--------------------------------- [b][u]May 15th: Addis Ababa[/u][/b] --------------------------------- Sahle's golden train pulled up to Addis Ababa's station in the morning. Out the window the Emperor saw dozens of men on horse back dressed in the traditional clothing of the Galla cavalry; a lions mane headdress, a goat-skin cape with colorful embroidery, a small shield in one hand, and a lance in the other. Modern warfare had made this look obsolete, but the Ethiopians lived in their history, and their ceremonies demanded tradition. Sahle himself was dressed Imperially, wearing excellent robes and riding boots. He dismounted the train in a good mood. His destination was the biggest party of the season. Waiting for him near the platform was Ras Wolde Petros Mikael, one of the few feudal lords left in Ethiopia and Sahle's great-uncle. It is said that Ras Wolde Petros was conceived the night of the Battle of Segale by Negus Mikael, Emperor Iyasu's father, during a celebration of the victory. After Mikael's death, Iyasu had his younger brother made Ras and gave him the province of Wollo at the tender age of eleven. That'd been thirty two years ago, and the man dismounting from his horse was a bearded warrior entering middle age. "Your Imperial Majesty." Ras Wolde Petros saluted. "Uncle!" Sahle smiled, "It is good to see you. I'm distressed you had to ride on horseback all the way down here. Sometime we will introduce you to motor cars." Ras Wolde Petros's expression remained flat. "Did you learn anything on your tour?" he asked. The two men were walking toward the Emperor's limousine: a German Maybach gifted to him by Tanganyika. "I learned things. I always learn things." Sahle said nonchalantly. The door was opened for him by his driver. "Good. I need your knowledge. There are disturbing things happening in this country. We need your guidance." Sahle slipped into the limo where Rudolph was already waiting. The door was closed behind him. Sahle saluted his great-uncle and watch the man remount his horse. They proceeded through the city slowly so the horsemen could escort them to the Jan Meda near the center of town. Addis Ababa was growing. Its city center didn't yet sport the boastful spear-like skyscrapers seen in American cities, but the solid squared off types were there, tall enough to be impressive, especially in a city founded within living memory eighty years ago. The modern core passed by on the Emperor's left. On his right was the hill where the palace and tomb of Menelik II stood. Up there, among shady eucalyptuses, were the stately reminders of Ethiopia's first lurch into civilization, the Romanesque married to the spindly and spend-thrift African. Rudolph offered the Emperor a joint. Sahle waved it away. "I'd fall asleep. We'll go later." "I'll save the date." Rudolph tucked it in an inner pocket and straightened his jacket. As they approached the Jan Meda, foot traffic was busier. The Jan Meda wasn't much, just a massive flat dirt plain kept unoccupied so it could be used for special events. Crowds were forming. Sahle rolled down his window and waved. He didn't mind the people. They were what they looked like; just people, no worse than he was, but there was something alien about them too. The reality of their lives, how they lived and what they did, were just words to him. He only really understood his life, and he understood their life through his. Since his life was good, so must theirs be. He subconsciously suspected that every left-wing worry or peasant complaint was a show put on for him by God to flesh out the world around him. He wouldn't say this, he wouldn't even think it without laughing at himself, but some deep part of him assumed it was true. There would be food for the common people here anyway. He'd given that work to Sisay Makari, who organized a feast outside the normal holiday schedule and opening it up for all the city, ensuring that many would show up. The arrival of the Emperor caused a stir. People bowed. Some prayed. Others shouted well wishes, or whatever they had to say, which Sahle couldn't hear because it all blended together into crowd noise. The cavalry guard fanned out, giving the limo a place to turn and unload. Sahle found himself facing a sea of officials and delegates. This was the part of Emperoring that Sahle was good at, and he put on a big smile. He saw from the corner of his eye the Heaps, who he knew well from aboard the ENS Happiness, Mrs Heap much better than Mr Heap. They circled into the crowd. Sahle forgot they'd been on the train with him until now, since he had kept them in a different car. The man of the hour greeted him, a man in his thirties wearing expensive robes, his hair cut short and his rounded face sporting a western style toothbrush mustache. When he signed it, his name appeared as [i]Tsehafi Taezaz Bitwoded Desta Getachew[/i]. However, most of this was not his name. Ethiopia, like so many feudal governments in world history, was drowning in titles. [i]Tsehafi Taezaz[/i] was his position within the court: Minister of the Pen. This meant he was the keeper of the Imperial seal, the Emperor's primary advisor, and his secretary. [i]Bitwoded[/i] was an Imperial blessing, meaning [i]beloved[/i], denoting his position in the Emperor's personal circle. With this in mind, the name he signed, [i]Tsehafi Taezaz Bitwoded Desta Getachew[/i], could be translated as "The Minister of the Pen, and Beloved of the Emperor; Desta Getachew." And since Ethiopians didn't have true surnames, but rather placed their father's name behind their own, and their grandfather's behind that if they had a reason to be especially proud of that connection, Desta's name could be further translated as "The Minister of the Pen, and Beloved of the Emperor; Desta, son of Getachew." Desta Getachew was surrounded my a number of hangers on and friends with political benefits. They came in all colors, like a bag of sweets. Sahle recognized Akale Tebebe, one of Desta's many secretaries, a young man with a habit of dressing in robes so well made and intricately decorated that they made all the women look like nuns in comparison. "Your Imperial Majesty." Desta saluted. His voice was as smooth as butter. "Akale is here for your congratulations." "For what?" Sahle said. "He's leading our diplomatic mission to China." "Very good." Sahle finally looked at the man, "We do not know much about China, besides that they are over there somewhere" he motioned northward, "But We know you'll find it. And you'll make Us proud." Sahle switched to the Imperial We, almost without thinking, when he was in the presence of his Minister of the Pen. "I live to serve your majesty" Akale said. "Come, your majesty." Desta motioned, "Most of the whose who have gathered near the [i]Vin Rouge[/i] table." [i]Vin Rouge[/i], a French Restaurant and Culture Club, catered the food for the elite. [i]Emebet Hoy[/i] Eleni, Sahle's mother, chatted with her youngest son Yaqob, Sahle's seventeen year old brother. Eleni was a middle aged woman gone chubby, dressed in the thick dress of a royal lady, her hair kept short. Yaqob was young looking, nearly as tall as Sahle, with the difference in height made up by the young prince's impressive afro. "Mother, brother, I didn't see you!" Sahle said buoyantly. "Your majesty." they both replied. "How did you like your visit to the south?" Sahle came closer to Yaqob, allowing them to speak in hushed tones. "I heard you had your fun." "I said what needed to be said." Yaqob replied stoicly. "You did!" Sahle slapped him on the back, "You are a speaker, my brother. You say what you need to say. Hello mother." He kissed his mother on the cheek. "How was the ocean?" she asked. He shrugged. "It's still there. We'll talk later. Desta probably has friends for me to meet..." Desta did. He stood politely through the family reunion, but he had the look of business undone on his face, a look he wore too often for Sahle's taste. Desta Getachew hadn't become Minister of the Pen by fucking the right princess. He'd fought his way to the top, a shining star of the new bureaucracy, and a man who had his hand in more pockets than Sahle had in skirts. Desta's friends were the typical kind. Foreigners for the most part, and businessmen. Some whispered that Minister of the Pen was only his side gig. This was true in a sense. He was [i]Mesfin[/i] (Governor) of Sidamo, the government of which put him in a position to dominate the Ethiopian coffee trade, distributing world wide under the corporate umbrella 'Negus Coffee'. "Your majesty." a youngish American man greeted in an accent that sounded partially British, "I'm Bradford Carnahan, President of the American branch of Negus Coffee." He was the first of several foreign dignitaries. Though they came from all over the world, they all dressed the same; safari suits and pith helmets, like Addis Ababa was a hunting camp in the bush. Carnahan spiffed up his suit with an inexplicable anchor pendant on his breast pocket. "It is always a pleasure to meet Americans." Sahle said, "Your country makes the best music of all the big world." "A fan of the Second New England School?" Carnahan acted delighted, speaking through his teeth at a higher pitch than he had before. Sahle had no clue what he meant. "I did not expect