The moons waxed and waned, and the rhythm of life in the Batembo ikulu settled into a new, more purposeful cadence. The raw, jagged edges of grief following Ntemi Kazimoto's murder and the brutal vengeance against the Banyonga had been smoothed by time and, more importantly, by the tangible successes under Jabari's reign. The dry season, which had begun with such uncertainty, was now yielding to the first hesitant showers of the short rains, promising renewal for the parched land. Kaelo, looking out through Jabari's increasingly confident eyes, saw a community slowly transforming.
Fields were being prepared with a diligence he hadn't witnessed before. The handful of new, harder iron hoe blades that had emerged from Seke the smith's revitalized forge were prized possessions, their owners demonstrating their superior ability to break the sun-baked earth. The central granaries, once a point of contention, were now well-stocked and meticulously managed under Boroga's surprisingly efficient, if sometimes officious, oversight. The ambitious headman, having seen the undeniable benefits of Jabari's decisive leadership and perhaps recognizing the futility of direct challenge for now, had thrown himself into his assigned tasks with a zeal that Kaelo found both useful and worth watching.
The Wanyisanza alliance was proving to be more fruitful than Kaelo had initially dared to hope. Lبانجى, the fiery son of Ntemi Gwala, had returned to his people after the victory over the Wasumbwa, his initial skepticism replaced by an almost fervent admiration for Jabari. He had successfully persuaded his cautious father, and a formal treaty of brotherhood and mutual defense had been sealed with an exchange of gifts and solemn oaths. Now, Wanyisanza trackers, their unparalleled skills honed in the dense woodlands and rocky hills, regularly accompanied Batembo hunting parties into the newly accessible eastern valleys. The flow of ivory into Jabari's storehouses increased steadily, each tusk a tangible promise of more muskets, more gunpowder, more of the tools Kaelo knew were necessary to drag his adopted people towards a future where they might stand a chance. Lبانجى himself became a frequent visitor to Jabari's ikulu, ostensibly for consultations, but Kaelo suspected the young warrior simply thrived in the atmosphere of dynamic change and growing power that now characterized the Batembo capital.
The most significant internal development, however, came from the smoky, sweltering confines of Seke's smithy. The quiet, observant son of old Mfumu, fueled by Jabari's subtle encouragement, the challenge of the inferior Wasumbwa weapons, and the tantalizing prospect of understanding the broken European muskets, had toiled relentlessly. One morning, he appeared before Jabari's hut, his face smudged with soot but his eyes shining with a triumphant light. In his calloused hands, he carried not just a spearhead, but a short, heavy-bladed Nyamwezi sword, its surface bearing a distinct, almost watery pattern Kaelo hadn't seen before.
"Ntemi," Seke said, his voice thick with emotion as he knelt and presented the weapon. "I have listened to your words, and thought much on the nature of fire and iron. I tried new charcoals, as you spoke of from traveler's tales, from the heartwood of the mninga tree. I built up the walls of my furnace with clay mixed with anthill earth, as Kibwana suggested for holding the heat. And this… this iron is different. It is harder, Ntemi. It sings a new song when struck."
Jabari took the sword. It was heavier than their usual blades, the balance superb. Kaelo could see the difference in the metal's grain. He tested its edge against an old, discarded shield; it bit deeper, with less resistance, than any Batembo weapon he had yet handled. He then struck it against a common spearhead, which chipped noticeably while the new sword remained unscathed.
A murmur of awe went through the warriors and elders who had gathered. This was not just a better weapon; it was a visible symbol of Batembo ingenuity, of their capacity to innovate under their new chief.
"Seke, son of Mfumu," Jabari declared, his voice resonating with genuine pride, "you have not just forged a sword; you have forged a new shield for our people. The spirits of the ancestors, and the spirit of your father, smile upon your skill." He publicly gifted Seke two prime goats and a length of the fine blue coastal cloth, elevating the smith's status within the clan. He then commissioned Seke to begin producing these superior weapons exclusively for his elite guard and for trade with trusted allies like the Wanyisanza, ensuring the technology remained, for now, a Batembo advantage. Kaelo made a mental note: secure the supply chain for that specific hardwood, find more young men to apprentice under Seke. This was the beginning of their own small arms race.
News from the subjugated Wasumbwa territories to the north was also encouraging, if mixed. Most of the smaller sub-chiefs, their main war leader Makendenge dead and their military strength shattered, had grudgingly accepted Batembo overlordship. The first trickles of tribute – grain, a few scrawny cattle, some bundles of hides – began to arrive, a tangible acknowledgment of Jabari's regional dominance. Mzee Kachenje, whose network of kinsmen and old acquaintances stretched far, was instrumental in these negotiations, his wisdom and understanding of inter-clan diplomacy smoothing many a ruffled feather.
One particularly stubborn Wasumbwa headman, a cousin of the late Makendenge named Pembe, initially refused to send tribute, his village situated in a well-defended hilly area. Jabari, after consulting with Kachenje and Hamisi, decided against an immediate punitive expedition, which would have cost more lives. Instead, Kaelo devised a more subtle strategy. He sent Lبانجى, with a small escort of Batembo warriors and Wanyisanza trackers, to "visit" the chiefdoms bordering Pembe's lands, both Wasumbwa and others. Lبانجى was to speak of the Batembo's growing strength, the benefits of their friendship (showcasing some of Seke's new spearheads), and the unfortunate fate of those who chose defiance. The message was clear: isolation was dangerous. Within a month, Pembe, finding his neighbors suddenly less friendly and more inclined to respect Batembo authority, sent a grudging offering of honey and dried fish. Kaelo permitted himself a small, internal smile. Economic and diplomatic pressure could be as effective as a spear thrust, and far less costly.
