---------------------------------- [u][b]Late July: Addis Ababa[/b][/u] ---------------------------------- "You did the right thing." [i]Emebet Hoy[/i] Eleni told her son. Sahle said nothing. It was bright cloudless day, but he felt hung over, his head throbbing with his heartbeat, his entire body sapped of energy. He stood in front of the [i]Gebi Iyasu[/i], his courtiers and guards all in formal clothing creating a solid line of royal formality, immaculate gold and beige. "The Americans did a bad thing letting your sister be hurt." his mother added, goading him to speak. "That's not what Desta says." Sahle replied. He looked straight ahead, across the eucalyptus shaded lawn. Beyond that was the stone-anchored iron fence protecting the palatial grounds from the road. Past the road, the hill declined toward downtown Addis Ababa, its hodge-podge of modern buildings bathed in equatorial sunlight. "Desta is the serpent." Eleni said. She spoke in a hushed voice so Desta, standing ten feet in front of them, could not hear. "He sent your brother and your sister away." "I sent them away." Sahle said. "To improve themselves." "Desta put those false ideas in your head. What Emperor in history has sent his family so far away? What is in China and America that is not here? Besides assassins it would seem." his mother spoke in the tone a person uses when trying to restrain their emotions for the sake of tact. She seemed stuck between despair and conversational calmness, which sounded to Sahle like cruel sarcasm. "It's a new era. The world has changed." he said. Every word felt like work and he resented each one she forced from him. "Let the world change. We do not have to change with it. Don't let the world poison you and make you forget who you are." The arrival of a caravan of staff cars cut off their conversation. The royal party came to attention, greeting the procession with the solemnity expected of Sahle's station, everybody taking a position like soldiers on parade. A warm breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and the tufts of lions-mane topping the [i]Mehal Sefari's[/i] pith helmets. The cars crawled, matching the speed of the khaki-clad retainers marching alongside. Three slim banners, green yellow and red, hung above the fenders of every vehicle. The first car stopped. A soldier opened the door and announced its prime occupant. "[i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros Mikael!" he shouted. The old Ras crawled out, dressed in a white robe and silk cape. His beard was trimmed. He held his hand out for his wife, helping her out of the car. "[i]Woizero[/i] Hiruteslale Giyorgis." The soldier announced. She was the age of Sahle's own mother, wearing a conservative white dress with a silk shawl, and her hair was an impressive afro. A slender girl followed dressed in similar fashion. "[i]Woizerit[/i] Fetlewerk Wolde Petros." Her hair was pulled in tight cornrows to the back of her head where it exploded out in a thicket. "He brought his entire family." Sahle whispered to his mother. Wasn't this supposed to be a political meeting? Another car cycled. "[i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis Temare Mengesha" the glum old man stepped out dressed in plain conservative robes. He was alone. The next car pulled up. "[i]Mesfin[/i] Issayas Seme." Sahle knew the man as the angry official who'd crashed his birthday party earlier in the month. The thin, boyish looking [i]Mesfin[/i] scanned his fellow statesmen, his lips drawn tight and his eyes narrow and unwelcoming. More men came. [i]Meridazmach[/i] Zekiros Argaw, commander of the Army. Hector Santareál, the young Cuban who commanded the Air Force. They bowed as they processed past the Emperor and his mother. Desta spent a moment in hushed conversation with each one of them, allowing the Emperor to preserve his majestic distance. This was fine with him. His head was throbbing more than before, and the sun was making it worse. He did not look forward to the meeting. "Make way for his Imperial Majesty." a page shouted. The guards escorted Sahle through the colonnade into the courtyard garden where dinner was served. The tables were set up in the grass next to the fountains, the menu offering a choice between filet mingnon or redfish, to be served with a lemon-asparagus vinaigrette and poached eggs. The menu wasn't particularly Ethiopian, but it reflected something common enough for the Imperial household: an intent to appear worldly, cosmopolitan. Ethiopia