“You might do it as a test of my judgment.”
“You are a prudent judge,” said Abreha. “Yes, I trust you.”
Telemakos eyed Abreha’s dogs with disloyal envy. White Nech and ruddy gold Werkama strutted unleashed at the najashi’s side, reliable in their obedience. They held their long ears raised and alert, their feathered tails high. Every so often Nech trotted close to Menelik and nosed at him in concerned interest. I would sell my soul to call one of these dogs my own, Telemakos thought for the hundredth time.
Within the thorn boundary of the royal parkland, the hounds galloped away. They doubled back almost immediately, tongues out in wide, glorious smiles, and settled into a trot ahead of Abreha and his men.
“Watch,” the najashi said to Gedar. “Werkama has one.”
The najashi clapped his hands suddenly, and all four dogs were gone. Telemakos missed seeing them go. Menelik had lunged forward at the command, and Telemakos scolded him and dragged him back. He thought the lead was going to sever his fingers.
“Not yet!”
He seized the lion by the ear and sat on him.
“If you don’t behave, I will never run with you again,” Telemakos told him fiercely. “You are going to outweigh me in about one month. If you want to come hunting, you will have to go with someone heavier, or hold!”
Menelik growled, but with frustration and not at Telemakos. The other men moved forward in the direction of the dogs, scanning the rise ahead for the antelope they had started after.
“There,” said one, and pointed. Werkama and Nech reappeared out of the nearest hollow and flew slantwise over the next rise, followed by their companions. The dogs’ sleek, long bodies were stretched nearly linear; their feathered tails moved in unison as rudders. The reedbuck ahead of them was a yellow streak, but Telemakos saw how easily they would cut it off together, two from either side. The racing creatures disappeared like wind over the crest of the hill.
“On horseback a man may follow the chase,” the najashi commented for Gedar’s benefit, “but we’ll have no chance afoot. They’ll be waiting for us with their catch when we arrive.”
They set out toward the jagged al-Surat Mountains that rimmed the plateau. Abreha himself set them on the slight trail the hounds and reedbuck had left, but he let Menelik and Telemakos lead them. The lion was almost pathetically eager to please now, as if he knew he were somehow inferior to his canine companions. Telemakos caught the scent of fresh blood before Menelik did, but no one was likely to notice that.
The dogs were lying proudly alert alongside their prize when Abreha’s party found them half an hour later. The lion grew so excited that it took Telemakos and Abreha together to wrestle him into compliance.
“My najashi—” Telemakos gasped. “My najashi, this is foolhardy. Let me take him home.”
“Will you manage him on your own?”
“Away from this kill, yes.”
Abreha conceded. “Now he knows how it is done. “We’ll take him with us again soon, and unleash him. I am not discouraged yet.”
Menelik was still whining and trembling when he and Telemakos reached the kennels. Telemakos leaned against the rails and watched the animal keepers feed him, but the lion would not allow himself to be rubbed and brushed as the dogs did, so after a time the keepers left him alone in his pen to recover himself. But Telemakos could not leave him. He slipped through the slats of the lion’s pen and chirped softly to his friend.
Menelik crawled close to Telemakos and reached to touch his leg with one padded paw, softly as a falling leaf and with his claws perfectly sheathed, begging for comfort as desperately as Athena did. He pushed the top of his heavy head against Telemakos’s chin, demanding kisses.
“Oh, you are such a baby,” Telemakos whispered, and lay down beside the young lion, burrowing beneath the straw. It was warm, and smelled faintly of stale honey, like Menelik’s fur. I’ll stay here till he sleeps, Telemakos thought. He, too, was tired to the bone, but too wary of the lion’s mood to allow himself to fall asleep there. He lay still, resting his body, listening with interest to the sounds of the kennel. Already he could tell five of the dogs by their voices.
That is Werkama. Abreha must be back.
Telemakos listened as the kennelmen took care of the hunting dogs. He heard someone make a report to Abreha on the condition of the lion, and Abreha thanked his servants and dismissed them.
Which is the dog that won’t stop crying? Telemakos wondered. That’s not one of the hunters. That is a half-grown pup complaining for milk—
“Hush, hush, my bold, brave girl,” said Abreha’s voice. “Gedar will take care of you—”
The whining stopped.
“—for a time, and when he brings you to Aksum, my cousin Gebre Meskal will be your new family.”
“It is a generous gift, Mukarrib,” said Gedar.
How pompous Gedar is, Telemakos thought. No one calls Abreha “federator” unless it is in a formal ceremony.
“An easy gift. My cousin grows mistrustful of me, and this is one small way to mollify his suspicions.”
They think they are alone, Telemakos realized. The lion is asleep and the kennelmen have been sent away. They don’t know I’m here.
“What message shall I bring your cousin?” Gedar asked.
“Oh, no message, only the gift. I do not want to raise the Aksumite emperor’s hackles with empty words.”
“Your wish is my command,” Gedar answered Abreha with obsequious humility. “I am your servant.”
Telemakos grinned, listening eagerly, too practiced an eavesdropper to make any noise. This was wonderful luck. He should have guessed there was more to Gedar than met the eye.
“Listen then,” Abreha answered him, speaking low and quickly. “I will tell it once only. Send no more of your cryptic carrion threats, all those foul dead birds, to Gebre Meskal or his counselor Kidane; my vizier is sure now that Kidane is not the man we seek, and you begin to risk yourself. I do not like such underhand methods in any case. We will flush out the emperor’s spies some other way.”
Telemakos lay flat in the lion’s straw, his light breath muffled by Menelik’s purring snorts. Unease and disbelief began to crowd his spirit like circling vultures.
“Grind to pieces any amole salt you have kept from before the new year, for you must not cast abroad any hint you had exchange with Himyar during Gebre Meskal’s quarantine. I will make good your loss.”