Moremi thanked the little slave girl in whispered undertones, as the girl carried the bowls of water away. Louder footfalls accompanied the girl’s retreating own, before the King made his presence known in Moremi’s outer chamber.
She knelt down immediately she sighted him. “My Liege.”
The King smiled with pleasure and patted her back with the end of his horse tail. “Arise, my Queen.”
Moremi stood up and resumed her former position, while the King sat next to her.
“You did not grace my bed last night. I waited for you, but I did not see you. What happened?” The King began, without preambles.
Moremi looked at him coyly. “How can you expect me to come see you, when you have refused to answer my questions?”
The King groaned and closed his eyes, before opening them momentarily.
“Are we still on this, Moremi?”
“We never left it.”
“Why are you so interested in knowing the secret of my nation’s strength?”
Moremi sniffed delicately. “I have been your wife for the past six months, and I have fallen in love with you. Unfortunately, you don’t feel for me as I do.”
The King took her hands and started rubbing circles on her palms. “You know I do. Moremi, how can you even doubt that?”
“Because you don’t trust me enough to tell me this one thing.”
“Fine. If I tell you, will you ever doubt my love for you?”
Moremi shook her head. “Never!”
The King sighed, and released her hands. He hung his head for a while, and then raised it, to look into her eyes. “What I am about to tell you must be between you and I. Not even our random citizens know this.”
“I promise to never breathe a word of it to anyone.” Moremi took his hands.
The market was unusually quiet as the Ugbo warriors crept through it. They were not surprised by the desertion though. Less and less people showed up in the market, since they began their fortnightly siege on Ile-Ife. The people believed they were spirits and were too scared to leave the supposed sanctuary of their homes.
When they saw no one, they decided to converge, so they could discuss their next line of action. So engrossed in the plans were they, that they did not sense nor see the creeping soldiers before it was too late. These men were holding torches, and they looked wild, as they descended on the Ugbo warriors with vengeance.
Raffia leaves caught fire, as screams of agony, and shouts of victory filled the air. Pandemonium and confusion fell within the burning warriors, as they did not know where to run to. Every angle they turned to, there was someone holding a blazing torch.
“Burn their disguise. Don’t let anyone of them escape.” Oranmiyan shouted from his position at the head of the fray.
Smoke filled the air, as the warriors’ clothing of raffia went up in flames. The spirits and howling masquerades were naked. They were just men with the same testicles as the average Ile-Ife man.
While the imminent victory began, Oranmiyan turned to the body hiding by one of the stalls, and smiled.
From her hiding place, Moremi returned Oranmiyan’s smile.
Mother, please. Don’t leave me with her.” Oluorogbo sobbed, looking at his mother with a beseeching gaze. “Please, don’t give me away.”
Moremi looked away, while tears and snot ran down her face. She fixed her chilling gaze on the deity she had thought was beautiful.
“Really? All you could ask for was my only son?” Her voice betrayed her bravery.
Esinmirin’s smile became wider. “You promised to give me whatever I wanted. I want your son. You defeated the Ugbo, did you not? You became a heroine, did you not? Moremi, the brave and beautiful. Moremi, the courageous Queen.”
“You sound bitter and jealous.” Moremi sneered.
“Call it whatever you want. Just give him to me.” Esinmirin’s smile disappeared.
“Horses. Cows. Goats. A festival. Anything. Ask for anything, and I’ll give it to you.” Moremi sniffed. “Anything but my only son. He’s all I have now.”
“No, you have Oranmiyan. He is King now, is he not? And he has welcomed you back with open arms.” Esinmirin waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, the women in the town have vowed to call you mother for all generations, or whatever nonsense you mortals console yourselves with.”
Moremi said nothing more, before she wordlessly handed Oluorogbo’s hands into the Deity’s open ones.
“No mother. No please. Mother please.” Oluorogbo twisted and rolled, but the deity’s grip was surprisingly strong and firm.
“Silence!” Her voice echoed, and Oluorogbo’s cries of pain became quenched instantly.
Moremi could not look anymore. She turned around and left, and the only thing scorched to her memory of her son’s sacrifice, was the peculiar white anklet around the deity’s left ankle.
“Oluorogbo.” She whispered.
Thank you for reading. We have come to the end of the story. I’ll be doing a modern retelling of Samson and Delilah next.
Love,
Bea
