Priamos spoke as though reciting, still gazing out the window.
“There was a shipment of your tin from Dumnonia, that I was to deliver here. There was the shipment that was lost last year, for which I was to arrange repayment or replacement. There was your father’s man who had resigned his post as envoy to Justinian, the Roman emperor, and Caleb bid me urge Artos to appoint someone to fill his place, as your Roman envoy is our nearest link to Britain. I had brought with me to Britain an ark filled with coins in silver and bronze, which Artos wanted to circulate, a trove worth as much as another boatload of tin, and I have no idea what happened to it…”
He stopped to draw breath.
“Nothing has happened to it,” I said. “After Camlan it was moved into the copper mines for safekeeping, with all the other treasury. Do you remember Caius, my father’s steward? He has charge of it.”
Priamos turned to me. “Thank you, Princess,” he said. “That will be a help this afternoon.”
“Must they see you this afternoon yet? What more can there be?”
“It has surprised me how much there is. All little things I have forgotten, what has happened to the presents I brought with me for Artos, what could Artos suggest that Caleb give you as a wedding gift. Caleb’s miserable lions, I am accountable for them. Horses, Artos was to send some of his horses here, and samples of their shoes, and the queen of queens had asked for more of that liqueur you make of those little sour plums…”
“Sloes.”
“Yes. And this afternoon I am to report to Ella Amida the present state of Britain.”
“Ella Amida. You mean Constantine…” I spoke slowly. “Has he been questioning you all this time?”
“Oh, indeed not. He steps in and out. He is very busy. He has set aside much to spare this afternoon for me…” Priamos drew another long breath. “Nothing has been raised that I could not have foreseen if I had thought about it—”
(If he had thought about anything during our voyage other than satisfying my demands to learn Ethiopic, or ensuring I was not ambushed by Saxon spies.)
“Yet I fear it will not end till Constantine has seen me stripped and flogged in the Cathedral Square.”
“I do not understand why he should so distrust you.”
“Because I am so like Abreha. We were both trained as translators, favored by Caleb. And because Abreha himself killed Caleb’s eldest son, Aryat. Do you see? Everyone fears that Abreha’s brother will betray Aryat’s brother in the same way, that I will bring harm to Wazeb. Constantine is not alone in his distrust. It is not the first time I have been taxed with my failure in Himyar.”
Priamos sighed. “Yet so much of this present trial seems so trivial. I have offered my own lands and estate in payment for the lost imports. But I cannot believe that my life and career are to end in ignominy because I—” He choked, breathless. “Because I failed to send half a dozen jars of wine to my gluttonous mother!”
We both laughed wildly.
“Do sit down,” I said, biting my lip at my own lunatic behavior.
Priamos sat on the floor at my feet, finally, with his long legs drawn up against his chest and his arms clasped around his knees. He sighed again, and we sat still and silent for a few moments, apart, but drawing strength and solace from our shared laughter.
“My mother wants to meet you,” Priamos said at last. “I took coffee with her last night. I think you will like Candake the queen of queens, if she does not scare you to death first. You might visit with her this afternoon, while I am in tribunal.”
“I will not. I shall be there with you.”
He began to protest, sober now.
“I will not be ruled by you, or anyone,” I said. “I have more sway over Constantine than he cares to admit, and I will not hear of the state of Britain being discussed behind my back.”
“What have you over Constantine?”
I hesitated, then answered softly, “One who might be called prince of Britain.”
It felt strange to speak these words and mean what I meant by them.
Priamos shook his head without understanding. “The prince of Britain died at Camlan.”
“I don’t mean Lleu,” I said. “I mean Telemakos Meder. He is the high king’s grandson.”
“Oh.”
Priamos shook his head again.
He said slowly, “The boy has his own title; did you know? He is formally Lij Telemakos, which is something equivalent to young prince, a child of noble birth. He is heir to the house of Nebir. No one ever uses his title, though.”
Then he added, “You are playing a dangerous game.”
“I know it,” I said. “But I have no other strength. Oh! Would I were a man!”
Priamos rubbed one hand savagely down his face from temple to jaw and across his mouth, as though he were trying to wipe his face off. “Would I were a different man,” he said passionately.
It is not easy getting yourself into the innermost council chamber of the New Palace uninvited, but certain outrageous or persuasive people have succeeded in it once or twice. I managed at last, making the most of my title and my position as Kidane’s guest and Constantine’s promised bride. They were well under way when I came in, and there was a flurry of confusion while they set an extra chair for me at the side of Constantine’s throne. Constantine glared at me murderously throughout this disturbance. The crown prince Wazeb was there as well, sitting straight and silent, as though it were a great show performed for his entertainment.
The questions of the bala heg were fair. A few of the council must have had some sympathy for Priamos; I am sure that his brother Ityopis did, and Kidane. But it was an interrogation that fell just short of torture, and even so I think they dealt with Priamos more kindly while I was there. He stood for hours, with the patience of a lifetime’s training, before the knot of seated nobles. Not one of them remained in the room for the length of the session; they came and went as they grew weary, or had other appointments to keep. They had drink and sweets brought to them as they listened. Priamos alone remained on his feet without respite, like a prisoner.
My presence must have made the court even more tedious: for now everything had to be asked twice, first by a councilor in Ethiopic, and then again in Latin, for my benefit, by Halen. In an exquisite additional humiliation, Priamos was expected to translate his own answers. I hated that my very ignorance made this trial more difficult for Priamos, so that in everything he said he should be doubly checked by Constantine and by the translator, the afa negus. But I could not have followed it without Halen’s assistance, particularly when they spoke of numbers: how many men were left in Cynric’s force after the battle of Camlan, what the number of cattle and the weight in gold that Cynric had offered for my bride price. I sat absorbed in concentration, working at understanding the questions on my own, leaning forward as though it would make their words clearer if I were closer to the speakers.