Prince of Æthiopia

By Melvin J. Cobb

It is 60 A.D. in the Ethiopian kingdom of Axum. Kenyon is a proud young prince who has just returned home to his father’s emerging kingdom. Unknown to him, conspiring forces have set in motion a plot that will alter his life forever. Two of the ancient world’s greatest powers, the Kushite kingdom of Meroë and the Roman Empire, have once again been set on a collision course that will either draw the two dominions together or plunge the civilized world into a realm of war and death.

When a hostile takeover of the Axumite kingdom prompts an unthinkable tragedy, Kenyon is ultimately sold into slavery in the Roman Empire. In the process, the Ethiopian prince transforms from a brash youth into a determined man as he fights to find his purpose, despite seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

Prince of Aethiopia is the third chapter in the Chosen Vessel Series. Laced with romance, intrigue, and drama, the tale transports readers into the heroic struggles faced by the first century church – struggles shared by the young Ethiopian prince as he fights to find his destiny. . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Dec 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781458222961

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.

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Copyright © 2020 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

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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.

Interior Image Credit: Vanessa Cobb

Author Photograph Credit: Alexander Cobb

ISBN: 978-1-4582-2297-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-2296-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020920070

Abbott Press rev. date: 12/09/2020

Contents

Acknowledgements

Author’s Notes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

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

Epilogue

Glossary

Follow the epic trek of the Gospel through ancient

Africa in the Chosen Vessel Series:

#1 Vessel of Honor

#2 Shadow of Redemption

#3 Prince of Aethiopia

#4 King of Kings

Additional stories about the ancient African

kingdom of Meroë by Melvin Cobb:

-The Queen of Kush-

This book is dedicated to my wonderful wife, Ramona whose loving

smile, inspirational spirit, and enduring faith made it all possible.

I love you very much.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank our wonderful pastors Bayless and Janet Conley for all of their encouragement throughout the development of these novels. Their insightful sermons and love for people provided inspiration for much of the Chosen Vessel Series.

It is our prayer that God will use these books to help bring a living Jesus to a dying world.

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In loving memory of our dear friend

Wendi Louise Lehman

1969-2011

Author’s Notes

Maps – All Axumite, Kushite, and Roman cities mentioned in this book are denoted on the adjacent maps in order to provide the reader with a geographical frame of reference throughout the story.

Glossary – Authentic Axumite, Kushite, and Roman terms native to the time period are used throughout this novel. Italicized Ethiopian, Meroitic, Egyptian, and Latin vocabulary words and their definitions can generally be found in the glossary at the end of the book. Care was given to italicize the words the first time they were used within the text.

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Map of Rome

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Map of Kush

Chapter 1

Ethiopian Kingdom of Axum

A.D. 60

A chill raced down Kenyon’s spine as he walked through the crowded streets of his hometown for the first time in over two years. The narrow street was teeming with shops filled with merchants and patrons. The bazaar was one of many set on the outskirts of the city, and it attracted traders from every corner of the Axumite kingdom.

The sweet aroma of simmering beef enticed his attention to his left where he saw an Anza merchant slicing huge slabs of the steaming meat for several husky men. Judging from their colorful robes, he figured that they were wealthy herdsmen from the region of Kwiha.

His focus drifted slowly towards a large booth displaying brilliant necklaces shimmering in the sunlight. The next booth contained handcrafted ivory statuettes of Kushite gods and an assortment of Roman glassware. He stopped and drew closer to inspect the artwork on one of the pieces. He figured they had to be imported from Meroë, Axum’s northern neighbor.

Something catches your eye?

Kenyon glanced up to meet the dealer hovering just above him. The man’s dark face beamed with a smile that was both warm and inquisitive. He briefly looked over Kenyon’s young muscular frame.

Perhaps someone of your stature would be interested in possessing a statue of Apedemack, the Kushite god of war.

The dealer picked up a polished ivory statuette of a human body with the head of a lion. Kenyon momentarily examined the piece of art and then moved on so he could soak in more of the lively atmosphere of intertribal commerce. To his right, he heard a Falasha Kushite and another Axumite haggling over the price of colorful kilts made in the northern section of the kingdom. At the stand next to them, an upper-class Axumite couple debated over which color Persian rug they should purchase for their receiving room.

He smiled. Even though he had been immersed in a Greek-speaking culture for the past season of his life, he was comforted to know he could still recognize Ethiopian swear words. The bitter exchanges between traders and merchants may have been a far cry from his classes on imperial economics in the great learning center in Alexandria, but at least they were in the Ethiopian tongue.

Turning towards the heart of the city, he could see the immense palace in the distance. The inner portion of Axum was built on a slight hill and surrounded by a white brick wall more than twice the height of a full-grown man. The noonday sun reflected off the palace and its surrounding buildings at such an angle that the white stones embedded in their structures appeared to be consumed by a cool, shimmering fire. Two towering obelisks stood as glamorized sentinels to mark the inner-city’s primary entrance.

