In the keep, and sometimes out in the enclosure if they annoy the King, stay those who are at court. Some stay only a quartermoon, some stay half a year, some never leave. The mistress won’t say which was she. But she gain intelligence from dearest Lady Mistress Doungourou, who is at court now. The King, Kwash Kagar, old and feeble in his ways, is keeping himself to bed. His wife, the first Queen, dead years before him, with her spirit haunting the same tree of the ancestors, even though she is not blood. Kwash Kagar’s second wife, Queen Wutu, who he marry two year ago, but who when he could still walk would stumble upon her like one do a stranger in one’s own house and ask which concubine she be. So beautiful that people think she foolish, but all the while she plotting, so say the cook. So say the cook also: Last year she is claiming baby-bearing sickness, but stop when the Aesi count back to when she claim to conceive and discover that the King was already too weak to do anything in bed save sleep. Also present is her sister, who have four children all claimed by her husband, but all looking like the King; her pompous father and lecherous brother, who think himself a favorite of the crown prince, even though the prince keep mistaking him for one of the King’s men, asking him at every chance if it is not his duty to wipe the King’s ass before all of the court can tell that he shit himself. As for the crown prince, Likud used to share a castle with his sister, Princess Emini, but both grow tired of each other’s ways. At the prince’s dwelling and living with him are four men and three women, who might or might not be betrothed to each other, since the servant always see a different mix in a different bed, or floor, or railing, or roof, or that one time, cage. At the princess’s quarters, five women who know her since birth, since they all used to attend to the dead Queen. Both princess and prince complain to who will hear of how this still new Queen infest the house with family the way lice infest hair, for also at court is her uncle, aunt, and two cousins.
At court also, several of the King’s bastards that he have great affection for, and Commander Olu, the King’s greatest warrior, who now live at the palace as reward. He survived a spear going right through his head, but it take nearly all of his mind with it, and the new Queen ask often if there are two fools at court, not one. Commander Olu keep to his own company, but wear a marriage necklace, and nobody can tell why, not even he. At court also, four other men in close service to the King; seven more noble ladies still in service to the dead Queen; players of drums, and harp, and kora; one fool; one Ifa diviner; and many Sangomin, all of them young, some even younger. And the Aesi, but what is there to say about him? Everybody know who he be, and know it always, though nobody remember when they first see him, or how he come to be chancellor. They just know it always as so.
The two wingsmen ride at an easy trot until they get to the castle gate. They out in front, the twin handling the caravan, Keme at the side, about to talk to Mistress Komwono, but peering through the window.
“Why this escort looking like he lost something in here?”
“What, no—no ma’am.”
Sogolon wish she could see his face crumble on itself from the embarrassment. But it won’t, for is not embarrassment he feel. He looking like he lose something in here and trying to find it. Sogolon at the back sorting out the mistress’s gifts for the King, which include the myrrh she never stop using, though she say it is rarer than a baby jengu in a jar. Keme looking through the window and Sogolon having no interest to look back. Mistress Komwono looking at them both and satisfied, for that at least take care of the worry that this girl is going to come to court already ruined. Sogolon look down on the dress she wearing, the first time she wearing one. And the gele, she still not accustomed to something on her head more than hair. The dress blue like morning sky with a pattern like chicken feet scatter all over it. The gele, the same. Sogolon feel like a doll or like a frame storing the dress, not somebody wearing it. Is hard walking in a dress, is not easy, she say to herself over and over as she gaze at the narrowness at her knee that sprout out below, and making it impossible to walk without looking like a clumsy fish.
“We coming to the first of the grand castles, ma’am,” Keme say. “On the right, past the trees the castle of Kwash Jafari, the second of the Akum kings. Kwash Kalifa, his father conquered these lands, but died before he could build on it. People call it the Red Castle, because, well you can see why.”
Sogolon want to look outside. She want to see castles, and road, and guards, and things that would make her swoon. But she don’t want her eyes to meet his. The caravan swing right.
“Now we coming up to Kwash Jafari’s castle, a palace to tell true. And where the Princess Emini live. One of the two castles built from stone where everything else is brick. And—”
“Why this escort think I need learning about a place I already know? He think this is my first time at court?” the mistress say to the air, for she would never lower herself to address him directly. Or complain to Sogolon. She leave the window, sit back in her chair, and close her eyes to ready herself. The caravan stop. The mistress wipe her eyes and grumble for some water, which is when Sogolon see she is crying.
From the gatehouse all must travel by foot. Or palanquin, which the mistress curse under breath for coming without. Keme escort them through the archway to the great welcome hall, with guards in red armor standing at the door. Keme not stopping for nothing, and neither is the mistress, so Sogolon can’t see anything long enough to marvel at it. She can only look ahead, at two purple doors in an arch that open as they approach, into a room with tall curtains touching high ceilings gone wild with painting of men at worship, at battle, and on the hunt. Two more doors open into another room with full urns by the windows, vases in the window sills, small trees inside vases, and chairs waiting for people to sit. At the head of the room, a platform in gold, and three chairs, with the one in the middle being the biggest. A purple chair with words in gold that Sogolon can’t read. They come to another door, but at this one two lions stand guard. Even with seeing Beremu twice Sogolon frighten that they get so big, both of them reaching the mistress’s shoulder when they step in first. They don’t seem to bother her, even as they make Sogolon uneasy. As Keme pass the one on his right he scratch his head. Beremu? He say something as she pass, not a growl but not a purr either. Halfway through the room she realize the two lions following them. In the next room, there are less chairs than the one before, and tapestries of kings and queens. Kwash Kalifa, the first King, on a white horse. The same King on the throne, beside his Queen. Kwash Kalifa again, in front of his multitude of children and subjects standing on the first mountain. Kwash Kalifa again with sword and spear, leading a great red army in a clash against the green enemy, with dead men and horses at their feet. And there again, the last two, on both sides of the hallway leading to another set of doors. On the left, the one of Kalifa slaying the fire-breathing ninki nanka, whose long scaly body and tail wrapping around the whole frame. On the right, the King, Queen, and baby prince surrounded by lions.
Two more lions join and lead them in the next room.
“But this don’t be the King’s palace?” Mistress ask. Keme turn around, but he don’t reply.
“Kwash Kagar won’t take residence in a dead king’s palace even if he—”