From what I can remember, I hadn't been more scared before that day; you probably could've guessed from the way my small, soft hand never left my father's large and worn one. My father, Chike, was a sizeable man with broad shoulders and fierce strength in his arms gained from years of hunting, battling and hauling great piles of stone. Clearly though the years had taken their toll on my father, the hairs on has head were few and far between and he adorned an expression of a man who had seen too much in his time. I could only imagine what horrible sights he must have witnessed in his time; save for the elders he was the oldest man still left in the village. I dare say I admired the man all the time I knew him.
With a gentle tug Chike pulled me into the circle of men and bade me sit in front of him. I was terrified, but out of respect I sat and stared at the floor, cross legged and silent. My father's personal guard, a group of eight men holding spears sworn to my father's family, stood behind us. I could feel twenty sets of eyes on me and my father; some I could see out of the corners of eyes, some showed silent admiration whilst others made no attempt to hide their contempt for my father. They blamed me too, I know they did, even though I was little more than a child no older than nine blessed suns, my father's actions were reflected in me. I hated Numba council meetings, I always did since, Chike had asked of me to attend them since I was five. He said it was important I knew how the village thrived and survived, in case I one day led them. It was more than possible, the moon name Abiodun was still feared and respected.
After a few minutes of staring at the dirt beneath me I felt the eyes shift from me and my father when the leader of the village, Dalisto Afolabi, and his own son a few moons younger than myself, Enweke, entered the circle and stood at the middle. Behind them stood Dalisto's own garrison of twenty men also armed with spears crafted from wood. Like my father's warriors they wore two streaks of red blood mixed with dirt on their cheeks, signifying they hold the rank of personal guard. Only members of a personal guard were permitted to carry weapons in circle of council, so Dalisto, my father and the other councillors stood unarmed. The circle was a place of democracy and reason, so where weapons were unnecessary they were forbidden.
"My brothers," Dalisto beamed, "I welcome you to circle, and may the sun smile upon our council this day."
"May the sun smile upon our council this day." repeated everyone in unison. Well, mostly everyone. Democracy was still a new sentiment to our people and some were having difficulty adjusting to having a board of councillors rather than one King leading everyone. My father often spoke of days before the council. `The Days of the One' he used to call them and he would tell me tales of how for thousands of moons our people answered to one man, or stories of the War of White Men, when warriors with skin white as the moon terrorised our lands on the backs of horses; with long weapons made from shiny materials harder and lighter than stone.
Chike had been the last King of Numba, before the village demanded change and the council was introduced to allow every family to have their say. My father was a firm but fair King and gave up his throne and lands. He earned the name `The King who fled', only for the Afolabi family to strike a deal with most of the rich houses of Numba to make use of their numbers and spears. Dalisto declared himself the spokesman of the council, but really I knew that he saw himself as King without the title. Not even my family, the Abiodun family, who once reigned Numba had the numbers to challenge Dalisto, so whatever he said went. Even if Dalisto died, Enweke would take his place and rule in his stead. This was no democracy, I knew even then as did my father, but Chike had given up his throne and was powerless to take it back, so Dalisto earnt the nickname `He who would be King', though no-one ever said it to his face.
"I assembled you today to discuss a very saddening matter, and a very serious allegation against one the men sitting in this very circle." announced Dalisto gravely. Murmurs arose quickly and glances shot around the circle, but Dalisto silenced them swiftly with a wave. "Yes my brothers, a councillor today will stand accused of treason." From that a tsunami of shouts and wild accusations flew around the circle, so much for democracy. I remember feeling confused more than anything. Treason meant betraying your King, but Numba had no King, not officially. I looked back to my father, confused, but he only responded with a grim nod and a knowing look in his eyes. This had not come as a surprise to my father.
"Father?" I queried as realisation dawned on me. Dalisto must have thought my father sought to betray him somehow, I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't. Yet Chike, the man who had lived through fifty blessed suns and fought off the White Men, remained silent as Dalisto once again hushed the circle and faced my father, a looked of hatred burning in his eyes.
