The day wore on, and broken bodies were continually crushed, like fallen leaves ground to powder. Bones seemed to melt into the riverbed, indistinguishable in the bloodmeal of mud, sand, leaves, stench, ravens, and flies. Piled high along the riverbed, corpses were trampled by fierce horses, even fiercer men.
Soon it became evident that Sembele’s troops were being routed, and Iyoke began to dread what she knew would soon take place: Soon Sembele would be brought before her, and Jaejoong would demand. . .
No, I cannot do it, Iyoke told herself. All about her, blood mingled with blood. The blood of both her peoples. And am I the cause of all this? She asked herself. Had I been beautiful, such a war would not have happened!
Then as the sun began to set, it happened. A trumpet call came: Sembele was captured, her captains killed and her army dispersed, defeated. The Empress, her husband, and her lover Prince Biodun were dragged by King Jaejoong’s captains to Jaejoong and his wife.
Jaejoong dismounted and walked toward the defeated Sembele. He called his wife to his side and once again handed her the lance. She took it. He waited, and as Jaejoong watched, she lifted the lance high and plunged it deep into her own breast. Nunu, standing by, was not so full of self-loathing. She retrieved the lance from her sister’s bloody hands and with one swift blow, thrust Sembele and Biodun clean through.
It is said by the old ones that Nunu married Prince Hans. But this she would not do. It is said by the modern scholars that King Jaejoong took Nunu to wife. This also, I do not believe.
The General’s Daughter
By
Anthony Nana Kwamu
Here is the story of the general and his daughter, as it is recorded in the chronicler’s journals in monastery in Debre Damo.
Abyssinia, 1274 AD. The people of Roha chanted, danced and made merry as the army marched in from the wars, with victory over the rebels in Amhara Province achieved at last. Thousands choked the roads, streets, terraces, balconies, and even rooftops as they welcomed the Emperor Yekuno Amlak, who rode at the head of his victorious army.
Next to the joyful emperor rode the general, who had nothing but a soft smile on his face, though it was he who by his own hand had slain Dahnay, the rebel commander, and ended the war. The general paid little attention to the deafening merriment that surrounded him, for he wished for nothing more at that moment than to be with the most important person in his life. She was Zeina. She was the general’s daughter.
Moments after the army’s entrance into the city a servant brought Zeina to meet her father, a sight which now produced the excitement in the general that was present in all others in the city. After many hugs and kisses between the soldier and his daughter had passed, he placed the girl on his horse and had her ride next to the emperor, while he himself took to foot and walked the remaining journey into the city amidst jubilating hordes as he led the horse that carried his daughter by its reins. On her father’s horse Zeina used her kirar harp to produce music so beautiful that her father could distinguish it from that produced by the countless others that filled their surroundings. It was music he had missed during all those days at the frontlines.
The general’s daughter had only seen ten summers, yet she carried herself with the grace of a lady. She was a beautiful child with eyes as wild as a rebel’s, yet as charming as the limitless beauty of the vast open sea, made even more so by the glittering gold beads that were plaited into her long-braided hair.
It was known that Dahnay, the rebel leader, before his death, had cursed the general.
“Count your days of joy, General,” Dahnay had said, “For misery and sorrow will soon be your company.”
Many say that this curse explains why six days after the general’s return, he was met by a terrible tragedy. His daughter, the lovely Zeina, fell off the balcony of her father’s house, broke her neck, and died!
Those were the beginning of dark days for the general, for his daughter’s death had not been like that of his wife, Zeina’s mother, seven summers prior. She passed on thirty days after she took ill. But Zeina had simply ceased to exist, taken from the general in a twinkling, her sweet voice, laughter, gentle footsteps, and soothing harp music to be heard no more.
Though the city shared his loss and mourned with him, the general wanted no more than to be left alone with his daughter. And so, it was that for three days he locked himself with his deceased daughter in a room and refused that she be buried; and during those days he refused to utter any words or see anyone, not even the emperor himself, who visited to pay his respects. It was the general’s servants and brothers who forced their way into his room, gently bore little Zeina away and laid her to rest carrying her harp, with many a man, woman, and child present to bid her farewell.
The general himself did not make his presence at his daughter’s funeral, refusing to believe she really was no more. Again, he barred himself in a room and again he refused to utter any words or see anyone, despite pleas from his brothers and sisters. For seven days he cursed God and for seven nights he cursed the devil, and in all those days he neither ate nor slept, nor did he even see the emperor, who once again attempted to convey his condolences to the general.
On the eighth day a man arrived—a mysterious traveler they called the Wizard of Sheba. With a single question posed through the door of the general’s room, he got the general’s ear.
“What
