A Love Story Untold Read online

  I never noticed her before, not in that way, but after that last conversation that day Chacha and I left the lake, all I can do now is notice her! I hate him, for he put the idea in my head. It was never there before. I never looked at her like this before, otherwise I might have noticed how creamily those dark buds of nipples look, how enticing they seem, despite the fact that they are set on humbly sized breasts.

  Oh damn those breasts! Must they gleam so under the sun? Must they be so well oiled, and must they jiggle so? I can’t seem to look at anything else but those two small but oh so very supple breasts that seem to be beckoning me with each movement she makes.

  And my does she move! But of course she moves! She must move, because this is the bridal walk, which essentially is about dancing and singing the whole way to the bride’s new home.

  I was not even supposed to be here, another reason I hate Chacha at this moment. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t even be here. I’d have remained at home, and tended to the branding of the new calves and colts. Maybe I’d even have managed to replace the rotting posts at the cowsheds today, and then tomorrow evening I’d have attended the fete the Hiri family is hosting.

  But no, Chacha wanted to follow wherever Gati is going, and of course he’d pleaded with me to accompany him. Gati had wanted to attend the wedding because a warrior in her saro is in love with the younger sister of the warrior that is to marry the Bagumbe princess. Gati and her saro had therefore agreed to accompany the bride party of this ridiculously long bridal walk in solidarity, so that their peer could get an evening of flirting with his love interest. True brotherhood among peers indeed!

  It is the same spirit of brotherhood that had made it impossible for me to say no to Chacha when he begged me to accompany him, so that it does not appear too obvious that he only came so as to be able to be in the company of my sister. As though there is anyway to conceal that obvious fact, when any moment not spent by her side is spent searching for her!

  And now he’s left me to my own devices, which are proving quite destructive at the moment, for my eyes won’t stray away from the one very ineligible girl in the crowd. She is the second most appropriate, yet the most inappropriate as well. A paradox on it’s own.

  Chacha is right, I must think with my head and not my.. whatever is thinking at the moment. She’d make a terrible queen- a terrible one indeed! She’s doing a very bad job of being princess already, so I can only imagine what a terrible queen she’d make. She does not command any respect, and worsens the fact by never demanding it when her subjects step out of line. She seems content with being undermined, overlooked and disrespected, without any regard of what unfavourable precedent she’s setting for the monarchy. She’s hurting the monarchial institution with her complacency. Doesn’t she see that?

  She’d make a terrible queen indeed!

  There! There’s that! A fact- stated and signed off. Then why can’t I stop looking at her?

  As though on cue, she lifts her head right then as she answers whatever the soloist has just sang out in chorus with all the maidens, and her eyes meet mine as the party stops for the girls to do yet another dance routine. They turn to the sides, away from me, and match two steps that way, sweep downwards as they clap in unison, allowing me a better view of her bottom half of the body, which sends a rush of blood down one way despite my attempts to look away. The group of well oiled maidens with bare chests bearing supple pointy breasts now turn the other side, my way, but all my eyes notice are her.

  She notices I’m looking at her, I realise when her eyes widen just so slightly when they accidentally meet mine, and I watch as her chest heaves upwards as she takes in a sharp breath. Her lips move to a song I know she doesn’t sing, for I know when she’s bothered, she prefers to remain quiet. She’s just miming, though she pretends to be singing, I think to myself amused, a smile creeping into my face. The group of maidens is now headed our way as they mirror the routine. This time when she swoops lower and then claps in unison with the rest, it is her small but very agreeable bosom I’m granted view of. As she rises, there’s no mistaking the smile now covering my face, which causes a spark of something to come alive behind her eyes.

  Good. if I’m to suffer the effects you have on me, then by gods I shall be sure to grant you the same benefit.

  Chapter 17

  What does he mean by looking at me so? Why won’t he stop? And why must he smile so, that it causes my heart to throb and flutter, and makes my head light and woozy?

  Avoid his gaze.

  Avoid his gaze! I remind myself again when I look above my calabash of food and chance to meet with his eyes yet again.

  This is our second night on this great trek that is Wei’s bridal walk, and by gods am I tired! two days spent walking and dancing. The first night we’d spent in the Nyabasi royal stead, and tonight we are camped in the Hiri Nsweto homestead eating delicious hot food. We are all exhausted and longing for sleep, having already pitched our tents.

  Just as last night, I’m to share a tent with my mother and two sisters, something I look very much forward to. The more time I get to spend with Wei before she’s married off, the clingier I am. This night is to be our second last night spent together as sisters. Soon she’ll be a Bagumbe princess no more, but a Bairege woman. Soon I should cease to greet her each morning as sister, my princess, and I’m instead to respectfully greet her as mother, because all married women of our brother kingdoms are titled mother for their chief role is motherhood, as all men in our kingdom are titled mura because their chief role is warriorhood. She’ll be princess no more, for although her future husband is closely related to the Bairege kingship, his father being the king’s brother, the title princess is only held by the king’s children, according to our customs, and Weigesa will cease being my father’s daughter when she’s wedded.

