Not this, Eon! You cannot ask me—your mother in all but name—to do this! Anything else, but not this!
Eon’s eyes had never left her. Slowly, trying not to let her reluctance show, Antonina moved toward the bed where Ethiopia’s king lay dying.
Once she was standing alongside Ousanas, however, Eon’s thoughts seemed to go elsewhere. Antonina felt a moment’s relief. The negusa nagast’s eyes moved to Ezana.
“At the end, I am a man of the Dakuen. So I will be in that battle myself, Ezana. As my commander as well as my subject, I demand that right.”
Ezana’s eyes widened a bit. A veteran of many battles, the sarwen knew full well that Eon would probably be dead before the coming battle even started. He certainly would be incapable of even standing, much less wielding a weapon.
But then, as if some mysterious signal had passed between them, Ezana nodded his head gravely. “Be certain of it, negusa negast. Eon bisi Dakuen will lead us to victory at Bharakuccha, as surely as he led us at Chowpatty.”
Antonina remained confused by that exchange, but she had no time to puzzle over it. Eon’s eyes were now resting on her. The moment she dreaded was here.
“With my death,” husked Eon, “the dynasty will be in danger.”
Antonina forced herself not to hiss. Behind her, she could sense the commanders of the sarawit stiffening. Eon had now, for the first time, exposed to the light the great shadow which had hung over everyone since his mortal injury.
To her astonishment, Eon managed a chuckle. The effort seemed to wrack his body with pain, though the amusement did not leave his face.
“Look at them,” he half-gasped. “Like saints accused of sin.”
He broke off, coughing a bit. Then, very firmly: “It is true, and all here know it. My son is but a babe, his mother an Arab. A queen from Mecca, to rule over Ethiopians? With every Axumite suspicious of her family’s ambitions? And every sarwe eyeing the rest with equal suspicion?”
For a moment, he bestowed a stony haze on the regimental commanders. None of them but Ezana could meet that gaze for long. Within seconds, they were staring at the deck of the cabin.
“True!” stated Eon. “I know it. You know it. All know it.”
He paused, drawing in a slow and painful breath. “I will not have it. First, because Rukaiya is my wife and Wahsi is my son, and they are dear to me. I will not have my wife and child suffer the fate of Alexander’s. Second, because Axum is poised on the threshold of grandeur, and I will not see my empire brought down by my own rash folly.”
Again, he coughed; and, again, fought for breath.
“Let the dynasty survive—survive and prosper—and my folly will become transformed into a glorious legend.” He managed a faint smile. “As, I suspect, has usually been true with legends. Let it fall . . .”
He could no longer prevent the pain from distorting his features. “It will all have been for nothing,” he whispered. “The Diadochi reborn in Axum, and Ethiopia’s empire—like Alexander’s—torn into shreds.”
The king’s strength was fading visibly, now. Ezana cleared his throat. “Tell us your wish, negusa nagast.” For an instant, his hard eyes ranged right and left. “We—I, for one—will see it done.”
For a moment, Antonina felt a rush of hope. She held her breath. But then, seeing Eon’s little shake of the head, she felt herself almost trembling.
No! Not this!
“I am too weak,” whispered Eon. “Too—not confused, no. But not able to think well enough. The thing is too difficult, too complex. And—”
Again, he broke off coughing. “And, to be truthful, cannot think beyond my own love for Rukaiya and Wahsi. Only the sharpest mind can find the way forward in this fog. And only one whose impartiality and wisdom is accepted by all.”
Understanding, finally, the eyes of the all the regimental commanders moved to Antonina. An instant later, seeing their nods—nods of agreement; even relief—Antonina knew that protest was impossible.
She stared at Eon. There was nothing of majesty left in those dark eyes. Simply the pleading of a small boy, looking to his mother—once again, and for the last time—for salvation and hope.