Ezana, standing at the rear of the chamber, slammed the iron ferrule of his spearbutt onto the stone floor. The harsh sound caused at least half of the notables to jump a bit.
“The Roman woman Antonina was appointed by Eon the Great to oversee the transition of power in Axum,” he announced. His loud voice was as harsh as the spearbutt. “I was there, as he lay dying, and bear witness. Does any man challenge me?”
Again, the ringing spearbutt on the floor. “Any man?”
He allowed the silence to last for a full five minutes. Then:
“It is done. Until the queen is ready to resume her responsibilities—which will take as long as she needs—Antonina rules Axum. Do not doubt it. Any of you. Do not doubt it for an instant.”
Again, the spearbutt. “My name is Ezana, and I am the commander of the Dakuen sarwe. The regiment of the negusa nagast, which will serve the baby Wahsi for his fist. Should he need it. Pray to whatever God you pray to, o ye notables, that he does not. Pray fervently.”
A queen and her weddings
“And here I thought the Christian ceremony took forever,” whispered Kungas. “At least they managed it in one day.”
“Be quiet,” hissed Irene. “You’re supposed to be silent for the next hour or two. Even whispering, people can see your lips move.”
“You’ve been whispering too,” he hissed back.
“Doesn’t count for me,” replied Irene smugly. “I’m wearing a veil.”
* * *
In actual fact, the Buddhist wedding did not take more than a day—although it did consume that one in its entirety. But the fault lay not with the religion so much as the circumstances. Irene could have easily chosen a simpler and shorter ceremony, which Kungas would have much preferred. But she told him, in no uncertain terms, not to be an idiot.
“You want to drag half your kingdom to see the glorious stupa you’re having rebuilt on the ruins of the old one? Which just—so conveniently!—happens to be within eyesight of the great new fortifications you’re building in the Khyber Pass? And then keep it short? Not a chance.”
“You’ll have to wear a veil all day,” whined Kungas, grasping for any hope. “You hate wearing veils.”
Irene began stroking her horse-tail. By now, she had become as accustomed to that mannerism as she had ever been to brushing back her Greek-style hair. And found even more pleasure and comfort in the deed. Her old habit had been that of a spymaster; the new one, that of a queen. The horse-tail was a daily reminder that the same insignia flew under the banners of her army.
“I said I personally detested wearing a veil, Kungas. But I have to tell you that the day men invented the silly things was the day they sealed their own downfall.” The horse-tail stroking became smug, smug. “Take it from me, as a professional intriguer. Best aide to diplomacy ever invented!”
* * *
The day after the ceremony, Irene introduced Kungas to the Pathan chiefs. The meeting went quite well, she told him afterward.
“How can you tell?” he demanded, a bit crossly. “They spent most of their time glowering at you, even though you didn’t say a single word after the introductions.”
Then: “And take off that damned veil! We’re in our own private chambers now, and I’m handicapped as it is. Besides”—much less crossly—”I love the sight of your face.”
When the veil came off, Irene was grinning. “The reason they’re glowering is because I made sure they found out, beforehand, that I’m planning to bring my female bodyguard with me to the pagan wedding ceremony we’re having in their hills next month.”
Kungas groaned. “Wonderful. Now they’ll be certain I am the most effeminate ruler in the history of the Hindu Kush.”
Irene’s grin never wavered. “Oh, stop whining. You’re just grouchy at the thought of another wedding, that’s all. You know perfectly well that the reason they’re unhappy is because they’d like to think that—but can’t. Not standing in the shadow of that great fortress you’re building in the Khyber, watching thousands of Malwa prisoners do the work for you. Those sour old chiefs would give anything to have a set of balls like yours. ‘Manly’—ha! Bunch of goat-stealers.”