The triumphant war cries that had echoed through the Makuyuni defile faded as Jabari led his warriors, bloodied but unbowed, back towards the Batembo heartland. Victory was a potent brew, but Kaelo's pragmatic mind knew its intoxication was fleeting; its true value lay in the strategic advantages it purchased and the lessons it taught. The silence of the thirty-eight empty sleeping mats in the ikulu that night, each representing a Batembo or Wanyisanza warrior who would never again greet the dawn, was a stark counterpoint to the cheers that had initially met their return.
Jabari, his youthful face set in lines of solemn responsibility that aged him beyond his eighteen rains, presided over the intricate Nyamwezi mourning rituals. Kaelo, an observer trapped within, watched with a detached respect as Jabari moved among the grieving families, offering ritual condolences, sharing in the communal sorrow, his own freshly healed scar a visible link to the sacrifices made. He saw the genuine tears in Jabari's eyes for fallen comrades, a depth of connection Kaelo the financier had rarely allowed himself. This was leadership stripped bare, not of power and strategy, but of the cynical detachment Kaelo had once mistaken for strength. Here, a chief grieved with his people, and his grief, Kaelo realized, was a vital thread in the tapestry of their loyalty.
Once the dead were honored and the wounded tended by Kibwana and his assistants – their ministrations now aided by a precious few of Finch's quinine pills for the fevered – the focus shifted to the spoils of war. The captured Wasumbwa spears and shields were numerous, though of poor quality. More valuable were the dozen or so modern rifles taken from Steiner's defeated force, along with several precious boxes of cartridges and a few bags of gunpowder. These were brought to Jabari's personal hut, where he, Hamisi, Lبانجى, and a visibly awed Mzee Kachenje examined them with the intensity of scholars deciphering sacred texts.
But the true treasure, Kaelo knew, lay within the battered leather satchel Juma had personally retrieved from near the body of Steiner's fallen second-in-command. Inside were maps, far more detailed than Finch's, notebooks filled with dense German script, and a journal bound in oilcloth.
"Can you read these markings, Ntemi?" Mzee Kachenje asked, his old eyes squinting at the strange European letters.
Jabari, with Kaelo's fluency, could. For several nights, by the flickering light of a tallow lamp, he painstakingly translated passages from Steiner's journal, sharing key insights with his inner council. The German captain's arrogance and disdain for the "primitive natives" were starkly evident, fueling a cold anger in Jabari and his companions. But beyond the prejudice, there was invaluable intelligence. Steiner's mission, funded by the "German East Africa Company," was indeed to secure the Ruaha River valley, establish a permanent trading fort as a precursor to plantations, and make "treaties of protection" with local chiefs, by force if necessary. The journal detailed his planned supply routes (now largely cut by Lبانجى), his frustrations with the "inefficient" local labor, his dwindling medical supplies, and his anxieties about not hearing from his coastal contact for reinforcements he had requested months ago – reinforcements Kaelo now knew were unlikely to arrive anytime soon, if ever.
Steiner's maps showed his intended areas of expansion, potential mineral deposits he had noted, and his assessment of various Nyamwezi chiefdoms – most dismissed as weak and disorganized, ripe for exploitation. The Batembo, until recently, had likely been among them in his estimation.
"He underestimated us," Hamisi grunted, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. "He saw a boy Ntemi and thought us soft."
"He will not make that mistake again," Jabari said, Kaelo's mind already processing the new intelligence. "His fort is now a trap of his own making. His supply lines are ghosts. His local allies, if he ever truly had any, have seen his weakness."
The strategic council that followed was less about whether to act against Steiner's fort, and more about how. Lبانجى, still flushed with the victory at Makuyuni, argued for an immediate, overwhelming assault. "We have more guns now, Ntemi! His men are demoralized. We crush him while he is down, take his cannons, and send a message that no sun-haired man will ever dare build a fort in our lands again!"
Mzee Kachenje, though heartened by their success, still urged prudence. "His walls are strong, even if his spirit is weak. Those thunder-sticks he possesses, even if few, can still reap a harvest of brave warriors. A direct assault is a gift to a desperate enemy."
Kaelo agreed with Kachenje. A frontal attack was still too costly. He had Steiner's playbook now; he knew the German's anxieties, his isolation. It was time for psychological warfare, backed by the undeniable threat of starvation and a final, inevitable reckoning.
Jabari's plan, when he unveiled it, was multifaceted. "The siege continues," he declared. "Lبانجى, your warriors and Juma's scouts will ensure not even a rat can enter or leave that fort without our knowledge. We will let hunger and despair be our allies within his walls."
He then turned to Bakari, the envoy who had faced Steiner before. "You will go to him again, Bakari. But this time, you carry my final terms." Kaelo had crafted the message carefully. Jabari would offer Steiner and his European subordinates safe passage to the coast, escorted by Batembo warriors to ensure their protection from any opportunistic attacks by other clans (a subtle reminder of who truly controlled the region). In return, they must surrender all their firearms, cannons, ammunition, and remaining trade goods. Their askaris and porters would be offered a choice: safe passage home, or to take service with the Batembo. Any refusal would mean the siege would continue until the fort fell by starvation or direct assault, and then no quarter would be given. To add weight to the threat, Bakari would subtly let slip some details gleaned from Steiner's own journal – perhaps a mention of his company's displeasure with his lack of progress, or the unlikelihood of imminent resupply – to show the German that his situation was truly hopeless, his secrets known.
