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He did sleep, soon enough, his breathing growing slow and even, his limbs going lax. I lay awake for a long time, gazing into the darkness and thinking. I meant to leave Imriel’s bed for my own, but at some point, I passed unknowing from wakefulness into sleep, for the next thing I knew, it was morning and Joscelin was shaking me, Imriel standing behind him, wide-awake and grinning, no trace of the night’s fears reflected in his expression.

“Phèdre,” Joscelin said, looking amused. “You might want to get up. The tailor is back.”

So it was that we were arrayed in Jebean finery when we were summoned back to the royal court of Meroë. For Joscelin and Imriel, that meant breeches and
chamma
of snow-white linen, short cloaks thrown over the top. Joscelin was impatient at it, finding it binding. I had no sympathy for him, for the manner of gown for Jebean women was a tight-wrapped dress worn off the shoulder and secured in place with gold pins, broad bands of color woven in intricate patterns at the borders.

Ras Lijasu, however, approved.

“Ah, lady!” he said, clapping his hands and beaming with delight. “What a pleasure, to see you arrayed in the manner of our people! Nathifa, does she not look lovely?”

“Yes, brother.” The Ras’ sister smiled at us. She looked much like him, with the same flawless ebony skin and round cheeks, only more solemn.

“My lord is generous,” I said, curtsying.

“Oh, it is nothing, nothing. Muni, where are those gifts? Where have you got to?” The Ras looked around. “There you are! You shuffle like an old man, Muni. Come, let me have them.” With great ceremony, he bowed and presented a sandalwood coffer to me, opening the lid to show it held six ivory bracelets and six gold, each worked with depictions of the flora and fauna of Jebe-Barkal. “These are from Grandmother, a token of her appreciation. Queen Zanadakhete has heard the report of my men, and she is pleased.”

“They are very beautiful, my lord. Thank you,” I said.

“Well, put them on! Nathifa, help her, would you? That is not just any ivory, dream-spirit. It is carved from the tusks of Old Mlima, the oliphaunt who bore my great-great-grandfather to war against the Tigrati insurrection. Muni, stop dawdling. Where is … ah yes, there.” The Ras lifted a startling object from the cushion his grinning attendant proffered: a great collar made entire from a lion’s mane. This he draped about Joscelin’s shoulders, standing on his toes to reach. “There!” He beheld it with satisfaction. “A fit token for a mighty warrior. Tifari Amu told me how you stood against the Shamsun, and I have heard other stories come out of Khebbel-im-Akkad with you.”

I looked at Joscelin and tried not to laugh as he executed a solemn Cassiline bow, his face framed in tawny fur.

“Very nice!” The Ras applauded. “Very good. And for the young lord …” He produced a belt and dagger-sheath worked with tooled gold. “Rhinoceros hide, my little man! It will never wear or rot. And see,” he added, stretching out the length of the belt, “there is room to grow.” He nodded approvingly as Imriel buckled it in place. “You will use that for many years, I think. Well, good, that’s done! Come, sup with us, and tell us of Saba.”

And we did, seated on cushions around low tables, dining on morsels of spiced chicken, melon and rolled balls of millet flavored with lemon and sesame, with honey-mead and citron-water in abundance. The servants were deft without being particularly deferential, and I had the impression everyone in the royal palace was quite fond of their young ruler. For all his chatter, Ras Lijasu listened attentively, and when he interrupted, his questions were perceptive.

“So change begins with the women, eh?” He glanced at his sister. “That won’t surprise Grandmother, will it?”

“No.” Nathifa’s eyes gleamed merrily, making her resemblance to her brother even more pronounced. “Queen Zanadakhete was quite taken with the three of you. She wishes to know if you are of the opinion that the Sabaeans would welcome a trade delegation. She also wishes to know if the tall one will stay to join her honor guard. She thinks he would make a striking addition.”

Joscelin coughed to cover his surprise, and looked at me to make sure he had understood the Jeb’ez correctly. When I nodded, amused, he inclined his head to Nathifa. “Tell the Queen, please, she does much honor to me, but I have duties to my own Queen.”

Nathifa laughed. “I will tell her. What do you say of trade, my friends?”

We spoke of the matter at some length. Remembering the gift of needles I had made to Semira, I suggested that a modest delegation was the wisest course, lightly armed enough to constitute no military threat, bearing gifts of domestic and consumable goods such as were unattainable in Saba.