  We share in a few rounds of storytelling and poem chantings after the last meal, before the warriors walk to the other end of the homestead where they are camped, and we women on this other end get into our tents and snuggle in close together for the night. I rush to Wei’s otherside before Matinde can fight me for it, and cradle myself in her arms, burying my cold nose in her bosom as I drift off to sleep, letting my senses drown themselves in her scent, that I may always remember her scent when she leaves.

  Blessed exhaustion saves me tonight from dreams of the narrow dark brown eyes, and the burning sensation of those long calloused fingers wrapped around my arm.

  I wake up early next dawn, for I’ve always been an early riser. I creep out of the tent as quietly as I can, and decide to take the time to check on the mare, Weigesa’s bridal zorse.

  Poor girl is slightly fidgety today, but when I untie her and let her walk around me as I nuzzle and stroke her, her mood seems to cheer up.

  “You too shall be leaving me soon,” I say forlornly, hugging the girl’s long face to me, as I recall how she’d been a difficult colt. A biter, and is why her mother had refused to suckle her.

  Father thought to put her to rest for he foresaw that she’d be difficult. I’d only lived to see six mereti’s then, but I’d been just as distraught as my sisters at hearing that father wished to kill her. My sisters and I had then taken it upon ourselves to see her fed by helping her drink milk from small gourds, giving her shallow sips so as not to choke her. Here she stands now, so tall and majestic, and so very well docile and loving, and a bridal zorse, meaning that she’s beautiful enough to wear the title. I shall dearly miss her too, that I know.

  “Is this your morning routine?” A voice startles me from behind. “Do you wake up each morning before daybreak and talk to beasts?”

  Ignore him! I scream to myself, forcing my eyes away from him, stopping my mind determinedly against musing over his tousled braids and how lovely his face looks when he’s just woken up, a slight pout on his lips that has me wondering..

  Finally I manage to stop the disturbing flow of my thoughts, and concentrate on stroking the mare before
me.

  However the Nyabasi prince has never been the one to respect my wishes to be left alone, for he does walk on and join us girls, standing close to me, but not close enough that we come in contact. He then reaches out his hand and begins to stroke my mare lovingly, and it is that very moment that I know I’ve lost this fight against my growing feelings for him. How could I ever stop myself now, when he so clearly loves animals as much as I do? I’m doomed, doomed to a life spent in heartbreak, for Prince Makena would never choose to marry me.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He asks, and I’m well aware of how my dark nipples harden and press forward, and I pray to all that is true and holy that he doesn’t notice then. My mouth is dry, and I seem to be having a very hard time trying to find words to answer him.

  “Why do you dislike me so? I merely complimented her. Surely despite your dislike for me you can afford this beautiful mare a compliment..”

  “I do not dislike you, my prince,” I rush to say, and regret it the moment I spy the confident smile begin to curve across his face. He tricked me into admitting that! What an oaf. Now I do indeed dislike him! But I know that to be a lie, for my heart and body are dancing to a whole other tune altogether at the moment.

  “She’s a beautiful mare,” I finally say.

  “Have you known her long, or did your family recently purchase her..?”

  “I raised her. I mean, my sisters and I,” I rush to say.

  “Really? How so?”

  “She was a biter,” I simply tell him.

  “Oh, I see. Her mother wouldn’t suckle her then. Not many mares can handle their nipples been bitten,” he adds as an afterthought, a puzzling statement that leaves me feeling as though he meant something else with those words.

  “I must go, my sister will be up soon,” I rush to say with great discomfort, and before he can put in another word I race across the grassy fields, not looking back until I crush into my mother’s tent again, which has everyone groaning for I was loud in my attempts, and have now woken them up.

  “Come, let’s sleep in a while longer,” Weigesa mumbles, her eyes still shut as she reaches out to me and folds me to herself. I lay myself once again beside her, letting her warm body and welcoming musk lull me into a half slumber again, until my mother rouses us for yet another day to be spent trekking, dancing and singing.

  Yet another day to be spent trying to ignore a certain young warrior prince that seems intent in making me most uncomfortable.

  Chapter 18

  I have been at the Bairege kingstead a number of times before, mostly in the company of my father on kingship duties, so I know this home better than most visitors today.

  The skulls of wild animals pinned on hundreds and hundreds of spears along the fence of this royal home are not as intimidating as when I first saw them, however I do not miss to notice how much they affect others.

  Especially her.

  Most warriors are very much impressed by it, thinking it daring, and they’d been most anxious to witness it with their own eyes, those that have never been here before.

  I do not miss her reaction to it, try as I may to look away from her. Her reaction is most.. entertaining, I must say. She gasps, her feet falter and she momentarily breaks from her dance choreograghy, and it is only when a fellow peer bumps into her because she missed a step, that she tries to hastily recollect herself. And then very briefly, large bright eyes flit my way, only to quickly be turned away upon meeting mine.

  I smile at this. Yes, princess, since you won’t stop tormenting me, I’ll see to it that I torment you too.

