The Return to Makeda's Court

V
The Return to Makeda's Court

1. LATER IN 968 B.C.E

TAMRIN WAS a master storyteller, sometimes full of wit, sometimes subtle, at other times of morbidity, but always with a slight abberation of the truth.

Tamrin: Then this shifta, this Nubian, wields around and slices my cheek with his shelgai. I could feel the edge cutting into my skin and my blood pouring out on the ground.

He slowly and deliberately panned his piercing eyes into the faces of his companions, testing their reaction. Anguish was written on them.
With dramatic suddenness, he jerked his full bronzed face into the light emanating from the plateau fire, exaggerating the blood red gash, which reached from the corner of the left eye to his noble chin.

Gizaw (a frequent accomplice in his story-telling): Then whay happened, my lord?
Tamrin (snarling): I ... I ... killed him.

Tamrin had pre-planned the long pause, allowing them to fill in the details of the torture in their minds and at their leisure.
Gizaw knew it was probably a fabrication of Tamrin's imagination, but he kept silent, for he didn't want to taint his friend's infrequent brutish image with something as mundane as the truth. The 20-man entourage, which had been enduring the hardships of the Ethiopian highlands for a fortnight, since leaving Adulis for the City of the Throne, needed diversion, such as Tamrin's tales, but Gizaw noticed a degree of sadness in his employer's voice. Perhaps, his thoughts were elsewhere.
"One more day, friends," sighed Tamrin, realizing the arduous journey was nearly complete. He shivered in the darkness and clutched his hamma to his shoulders as he gazed into the blackened sky and all he could see was the dim outline of the dying moon god, Illumquh.
The vision of the golden container was only a distant memory, lost in the mountains of Lebanon.

2. CITY OF THE THRONE

IN THE Royal Court of Ethiopia, the whisperings became more pronounced the following morning. From bare-footed servant girls to the ancient elders, all were aware of Tamrin's return from the North Country of King Solomon.
They knew he had departed nearly a year earlier with a caravan of precious merchandise for the building of a temple to an Israelite god.
And now in the dusky haze of the late October afternoon, he could see thousands of small bonfires encircling the welcoming gates of the jewel of Makeda's great kingdom.
It was good to be home.

The 18-year old, who combined the sensuous beauty of a full-blossomed woman and the curiosity of a young girl, was waiting in the throne room.

Makeda: What was he like?
Tamrin (playfully): Who, he?
Makeda (pleading): You know. Come on, Tam, tell me, please tell me.
Tamrin (a smile causing creases at the corners of his eyes): He's ugly and he's old and he's poor.

Makeda knew these were fabrications, for she had been involved in the final negotiations of sending Kingdom's goods to Solomon, so his coffers had to be full.
Being old and ugly might have some validity except for her leading trader's facial expression, she very much doubted it.
He enjoyed the repartee between himself and Agabos' daughter, ever since she was a small child, skipping in the Royal Courtyard, playing hide and seek among the myrtles and watching, fascinated, by her transportation into a beautiful and intelligent woman, who had shown such adeptness in the science of astronomy and history, He thought of his beloved Bela when he saw the purity of Makeda's face.

Makeda: Tell me, please, tell me.
Tamrin: Bless your heart, child. He's not ugly. In fact, he's the most handsome man I've ever seen, and he's not old. He's maybe three or four years older than you, I think, and his wealth knows no bounds.

She sat mesmerized as Tamrin's words flowed, with such sincerity.

Tamrin: Solomon's a wise man. Of course, he comes from good stock, for his father was David. I tried to watch his every move in the administration of his office. You know me, child, business first.

Shifting his lanky frame on the low-slung divan, he expounded on the northern monarch.

Tamrin: The sweetness of his words is like water to the man who is thirsty.
Makeda (her face a question mark, for her adviser and friend rarely such words): Could this be true?
Tamrin (loudly): Yes, yes, yes. He has glory and riches, which his god has given him in abundance. Listen, he's got gold and silver and precious stones and rich apparel and innumerable cattle, sheep and goats.
Makeda (sighing): Oh, he sounds so wonderful.
Tamrin (matter of fact): He wants you to visit him.
Makeda: He wants me to do what?
Tamrin: He wants you to visit him in Jerusalem.

The young queen's face was now flush with excitement.
She paused to collect her thoughts.

Makeda: Why did you leave his court?
Tamrin (smiling gently): Because I missed you, my Lady.
Makeda (blushing): Oh, Tam.

It was true.

3.

MAKEDA AND Solomon, whose paths were prestined to meet and interwined through eternity, had taken different routes to their thrones, but there was one common thread, for their fathers had instilled in them an elephantine urge for wisdom.
It had been only three, almost four, years since Makeda had been thrust into power and the traumatic memories of the transition came flooding back as Tamrin continued relating his Jerusalem experience.