“It will whet their appetites,” I said, “and open the doors to peaceable commerce.”

“And they have goods in kind?” Ras Lijasu asked. “Such as are worth our while?”

I thought of how gold was held cheaply in Saba, of the abundance of natural resources. “Yes, my lord. Of a surety.”

“And no steel.” His handsome face took on a speculative cast. “Their army would be ill-equipped, against ours, if it came to it.”

“My lord.” My mouth had gone dry. I was conscious of my heart beating within my breast, of the Name of God sounding in the blood that throbbed in my veins. “Do you know the old stories of the Melehakim? How their mouths would fill with great cries on the battlefield that struck fear into the hearts of their enemies?”

The Ras nodded slowly.

“Then do not mistake Saba for easy prey.”

He regarded me for a long time without speaking. “Tifari and Bizan said you were touched by the gods, lady dream-spirit. I will heed your warning. But remember it is Saba that took arms against Meroë so long ago. I merely think to protect my people.”

“So did Khemosh the Accursed,” his sister said tartly. “Do not fear, my friends. Queen Zanadakhete is wiser than her impulsive grandson. For so long as Saba is content to let the ancient quarrel rest, so is Jebe-Barkal. There will be no aggression.”

“Ah!” Lijasu threw his hands in the air. “Must a man be reviled for thinking? I never proposed war, but only considered the outcome of it. Muni, fill my cup; I am beleaguered by beautiful women.”

Thus the moment passed, and my heart beat easier within me. We spoke longer of Saba and other things, and the Ras invited us to remain in Meroë. When we demurred, he insisted on arranging our transport to Majibara. I was grateful for his offer, for in truth, our funds were running short and, too, we would be bereft of Kaneka’s expertise in hiring a caravan. It was a pleasant day, all told. Before we left, Nathifa led us to the inner courtyard for a final audience with Queen Zanadakhete.

The rains had begun, lighter than before. We knelt before the curtained alcove, while servants stood at the sides holding parasols of waxed cotton above us.

“Grandmother,” Nathifa called. “The D’Angelines wish to give their thanks.”

The curtains twitched and I beheld once more a sliver of face, a bright, dark eye peering. On my knees, I bowed low from the waist, hearing the gold and ivory bracelets clatter as I did. Imriel shifted his new belt-sheath as he bowed, and the ruff of Joscelin’s lion’s-mane collar brushed the moist tiles.

“Please accept our gratitude, your majesty,” I said.

“You have done us a service,” said the voice of Zanadakhete of Meroë. “Pray, do us another.” One hand emerged from the curtains to beckon to Nathifa, who came forward and bowed, accepting a coffer like the one the Ras had given me, only finer. “My grandson tells me you return to your own land. Give this to your Queen, with my greetings. Tell her we would welcome an embassy in Meroë, if she wished to send one.”

“I will do that, your majesty,” I said, bowing again and taking the coffer.

“It is good. You may go, with my blessing.” The curtains fell closed, concealing the veiled figure. We all bowed again, and rose to follow Nathifa. Behind us, I heard a soft voice murmur to an unseen attendant, “It is as I thought. The tall one looks well in a warrior’s mane.”

“So,” Nathifa said to us within the royal palace. “Here are some old friends, to escort you to your lodgings.” With a gesture, she indicated Tifari Amu and Bizan, both resplendent in their full soldiers’ regalia. “You will want to have a care with that gift.”

“What is it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Look and see.”

I opened the coffer and beheld a glittering necklace wrought of gold and gems. The pendant bore an image of the kneeling Isis, her winged arms outspread, a massive emerald between the prongs of the horns that crowned her.

Bizan let out a low whistle.

I closed the coffer. “You want us to carry
this
two thousand miles to Queen Ysandre?”

“From a Queen, fit for a Queen. Why not?” Nathifa smiled and touched my brow with one finger. “You are carrying something more valuable in here, are you not?”

“Yes.” I held her gaze.

“This …” Nathifa tapped the coffer. “This is only rocks and metal, wrought in a pleasing form. If you can carry the other, this should be no trouble.”

“We will try,” I told her.

“I know,” she said, and smiled again. “Do not fear for Saba, lady. My brother thinks like a man, but he can charm the birds from the sky when he chooses. We have kept the Covenant of Wisdom, here. We will see that it is his charm he wields, and not a sword.”

