Year: 1882
The market riot started at dawn.
Akenzua heard the screaming before the messenger arrived—shouts, breaking pottery, the crash of overturned stalls.
"The grain market. Someone dumped spoiled millet into the fresh supplies. Merchants are fighting. A woman was trampled."
By the time Akenzua reached the market, the chaos had spread. Smoke rose from burning stalls. Palace guards struggled to separate brawling merchants. Women clutched children and fled.
"What happened?"
"Contamination." The market chief's face was ashen. "Three days of grain supplies—ruined. Someone mixed rotted stores with fresh. By the time we noticed, it was sold across half the city."
"Accidents don't spread across half a city."
"No. They don't."
Osaro's counter-move. Attack the economy. Create panic. Undermine faith in Akenzua's leadership.
"How many families affected?"
"Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Children will get sick. Some will die."
The general's mind calculated casualty estimates. The prince's heart burned with rage.
"Find out who sold the contaminated grain. Trace every source."
"That could take days."
"You have hours. Before the dying starts."
---
Osarobo's investigation revealed the pattern within two days.
"The contaminated grain came through three merchants. All connected to trading houses that receive goods from Osaro's network."
"He poisoned his own people's food supply to hurt me."
"He poisoned poor people's food supply. His allies eat imported grain from the coast." Osarobo's voice was flat. "It's clever. You can't prove direct connection. But everyone knows where the contamination came from."
"What are people saying?"
"That the prince focuses on weapons while children starve. That modernization brings suffering."
The propaganda war was as important as the military one. And Akenzua was losing.
"We need counter-measures. Food relief. Medical support."
"That costs resources we've allocated to weapons production."
"Then we reallocate. What good are rifles if the people hate us?"
---
The council session became a battleground.
"The prince proposes diverting treasury funds to market relief." Osaro's voice dripped false concern. "Noble sentiment. But the treasury exists for state functions, not charity."
"Children dying from poisoned grain is a state function."
"Children dying from hunger is regrettable. Children dying from British rifles would be permanent."
The argument was almost persuasive. Almost.
"The people need to see that their government protects them. Stability requires trust."
"Stability requires strength. Strength requires weapons." Osaro turned to the chiefs. "The prince asks you to choose between preparing for invasion and feeding the poor. Which serves Benin better?"
Akenzua saw the calculation on the chiefs' faces. Most would side with Osaro's cold logic.
"I'm not asking to abandon preparation. I'm asking to demonstrate that we protect all our people—not just those who can afford imported grain."
"A touching sentiment from a prince who has never missed a meal."
The Oba raised his hand.
"The treasury will allocate half the requested funds. The prince will supplement from his personal resources."
A compromise. Neither victory nor defeat.
But Osaro smiled as he bowed. He had forced the choice. And the choice itself—weapons versus welfare—would echo through the court for months.
---
Chief Osaro struck again the next day.
"The prince must marry."
The words dropped like stones. Akenzua kept his face neutral.
"The succession must be secured," Osaro continued. "A royal marriage strengthens alliances, demonstrates that the throne looks toward the future."
"Who does the council suggest?"
"The daughter of Chief Obaseki would be a worthy match. Ancient lineage, significant dowry, political connections."
Obaseki was Osaro's creature. His daughter would be Osaro's agent.
"Has the Ezomo been consulted? The military voice?"
"Matters of royal marriage belong to the council."
"The man who commands our armies has no weight in choosing the future queen?"
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
The Oba raised his hand. "The Ezomo will be summoned."
---
Ezomo Erebo arrived within the hour.
"Osaro suggested the daughter of Chief Obaseki."
"She would bring court influence." Erebo's expression remained stone. "But only what the court has too much of already."
"What would bring more?"
"My daughter. Esohe."
Akenzua waited.
"She carries my blood. My alliance. My soldiers." The Ezomo leaned forward. "I've watched what you're building. You need military support that cannot be shaken by court intrigue."
"Your loyalty for your daughter?"
"My loyalty for a prince who understands what's coming. My daughter is not a prize. She's a warrior's daughter. She would be a partner."
"What would you want in return?"
"Influence over military reforms. Access to what you're building. And a guarantee that my daughter will be queen—not a secondary wife, but queen."
"I would need to meet her first."
---
Esohe stood among the flowering plants like a spear planted in the ground.
Tall. Lean. Sharp angles and fierce eyes. Practical clothing rather than elaborate wrappings.
"Prince Akenzua."
"I'm not a princess yet. That depends on decisions not yet made."
"Perhaps we could speak honestly."
"You first."
"I need your father's support. This marriage is political."
"Refreshing. Most suitors compose poetry."
"I don't have time for poetry."
"My father says you're different since your illness. That you're building something that might save us."
"What do you think?"
"Show me what you're really building. The truth. Then I'll decide."
---
The hidden forge glowed with contained fire.
Esohe surveyed the production line—rifles in various stages, organized stations, systematic manufacturing.
"How many?"
"Nearly eighty. About fifteen per month, growing."
"Against how many British soldiers?"
"Thousands. Eventually."
"Then this isn't enough."
"No. But it makes the cost of conquest high enough to give pause."
She picked up a rifle. Examined it with understanding eyes.
"I have conditions."
"Name them."
"I'm not a decoration. If I'm queen, I'll be queen. With authority."
"Agreed."
"You answer too quickly."
"I need partners, not puppets."
"Even when she disagrees with you?"
"Especially then."
She extended her hand—firm, confident.
"Then we have an understanding."
---
That night, Osaro met with his allies.
Osarobo's agent reported every word.
"The Ezemo's daughter. Interesting choice." Osaro's voice was thoughtful. "She'll be loyal to her father. Which means loyal to the prince."
"A setback."
"A complication. Nothing more." Osaro smiled. "The marriage creates its own opportunities. A warrior's daughter in the royal household. Proud. Fierce. Unlikely to accept secondary status gracefully."
"What do you propose?"
"We exploit her strengths. Her independence. Her ambition. When the prince makes decisions she disagrees with—and he will—we ensure she has alternatives. Voices in her ear suggesting different paths."
"Turn the queen against her husband?"
"Turn the queen into a force we can manipulate. Slowly. Carefully. A divided royal household is a weak royal household."
"And if she's immune to manipulation?"
"Then we find other pressure points. Her father's loyalty depends on his daughter's position. Threaten the position, influence the father."
The conspiracy was already planning to weaponize the marriage.
But so was Akenzua.
The game had entered a new phase. And the pieces were still being positioned.
---
END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN