King Olushola Makes Ebó

It was midnight, and the moon's darkened crescent barely lit the courtyard. King Olushola slept soundly, but his two brothers, Adejola and Abiodun, were wide awake. With a small, lit candle to find their way through the palace, they snuck outside into the courtyard, and when they were sure they were alone, they began to speak in hushed whispers.

“Soon,” said Adejola, the oldest of the two, “our brother Olushola will make his biannual trip to see the diviner Mofá.”

“And when he does,” said Abiodun, “he will leave you in charge, as always.”

“Only this time, things will be different.” Adejola cracked an evil grin; the night's shadows stretched it and made it look sinister. “When he leaves me in charge, I'm not planning on giving the throne back. I've hired an assassin. He will wait outside Mofá's house, and when Olushola leaves, he will kill our older brother.”

“And then the throne is ours for good!” Abiodun's words were a bit too enthusiastic. He covered his mouth with one hand and ducked down, as if that would muffle the sound.

“Not so loud.” Adejola put a finger to his lips and blew out the candle. For quite some time the two younger brothers crouched, hiding in the darkness. When they were convinced no one heard Abiodun's outburst, he continued. “The throne will be mine for good. You will sit at my side as my advisor.”

“Why do you get to be king?” Abiodun hissed. “What if I want to be the king?”

“Abiodun was always the brat,” Adejola thought to himself. “When a king dies without an heir, the throne always falls to the next oldest brother. Olushola has no wife. He has no heir. When he dies, by natural law the throne goes to me.” Abiodun glared at his older sibling. “Don't worry, brother. I will share my wealth with you, and one day set you up as king of your own kingdom. And if anything ever happens to me, I have no sons. My wife has given me daughters—not sons. The kingdom will go to you, my favorite brother.”

Abiodun thanked Adejola; still, he hated the plan. He wanted to be king. “One day,” Abiodun thought, “I will kill you, and be king in your place!”

image

The next morning, Olushola was packed and ready for his journey: he had his horse, his sword, and a handful of his most trusted armed guards to see him through the countryside. Adejola and Abiodun were at his side; Adejola's wife, heavy with child and about to give birth, stood at the doorway to the palace. She was too tired to see her brother-in-law off on his travels.

As he packed a few last minute supplies into his saddlebags, he told his brothers, “It is a week's journey to Mofá's house, and a week's journey back. I will stay there at least six days to rest and speak with the king about some personal business. That means I'm leaving you in charge for almost three weeks' time, Adejola.”

“As always, brother, I will care for your kingdom as if it were my own.”

“It is yours, Adejola,” said Olushola with a smile. “I'm not young. I have no wife, and no sons of my own. You are still young. One day I will die, and the kingdom will be yours.” The two men embraced.

Olushola turned to his youngest brother and held his hand warmly. “And you, Abiodun, I need you to help your brother. You were always the brightest. If anything important happens while I am gone, I want you to advise him on what to do.”

“As you wish, my king,” said Abiodun. As always, there was envy in his voice, but Olushola did not notice.

“And take care of that wife,” he said to Adejola. “After five daughters, she looks ready to drop another girl any time now!”

“I am blessed, brother!” Adejola said. “Yes, blessed,” he thought. “Still, it would be nice to have a son.” He smiled at the king.

Olushola mounted his horse and called to his guards. They left, and his two younger brothers watched and waved until they were out of sight.

Abiodun turned to his older brother. “As king, what is your first order of business?” he asked with an excited grin. Adejola put an arm on his back, and they walked back to the palace.

“It is good to be a king, even if it is only temporary!” Adejola said as he kissed his wife on the cheek.

“Your brother is old,” his wife said. “There is hope for you yet!” She smiled an innocent smile. “But I am happy living as wife to the king's brother. I am happy just being with you, my love.”

“If nothing else, I have a devoted wife,” Adejola thought. He smiled, and it was sincere.

His smile turned to a frown as she grabbed her belly and gasped, doubling slightly as if in pain. Wetness soaked her shoes. “The baby! She's ready!” she said as if amazed.

Adejola lifted her in his arms, “We're having another daughter!”

Abiodun, worried, called for the midwife.

Her sixth labor went quickly; and before the sun set, Adejola was holding his first son. “The heir to my throne!” he said proudly to his wife.

Abiodun was with them. “You aren't king yet,” he sneered.

“Yes, husband,” his wife said, her exhaustion apparent in her weak voice. “You aren't king yet. Isn't naming your son as heir a bit premature?”

“Can't a father be proud?” Adejola smiled a huge, warm grin at his newborn son.

“This isn't good,” thought Abiodun. “As long as that son lives, I will never get to be king.” Gently, he nudged the midwife. “You know what to do,” he whispered to her.

