King of Kings: A Novel

By Melvin J. Cobb

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”
—Ephesians 6:12

In AD 323, Axum, the kingdom of Æthiopia, ruled by King Ezanas, glittered as the jewel of Africa. His kingdom, having vanquished the last of his rivals, waxed strong and prospered. However, as one conflict abates, an even greater one arises. Soon, the brash—and passionate—young king finds himself ensnared by the desperate conflict between the Christian gospel of the Messiah and the traditional practices of the kingdom’s idolatrous priesthood. Forced to choose his path, he discovers that his decision ultimately influences his journey into manhood and determines the fates of both his family and his people.
King of Kings, following Vessel of Honor, Shadow of Redemption, and Prince of Æthiopia as the fourth chapter in the Chosen Vessel Series, chronicles the epic spiritual battle King Ezanas wages on behalf of his kingdom whose destiny it is to sustain the torch of the gospel in a darkened land for centuries to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jun 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781458221704

Melvin J. Cobb

Melvin J. Cobb is a university professor who teaches courses in education, media literacy, and critical thinking. A native of Southern California, he has published several historical Christian novels about the advent of Christianity in ancient Africa. For more information about Melvin and his writing, visit his website at www.melvinjcobb.org.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 Melvin J. Cobb.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Abbott Press

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.abbottpress.com

Phone: [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

KJV: Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4582-2171-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-2170-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018904426

Abbott Press rev. date: 03/26/2019

Contents

Prologue: A.D. 38 A prophetic judgment in the Royal Court of Meroë (Excerpt from Book #2: Shadow of Redemption)

Chapter 1 301 A.D.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 312 A.D. (11 Years Later)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 323 A.D (6 Years Later)

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Glossary

This book is dedicated to the congregations of the House of Prayer and Liberty C.O.G.I.C., the ever-loving church families of my youth.

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank Felicia Woodson for dedicating her time, talent and prayers in the development of this manuscript. Your assistance is greatly appreciated!

01.jpg02.jpg

Prologue:

A.D. 38

A prophetic judgment in the Royal Court of Meroë

(Excerpt from Book #2: Shadow of Redemption)

S ahlin stared at the ground, wishing the end of the matter would have its way and rush upon them. The others and he had spent the previous night in prayer seeking God’s comforting hand and grace. He was confident that the Lord would walk them through whatever the adversary had in store for them.

Queen Naytal glared at Sahlin. The seers say that which a man believes in determines his reality. You have chosen to believe in a dead god. Therefore, you must die. You were invited to dine on the mountain. Yet, you have chosen to dwell in the valley. Lead them away.

As the retinue of guards marshaled them out, Sahlin felt a growing weight in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, he stopped and turned around. He started to walk back towards Naytal.

Let him approach, Naytal commanded the guards, finding amusement in the moment.

Sahlin locked eyes with the kandace and opened his mouth, unsure of what was going to come out.

Thus says the Lord God, have I not been merciful to you? Have I not exalted you above the heads of your enemies? But now you shall be brought low and your head shall be lifted up from you by the hand of him you do not know. Your son shall weep in bitter anguish.

Sahlin’s words pressed Naytal back against her seat. Images from her reoccurring nightmare flashed before her eyes.

Sahlin continued. The crown of Kush shall be cast down and ground to dust under the heel of the Light Maker, and the temples of Gebel Barkal will be laid to waste stone by stone. Thus says the Lord God. *

Chapter 1

301 A.D.

E zanas’s stomach growled ferociously, yet he refused to let it distract him. A warm drop of sweat rolled into his right eye as he focused intensely on his target. His heart fluttered violently like the wings of an eagle as it struggled against a fierce updraft. He found the discord of emotions racing through his body both stimulating and oppressive. And yet, he focused.

You must track him with your sight, with your hearing, and … with your soul, the voice whispered. You must become one with the arrow.

Ezanas shut out the voice and held his breath. He slowly retracted the arrow, the tension of the bowstring resisting his every move. He tracked his target as it ambled through a light patch of foliage.

Steady. His mind was as sharp as the refined tip that adorned the arrow he held at the ready.

Steady.

Every scent offered by the jungle seemed to tease his nostrils. But he was not distracted. He willed his senses to train only upon his prey. The excitement of the moment, the anticipation of the kill, was more than enough to focus his attention.

