I stared at the child. Turunesh caught him by the shoulder and made him turn around to face us.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Candake said it, do you not remember, Goewin? She said that Caleb would retire to the dragon’s hermitage while Ella Amida patched up his empire. That is Debra Damo, isn’t it? In Ras Priamos’s book of maps there is a picture of a dragon guarding it.”
“Is there nothing that escapes your attention?” Turunesh gave her son’s shoulder an abrupt shake and let go of him. Then she sighed and absently threw another handful of grain for the birds at our feet.
I said in wonder, “Might Caleb have gone to Debra Damo?”
“He might indeed,” Turunesh answered. “He has been there before. He took Medraut to visit there.”
She reached out to touch my hand. “If Caleb is in Debra Damo—he would pardon Priamos. And he would see to Telemakos’s safety himself, I know it. He would do it for Medraut.” She did not take her eyes off Telemakos. “They do not allow women in the monastery, but we could take the boy to be our messenger.”
“Are you sure Candake meant Debra Damo?”
“We can ask her,” Turunesh said. She knelt by Telemakos and said gently at his ear, “Shall we take up Candake’s invitation to join her at the Feast of the Cross?”
So Turunesh and Telemakos and I sat with Candake throughout the endless Meskal ceremony in the cathedral square, while the courtiers and soldiers of the Aksumite court pledged another year’s service to their empire.
Constantine greeted me most civilly when we arrived, before the formalities began. I am sure he was feeling more smug than he allowed himself to behave, seeing me and my hosts well-guarded.
“The rains are over,” he said, “and in a few months the winds will change. You will be able to go home soon, my cousin. I pray that you will take me with you, and not some lesser instrument.”
“What will you do with the regency here?”
“I have arranged that Danael will become viceroy. I cannot turn over the kingship to Wazeb while his father lives, without his father’s blessing; Caleb has forbidden it.”
Then he turned to respond to some other minister, and Turunesh and I sought Candake. I knew Constantine would not speak to me again that day. He avoided the queen of queens.
Candake had her own stand, close to the thrones of the viceroy and the emperor-in-waiting, but clearly separate from them. She bellowed a greeting to us and banned my guards with her own. They laughed and saluted one another as she ordered us to sit beneath her fringed umbrellas of green and scarlet silk, and set about feeding us fried cakes.
Candake explained for us, loudly, every detail of the parade.
“Those are the officers who lead the fleet. That is Anda, a very nasty man; he has charge of the Arabian prisoners who toil in the northern gold mines. HOW MANY HAVE YOU SLAIN THIS YEAR, ANDA?”
No one dared laugh at her, or shut her up.
“Those squadrons patrol the Highway of the Cataracts. Those with the arrows on their helms patrol the lands of the Beja, where emeralds come from.”
She knew everyone; she knew everything. Hours passed, and she did not fail to identify a single officer. She fed us so much that Telemakos was sick. As the day wore on and his wild excitement began to reshape itself into wild boredom, she taught him finger games and made her attendants arrange his arms and legs and chair as they arranged hers. She was the only one of us who did not flag in her enthusiasm for the spectacle, and the only one of us who seemed to remain in perfect humor. Telemakos finally fell asleep with his head in her enormous lap.
“His hair is not so silken as yours, is it, Goewin, little Sheba? But such a color, like the snow of the Simien Mountains! Your brother let me put his own icy hair into plaits once. He looked like a gorgon.”
She sighed, and smoothed a hand over Telemakos’s head. Then she gave another chuckle.
“There are the bala heg at last. When they have finished, we can go home. The afa negus must take his turn before them, though, HALEN, you let my son speak FIRST.”
At her sudden shout, Telemakos raised his head with a jerk and stared at the parade. There, alongside his tutor, was Priamos. When Candake called out to the afa negus, they both looked across at us. Priamos made a bow to his mother, and saluted me like a soldier. He must have been no more than ten feet away from me as he knelt before Wazeb. It was the first I had seen him in nearly six weeks.
“Goewin, Goewin,” said Telemakos, pulling at my elbow, “you are crying! Look, my lady queen, you’ve made her weep, shouting like that.”
“It’s the sun,” I snapped at him.
Turunesh took hold of his hands and held him close against her. She whispered at his ear, “Hush, my love. This is a solemn ritual now. Not another word from you till it is over. Only listen.”
Candake, in her single minute’s silence of the afternoon, listened as Priamos renewed his vows of service to his sovereign and state, first to Wazeb and then to Constantine.
“Hum,” she grunted, when he had finished. “Men! They come and go, they snatch at power, they wander off to beat each other over the head. But I stay in one place, and they all come back to me: brothers, nephews, sons. The lioness is the pride’s heart, not the coalition.”
Priamos joined the ranks of other officers across the square. He was guarded even now. He did not dare to look at me again.
“Is he well?” I asked.
“Aye, as may be, girl,” Candake said darkly. “As may be. Losing his temper last month did him no great service.”