While Bakari prepared for this delicate mission, Jabari moved to consolidate his gains and reward his people. A grand ceremony was held in the ikulu. The warriors who had fought at Makuyuni were hailed as heroes. Jabari personally presented the captured German rifles, meticulously cleaned and repaired by Seke and his apprentices, to the most skilled marksmen of the Nkonde sya Ntemi, forming the core of a truly formidable firearm unit. Hamisi was gifted the finest of the captured officer's swords. Lبانجى received a lion's share of the captured ammunition for his Wanyisanza warriors, further cementing their alliance. The families of the fallen received generous compensation in cattle and grain, a public affirmation that their sacrifice was honored and their kin would be provided for. This act, Kaelo knew, was as vital for morale and loyalty as any military victory.
The villages south of the Black Rock Hills, which had trembled under Steiner's initial shadow, now formally swore allegiance to Jabari. He sent Hamisi with a strong but peaceful escort to visit each one, accepting their pledges, assessing their needs, and establishing a system for them to contribute warriors and resources to the growing Batembo confederation. Each new village integrated was another strand in the rope Kaelo was weaving around Steiner, and another building block for the kingdom he envisioned.
Seke the smith, meanwhile, was in his element. The captured German rifles, though some were damaged, were marvels of engineering compared to the crude trade muskets. He and his apprentices spent days carefully disassembling them, studying the breech mechanisms, the rifled barrels, the percussion cap systems. Replication was far beyond their current capabilities, but understanding, Kaelo impressed upon him, was the first step. "Learn how their iron speaks, Seke," Jabari had told him. "Then, one day, our iron will answer in a voice just as strong." Seke, inspired, redoubled his efforts, and the quality of his own forgings – spearheads, axe blades, even arrowheads designed for deeper penetration – continued to improve.
Bakari returned from Steiner's fort a week later, his expression unreadable. He reported that Kapteni Steiner had received him with a chilling, almost deathly calm. The German had listened to Jabari's ultimatum in silence, his face pale and drawn, his once-immaculate uniform stained and ragged. The fort, Bakari said, was a place of shadows and despair. Food was clearly scarce, sickness rampant among the remaining porters and askaris. Many had already deserted, some making their way to Jabari's protection.
Steiner's reply to the ultimatum was delivered through gritted teeth: he would "consider" it. He asked for three days to "consult with his men."
Kaelo knew this was a stalling tactic, or perhaps the desperate hope of a man facing ruin. "He will try something," Jabari told his council. "A breakout attempt, or perhaps he seeks to bury his cannons and escape with a small party by night. Lبانجى, Juma – triple your vigilance. Let no movement go unseen."
For two days, an uneasy silence descended over the besieged fort. Then, on the third night, under the sliver of a waning moon, Juma's keen-eyed scouts reported frantic activity within the palisade. Torches flared, men were seen moving heavy objects, and the distinct sound of earth being dug drifted on the night air.
"He means to flee," Hamisi growled. "Or to make a final, desperate stand."
Jabari (Kaelo) considered the options. A night assault on the fort was still too risky. But allowing Steiner to escape, perhaps with some of his firepower intact, was unacceptable. "He will not escape," Jabari said, his voice like flint. "Lبانجى, take your fastest men. Circle the fort, but stay out of range of his big guns if he still has them. If he tries to break out, harry him, slow him, but do not engage his main force directly unless you have overwhelming advantage. Drive him east, towards the swamps of the Ngono River. If he enters there, his cannons will be useless, and his men will be lost."
As dawn approached, a runner arrived, his chest heaving. "Ntemi! They come! Steiner and perhaps thirty of his men, moving fast, heading east! They have abandoned the fort! Smoke rises from it!"
Steiner had made his choice: a desperate flight, hoping to reach a rumored Arab outpost several days march away. He had likely set fire to what he could not carry to deny it to the Batembo.
"He runs into our jaws," Jabari said, a grim smile touching his lips. "Hamisi, take the Nkonde sya Ntemi and two hundred warriors. Lبانجى will guide you. Run him to ground. His journey ends at the Ngono swamps."
Kaelo felt a surge of cold triumph. This was the endgame for Kapteni Steiner. The German's arrogance, his "treaty," his superior weapons – all had been undone by strategic patience, by the relentless pressure of a thousand cuts, and by the unity of a people determined to defend their land. He thought of the vast European empires, their intricate webs of power and commerce. They seemed so distant, so invincible. Yet here, in the heart of Africa, a small, nascent kingdom led by an eighteen-year-old chief with the mind of a twenty-first-century strategist had just broken one of their advance guards.
It was a victory, yes. But Kaelo knew, with absolute certainty, that it was merely the end of a chapter, not the end of the story. The price of this victory had been Batembo blood. The path to truly securing his people's future, to forging an empire that could withstand the coming storm, would demand far more. But for now, the lair of the wounded German leopard was empty, its ambitions turned to ash and smoke.