His nurse and the cooks and porters must surely have thought me a madwoman, the princess of Britain at play in the dirt. But it was contenting work.
“When will Gebre Meskal wrestle his lion?” Telemakos asked, without looking up from his excavations.
“He is not supposed to wrestle it,” I said, tipping handfuls of pebbles along the road. “He is supposed to kill it with a spear.”
“He is supposed to bring back a lion to the New Palace for a totem,” said Telemakos. “What use is it if he kills it?”
“More use than it would be chained in the lion pit!”
“It does not need to be chained.” Telemakos straightened for a moment, and spread his hands open on his knees. “You can keep a thing without tying it up. You know.”
Then he shook his head and went back to digging in the earth with a pottery dish.
“Anyway, the emperor had better get going. He missed another chance yesterday, as well as last week. There were three lionesses and twice that many cubs chewing over a zebra in the rocks behind the spring, the last place we camped.”
The gravel slipped from my palms. I sat back on my heels and stared at my nephew’s shining head, bent in concentration over his miniature reservoir. “Where did you hear that?” I asked.
“I did not hear it,” Telemakos said with scorn and pride, still without looking up from his work. “I found them myself. I watched them all through the noontide, while everyone was napping. They were lazy, too. It would have been an easy fight.
“Noon is the best time for exploring,” he added. “Everyone else is too idle to chase you, and the animals are all asleep. You should come with me.”
“We are going to have to put a guard over him,” I told his nurse.
Wazeb killed his lion that morning. The hunters came striding back before noon, giddy and triumphant, with Wazeb borne aloft on their shoulders, his customary white bloodstained in their midst. Telemakos was not so wildly disappointed to have missed the grand occasion as I expected him to be; he was scornful of the killing.
I took his advice and went riding in the heat of that day. I had gone no more than three hundred yards beyond the perimeter of our camp when Priamos caught up with me.
“Peace to you, my princess.”
“You’ve been lost,” I answered, and found I was biting back tears, again, again. I looked away from him. “How do you come to be released from your post?”
“Gebre Meskal has dismissed me for the afternoon. It has been a trying morning, and he thinks I need to rest.”
His horse seemed skittish, and he had constantly to gentle it and whisper to it as we spoke. The short spear he carried against a sudden meeting with lion or leopard became a hindrance.
“Tell me of the hunt,” I said. “Was Wazeb heroic?”
“He did seem fearless, yes. He is fearless. Though so should I be with Ras Meder at my right hand. Sometimes I think your brother has ice running in his veins.”
“Sometimes I think so, too,” I said impatiently. “Tell me what happened!”
“We drove a lone male lion for something close to twenty miles before Gebre Meskal wounded him. And then our new emperor had to finish it on foot, face to face with fang and claw. Oh, your brother, I have never seen him happier.”
“I am sorry to have missed it.”
Priamos managed to control his mount at last, and we rode some way farther. Before long we found ourselves surrounded by a herd of bushbuck antelope. They moved with us at a leisurely and steady pace, so that they seemed to be escorting us. The females were plain, but the males were deep black with slashes of white at their throats, and crowned with spiral horns.
“You cannot go anywhere without a following of vagrants,” Priamos said to me.
He wore the drawn look of exhaustion that I had seen in him after Camlan and during the tribunal. I reached to touch his sleeve, in sympathy, and he glanced at me with a quick look almost of fear—as though he were surrounded by tyrants and expected blows from anyone who came near him.
“You do look tired,” I said. “You look like you are under interrogation.”
He smiled ruefully. “That is nothing to do with the hunting. I did not imagine I should ever have to face Abreha’s Lieutenants again.” He sighed. “Tharan, the older man with the handsome mustache, had charge of me before I was brought to Abreha at al-Muza. I am embarrassed to think what he remembers of me.”
“Abreha told me you bore yourself with great dignity.”
“I do not remember anything like dignity. I fought like a bull elephant when they bound me, and vomited over Tharan’s feet when it was finished. He told me I had blinded a man in one eye with the end of a chain, fighting them, but I do not remember it.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.
Priamos said unhappily, “I should not tell you such things. I am sorry.”
“I wish you had told me more six months ago! I wish I could bear some of your blows for you!”
“Never.”
“Always!”
He, too, bit his lip, as though he were my mirror. We looked away from each other.
I shook my head angrily. “I wish you had told me about Abreha. If I had known how like you are, I would have understood the bala heg’s inordinate fear of you.”
“I did tell you.”
“So, you said you were alike, but I did not take it to mean you might well be identical twins!”
“I am not Abreha,” Priamos answered patiently.
“So I know,” I said. “So I know. You are Priamos.”
I glanced sideways at his sharp, frowning profile, and it made me ache in heart and body.
“It is very silly to judge a man by his face,” Priamos said defensively.
“I don’t.”
“That is true,” he agreed, and gave a real smile at last. “You do not.”
He added, “Neither did Caleb.”
Then I knew why Priamos had served him so faithfully, despite all Caleb’s contradictions.
“Neither does Gebre Meskal,” I said.
The bushbuck left us, and my horse fell prey to her companion’s nervousness, so we turned back. We could see men stirring in the camp when we drew neat again. Abreha himself met us, also on horseback.
“Be warned, Princess,” he said, half in jest and half serious. “You run a great risk in making such escapes from the emperor’s protection.”