such class in this place. No offense of course, my good man... or your majesty, if you prefer." "Does the Second New England School do Jazz?" "Oooh, you're a Gershwin man?" Carnahan gave a wry smile, "Between you and me, I like a little taste of the wild life too. Don't tell the boys. Oh! You know who also likes Gershwin! I almost forgot..." He snapped, "Sis!" A beautiful blue-eyed woman parted from the table, a cup of red wine in her hand. "This is my sister, Livy Carnahan. She's just graduated. Harvard, naturally. She wants to see the world..." Bradford continued to ramble. Sahle hardly noticed him now. "Your majesty." she smiled, red hair falling across her shoulders. "If Americans are so lovely, I should give up my crown." Sahle kissed her hand. She seemed surprised by this. "I don't think you should give up your country. It is a lovely place." she replied, visibly embarrassed. "Eh, scenery is scenery. How long are you staying, before you go off to see more world?" "We're going to Sidamo, to see Mr Desta's properties." Bradford interjected. "That is why we are all here." Desta was looking impatiently at Sahle. So was a line of goofy looking men. "We hope you enjoy your time." Sahle straightened himself up, inwardly groaning, outwardly Imperial. Livy was still in his mind when he went to the next person. "Miyagi Yakuga" Desta introduced a short Asian man to the Emperor. "He's President of Negus Coffee in Japan." The Japanese man bowed from the waist in a way that Sahle thought looked awkward. "I am happy to have met your majesty." Miyagi said, "Our countries, Japan and Ethiopia, are similar in many ways. We both respect our Emperors, and the beauty that is in the world." "We appreciate your words." Sahle said, moving to the next man. "[i]Freiherr[/i] Wolfgang von Fürstenberg" Desta introduced a red-faced German with a mustache not unlike Desta's. "We know him." Sahle grinned, "The German Ambassador." "Of course you do, your majesty." Wolfgang beamed, "Mine is not a face you forget. It won't let you. Believe me, men have tried, and they have failed." "You went to tour [i]Magdala[/i]?" The Emperor recalled, "Were you impressed?" "Your Emperor Theodore must have been a great man to have walked up that mountain more than once. It almost took the life out of me." Sahle laughed. "We wouldn't know; We haven't been." "You must go." Wolfgang seemed surprised. "The view from the top is brilliant." "Maybe we'll go together" Sahle said, "Stay down at the bottom, and get drunk, and boast of the men who have been to the top." "Germany is glad to have a friend like you, your majesty." The German Ambassador rolled with laughter. Desta nudged the Emperor to continue. "Jefferson Davis Bacon, Ambassador to the United States." Desta brought Sahle to a fat man with a white suite instead of safari clothes, and greasy strings of hair hanging out from under his pith helmet. "Well I don't think it's treason to call you 'Your Majesty'" Bacon had a slow drawn out accent, "So accept a true blue 'Your Majesty' from me." "We do." Sahle said. He found it interesting that, though the German and the Japanese man spoke French, the Americans spoke their native English. "President Norman wants the United States to be friends with all the world. So if you can think of anything, and I do mean anything in the most christian and hospitable sense, have no fear of asking it from us." Sahle moved onto somebody he recognized. "Mr Heap" he said, cutting Desta to the chase, "Mrs Heap." "Your majesty!" Mr Heap said, giving the best excited and on the verge of climax smile he could muster. "I again must tell you how gay of a time we had on your ship. Beautrice especially enjoyed the ride." The Heaps had a guest. "This is Ms Sarah Reicker." Reginald babbled, "She's, ah, what you call colored. Black and white parents, you know? Jungle fever, wot wot." The effect was pleasant, a rich brown skin color and long black hair complimented, in her case, by a pair of green eyes. She was shorter than him, perhaps around 5'5, with a build that suggested she was no stranger to physical exercise. To Sahle she looked like an Ethiopian. Her eyes met his and she bowed slightly. "Your majesty. A pleasure to meet you." Reginald meanwhile made no secret of trying to see down the front of her shirt as she bowed, though a flash of irritation showed on his face. A failed attempt at wooing her perhaps? "She's my Aide." Heaps said quickly to cover his momentary lapse, "Recently arrived from the Rhodesian Foreign Affairs Office. We breed them good down there!" "You do." Sahle smiled. He kissed Sarah's hand. "If there is anything you need while you are