The Time Merchant

Manfred stood uncomfortably hot in the middle of the dusty African kraal. Behind him stood his tall, dark assistant dressed, like Manfred, in European clothes of the time period, entirely inappropriate for the African heat. In front of him sitting cross-legged on a short stool, was a middle-aged man of tightly controlled energy, tall and dark with sinewy muscles and not an ounce of fat. The man sat resplendent in leopard skins and black widow bird feathers adorning his waist and loins. White oxtail hairs fluttered on his biceps and thighs as he lazily beat away flies with an oxtail whisk; the motion only hinting at the constrained vigor in his eyes.

The guard escorting Manfred and his assistant explained their undetected arrival deep within the Zulu borders with a story that hinted at the use of magic. Manfred had hoped his unexpected arrival would sow fear into the heart of the Zulu Chief. Shaka showed cool regard for the Caucasian merchant and his African assistant. He spoke to the guard, loud enough for all to hear, with a deep, vibrant voice and a wry smile on his lips. His guard motioned and two other African Warriors sprinted off towards the direction of the entrance to the kraal. Deadly purpose filled their eyes. The crowd of people gathering to watch Manfred’s audience chuckled.

Manfred’s assistant whispered in his ear, “Shaka does not believe magic aided our arrival undetected. He thinks the border patrols are getting sloppy and need a reminder of how to stand a proper watch.”

Manfred looked at the men and women gathering in the kraal. King Shaka’s direct action had put them at ease. Nonplussed, Manfred mentally moved on and focused on his goal. He knew the only thing the Zulu really valued was cattle, and could see hundreds of heads of cattle over the Kraal wall down in the valley below. That was his target. Manfred would trade his goods for cattle, then exchange the cattle for gold in this time's Cape Town.

Manfred also knew Shaka would be interested in his goods, despite what the scientists and engineers at the Time Travel Institute said. He remembered sharing his plans with an engineer friend before making his final arrangements to travel back in time.

“Manfred, you are playing with fire.” He said while Manfred was filling out the release paperwork that cleared the institute of liability.

“Why?” Manfred replied, “I can’t actually change our history, I mean it is only a parallel reality.”

“True, Manfred but you can still affect the people of the time and place you are travelling to…”

“Am I breaking any laws?” Manfred demanded.

“No, not yet…but governments are talking.”

“So, I need to take advantage now before regulation sets in.” Manfred concluded triumphantly, signing his name with a flourish. He handed the paperwork to his friend.

The engineer shook his head as he accepted the paperwork, “You are missing the point, Manfred. You are going to time periods and places to trade with people whom by virtue of their strong personalities and talents changed the very course of history. You are going to offer them tools that were not readily available to them and tamper with their strategies. You are not fully considering your actions. There is a temporal inertia at work in the universe. The universe will strike a balance, and you may regret the outcome.”

“Pah, they’re just savages,” Manfred replied dismissively, “and I’m going to make a ton of money trading with them. Admit it, you are just upset because you didn't think of it first. This is going to be far more lucrative than the institute's Time Tourist scheme.”

So here was Manfred three hundred and fifty years in his relative past, looking at the great King Shaka, the Napoleon of Africa, near the height of his reign, hoping to pawn him some weapons.

Shaka surprised him by speaking heavily accented but slow and understandable English.

“You say you have something to show me umhwebi omhlophe.”

“Yes, King Shaka.” Manfred said, eschewing the use of his assistant/interpreter. “A marvelous invention that will make your armies even greater than they are.”

King Shaka gestured towards Manfred with his oxtail flywhisk for him to proceed.

Manfred motioned over to his assistant, a Zulu from Manfred’s own time, who stood by a crate filled with five wooden composite bows and five quivers of arrows. As the assistant pulled out the bow, the assembly broke out into laughter.

Shaka motioned with both hands for the crowd to be quiet. His eyes held no mirth as he spoke again slowly, “We have no need of naBathwa hunting tools here, for we are Zulu, conquerors of the Ndwandwe.”

The warriors in the group began an ominous mumble. They may not have understood the words, but they did get the gist of Shaka’s conversation.

Manfred had expected such a response. “King Shaka, these are no mere hunting implements, these are the weapons of a warrior race that conquered the largest empire the world has ever known. These are man-killers as well as leopard-slayers, meant to pierce the strongest shield from incredible distances.”

While Manfred was making his speech, his assistant set a cowhide shield against the wall of the kraal 100 paces away. “Please King Shaka, allow me to demonstrate.”

The assistant notched an arrow and drew the bowstring back to his ear. The crowd went silent with anticipation. The assistant released the string with an audible twang and the arrow sped through the center of the shield, completely piercing it and striking the wall behind. The Kraal filled with murmurs of the strength of the bow.

King Shaka stood up quickly, face impassive, and walked towards the assistant. He regarded the bow carefully and indicated that he wanted to try. The assistant demonstrated the technique to Shaka, then handed him the bow with an arrow already notched. Shake drew the string back to his chest and released the arrow. It sped from the bow erratically, whizzing close to the edge of the crowd, nearly striking one a female onlooker. She screamed and bolted to the delight of the others.