Then it happened: the magnificent beast strolled into a clearing and presented him with an unobstructed shot. Ezanas’ muscles burned as they resisted the relentless protest of the bowstring.

Now, the voice whispered.

Even though a stone’s throw away, Ezanas could clearly make out the white markings on the nayala’s legs, as well as the two white spots on its face. The beast slowly raised its head and looked in Ezanas’ direction. The motion presented a clear view of the two white patches on the underside of its neck; the upper very wide and the lower one crescent-shaped. Ezanas aimed for the brown patch of fur between them.

With a flare of his nostrils, Ezanas released the bowstring sending the arrow streaking through the air directly at the nayala. The projectile pierced the animal in the throat, right above its elegant crescent-shaped white marking.

Ezanas smiled as the startled animal reared back and danced around wildly. It started to run away, only to stagger to a halt within a moment’s time. Overcome by zeal, Ezanas unsheathed his blade and stepped towards the dying nayala.

No, reached a strong voice from behind. It’s not dead yet.

Ezanas turned and glared at his father. I can finish it off. I’ve seen it done.

By grown men. You are barely more than seven seasons old.

If I got close enough, I could grab its horn, like you did.

Ella Amida snorted at his son’s proposal. Its horns are longer than your arms! It’s one thing to kill at a distance with an arrow or spear. It is another thing to thrust a blade into its heart.

Ezanas turned and glanced at the nayala’s sharp curvy horns. Although its death dance was nearly complete, the powerful animal still remained upright.

Remember what I taught you, Ezanas, just because your enemy has been wounded, does not mean he is no longer a danger.

Yes, baba.

Ella Amida stood next to his son as the nayala collapsed with a thud. They watched as the animal’s breathing quickly dissipated.

Now, Ella Amida said.

Gripping the handle of his blade, Ezanas approached the nayala and retracted into a crouch. Ella Amida suppressed a smile as his son labored to thrust the blade into the animal’s thorax. Frustrated, the boy abruptly withdrew the blade and plunged at the nayala again, this time coming from the top with his full weight.

This time, Ella Amida’s laughter spilled out. An effort truly worthy of a prince of Axum.

Ezanas spun around and glared at his father. But I brought it down with my first shot.

That you did, Ella Amida replied, pulling out pouch full of water. He peered into the sky, searching for the sun through the leaves and branches high above. Its position as well as the rising temperature suggested it was nearing the end of the third hour of the day.

He handed the container of water to his son and observed the youth as he drank his fill. Unlike other boys his age, he detested going about shirtless and sported a fine tunic that complemented his kilt and black sash. It was a practice that his younger brothers Shaizana and Hadefan both shunned.

Ezanas, how is it you were able to take the animal down with one arrow?

Ezanas, always suspect of his father’s questions, raised a quizzical eyebrow. I was able to get close enough.

Is that all? I’ve seen grown men unable to take down a nayala with one shot. What did you have that gave you an advantage?

Ezanas looked down at the carcass, then back at his father. A good weapon, he replied, slinging his arm through the bow.

No, the weapon is only as good as the man. You owe the kill to Mahrem. He gave you something that many well-equipped men are never given.

Ezanas tried to anticipate his father’s reasoning which at times managed to avoid him completely.

When the animal raised his head, you were given an opportunity and you took it. It was one moment presented to you by the gods. It takes a wise man to recognize such gifts.

Ezanas shook his head. I didn’t recognize it as anything, I just took the shot because it felt right.

But you made a decision to act, Ella Amida retorted. As a king, the future of your dominion may come down to a decision to act; to take advantage of a moment of time.

Ezanas’ eyes trailed down doggedly. He found it difficult to figure out when his father’s words carried a duel meaning. At times, Ella Amida spoke in metaphors like one of the teachers in the palace. At other times, his speech and manner were undeniably like that of a king.

An hour later, father and son were on their way down from the mountain forest, the servants toting the dead nayala on a two-man yoke. The breeze that was once comforting and cool was now stiff and warm.

Ezanas could see the gleaming city of Axum against the horizon. Although it looked uninhabited from a distance, he knew that perception would change as they drew near. Roads and well-beaten trails flowed into the city like streams carrying vendors, villagers, soldiers and hunters like themselves.

