Seriously, quietly, my father’s dark ambassador from the Red Sea kingdom of Aksum delivered me his message from the Saxon lord, then offered me the sanctuary of his own empire.
As far back as I can remember there had always been an Aksumite ambassador in my father’s court, an aloof, reserved young man with skin the color of peat and eyes that never met your own. They saw to it that we received ivory and papyrus, salt and spices and emeralds from the lands of the Red Sea, and that my father sent their king tin and silver and wool in fair exchange. I knew I could trust Priamos’s offer. My cousin Constantine had long served in Aksum as our own ambassador there, in Medraut’s place. My father had named Constantine as my future husband, and as his heir after my brothers. If I traveled to Aksum I could call Constantine home myself. I let Priamos lead me.
Three months later I sat in the New Palace in the imperial city of Aksum, at the edge of the big fountain in the Golden Court, seeking sanctuary, and waiting an audience with Constantine.
It was Constantine who was making me wait. I found, on my arrival, that my cousin had somehow so ingratiated himself with the Aksumite emperor that Caleb had abdicated in Constantine’s favor. Constantine was no longer Britain’s ambassador to Aksum; he was now viceroy of Aksum. So although half my father’s soldiers had got in the habit of calling me queen of Britain since the high king’s death, I had to sit in the Golden Court and wait for my cousin to grant me an audience.
The Golden Court echoed with the sound of running water and the chattering of colobus monkeys. The monkeys were a strange and beautiful highland breed, with flowing white tails and long fur that draped about their shoulders in a black-and-white cape. They crouched on the floor and in the potted palm trees, tethered by slender gold chains fixed in the sides of the fountains. The sound of the water was soothing; the chattering of the monkeys was not. They shook their chains and screamed whenever anyone walked through the hall.
“They make me think of that boy we saw in Septem, when you made us change ships a day early,” I said to Priamos, sitting at my right hand. “Do you remember the child servant on the yacht berthed next to ours, that they led on board by his bound wrists?”
“Except these creatures strain against their bonds,” Priamos answered, “and that boy did not.”
“I would.”
Priamos touched the side of my hand, briefly, as he had done at the time. “You would.” His dark, narrow face seemed all sharpness and severity behind his pointed black beard, but I knew that his serious frown hid humor and kindness. He was only a little older than I. “I would, too, Princess.”
“And they make me think of my aunt.” But everything made me think of Morgause. “She kept a menagerie of exotic creatf e201D;
At my left, Kidane, the counselor who had once been Medraut’s host, held out his hands in a gesture of peace and welcome. “Be at ease, Princess Goewin,” he said. “A death sentence is a chilling burden, and must be especially so for one who is scarcely past girlhood. How unfortunate that a thing so harmless as a pet monkey should remind you of your flight. Try to be at ease. You are safe, here, for a time.”
All the events of the cold, sad spring just past had led me to this meeting with Constantine, yet the only thing I could think of was my aunt. And what I kept thinking about was not the vicious cruelty she had inflicted on my brothers, nor the harm she wished on me, but with what desperation she battled the men around her who sought to keep her power for their own, who strove to hold her helpless.
There was a sudden commotion among the monkeys, as four or five of them scampered toward a single point on the other side of the big fountain. The rest stretched out at the limit of their gold chains, screeching with jealous longing. A small person of about six years stood camouflaged among the palms, holding out his hands to the monkeys. In this land of dark-skinned people, his hair was a shocking white-gold blaze, nearly as pale as that of an albino. I stared at him and bit my lip, my heart twisting within me. He had my elder brother’s hair.
Kidane stood up and turned around, gazing toward the clustering monkeys.
“Oh, that wretched child,” he said. “He has been told not to feed these creatures.” Kidane strode around the fountain. “Telemakos! Give me that. Come away now, or I will see to it you do not leave the house for a week.”
Kidane came back to us, with a branch of dates in one hand and the child led cruelly by the ear in the other. The small boy bore this abuse stoically, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line, his eyes narrowed in contained anger.
“I thought you were in council all this week, Grandfather,” he protested. “No one else minds if I feed them.”
“They mind the havoc it creates.” Kidane released the child’s ear and gripped him by the shoulder, as if he expected his grandson to try to slip away from him suddenly.
The boy was neatly slender, foxlike in his movements. His skin was the deep gold-brown of baked bread or roasted wheat. And his hair, his hair: it was thick as carded wool and white as sea foam, like a bundle of bleached raw silk. It was Medraut’s hair.
Kidane spoke quietly and severely to him in Latin: “How unseemly! Questioning me before a guest, and she the princess of Britain! Speak Latin so that the princess can understand.”
The child ducked his head in apology. He spoke in Latin, but only to repeat what he had said in Ethiopic: “Why are you not in council, Grandfather?”