The Blood-stained Belt Read Online Free PDF Page A

territory that had belonged to Keirine
for centuries.
    In the face of
this crisis, the people began to demand action to counter the
Dornites. From all over, the cry went up for a king to lead
Keirine. Finally, bowing to the pressure, the high priest, Izebol,
convened an Assembly of the Nation.
    Sharma and I
were appointed to accompany the delegation from Osicedi. As rural
ignoramuses away from home for the first time, we expected to see
dazzling sights in the great world. However, Sininda – holiest
place of Keirine, seat of the high priest, site of one of the
foremost oracles -- disappointed us. In fact, Sininda was hardly a
town at all. It was just a collection of small houses, workshops,
stalls, and storerooms. The only impressive thing about Sininda was
the temple, which rose up the hillside in three ascending levels
and dwarfed everything else in the valley.
    In the temple
courtyard Sharma and I squeezed against a pillar and looked around
curiously. The place was crowded, noisy, and so pervaded with a
pungent haze of incense and sweat that Sharma held his nose while
he muttered, ‘What a stink! Don’t they ever wash?’ He looked around
disdainfully and then whispered into my ear, ‘It’s this lot from
Upper Keirine. They smell the worst.’
    I replied,
‘Some of our group haven’t washed for a few days, either.’
    ‘Maybe -- but
they don’t smell as bad as this lot, that’s for sure. Don’t they
teach them anything in Upper Keirine?’
    In one corner,
a man was standing on a bench, haranguing a crowd about the
advantages of having a king for Keirine. He was bellowing that
without a king, Keirine would never be able to organise and control
its defences. A king, declaimed the speaker, would unify Keirine
and would overcome the old tribal divisions which he referred to
contemptuously as ‘The greatest bane of Keirine and the greatest
boon to our enemies.’
    After a few
minutes Sharma muttered sceptically, ‘Nothing I haven’t heard
before!' He grunted and observed, 'Ha! What is there to say that’s
new? Everyone knows what’s going to happen. Keirine is going to
have a king and it’s going to get one within a few days.’
    ‘You think it’s
settled?’
    Sharma gave me
a wondering look and replied, ‘Izebol isn't a fool. He can see
which way the wind is blowing. Things have gone too far for him to
turn back now.’
    ‘You
reckon?’
    ‘Sure, that’s
what I reckon. You’ll see!’
    We moved over
to the other side of the square where an anti-monarchist was
bellowing louder than a market auctioneer, ‘We’re the nation of
Keirine, not so? You hear me? We’re the nation of Keirine – not the
tribes or the city-states, or whatever. We’ve been a nation since
before we came out of the desert. A nation! That’s because we enjoy
Zabrazal’s special favour. Zabrazal binds us together as a people.
Zabrazal sets us apart from all the other tribes and the peoples.
You hear me? Zabrazal is the only leader that Keirine ever has
needed and ever will need. Zabrazal doesn’t want a king and we
don’t need one.' There was a buzz of agreement from the listeners
and someone shouted, ‘Praise be to Zabrazal!’ Another member of the
faithful band shouted, ‘No king for Keirine!’
    There were only
about twenty-five people in the anti-monarchist crowd, much smaller
than the crowd on the other side of the courtyard. Judging by the
sizes of the respective groups, the pro-monarchists were so far
ahead that they were already out of sight and heading down the home
straight.
    Sharma listened
with his arms folded and his legs planted apart, snorting so loudly
that I gave him a warning dig in his ribs, to which he replied with
a withering look. Hearing Sharma’s snorts, members of the
anti-monarchy brigade began to look at us suspiciously; in fact, a
few of them eyed us with definite hostility. Some of the men had
their hands inside their garments. They were probably just
scratching fleabites or guarding their