Ezanas snarled at the thought of sharing the road with so many people. Unlike his younger brother, Shaizana, he loathed being outside of the ancient city. After a moment, the scowl on his swarthy young face dissipated into a mischievous smirk.

And what do you find so amusing? Ella Amida asked, peering down at his son.

Shaizana will be jealous of my kill. Too bad he chose to remain at home this morning.

Ella Amida smiled broadly. Yes, it is too bad, he replied, anticipating the bantering between the boys that was sure to fill the palace that evening. Ella Amida was tall with smooth black skin. To Ezanas, he resembled one of the strong jagged mountains that protected the valley in which the city of Axum resided.

He should have gotten out of the bed. Warriors do not sleep in, Ezanas declared proudly.

Ezanas stared at the royal necklace that adorned the king’s neck. While it was similar to the one that he wore himself, the jade and turquoise stones strung about the necklace were far more numerous and possessed a far greater luster than his own.

Baba, Ezanas started, casting his brown eyes forward, now that I have taken down a nayala, when will I be permitted to go into battle with you?

Battle?

Yes. I want to go with you to fight the rebel tribe near Matara.

I appreciate the offer, Ezanas, but I need you to stay here and protect the palace.

But I want to go, Ezanas responded with a heavy frown.

And you will, someday, Ella Amida said, nodding at a noble he recognized. And there are no rebels in Matara. The problem is with a nomadic tribe that raids caravans passing through the region.

Oh. Why doesn’t the chieftain of Matara fight them? Isn’t he in charge of that area? The question prompted one of Ella Amida’s thick eyebrows to sprout up.

You have been listening during your time in the Great Hall. Very good. It is a loyalty issue, Ezanas. Yes, the chieftain could handle the problem, but I have more resources than he does. Hunting down the raiders will ensure that I have the chieftain’s loyalty.

Wouldn’t the chieftain do it if you told him to? Isn’t he afraid of you?

Ella Amida pondered his answer as the path led them along the banks of a gentle stream. Fear has its uses, Ezanas. But loyalty is far more effective. A man who gives you his devotion is less likely to turn against you and join your enemy.

Ezanas’s brown eyes traced the contour of the stream as he struggled to compose a suitable example. Ella Amida smiled. He could always tell when his son was vexed by a contradiction.

Shouldn’t a person be afraid to turn against a king anyway?

Yes, but some choose to do it regardless.

Why? A king is stronger than anyone. Why anger him like that?

The world is a complicated place, Ezanas. At times, men do foolish things. They want more than they can carry; think more than they should and fight battles they cannot win.

Ezanas looked up at his father, but had to squint, as the mid-day sun seemed to be perched atop his head. Why?

Ella Amida clasped his hand behind his back and courtly nodded at another nobleman passing in the opposite direction. In their hearts, all men wish to master the things that make them afraid. But such a thing is not possible. Unfortunately, men fail to realize that truth until it is too late. Do you understand?

I think so, Ezanas lied pensively.

Let me put it to you another way, Ella Amida offered patiently. You naturally fear me because I am bigger than you. That fear makes you obedient.

Ezanas grimaced as he recalled the sharp fatherly rebuke he earned yesterday. Ella Amida could invoke fear in his sons with little effort.

But one day, you will be a man, as tall and as strong as I. It will be at that time I will need your loyalty, not your fear.

Ezanas nodded as if he understood, even though he didn’t. He would likely always be afraid of his father, just like his younger brothers Shaizana and Hadefan would always be afraid of him. He simply couldn’t image a world any different.

33479.png

The ancient port city of Adulis had served as the gateway to the kingdom of Axum for centuries. The city lay nestled along the shore under the ever-watchful eyes of the high rolling mountains that veiled the African interior like rocky drapes.

Dozens of ships were moored in the still waters of the harbor, while others methodically made their way into the open waters of the Red Sea.

Yet, there was an eerie calmness to the berth.

Meropius had been to the port of Adulis once before as a young man. His memory, though dimmed a bit by age, recalled a far more vibrant anchorage than the docile scene set before him today. The Roman galley on which he and his two pupils sojourned had been in port for two days. He peered about the ship’s deck as sailors busied themselves to commence the next leg of their journey within the next two hours.

