Read Online The Call of Zulina by Kay Marshall Strom - Free Book Online
Authors: Kay Marshall Strom
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protested.
“But you will,” her father said, not unkindly but with the decisive voice of authority that told her he was the king and she would be unwise to argue further. “You will marry him because I need you to do so. It is not enough for a princess to look beautiful, Lingongo. She must also serve her people. And with the war drums beating, no one can serve this kingdom now as well as you, my daughter.”
Always, Lingongo had been the strong one — the one among all her sisters and brothers with an iron will that could not be bent. Perhaps that was why the great king chose her to seal the deal with the man who now controlled Zulina, the man through whose hands every bit of firepower in that area of Africa must pass. The one who alone could ensure who would possess the might and power of the area. And fortuitously, the one who—were he married to Princess Lingongo—would never have the strength or the will to rise up against him.
“I would rather die than endure such a marriage!” Lingongo cried. “Do not force me, Father, or I will kill myself!”
But the agreement had already been made. By the time Lingongo was informed of it, muskets and gunpowder were on their way to her father's storehouse.
“The marriage will take place tomorrow,” the king said. “You do not have to like the Englishman, my daughter. You need only be a worthy princess to me and to your people.”
Lingongo said no more. For twenty-five years, she had not liked the Englishman. But for twenty-five years, she had been a worthy princess.
Bowing to his daughter's pleas, the great king made arrangements for her to remain in his house until Joseph Winslow built and furnished his London house—two years, since so much of it arrived in sailing ships from England. But once it was completed, Lingongo's father sent his daughter to live with her husband. A cadre of slaves accompanied her that day, all bearing gifts of fine furniture (which Joseph Winslow spurned), gold jewelry (which he never saw), and fine royal cloth (which was all Lingongo ever wore from that day forward). Lingongo accepted the gifts, and she served her people well. But she did not forgive her father for exchanging her for power and wealth.
Never again could Lingongo walk proudly and hold her head high among her people. No longer did she or any children she might bear have a place in the royal line of a noble people. Never would she forget what her marriage had cost her. And never would she let Joseph Winslow forget—not for a day, not for one single minute.
Yet Joseph was far from the complete fool his wife took him to be. Although he was loath to admit it, he was well aware of where he would be without her—just another English sea captain on a slave ship, battling for survival against the treacherous sea and against the volatile crew and unpredictable human cargo packed aboard. Maybe not even that. With his love of the dice, and the abundance of rum he required to keep his fingers nimble, he needed no one to remind him that his losses in the back rooms and beside the docks were far greater than his sporadic and meager winnings.
Except on one fortuitous day. Joseph Winslow was a brash and confident young seaman back then, who loved a good game of lanterloo sharpened with a tankard of rum. In swaggered a certain boisterous captain by the name of Nathaniel Barbabella who immediately fell under the spell of the carved ivory lanterloo fish that Joseph slapped down on the table before him. With a tankard in one hand, Barbabella snatched up the dice in the other. He gave them a good shake and then tossed them across the table. Flushed with drink, he stayed in the game round after round, the stakes doubling with each play. Next morning, when the rum had worn off, Joseph Winslow announced that he was now the proud owner of Barbabella's ship along with its cargo packed full with firearms and gunpowder. In response, the distraught captain
“But you will,” her father said, not unkindly but with the decisive voice of authority that told her he was the king and she would be unwise to argue further. “You will marry him because I need you to do so. It is not enough for a princess to look beautiful, Lingongo. She must also serve her people. And with the war drums beating, no one can serve this kingdom now as well as you, my daughter.”
Always, Lingongo had been the strong one — the one among all her sisters and brothers with an iron will that could not be bent. Perhaps that was why the great king chose her to seal the deal with the man who now controlled Zulina, the man through whose hands every bit of firepower in that area of Africa must pass. The one who alone could ensure who would possess the might and power of the area. And fortuitously, the one who—were he married to Princess Lingongo—would never have the strength or the will to rise up against him.
“I would rather die than endure such a marriage!” Lingongo cried. “Do not force me, Father, or I will kill myself!”
But the agreement had already been made. By the time Lingongo was informed of it, muskets and gunpowder were on their way to her father's storehouse.
“The marriage will take place tomorrow,” the king said. “You do not have to like the Englishman, my daughter. You need only be a worthy princess to me and to your people.”
Lingongo said no more. For twenty-five years, she had not liked the Englishman. But for twenty-five years, she had been a worthy princess.
Bowing to his daughter's pleas, the great king made arrangements for her to remain in his house until Joseph Winslow built and furnished his London house—two years, since so much of it arrived in sailing ships from England. But once it was completed, Lingongo's father sent his daughter to live with her husband. A cadre of slaves accompanied her that day, all bearing gifts of fine furniture (which Joseph Winslow spurned), gold jewelry (which he never saw), and fine royal cloth (which was all Lingongo ever wore from that day forward). Lingongo accepted the gifts, and she served her people well. But she did not forgive her father for exchanging her for power and wealth.
Never again could Lingongo walk proudly and hold her head high among her people. No longer did she or any children she might bear have a place in the royal line of a noble people. Never would she forget what her marriage had cost her. And never would she let Joseph Winslow forget—not for a day, not for one single minute.
Yet Joseph was far from the complete fool his wife took him to be. Although he was loath to admit it, he was well aware of where he would be without her—just another English sea captain on a slave ship, battling for survival against the treacherous sea and against the volatile crew and unpredictable human cargo packed aboard. Maybe not even that. With his love of the dice, and the abundance of rum he required to keep his fingers nimble, he needed no one to remind him that his losses in the back rooms and beside the docks were far greater than his sporadic and meager winnings.
Except on one fortuitous day. Joseph Winslow was a brash and confident young seaman back then, who loved a good game of lanterloo sharpened with a tankard of rum. In swaggered a certain boisterous captain by the name of Nathaniel Barbabella who immediately fell under the spell of the carved ivory lanterloo fish that Joseph slapped down on the table before him. With a tankard in one hand, Barbabella snatched up the dice in the other. He gave them a good shake and then tossed them across the table. Flushed with drink, he stayed in the game round after round, the stakes doubling with each play. Next morning, when the rum had worn off, Joseph Winslow announced that he was now the proud owner of Barbabella's ship along with its cargo packed full with firearms and gunpowder. In response, the distraught captain
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