in this country, I am at your disposal." Sarah smiled. The two parted ways when Desta put his hand on the Emperor's shoulder. Sahle had met Desta's special friends. But they weren't here for that. There was a party to have. The Emperor speed-walked to the dais - a stage set up at one end of the crowd, draped in fine cloth, glittered in golden ornaments, a throne in the center. Two male lions flanked the throne, golden collars around their necks and golden chains attaching them to the dais, a reflection not so much of their behavior (they roamed free in the Palace gardens), but of the nervousness of their foreign visitors around such animals. Sahle sprung up the Dais and turned around to address the massive audience. "The Lion of Judah has prevailed!" he said, standing one foot on his throne and the other on the stage, his voice projecting without artificial aid. The Lion to his right, the one called Aron, roared. Sahle grinned, pointed at himself, and mouthed the words without saying them "I am the Lion of Judah." He then sat down, poised arrogantly with one leg resting on his knee, and ran his fingers through Aron's black mane. The second lion, Muse, woke up and became attentive at the presence of so many people look its direction. "We are here to celebrate Tsehafi Taezaz Bitwoded Desta Getachew" Sahle continued to address the crowd, "Our good friend and worthy servant." Everyone's attention was on him. Desta calmly walked up to the dais and sat at the Emperor's feet. "You have all come to celebrate this man's honorable life. This is the time for well wishers and gifts!" The government officials were not given the honor of first up to the dais. That honor was given to Desta's foreign friends. Jefferson Davis Bacon went first, giving the Minister of the Pen the keys to a new car he'd no doubt be shown later on. [i]Freiherr[/i] Wolfgang von Fürstenberg gave him a custom-made pistol with leopards engraved on the grip. Reginald and Beautrice Heap walked up arm in arm, their cute young friend in tow, and presented Desta with a painting from some respectable artist Sahle knew nothing about. Miyagi Yakuga hefted up a large porcelain vase bearing the image of cherry trees in full blossom. Bradford Carnahan marched up with his sister Livy following behind. Sahle only had eyes for the later. He might not have noticed Bradford at all if the man didn't raise his voice when presenting Desta with the deed to some property in Manhattan. "You said you love New York City, Mr Desta." Bradford almost shouted, "Perhaps you can spend some of the summer there, when the African heat sets in. The boys at the Union League Club would be fascinated by your company I'm sure." Livy Carnahan stood quietly behind her blustering brother, glass of wine in hand. Rushed along by Desta before, the Emperor hadn't been allowed to fully drink in her beauty, but as the line of foreigners were followed by a longer line of Ethiopian nobles and officials, he had all the time in the world. She was thin, wore a knee-length daisy-yellow dress, and stood in a regal pose that she must have learned at some finishing school. Red hair flowed over her shoulders, and Sahle didn't stop himself from imagining her in the Eve pose, that hair barely hiding her small breasts. His fantasy fully rounded out, placing them both in the Garden of Eden, standing on opposing sides of a babbling creek beneath the shade of eucalyptus trees. She was pale, graceful, a princess, and she felt right and warm in his arms. He melted into this image and lived in it as the ceremony dragged on. "The [i]Bahr Negus[/i] didn't make it." Desta's patient voice shook Sahle from his daydream. The gift giving ceremony was done. Those who were invited were proceeding to the palace. "I didn't see him." Sahle said. He looked for Livy Carnahan and noticed she had left as well. That was disappointing, but now Desta had his full attention. The [i]Bahr Negus[/i], Hamere Noh Dagna, was loyal as far as Sahle could tell, but he was a prickly man, and rarely left his stronghold in Mogadishu unless there was personal honor in it for him. [i]Bahr Negus[/i] was an ancient office that had lapsed during the Era of Judges. It's literal meaning was "Sea King." In ancient times, it denoted a sort of Marquis of the coast, a man who's rule covered the coastal strip of Eritrea and whose job it was to protect the country from the Muslim empires bordering the Red Sea. In those days, the Bahr Negus had often rivaled the Emperors, even fighting them under the flag of a separate kingdom they called [i]Medri Bahri[/i], or "Sea Land". Iyasu V had resurrected the office for several reasons. First, Ethiopia's