The days following the Batembo victory at the Black Rock Hills were a strange interlude of grim reckoning and cautious hope. Major Alistair Harrison, his leg expertly, if painfully, set by Kibwana and bound with tight hide strips, languished in his guarded hut. The initial shock of his capture had given way to a sullen, resentful silence, broken only by curt demands for water or attention to his wound. Kaelo, watching him through Jabari's observant eyes during brief, formal visits, saw not just a defeated officer, but a symbol of the vast, implacable power he had temporarily bested. Harrison was a living embodiment of the Empire's reach, and his presence in the Batembo ikulu was both a trophy and a ticking time bomb.
Jabari's ultimatum – freedom in exchange for a treaty acknowledging Batembo sovereignty – hung in the air between them. Kaelo had given Harrison time to confront the totality of his defeat, to understand his utter dependence on the goodwill of the very "savages" he had come to subdue. There was no rescue coming for him; Steiner's journals and Harrison's own captured correspondence, which Kaelo had painstakingly deciphered, painted a clear picture of isolated expeditions operating on shoestring budgets, their distant backers more interested in profit and prestige than costly rescue missions for failed commanders.
Finally, after a week of brooding silence, Harrison sent word via his guard that he was ready to discuss terms.
The negotiation took place under the vast, ancient fig tree in the central clearing of the ikulu, the same tree where Jabari often held council. It was a deliberate choice by Kaelo, a symbol of enduring Nyamwezi life and justice. Jabari sat on his carved chief's stool, flanked by Mzee Kachenje, whose wisdom would frame their traditional claims, and Hamisi, whose scarred presence was a silent reminder of Batembo military prowess. Lبانجى of the Wanyisanza, a testament to Jabari's growing confederation, stood slightly behind, his arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. Juma, now recognized as one of Jabari's brightest protégés, sat at Kachenje's feet with a smoothed hide and a charcoal stick, ready to attempt a record of the proceedings in the new Batembo script, while Bakari, the silver-tongued envoy, prepared to translate into Swahili and ensure a second record in Arabic script, which some coastal-connected individuals might understand.
Major Harrison was carried out on a litter, his face pale and drawn, but his eyes still held a spark of haughty defiance. He was accompanied by his only surviving English subordinate, a young, terrified lieutenant named Davies.
"You have had time to consider my offer, Meja Harriseni," Jabari began, his voice calm and measured, devoid of triumph. Kaelo had coached him extensively: this was not about humiliating a fallen foe, but about extracting the maximum strategic advantage.
Harrison, through his interpreter, sneered faintly. "Your 'offer,' Chief Jabari, is an absurdity. No treaty signed under duress by a captured officer would be recognized by Her Majesty's Government."
"Perhaps," Jabari conceded, a slight smile touching his lips, a gesture Kaelo had perfected for unsettling opponents. "But it will be recognized here, in Unyamwezi. It will be recognized by every chief who hears of it, by every trader who seeks passage. It will be the law of this land. And your signature, Meja Harriseni, will be the proof that even the red coats of your great Queen must respect it, or face the consequences you yourself have now so intimately experienced."
The negotiation was a battle of wills, a clash of worlds. Harrison, a proud product of the British military system, initially balked at every clause. He argued over the precise wording of "Batembo sovereignty," attempting to dilute it to mere "local influence." He disputed the borders Kaelo had meticulously defined for the Batembo Kingdom, using Finch's and Steiner's own captured maps, now overlaid with Juma's detailed knowledge of local clan territories. These borders, Kaelo had ensured, encompassed not only core Batembo and Wanyisanza lands, but also the recently pacified Wasumbwa territories and the villages to the south that had sought Jabari's protection from Steiner.
"These lands you claim," Harrison protested, "many are not traditionally Batembo! You cannot simply declare them yours!"
"These lands are now under the Batembo shield, Meja Harriseni," Jabari stated firmly, Kaelo's logic unassailable in this context. "Their people have sought my protection from foreign invaders like Kapteni Steiner, and from those like yourself who come with guns and demands, bearing slips of paper from a distant Sultan who has never set foot here. My authority is recognized by their true chiefs. That is the law of this land."
Mzee Kachenje, with quiet dignity, would interject with Nyamwezi precedents, with tales of ancient alliances and the traditional rights of a paramount chief to protect his tributaries. Kaelo had coached him to frame their claims in language that, while rooted in local tradition, also subtly mirrored European concepts of spheres of influence and protectorates.
The clause pledging no further hostile British incursions without formal declaration and mutually agreed just cause was another sticking point. Harrison argued he had no authority to bind his government.
"You have the authority of a defeated commander seeking to save his own life and the lives of his men," Jabari countered, his voice like ice. "Your signature will attest to the fact that you, a representative of your Queen, have learned that this path leads only to sorrow and loss for your people. Whether your Queen chooses to heed your hard-won wisdom is her affair. But the Batembo will hold this document as a testament to our encounter."
After three arduous days of negotiation, a document was finally produced. It was written in Swahili, using Arabic script by Bakari, and Juma painstakingly copied a version using his new Batembo symbols. Lieutenant Davies, who had some fluency in Swahili, was forced to translate it into English for Harrison, his hand shaking as he wrote. It was, Kaelo knew, a document born of bad faith on Harrison's part, a promise made under duress he likely had no intention of honoring once free. But its symbolic and regional political value was immense.
