“A little. How long has it been since you left us?”
“Just more than a day. Look, the far stairway. You see the stars where the door stands open at the top?”
We came out into the cemetery. The moonless night was alluringly beautiful; the spangled sky seemed like the brightest thing I had ever seen. The city below the Necropolis glittered also. I could make out the pattern of the lighted streets in the market area, where people still shopped and sold by the light of oil lamps and torches. Turunesh led us to a decorative arbor, and we sat in its shelter on a marble bench overlooking the sparkling city. She dug in her satchel and finally produced a flint fire-lighter.
“I haven’t a knife. This will have to do.”
When the wool cord was pulled taut beneath the flint, it seemed to grow razor-sharp, and Telemakos screwed his eyes shut and turned his face away, silent and cowed, as his mother and I took turns at sawing us free.
“Maybe we won’t have you whipped after all,” she said at last, with sympathy, when finally Telemakos and I were parted from each other. “Remind me to take a knife with us when we leave Adwa.”
Telemakos began rather desperately to pull the frayed and tangled threads away from his wrist.
“Don’t drop those on the ground,” Turunesh warned. “I don’t want to leave tracks.”
She put the flint away and produced an earthen flask stoppered with cork.
“Have some coffee,” she said. Telemakos glanced up at her then with a hopeful half-smile, rallying. “It should be hot still. Some punishment, eh? This is no precedent, boy, don’t expect more tomorrow. But you need to wake properly, if we are to start.”
The three of us shared the bitter drink in the dark, beneath the shadow of the carved monuments to kings long dead.
“Will we be followed, do you think?” I asked.
“No one is hunting, yet,” Turunesh answered. “The gatekeeper to the Necropolis thinks I have arranged a lover’s tryst here tonight! He will pretend not to see us coming and going. You look a little like a boy with your head wrapped in a turban. Tie your shamma so, and bind your skirts at the knee. The bow you carry will help fool him, as well; you will seem to be what he expects to see. Give your bundles to the child, so he may be taken as your porter.”
We looked at Telemakos, quietly sipping his coffee, and relishing it. His hair caught the starlight.
Turunesh sighed. “Have you another scarf, Princess?” she said. “Half the city will recognize him if we don’t hide his hair.”
Telemakos looked up.
“You don’t need to hide my hair,” he said. “No one will see me.”
“What do you mean, boy?”
His incomplete smile suddenly reminded me of his father.
“Let me go ahead on my own. I’ll meet you at Mai Shum,” he said. “I promise.”
Turunesh threw up her hands in baffled despair, but I nodded in agreement.
“Trust him,” I said. “No one will see him, and he won’t get lost.”
Telemakos stood up, pulled his satchel strap over his head, and handed me the bag. Then he took off his shamma, folded it carefully, and laid it in his mother’s lap.
“It gets in my way,” he explained, his hands resting on the cloth in her lap.
“Take care, love,” Turunesh said softly.
Telemakos did not answer. He leaned close to his mother to touch his cheek to hers and kissed her, then turned away and cantered lightly down the hill toward the gate. We saw him go, but we did not hear him. He did not make a sound.
CHAPTER IX
Lord of the Land
TELEM AKOS WAS WAITING for us with the horses. He was there ahead of us, as he had promised. He rode with me, before me in the saddle, and none of us ever said anything more about the tunnels.
We left the city of Aksum. We followed the graveled high road to Adwa, three hours’ journey under the thick and luminous stars. We reached Kidane’s country estate in time to sleep before the sun rose, but we did not dare remain throughout the day. We were still close enough to Aksum that we could easily be tracked. We studied the Itinerary over our hasty breakfast.
“There are two ways to go,” I said. “One of them looks twice the distance, but the other follows the main road. If we take the longer route we can leave the highway today.”
“Good,” said Turunesh. “Your white face will be remarked by everyone who passes you.”
We took one of the farm ponies for Telemakos and set out. The roadside sparked with the wild gold of Meskal daisies, the bright asters of the Aksumite highlands. Terraced fields sloped toward woodland where coffee grew wild and monkeys danced across the treetops.
“I want to see lions,” Telemakos said.
“I don’t!” his mother exclaimed. “What shall we do if we come by a pack of lionesses hunting, hope the princess has enough arrows in her quiver to take them all herself?”
“Maybe she could. She is Ras Meder’s sister, and he could. His name was lion.”
“Medraut means marksman,” I said abruptly, “not lion.”
“The lion is lord of the land. Meder. It doesn’t mean lion, but it is.” Telemakos spoke with absolute conviction; of course, it was his own name, as well.
“Where do you hear such things?” his mother asked mildly.
He tilted his head. “I hear everything.”
We slept through the heat of the day in the village at Hawelti, then came through the trees at night. We saw nothing of the forest, but it breathed with rustling night birds and the cries of foxes and hyenas. The strange hours we were keeping put Telemakos in a fey temper. Turunesh worried constantly about attack from wild beasts. Once we were beyond easy reach of Aksum we stopped traveling by night.
Soon the road coiled around mountain peaks that matched endlessly away from us on all sides. The air grew rarer, and now that we were well beyond the merchant ways, the road was no longer well maintained. The recent rains had done it no good either, and in one place it was so badly damaged that there were ruts in it up to Telemakos’s chest. Country children wearing crosses of woven grass, like Wazeb’s, helped lead us through the worst sections of the trail. Their parents offered us fried bread and handfuls of spiced, roasted grain. Everyone we met was fascinated by Telemakos, more so even than by me.
“Foreigner! Foreign ones!” they cried in greeting. Telemakos got called also “salt-top” and something that might have meant “milkman,” presumably on account of his white hair.