new found power made it necessary to build a navy, and the office of [i]Bahr Negus[/i] put the naval project in the hands of a unifying individual. Second, by giving the government of the cities surrounding the major Naval ports to the [i]Bahr Negus[/i], Iyasu deprived the Al-Himyaris of Mogadishu, checking the most powerful subject of the Ethiopian State. It was clever. Sahle was in awe of his grandfather's ability to think of stuff like that. Sahle also knew that Desta and Hamere Noh Dagna disliked each other. They were both proud men seeking honors, and that made them like two identical poles on a magnet. Sahle didn't feel slighted by his [i]Bahr Negus's[/i] failure to appear. The slight was meant for Desta. The procession to the palace was slow. Sahle climbed into his car and realized that Rudolph von Lettow-Vorbeck wasn't with him. They had split up at the beginning of the event and failed to come back together. Sahle rode alone to his home on a road choked with the traffic of nice cars. [i]Gebi Iyasu[/i] had been the home of the Imperial Family for thirty years now. It was designed by an Italian architect, its main entrance very similar to that of an Italian villa, with columned arches for the entrance way and balcony overlooking it. The second story connected to the east and west wing directly, but the first floor did not, as the second story connections were held up by a colonnade that led into the courtyard behind the estate. Sahle's limo went into a hidden garage meant only for the Imperial residents. When they parked, he smiled at seeing Sisay Makari's motorcycle, an Orthodox cross inlayed on the gas tank. A less crowded version of the party filled the Imperial Palace. "The Conquering Lion of Judah, Negus Negast of Ethiopia, Sahle." A Page announced when he entered the main hall. Everyone bowed. "We hope you enjoy your time." Sahle said, signalling for them to stand. Sahle went looking for Livy Carnahan. "Your Imperial Majesty." A familiar voice grated on his ears. He was looking for Livy, but he found the Heaps. Reginald and Beautrice were admiring a vase on a pedestal. "You have a lovely place here, old boy." Heap said, "I cannot say that I've seen this sort of craftsmanship in all of Africa. I have been to plenty of wealthy homes in Rhodesia, so I can tell you that Rhodesia has plenty of collectors, but none with a piece like this." "It's nice." Sahle said. "I dare say Beautrice would be willing to pay for this..." "I apologize." Sahle cut the old man off, "But I have the business of my country to attend to. We'll restart this conversation later?" Reginald Heap nodded and let him go. Sahle hoped he would find the Carnahans by echolocation, in the sense that Bradford Carhanan's voice tended to echo across entire locations, but he didn't hear it. He thought they were in the courtyard and started for there. That's where the lions would have been transported, he reasoned, and foreign visitors were always fascinated by the Imperial menagerie. "Your Majesty." Desta Getachew put his hand on the Imperial shoulder. That voice meant business. Deflated, Sahle followed his Minister of the Pen into a mostly empty room. Yaqob and a sharply dressed Akale Tebebe sat at a table together drinking some of the wine supplied by [i]Vin Rouge[/i]. Desta sat down. Sahle followed. "You've met Akale." Sahle looked at his brother. "I'm wishing him luck on his journey." Yaqob said in a pillowy voice. "Hou Sai Tang is the greatest man of our time. It will be a challenge for Akale to represent our government to someone so important." Akale giggled. "No pressure!" he joked. Sahle grinned. Yaqob didn't. "Today is a good day for you then." Desta said, "[i]Leul[/i] Yaqob, how would you like to..." "I'm going to China." Yaqob completed his sentence. "I saw that coming, honestly. I do not appreciate being put away, but I will go." "Good." Sahle felt relieved. "Enjoy yourself." Desta motioned for Sahle to stop. "Yaqob, you must remember that you are there to observe." "I would prefer you not talk to me like that." Yaqob said. "The Rhodesians were offended. You know this..." "Good." "That isn't good. We can afford a problem with Rhodesia, though we don't want to have to afford them, but China is important. I cannot have you spitting in Hou Sai Tang's face..." "I would never do that!" "You must respect the Chinese no matter what you feel. You are their guest. This isn't a manners thing either. You are their guest because your country wants something from them. Maybe not now, but someday we might want something from them, and good relations are necessary." "I'll have my bags packed." Yaqob said.