The Dance of Time: Chapter Ten

Axum

    “What, no elephants?” Antonina asked sarcastically.

    Ousanas shook his head. “They won’t fit in the corridors, not even in the Ta’akha Maryam. We tried. Too bad, though. It would have made a nice flourish. Instead—”

    He gestured before them, down the long hallway leading to the throne room. “—we must walk.”

    Antonina tried to picture war elephants inside the Ta’akha Maryam, her mind boggling a little. Even if the huge beasts could have been inserted into the halls...

    She looked down the long rows of guards and officials, flanking both sides. “They’d have crushed everybody,” she muttered.

    “Oh, not the soldiers. Most of them would have scampered aside in time, and the ones who didn’t had no business being sarwen anyway. In fact, Ezana thought it would be a useful test.”

    Ezana was the senior commander of the three royal regiments. Antonina thought he was probably cold-blooded enough to have said that. There was something downright scary about Ezana. Fortunately, he was not hot-tempered, nor impulsive. Even more fortunately, his devotion to the dynasty was unquestioned by anyone, including Antonina.

    Ezana had been one of Eon’s two bodyguards while he’d still been a prince. That was a very prestigious position for the soldiers who made up Ethiopia’s regiments—the “sarwen,” as they called themselves. When Eon had assumed the throne, Ezana had become the commander of the royal regiments—and the other bodyguard, Wahsi, had been appointed the military commander of the Ethiopian naval expedition that Antonina had used to rescue Belisarius and his army from the siege of Charax.

    Wahsi had died in battle in the course of that expedition. Eon’s son, the new Axumite King of Kings, had been named after him.

    So, Antonina had no doubt at all of Ezana’s loyalty to the infant negusa nagast, sired by the prince he’d guarded and named after his best friend. Still, he was... scary.

    “The slaughter among the officials, of course, would have been immense,” Ousanas continued cheerfully. “seeing how half of them are as fat as elephants, and eight out of ten have brains that move more ponderously. But it was my assessment that the loss of one-third would be a blessing for the kingdom. Ezana was hoping that half would be crushed.”

    Antonina thought the aqabe tsentsen was joking, but she wasn’t sure. There were ways in which Ousanas was even scarier than Ezana. But since they were nearing the entrance to the throne room, she decided she’d simply pretend she hadn’t heard.

    One-third of Ethiopia’s officials, slain in a few minutes! Half, according to Ezana!

    Bloodthirsty African maniacs. Antonina would have been quite satisfied with a simple, unostentatious Roman decimation.

    “All be silent!”

    As if his booming commander’s voice wasn’t enough, Ezana slammed the iron-capped ferrule of his spear onto the stone floor. “Be silent!”

    The throne room had become perfectly quiet even before the ferrule hit the floor. Leaving aside the fact that no one in their right mind was going to disobey Ezana under these circumstances, the crowd packed into the huge chamber was waiting to hear Antonina’s decrees. Eagerly, in some cases; anxiously, in others; fearfully, in some. But not one person there was indifferent, or inclined to keep chattering.

    Actually, there hadn’t been much chatter anyway. Antonina had noticed the unusual quiet the moment she entered the room. Ethiopians had informal habits, when it came to royalty, certainly compared to Roman or Persian custom. As a rule, even during an official session, the royal audience chamber had a constant little hubbub of conversation in the background. Nothing boisterous or intrusive, to be sure. But neither Ethiopian soldier-seamen nor Arab merchants saw any reason not to conduct quiet business in the back of the chamber while the negusa nagast and his officials made their various judgments and rulings around the throne.

    Not today. The chamber had been subdued when Antonina entered, and now it was utterly silent.

    Well... not quite. Softly and contentedly, the baby ruler of the kingdom was suckling his mother’s breast, as she sat on the throne.

    That was being done on Antonina’s instructions. Normally, for such a session, Rukaiya would have used a wet nurse just as readily as any Roman empress. But Antonina had thought the sight of the baby feeding would help remind everyone of the cold and hard facts that surrounded that softest of realities.

    On one side, the cold and hard facts that this was the son of Eon the Great and his successor—and this was the woman he had chosen to be his queen. On the other, the colder and harder facts that the successor was a babe, and the queen a teenager. The same cold and hard facts that had existed when Alexander the Great died—and, within a few short years, had led to civil war, the eventual division of the empire between the Diadochi, and the murder of Alexander’s widow and child.

    Ezana waited until Antonina had climbed the steps that led up to the royal dais. The steps were wide, but shallow. Wide enough to give the guards positioned just behind the throne time to intercept any would-be assassin. Shallow enough, that the ruler was not so elevated above his subjects that a normal conversation couldn’t be held with those seeking an audience.

    There was a chair waiting for her there, to the right of the queen’s. A throne, really, though not as large or elaborate as the one in which Rukaiya sat with the infant negusa nagast. But Antonina had already decided she’d make her decrees while standing. She’d learned that trick from watching her friend Theodora rule Rome.

    Sit, when you’re judging and negotiating—but always stand, when you’re really laying down the law.

    As soon as Antonina had reached her position and given him a little nod—she’d already told Ezana she wouldn’t be using the chair for this—the regimental commander’s voice boomed out again.

    “As decreed by Eon the Great on his deathbed, the Roman woman Antonina will rule on the measures to be taken to ensure the royal succession. Eon gave her complete authority for the task. I was there, I heard, I bear witness. Her decrees are final. Her decrees are absolute. They will not be questioned.”

    That was... not entirely true. No decrees laid down by anyone other than God could cover all the details and complexities. Antonina knew full well that, starting on the morrow, she’d be sitting in that chair and dickering over the fine points. Still, for the moment—

    In case anyone had any lingering doubts, Ezana slammed the spear butt on the stones again. “Not by anyone!”

    Before she began, she glanced around the room. All the principals were there. Ousanas was standing on the lowest step of the dais, to her right, as was customary for the aqabe tsentsen. Ezana occupied the equivalent position to the left, as befit the commander of the royal regiments. Just to his left, on the stone floor, were the rest of the commanders of the regiments stationed in Axum.

    Directly front of the dais were assembled the kingdom’s officials, with old Garmat at the center. Officially, he was the viceroy of the Axum-controlled portions of Arabia. In reality, he also served as one of the ruler’s closest advisers. Garmat had served Eon’s father Kaleb in the same posts that Ousanas had later served Eon himself—first, as the dawazz for the prince; then, as the aqabe tsentsen for the king. The half-Arab one-time bandit was cunning and shrewd, and much respected by everyone in the kingdom.

    Spread out to either side of the officials, and ranging beyond throughout the throne room, was the elite of the realm. The majority were Ethiopians, but perhaps a third were Arabs. All of the latter were either tribal or clan chiefs, or experienced and wealthy merchants and traders—or, more often than not, both together.

    There was one Arab standing next to Garmat, in the small group of officials at the center. That was Rukaiya’s father, who was one of the wealthiest of the Quraysh merchants in Mecca—and had been appointed by Eon himself as the viceroy for Arabia’s west coast. The Hijaz, as it was called, the area north of Yemen that was dominated by the Quraysh tribe.

    “You all understand the problem we face,” Antonina began. She saw no reason to bore everyone with a recitation of the obvious. Everyone there had had months to consider the situation, and by now everyone understand it perfectly well.

    “The future for Axum is splendid, provided the kingdom can pass through the next twenty years without strife and turmoil. To do so, in my judgment, the throne needs an additional bulwark.”

    Since Axumites were expert sailors as well as stone masons, she added another image. “An outrigger, if you will, to keep the craft from overturning in heavy seas.”

    She had to fight down a smile, seeing Ousanas and Garmat wince slightly. Both men were fond of poetry—Garmat more than Ousanas—and she knew she’d be hearing wisecracks later concerning her pedestrian use of simile and metaphor.

    Ezana’s expression, on the other hand, was simply intent. And it was ultimately Ezana who mattered here. Not simply because he commanded the spears of the regiment, but because he—unlike Ousanas and Garmat, each outsiders in their different ways—was Ethiopian through and through. If Ezana accepted her ruling, with no hesitations or doubts, she was confident the rest would follow.

    “So, I have decided to create a new post for the kingdom. The name of this official will be the angabo.”

    She paused, knowing that the little murmur which swept the room was both inevitable and worked to her advantage.

    “The rest is obvious. The first angabo, like the Angabo of legend, must be a complete outsider. Neither Ethiopian nor Arab, and with no existing ties to any clan or tribe in the kingdom. Yet he must also be a famous warrior and a wise counselor. One whom all know can and has hunted and slain evil serpent-kings—as this one, in my presence once, helped my husband trap and slay the serpent-queen of Malwa. Who was the greatest, and most evil, creature in the world.”

    Finally, she turned to look at him squarely.

    “Ousanas, the first angabo.”

    Ousanas would have figured it out as quickly as Rukaiya’s father. By now, he had his expression completely under control.

    Too bad. It was probably the only chance Antonina would ever get to make the man’s jaw drop.

    Noisily, Garmat cleared his throat. “Does Ousanas accept the post?”

    The famous grin came, then. “What does ‘accept’ have to do with it?” He nodded toward Ezana, standing stone-faced on the other side of the dais. “I heard what he said, even if some others were deaf. The words were ‘final’ and ‘absolute’—and I distinctly remember ‘without question.’ That said...”

    For a moment, while Ousanas’ grin faded away, he and Ezana stared at each other. It was not quite a contest of wills. Not quite.

    Ousanas turned to the queen, sitting on the throne. “That said,” he continued quietly, “I would not force this on Rukaiya. She has been very dear to me also, if not the same way she was to Eon.”

    The moment Antonina had spoken the name, she’d seen Rukaiya lower her head, as if she were solely concerned with her feeding infant. That was as good a way as any to bring herself under composure, of course.

