The Hellion (The Lady Knights of Barony Book One ) (17 page)

Dahomey, Africa 1845

Through the whispering blades of tall grass, nothing could be seen but the horns of the antelope. They moved slowly through the pasture as one, wading quietly through a sea of waving brown grass. The sun was high overhead, beaming down upon the glistening brown bodies slinking slowly across the field. Crawling in perfect formation, their bellies but an inch from the ground, their limbs moving in perfect synchronization, the hunters stalked their prey.

Each carried a carbine rifle in her right hand while still moving with swiftness and agility in a low crawl across the steaming desert. Their plain russet tunics and the painted white lines on their bodies tricked the loitering herd of elephants into seeing them as a peaceful group of antelope. The antlers fixed onto the iron hoops attached to their headbands added to the illusion.

Mudiwa Akua ignored the trickling bead of sweat that ran down her forehead and clung to her eyebrow. She itched to reach up and wipe the irritating trickle away, but knew to do such a thing while so close to a herd of easily spooked elephants could mean certain death.

Being of the
gbeto, elephant huntresses, required a superior amount of agility and strength. It also demanded that one  tune out all distractions and concentrate on the hunt. One false move could send a pack of the massive animals into a stampede.

At the front of their ‘herd’
Baako, the most experienced gbeto present, paused. The rest followed her lead and went motionless, their bodies still close to the ground. Mudiwa’s fingers tightened on her rifle and her breath held in her lungs. Every muscle was tense, every nerve on edge as she peered up at the elephant herd. Her eyes traveled over wrinkled gray skin, massive legs, coiled trunks and the deadly ivory tusks. It was her first hunt, but Mudiwa had heard countless stories of gbeto being crushed beneath enormous feet, thrown by powerful trunks and gored on sharp tusks. Of their number, at least one third were not likely to come back.

Mudiwa
vowed that she would not be one of them.

The irritating bead of sweat rolled down her eyelid and hung, suspended from her dark eyelashes. She blinked it away and held her breath, waiting for
Baako to signal the beginning of their hunt.

With a sharp cry,
Baako gave the signal and the gbeto leaped with her from the grass as one. The elephants went into a panic, their heavy footfall creating a trembling quake beneath the gbeto’s bare feet. Sharp blasts from their raised trunks rung out overhead as they swung their heads from side to side, sweeping their long, pointed tusks over the huntresses’ heads.

Mudiwa
grasped her rifle with both hands and took aim at the chest of an elephant that had risen up on its hind legs. The rushing of air behind her told her to duck and she followed her instincts, just barely missing the reach of another elephant’s tusk. The elephant she’d been aiming at came down almost on top of her, forcing her to crouch and roll to avoid being crushed.

When she rolled to her back, she found herself staring at the elephant’s underside, and rapidly fired two rounds into its belly. As the elephant blasted another trumpet sound and roared in agony, three other
gbeto lunged at it with their dagger’s drawn, slashing and stabbing at the animal relentlessly. Mudiwa’s heard the cries of one of the other women as she crawled toward another beast and realized that one of them had already been lost. The elephant before her had speared one of the gbeto with his tusk and now swung her back and forth. The woman screamed her agony, flailing her legs and arms as the elephant shook her mercilessly. Without a second thought, Mudiwa reloaded and fired a round into the back of the girl’s head to end her agony. Another round found its way into the side of the elephant’s neck. With a few expert swipes with her dagger, Mudiwa felled the beast, leaping aside to avoid its tumbling body.

When the party of
gbeto huntresses returned to the palace, they dragged the bodies of four fallen women, wrapped in their quilted pagne garments which served to shield their corpses from dust and dirt. The rest carried their prizes, proof of their kills and gifts for the king. In Mudiwa’s arms were four elephant tusks and two tails, trophies boasting of her skill as a huntress. As they entered the guarded gates, now confined within the red clay walls of the palace, they were escorted into the king’s presence by ten opulently dressed eunuchs, the only men allowed within the palace walls.

As she knelt before her husband,
Mudiwa felt pride at her achievement mingled with the bitter sting of loneliness and realization. She now belonged to this man, whether she liked it or not. Her willful and spirited nature had caused her parents to offer her to the king as a gift; at least, this was what her mother had told her. Mudiwa knew that it was also a way for her father, a clan chieftain to gain favor with Ghezo.

She’d been sent to the palace two years earlier, separated from her home, family and way of life, as well as her love,
Asita. As Mudiwa and the other gbeto knelt before their husband king, Mudiwa closed her eyes and pictured the whiskey brown eyes of her only love. Asita, with his long, sinewy body and skilled hands. Asita, whose gaze set her blood on fire and her heart hammering in her chest.

Her skin burned hot as
Ghezo eyed them, his gaze lingering on her for longer than the others. She felt his open stare on her breasts, bared as a show of respect as was the custom in Dahomey. Mudiwa raised her chin and met his gaze defiantly in a show of arrogance and pride that would have sent her father into a fit of anger. Ghezo merely smiled and turned his attention back to inspecting their trophies.

For her offering
Mudiwa was allowed to keep one elephant tail and given a gift consisting of twenty cowries, two necklaces made of glass beads, and a pouch of tobacco. She thanked Ghezo for his gift and swiftly left his presence, flanked by two eunuchs. When she reached her quarters in the barracks of the Mino, Ghezo’s female warriors and the lowest tier of royal wives, she dismissed her escorts and leaned against the door with a heavy sigh.

She felt the small comfort of familiarity as she entered the two-room space that was her own.
Akoko, a slave girl given by Ghezo, moved through the curtain separating the two rooms on silent feet.