He trained his eyes westward as he settled his old, weary body down on a barrel. He knew his two pupils would soon make their way through the crowd and back to the vessel with plenty of time to spare. Yet, his heart raced with an uneasiness that refused to relent.

What is it, Lord? he asked quietly. Why does my soul rest not? He rubbed his eyes in a figurative attempt to massage the mind that had served him so well in life. For decades, he served his God by travelling throughout the southern reaches of the Roman Empire teaching men, women and even children the philosophical foundations of Christianity. It was a work for which he was well suited for he had always viewed himself as a philosopher.

He tore his eyes from the port and look beyond the northern mountain range, trying to envision his homeland, Tyre, in the eastern province of the Roman Empire. He was not surprised that no vision came forth. Home for him was nothing more than a dream, an apparition that occasionally visited him during his moments of slumber. His home had become wherever the Holy Spirit purposed for him to journey.

A gust of wind swirled through the harbor and brought with it a dark chill.

Meropius thought lovingly of the countless lives the God named Christ had touched through his aging body. He was thankful for them all – even the ones who chose to reject the philosophy of Christ and had driven him away. However, that mattered very little to him. He had been blessed to live a long full life and had no regrets worthy of musing upon.

He fondly recalled the many provinces and foreign kingdoms his teaching ministry had brought him to. The only civilized kingdom in the region he had not visited lay before him, hidden behind the majestic mountains that dominated the western horizon. He sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable fact he would likely never traverse through Axum to teach the message of the Savior, Christ Jesus.

Once again, a chill swam through the air, prompting Meropius to search the sky for storm clouds, though he knew he would find none.

He settled his attention back to the dock and searched for the two Tyrisian boys God had placed in his care. He smiled. The vessel would be underway to Egypt soon. Within a month or so, he would finally get to show them Rome, the gem of the civilized world. He had led a blessed life indeed.

The flora on the outskirts of the port of Adulis was unlike anything Frumentius had seen in any other land. The scarlet and yellow flowers of one plant mesmerized him to the degree that he had to take several samples back for Meropius to examine himself. The Tyrisian teenager glanced at his companion, Adesius, who struggled to balance the vegetation specimens he felt compelled to bring along.

Are you sure about bringing all of that? Frumentius questioned.

We’re almost there, Adesius answered trying to catch his breath. My uncle has to see these. There’s nothing like them back in Tyre.

Frumentius nodded. He had seen many unique and exotic plants and animals in his three years of travelling with Adesius and his uncle Meropius. While the purpose of their journey had been evangelistic in nature, Meropius managed to transform nearly every stop into a lecture hall of sorts, calling upon his lifetime of study in the arts and sciences to instruct the two teenage boys in what the elder man deemed the glory of God’s creation.

Adesius stumbled to a halt and dropped to one knee. Wait, he voiced holding up a hand.

Frumentius shook his head. You’re younger than I am, how can you be tired already. You’re going to have to leave some of this.

No way, I can make it back, Adesius protested, tightening his hug around the assortment of shrubs and vines he held.

Frumentius snorted and wondered if he were that stubborn at the age of sixteen – the age he happened upon the doting philosopher and his nephew in the unruly streets of Tyre. Frumentius had been no different than the scores of other orphaned children cursed to squeak out a scanty living in the streets of the city. He met the couple while attempting to swindle them and several others by trying to sell produce that didn’t belong to him. The actual vendor eventually appeared and would have had him flogged – or worse, if Meropius hadn’t interceded and purchased the merchandise.

Yet, Meropius had seen something in the teenager that compelled him to take the destitute youth in and provide him with not only a home and an education, but with a family – even if the later merely consisted of an elderly man and his young nephew.

Frumentius quickly discovered an innate affinity for learning. Within a year, he was completely literate; after an additional two, he was fluent in Greek, Latin, and Aramaic. He spent his pastime consuming any parchments and scrolls Meropius could grant him access to. Also unearthed from the young man’s long buried treasure grove was an exceptional ability to calculate and organize along with the uncanny ability to reason and negotiate, a trait that served him well during his life in the streets.

Two elderly men passing by eyed Adesius curiously, mumbled something between them, and then lapsed into a fit of laughter. Their mirth echoed behind them as they continued away from the port.

