His own words made him flinch. The bowl at his fingertips went flying off the tray and shattered on the floor in a mess of clay and water.
Anako stammered, “Mercy demands—”
The emperor cut him short. “This would be a slow and cruel death,” said Gebre Meskal quietly. “He may survive a week on such a regime, but so little of a skin is not sufficient water for a man laboring in the desert.”
Telemakos said through his teeth, “It is for a child.”
A gasp at his back made Telemakos look behind him. His grandfather, and Ityopis of the bala heg, and two of the pages, and even Karkara, were all weeping shamelessly. His aunt was bent double with her head caught and hidden in her arms, pulling at her hair with taut fingers, her whole body shaking.
Telemakos stood appalled at his own carelessness. He had given himself away.
His father did not weep. He stood up and rapped Goewin on the back of her head with the edge of his hand. Medraut spoke to her hoarsely, but aloud:
“So your brother is avenged.”
Nearly every head in the hall turned to stare at Medraut in thunderstruck astonishment. Even the emperor stared at him.
Only Goewin did not. She sobbed gaspingly, her head still clutched in her arms. Telemakos felt all his poise slipping away. He had known how cruelly this would hurt Goewin.
“You vengeful harridan,” said Medraut coldly.
Goewin cried out as though in pain, as though there were a knife between her ribs.
“Telemakos—Telemakos, forgive me, I never knew—I knew you suffered, but you would not say—you never spoke of this—”
Medraut looked down at her wrathfully. The hard hand with which he had struck her was poised over her bent neck, as though he meant to strike her again but could not bring himself to touch so contemptible a creature a second time.
Telemakos stormed at his father in fury, “Goewin is crying for me. You are wallowing in guilt for what you did five years ago to your dead brother. How can you be so selfish, so blind? You cannot heap all the burden of blame on Goewin’s shoulders! It was my decision to go to Afar, my own; and but for your lousy leaking water bag I should not have had to surrender myself!”
Then Medraut’s head sank and his shoulders slumped as though he had been dealt a mortal wound, and Telemakos faltered. He tried to explain. “I mean, we are all in it together. None of us is innocent; none of us is alone.”
Medraut spoke heavily, in a hoarse whisper:
“You were both.”
The emperor’s voice rang with warning, sharp and deadly even: “You have not been given leave to speak, Ras Meder.”
The words seemed to hang echoing throughout the hall for a long, frozen moment. The emperor rebuked Medraut again in the same chill, level voice, saying simply, “‘Physician, heal yourself.’”
Medraut fell back into his seat by his sister. Now they were bent double side by side, both with their faces in their hands, while Telemakos stood helplessly between them with no idea what to do or say next.
“Lij Telemakos,” continued Gebre Meskal calmly, “this court remains in session. I have asked you to suggest a sentence for this criminal. Have you given it?”
“I have. I—” Telemakos said, and clenched his fists. He hated Anako, but he did not want to be like Anako. “I have not. Plague take him! Send him into exile outside Aksum. Give him a choice: Afar or exile. Salt or plague. Maybe he will be lucky.”
Telemakos stopped, and sighed. The emperor turned to the cringing Anako, who at this attention prostrated himself at Gebre Meskal’s feet. Karkara had not stopped weeping.
“This is a formal trial of the Aksumite Empire, not a house of mourning or confessional,” Gebre Meskal stated, his voice still dangerously controlled. “Lij Telemakos, escort your father and the British ambassador to a place where they may better compose themselves. We will proceed without you.”
Telemakos offered his arm to Goewin. She took it, and let him lead her, shielding her eyes with her other hand and shaking still with choking sobs. Medraut bowed to the emperor and followed them out.
Telemakos went where he always went for solace, straight to Solomon and Sheba.
The keeper was there. Telemakos led Goewin to the little garden of tall, bright flame flowers above the lion pit, and made her sit on the stone bench set against the railing. He called down to the keeper. “Nezana, can we have Solomon up here?”
“Is that you, Telemakos?”
“Is there another who comes along asking to play with your lions?”
“Who’s with you?”
“My father and my aunt.”
“Yes, all right. Let me muzzle him, and I’ll bring him through the tunnel to you.”
Telemakos knelt on the bench beside Goewin, his arms around her neck, and kissed her face. Medraut leaned over the railing, watching as the keeper woke Solomon.
“I’ll be only seconds,” Telemakos said, and ran down the flagged steps to the tunnel’s entrance.
Solomon buffeted his enormous gold and black head against Telemakos’s chest, nearly knocking him over. Nezana let go of the great lion’s harness.
“Stupid muzzle,” Telemakos said softly, scratching his friend with both hands behind the lion’s ears.
“He could still flatten you with one paw,” Nezana said, shaking his head.
“You know he won’t. Come up, Solomon, come and meet my family.”