The Last Princess of Saint-Domingue

A Prophecy

Dahomey, Africa

1783

Oh Nana, goddess of fertility, grant me a daughter, smooth and bright like the moon. Warm like the afternoon day. Smart like a tiger. Strong like the elephant's leg. Oh goddess of fertility, grant me a daughter-just one! One from my heart to be my sweetness, to sit with me and never go off to battle.

The Queen cried as she prayed with the most eloquent words of the Fongbe language. She was alone, prostrate on the ground, gently pressing her face to the dirt floor. At times her voice rose into a crescendo of loud wails, then returned to soft whimpering. Her body trembled. Her glowing brown skin dripped wet with sweat.

"Please," she said. "Please, please, please!"

The moon shone with indifference through the open doorway. Its silver light casted a larger than life shadow of the Queen along the mud walls, yet she did not take notice. It was Mamma who had insisted she pray with swiftness. During her morning encounter with the old woman, the Queen revealed her heart's desire for a girl-child. Mamma patiently listened then warned the Queen that trouble was coming. As she talked, her worn face folded and flapped like a freshly washed batik skirt hung to dry. This trouble will be the final trouble, she foretold. It will end the kingdom. The finality in her tone sent shivers down the Queen's spine, prompting her to silently obey Mamma's urging.

As the Queen prayed, she suddenly imagined a beautiful newborn girl suckling at her breast. She vowed to the gods that she would protect this baby from King Fon, that the child would never be touched by him; that his violence would never trouble the promised girl.

A sudden soft breeze graced her wet skin. She lifted her head and slowly stood up, ignoring her stomach which growled with regret of missing the dinner meal. She smoothed her short curly hair, wiped her face, then walked towards the doorway.

"Queen!"

It was one of her maids. As the Queen stood beneath the moon's spotlight, she watched the little girl gradually emerge from the night.

"Queen!" the girl said as she bowed. "King Fon wants you."

"Tell him I am coming," said the Queen.

The girl nodded in obedience then scurried away. The Queen lingered outside, gazing at the night sky, wondering if this summons was an answer from the ancestors or a lure to her death. She sensed it was the latter. Her advanced age had caused her many nights with the king to cease long ago. King Fon considered any wife past twenty years old to be too old for childbirth. She had given him seven boys since her marriage, one for each year, beginning when she was 12 years old and he had killed them all.

Although the Queen never spoke of her distrust of King Fon, her bitterness soured her behavior towards him. Per chance, if he had arrived at her hut one day, she would not bow to him as required. During periods of his sickness, the Queen avoided reclining at his side to soothe him as was expected from his principal wife. And to bring the greatest offense to him, she had secretly re-named all her boys after the king offered them to the shaman for the blessing. She should have been sentenced to death long ago, but for some reason, King Fon never ordered it. Until this moment, the Queen was shamelessly confident of the king's pity for her. Until this moment, she had arrogantly believed he would never harm her.

The wind shifted. The Queen looked about her hut surmising she would see it no more. She splashed cool water from a nearby bucket onto her face and feet, delicately retied her skirt to the right side and slipped on leather sandals, fixing each one carefully. Then the Queen glided towards the king's chambers with a coolness she had never known. She followed the royal guards down the open air corridor leading to King Fon's quarters. The scent of meat cooking on a nearby fire tickled her nose. Despite the aroma, she was no longer hungry for she knew the ancestors would present a feast of her favorite foods once she passed through death. When they reached the king's chambers, the royal guards stopped and turned to her. The Queen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, steadily, she placed her hand on the royal door and pushed.