The signing ceremony was staged with calculated theatricality. In the central clearing of the ikulu, before the assembled Batembo warriors, the allied chiefs, and the hushed populace, the "Treaty of the Great Fig Tree" (as Kachenje had poetically named it) was read aloud in Nyamwezi, then Swahili, then haltingly in English by Davies. Major Harrison, his face a grim stone, put his sprawling signature to each copy. Jabari followed, making a unique, powerful mark Kaelo had designed for him, a stylized lion's head intertwined with a spear. Mzee Kachenje, Hamisi, Lبانجى, and Lieutenant Davies added their marks or signatures as witnesses.
The moment was electric. A cheer went up from the assembled Nyamwezi, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. They had faced the red coats and forced their leader to acknowledge their land, their chief, their sovereignty.
Harrison's departure, two days later, was an anti-climax. He and Lieutenant Davies, along with a handful of other English soldiers who had survived the campaign (mostly wounded and non-combatant personnel from Harrison's initial staff), were given back their personal effects, enough food for ten days, and four unarmed Batembo guides instructed to escort them by the safest, quickest route to a point two days' march from the nearest coastal trading post known to be frequented by Europeans. They were stripped of all military insignia, their rifles and cannons remaining with Jabari. They left under a stony silence from the Batembo, their humiliation palpable.
Jabari watched them go, a small, defeated party disappearing into the vastness of the savanna. Kaelo felt no elation, only a cold sense of a dangerous task completed, and the grim anticipation of its inevitable consequences.
"Do you think his Queen will honor this treaty, Ntemi?" Lبانجى asked, standing beside him.
Jabari, Kaelo's voice carefully neutral, replied, "Queens and great chiefs rarely honor treaties that do not serve their interests, Lبانجى. But this paper, and the story of how it was signed, will travel. It will tell other Nyamwezi, other peoples of the interior, that the Batembo lion has sharp teeth and a long reach. It will tell the traders on the coast that there is a new power in Unyamwezi to be reckoned with. And it will, perhaps, make the next sun-haired men who think to carve out kingdoms in our land pause and consider the price."
In the weeks that followed, the "Great Fig Tree Treaty" did indeed have the effect Kaelo had hoped for. News of it, carried by traders and travelers, spread throughout the region. Jabari's prestige soared to unprecedented heights. More Nyamwezi clans, even some who had once been rivals of Kazimoto, sent emissaries pledging allegiance, offering tribute, seeking alliance. His confederation, his nascent kingdom, expanded almost daily, its borders now stretching further than any Batembo Ntemi had ever dreamed. The flow of tribute – grain, cattle, ivory, iron ore, even skilled craftsmen sent to learn from Seke – increased dramatically, providing Jabari with the resources to further strengthen his army and develop his realm.
The captured British rifles were a boon. Seke and his apprentices, now with access to superior tools salvaged from Steiner's fort and Harrison's baggage, worked with a new fervor, learning to maintain these complex weapons. The Nkonde sya Ntemi were now almost entirely armed with modern firearms, their training under Hamisi reaching new levels of proficiency. Jabari even began to form a second elite unit, a testament to his growing manpower.
Kaelo, however, allowed Jabari no complacency. He knew the British Empire. He knew its pride, its power, its relentless, patient expansionism. Harrison's report, when it reached Zanzibar and then London, would ignite outrage. The treaty would be denounced, repudiated. A punitive expedition, larger, better equipped, and led by a commander with orders to crush this audacious African chief, was an inevitability. The question was not if, but when.
He pushed Jabari to use this precious, bought time with ruthless efficiency. Fortifications were improved at key strategic points throughout their now vast territory. Food reserves were stockpiled. Seke was urged to focus not just on repair, but on understanding the very principles of firearms manufacture – could they make their own gunpowder reliably? Could they cast their own lead balls in quantity? Could they, one day, even forge their own rifle barrels? These were monumental challenges, but Kaelo knew that technological self-sufficiency, however limited, was crucial for long-term survival.
He also intensified his diplomatic efforts, sending Mzee Kachenje and other trusted envoys to even more distant, powerful African rulers – to the Hehe in the south, to the Sukuma near the great lake in the north, even trying to establish discreet contact with figures in the Bugandan kingdom. His message was always the same: unity against the encroaching foreign powers. Some listened with interest, others with suspicion, but the name of Jabari, the Ntemi who had defeated two European expeditions and forced a British Major to sign a treaty, was now known and respected.
One evening, months after Harrison's departure, as Jabari was reviewing Juma's latest maps – maps that now showed a Batembo Kingdom that was a true regional power – a runner arrived, breathless and mud-caked, from one of their southernmost Wanyisanza allies.
"Ntemi!" he gasped. "Word from the coast, carried by Arab traders who are fleeing inland! Many, many British ships have arrived at Zanzibar! They say a great war leader, a 'Jenerali,' with thousands of red coats and new, even larger thunder-sticks, is preparing an expedition to 'restore order' in the interior and 'punish the enemies of the Queen'! They say he speaks your name, Ntemi Jabari, with a voice like cold iron!"
Kaelo felt a familiar chill settle in Jabari's heart. The echoes of empire had returned, louder, more menacing than ever before. The treaty, as he had suspected, had been but a temporary shield. The real storm was about to break. His kingdom was stronger, more unified, better armed than ever before. But was it strong enough to face the full, calculated wrath of the British Lion? The price of victory had been high; the price of survival would be higher still.