Mwendwa nodded, and he carried on.
‘The trial. I’d like to take the opportunity to see how the empire dispenses justice.’
‘You will have an honoured place.’ Mwendwa stood up and beckoned his servant. ‘My presence is required at the palace. Will you walk with me? I’d like to show you more of what we might lose if we fail in our enterprise.’
Benzamir fell in at the underminister’s side, and together they walked back to the citadel, shimmering in the noonday heat, high on the hill.
CHAPTER 34
THE THRONE ROOM had changed. Filled with brightly coloured dignitaries from the emperor’s lands, every single minister of state in their high-hatted finery, the polished brilliance of soldiers’ shields and the plumed headdresses of the rich and powerfuclass="underline" what had been empty and impressive had been transformed into a carnival.
Sunlight fractured overhead, spearing down in coloured fragments from the windows, and the full circle of the dais was illuminated by a dome of metal and glass that had been invisible during the night.
The hall was fulclass="underline" the ordinary people of Great Nairobi had taken the singular opportunity to see inside the citadel walls. In front of them, holding back the masses, was a line of soldiers. Then came the plutocrats and political masters of the empire occupying gilded seats in neat rows, placed at the front of the hall.
Benzamir and Said sat with them, uncomfortable and agitated. Mwendwa had moved them from the precious but lowly positions Said had managed to obtain, and ejected two high-ranking officials from the first row. The Kenyans either side of them gave sidelong glances and whispered behind their hands at the affront.
Wahir, overwhelmed by the crowds, the strange smells and the size of some of the Masai, had retreated to the side aisle. He climbed part way up a pillar to get a better look. Alessandra stood by him, mainly to make sure that he didn’t get into any trouble.
‘I still don’t understand why we’re here, master,’ said Said.
‘Because something is going to happen.’
‘But what, apart from what’s supposed to take place?’
‘If I knew that,’ said Benzamir, ‘I wouldn’t be so nervous.’ It was true: his mouth was dry, and his pulse fast and thready. He felt light-headed with anticipation.
There was a buzz of anticipation. A line of soldiers marched from behind the drapery that flanked the throne and formed a barricade of shields and broad-bladed spears. Then the sombre, black-robed lawyers took their places at the front, where desks had been set out for their pens and papers.
A commotion grew from the far back of the hall, complete with boos and jeers: the prisoner was being brought in. Wahir, from his vantage point, waved at Benzamir and pointed over their heads.
An avenue of spears advanced down the length of the throne room. Jostled despite their fearsome appearance, the escort resorted to pushing the crowds back with their shields. Ripples of movement swirled through the hall as everyone tried to keep their places and their feet.
Akisi arrived at the front and shrugged off a thrown banana skin from his shoulder. He nudged it away with his shackled feet while one of the lawyers, a man with skin so black it was darker than his robes, whispered final words of encouragement and hope. The escort fanned out to surround the throne.
Then it began. A drum beat a slow, steady rhythm, and gradually the sound of chatter drained away. Those sitting stood, adjusted their dress, tried to look as fine as they could for their ruler. By the time the first of the emperor’s attendants emerged from behind the curtains, all was silent but for the booming of the drum.
The emperor, dressed in full ceremonial lion-skin and many-pointed crown, glided to the throne and paused for a moment before he sat. His gaze took in the crowd of expectant but respectful subjects, from the narrow slit of light at the far end of the vaulted hall to the helmets of the soldiers lined up to protect him with their skill and their blood.
He then looked down – at the lawyers, at the prisoner himself, and then straight at Benzamir.
Benzamir shivered uncontrollably, and Said stood a little closer.
The emperor turned his head away, and an attendant darted forward to arrange the royal cloak before His Imperial Highness sat down.
With a flick of his fly-whisk, he indicated that the proceedings could start. The nobility sat with a sigh, and after a moment one of the lawyers stepped out from behind his desk. He bowed deeply to the occupant of the throne, and gave an outline of the case in his low, sonorous voice.
Benzamir was astounded by the adjectival onslaught: treacherous, perfidious, nauseating, pernicious, heinous. Akisi’s accusers painted him as a man who had suckled on the teat of the empire in his cradle, then grown up to hate everything it stood for. There were no cool, impartial justice programmes to weigh the evidence and pronounce fair judgement; compassion protocols working for both defendant and victim, unmoved by poverty or privilege. The empire’s court was turning into a furnace of conflict and adversarial debate. The emperor himself was presiding, and the stakes were clearly high. The lawyer dramatically shielded himself from Akisi with trembling fingers, as if frightened he might catch some criminal contagion.
‘There can be no penalty less than death itself for such actions!’ he demanded.
The crowd sighed and moaned. One or two cried out obscure curses on the accused’s head.
He was a hard act to follow. Akisi’s lawyer stood up to hissing and groaning. He began to explain why the former minister had acted so improperly.
Benzamir touched Said on the arm. ‘I’ve just seen someone I need to talk to.’
‘Can’t it wait, master?’
‘I wish it could. But no.’
He tried to make himself as small as possible and slipped from his seat, crossing the rest of the row to the side. The soldiers noticed his apologetic walk with interest, but everyone else had their attention fixed on the drama at the foot of the dais.
He passed Wahir and Alessandra with a troubled smile. They watched him go to the back of the seated area and crouch down next to the furthermost chair on the very last row.
‘Hello again, Princess.’
She kept her eyes firmly fixed on Akisi. ‘You didn’t give me reason enough not to be here.’
‘Which is to my shame. I should have tried harder.’
‘We need to say our piece. Here is as good as anywhere, if not the best place.’
Benzamir looked across Elenya to the bullet-headed monk. His head was freshly shaved and revealed yet more scars to go with the ones on his face and hands.
‘Brother,’ acknowledged Benzamir, and Va nodded curtly back. Puzzled, he asked Elenya something, and Benzamir caught a hint of their language.
Elenya answered in the same language, and he learned more.
‘Who did you tell him I was?’
‘Someone masquerading as a prince of his people. I told him I didn’t know why you were doing it. Which is the truth.’
‘Does he understand any of this?’
‘No. Neither do I. What about you?’
‘I don’t claim to be able to speak Swahili like a native, but well enough.’
Elenya finally looked at him. ‘Will you do something for me?’
He took several deep breaths. ‘Whenever I make promises to beautiful princesses, it usually ends in disaster. But it doesn’t normally stop me.’
She blinked slowly and seemed to have difficulty composing her thoughts. ‘Tell me when’s the best time to ask for the books back,’ she said eventually.
‘Never is the best time.’
‘You promised.’
‘I did, didn’t I? See Wahir over there? Keep an eye on him.’
She glanced to where he was surreptitiously pointing, and Wahir grinned at them over the top of Alessandra’s head.