was a conservative country, its traditions rooted in the stone of its mountain hold-fasts and ancient churches, but they were aware they needed to communicate with the world around them. Time would inevitably wear down the mythology of the [i]Kebra Nagast[/i], and after that, the Imperial government would be left to trade on its merits alone, merits including its ability to act as the translator, a bridge between Ethiopia and the rest of the world. Imperial grandeur surrounded these political signals like the yoke around an egg. Perfume was mixed in with the fountain's water so the courtyard garden took on a pleasant feminine scent. The Emperor sat on a Dais overlooking his subjects, the lion Muse panting at his feet. A page came by and offered the Emperor and his mother canapés. She took one. He declined. "Wine." he asked. The page looked confused. Sahle snapped angrily in the page's face, saying nothing, and the page went off in a hurry. "What is wrong with you?" his mother asked. Her mouth dropped and she looked at him with that matronly expression of alarm. "I don't feel like this." he said, motioning discreetly at the tables set in front of them "Any of this." "You have your duty." He said nothing. The page brought the wine and poured. Sahle grabbed the stem of his glass and drank deep. It filled him with its intimate warmth. When he put the glass down, he caught Desta looking at him like a schoolmaster who'd caught his pupil preparing a prank. They plates were brought out all at once. They ate dinner, keeping to their own circles. Sahle fed half his filet mignon to the lion at his feet. The beast inhaled it, only taking a single bite. Down below, Sahle caught the eyes of several guests watching the lion carefully, and he puffed up as if the big cat's majesty was his own. He noticed [i]Woizerit[/i] Fetlewerk watching it with rapt attention, her mouth hanging slightly open. She was a bony creature, not Sahle's type, but he saw a kindness in her eyes that warmed his heart, more akin to the type of affection he had for his mother rather than the kind he associated with his conquests. When the meal was done, [i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros brought his family up to the dais, each one bowing in turn. "I am pleased to see you in good health, your Imperial majesty." He said, voice strong and confident. "We are pleased to see our servant [i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros." Sahle said blandly. "If it pleases you, this is my wife [i]Woizero[/i] Hiruteslale, and my daughter your cousin [i]Woizerit[/i] Fetlewerk." "Your Imperial Majesty." the two ladies bowed. Fetlewerk smiled maybe a little too broadly. Her thin lips peeled back and presented more of her teeth than Sahle wanted to see. It made her seem young and awkward, like another little sister. There was an awkward pause. Sahle took a drink. What was he supposed to do here? The whole day was turning out to be tedious. "We are happy to entertain the ladies." he replied politely. The answer didn't seem to please anybody except maybe young [i]Woizerit[/i] Fetlewerk, who seemed taken away with the pageantry. They went away. Desta, who'd chose to eat with Issayas Seme, moved to the the table of [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis Temare Mengesha. Why couldn't Desta conduct this whole affair on his own? He had the ability. "How do you like your cousin, eh?" his mother asked. Sahle looked at her, the pieces coming together in his mind. "What is the meaning of that question?" he replied. "Nothing. Well. You know what I mean. It is not wrong for a mother to want her children to be married! You are responsible for your bloodline! Why are my children carrying themselves like American reprobates? My daughter gets herself shot, my younger son is playing the tourist, and my eldest son will not be married. It is your duty to marry, and to marry somebody worthy of your greatness, which I can say your jezebels are not." She'd melted seamlessly into the rant, though keeping her voice low enough that nobody else could hear. "This is a discussion for another day." Sahle waved his hand. "You put your whole life off for another day." his mother got in the last word. Satisfied, she looked out in front, making herself as regal as ever. Desta rose up and went to the dais, moving like water. He made a quick unthinking bow. "The guests are ready, and we have business to discuss. Shall we?" Sahle stood up. "It is hard for us to send away the