Year: 1882
The messenger arrived covered in dust and blood.
"Prince Akenzua. The eastern patrol. They've been attacked."
Akenzua was moving before the man finished speaking.
"Details."
"Urhobo raiders. Crossed the border three days ago. Burned two villages. Took prisoners."
"How many dead?"
"Fourteen. Including—" The messenger's voice broke. "Including the patrol commander's son."
Commander Osawaru's son. A boy of fifteen, just beginning his training.
"And our envoy? The one we sent to negotiate mineral rights?"
"Captured. The Urhobo chief sent back his ear. With a message."
"What message?"
"'Benin's reach exceeds its grasp.'"
---
The circle gathered within the hour.
"This isn't random raiding," Erebo said. "It's coordinated. The villages they hit were all connected to our supply routes."
"Someone told them where to strike," Osarobo added. "The intelligence was too precise for coincidence."
"The Urhobo have been trading with British merchants at the coast," Domingos said. "Cloth. Guns. And apparently information."
Akenzua studied the map. The burned villages marked a clear pattern—pressure points on the eastern supply chain. Exactly where Osaze's ore deposits connected to Benin's interior.
"They're not just raiding. They're testing us. Seeing how we respond."
"Then we respond with force," Erebo said. "Crush them. Make an example."
"That's what they want." Akenzua traced the terrain. "The Urhobo territory is swamp and forest. Perfect for defense. Terrible for invasion. We send an army, we lose half our men to disease and ambush before we even engage."
"So we do nothing? Let them burn our villages and take our people?"
"We do something. But not what they expect."
---
"I need you to go."
Oronmwen stared at his brother. "To the Urhobo? After they sent back our envoy's ear?"
"That's exactly why it has to be you. A prince of Benin, walking into the territory of men who've just attacked us. It sends a message."
"That we're desperate?"
"That we're confident. That we have options they haven't anticipated."
"What options?"
Akenzua spread documents across the table. Intelligence reports. Trade analyses. Political assessments.
"The Urhobo chief—Ogboru—isn't acting alone. He's been pushed into this by British agents who promised him support against Benin. But that support has conditions."
"What conditions?"
"Exclusive trading rights. Port access. The same terms they've been demanding everywhere." Akenzua met his brother's eyes. "The British don't want to help the Urhobo. They want to use them. And Ogboru is smart enough to suspect that."
"So I offer him a better deal."
"You offer him a choice. Alliance with Benin—real alliance, with trade benefits and military cooperation. Or continued dependence on the British, who will discard him the moment he stops being useful."
"And if he refuses?"
"Then we know where he stands. And we plan accordingly."
---
Oronmwen traveled through the border region before reaching Urhobo territory.
What he saw haunted him.
The villages weren't just burned. They were destroyed. Houses torn down. Granaries emptied. Wells poisoned with animal carcasses.
"They wanted to make a point," his escort commander said. "This wasn't about loot. This was about fear."
An old woman sat among the ruins of what had been her home. Her eyes were empty.
"Where will you go?" Oronmwen asked.
"Go?" Her laugh was hollow. "Where is there to go? My husband is dead. My children are taken. This was everything."
"Benin will help. We'll rebuild."
"Benin didn't protect us. Why would they rebuild us?"
The question cut deep.
Oronmwen gave orders—food distribution, medical supplies, temporary shelters. But the woman's words followed him.
Why would they rebuild us?
Because the expansion Akenzua planned required loyal subjects. And subjects who felt abandoned became enemies.
---
The deeper he traveled, the worse it became.
Patrol camps where exhausted soldiers slept in mud. Supply lines stretched to breaking. Villages whose tribute had been increased to fund military operations—leaving farmers with barely enough to survive.
"The men are tired," the escort commander admitted. "Extended patrols. Constant readiness. No rest rotation."
"Why not?"
"Not enough soldiers. We cover three times the territory we should. Everyone's doing the work of two."
Fatigue. The silent killer of armies. Men too tired to think clearly. Too exhausted to fight well. Too worn down to care.
"Has this been reported?"
"To whom? The commanders know. They ask for reinforcements. The reinforcements don't come."
Because the reinforcements were training with new weapons. Building industrial capacity. Preparing for future wars while the present ones went unfought.
The expansion was happening. But the cost was becoming clear.
---
Chief Ogboru received Oronmwen in his compound.