This growing regional influence did not go unnoticed. Emissaries from two smaller Nyamwezi chiefdoms to the south-west, who had long suffered from the depredations of a larger, more aggressive clan, arrived at Jabari's ikulu seeking an audience. They had heard of the Batembo's victory over the Wasumbwa, of their new discipline, their mysterious "long-eye glass," and their increasingly formidable weapons. They sought an alliance, offering tribute and warriors for Jabari's campaigns in exchange for Batembo protection.
Kaelo saw this as a critical opportunity. This was how kingdoms grew – not just through conquest, but through the voluntary accession of weaker states seeking security. He advised Jabari to receive them with honor, to listen to their pleas, and to offer a pact of mutual defense. He would not yet commit Batembo warriors to fight their distant battles, but he would offer them trade advantages, access to Seke's improved iron goods (at a fair price, of course), and the promise of future support if they proved loyal tributaries. He was building a network, a sphere of influence, the first tendrils of his envisioned empire.
It was amidst this period of intense internal development and careful external maneuvering that Juma, perched on his high lookout with the spyglass, sent word of a truly massive caravan approaching from the east – Salim bin Rashid, true to his word, was returning. And his entourage, Juma reported with a tremor in his voice, was even larger than before.
The news sent a ripple of excitement and tension through the ikulu. This was the moment they had been preparing for. Their stores of prime ivory, carefully amassed from their own hunters and through trade with the Wanyisanza, were substantial. Their warriors were better trained, more confident. And Jabari, Ntemi of the Batembo, was no longer the unknown, wounded boy-chief Salim had met moons ago.
The meeting took place at the same ancient baobab tree, but the atmosphere was subtly different. Jabari arrived with an escort of thirty warriors, not just twenty, their spearheads, forged by Seke, gleaming with a new, harder light. Ten of these men carried muskets, and their practiced handling of the weapons was evident. Lبانجى, now a staunch ally, stood beside Jabari, along with a small contingent of his own keen-eyed Wanyisanza trackers, a visible symbol of the Batembo's expanded alliances.
Salim bin Rashid, though as opulent and outwardly serene as before, did not miss these changes. His sharp eyes noted the new spearheads, the increased number of firearms, the disciplined bearing of the Batembo warriors, and the presence of the Wanyisanza. When Jabari greeted him, not with the slight deference of their first meeting, but with the calm assurance of an equal, Salim's return greeting was noticeably more respectful.
The negotiations were tough, but fair. Salim needed Jabari's ivory and the continued security of the Batembo trade route. Jabari needed Salim's gunpowder, lead, quality muskets, and durable coastal cloth. This time, Jabari, guided by Kaelo's sharp bargaining acumen, pressed his advantages. He spoke of the increased security he provided, the taming of the Wasumbwa, the new alliances that made his territory a stable corridor for trade. He showcased the quality of his ivory.
The slave trade was, as Kaelo had anticipated, an unavoidable part of the discussion. Salim had a large contingent of recently acquired captives from further inland he wished to move swiftly to the coast. Jabari, knowing he could not yet afford to directly oppose this deeply entrenched economic reality without crippling his own access to vital goods, reiterated his position: "The Batembo do not trade their own people, nor those under their direct protection, like the Wanyisanza. The passage of your lawfully acquired property through my lands will be permitted, for the agreed toll. But any attempt to raid or capture within the lands sworn to the Batembo shield will be met as an act of war."
It was a fine line, a compromise that tasted like ash in Kaelo's mouth. He was, in effect, profiting from a trade he abhorred by taxing its passage. But it bought him guns, it bought him time, it bought him the means to build a power base that might, one day, offer an alternative. He did, however, use some of his ivory to purchase a dozen young, strong captives from Salim – not for resale, but, as he explained to a surprised Hamisi, for labor in expanding the ikulu's fields and to assist Seke in the ever-growing demands of the smithy. Kaelo intended for them to eventually earn their freedom and integrate into the Batembo, a small, almost symbolic act of reclamation in a sea of brutality.
The trade was concluded successfully. Jabari secured a significant number of new muskets, several kegs of gunpowder, bars of lead, and bales of cloth, at prices more favorable than before. Salim, in turn, departed with a fortune in ivory, his respect for the young Ntemi of the Batembo visibly increased. He even made a pointed offer of a standing alliance, should Jabari ever need to call upon his armed retainers for a significant price – an offer Jabari acknowledged courteously but did not commit to. Kaelo knew better than to become beholden to such a man.
As the last of Salim's caravan disappeared over the horizon, Jabari stood with Hamisi, Lبانجى, and Mzee Kachenje, looking at the newly acquired arsenal. The muskets were mostly old European trade models, but they were functional. Seke was already examining one with a craftsman's intensity.
"Each of these," Jabari said, his voice resonating with a quiet power, "is a tooth for the Batembo lion. Each friendly village is a claw. Each well-tended field, a muscle. We grow stronger."
Just then, a breathless Juma arrived, his eyes wide. "Ntemi! A report from one of our furthest patrols, near the southern borders, beyond the lands of the clans who sought your alliance!" "What is it, Juma?" Jabari asked, a premonition stirring.
"They saw a white man, Ntemi. Not an Arab, not a Swahili. He had hair the color of the sun, and he carried a strange staff that made flashes of light. He was with many porters, asking questions about the land, about the chiefs. He moves slowly, but he comes north."
A chill ran down Jabari's spine, a chill Kaelo recognized with dreadful certainty. The explorers. The missionaries. The vanguard of the Scramble. They were coming sooner than he'd even dared to anticipate for this remote region. His efforts, his kingdom-building, had just acquired a new, terrifying urgency. The shadow of the coast was no longer just Arab and Swahili; a far larger, more ominous shadow was beginning to fall.