On the morning of her father's death, the pain reached deep into her bowels as the Old Woman slowly moved the wooden phallus against the membrane covering the virgin's womb.
This would be a ritual at every full moon for the rest of her days. Or so, she thought, for she prided herself in her virginity since it symbolized her Ethiopian monarchy.
Her father, Agabos, had offered up an oath to the Sun and the Moon in the heavens that this Land of the South would be ruled by his virgin daughter after his death.
The prodding finally ended and Makeda breathed easier. It was a deep sigh of relief, realizing the thoughts of her yourh weren't of such power to break through the membrane. Her dreams of the lustful closeness of the tawny warriors, who paid homage to her father, were, indeed, just dreams.
Flights of fancy of a young maiden.
The Emperor's daughter called for Tera, her lady-in-waiting.
A purple robe was placed around the delicate limbs of the virgin, and they both retreated into the Garden of the Pool.
Makeda loved the smell. The scent of the flower petals on the ripple of water permeated the fresh air of the morning, far removed from the stifling heat of the African afternoons.
Slipping out of the robe, she squatted in the shallow areas and with one exquisite hand she reached into her loins. Withdrawing her fingers, she noticed a slight trickle of blood. The woden phallus had induced her menstrual time. Then, slowly, out of Tera's sight, she deliberately rubbed her long fingers between her legs, feeling a mixture of excitement and disgust.
Makeda rose from her hunched position and stepped towards the deeper end and as the water inched higher on her thighs, it washed away the stain of the ritual.
Descending under the soothing waters, she savored the solitude for a few moments before surfacing. Tera was waiting with a vessel of lilac-scented oil and even before the pearls evaporated, the liquid proceeded to form rivulets down her shoulders and across her upraised breasts. It accentuated the gleaming blackness of her skin. Her nipples hardened as a rush of air swept across the Garden.
"What's wrong?" she thought.
Makeda reached for her robe, being held by her lady-in-waiting, and hugged it to her bosom while desperately trying to hide her nakedness.
Then she knew what this surge of fear was.
It may have been the strange voices.
No, it was from wails within the palace walls.
"My father!"
Hurriedly, she dressed and almost leaped across the courtyard to her father's bedchamber.
The Keeper of the Gate silently opened the door, and then bowed. Makeda could see the Kingdom's elders surrounding her father's cot.
"Your father wishes to speak with you," muttered one of the most respected elders, Dhakwan, by name.
She bent low as the ancient ones, many mournfully leaning on walking sticks, shuffled backwards a few steps to allow their Emperor's only offspring to approach the bed.
"My beloved daughter."
The rasp seemed to be centered in his throat, as if being strangled.
"My beloved daughter, I ... I'm dying."
"No, my father, it's not true."
Makeda 's eyes were now filled to overflowing with stinging tears.
"Makeda, promise me ..."
He gasped for air.
"Anything, father, anything."
"Promise me," he moaned, "to govern well and ... to seek wisdom wherever it may be found."
Then Agabos, with a lengthy wheeze rushing up from his lungs, departed into the spirit world.
The sound of despair enveloped the royal enclosure. No one tried to comfort or silence the virgin daughter.
She threw herselc across the Emperor's chest, his voice and breath now gone and his watery eyes forever closed, and she wept uncontrollably.
All the while, deep in her spirit, she could hear the words: "My daughter, seek wisdom wherever it may be found."
A great pall hovered over the Kingdom, for Agabos had been the savor of his people.
Makeda had been told many times of his exploits.

4.

THE ELDERS of Ethiopia had at one time worshipped the Cobra and as was the custom each man had to present his youngest son as a sacrifice to the serpent, along with large quantities of sweet beer and milk. The elder would tie his child to a tree and permit him to be eaten alive.
The custom continued for generations until the nobleman, Agabos, implored the people to kill the Cobra. "Nobody wants to lose his son," he cried.
Fear stalked the land, not only because of the Serpent's power, but the devious manipulations of the Snake People, the cult of priests surrounding the King Cobra.
However, Agabos stood his ground and eventually the elders relented and agreed that Agabos would kill their nemesis and if he was successful, he would be declared the leader.
The nobleman prepared a poison from a cactus plan and fed the mixture to a stray goat. Under the cover of night, he hauled the goat's corpse and tied it to the Tree of Death, and waited for the Serpent to appear.
As the Sun spread its wings, the Cobra devoured the goat and it died. Agabos watched the death from the secrecy of the nearby shrubbery.
The Snake People, those man-faced vipers, which had tails of asses attached to their loins, crept towards the Tree and stared in unbelief at their limp god, curled up and unmoving beside the truncated goat. The wailing and hissing of their high priest, Zereul, lasted well into the next night. Then the Snake People disappeared.
"Praise be to the Sun and to Agabos," cried the people.
"Let us keep our promise and Agabos will be our emperor and we will worship his god, the Sun, for he cooks our food, and moreover , he lights the darkness and he removed our fear. We will call the Sun our king and we will call him our creator and we will worship him as our god."
A great Throne of Sapphires was placed in the center of the capital and following much pomp and ceremony, the Nobleman Agabos was crowned Emperor.
"We have defeated our enemy," he bellowed, lifting the body of the once-mighty enemy over his head.
"Hail, Agabos, may he govern us well and may he seek wisdom wherever he finds it," the subjects roared in unison.
"My people, I will govern you well, and I pledge to you that upon my death, my virgin daughter will succeed me on the throne. So be it."
At the moment of his ascension, his daughter, Makeda, was suckling on her mother's breast.