pleasant company of the ladies." he said, "But us who are men have business to discuss. [i]Emebet Hoy[/i] Eleni wishes to entertain the royal women. We men shall retire to the throne room." The Queen Mother went down and joined the two ladies, leading them into the building, a retinue of servants following. Sahle led the men, guards flanking him, and they went into the door opposite from the one the women had entered. He was divided from the rest, and he rubbed his head as he walked, wondering if their council would be finished early enough that he might get away and make a visit to the [i]Vin Rouge[/i]. They entered into the throne room with its dark colored walls and velvet draped furniture. The crimson throne and room below soaked up so much of the light that it gave off an almost dark-aged vibe. Inside were Minister of Foreign Affairs Benyam Felege, the moon-faced Treasurer [i]Bejirond[/i] Medebew Fek-Yebelu, and the Minister of Justice [i]Afe Negus[/i] Telaye Haylu, the latter looking like he could be Sahle's bearded older brother. Traditionally the Minister of Justice served as mouth of the King, but the force of Desta's personality had relocated that duty to the office of Minister of the Pen. Everybody sat down as if along an imaginary table with Sahle at its head. "[i]Bitwoded[/i] Desta, what business do you bring before my council?" Sahle said. "Your Imperial majesty is to be congratulated." Desta started, standing up and delivering his speech like an actor giving a monologue, "I have spoken with his excellency Mr Bacon of the United States, and he has assured me the administration of President Norman is willing to meet some of our demands." the room didn't react with the much excitement, the mood drowned by the bigger issue hanging over all of them like a sword strung up by twine, but there were sounds of mild approval. Sahle himself smiled, but he didn't know what he was smiling for. It was at this moment that he realized something about the American scandal: what exactly had been his demands? His heart knew, but his mind wouldn't accept the answer, and so he nodded his approval if only to appear in control. Desta went on. "There is a matter of the honor of the government that must be rectified." he said, "[i]Mesfin[/i] Issayas Seme makes an accusation against your uncle and the commander of your armies, and it is a serious accusation." "Speak, [i]Mesfin[/i] Issayas Seme." Sahle said, shifting to a comfortable position in his seat. Sahle was never one for sitting up. Desta often admonished him for his slothful way of carrying himself, like a sack of grain that'd been thrown into place. When he was feeling up to his job, he did his best to sit up straight. Today was not one of those days. He slouched like syrup running out of the seat as the [i]Mesfin[/i] took the center of the room. "[i]Ras[/i] Wolde Petros, [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis Temare Mengesha, [i]Meridazmach[/i] Zekiros Argaw, and the [i]ferengi[/i] Hector Santareál conspired to enter my territory and make violence against my people!" the [i]Mesfin[/i] complained. "Violence against criminals." Wolde Petros said, "I admit to that. Issayas harbors [i]shifta[/i] bandits who do not recognize their Emperor as sovereign!" "You lie through your teeth!" "Behave like gentlemen!" Desta pleaded. His voice cut between the two statesmen like lightning, and they both quieted. "These are serious accusations to bring before his Imperial majesty." "I bring evidence!" Issayas said, his voice high pitched and triumphant. "I have presented reports of the battlefield from my people, and images from journalists. It is bloodshed in my borders. And you have heard Wolde Petros admit to this violence! It is in the hands of [i]Afe Negus[/i] Telaye Haylu." "I have received it and can confirm, your Imperial Majesty. A number of [i]shiftas[/i] were killed in a skirmish near the border of Begmeder and Wollo." Telaye said. Issayas looked smug, smiling for the first time Sahle had ever seen "I have evidence too." Wolde Petros stated. The room went silent. Wolde Petros took out a rolled up piece of paper and handed it to Desta. The Minister's face twisted as he read it, and it looked for a moment as if he couldn't read it at all. "What is this?" "The Declarations of the Rights of Man. A French document from history. It has been distributed among the people of Begmeder, under the nose of the [i]Mesfin[/i]." Wolde Petros explained, "The people who published it two hundred years