"Surely there is resistance to the canal," I said.

"There are the villages of the Ngao region, on the northern shore," said Ayari. "There is trouble there."

"That is the most organized resistance," said the man on my left.

"The canal is expensive," I said. "It must constitute a financial strain on the coffers of the ubarate of Bila Huruma. This must generate discontent in his court. The work levies, too, must be resented by the villages."

"Those of Schendi, too," said Ayari, "are not too pleased with the project."

"They fear Bila Huruma," I said.

"Yes," said Ayari.

"There are mixed feelings in Schendi," said the man to my left. "She would stand to profit if the canal were completed."

"That is true," said Ayari.

There was shouting from ahead. Askaris rushed forward.

"Lift me up," said Ayari. He was not large.

I lifted him to my shoulders.

"What is it?" asked the man to my left.

"It is nothing," said Ayari. "It is only a raiding party of three or four men. They threw their spears and then fled. The askaris are pursuing them."

I lowered Ayari again to the water.

"Was anyone killed?" asked the man to my left.

"No," said Ayari. "The workers saw them and withdrew."

"Last night," said the man, "ten men were killed." He looked at us. "And none were chained," he said.

"It is true," said Ayari, "that we would be much at the mercy of such raiders."

"It is unlikely that such, however," I said, "could truly do more than delay the progress of the canal,"

"Yes," said Ayari.

"Could they not free and arm the work crews?" asked the man to my left.

"The men of the work crews are not of their tribes," said Ayari. "You think like one of Schendi, not one of the interior." Ayari waved at the lines of men behind us. "Besides," said he, "most of these men are, in their way, loyal subjects of Bila Huruma. When their work tours are finished they return to their villages. Most of them would not be again impressed for labor for two or three years."

"Ah," said the man to my left, disgustedly.

"There are two obvious ways in which Bila Huruma might be stopped," said Ayari. "First, he must be defeated. Second, he might be killed."

"The first," I said, "Is unlikely, considering his army and Its training. There is nothing in these terrains which is likely to be able to meet it in open battle."

"There are the rebels of the northern shore of Ngao," said the man.

"How can they be rebels?" I asked.

"Bila Huruma, in virtue of the discoveries of Shaba," said Ayari, "has claimed all lands in the Lake Ngao region. Those who oppose him are thus rebels."

"I see now," I said. "To be sure, the distinctions of statecraft sometimes elude me."

"It is basically simple," said Ayari. "One determines what one wishes to prove and then arranges one's principles in such a way that the desired conclusion follows as a demonstrable consequence."

"I see," I said.

"Logic is as neutral as a knife," he said.

"But what of truth?" I asked.

"Truth is more troublesome," he admitted.

"I think you would make an excellent diplomat," I said.

"I have been a fraud and charlatan all my life," said Ayari. "There would thus be no transition to make."

"Five days ago," said the man to my left, "hundreds of askaris, in canoes, went past us, east, before you were entered upon our chain."

"Their objective?" I asked.

"To meet and defeat in battle the rebel forces of Kisu, former Mfalme of the Ukungu villages."

"If they are successful," said Ayari, "that will finish organized resistance to Bila Huruma."

"They will be successful," said the man.

"Why did you say 'former Mfalme'?" I asked.

"Bila Huruma," he said, "it is well known, has bought off the chieftains of the Ukungu region. In council they have deposed Kisu and, placed their leader, Aibu, in power. Kisu then withdrew with some two hundred warriors, loyal to him. to continue the fight against Bila Huruma."

"In the arts of politics," said Ayari, complacently, "gold is more insidious than steel."

"He should withdraw to the forests, to continue the fight from there," I said.

"War from the forests," said Ayari, "is effective only against an enemy which is weak or humane. The weak enemy lacks the power to exterminate the population of the forest. The humane enemy will not do so. Bila Huruma, unfortunately, I fear, is neither weak nor humane."

"Surely he must be stopped," I said.

"Perhaps he could be killed," said Ayari.

"He is well guarded, surely," said the man to my left.

"Surely," said Ayari.

"Our only hope," said the man to my left, "is a victory by the forces of Kisu."

"Five days ago" said Ayari, "the askaris went east to engage him in battle."

"Perhaps, by now," said the man to my left, "the battle has taken place."

"No," I said. "It is surely too soon."

"Why?" asked Ayari.

"Kisu is severely outnumbered," I said. "He would maneuver for position. He would choose his time of battle with great care."

"Unless it were forced upon him," said Ayari.

"How could that be?" I asked.

"Do not underestimate the efficiency of the askaris of Bila Huruma," said Ayari.

"You speak," I said. "as though they were professional warriors, under astute generalship, skilled in scouting, in flanking and cutting off retreats."

"Listen!" said Ayari. He held up his hand.

"I hear it," I said. "Can you make it out?"

"Quiet!" said Ayari. "I am listening."

It was only some two pasangs away, ahead of us, and nearing us. But, in a moment its message was taken up from behind us, some four pasangs down the workway, west, leading toward Ushindi. It would then, swiftly, station to station, be transmitted back to the grass palace of Bila Huruma.

"The forces of Kisu have been met in battle and defeated." said Ayari. "That is the message of the drum."

Askaris about us were lifting their weapons over their heads and shouting with pleasure.

Behind us, further down the workway, too, men were shouting with pride, many lifting their shovels.

"Look!" said Ayari.

I could see the craft now. It was a shallow-drafted, dismasted dhow. It was being drawn by dozens of men, wading in the marsh, pulling on ropes. They wore slave collars. They were chained together, in groups of eight or ten, by the neck. Askaris, some wading, some in canoes, flanked them. The askaris were jubilant, resplendent in their skins and feathers, with their golden necklaces and armlets, their narrow, tufted shields and short-handled stabbing spears. On the foredeck of the dhow there was mounted a log drum. On this, methodically, an askari drummer, with two long sticks, was heating out, again and again, the message of victory. Many askaris, too, rode the dhow, mostly officers, judging from the arrangements of their gold and feathers, for it is by these things, serving as insignia, that their rankings to those who could read them, as I could not, were made clear. Behind the dhow, some wading and others in canoes, came more than a thousand askaris. In place of the mast on the dhow, mounted in the mast socket, was a «T» frame with a small crossbar mounted on the vertical beam. On this «T» frame a man was chained. His arms were placed over and behind the horizontal bar of the frame, his hands chained together, the chain running before his body, holding him to the frame. His feet had been positioned on the small crossbar. His ankles were also chained, a loop of chain holding them close to the vertical beam. He was a large man, with tattooing. He had apparently been wounded and, surely, had been much beaten. I thought that he might be dead but, as the dhow came closer, I saw him, possibly revived by the shouting and noise, raise his head. He then straightened his body and, as he could, stood proudly, head high, surveying us, on the frame.