He was a large man, thick-necked and watchful. Warriors lined the walls. The message was clear: You are not safe here.
"The prince of Benin. Walking into the land of men who burned his villages." Ogboru's smile showed teeth. "Brave or foolish?"
"Practical. The villages are burned. The dead are dead. What matters now is what happens next."
"What happens next is more burning. More death. Until Benin learns to respect Urhobo territory."
"Urhobo territory that survives on British cloth and British promises." Oronmwen kept his voice steady. "How long until those promises become demands? How long until 'protection' becomes control?"
Ogboru's smile faded. "The British are useful."
"The British are patient. They'll support you until you've weakened Benin enough to suit their purposes. Then they'll negotiate with whoever's left standing—probably not you."
"And Benin offers better?"
"Benin offers partnership. Trade benefits. Military cooperation. Respect."
"Respect." Ogboru laughed. "Benin has demanded tribute from our ancestors for generations. That's not respect."
"The tribute relationship can be renegotiated. Everything can be renegotiated—if both sides benefit."
"What do you want from us?"
"Mineral access. Safe passage for our supply routes. And an end to British agents operating freely in your territory."
"And in return?"
"Reduced tribute. Trade priorities. And Benin's protection against anyone who threatens Urhobo sovereignty. Including the British."
---
Ogboru was quiet for a long moment.
"Your brother sent back our envoy's ear. Now he sends his own brother to negotiate. Either he's desperate, or he has resources I don't see."
"Both can be true."
"Tell me about these resources."
Oronmwen hesitated. How much to reveal? The weapons program was secret. But secrets lost power when they stayed completely hidden.
"Benin is changing. Preparing for what's coming. The British will eventually try to take everything—your territory, our territory, everything between the coast and the interior. We can face that alone. Or we can face it together."
"Preparing how?"
"That's information for allies. Are you ready to be an ally?"
The gamble hung in the air.
Ogboru studied him with those watchful eyes. Calculating. Weighing.
"I'll consider your offer. You have safe passage to return home. And this—" He handed over a small pouch. Something soft inside. "Your envoy's ear. So he can bury it with dignity."
"And the envoy himself?"
"Will be released when I make my decision. Consider him... insurance."
Not alliance. Not rejection. Something in between.
A fragile opening.
---
Oronmwen reported to the circle upon his return.
"Ogboru is considering the offer. He's skeptical, but he's also worried about the British. That gives us leverage."
"How long until he decides?" Akenzua asked.
"Weeks. Maybe months. He'll watch what we do. How we respond to the raids. Whether we're worth allying with."
"And our response?"
"Should be measured. Visible enough to show strength. Not aggressive enough to confirm his fears about Benin's ambitions."
Erebo nodded reluctantly. "Defensive posture. Reinforce the border. Protect the remaining villages. Show we're capable without being threatening."
"What about the captured prisoners?" Idia asked. "The envoy. The villagers."
"Hostages. Until Ogboru decides." Oronmwen's voice was heavy. "That's the cost of this approach. We can't rescue them without starting a war we're not ready to win."
"And if Ogboru rejects the offer?"
"Then we've learned something. And we plan accordingly."
---
That night, Osarobo brought different news.
"British agents have been asking questions. About our activities. About the negotiations with the Urhobo."
"They know we approached Ogboru?"
"They know something is happening. Their intelligence in the region has improved significantly over the past year." He spread a map on the table. "And look at this."
Red marks across the coast. Trading posts. Missionary stations. Consular offices.
"They're building a network. Not just trade—surveillance. Every one of these positions has agents who report back to Lagos."
"We knew this was coming."
"We knew it was coming eventually. It's happening now. And they're paying attention to us specifically." Osarobo pointed to a note in the margin. "This came from one of our coastal contacts. The Oil Rivers Protectorate administration has flagged Benin as a 'priority concern.'"
Priority concern. British bureaucratic language for a target.
"What triggered the attention?"
"Our German trade relationships. The expansion of the smithing operations. The fact that we're not behaving like a kingdom preparing to submit." Osarobo met his eyes. "They've noticed we're preparing for something. They don't know what yet. But they're looking."
The room fell silent.
Akenzua stared at the map. The red marks spreading like infection.
They had won a small victory—Ogboru considering alliance instead of continued hostility. But in winning, they had attracted attention.
The bigger enemy had noticed.
And now the real game was beginning.
---
END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN