Eon sat in his throne, almost unmoving. In the time which followed, he used no grand gestures to give emphasis to his words. It was quite unnecessary. The words themselves seemed carved in stone.
"Do not forget, commanders of the sarawit, why Ethiopia is ruled by me-and not you. You are the nagast, but I am thenegusa nagast. King of Kings. Our ancestors realized that kings are prone to folly, and thus they instituted the dawazz and required the approval of the regiments before a prince could become a king. But they also realized that officers-nobles of all stripes-are prone to a different folly. They forget to think of the kingdom, and think only of their own little piece of the realm. And thus thenegusa nagast was set above you."
He stared down at them, like a sphinx. "You think only of your profits, as if they were the sum of things. But I was at Ranapur, where Malwa butchered two hundred thousand people. Flayed them, fed them to animals, trampled them under elephants, tore them apart with oxen."
He was stone, stone: "Two hundred thousand. Can you comprehend that number-youcoin-counters? All the towns in Ethiopia and Arabia, put together, do not contain half so many people. You think Malwa will not do the same to Axum and Sana? Do you?"
Finally, he moved. A finger lifted from the arm of the throne and pointed to Ousanas.
"My dawazz, at my command, took the Talisman of God in his own hand and saw Axum's future, if Malwa is not crushed. By the time of his death in battle, we were nothing but refugees fleeing into central Africa-and with no great hope of finding a haven there."
He leaned forward, just a bit. "What use will your treasure be in central Africa,merchants? Do you plan to buy the finest grass huts, and sleep on the best dirt?"
Eon stared at his commanders. After a moment, they lowered their heads.
All but Wahsi, who growled: "I was at Ranapur, also. I did not try to count Malwa's murders. I could not even count the rivers of blood."
Eon let the silence last for a full minute, before he spoke again. Stone became iron.
"There will be no quarrel over this matter. I will tolerate no dispute. I will order the immediate execution of any officer who so much as utters a word of protest in private conversation with his soldiers. I will perch the heads of every commander of every regiment on the crosses of their thrones in the training field. If you doubt me-if you think the sarwen will follow you rather than the negusa nagast-then test me now. Before I smash rebellion in Arabia, I will smash it here."
Silence. Eon let it stand, for two full minutes.
Iron became steel.
"My commands are as follows. We will send a delegation to Mecca immediately, riding the fastest horses in Axum and taking the fastest ship in Adulis. If Garmat is strong enough for the journey, he will lead the expedition. If he is not-"
"I am well enough, King of Kings," said Garmat.
Eon nodded; continued: "Our delegation will meet with the leaders of the Quraysh and all the other tribes of the Hijaz. They will offer the following. Henceforth, the tribes will be entitled to a share of the profits from the seaborne trade. They will also be granted access to all caravan trade anywhere in the realm of Axum-here in Ethiopia as well as in Arabia. And finally-"
The young king took a little breath of his own. For just a second, a shadow seemed to cross his face.
"The delegation will offer marriage to the negusa nagast-to me-for one of their princesses. Whichever one they select. The blood of Arabia will henceforth flow into Axum's ruling dynasty."
Eon smiled, finally. It was a small, wan smile. "Legally, and officially. It has already flowed into it often enough otherwise."
Antonina was not fooled by that smile. She understood how little Eon cared, so soon after the death of Tarabai and Zaia, to even think of marriage. But the young king, here also, was showing that he could put the needs of his kingdom first.
"Negusa nagast," she murmured, under her breath.
Or so she thought. Perhaps she spoke louder than she intended, because the words were almost instantly echoed by others in the room. By all in the room, within seconds.
"Negusa nagast,"repeated the regimental commanders. The two words, alone, were the token of their submission.
Ethiopia's new King of Kings had established his rule. In what mattered, now, not in the formalities of ritual and custom. The regiments had raised him to the throne, but he had shown that he could break them to his will.
At first, as she carefully studied the faces of the commanders of the sarawit, Antonina was surprised that she could see no signs of resentment. To the contrary-for all their impassivity, she was sure she detected an underlying sense of satisfaction in those hard, black faces.
But, after a time, she realized that she had misunderstood those men. Traders and merchants they might be, in some part of their lives. But at the heart of those lives lay spears, not coins. When all was said and done, those warriors counted victory as the greatest treasure of all. And, like all such men, they knew that triumph was impossible without sureness of command.
Sureness of which they had just been given evidence. With their own heads offered, if need be, as the proof.
There was no need. In the hours which followed, as the session relaxed and delved into the specifics of war, and campaigns, and negotiations, and trade privileges, Antonina witnessed the forging of Ethiopia's new leadership. It centered on Eon, of course; but Ousanas was there also, and Garmat and Wahsi, and, by the end of the day, every single commander of the sarawit except those in rebellion in Arabia.
Watching the easy confidence with which those men planned their next campaign-participating in it fully, in fact, for her own forces were integral to the plans-Antonina found herself, again and again, forced to suppress an urge to giggle.
Bad move, Malwa. Oh-bad, bad move.
– Chapter10
Chapter 10
Deogiri
Spring, 532 A.D.
Raghunath Rao finished his bowl of rice and set it down on the stone floor of the rampart. Still squatting on his heels, he leaned back against the outer wall. His head, resting against the rough stones, was only inches from one of the open embrasures in the crenellated fortification. The breeze coming through the gap in the wall helped to ease the heat. It was the middle ofgaram, India's dry season, and the land was like an oven.
Rao exuded satisfaction. "It's nice to get rice for a change," he commented. "I get sick of millet."
Squatting next to him, Maloji nodded cheerfully. "We should have enough for several days, too. That was a big shipment smuggled in from the coast."
Rao turned his head, peering through the embrasure at the distant lines of the Malwa besieging Deogiri. "Was there any trouble?"
Maloji grinned. "Not the least." He jerked his head toward the Malwa. "Half of those wretches, by now, are simply trying to stay alive. The Vile One isn't sending out many patrols any longer, and most of those keep their eyes closed. We let them pass unmolested, they don't see anything. That's the unspoken agreement."
Rao smiled. His eyes scanned the enemy trenches and fieldworks. That was simply habit. The Malwa besiegers were not trying to advance their lines any longer. They were simply waiting for the siege guns to arrive and break Deogiri's huge walls.
The walls of Deogiri had shrugged off Venandakatra's light field artillery, and they had been the doom of thousands of Malwa soldiers. The enemy had not tried to assault the city for weeks, now. Not even Venandakatra, who cared as much for the lives of common soldiers as he did for insects, would order any more charges.
Maloji continued. "If the Rajputs were still here, of course, we'd have a problem. But they've all been sent north. Our spies in Bharakuccha say the Malwa are having nothing but grief with the Romans in Persia." He spit on the floor. "Not even the Vile One's Ye-tai can force the regular rabble to conduct serious patrols any longer."