The sun, a relentless copper disc in the vast Unyamwezi sky, had cycled through nearly two full moons since Jabari's tense parley with Salim bin Rashid. Within the Batembo ikulu and its surrounding villages, the initial raw grief for the slain Ntemi Kazimoto had begun to transmute into a wary but growing confidence in his young successor. The changes Jabari had initiated, guided by Kaelo's anachronistic intellect, were subtle yet pervasive, like new roots taking hold in ancient soil.
The spyglass, initially an object of almost superstitious awe, had become an indispensable tool. From the rocky promontories overlooking Batembo lands, young scouts, their eyes now trained to the focused magic of the lens, maintained a constant vigil. Their reports, delivered by swift runners, were no longer just vague accounts of distant dust clouds or suspicious movements; they were detailed observations of herd sizes, party numbers, and even, on clear days, the type of weaponry carried by unfamiliar groups. Kaelo had patiently taught a select few, including a keen-eyed youth named Juma, to scratch rudimentary maps onto smoothed animal hides, marking water sources, known paths, and the locations of neighboring clans. It was a revolutionary concept here, this attempt to codify the landscape, to transform intuitive knowledge into strategic data.
"The land itself is a weapon, Juma," Jabari had explained, Kaelo's voice resonating through him as they studied one such map. "Knowing its secrets better than our enemies is like having an extra thousand spears."
One morning, such a report arrived. Not of Salim's much-anticipated return, but of a different kind of movement. Mzee Kachenje's envoy, a wiry, discreet trader named Bakari who knew the hidden paths between chiefdoms like the lines on his own palm, had returned from his mission to the Wanyisanza clan. He was brought immediately to Jabari's private hut, where the young Ntemi sat with Hamisi and Kachenje himself, discussing the latest allocation of newly acquired iron hoe heads.
Bakari, after the customary respectful greetings, painted a vivid picture. "The Wanyisanza live in fear, Great Lion," he began, his voice low. "Their villages are small, their warriors few. The Wasumbwa dogs to their north treat their lands as a personal hunting ground, taking grain, cattle, and sometimes… people." He paused, the implication of slave raiding hanging heavy in the air. "Their Ntemi, an old man named Gwala, is weary of this suffering. He listened to your words, carried by me, with a thirsty heart. He offers his clan's unmatched skill in tracking, their intimate knowledge of the eastern valleys where the great tuskers roam. In return…" Bakari hesitated. "He seeks the Batembo shield. He fears that an alliance with a young, rising power might provoke the Wasumbwa further, before the shield is truly strong enough to cover both."
Kaelo processed this. A classic dilemma: the weaker party needing protection but fearing the consequences of seeking it. The Wanyisanza were a potential asset – trackers, a buffer against the Wasumbwa, and guides to new ivory sources. But they were also a liability if protecting them overstretched Batembo resources.
Jabari leaned forward. "Old Gwala is wise to be cautious. The Batembo do not offer protection lightly, nor do we seek to simply swallow our neighbors." Kaelo's words were chosen carefully, designed to reassure. "Tell me, Bakari, does Ntemi Gwala have sons? Ambitious young warriors who see the future differently than their cautious father?"
Bakari's eyes flickered with understanding. "He has a son, Lبانجى, known for his hot blood and his hatred of the Wasumbwa. It is said he chafes under his father's patience."
Perfect, Kaelo thought. A point of leverage. "Then this is my reply to Ntemi Gwala," Jabari declared. "The Batembo offer the Wanyisanza brotherhood. Not as masters to servants, but as spear to spear against a common foe. We will not immediately garrison their lands, for that might indeed provoke what we seek to avoid. Instead, I offer to send ten of my own warriors, skilled in our new ways of defense, to their main village for two moons. Not to fight their battles for them, but to train their young men, to help them strengthen their own bomas." He paused. "As a sign of this brotherhood, I will send with them a gift of our finest blue cloth for Ntemi Gwala. And I invite his son, Lبانجى, to spend those same two moons here, in my ikulu, as an honored guest. He will see for himself the strength of the Batembo, learn our ways, and when he returns, he can advise his father on the true value of our friendship."
Kachenje and Hamisi exchanged impressed glances. It was a shrewd proposal: a limited commitment of resources, a tangible offer of help, a diplomatic gesture, and a subtle way to both influence and assess the Wanyisanza's future leadership. Bakari was dispatched again the next day, carrying Jabari's message and the bolt of cloth.
Meanwhile, life at Kazimoto's Watch, the new settlement on former Banyonga land, continued to be a source of both pride and anxiety. Another runner arrived from Makalo, his message delivered with a mixture of triumph and urgency.
"Great Ntemi!" the runner panted, after gulping down water offered by one of Jabari's attendants. "Makalo sends greetings and this!" He produced a magnificent ivory tusk, not the largest Jabari had ever seen, but of excellent quality, its curve smooth and its weight substantial. "The eastern valleys are rich, as he suspected! His hunters, guided by a Wanyisanza tracker who sought them out after hearing of your offer to his people, have felled three bull elephants. More tusks are being prepared for transport."
A murmur of excitement went through Jabari's hut. This was wealth, tangible wealth that could be traded for the guns and powder Kaelo knew were essential.
But the runner's expression sobered. "The Wasumbwa, Ntemi, they are like angry bees whose hive has been disturbed. Their war drums beat more insistently to the north. Makalo's men repelled another probing attack, larger this time. They lost two brave warriors, but sent ten Wasumbwa to their ancestors. He says the five muskets you sent were like thunder and lightning in the hands of those he trained, but the powder runs low, and the enemy is numerous. He asks for more men, or at least, more fire-spears and the means to feed them."