  I call it justice, for she’s the one that creeped up on me uninvited. Her and her large unusual eyes. The Umbe family line, the royal Bagumbe family, is famous for those eyes. A light brown tint placed on rather large eyes. Very unusual eyes, the words unbecoming and haunting often used to describe them. Only I think people always term them unbecoming because no one wants to be honest with their true assessment. Those eyes are bewitching. Beholding the three Bagumbe princesses with their mother at this moment as they eat their last meal in silence across from me, all I know is I’ve never seen more beautiful sets of eyes- more enchanting.

  I want to wake up every morning to those eyes, I surprise myself immensely by thinking, and immediately snap my eyes away from them.

  No! I scold myself. She was born to be a princess, but not a queen. She could never handle the pressures of raising her own family, let alone those of mothering a whole kingdom, I remind myself dutily.

  I try force my attentions elsewhere, even on her sister, with whom I’d first been very much captivated by. However beholding Matinde to me feels like suckling on a berry the moment right before you bite into it. That slight tinge of delicious acidic taste that teases you, because you know that the moment you bite into it, your whole mouth will be assailed with its delicious juices. Looking at Matinde only reminds me that her sister is just within my grasp, and I cannot put myself anymore through that kind of temptation. She’s already accosted me too much, and I fear that in a moment of weakness with drink I might confess my true feelings for her.

  We can’t have that now, can we?

  I don’t know which I dread most, the nights or the days. I spend all day trying to look away from her, look at any other girl, and by gods are there amply many of them to look at. However I’ve been bewitched, and my eyes seek only one vision, and none other can gratify me the satisfaction. With every passing day there grows in me a strong desire to just behold her. Seeing her has become as great a necessity as is breathing. If moments too long pass before my eyes settle on her, I grow impatient, irritant and hot-tempered.

  As for the nights! Oh those torturous nights! That I could go back to the days when I dreamt of the impossible, of having hundreds of women in my bed. However my nights now are tortured with dreams of having just her in my bed. Dreams of touching her, of pulling her to me. Imaginations of how her soft flesh would feel against mine. How delicious her darker skin would look when pressed to mine. I often ponder on whether her eyes would brighten or darken with desire. Then there’s that full mouth in an eternal pout. Gods why would you give her such a pout? I highly suspect that her whole being was created to torment me. That pout that leaves me wishing to just nibble its full bottom lip, before I suck it into my mouth and learn of the pleasures that is to taste her..

  “..What do you say?” I hear Chacha say, jabbing into my ribs.

  “What?” I ask distracted, now forcing my eyes to turn away from boring into hers, and that is when it hits me that we’ve been staring at each other for far too long. Thank the gods it’s a dark night, the torches and bonfire lighting the area but not so much so that it’d been easy to notice where my attentions were fixed.

  “I’m saying, how about we perform that chant we made up last cold season. I think it’ll leave everyone in a happy note before we all retire for the night.”

  “Ummh..”

  “What is it, my prince? You seem awfully distracted today. Are you unwell..”

  “I’m perfect,” I say firmly, turning his way with a confident smile planted on my lips, and a determined look in my eyes. “Let’s get on with this,” I tell him.

  “Alright!” Chacha Renchoka says pleased, before placing his calabash bowl now empty of food to his side and jumping onto his feet with a loud whoop, announcing that he has a performance in the overly theatrical way of my people.

  It so happens that a group of girls and another young warrior announce their intentions at the same time, and with that there is to be a battle for the audience’s attention.

  Chacha releases the first cry, like that of a jungle cry, bending backwards as low as he can go as he does so, so that his head is held so low, almost past the back of his knees, letting the audience know he’s most interested in closing the night of performances tonight.

  The other young mura is just as interested, and attempts to sway the attention of the warriors to his side, by leaping into the air
so high, and then doing a cartwheel over the row seated before him, landing sure-footedly before them while letting out a loud whoop.

  Impressive! I think to myself, and the audience seems to think so, for they clap heartily and cheer him on.

  The girls are not ready to be left out, and immediately begin to wiggle their waists suggestively, with such an ease of expertise that the group of young warriors, and here I must remind you that we are yet unmarried, cheer on with obvious interest, entranced by the seduction before then. However for some reason, as delectable as these girls look, and as suggestive their dance as it is, my eyes stray away from their performance, and find bright wide globes looking back my way.

  I catch her before she can turn away, and once again catch the surprise there. I then watch as she slowly realises that I’d rather look into her eyes than watch beautiful women seduce me. That thought puzzles her a great deal, and I see her eyes narrow, and her brow furrow from the lighting of the bright warm fire between us, as she tries ponder on what I could possibly be about.

  Good! I think with almost bitter satirical intentions. Good that I should puzzle you so, because you need to pay for making me desire none other but you.

  “Prince!” Is the sharp whisper from my side. Chacha. It’s clear that he shall need my help, if he’s to command the audience's attention from the other two contenders. I force my eyes from her face, and then slowly rise to my feet.

  And with that, we’ve won the slot for the last performance. I am prince after all, and my people are always eager for a performance from me.

  Cheers and loud whoopings start, including from the girls that wanted to perform, as well as the young Bagumbe warrior.

  Chacha and I leap in synchrony to the side, as we mark our entrance into performance mode, throwing between us introductory chants that the audience actively engages us in.