“What will your father say to this trophy when he receives it?” Abreha asked him, and laughed at his own question. “He’ll forbid you to go hunting again, most likely, in case you damage yourself.” Then the najashi added, more soberly, “The other hide is yours as well.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Send it to your aunt.”
I could do that, Telemakos thought; no one has ever given Goewin such a trophy of her own. She’ll be pleased. And she will understand why I’ve done it.
They did not tell Athena what had happened. They sent Menelik’s skin to Aksum and hoped she would not notice that her lion was gone.
X
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE
THEY ARRIVED BACK IN San’a as the nobles began to gather for the Great Assembly. Two years ago, they had been gathering for the Assembly when Telemakos had first arrived in Himyar, and again during his disgrace of the previous year. This year’s gathering was the third he would witness. Some of the Scions would sit in on the Assembly this year.
On the evening they came back to the Ghumdan palaces, Telemakos found the star globe alight in the Great Globe Room. He sat on his low bed by the window and let Athena unbuckle the straps to her harness so she could climb out of it. “Look how the Magus has welcomed us home,” Telemakos said softly. Dawit could no longer see the soft lights the globe’s pinprick surface cast against the ceiling; he never lit it for any reason other than to delight Athena.
Everything else in the room was exactly as Telemakos had left it a season earlier. The neglect was almost eerie. Dawit Alta’ir had touched nothing here for three months. A film of dust lay over the maps and measures; a cup of paint that Telemakos had left sitting on one of the windowsills still sat there, dry as mortar. He set about the renovation of his workplace, moving around the room on his knees; he was so tall now that he had to dodge the hanging crystal stars if he walked upright among them. He worked by the minute lights of the star globe. Athena sat very quietly on the couch, happily sorting the paint blocks she had not played with since the beginning of summer.
It gave Telemakos a start when Dawit suddenly appeared in the doorway. He carried no light, and came heavily down the three steps into the room. The scent of rosewater and kat came with him.
“Peace to you, Magus,” Telemakos greeted the Star Master, but Dawit did not sit. He reached up and took hold of one of the crystal stars, as if it would bear his weight if he lost his balance. Telemakos identified the star automatically: Antares, the heart of the Scorpion.
“Peace to you, Morningstar. Good evening, and welcome back to San’a. I wonder if in your travels you’ve missed the news from Adulis, where Gebre Meskal stations most of his armada?”
“What news?”
“There has been a battle, and a great mutiny suppressed.”
“Oh.”
Telemakos still held a rolled map, which he had been about to put away. He laid it gently on the floor.
“Fifty soldiers of the najashi’s who served in a squadron of Gebre Meskal’s fleet were attacked and overwhelmed. They are prisoners now.”
“Oh,” Telemakos said again, sounding stupid now even to himself. He clenched his teeth and made himself form a sensible response. “What does this mean, sir?”
“It means the najashi would like to ask you some questions,” said Dawit evenly, “though why you should know anything about a mutiny on the far side of the Red Sea is anyone’s guess. So. Consider that I have given you fair warning, and answer me: did you know of this before our najashi knew of it?”
“How could I?” Telemakos gasped.
“Good,” said Dawit. “I thought you couldn’t, as you were away in Marib at the time.”
The old, sickening fear crawled up and down Telemakos’s spine.
“Is he coming up here now?”
“He is waiting in the scriptorium. He wants to speak to you privately. I will send him in.”
The Star Master gathered his robes about his knees and heaved himself back up the steps. Telemakos sat where he was. He picked up the map again, but he was shaking so that the charms at his elbow rattled. He set the scroll down again and waited with his eyes closed.
“The Magus didn’t see me,” said Athena.
Telemakos had forgotten she was there.
“He can’t see,” Telemakos said softly. “And it’s quite dark.”
“The najashi has got a light.”
Telemakos opened his eyes. He watched the light grow brighter until the najashi’s shadow filled the door. Abreha came in and put his lamp on the floor, then sat down facing Telemakos and held out his arm to Athena.
She slid from the mattress and scuttled on hands and feet to join him. The lights in the dark surface of the star globe glowed steadily overhead.
“Look at the stars, my najashi!”
“They’re lovely, my honey badger.” He smoothed her springing hair back from her face. “Be quiet now, and sit with me. I want to talk to your brother.”
Telemakos sat back on his heels and bowed his head. A part of him wanted to scream at Abreha to get this over with; Telemakos had been living in dread of this conversation, or one like it, for well over a year. But Abreha did not hurry. He pulled Athena close to him, with her back against his chest. One hand he wrapped about her waist, and the other he held circling her throat, gently, gently cupping her chin.
Telemakos found himself gripping his own shoulder. He heard the trinkets of his bracelet clinking as he clenched and unclenched his fingers, and for a moment tried solely to concentrate on being still.
The najashi bent his heavy brow and spoke softly into the bronze mist of Athena’s hair.