She nodded knowingly.

That night, while everyone in the palace slept, the midwife hovered over the baby's crib. The room was dark save for a sliver of light that came from the waning moon, but it was enough for her to see the newborn's face. He slept peacefully on his back. “I will be rewarded handsomely for this,” she whispered. Carefully, she turned the baby on his stomach, wadding up the blanket under his helpless face. He coughed and tried to breathe, but the blanket was too thick; he tried to cry, but those cries were muffled.

“What are you doing?” Unknown to the midwife, the baby's mother was sleeping in a chair at the far end of the room; darkness hid her from the evil woman's eyes. Silently, she awakened when she heard the midwife's whisper and her infant's frail cough. She came to the crib quickly. “Oh, my god!” she said, looking from her baby to the midwife in horror. “What were you doing?” She saw madness in the woman's eyes as she scooped her child into her arms, shaking it gently so it would breathe. “Help!” she screamed as loudly as she could, backing away from the midwife, who stood frozen in shock. “Help me! Oh God, help me!” she screamed again, running to the opposite end of the room.

Doors opened and slammed throughout the palace, and armed men came running. The baby's father, Adejola, and his brother, Abiodun, were at the front. Adejola's wife ran into his arms, sobbing. The infant was breathing normally. “She tried to kill our baby.”

Guards surrounded Adejola and his wife protectively. Abiodun bore down on the midwife. “Murderous woman,” he roared, his heart racing in his chest. He knew she was caught, and had to move quickly to cover his own tracks. “You tried to kill my nephew!”

She was about to open her mouth, to blame him when Abiodun's fist slammed into her face. She fell to the floor, screaming, blood spraying from her mouth; by reflex, a palace guard grabbed his arm, restraining him. “It was Abiodun!” she screamed through shattered teeth and split lips as he tried to get out of the guard's grasp. He put his hand to the guard's hilt, twisting out of his grip as he slid the sword from its sheath. Everyone in the room shrank back. “Abiodun said he would kill me if I didn't kill Adejola's firstborn son!” Not another word did she say; Abiodun sliced her head in two.

He stood there, panting like an animal. His eyes reddened with anger. “I was too slow!” he thought, trying to think of a way to escape the blame. He raised the sword between himself and the guards, buying time while he spoke. “She was crazed, brother!” Adejola's eyes were wide with surprise and rage. “She didn't know what she was saying. I'd never kill my own nephew.”

“Kill him,” Adejola ordered, partly for his treason and party to shut him up before he said too much. Abiodun was skewered with six swords simultaneously.

image

Six days later, Olushola sat on a mat, on a low stool facing the diviner, Mofá. The old man was disturbed. “You are in danger,” he said. “Outside these doors waits treason!”

“Treason?” asked Olushola. “Are you speaking of this empire's king? I have business with him. Surely he is a fair man? He has always been a fair man!”

“No, Olushola.” Mofá shook his head, narrowing his eyes. He pointed at the king for emphasis. “The treason comes from those closest to you, your own brothers.”

“Nonsense!”

“I am never wrong, Olushola. But if you make ebó, Eshu will take care of the treason for you.”

“Mofá, I've known you for a long time. When you were young, you were my father's diviner when he was king. But my brothers love me. Perhaps you have lost your ashé?” He looked at Mofá, but the old man's eyes were unyielding. “I'm going home. I will come back for my business with your king later. And when I see that everything is okay, I will return, and perhaps if you are well-rested and feeling better, you can divine for me again.”

Olushola got up off the mat before Mofá could mark ebó and bring the session to closure; grabbing his cloak, he told his guards who were waiting just inside the front door, “We are leaving for home now.”

“Let me water your horse first, sir,” said one of his guards as they went outside as a group. “There is a trough only a few hundred yards away. It will take me only a moment's time.” He hopped on the king's horse while the other guards hopped on their own; the king grabbed the bridle of the guard's horse and stroked its neck.

It was then that an arrow sliced through the air; it was silent and came without warning. It sliced through the guard's chest as he sat on the king's horse; he fell, dead before his body hit the earth with a muffled thump. The air in his lungs came out of him with an audible sigh; arterial blood flooded the dirt around him. There was chaos.

image

Unknown to anyone, the assassin had lain in wait for hours; when the sun rose, he was hiding on the roof of a nearby house. Adejola had given him the address to Mofá's home and told him what the royal horse looked like. When he saw the guard mounting the horse, he assumed it was the king and took aim. When the guard hit the earth, and everyone ran for him, he assumed the king was dead. He ran from that place, thinking his mission was accomplished. “I will be rewarded well!” he congratulated himself.