ago went on to murder their King. The [i]shiftas[/i] of Begmeder want revolution against you, your Imperial Majesty. We extinguished this rebellion. I am proud to say I did it." "You have the evidence of this?" Desta asked the [i]Afe Negus[/i]. "I went to Begmeder to interview the [i]Neftanya[/i]. They verify this information." Telaye said. "I proudly fought with Wolde Petros." [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis stood up. [i]Meridazmach[/i] Zekiros stood up next. "I sanctioned the action against the [i]shiftas[/i]." Then went up Hector Santareál. "I flew against the [i]shee-stahs[/i]." he said in heavily accented Amharic. The four men seemed ready to pounce on Issayas, who looked like a mouse that'd been cornered. "This man is a harborer and friend to traitors!" Wolde Petros accused. "Then arrest him." Sahle commanded. The four men grabbed the scrawny [i]Mesfin[/i]. "Mercy!" he cried out, "They are the criminals! Mercy for me!" "Wait." Desta ordered. Wolde Petros looked at the Minister of the Pen, then up at Sahle, uncertain what to do. "Have the revolutionary leaders been caught yet?" Desta asked. "No." Wolde Petros said. "So if we arrest the [i]Mesfin[/i] of Begmeder, we risk the entire province going into revolt. If his government is so corrupt, wouldn't the guilty parties join this revolution? Might we not have a fully realized rebellion?" "If we arrest this man the issue becomes clear, and his Imperial majesty can officialize an intervention." "So we become a country that, having just closed our borders to America, then enters a civil war? Is this good for the return of commerce?" "Commerce will return on its own time!" Wolde Petros said, "Are you so greedy you will miss a few weeks payments?" "Your majesty," Desta turned to Sahle, speaking in a smooth tone, sounding as if his advice was so natural that it should be obvious to everybody in the room. "Return the [i]Mesfin[/i] to Begmeder on probation, require him to root out this [i]shifta[/i] menace. This is a quieter way of fixing the same error." "Then that's how it will be done." Sahle said. There was a moment like at the beginning of an explosion, where the air seemed to be sucked out of the room, everybody bracing for the impact. Wolde Petros became like a man on fire. "You cannot arrest a man and undo his arrest! This is foolish!" [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis, his hand tight on the Mesfin's shoulder, wore the expression of the angel of death. [i]Meridazmach[/i] Zekiros looked disappointed. Santareál uncertain. "The Emperor can do as he pleases." Desta said. "This cannot be justice!" [i]Ras[/i] Giyorgis added indignantly. "We demand the right thing be done for the men we lost in the field!" "The field you shouldn't have fought on." Desta reminded, "Why did you not go through the structure of command?" "To do so would be to involve the Emperor in scandals he does not want!" "This is true." Sahle said, "I do not want these scandals. You have all made many headaches for me today. But I agree with Desta. We should keep it quiet, and allow the [i]Mesfin[/i] to do his duty." "So his Imperial majesty was wrong on his first decree?" Wolde Petros challenged. "You are out of line." Desta said, his voice strangely quiet, like a pin drop breaking the tension of the room. Wolde Petros bowed. "Your majesty." he said tight lipped, storming out. His faction followed with him. "Thank you for your mercy, your Imperial Majesty." Issayas said, smiling warmly. When he left, the only men in the room were members of the Crown Council. "That went badly." Sahle rubbed his head. Benyam Felege, who hadn't talked throughout the entire meeting, spoke up. "I think your majesty did the best that you can do." "Your uncle is too aggressive." Desta said, watching the door as if he could see through it. "He does not think of the consequences of his actions." "He might have been right, in the end." Telaye Haylu spoke up, "I suspect Issayas will cause more trouble before this is over with." "That is a future problem." Desta looked sharply at Telaye, "We don't need to compound our present problems. The [i]Rases[/i] will be a handful after the way your majesty handled them tonight." Desta's eyes met Sahle's, and the Emperor felt himself withering under his minister's gaze. "How I handled myself?" Sahle said, raising his voice higher than he had intended, "What could I have possibly done?" "Not arrest the man, and then free him." "You asked me too." "You shouldn't have