Early the next morning, the towns women and men snaked to the royal court to prepare for the day's feast. The bananas had to be peeled and shrouded in banana leaves before they could be steamed. Similarly, hundreds of bulls had to be systematically transformed into meat. The earlier task was to be accomplished by the women while the latter was for the men. Talk of the events from the thirty third shrine was still rife but the tones were low lest they incur the royal wrath. It had been decreed by the king that the day of prayers had been a complete success and that was that.
In addition to the recent victory on the battlefield, the gods had been generous with the rain. There was abundant food from the royal plantation and the cattle were well fed with the plentiful pastures. It was obvious at first sight that the feast would be as successful as the prayers if not even better.
The big feast in the capital was to be replicated by the vassals in the surrounding regions by royal decree. The royal proclamation was delivered to each vassal by word of mouth early that morning. By the middle of the day, all the Messengers had returned with the excellent news that the royal decree would be put into effect by all the vassals. There had been many feasts in the king's reign-for he was a king who loved to feast-but this was shaping up to be the most extravagant of them all. Everything was bigger or more than ever before.
The women and men sung folk songs as they went about their tasks of peeling the bananas and wrestling the bulls to the ground respectively. The humungous pots built for such occasions were wrought out of the royal stores and placed above giant fires lit all over the court. The royal chef added secret royal spices as strong men stirred the stew in the humungous vessels. It was an opportune day for all and sundry to feast like royals. The entire capital was taken over by delicious scents and sizzling sounds of cooking stews.
In another part of the court, the royal troupe was rehearsing for the final time. The instrumentalists were fine tuning their tools as the vocalists uncoarsed their throats. Mazima was present to provide some constructive criticism being the royal music enthusiast. Zabu and Mulokozi's quarters we're far away from those of other royals but very near to the troupe rehearsals. It could have been a coincidence that the situation was as such but it's worth noting that Mazima had chosen the rehearsal location and he was not completely unaware of where the quarters were. Additionally, he kept telling the performers, as a matter of constructive criticism, that they were 'not quite loud enough'. Incidentally, he nodded contentedly and grinned from ear to ear whenever that obliged him and raised the decibles. It was as if there was a person he wished to be reached by the noise but there was no way of telling for sure.
A bit past the middle of the day, the food was ready and the performers had completed their rehearsals. The king emerged from his Chambers to commence the feast. He was accompanied by his two wives and sons. Welaba was noticeably absent from the royal entourage. If he thought his absence would make the crowd forget the previous day's debacle, he could not have been more wrong. All the subjects began to whisper amongst themselves. The object of conversation could have been anything. Sola's magnificent cowrie necklace, the king's embroidered bark gown or even Nafesi's exotic new hairstyle. But all those things were likely ignored in favour of Welaba's fumble,the day before, and his absence from the king's entourage. Mazima, the ever calculating one, presented himself as regally as possible. Perhaps he imagined that Welaba might never recover and then he would be a step closer to the throne. Mulinzi mimicked everything Mazima did. The king acted like everything was just perfect as it was supposed to be.
Slowly, he raised his hands to quieten the crowd gathered in the royal court. The way the voices died made it seem like the king possessed mystical powers.
'Our warriors were victorious in battle. The gods graciously accepted our offerings.'The king spoke, 'The day of prayer could not have been more successful. This small feast is to thank you for your hard work throughout the year and to congratulate our brave warriors for a momentous victory. Remember, as you enjoy, that these are only possible in times of peace. Don't forget how this peace has come to be. Many men who went did not return. Be thankful to those who did return and most importantly, be respectful. I once again thank you, may the gods grant this feast their favour.'
And thus the feasting began. The royal troupe performed some new songs specifically composed in praise of the warriors and their leader, Welaba, who had still not shown his face. Mulokozi's was seated a fair distance away from the royal table but Sola and Nafesi made sure she could not enjoy the feast. Like their personal servant, they kept sending her on errands and giggled sheepishly as she politely obliged them. At some point, Nafesi spilled the stew Mulokozi's had brought her on Mulokozi's bark dress. Nafesi apologised that 'the stew had been wasted' and then asked Mulokozi if she could fetch her another bowl. Mulokozi sarcastically agreed that such royal stew was wasted on her filthy dress and went back to fetch Nafesi another bowl. Nafesi and Sola laughed so loudly that Mulokozi could hear their scornful voices all the way to the stew pot. Mulokozi was having a miserable time at the feast but not because of Nafesi and Sola's bullying-not at all. It was because she did not know where her son, Zabu, was. The king was seated metres away from Sola and Nafesi galloping down Calabash after Calabash of alcohol with the army commanders. Perhaps the commanders were just too loud that he could not hear Nafesi and Sola's maniacal laughter.
Zabu had wandered away from Mulokozi's side and ended up in the royal kraal a fair distance away from the festivities and yet he could not escape the royal troupe's songs. It seemed they had taken Mazima's criticisms to heart. At first, it appeared like no one was present except him and the cattle. He climbed over the enclosure of the kraal and sat on one of the cross posts. That is when he saw him in the very middle of the herd, barely on his feet, holding a guord in one hand and a machete in the other.
Any fool with a little bit of imagination could see what was about to happen. The barely sober Welaba was standing in the middle of the herd of cattle with a machete in his hand. He noticed Zabu at once and took another sip from his guord.
'what are you doing here?'he asked Zabu, 'Is the feast over, brother?'
It wasn't the first time he had called him brother but it felt much different this time. Welaba was speaking as if he viewed himself as an outcast just like Zabu was.
'I didn't think I could enjoy it.' Zabu responded as calmly as he could. He was frightened of this side of Welaba he was seeing for the first time. Welaba galloped another round of the contents of his guord and dropped the container to the ground spilling all the remnants.
'They are all laughing at me, aren't they?' Welaba jabbered as he held the machete with both hands, 'I'll show them that I can do it. I'll do it a hundred times. I'll do it a thousand times and that will show them.' With those fighting words, he swung his machete as Zabu watched.
Back at the banquet, the cattle hands came running seeking the king's attention.
'Your majesty,' they cried out, 'Prince Welaba is in the kraal. He is going to kill the cattle.'
The king took a big galloping from his Calabash and then laughed out loud.
'Let us see if he can do it!' he shouted.