In horror, those in the streets ran for their lives: men yelled for their weapons, women screamed, and children cried. The king knelt over his guard's lifeless body while the others tried to pry him away, into the safety of Mofá's house. The diviner was still seated. “Will you make ebó now?” he asked.

With a hollow, ashen expression on his face, Olushola agreed. He fed Eshu everything for which he asked.

It took a week's travel, but the assassin made it to the king's palace. Guards escorted him to the throne room, where Adejola sat sorrowfully. “My own baby brother,” he thought silently. “My own baby brother tried to kill my helpless son.” The irony of his words was lost on him as he pondered the treason from his brother's hands. When his guards beat on the great doors, it broke him out of his self-pity, and when he saw his hired assassin, he was thrilled.

“This messenger says he has news for you,” one guard said.

“It's about . . . your brother, the king,” he said, feigning sorrow.

“Leave us!” Adejola ordered.

“We will wait outside, sir,” the guard said.

When the doors were closed and they were assured of privacy, Adejola asked, “How is my brother, the king?”

“Quite dead, I assure you.”

“How did he die?”

The assassin feigned a tear as he held his hands to his chest. “A single arrow sliced through his heart, clear out the other side. He was dead before he hit the ground.” He looked at the floor for emphasis, and then asked, “Now, about my reward?”

“Yes, about that reward,” said Adejola, standing and walking toward the assassin. “You must be rewarded appropriately for killing my older brother, the king.” He put his left hand on the assassin's shoulder, and held him close. In his ear, he whispered, “I wouldn't want you telling anyone the story of what happened later.” With his free hand, he plunged a dagger into the assassin's stomach. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he pushed him back.

His mouth gaped open and his eyes were wide in surprise as he held both hands over the spot the dagger sliced. There was blood trickling through his fingers. Adejola turned and smiled, looking down at his dagger. Only the tip was bloodied. He heard maniacal laughter behind him.

“You don't think I would come unprepared, do you?” He heard the rustling of cloth and the sound of a sword being unsheathed. In fear, he turned. The assassin was holding a wad of bloody cloth up in the air, waving it like a flag, and in his other hand, he held his sword. “I thought you'd do something wicked. So I padded myself just in case you chose to stick a dagger in me. Now, you can either pay me, or I can kill you.”

Adejola let out a primal, angry scream, and rushed the assassin, his dagger held high. Rage and anguish blinded his judgment. The palace guards burst through the door when they heard Adejola's scream, and watched in horror as the assassin plunged his sword through Adejola's chest. Sixteen pairs of arms beat him; they disarmed him and took him down while he screamed, “Adejola had me kill the king! He is the evildoer, not I!”

Adejola heard none of this. He was dead.

Sorrow and mourning filled the kingdom; flags were at half-mast, and villagers wore rags as if mourning the death of a great dignitary. “What has happened here?” Olushola asked his guards as they rode to his palace. None of them knew.

Palace guards met Olushola with great surprise at the gates, and they rejoiced, lifting him off his horse and into their arms. They carried him on their shoulders to the palace, where Adejola's wife was dressed for mourning. A funeral was underway for three men: Abiodun, Adejola, and Olushola; only Olushola's coffin was empty and closed. “You are alive?” Adejola's widow asked, reaching out to touch his face as if he were a ghost. “The assassin said he killed you with an arrow through the heart.”

Olushola's eyes were teary at the thought of his slain guard. “The assassin killed the wrong man,” he said, sadly.

Adejola's five daughters surrounded their uncle, and the oldest held a baby in her arms. Olushola reached out to touch it. “It's my baby brother, your new nephew. It's a boy,” she said, sorrow straining her voice.

“We celebrate one less death today!” announced Olushola to the assembly. “For as you see, I am alive! I made ebó, and I lived through the treason of my brothers!” A great roar of surprise and celebration erupted in the palace courtyard, for King Olushola was alive, and home.

The king questioned the assassin, he questioned the palace guards, and he questioned Adejola's widow. Slowly, the story of treason unraveled. He knew his brothers hired the assassin to kill him. He assumed that Abiodun, worried he would never have the throne, had the midwife attempt to murder the newborn son. And he knew that in anger, and partially to cover his own tracks, Adejola had his younger brother murdered where he stood. The assassin admitted to killing Adejola because he tried to kill him first, and he was put to death himself for his crimes.

In time, Olushola married his younger brother's wife and adopted her children as his own, for they were innocent of any crime, and when Olushola passed away in his old age, peacefully, Adejola's son inherited the kingdom.

His name was Obafemi, which means “the king loves me,” for truly Olushola loved the boy as if he were his own. History remembered him as the wisest, most loving king the kingdom ever knew.

Such is the far-reaching power of ebó.