Antonina, watching from her own position standing toward the rear of the cabin, found herself fighting back tears. Now, at the end of his short life, all traces of Eon the rambunctious young prince were gone. What remained was the dignitas of the negusa nagast of Axum.
Eon reminded her of his father, in that moment, the Kaleb who had gone before him—and had also been slain by Malwa. And not simply because his face, drawn by pain and exhaustion, made him look much older than he was. Kaleb had possessed little of his younger son’s intellect, but the man had exuded the aura of royal authority. So too did Eon, now that he was on the eve of losing authority and life together.
“You will destroy their fleet completely. The merchant vessels as well as the warships.” The words issued by Eon’s dry and husky voice blurred together a bit. The blurring did not detract from their weight. They simply made the words come like molten iron, pouring into molds. Not to be denied, but only received. The sarwen commanders nodded solemnly.
“You will destroy the docks. Destroy the shipyards. Burn and ravage the entire harbor.” Again, came the solemn nods.
Eon shifted slightly, where he lay reclined against his cushions. No sign of pain came to his face with the movement, however. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like a face carved in monumental stone.
And would be, Antonina knew, soon enough. As they had done with Wahsi the year before, the Axumite sarwen were transforming a stupid battle death into a thing of legend and myth. Before a year had passed, she had no doubt at all, Eon’s face would be carved into monuments throughout the Ethiopian highlands. And woven into the tapestries of Yemen and the Hijaz.
“This I command,” said Eon. “Let the navy of Axum be destroyed in the doing—this I command.”
He took a long and shuddering breath before continuing. “Our people can build new ships, raise new sarwen. But only if Belisarius is given the time to break Malwa. Time only we can give him, by penning Malwa to the land.” Slowly, laboriously: “Let them, even once, get loose on the sea, and the great Roman’s back will be exposed.”
The heads of the sarwen did not so much nod as bow in obedience. Eon watched them for a moment, as if to assure himself of their fealty, before he concluded.
“Bharakuccha is the key. It is the only great port left to Malwa on its western coast. Destroy that great fleet, destroy that harbor”—finally, a little hiss came—”and by the time they can recover their naval strength, Belisarius will have his sword to Malwa’s neck. Ethiopia’s future will be assured, even if no man in this fleet lives to see it.”
Ezana cleared his throat. The other sarwen commanders turned their heads to gaze upon him. Formally, Ezana was simply one of many sarawit commanders, no greater than they. But, over the past two years, he had become the “first among equals.” He and the great hero Wahsi had been Eon’s personal bodyguards, had they not? Eon’s son had been named after Wahsi, and Ezana was the commander of the royal regiment to which Eon himself belonged. As would young Wahsi himself, once his father was dead.
“It will be done, negusa nagast. Though this navy die in the doing.”
The words were echoed by all the regimental commanders. “Though this navy die in the doing.”
“Indeed so,” added Ousanas. The aqabe tsentsen, as always, had been sitting in lotus position on the floor rather than on a stool. Now he unfolded and rose with his inimitable grace. Then, stooping a little, he placed a hand on Eon’s brow.
“It will be done, negusa nagast. Have no doubt of it. And now you must rest.”
“Not yet, old friend,” whispered Eon. “There is still another task to be done.” His dark eyes moved to the only woman in the cabin. “Step forward, Antonina.”
Antonina felt herself grow tense. Dread piled upon heartbreak. Eon had said little to her, since he regained consciousness after the battle of Chowpatty. But she was certain of the subject he would now broach.