Soulless, imps, Adesius retorted, though fully aware the two could not understand anything he said.

Frumentius chuckled at the comment. All men have souls, Adesius.

Maybe, but not all men have a heart.

You expect them to have compassion on a young foreigner who doesn’t have the sense to pay someone to help him carry his load?

Adesius locked eyes with another aged passer-by who flashed him a brief toothless grin. There’s not even a hint of Christian love here.

We’ve spent one day in a port city and you’re ready to declare the entire country a land of spiritual reprobates, Frumentius replied, leading up the last hill between them and the port.

Meropius said there are likely few Christians or Jews for that matter here, Adesius said; sweat rolling down his dark face.

He was talking about inland villages and more secluded settlements.

That probably describes the whole country, Adesius gruffed. One inaccessible village after another, probably hundreds of them with no ruler or organized government.

Two Axumite women hurried down the hill past the young Tyrisian as they continued to make their way up. Frumentius did his best to conceal his annoyed countenance from Adesius. After a moment, he looked back at his companion.

Meropius says their system of government is actually pretty efficient. It’s like an empire.

An empire with no roads? Adesius sighed, kicking up more dust from the ground. It was a far cry from the well-paved roads in Roman provinces. A kingdom of dirt.

Frumentius continued up the hill, his sandals struggling to gain traction against the loose gravel. Meropius also said this kingdom actually has something of a Christian tradition. He said there are tales that the rulers of a great city inland once worshipped Christ and there are small churches all throughout the mountains.

I’ve never heard about churches in Ethiopia, Adesius said, staggering aside as three more women rushed past them. And I’ve definitely never heard anything about an apostle reaching this land with the gospel.

Frumentius reached the summit of the mountain and was greeted by a half-dozen more people hastening by. The stories Meropius shared with me are hundreds of years old and are probably legends at that…

Frumentius’s words trailed off as his eyes fell upon the harbor. Smoke bellowed from at least two vessels moored to the dock. One was the very ship they arrived on. People scampered from the area like a flock of birds avoiding a predator.

No, Frumentius voiced, dropping the few vegetation samplings he held. He rushed down the hill towards the frenzied berth. Adesius likewise discarded his burden and hurried after Frumentius.

As they drew closer to the ship, Frumentius was able to distinguish several columns of men armed with spears and swords. The soldiers seemed to be standing guard as a dozen more of them made their way about the deck of the galley.

A grave feeling of care arrested Frumentius’s headway towards the ship. He shook his head fiercely as if to rebel against his sense of sight as he watched soldiers disembarking with limp bodies and heaving them into a pile on the dock.

What are they doing? Adesius exclaimed as the gruesome scene came into view. Frumentius instinctively put up an arm to prevent Adesius from going any further.

Several more soldiers rushed down the gangway; one carried a small locked chest, while another toted a bag of garments – both men wearing triumphant grins.

Pirates! Adesius declared, balling his fists in rage. Frumentius scanned the area for possible sources of help, but then realized the dock area had cleared out completely leaving them and the armed men as the lone occupants. He clutched Adesius’s arm and instinctively began to back away.

Suddenly, two more men appeared on the gangway carrying Meropius. Frumentius had seen his mentor nap enough times to know the elderly man was beyond being asleep. His heart sank as he let out a sad sigh.

No, no! Adesius cried.

At that moment, several soldiers turned and glared at the young Tyrisian who were frozen with fear.

Chapter 2

F oot-traffic flow into the great market outside the city of Axum was light. Ella Amida whispered a prayer of thanksgiving to Astar, grateful they would likely make it to the palace with minimal interruptions. He increased his gait and ordered the men carrying his son’s prized nayala to do the same. Even though his eyes darted from one vender to the next, Ezanas kept pace with his father – just as the king knew he would. Surprisingly, the boy had never demonstrated a desire to dwell in the vast bazaar longer than he had to.

Soon, the tantalizing aromas faded and the thriving crowd noise echoed into a soft hush as their party advanced beyond the marketplace into a lightly wooded area. Within moments, they emerged into a clearing and were greeted by the harsh sounds reverberating from a construction site.

