I knelt by Telemakos and held him by the shoulders.
“Hey. Hey, Telemakos Meder. What are you going to say to the great person when you meet him?”
“I shall make a full reverence, on my face on the ground, and say, Your Highness, Goewin the princess of Britain is here to see you, Goewin the daughter of Artos the dragon.”
“And apologize for having to ask him to come down to me. But you see they will not let me come to him.”
“All shall be well,” Telemakos said, with an echo of his mother’s calm. He smiled, but he was serious. His front teeth were finally through, and it made him look older. “Caleb will remember me.”
“You are a bold hero.”
I kissed him on the forehead and got to my feet.
“One of us will bring the boy down when he is finished,” said the spokesman, “with any message there may be for you.”
They helped Telemakos onto the back of one of the younger men, and belted them together at the waist. I watched as they ascended the cliff. Telemakos fixed his eyes on a spot at the back of the man’s head, his lips pressed together, his expression fierce and determined. He looked so like Medraut.
I made my way back to Turunesh to wait. She handed me one of our saddlebags to drink from, and then stood with her arms folded, gazing with narrowed eyes toward the cleft in the cliff where the linteled gateway to the monastery was improbably set.
“Brave Telemakos,” she said.
“They would not let me take him up.”
“I did not think they would,” Turunesh said mildly. “They were likely angered that you thought to try.”
“I wish I hadn’t. I felt ashamed.”
We stood back and watched the cliff face in silence. We stood so long without speaking that I did not say anything aloud when at last I saw someone starting down the cliff, but reached out to grip Turunesh by the arm and pointed.
The climber bore Telemakos on his back. He seemed strong and sure-footed, though his cropped hair was white. He kept his face turned aside to Telemakos, nodding reassuringly toward the child who clung to his shoulders. I watched the man’s bare feet against the rock, and the chiseled edge of his bearded cheek that I could see.
“Well, they have not sent us Caleb.” Turunesh sighed.
“He is not even Aksumite,” I agreed. “He is too fair.”
“Perhaps they send a foreign guest who speaks your language.”
And then, as the man descended nearer, I sat down hard on the valley floor, gasping as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Turunesh bent over me in concern.
“What is it? What is wrong?”
The shock so stunned me that I could not speak. The climbers had reached the cliff’s foot and were unbinding their harness straps before I could shape any kind of words or speak them aloud. At last I managed to choke, “It’s Medraut.”
CHAPTER X
Cloth of Gold
HE CAME BEFORE US, with his son bound and clinging to his back. His right hand was lifted to clasp Telemakos’s small fingers over his shoulder; with the heel of his left hand he rubbed brutally at his eyes.
Telemakos threw me a look of wild hope and bewilderment. Then Turunesh, without speaking, helped to untie Telemakos and set him on the valley floor.
Medraut never let go of the small brown fingers. Telemakos sat down next to me, clutching up handfuls of grass and earth with his free hand as though he could not believe his good fortune at being on the ground again. Medraut stooped by him on one knee, and with his forefinger gently, gently tilted the child’s chin up toward his own face, gazing into the smoke blue eyes with the wonder of a man seeing himself in a mirror for the first time.
Turunesh still said nothing. She stood watching her lost lover and their son, her hands clenched at her sides, and began to sob.
“Mother, Mother!” cried Telemakos, leaping to his feet and snatching at one of her balled fists, and half pulled back by Medraut, who would not let him go.
Turunesh drew Telemakos close, but she could not stop crying.
“Why are you here? How did you come here?” I was shouting. “Why did you leave me after Camlan?”
Medraut turned toward me, still clinging to Telemakos, and wiped at his eyes again, and shook his head.
“He doesn’t talk,” said Telemakos. “The monks said he has not spoken a word since he came to them.”
“Ras Meder?” said Turunesh softly, and held open her hands to him. “Medraut?” He ducked away from her touch, ashamed, unworthy.
“Why?” she asked.
He shook his head again and sat on the sand next to me, his eyes on the horizon. After a few moments he held out a tentative arm. Telemakos threw himself at his father. They bent their heads together, white gold against white gold. Turunesh gave a cry of anguish.
Medraut buried his face in Telemakos’s shining hair.
“Is it true?” Telemakos said.
“Yes, love,” Turunesh whispered.
“Telemakos, what happened?” I asked. “What happened when you went to find Caleb?”
“The monks brought me to Ras Meder.”
I was dumbfounded.
“But I told them to take you to the emperor! I said—” I stopped short, trying to remember what I had said.
“You said lord of the land,” Telemakos reminded me.
“Meder,” I breathed. “Medraut. Oh, my brother, you must think we came here looking for you. But we came looking for the emperor Caleb, the negusa nagast Ella Asbeha. We did not know you were here.”
Medraut nodded slowly, understanding.
“Come with us to our shelter, and we’ll explain.”
He sighed, and finally let go of Telemakos. Turunesh reached to help Medraut to his feet. Then she bent over his hands, pressing them together and gently kissing them, before letting them fall.
“Come, Telemakos,” she said, gathering herself. “Lead on.”
Telemakos, too, snatched at Medraut’s hand and kissed it. Then he ran, and Medraut followed more slowly. I watched him from behind, saw how confidently he made his way down the hillside, saw how he favored the leg that had been broken at Camlan. And in his purposeful, uneven stride I recognized the silent merchant sailor who had walked away from us at Gabaza, the man Priamos had suspected to be tracking me down the Red Sea.
“Turunesh!” I said, snatching at her arm. “He was on board the ship that brought us from Alexandria. He must have—he must have followed me all the way—he must—”