“It will undo a year’s healing to part them.”
Medraut nodded. He still held Turunesh’s hands in his. Her shoulders shook. She drew breath and drew herself up.
“I know I cannot go on with them to Himyar. What mother comes along to dote on her son in his first apprenticeship? But I can see him safely away,” Turunesh said levelly. “I have business in Adulis. My uncle is archon there. Telemakos and I have stayed in the governor’s house before. If we travel as a family, we will be less likely to draw attention to the child’s escape.”
The journey down the switchback mountain roads should have taken a fortnight from Aksum; at the punishing pace Medraut set, they made Adulis in ten days. Turunesh and Telemakos took it in turns to carry Athena. They stopped by day away from the road, or by night in the homes of people Turunesh knew. No one troubled them.
In the hour before Telemakos left Adulis, Medraut stood with Telemakos on the scorching quay at Gabaza Harbor, resting his hands on his son’s shoulders, and went one final time through his farewell litany.
“You are not to uncage that lion while you are on the ship. You must keep it on a lead until it is in Abreha’s hands. And should you—should your shoulder trouble you, there is opium in the locked coffer with your allowances and recommendations. I have written to Abreha myself about the opium, for I do not trust you to use it at need.” Medraut held Telemakos at arm’s length, gazing at him searchingly, his hard, drawn face shadowed by a pained mix of love and fear. Telemakos lowered his eyes in respect.
“You know how to administer the opium,” his father said.
“I’ve no need for opium.”
“Then keep it carefully, you stubborn young ascetic,” Medraut said. “Perhaps the need will come in another guise.”
He raised his head and gazed toward Turunesh, who stood speaking to the ship’s master with Athena tied to her hip. Her face, too, was lined with strain. Medraut looked away from her, wincing. He held his son’s jaw cupped between his hard hands and kissed Telemakos on the forehead.
Turunesh took Telemakos on board, and the crew left them alone in the narrow sleeping bay below the deck to bid goodbye to each other. Athena, riding at her mother’s side, looked about her with interest. There was no room to stand upright, so Turunesh sat cross-legged on the floor of the hold and patted the planking beside her in an invitation to her son to join her there. He nestled lovingly against her side opposite Athena.
“Telemakos, my love,” Turunesh began, and stopped. She sucked in a choking breath and began over again: “Telemakos—”
He caught his mother’s hand and held it against his cheek. Turunesh did not weep aloud, but tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. Her other hand, the one he was not clinging to, combed absently through Athena’s curls. Turunesh swallowed, and spoke in a low voice.
“Child, if you should ever need to tell us any private thing while you are in Himyar—I mean, anything concerning your service to the emperor, and the threats that have been made against you—do not confide in anyone there, even Abreha. And never write directly to Goewin of such things. Hide your secrets in a letter to me. Tell me that you send your love to your aunt, and encode your meaning in the sentences directly following your greeting to her. When you do this, we’ll know that we must give our deepest attention to the message you send in that letter. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Telemakos whispered. Athena pulled at their clasped hands, trying to join in the embrace.
“You must never lie to Abreha. Do you understand?”
“I won’t,” said Telemakos. He was looking forward less and less to presenting himself to the king of Himyar, whom Goewin had called a manipulative serpent.
Turunesh smiled faintly. “You look like your father when he is about to wield his surgeon’s knife, so grim and determined. Don’t be afraid. Abreha the najashi has made his court a home to any noble child whose family was taken by plague. His own children are dead, all of them, the older ones he had by his first queen and the little ones he had by his new queen. Poor man, he is fond of children. Remember his kindness to you when he met Gebre Meskal to negotiate their peace?”
Abreha had indulged him, Telemakos recalled, but so had Solomon, before he tried to eat him.
“Abreha was my father’s equal in the hunt,” Telemakos said. “He looked like Priamos, but when he took Solomon from me, the day I caught the emperor’s lions, he reminded me of Ras Meder.” Telemakos paused, dredging for his earliest memories of the Aksumite imperial court. “When Aksum was at war with Himyar, he defeated Priamos in battle and sent him home unscathed.”
“Yes. Abreha is like your father. He is a greater man than your father. He would seek justice where your father would seek revenge.”
Gently, she began to untie Athena. Released, the baby climbed into Telemakos’s lap, butting the top of her head affectionately against his chin the way the young lion did when it wanted attention.
“Here’s the satchel. There is another gown for the baby, and clean napkins, and her goatskin bottle, and the painted animals my grandfather made for you when you were born.”
The sounds of the harbor reached in to them, but dulled: the lap of water against the ship’s hull, the cry of seabirds, the rumble of carts and shouts of men. “Up,” Athena demanded of Telemakos, standing on his leg and pushing the shoulder strap of the harness Medraut had made for her against his neck. “Tena up.”
“She is so like you,” Turunesh said to Telemakos, holding Athena back as he put the sling on. “I look at her when she’s asleep, with her fists behind her head and her lips just parted, and it is like seeing you a baby again, with those curling white lashes in a face like honey wine. Ah, Telemakos Meder, you have been my soul’s joy these thirteen years. Shall I know you again when you return, striving toward manhood?”
Athena was content, as always, riding at Telemakos’s side. It did not occur to her to miss her mother as they set out. She was interested in everything: the boat that towed their ship from the harbor, the sails unfurled, turtles in the water. She sat in the lion’s crate, cuddling with Menelik; the ship’s master gave her a dozen small pieces of ivory to sort and play with. She ate happily what was available, mango and dried fish that Telemakos had to pick the bones out of with his teeth before he dared give it to her. As dark fell, Telemakos let her stand balanced on a coil of rope looking for flying fish skimming the open sea beyond the Gulf of Adulis. She watched the sparkling water with incredible patience, waiting for the fish to surface, and shrieked with surprise and delight when they did. She showed no sign of weariness.