Shaka grunted and notched another arrow. The crowd prudently moved back to give the arrow a respectful berth. He pulled back to his ear this time as indicated by the assistant, aimed, and released the arrow with much more control. This time the arrow sped down towards the target, but missed by two feet and stuck in the Kraal wall. Shaka notched one more arrow, carefully aimed, and stuck the arrow through the shield into the wall behind with a solid thunk. The crowd excitedly murmured their approval.

Shaka brought the bow back to his circle of advisers. They all took turns inspecting it and pulling back its string. The assistant brought out the other bows and Shaka’s advisers began to try their luck at the target. Some began an animated discussion near Shaka gesticulating quickly, drawing tactics in the air.

Shaka looked up and spoke again slowly to Manfred, “This weapon, how is it made.”

Manfred smiled to himself. He had the sale, and was practically counting the cattle and gold. “The bows are made of wood glued and laminated in several layers to give it more strength than a Bushman’s bow, yet still retain its flexibility.” What Manfred didn’t say was that no one could make this bow for ten thousand miles, and that he could mass produce the bow back in his own time for a fraction of the cost. Manfred had 1500 mass manufactured bows waiting back in his own time for immediate delivery to the Zulu Chief.

Shaka nodded his head, concentrating on Manfred’s words. He sat again cross-legged on his stool. “You have many more than these? What do you want for these weapons?”

Manfred looked at Shaka coolly. A cow back in his time could be bought for between $1000.00 and $1500.00. A personal military weapon could be bought for between $500.00 and $800.00. He figured three cows per five bows was an excellent price at about $600.00 to $900.00 per bow. Two cows were worth about an ounce of gold back in his time, but an ounce of gold now was worth less than $20.00, meaning a cow could be sold in this time for about $10.00. Basically, one cow was worth about half an ounce of gold. So, for his whole inventory of mass produced bows he would make over $1.3 million gross. Not bad for a business trip that only cost $50,000.

Of course, Manfred had already done the math before the trip, he was just reminiscing about the money he was about to make. Pausing for effect. Now, it was time to be shrewd.

Manfred made his first offer. “One cow per bow.” Basically, half an ounce of gold per bow. The crowd gasped when Manfred’s words were translated. Shaka stood nonplussed. He made his counter offer.

“Ten Cows per bow.” The crowd looked shocked. Had their King gone mad?

Manfred’s heart skipped a beat. Had he heard correctly? His mind was reeling with the math and lack of logic. That was five ounces of gold per bow. That was nearly 470 pounds of gold for the entire order, 17 gold bars! Manfred could no longer hide his pleasure.

“Sold, King Shaka. I have 1500 bows ready for immediate delivery. I can have them here in two days.”

Shaka stared levelly into Manfred’s eyes. He did not smile but spoke in his same slow and accented English, “You misunderstand me umhwebi omhlophe. I just wish to purchase the five you have here.”

Little chuckles began to go around the crowd as the reality of what just occurred was translated back and forth. Manfred began to feel his ears go pink, his visions of riches evaporating. Fifty cows meant only about 25 ounces of gold. That was barely past Manfred’s break-even point. More importantly this overgrown savage was making a fool of him!

“King Shaka, surely you need more than just the five. Be reasonable. I can sell you enough weapons to make your army invincible--”

King Shaka interrupted and spoke with a voice as hard and as cold as steel. “My army is already invincible. I do not need you for that. I will take the five bows and you will show me the secret of how to make them for ten cows per bow.”

That was too much for Manfred. “No Shaka. If you do not buy the weapons from me, then perhaps someone else would be more interested in having an invincible army.”

King Shaka eyes never left Manfred’s. He made a motion with his oxtail whisk. A knobbed club from one of Shaka’s warriors smashed into the skull of Manfred’s assistant, spattering blood and bits of brain across the dusty kraal floor. Manfred reached into the pocket of his vest for a nerve burner, but was grappled from behind before he could pull it out. He was man handled to his knees in front of King Shaka.

Shaka looked disdainfully down at Manfred breathing heavily below him. “Do you think that I am such a fool as to depend my greatness on a weapon I cannot build myself. I improved the assegai from a dart to the iklwa that is feared by all on the plains. I trained the amabutho to fight in the formation of a buffalo defeating armies twice the size of mine. I did this without your weapons, and I will either make your weapons myself, or I will prevent my enemies from having them. You are a fool umhwebi omhlophe to think me to allow otherwise.”

Manfred finally realized that his situation was desperate, “Wait, King Shaka please if you will just listen to reason. The bows I have are close by. I can get them, and show you how to make them. But you must understand you lack the raw materials to make as many as I can offer. Plus, I can make them so much faster. As many as you might desire. We can reach a reasonable price. Please King Shaka, Listen to me!”

A motion from King Shaka signaled one of his warriors to end Manfred’s final offer.