Just then, a couple of people scuffled past him, brushing him aside. As Kenyon was trying to right himself another man whisked by. Again Kenyon found himself knocked off to the side. Annoyed, he decided to reveal the necklace he was wearing. Its golden beads and rhinestones signified his status as a member of the royal family, and people instantly granted him a wide berth through the bazaar.

Before he entered the main gate to the inner-city, Kenyon made a sharp left. He traveled along the perimeter of the wall that separated the inner-city from the residential section of the outer city. He noticed the homes that he passed were fairly new. The land between the inner-city wall and the fort had been deserted when he left for Alexandria. The presence of brick mansions so close to the wall told him the city was prospering.

He followed the wall until he came to a canyon adorned with thick foliage. His eyes lit up when he saw his objective on the other side of the canyon. As he followed the road into and out of the canyon, dozens of Axumite soldiers passed him heading into the Ethiopian jungle for training exercises.

Kenyon noted that they were not yet full-fledged warriors, but rather young men on the second tier of their rite of passage into manhood. He watched them disappear into the damp forest to initiate the hunt. Each one of them had been assigned an animal to stalk and kill. Usually the individual had to hunt the beast that best symbolized his personality as determined by his father. Those who were of high pedigree often were assigned animals that were difficult to track or were only in abundance in the kingdom’s outer reaches. Some fathers commanded their sons to bring back large predators as opposed to buffaloes or gazelle. Being the son of the negus, Kenyon had been assigned to bring back a male lion.

Kenyon entered the fort and headed for the command barracks. As he walked through the main quad, he saw scores of warriors running through their drills, some hurdling spears through the air at targets with deadly precision. He recalled his days of military training. The thoughts of darting through the hot jungle in search of the enemy made his heart pound. After coming to Axum from Adulis at the age of ten, he spent every free moment he could within the confines of the fort because his heart was set upon becoming a military leader, but his father shipped him off to learn Greek and an assortment of meaningless diatribes that would surely do him no good in Axum.

The interior of the command barracks was laden with maps and charts of the kingdom’s various regions. Adjutants shuffled in and out making reports and delivering orders. Before asking the whereabouts of General Telenik, Kenyon allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the setting.

A warrior dressed in the standard uniform of a maroon kilt with a black sash approached him. The man bowed slightly and saluted the prince by covering his chest with his right hand and slowly uncovering it towards Kenyon as if he were offering his heart to him.

Welcome home, Prince Kenyon. I am Osana, the man greeted. General Telenik left word that you would be arriving. Mahrem has smiled on us.

Thank you, Kenyon replied, offering the return salute of extending his hand and bringing it back up towards his chest. Is Telenik present?

No, my Lord Prince. General Telenik is performing an inspection of a local tribe.

Kenyon nodded in response to the soldier. After greeting more officers, he stepped outside the barracks and held his own silent inspection.

Although the presence of his older brother Negash ensured that he would never become the negus, it did present a strong opportunity for Kenyon to become the senior ranking military commander.

Someday, this will all be mine.

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Jwahir was overjoyed when she heard the delegation from Meroë had arrived. She hurried through the stately halls of the palace’s administrative wing wondering which of her old acquaintances the kandace had sent this time.

More marble! Why doesn’t Akintunde import more marble?

She rolled her eyes from the walls and focused on the tiled floor beneath her feet. She wondered what it was going to take in order for the king to spend some of the wealth that he had been acquiring over the past several years.

Paintings!

She would decorate the halls with the finest paintings depicting the most picturesque sites of the kingdom—the Kushite kingdom of Meroë that was. Axum may have been a sensational contrast between towering mountains and subtle forests, but it could in no way touch the splendor of her native kingdom of Meroë.

She missed it. She missed the white marble halls trimmed in gold. She missed the flurry of excitement permeating the entire city. She missed the royal parties and galas that she frequented on a regular basis. Life in Axum was slow and methodical compared to life in Meroë.

As she headed into the foyer, she reminded herself that love had enticed her away from the cultural axis of Kush. At times, she wondered if marrying the king’s cousin was worth the price she had to pay. After five years of marriage, Kamose and she were no better off than they were at the beginning. His position at court, which had seemed promising so many years ago, had hit a plateau. For whatever reason, the king would not promote him any higher than that of a second-rate administrator of several insignificant tribes.

The elegant gold and black robe that she wore fluttered in the wind as she exited the palace and strolled out to meet the envoy. As the wife of a chieftain administrator, she only had the approval to greet arriving ambassadors. However, this visitor was special.

