Mansa had wanted to shed his royal demeanor and rise from his chair to comfort his son but knew that he could not. He answered as best he could.

“I can only think, my son, that, for some reason, he — Sundiata — hasn’t found anyone … good enough. Or that he thinks to honor his revered mother by linking his daughter back to his mother’s people, the Konde. You have not forgotten, have you, that Songolon was a daughter of the Konde before she was sent to the Mandinkan, Maghan Kon Fatta, Sundiata’s father?”

Ayinde nodded.

“You are right, though,” his father continued. “He could force a marriage to one of his warriors, even as a second wife. But it is said that he loves this daughter above all else and so would want nothing but the best for her. And you, my son, are the best.”

Ayinde had stopped pacing and stood silently in front of his father, his head bowed in resignation. The compliment from his father at any other time would have been savored as further proof of his father’s love for him, but in that moment it had held nothing but emptiness.

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Elizabeth Evans
http://www.authorelizabethevans.com/

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