The Twelve African Novels (A Collection). Edgar Wallace

said Sato-Koto, “it is not fitting that a great king should so humble himself.” Sanders was neither amused nor angry. He was dealing with a rebellious people, and his own fine feelings were as nothing to the peace of the land.

      “It would seem that the king has had bad advisers,” he reflected aloud, and Sato-Koto shuffled uneasily. “Go, now, and tell the king to come — for I am his friend.”

      The regent departed, but returned again alone. “Lord, he will not come,” he said sullenly.

      “Then I will go to him,” said Sanders.

      King Peter, sitting before his hut, greeted Mr Commissioner with downcast eyes, Sanders’ soldiers, spread in a semicircle before the hut, kept the rabble at bay.

      “King,” said Sanders — he carried in his hand a rattan cane of familiar shape, and as he spoke he whiffled it in the air, making a little humming noise— “stand up!”

      “Wherefore?” said Sato-Koto.

      “That you shall see,” said Sanders.

      The king rose reluctantly, and Sanders grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

      Swish!

      The cane caught him most undesirably, and he sprang into the air with a yell.

      Swish, swish, swish!

      Yelling and dancing, throwing out wild hands to ward off the punishment, King Peter blubbered for mercy.

      “Master!” Sato-Koto, his face distorted with rage, reached for his spear.

      “Shoot that man if he interferes,” said Sanders, without releasing the king, The regent saw the levelled rifles and stepped back hastily, “Now,” said Sanders, throwing down the cane, “now we will play a little game.”

      “Wow-wow-oh, ko!” sobbed his majesty.

      “I go back to the forest,” said Sanders. “By and by a messenger shall come to you, saying that the Commissioner is on his way. Do you understand?”

      “Yi-hi!” sobbed the king.

      “Then will you go out with your councillors and your old men and await my coming according to custom. Is that clear?”

      “Ye-es, master,” whimpered the boy.

      “Very good,” said Sanders, and withdrew his troops.

      In half an hour came a grave messenger to the king, and the court went out to the little hill to welcome the white man, This was the beginning of King Peter’s education, for thus was he taught obedience.

      Sanders went into residence in the town of Isisi, and held court, “Sato-Koto,” he said on the second day, “do you know the village of Ikan?”

      “Yes, master; it is two days’ journey into the bush.”

      Sanders nodded. “You will take your wives, your children, your servants, and your possessions to the village of Ikan, there to stay until I give you leave to return. The palaver is finished.”

      Next came the chief of the Akasava, very ill at ease. “Lord, if any man says I did you wrong, he lies,” said the chief.

      “Then I am a liar!” said Sanders. “For I say that you are an evil man, full of cunning.”

      “If it should be,” said the chief, “that you order me to go to my village as you have ordered Sato-Koto, I will go, since he who is my father is not pleased with me.”

      “That I order,” said Sanders; “also, twenty strokes with a stick, for the good of your soul. Furthermore, I would have you remember that down by Tembeli on the great river there is a village where men labour in chains because they have been unfaithful to the Government and have practised abominations.” So the chief of the Akasava people went out to punishment.

      There were other matters requiring adjustment, but they were of a minor character, and when these were all settled to the satisfaction of Sanders, but by no means to the satisfaction of the subjects, the Commissioner turned his attention to the further education of the king.

      “Peter,” he said, “tomorrow when the sun comes up I go back to my own village, leaving you without councillors.”

      “Master, how may I do without councillors, since I am a young boy?” asked the king, crestfallen and chastened.

      “By saying to yourself when a man calls for justice: ‘If I were this man how should I desire the king’s justice?’”

      The boy looked unhappy. “I am very young,” he repeated; “and today there come many from outlying villages seeking redress against their enemies.”

      “Very good,” said Sanders. “Today I will sit at the king’s right hand and learn of his wisdom.” The boy stood on one leg in his embarrassment, and eyed Sanders askance.

      There is a hillock behind the town. A worn path leads up to it, and atop is a thatched hut without sides. From this hillock you see the broad river with its sandy shoals, where the crocodiles sleep with open mouth; you see the rising ground toward Akasava, hills that rise one on top of the other, covered with a tangle of vivid green. In this house sits the king in judgment, beckoning the litigants forward. Sato-Koto was wont to stand by the king, bartering justice. Today Sato-Koto was preparing to depart and Sanders sat by the king’s side.

      There were indeed many litigants.

      There was a man who had bought a wife, giving no less than a thousand rods and two bags of salt for her. He had lived for three months with her, when she departed from his house.

      “Because,” said the man philosophically, “she had a lover. Therefore, Mighty Sun of Wisdom, I desire the return of my rods and my salt.”

      “What say you?” said Sanders.

      The king wriggled uncomfortably.

      “What says the father?” he said hesitatingly, and Sanders nodded.

      “That is a wise question,” he approved, and called the father, a voluble and an eager old man.

      “Now, king,” he said hurriedly, “I sold this woman, my daughter; how might I know her mind? Surely I fulfil my contract when the woman goes to the man. How shall a father control when a husband fails?” Sanders looked at the king again, and the boy drew a long breath.

      “It would seem, M’bleni, that the woman, your daughter, lived many years in your hut, and if you do not know her mind you are either a great fool or she is a cunning one. Therefore, I judge that you sold this woman knowing her faults. Yet the husband might accept some risk also. You shall take back your daughter and return 500 rods and a bag of salt, and if it should be that your daughter marries again, you shall pay one-half of her dowry to this man.” Very, very slowly he gave judgment, hesitatingly, anxiously, glancing now and again to the white man for his approval.

      “That was good,” said Sanders, and called forward another pleader.

      “Lord king,” said the new plaintiff, “a man has put an evil curse on me and my family, so that they sicken.” Here was a little poser for the little judge, and he puzzled the matter out in silence, Sanders offering no help.

      “How does he curse you?” at last asked the king.

      “With the curse of death,” said the complainant in a hushed voice.

      “Then you shall curse him also,” said the king, “and it shall be a question of whose curse is the stronger.” Sanders grinned behind his hand, and the king, seeing the smile, smiled also.

      From here onward Peter’s progress was a rapid one, and there came to headquarters from time to time stories of a young king who was a Solomon in judgment.

      So wise he was (who knew of the formula he applied to each case?), so beneficent, so peaceable, that