Medraut withdrew his hand. Telemakos sat back on his heels before his father, glaring murderously at the najashi. “Do you treat all your ambassadors like this?”
Athena crept closer to Telemakos. She recognized a battle when she saw one, and she wanted to be sure Telemakos’s anger was not directed at her. She climbed up to lean against Telemakos, with one hand in his hair and the other twisting the neck of his shirt.
“I will not have your father as my ambassador,” Abreha answered evenly.
Out of the corner of his vision Telemakos saw Muna dip her head aside as she sat back on her heels as well. Her gossamer veil covered her nose and mouth, and the silk shimmered and caught the light as she moved her head. Her eyes glittered pale green above the veil.
She never goes veiled, Telemakos thought. None of the Himyar women do. A Byzantine noblewoman might, I suppose, if she were being terribly formal. Why has Muna veiled herself for my father?
The najashi spoke again.
“Your father forfeited his right to diplomatic responsibility ten years ago, when he held his brother the prince of Britain to ransom, and used it as an excuse to torment him.”
That was true. Medraut had done that. Telemakos had lived for so long in the shadow of his father’s love for Lleu that he often conveniently forgot the story of their winter’s hunting, and how close they had come to killing each other in rivalry and envy.
Medraut looked directly into the najashi’s face and let one cool, accusing word fall from his lips.
“Hypocrite.”
Abreha raised two fingers. At the slight movement his servants pulled sharply on the chain that circled Medraut’s neck. They held him gasping and speechless until Abreha lowered his hand.
“I gave you fair warning,” Abreha said evenly, his black eyes grim beneath his heavy brow.
“What fair warning,” Medraut croaked, “to Britain’s heir—”
Abreha slashed the air with the edge of his hand, and the men pulled hard on the silencing chain. Medraut’s head went back and he plucked at his throat involuntarily.
Muna gripped her husband’s arm, and Abreha lowered his hand.
“You were never Britain’s heir,” Abreha scolded Medraut with quiet intensity.
Medraut, inexplicably, croaked forth one of Grandfather’s proverbs in Latin. “‘Spiderwebs joined together can catch a lion.’” It sounded strange in Latin, but it made the word lion into leo, a play on Lleu, the name of the lost prince of Britain.
“Do not make me do this to you, Ras Meder. Do not make your children endure such a spectacle.”
Indeed, Athena was gazing intently at the show with wide-eyed interest. Telemakos found himself panicking at the number of terrible things she saw and took for granted. How can I tell anyone anything, like this? It is worse than being in chains myself. Athena shouldn’t be here. I wish I wasn’t here, either, now. “Hold on to me, Tena,” he muttered in her ear. “Both arms around my neck, and hold tight. I’ll take you back upstairs to your favorite birds.”
She obeyed, but reluctantly. When he tried to climb to his feet she lost her grip, and he could not lift her himself. He bent over her awkwardly, the silver at his elbow making a racket, and tried to get her to put her arms around his neck again, but she was interested in what was going on and would not cooperate.
“Let the Ras do the string stars again,” Athena said.
“You can’t stay here if the Ras is arguing with the najashi.” Telemakos knelt beside her, frustrated and at a loss. “Now listen, Tena, these are your choices …” He could not think of any choices to give her. He hesitated, grasping for an ultimatum that would work.
“You may not leave until I have dismissed you, beloved Morningstar,” the najashi said. “You are here to show your father your maps.”
The najashi turned to Medraut, his heavy frown fierce and forbidding. “Please, Ras Meder. Quit this battle, for your children’s sake.”
Medraut hesitated. Then he raised his eyebrows doubtfully and repeated, “Morningstar?” His deep voice was full of warmth, despite the cold of his eyes. “Why do you call him Morningstar?”
“Isn’t it a good name for him?” Dawit Alta’ir said composedly. With a clean, swift movement of his hands, like an illusionist, he swept the Jacob’s ladder from his fingers all at once, and the intricate web disappeared without leaving a single knot. “Athtar, the Morningstar. I named him myself. Prince of the rising generation!”
“Indeed,” Medraut said. Then he shook with sudden laughter. “Oh, indeed. Abreha the Federator names him Telemakos the Bright One, and silences me!” He bit his lip and raised a hand quickly, warding off another choking blow. “No need, no need, my lord, I am an obedient guest. Will you allow your guards to slack their hold on me, so I may lean forward? I will hold my tongue. Let Telemakos Morningstar show me his maps.”
Telemakos glanced at the najashi, who blinked assent. The soldiers moved aside. Medraut’s throat was scored with faint red streaks where the chains had tightened around it, but he showed no sign of the discomfort, only cocked his head to watch as Telemakos set about unrolling the linen sheets.
It was one of a thousand small tasks that gave him no end of trouble. Athena worked attentively at his side so that they could hold down the map together, and Telemakos was glad of the distraction for her sake.
“Here, Ras Meder, is proof of your son’s growing store of knowledge,” Abreha said. “You’ll recognize the map, I think.” He drew Athena down into his own lap to keep her out of the way. He reached for the length of string the Star Master had put down and absently began to reconstruct the Jacob’s ladder between his own hands. Athena settled comfortably against his chest and pulled at the enticing threads.
“All the beacons in Britain,” Medraut observed. “I surely do recognize it. My father’s queen drew the original.”
He leaned over the chart to study it in concentrated silence. I could have hidden a message there, perhaps, Telemakos thought, if I’d known Ras Meder would see it. I must tell him about the plan to attack the Hanish Islands. The najashi hasn’t got decent maps yet, and can’t get into the fortress, but those agents of his may be in place on the emperor’s ships by now—I must tell Ras Meder, somehow, before he is sent home.
Medraut spoke at last. “Well done, Telemakos Morningstar,” he said warmly. “Your aunt Goewin should see this.”