    Now, she looked up. Quickly, before lowering her head again to concentrate on Wahsi.

    There might have been a hint of tears in her eyes. But all she said was: “I have no objection, Ousanas.”

    “It is done!” Ezana boomed. More forcefully than ever, the spearbutt slammed the stones. “It is done—and the royal regiments stand ready to enforce the decrees. As before. As always. As ever.”

    He glanced at Antonina. Seeing her little nod, he boomed: “All clear the chamber! There will be no further audience until the morrow.”

    At a small sign from Antonina, Garmat remained behind. No one would think that amiss. The old adviser’s special relationship to the throne was well-established and accepted. In any event, most people in the room would already have realized that he would soon be the new aqabe tsentsen, to replace Ousanas.

    She would have liked to have Rukaiya’s father remain. Under the circumstances, however, that might give rise to certain resentments.

    Ezana stayed, also. He’d begun to leave, but even before Antonina could signal him to stay, Ousanas ordered him to do so.

    Ordered him, outright. The first time he’d ever done so, in the many years the two men had known each other and worked closely together training and nurturing and protecting a young prince named Eon.

    To Antonina’s relief, Ezana had not seemed to bridle at all. In fact, he seemed a bit relieved himself.

    In the short time that it took to clear the chamber, Antonina studied Ousanas. The man had seemed majestic to her for several years. Never more so than now.

    By God, this will work.

    Once the room was empty except for the five key people—six, counting the infant—Ousanas smiled ruefully.

    “I will admit—again—that you are a genius, Antonina. This will work, I think. But...”

    He looked at Rukaiya. She, back at him. There was sadness in both faces.

    “I am not ready for this. Not yet. Neither is she.”

    There were definitely tears in Rukaiya’s eyes, now. She shook her head. “No, I am not. I have... no objection, as I said. Sooner or later, I would have had to marry again, and I can think of no one I’d prefer. But Eon is still too close.”

    Ezana cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course. But I think he would be pleased, Rukaiya. And I knew him as well as any man.”

    She smiled, slightly. “Oh, yes. His ghost will be pleased—but not yet.”

    “It doesn’t matter,” Antonina said firmly. “We need to hold the wedding soon, but there is no reason you need to consummate the marriage immediately. In fact—”

    Garmat picked up the cue, seamlessly. “It would be a bad idea,” he said firmly. “We will need children from this union—many children, to be blunt, to give Wahsi a host of half-brothers and sisters to help him rule, since he will have no full ones. But we don’t need them right now. No one will even start thinking about opposition for at least two years.”

    “More likely five—or ten,” Ezana grunted. The smile that followed was a very cold sort of thing. “I can guarantee that much.”

    Garmat nodded. “Actually, the danger would be for you to have a child too soon. Enough time must elapse for it to have been impossible for Eon to have been the father. Impossible. That means waiting at least a year after his death last summer.”

    The relief on the faces of both Rukaiya and Ousanas was almost comical.

    “Of course,” Ousanas said. “Stupid of me not to have seen it instantly. Or else—three generations from now—some over-ambitious and small-brained great-grandson of mine might start claiming he was actually the great-grandson of Eon.”

    Smiling very gently now, he stepped forward and placed his hand on the baby’s head. “In my safe-keeping, also.”

    He straightened. “We should do more, I think. Make it impossible the other way, also. And do so in a way that is publicly obvious, even to bedouin.”

    Clearly enough, his brain was back to working as well as always.

    “Yes,” she said firmly. This was something that Antonina and Garmat had already decided upon. “There is no need for me to remain here, and I would very much like to see my husband again. Ousanas should go with me to India, leading whatever military force Axum can add to the war.”

    She gave a quick glance at Ezana. “Except the three royal regiments, of course.”

    “We’ll leave two regiments in Arabia also,” said Garmat. “That will be enough. The Arabs will have no problem with Antonina’s decrees on the succession.”

    “That will be enough,” Ezana agreed. “The kingdom will be stable, and Ousanas can squeeze whatever advantage he can get for Axum from our deepened participation in the war. By the time he gets back, at least a year will have elapsed from Eon’s death.”

    “Rukaiya?” Antonina asked.

    “Yes. I agree.” She also, smiled gently. “And I will be ready, by then, for another husband.”

    “Done!” Ezana boomed. He did, however—just barely—manage to restrain himself from slamming the ferrule on the stones.

    Ousanas scowled. “And, now—for the details! We’ll have at least a week to squabble—more likely, two—before a suitable wedding can be organized. The first thing I want clearly established is that the royal regiments—not the otherwise-soon-to-be-impoverished mendicant family of the downtrodden angabo—has to pay for all the damage done to the floors by heavy-handed commanders.”

    “Ridiculous!” boomed Ezana. “The maintenance of the palace should clearly be paid for out of the angabo’s coffers.”

    The spearbutt slammed the floor.