Jabari felt a familiar tightening in his chest. The outpost was succeeding, drawing resources, but also drawing enemy attention. It was a classic Kaelo calculation: a high-risk, high-reward venture. To withdraw would be a sign of weakness, emboldening the Wasumbwa. To overcommit would leave his main territory vulnerable.
"Hamisi," Jabari said, his voice calm despite the internal storm of calculations, "select another twenty young warriors, those who have shown the most aptitude with the new drills. They will go as a relief force, not a permanent garrison. And gather every spare measure of gunpowder and lead we have. It is a risk, but Kazimoto's Watch must hold. It is our spear point to the east." He looked at the magnificent tusk. "This ivory, and the others Makalo has secured, will soon buy us many more fire-spears." He made a mental note: the Wanyisanza tracker was a crucial development. The tentative alliance was already bearing fruit.
Kaelo's long-term vision for technological uplift also saw small, almost imperceptible, beginnings. He had spent several afternoons in the smoky, sweltering heat of the Batembo smithy, observing the clan's two ironworkers, old Mfumu and his quiet, observant son, Seke. Jabari, feigning a young chief's curiosity, asked questions that Kaelo's fragmented scientific knowledge prompted.
"Mfumu," he'd said, watching the old man expertly work the goatskin bellows that fed air to his charcoal furnace, "the iron you pull from the earth near the Black River is good. But sometimes our spearheads shatter against a strong shield, or our hoe blades dull too quickly. Is there no way to make the iron harder, more resilient?"
Mfumu, a man whose arms were like gnarled tree roots, had shrugged. "Iron is iron, Ntemi. Sometimes the spirits of the rock are strong, sometimes they are weak. We offer prayers, we use the hottest fire we can make."
Kaelo, through Jabari, had then spoken of things he'd read about ancient European or Asian smiths – of selecting different kinds of wood for charcoal to achieve hotter, more consistent fires, of layering different types of ore in the bloomery, of the way hammering the iron while it cooled, or quenching it in certain liquids, could change its nature. He spoke not as an expert, for Kaelo knew little of practical metallurgy, but as someone sharing intriguing traveller's tales.
Seke, Mfumu's son, listened with a rare intensity, his eyes bright. Old Mfumu remained skeptical, muttering about new ways being no better than the old. But a few days later, Jabari saw Seke experimenting with a redesigned nozzle for the bellows, trying to achieve a more concentrated blast of air, and selecting charcoal from specific hardwoods Kaelo had indirectly suggested. It was a minuscule step, but for Kaelo, it felt like a victory. The seeds of an industrial revolution, however primitive, had been sown in the mind of one curious smith.
The rhythm of daily governance continued. A complex dispute over cattle ownership between two prominent families, which could have easily escalated into a blood feud, was brought before Jabari. Kazimoto might have settled it with a brusque command or by favoring the stronger family. Jabari, however, applying Kaelo's analytical approach, listened patiently to both sides, cross-examined witnesses with a lawyer's precision, and then, drawing on Mzee Kachenje's knowledge of past precedents and Jabari's own Nyamwezi sense of communal balance, delivered a judgment that, while not perfectly satisfying everyone, was widely acknowledged as meticulously fair and logically sound. He ordered a division of the disputed herd based on a complex tracing of lineage and historical grazing rights, a solution that required thought rather than just authority. His reputation as a wise, if sometimes inscrutably intense, leader grew.
Then, as the hottest part of the dry season began to wane, the scouts brought new tidings. Not Salim bin Rashid, but a smaller caravan, led by a Swahili trader named Hamad al-Wardi, known for dealing in salt, copper ornaments, and lower-quality coastal cloth, was approaching from the south-east.
"This Hamad is a jackal, not a lion like Salim," Mzee Kachenje advised. "He is sly, and will try to pass with minimal toll, perhaps offering trinkets instead of good cloth or wire."
"Then he will provide us an excellent opportunity to test our new trade protocols," Jabari said, a glint in his eye. Kaelo relished these smaller encounters, chances to refine his strategies before the major players returned.
The meeting with Hamad al-Wardi was brief and almost anti-climactic. Jabari, with his disciplined escort of twenty warriors and the ever-present spyglass used ostentatiously by Juma to "inspect" Hamad's meager guards from a distance, was polite but unyielding. The trader, clearly intimidated by the Batembo's new air of professional soldiery and the young chief's unwavering gaze, paid the demanded toll in good quality salt and a few strings of Venetian glass beads without excessive haggling. He was eager to be on his way.
Jabari watched him depart, a sense of grim satisfaction settling within him. He had not gained much in terms of material wealth from this encounter, but he had gained something more valuable: a clear demonstration, both to outsiders and to his own people, that the Batembo lands were under firm, predictable control. That the Ntemi Jabari was a man who meant what he said.
That night, as the cool breeze whispered through the thatch of his hut, Jabari lay awake, Kaelo's mind tirelessly active. The Wanyisanza alliance was budding. Kazimoto's Watch was holding its ground and producing ivory. The smiths were experimenting. His authority within the clan was solidifying. Each small success was a stone laid in the foundation of the kingdom he intended to build. The whispers of Wasumbwa war drums from the north, reported by anxious scouts from Kazimoto's Watch, were growing louder, more insistent. A direct confrontation seemed inevitable. But now, Jabari felt a stirring of readiness, not just the hot fury of vengeance, but the cold, calculated preparedness of a leader who had begun to forge his own shield and sharpen his own spear. The future was a vast, dark ocean, but he had a spyglass, and he was learning to navigate by stars only he could fully comprehend.