“The gods grant it may be so,” I said.

“It shall be,” Nathifa promised. Joscelin, the lion’s mane tickling his nose, sneezed mightily.

Eighty-Two

THAT EVENING, we said our farewells to Tifari and Bizan.

“Have a care with Kaneka,” I said to our highland guide after embracing him. “She is a strong woman, with a strong will.”

“I know.” He favored me with one of his rare smiles. “It is what draws me to her.”

“She is also very handy with an axe,” I warned him.

He nodded. He was a handsome man, Tifari Amu, with his cinnamon skin and his dark, patient eyes. “I heard the story, my lady Phèdre. I listened to what was said, and to what was not. I understand a little bit of her courage. I hold it in all honor.”

“Good,” I said, gripping his upper arms. “I am glad of it.”

Bizan made Imriel a gift of his fire-striking kit upon parting, a curved bit of iron and a chunk of flint shaped to fit one’s hand, sealed in a watertight pouch with a compartment for tinder. “You were a good companion. You remember how I taught you to lay a fire?”

Imriel nodded, wide-eyed, clutching the pouch to him. “Thank you, Bizan.”

“Here, it ties on your fine new belt, like so.” Bizan suited actions to words, then ruffled Imriel’s hair. Imri not only endured it, but flushed with pride. “There. A proper soldier of the Queen’s Guard you’d make, boy.”

They refused all gifts in kind, swearing the Ras’ commission forbade it. I do not know if it was true, but it was courteously done. Bizan offered to facilitate the sale of our Umaiyyati mounts and the donkeys, his cousin being a horse-trader, and that offer I accepted with gratitude. I daresay he got his cut, but the price was far better than we would have gotten on our own.

Between Bizan’s aid and Ras Lijasu’s generosity, we were only another day in Meroë, making ready to depart. Once more, as so many times before, we packed our things, items of luxury going at the bottom of our trunks, items of necessity atop. I hid the coffer with Queen Zanadakhete’s necklace at the very bottom of mine.

“What am I to do with this?” Joscelin complained, holding up the lion’s-mane collar.

“You could wear it,” I said, straight-faced. “The Jebeans think it becomes you.”

“And you?” He eyed me.

“Truly?” I tilted my head to regard him. “Joscelin Verreuil, missing part of an ear or no, you are one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. But you look a little foolish with a lion’s mane about your neck.”

It went into his trunk, rather to Imriel’s chagrin.

We departed as we had arrived, crossing the suspension bridge on a long line of camels. Mek Gamal was our caravan-leader’s name, and he was a taciturn man, reputed to be one of the best in the business. He took his charge from the Ras with great seriousness, and if he was not the most garrulous of companions, he was assuredly among the most competent.

Perched atop my swaying camel, I turned many times to watch Meroë fall behind us as we followed the Nahar River’s course, until only the tips of the burial pyramids were visible. Another parting, another journey.

Another step toward home.

This time, we found the desert in blossom, following hard on the heels of the rains. And if there was anything stranger and more fantastic than that blighted landscape, it was seeing it bedecked with unexpected flowers. How could it be, I marveled, that anything could grow in such a place? And yet it did. On the outskirts, we encountered mimosa in full bloom, shrubs laden with yellow flowers, bright under the hot sun.

Even in the interior, there was life. In the shadow of a jutting basalt formation, we encountered melons growing in the desert, ripening on the vine with unimaginable speed. Mek Gamal called a halt, then, and we ate melons, their fruit faintly astringent, but blessedly moist. Following the Jebeans’ lead, we spat the seeds back into the sand.

Truly, the rains had ceased, and at night, the stars were as bright and crowded as I remembered them. I knew them better, now. If no one fetched me to sleep, I would sit for hours, gazing at them, recalling the names Morit had painstakingly taught me. To this day, there are constellations I can name only in Habiru. Hour after hour, they wheeled through the sky in their slow dance. I watched them, and thought about the Name of God.

It was hot, yes; oven-hot, as searing as before. My mouth grew no less parched, my skin no less dry. The endless swaying of the camels was no more comfortable than before. But in the desert, one can observe the dance of the stars, the steady course of the sun across the sky, and the play of light as it crosses the desiccated land. The air was clear, so sharp it cut like a blade. It was in such a place, I thought, stripped to the bare bones of existence, that the Sacred Name was first spoken.