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For two years, the Mandinka of the Sankarani floodplain had been ruled by a young king, elected by the Elders of the tribal confederation. Into his hands was thrust a petty kingdom in the shadows of its neighbours — a mere buck amongst the lions of the Niger basin.
The Wagadou Kingdom, ruled by the Ghana warriors to the north, straddled the edges of the Sahara desert and stretched from the bend in the Niger to Diafunu. Their influence extended even further into the southwestern highlands, as the Mandinka of Fouta Djallon paid tribute in the form of gold to the lords of Ghana. Crowded around its borders were smaller petty kingdoms of the Soninke — the Soso, the Djenné-Mema, and the trading kingdom of Aoudaghost to the north. Practically all trade with the Maures to the north passed through Wagadou, and they reaped the riches that came so naturally from their advantageous seat on the camel routes.
In the east, another mighty kingdom stretches from Tadmekka to the lands of the Hausa kingdoms. That kingdom belongs to the Songhay, a proud and prosperous agricultural people who speak a language quite unlike that of the Mandinka. Through their lands passes trade to the east towards the Great Lake. The Kings of Gao exert their influence over the smaller kingdoms that straddle their borders — most notably the Bura Kingdom of Yatenga.
Amidst these giants, the Mandinka kingdom was a mere minnow, but its crown now fell upon the head of a spirited youthful warrior — Lahilatoul.
CHAPTER ONE Mid Dry Season — Third Year of Lahilatoul's Reign
The sounds of djembés, shakers, and bells rang out in the afternoon sun. In a single line in a sandy expanse on the ridge before the city of Niani, women in colourful dresses danced and clapped as they chanted along to the sound of the music's steady beat. Noble warriors darted in and out of the line between the dancers, leaping high and twirling in midair. Their feats of sheer physicality were more than just showmanship, as these men would soon be put to trial in the name of their tribe and their King.
Lahilatoul watched the dancers and leaping warriors before him, seated on a makeshift wicker throne with a sword laid flat across his lap, inspecting the fitness of these warriors who would be his closest retainers on his coming campaign. His city lay on the far side of the display before him about a mile distant, with smoke from some hundreds of cooking pits rising into the cornflower-blue sky. His back was to the Sankarani river, perhaps the same distance from his seat as the city opposite. In the rainy season, the river swelled well beyond its banks that it passed along both sides of the ridge, effectively making an island of Niani; a string of gallery bush and rich fields lined its now dry seasonal course.
To either side of King Lahilatoul stood seasoned veteran warriors. They would be his commanders afield. Of note were Demba, an elder and one of the young King's most loyal supporters from his very election, and Sandaki, a minor chieftain and legendary huntsman from the Fouta Djallon highlands.
If the seers had interpreted the signs correctly, the martial god Dongo would favour them in the coming war. Lahilatoul ran his fingers across the scabbarded sword on his lap. He grasped it with both hands, and slowly stood from the wicker seat. At once, the drumming, the chanting, and the dancing halted. The twirling warriors came back to the sandy earth and knelt facing their King. Lahilatoul looked over the crowds before him, cleared his throat, and took a deep breath. A breeze blew across his back and neck — refreshing, as it had been unusually hot — as he drew the sword from its sheath and held it aloft.
"Today," he began, puffing his chest out and projecting his voice as far as he could muster it. "Today is the last day I will spend in the comfort and company of my home for some time. May it pass swiftly that I may return to you!"
The drums sounded a quick barrage as the crowd cheered in short unison.
"Brave and mighty warriors have gathered on the plains of Niani from as far as Fouta Djallon and Sikasso. Tonight we will enjoy one final feast in peaceful accord, for tomorrow we shall go to make war."
Another burst from the drums accompanied by the ululation of the warriors sprang forth. Lahilatoul returned the sword in his hand to its scabbard, placing the tip on the ground before him and resting his hands upon the hilt.
"Our ancestors will see our deeds and smile. Our descendants will remember our righteous valour. And if it pleases the Gods," said Lahilatoul, throwing a hand towards the sky and raising his eyes, "we shall emerge from our battles with the honour of victory."
Lahilatoul lowered his hand and placed it back on the hilt. He shifted his weight to the heels and then back to the balls of his feet.
"I need not say much more than this." Lahilatoul stroked his beard. Speeches were never his strong suit, but neither did he think it was particularly important. His words would be forgotten by most at the first sight of the spears of the enemy. "I have arranged an offering of prize livestock to be slaughtered tonight — we shall share this feast with the Gods, that they may grant us a hasty return to our homes with glory. Who will follow me?"
The cheer rose up again from the warriors, and the drums began to play once again. Spirits were high among the Mandinka of Niani.
One could only hope that those spirits would hold fast in the face of the men of Djenné.