"You see, my brothers, that Chike Abiodun, the King who fled, has attempted to betray me and, by extension, the council itself." My father remained stony faced and unflinching as Dalisto spat his prosecution, though his garrison looked wary and tightened their grip on their spears. "Chike," Dalisto said, "perhaps you would like to explain why the Idowu family came to me with reports of you attempting to hire their men." My father remained ever silent. "Perhaps," Dalisto continued, "you sought to raise a small army against my house? Perhaps you thought you ruled better than the circle of council? Or maybe you simply despise the Afolabi family?" A long, tense silence ensued as Chike stared Dalisto dead in the eye. Eventually, he rose.
"Or perhaps," Chike spoke evenly, "I would be the King who fled, but I will never be the King-" my father continued and pulled a small, shining and rusty blade from under his tunic, "who knelt." Gasps arose around the circle. My father had broken a sacred law and bore a weapon in the circle of counsel, least of all a weapon of the White Men, a relic from the war thirty blessed suns passed. It was rumoured that Chike had thrown all of the White Men's weapons into the river, never to be seen again. It was as though I had seen a ghost that day, proof that the war had been real. He walked slowly forward, his garrison following behind him, and never took his eyes off of Dalisto. "At least never to you."
"I am no King," Dalisto countered.
"Nor shall you ever be," Chike said as he stood face to face with the self-proclaimed spokesman. My father stood two heads taller than Dalisto, and the strength in his muscles far outweighed his too, but Dalisto looked unafraid.
"It is as I told you, brothers," Dalisto announced as he calmly strode backwards into his personal guard, "this man is a traitor." He looked at me and smiled sharply, "Kill him. The boy too."
"You will NEVER-" my father shouted ferociously as he stepped forward and sank his blade into the neck of one of Dalisto's unwary guards, "hurt my son." The man sank to the floor and his spear rolled across the floor to the feet of my father. "Run, my son! Run!" Chike bellowed. He made a grab for the spear and rolled away from Dalisto's garrison who began to close around him. I stood dumbfounded as a brave yet foolish man ran at my father, spear raised, only to be skewered on the tip of Chike's spear, the point plunging itself through the man's heart. As Dalisto's men pressed to surround my father, Chike's men formed a circle around him, spears poised. These men held true to their promise and defended my father's life with their own. Yet they were only eight against eighteen.
The council members had since dispersed, assumably running back to their land to rally their men to assist Dalisto, or perhaps whoever they thought to be winning when they returned. Trust didn't run too deep in Numba anymore. There remained only the warriors and me, standing at the sidelines, frozen in place. A few men tried to push through the barrier of men, only to become acquainted with the end of a spear.
It reminded me of a tale Father used to tell me when I was very little about a battle he had fought in the War of the White Men when he was still in his youth, he had only seen eighteen of his blessed suns. He told me about how the White Men had burned their crops and slaughtered their pigs, burnt down the huts and destroyed the farms. The people of Numba had been forced up the mountain of Mahi, outnumbered 50 to 100. Many men had died that day, black and white men alike- even Numba's previous King, Thoko- but in the end the city of Numba had triumphed, or rather my father had triumphed. He had brought his men up the mountain where the horses that the White Men rode would be slow and unsteady and it was there Chike had smashed the White Men and earned the title of King. Only four men of fifty had come down from Mahi after that day, and the other three brave men had later died of their wounds, making Chike the only surviving warrior of the battle of Mahi.
Looking at Chike now, he looked as though he were ready to battle his way to victory again. I even had hope for a while, until one of Chike's men could not dodge a spear fast enough and caught it with his breast. He fell swiftly and the circle was broken, allowing Dalisto's men to force their way to Chike. My father fought back with twice the force and for a fleeting few seconds held back, until one of his own men smelt defeat and grabbed Chike's bronze dagger from his palm. The man who had sworn to protect my father put a hole in his eye with his own dagger, a prize he had earned with the blood of many people; Chike staggered and fell, clutching his eye. He looked to me as he fell and moaned, "Go." He then fell silent and motionless, blood seeping through the wound in his eye.
His murderer, who I would soon learn to be called Imamu, was spared, though the other six courageous men were butchered where they stood falling to a spear one after the other. I stole one final glance at my father, my eyes stinging with tears, before I turn and ran, and ran and ran until my legs could carry me no further where I crashed violently to the earth. I wept for hours and hours for my father, as the sun set I wept and as the moon rose I wept. Chike was the finest man for many, many moons, he was the last King from the Days of the One, and he was my father. He was gone.