Chapter 36 - The Seeds of Greed and Rebellion
The grand hall of Sultan Muhammad Ibn's palace was a place of excess. Golden chandeliers hung from high ceilings, their polished surfaces reflecting the warm glow of countless oil lamps. The air was thick with the scent of incense, masking the underlying musk of sweat and ambition. At the center of it all sat the Sultan, reclining on a cushioned throne, his rotund frame draped in the finest silks imported from across the sea.
Before him, his ministers sat in a semi-circle, each man adorned in embroidered robes, their fingers weighed down by rings of gold and gemstones. Servants knelt beside them, pouring tea and offering trays of sweet dates and spiced meats. But the food was untouched, their attention fixed on their ruler.
Sultan Muhammad Ibn tapped his thick fingers against the armrest of his throne, his expression twisted with hunger—not for food, but for something far more intoxicating.
"Wealth beyond measure," he murmured, savoring the words as if they were the finest delicacy. "And it sits in the hands of nameless peasants? A backwater kingdom that has no proper place in the world?"
The ministers exchanged glances, their own greed mirroring their ruler's.
A thin, sharp-faced man, Wazir Fahad, leaned forward. "If their wealth is as great as the delegates claim, my Sultan, we must act swiftly. Allow me to send traders—let us propose an alliance. If they are fools, they will welcome us, and we will take what we need without raising a single sword."
The Sultan scoffed. "Why ask for crumbs when we can feast upon the whole meal?" He straightened, his eyes gleaming. "I want it all. Their gold, their iron, their land, their people. I want their king kneeling before me in chains, their warriors broken, their women and children serving in my courts. There is no need for pleasantries."
His general, Malik, grinned at the words. "Then we must move quickly. The delegates are stranded here, unable to send word back home. If we seize one of them—break him—we can force him to guide us to Nuri."
The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of the plan settling upon them. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across the Sultan's face.
"Yes... Yes! Let them be the architects of their own downfall." He laughed, his voice booming across the hall. "They think themselves free? They will soon learn the only true power in this world is that of the Sultanate of Kilwa."
His ministers laughed along with him, their excitement growing. The fate of Nuri had been sealed—at least, in their eyes.