Within a fortnight, the word of Agabos' death reached the Chief Merchant at the port of Adulis.
He left immediately with his aide-de-camp Gizaw, for Tamrin loved Agabos and Makeda loved Tamrin, for he was the one in her father's court, who knew the path to wisdom.

5.

AFTER THE deluge, Aksumawi, a descendant of Noah and the great-grandson of Ham, and his family lived a nomadic existence before setting across the Sea of Eritrea from the ancient land of Arabia to a garden of myrtle bushes and palms with a Vesuvian spring under a great plateau.
A man of wisdom, Aksumawi was a meticulous administrator, instituting a system of divine kingship and religiously pursuing the worship of one god -- the God of the Patriarch Noah.
He also adopted an isolationist policy of keeping his land's boundaries secure with a handpicked legion, which successfully fended off any attackers.
The idyllic setting was shattered, however, by Aksumawi's successors, some of whom were violent, and many began to send war parties into the surrounding nations, particularly Egypt.
One emperor was so bold to even move his seat of government into Egyptian territory to a place called Saba, a walled fortress, on an island in the Middle of the Mother River -- the Nile.
Meanwhile, the prestige of Aksumawi's beautiful city dissipated and with its dissolution of the worship of the God of Noah. Egyptian and Sabean infidels from Yemen brought with them their reverence for the Sun and Moon and the gods of the heavens. The most insidious was Cobra worship with its human sacrifices, a diabolic religion imported from Persia.
With the advent of aggression, the Kingdom pushed its troops into cutting titanic swaths northward along the Nile with the determination to conquer all of Egypt to the Mediterranean. So afraid were the Egyptians of these Aksumites, who had already reached Memphis, they turned to oracles and divinations and a general named Moses, which means, in Egyptian, "saved from the river."
Moses went out leading a great army and surprised his enemies with a magnificent strategy.
The Aksumites, who now had made Saba their capital, expected the Egyptians to attack them from the water since the interior of the Land was infested with poisonous snakes, but Moses took baskets full of ibises and these vicious birds drove the serpents away.
Then General Moses marched his troops down on the enemy and defeated them in a surprise attack. They fled Egypt and were pursued by Moses all the way back to Saba, where they were defeated again, to such an extent they believed they were in danger of being reduced to slavery.
Moses, a descendant of the Hebrews, who had been in exile in Egypt had watched as his generation had been reduced to little more than slaves, far removed from earlier times when they held positions of power within Egypt, however, his conquest of these people, who would be later called Ethiopians, knew when he looked up at the remparts surrounding Saba that fame was fleeting and when he returned to his homeland, that he would once more be relegated to second-class status as a Hebrew, unless the victory was total.
While he contemplated his next move, Tharbis, the daughter of the Ethiopian emperor watched this noble warrior, and she fell madly in love with him because of his bravery.
With the assistance of a faithful servant, Tharbis proposed marriage.
When Moses had punished the Egyptians, he gave thanks to God and celebrated his marriage.
Then he led th Egyptians back to their own land.

If he expected to be treated as royalty on his return, he was mistaken, for the Egyptians hated him even more, partly because they were afraid.
They thought he might take advantage of his good fortune and try to subvert their government. The Pharoah was also afraid of him, and prepared to assist in the murder of Moses. The plots thickened and Moses secretly escaped across the desert, since the roads were patrolled.
Later, Moses would lead his oppressed people across the Red Sea on a 40-year search for the Promised Land. Their security was assured by a golden container, which housed their covenant in the handwriting of their God Yahweh and known as the Ten Commandments.

With Saba in ruins, the Aksumite kingdom returned to some of its former glory despite the dominance of Cobra worship.
In this setting, Agabos, the father of Makeda, made his stand against injustice.