Year: 1884
The accused stood before the Council of Chiefs.
Chief Adagunodo. Senior councillor. Twenty years of service. Caught passing information to British agents.
"The evidence is clear." Akenzua's voice carried through the great hall. "Letters in his own hand. Payment records from British sources. Testimony from three witnesses."
"Testimony from spies," Adagunodo spat. "From the prince's secret network of watchers."
"From loyal subjects who saw treason and reported it."
The council chamber was packed. Not just chiefs--nobles, merchants, guild representatives. Everyone who mattered in Benin's political structure had been summoned to witness.
This wasn't just a trial. It was a demonstration.
"What say the council?" The Oba's voice was formal, distant.
The vote came. Fourteen guilty. Six abstaining. None innocent.
"Chief Adagunodo. You are stripped of your title, your lands, your status. Your family name is struck from the rolls of nobility. You will be exiled beyond our borders, never to return."
Adagunodo's face twisted. "You'll regret this. All of you. The British are coming, and when they do--"
"When they do, we will face them without traitors in our midst." Akenzua gestured to the guards. "Remove him."
The disgraced chief was dragged from the hall, his curses echoing off the walls.
---
After the tribunal, a man approached.
Tall, thin, with the careful bearing of someone who measured every word. His robes marked him as a palace administrator--one of the faceless bureaucrats who kept the kingdom functioning.
"Prince Akenzua. A word, if you permit."
"Your name?"
"Aigbe. Senior record-keeper for the royal treasury." He bowed precisely. "I have information you should see."
They moved to a private alcove. Aigbe produced documents--financial records, trade reports, supply requisitions.
"Adagunodo wasn't working alone. The payments he received were part of a larger network. British funds flowing through three different channels to at least seven recipients in the court."
"You've been tracking this?"
"I've been noticing discrepancies. Numbers that didn't add up. Expenditures without proper authorization." Aigbe's voice was precise, emotionless. "I brought my concerns to Chief Osaro six months ago. He told me I was seeing patterns that weren't there."
"You didn't believe him."
"I believe numbers. Numbers don't lie. Osaro does."
Akenzua studied the documents. The pattern was clear--systematic payments disguised as legitimate trade transactions.
"Why bring this to me now?"
"Because the tribunal proved you're willing to act. Because the kingdom needs someone willing to follow these threads." Aigbe paused. "And because I'm tired of watching traitors undermine everything we've built."
"What do you want?"
"Authority. Access to all financial records, not just treasury. Permission to investigate without interference." His eyes were sharp. "And protection. The people I'll be investigating are dangerous."
"You'll have all three. Report directly to me."
---
Aigbe worked through the night.
By dawn, he had traced the payment network to its source--a British trading company operating through intermediaries in Lagos. The company's official purpose was palm oil export. Its actual function was intelligence gathering and influence operations.
"Seven confirmed recipients," Aigbe reported. "Three chiefs. Two guild officials. One priest. And someone inside the palace itself--but I haven't identified them yet."
"The three chiefs--are they in Osaro's faction?"
"Two are. The third is ostensibly neutral." Aigbe spread the documents across the table. "But the interesting pattern is timing. The payments increased dramatically after your weapons production began."
"They know something is happening."
"They know enough to pay significant sums for more information." He pointed to a specific entry. "This payment--two months ago--corresponds exactly with when the British agent was found at the forge entrance."
"The dead man. Adewale."
"His expenses were covered by this network. As were the payments to the informant who gave him the entrance pattern."
Uwagboe. Already dead. But part of something larger.
"Can we identify everyone in this network?"
"Given time and access, yes. But they'll know we're investigating. Once we move against one, the others will destroy evidence, change patterns, go to ground."
"Then we don't move against one. We move against all of them. Simultaneously."
---
The demonstration was scheduled for three days later.
Officially, it was a military exercise--a show of force for visiting dignitaries from the Urhobo territories. Unofficially, it was something else entirely.
Akenzua had arranged for the suspected traitors to be present. Not as accused--as honored guests. Let them see what they were betraying.
The training ground had been transformed. Targets at various distances. Defensive positions. A simulated battlefield.
"Twenty riflemen," Erebo announced. "Against sixty traditional warriors. Standard engagement rules."
The traditional warriors charged with spears and shields. The riflemen waited in prepared positions.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Controlled volleys. Disciplined fire. The charging warriors fell--not dead, but marked with paint that simulated wounds.
Within three minutes, forty of the sixty "attackers" were marked as casualties. The remaining twenty had never reached the defensive line.
"This is what modern warfare looks like," Akenzua said to the watching dignitaries. "And this is what we're building to defend ourselves against."
The Urhobo representatives were impressed. The suspected traitors were terrified.
---
That afternoon, Akenzua visited the forge.
The eastern section was still under reconstruction after last month's explosion. Three workers dead. A brutal reminder that progress had costs.
