NYU Black Renaissance Noire Winter/Spring 2012 | Page 16

“The King is sacred, my son, and
everyone in Mapungubwe knows that.
Everyone respects the King.”
“Not enough,” said Rendani. “Now
that there is all this wealth flowing in
the land, there may be some people
who delude themselves that they are
equal to the King, who may even want
to dress like the King.”
Zwanga gave his son a long puzzled look.
“I am not saying there are such people
already,” Rendani added hastily, “but I
think it is our responsibility to stop bad
things before they happen.”
“I still don’t understand what you are
suggesting, Rendani.”
Deliberately and respectfully Rendani
outlined his plan to the old man: in the
same way that the Swahili merchants
brought mirrors, glass beads, fine cotton
cloth and ceramics into the town in
exchange of gold, copper and ivory, they
are bound to bring more silk sooner
or later. Some wealthy commoners down
the hill might get it into their heads to
buy silk to wrap around their common
b