ordered his arrest so quickly." "Well if you think you have this all down, I'll leave right now." Sahle said standing up. "You can do the work of government from now on." Desta's lips tightened, and his renewed stare seemed to hold the Emperor in place. "Do not be foolish, your majesty. I need you here, and I need you to stay here for the Americans. Whether you like it or not you have the duties of a monarch that nobody else can do them." "Anybody can do it. All I have is the pedigree" Sahle sat down, "Let in the Americans then. Let's get this over with." "I cannot conjure them from thin air, your majesty. We will wait until they arrive." Desta went to Benyam, and the two old men talked quietly to each other. The [i]Afe Negus[/i] looked at the wall as if his mind were focused on something on the other side. [i]Bejirond[/i] Medebew Fek-Yebelu, who had been quiet, pulled out a yellow paper-back book and read. Sahle didn't want to talk to any of them. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and listened to Desta and Benyam's whispering until it faded away. Sahle didn't know he'd taken a nap until the harsh call of a page woke him up. "His excellency Jefferson Davis Bacon. Mr Bradford Carnahan. Ms Livy Carnahan." Sahle sat up, cleared the sleep from his eyes, and watched the three Americans march in. Bacon came first, wearing a smart white suit, his face tomato red. Bradford wore a blue suit and looked stony-faced at nothing in particular. When Livy came in, Sahle smiled unconsciously. She wore a yellow dress and matching shoes, and looked meek behind the two men. Sahle saw her steal a glance at him. They all made their bows, Bacon struggling, Bradford stiff and formal. "What news do you bring, your excellency Mr Bacon." Sahle said. "The American government apologizes for what happened to [i]Le'elt[/i] Taytu Yohannes." Bacon said stiffly. Sahle waved for him to go on. "We want no conflict with Ethiopia, and President Norman has agreed to compensate you for your pains, so long as our citizens are allowed to move freely from your Empire." "What is this compensation?" Sahle was aware of Desta's eyes on him. "The American government has agreed to partially subsidize Ethiopia's agricultural imports through Boston's port. Their uncle Milford Carnahan has introduced this decision as part of a spending package that is fully expected to pass Congress. This offer has two conditions; first, you lift the restriction on free travel. Second, that it cannot be discussed in public. If the Ethiopian government brags about this, our government will be forced to withdraw the offer." Sahle nodded. Is this what he wanted. Should he speak? "We thank the American government for its reasonable response." Desta replied. The eyes that had been on Sahle looked to the Minister, and Sahle felt the pressure let off his shoulders. "So are we allowed to leave, your majesty?" Bradford asked, his tone icy. Desta and Bacon's heads snapped back to look at the youth. "Yes." Sahle said. "This is all I wanted." Even as he said this, he felt bad, defeated. By what? About what? "Ms Livy Carnahan has agreed to work in the embassy for a time." Bacon said, "As a representative of her family. I am hoping the two of us will repair whatever damage might've happened between our two great nations." Sahle looked at Livy, her pale skin and uncertain blue eyes, her red hair falling in waves upon her shoulders. She would stay. He sat up straight and smiled broadly. "We look forward to working with you both." he said, "I hope Ms Carnahan finds Addis Ababa to be a new home." "I hope so too, your majesty." she said. The Americans were dismissed, and filtered out of the room like a defeated army. Sahle pushed himself violently up from his throne. "You did well, your majesty." Desta said. "The American crisis will not be a memorable thing." "I think I did well too." Sahle said. He approached [i]Bejirond[/i] Medebew Fek-Yebelu, an aging bureaucrat with a moon-shaped face, his features drooping as if he'd suffered a mild stroke for breakfast, though Sahle knew the man well enough to know that was just how he looked. "Your majesty." Medebew greeted. He'd been there for the entire meeting, and like so many meetings before, he wasn't used to being addressed directly by his Emperor. "There is a purchase I want to make." Sahle said, "How much money do I have for property?" "We may have to borrow." "That is fine." Sahle wrapped his arm around the man's shoulder, "Let me tell you what I want."