Igue met him at the entrance. "The new furnace design is ready. Double-layered walls. Reinforced foundations. It won't fail like the last one."
"And production?"
"Recovering. We're at fifty rifles per month. Should reach sixty again within weeks."
They walked through the workshop. The workers' faces showed exhaustion but also something else--determination. They had lost colleagues. They were still building.
"The men who died," Akenzua said quietly. "Their families?"
"Being cared for. Pensions, housing, education for their children." Igue's voice was heavy. "It's not enough. Nothing is enough."
"But it's what we can do."
Near the new furnace, a small plaque had been mounted in the stone wall. Three names. Three deaths that wouldn't be forgotten.
"Adebayo's mother sent a message," Igue continued. "She said to tell you that her son's death should mean something. That you should use what you're building well."
"Did you tell her what we're building?"
"Enough. Not the details. But enough for her to understand."
---
The coordinated arrests happened at midnight.
Seven simultaneous operations. Aigbe's network of treasury investigators, backed by Erebo's soldiers.
By dawn, six of the seven suspects were in custody. The seventh--the unidentified palace contact--had fled before they could reach him.
"He was warned," Osarobo reported grimly. "Someone inside our operation is still compromised."
"Do we know who he was?"
"A junior chamberlain. Access to the Oba's schedule, diplomatic correspondence, military movements." Aigbe's voice was tight with frustration. "If I had moved faster--"
"You moved as fast as the evidence allowed." Akenzua stared at the empty cell where the seventh man should have been. "And now he's running straight to his handlers. Which tells them we know about the network."
"They'll shut everything down. Change protocols. Go dark."
"They'll do more than that." Osarobo's voice was grim. "They'll accelerate whatever they were planning. We've just kicked a hornet's nest."
---
The backlash came within days.
Not violence--something more subtle. A petition, signed by forty-three nobles, protesting the "arbitrary arrests" and "suppression of traditional liberties."
"They're calling it tyranny," Oronmwen reported. "The prince arresting chiefs without proper trial. Executing informants. Building secret armies."
"There were trials. Adagunodo was convicted by the council itself."
"That's not the story being told in the noble quarters." Oronmwen's voice was careful. "The story being told is that you're becoming dangerous. That the fever-touched prince is seizing power and silencing anyone who questions him."
"Who's telling that story?"
"Osaro's allies. The families of those arrested. Chiefs who are worried they might be next." He paused. "And some who have no connection to the conspiracy at all. They just don't like what they see."
The petition had been organized carefully--a mix of genuine protesters and opportunists. Some were traitors covering their tracks. Others were simply frightened.
"What do they want?"
"Limitations on the prince's authority. Council oversight of all arrests. Return of exiled nobles." Oronmwen shook his head. "In practice? They want you weakened. Unable to act against them."
---
Akenzua met with the inner circle that evening.
"We have two problems," he said. "First, the escaped chamberlain. He's carrying intelligence to British handlers right now. Second, the petition. Forty-three signatures represents significant opposition."
"We can arrest the petition organizers," Erebo suggested.
"That confirms their narrative. The tyrant prince suppressing dissent."
"We can ignore the petition," Idia countered.
"That suggests weakness. The tyrant prince who isn't willing to defend his actions."
"Then what?" Esohe leaned forward. "There has to be a response."
"There is." Akenzua stood. "We address the petition directly. Not through arrests or silence--through transparency."
"Transparency about what? The weapons program? The intelligence network?"
"About the threat. The British payments. The conspiracy we've uncovered." He looked around the table. "The nobles are worried because they don't understand why we're acting. Show them why."
"That's dangerous," Osarobo said. "Once they know about the British infiltration--"
"They need to know. They need to understand that this isn't about my power. It's about survival." Akenzua's voice hardened. "Fear of me is useful. But fear of the British is more useful. Let them see what they're really facing."
The meeting continued into the night. Plans for public disclosure. Managing the narrative. Controlling the reaction.
When it ended, Aigbe remained.
"The financial trails," he said. "They lead somewhere we haven't discussed."
"Where?"
"Osaro. Not directly--he's too careful for that. But the patterns suggest coordination. The timing of payments. The selection of recipients." Aigbe's voice was quiet. "I can't prove it yet. But I believe he's been running this network from the beginning."
"Then keep investigating. Quietly."
"And when I have proof?"
"Then we'll move against him." Akenzua stared out the window at the darkening city. "But we'll need overwhelming evidence. The kind that leaves no room for doubt."
"That could take months."
"Then take months. Get it right." He turned back to face the administrator. "In the meantime, we prepare for the backlash. The petition is just the beginning."
Outside, torches flickered in the noble quarters. The petition had been delivered to the palace gates. Forty-three signatures demanding limits on the prince's power.
The consolidation was working. The traitors were being exposed. The institutions were being tested.
But resistance was growing.
And the harder they pushed, the harder the push-back would become.