“I see you have returned with many gifts from the king,”
Akoko said as she accepted the necklaces, tobacco, and pouch full of cowries from Mudiwa. Mudiwa held on to the elephant tail, which would be added to the belt of her battledress and flaunted along with her other tokens. “Your first hunt was a success.”

Mudiwa
nodded at Akoko’s back as the slave girl moved back through the curtain to store the items in the bedchamber. Mudiwa moved to the wooden chest in the corner of the room and laid her carbine and cartridge belt inside. She unsheathed her dagger and placed it on the low, square table in the center of the room.

“It was the most frightening experience of my life,” she admitted to
Akoko, who was more than just a servant. The girl had become her one and only friend during her time in Dahomey’s capital and home of the royal palace.

“Four
gbeto were killed today.”

Akoko
reentered the room with a basin of water and a clean caftan.

“Frightening, you say?
More frightening than that skirmish with the Egba last year?”

Mudiwa
mulled over Akoko’s question as she allowed the girl to strip the dusty cokoto shorts from her hips. She shrugged aside her tunic and stared at the meager sunlight streaming through the animal-skin covered window. The battle with the Egba last year in Imojulu had been a crushing defeat for Ghezo. They’d lost many Mino; few died but most were captured and sold. Ghezo barely escaped with his life, and Mudiwa had a scar across her back as a souvenir. She shrugged as Akoko deftly washed the dirt, grime, and white paint from her arms.

“There were no elephants at
Imojulu.”

Akoko
finished her bath quickly before handing her mistress her favorite caftan; one made from a cloth woven by her love. She slipped the caftan over her head and sunk down onto the woven floor mats.

“I prepared a meal in anticipation of your arrival,”
Akoko said once Mudiwa was seated.

“Shall I also prepare your pipe with the tobacco given by the king? I heard from one of
Baako’s servants that what he gives is some of the best, traded with the French.”

Mudiwa
nodded. “That would be good,” she said. “Akoko?”

The girl paused and turned in the doorway. “Yes?”

“You prepared a meal.”

Akoko
nodded. “Your favorites; fried yam cakes, cassava dumplings, manioc pudding and plantains.”

“How did you know I was coming back?”

Akoko smiled, a parting of her dark lips to display even, white teeth. Her black eyes glistened cheerfully. “I never doubted you for a moment.”

After
Akoko’s delicious meal and a taste of Ghezo’s tobacco, Mudiwa retreated to her bedchamber. Fatigue pulled at her mind and soreness gripped her muscles. She stripped naked and sank onto her mattress with relief, pulling a quilted blanket up to her chest. She ran her fingers over the pattern, a depiction of her family tree, and thought of home.

As much as she hated to admit it,
Mudiwa missed her parents and her siblings. She even missed her father, though her heart still ached when she remembered that it was his decision that had landed her here. Within the walls of Ghezo’s palace, she was a piece of property, only one of thousands of wives. Upon her arrival at the palace Ghezo and his chief eunuch decided that she would become one of the king’s third tier wives and join the ranks of Dahomey’s female warriors. Her pride and headstrong nature disqualified her from the first tier of wives, for which Mudiwa was eternally grateful. The first wives were those who were most beautiful and chosen to bear Ghezo’s children. Though the king often eyed her with lust, he’d agreed with the chief eunuch and her father that she was the perfect candidate for training with the Mino.

They were right. She’d more than excelled at training and managed to gain the respect of her fellow soldiers and officers. Her proficiency with the rifle was unmatched and her light feet and speed were unparalleled. It had taken her months to grow used to enduring pain but like all the other
Mino, she’d been conditioned for it. As the months went by she grew stronger and more agile, outmatching every one of her fellow trainees. As much as she missed her old way of life, there was no mistaking that she was made for war.

She sighed again as she turned to her side and closed her eyes. If only she could be what she was born to be while keeping
Asita for herself. Yet this could never be. While Ghezo never came to beds of his Mino, every wife of the king was to remain celibate. Any disobedience in this regard was punishable by death, and Mudiwa knew that for this crime the king showed no mercy. The wives of the king were sacred and to be respected. No man could look upon them without the king’s permission and no man could lay a hand upon them.

Mudiwa
would never forget the horror on Asita’s face when she’d told him she was to be taken to the palace. He’d pulled her against is chest and stroked her hair, his fingers gliding over the dark braids adorned with cowries.

“I will talk to your father,” he declared as he kissed her forehead, capturing her with his beautiful eyes. The dark skin of his forehead crinkled with worry. “He knows how I feel about you. In a few days time, I will have the bride price he has asked for you. Surely he will give me that long.”

Mudiwa had set her mouth in a firm line and shook her head, sadness crushing her heart.

“No
Asita. Mother and I spent hours trying to talk him out of it but he refuses to consider any other option. His mind is made up.”

“I will not give up, beloved,” he said, squeezing her in a tight hug. “I won’t let up until he has seen reason. You must trust in me.”

“I do trust you, my sun.”

She’d kissed him passionately, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. ‘My sun’, it was what his name meant, but it was also what he was to her. That day he’d laid her on his mattress and made love to her as if would be the last time they would ever touch.

When Asita returned with her father’s steep bride price, Mudiwa’s eldest brother met him at the door. He’d given the heart-broken Asita terrible news. Mudiwa and her parents had left the day before and by now she was already a bride of the king.

Now she only saw him on market day, when she and the other wives went out to sell their handmade pottery and woven mats during times of peace. He’d be there with his beautifully made fabrics, though she never got more than a glimpse at his profile. All men were to turn their backs in the presence of the king’s wives, but
Mudiwa knew that he always sensed when she was among them. The tight set of his jaw told her that he felt her eyes on him, caressing brown skin and dark hair, longing for him.