Ezanas reduced his stride as the sight of scores of men scurrying around like ants overwhelmed his senses. To the south of the vast clearing, a team of at least two-dozen labored strenuously digging what appeared to be a network of trenches. To the east, dozens more formed a living train that shuffled stones from an unseen source emerging from the woods. The grating sound of stonecutters chiseling and shaping rocks resounded through the site.

Ezanas found the ordered chaos of the site so mesmerizing that he failed to notice his father had stopped several paces back to speak with a man adorned in the bright yellow regalia of a priest. He quickly backtracked and was able to hear the man give his father what sounded like a brief report on the progress being made on the building.

The foundations for the southern and western sections are almost ready to be laid, the man was saying, dramatically brushing his hand across the landscape. The workers are currently digging where the main pillars will be erected.

The king looked upon the site with an indifferent gaze. I thought they would be further along than this, Tulonne.

I agree, my lord negus, Tulonne responded, bowing his head. However, the builders thought it prudent to focus on gathering and shipping the material before the rains made the endeavor impossible.

Ella Amida perused the construction site once again, and then focused on the priest before him. You’re extremely calm for someone who has so much invested in this project. There is a matter of pride as well as spiritual obligation involved in this.

It is my honor to support this great work, Tulonne proclaimed, his smile displaying his bright white teeth. The mukarrib priesthood is extremely grateful for your support. When completed this temple will be rivaled by none other in your kingdom. I have no doubt the great god Astar will reward you greatly for honoring him in such a fashion, my lord negus.

Honor the gods, and the gods shall honor you, is among one of the first lessons my father taught me, Ella Amida said.

The symbol of your devotion will endure for a thousand generations, my lord negus, Tulonne voiced, rolling his dark eyes towards a set of mountainous colonnades that would someday serve as the entrance to the grand temple.

Ella Amida’s cool gaze turned from Tulonne back to the stonecutters who tirelessly whittled away at the white boulders before them. The Temple of Astar was only the first of its kind to be erected. Similar sanctuaries to the deities Beher and Mahrem were also under construction.

Tulonne bowed once more and then excused himself. Ella Amida watched the stocky priest tend to business with one of the chief builders. For a moment, the king considered how much his wife, Sofya, distrusted Tulonne and often voiced her dislike of the man’s secretive practices – even though they were common to the rituals of the ceremonies executed in his station. He glanced down and noticed his son standing patiently by his side.

Honor the gods, Ezanas. Honor the gods, and they will honor you.

Why do the gods need us to build them temples? Ezanas asked after a moment.

Ella Amida grinned inwardly at is son’s question. Mahrem, Astar, Beher, they are all powerful and do not need temples like we need homes. They do, however, need our tribute.

Why?

They need – they deserve – our obedience for the things they bestow upon us, the king said as he started to walk through the construction site again. The rain that comes in season to start the cycle that brings us food. The strength and health of the men who fight for our kingdom and defend it against rebellion. These are all blessings from the gods. The fact they have selected our family to rule Axum at this time is yet another blessing from them.

The onerous construction clamor was subtlety supplanted by the soft chirruping of wild birds as Ella Amida led them into another forested portion of land.

Anbram says there is but one God, Ezanas said as portions of the palace blinked in and out of view through the forest. He says we live to give Him our praise and adoration.

Ella Amida glanced down at his son with a hint of irritation in his eyes. Anbram may be a learned man for his age, but some of his thoughts are unfitting and incorrect. Gods are not to be adored, they are to be obeyed.

He says that in the end, all gods will bow before the One, Ezanas continued. Ella Amida sighed and cursed his wife for allowing a thirty-six-year old Falasha Jew to spend so many hours teaching their sons when there were other instructors within the district with far more traditional religious views. Yet, he tolerated it because Anbram had proven to be an effective instructor and adept recorder for the royal court.

Anbram is a man of great convictions, Ezanas. But someday, those convictions may lead him into an unforgiving position. And he will have only his One God to thank for his misfortune.

The hunting party progressed into a grassy clearing that served as the base for a hill. The path they followed ascended a gentle slope that led to the palace compound that sat atop the hill. Ezanas glazed upon the site with pride. The compound was completely enclosed by a white plastered fence that was nearly twice the height of his father. A three-story mansion peeked over from behind the fence as they drew closer. Intricate designs