A broad smile covered Jwahir’s lovely dark face as the envoy stepped forward. Fala! she beamed as she embraced the jaded traveler. Isis be praised! How was your journey?

The woman smiled wearily. No different than it usually is, Jwahir, Fala replied, thinking about her taxing five-day journey. As she discovered over the years, being a royal scribe had its disadvantages as well as its advantages. Traveling great distances between kingdoms happened to be one of the great disadvantages. However, delivering confidential messages that could determine the fate of kingdoms was just the opposite.

Jwahir quickly ordered her servants to tend to Fala’s Kushite escorts while she quietly whisked the messenger away towards the palace.

It is good to see you again, Fala. Jwahir said, admitting a bit of the homesickness she had been feeling that day. Fala’s presence brought back memories of regal parties with the kandace and her noblewomen. I trust you bear good news for our negus.

I carry two messages from Kandace Naytal, the daughter of Isis. One for King Akintunde, and the other one is for you.

Jwahir’s eyes narrowed on Fala as her painted lips formed a thin devilish smile.

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The subtle scent of lilac was the first thing that struck Kenyon as he entered his old chambers. The fragrance told him that his room had been tended to on a regular basis throughout his two-year absence. Everything had remained the same. His Mataran masks still hung on a wall with a Kushite spear affixed between them. Another wall was nearly covered by a mosaic that Kimbaveta made for him.

He walked over to the window to push open the colorful shutters and allow some air in. Since his room was located on the second level of the palace, he had a clear view of the courtyard below. He could even see the activity beyond the palace gates in the streets of the inner-city.

As he turned around, he was met by Kimbaveta’s smiling face. Welcome back, philosopher, she said as she extended a basket of assorted fruits. Kenyon accepted her gift and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Are you still living here? he questioned mischievously, testing his old boundaries. I thought for certain the king would have married you off to the chief of a local tribe.

She smiled and settled down on his bed. Her long hair was pulled back into one long braid that extended midway down her back. A golden strip of lace had been woven into it forming an intricate pattern along its length.

How was your journey home? she asked.

Uneventful, he answered as he unpacked the bags his servants dropped off prior to his arrival. After emptying a trunk full of scrolls and texts that he had studied in Alexandria, brother and sister started down the hallway.

As they walked, Kimbaveta filled him in on the latest disagreement between their father and his cousin Kamose.

It appeared Kamose encouraged a couple of the tribes he administrated on the northernmost border to strengthen their defenses against Noba raiders. Telenik took it the wrong way and accused Kamose of bordering on sedition, Kimbaveta said.

Surely Father understood what was going on, Kenyon interjected as they started down the stairway. It’s part of his responsibility to provide protection for the northern tribes.

Yes, but that’s not all, Kimbaveta replied, ignoring the hint of sarcasm directed at their father in his voice. Kamose failed to keep the proper records of those meetings and didn’t even bother to submit a formal request to Telenik for additional troops to be assigned to the region. She shook her head in disdain. I don’t blame Telenik. Sometimes it’s as if Kamose forgets who the final authority is in this kingdom.

Well, I respect Telenik, but I can’t say that we should blame Kamose, Kenyon muttered, rolling his hand over his bald head. Father should display more decisive leadership. That would deal with Kamose’s impertinence.

Kimbaveta was shocked. How could you draw such a conclusion without even knowing all of the facts?

Well, how did it end? Kenyon asked after a moment.

Jwahir of all people ultimately intervened and straightened everything out.

Jwahir, Kenyon mumbled softly. If there were any bright spots in his two-year tour of study in Alexandria, it was the absence of the overdressed Kushite’s presence. What does that hound have to do with anything?

I don’t know, but she has excellent negotiating skills, Kimbaveta remarked as she looked away. But, then again, most serpents do.

When they arrived to the closed door of Akintunde’s den, Kimbaveta gave Kenyon a quick kiss on the cheek and skirted off down the shiny hallway.

He straightened himself up and ran his hands down the sides of his red and black pen-striped kilt in an attempt to crease it out more. With his heart pounding, he drew a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Responding to the command to enter, the young prince opened the door. Akintunde rose from his plush chair and whisked around his large desk to greet his son. Kenyon returned his father’s embrace and then stepped back and saluted him by motioning his hand from his breast towards the king.

My Lord Negus.

Akintunde smiled warmly at his son as he responded to the salute by receiving it to his chest. Welcome home. He walked over to a bar and filled two ornate chalices. He offered his son the cup of honey wine along with a portion of bread.

The two ate and talked about his journey home. Kenyon didn’t even bother to give his father the real details of his journey home, especially the two days he wasted flirting with women in Matara.

How was life in Alexandria? Akintunde inquired using perfect Greek.

One of Kenyon’s eyebrows slightly rose. A splendid city, Kenyon answered in Latin. In fact, Egypt as a whole is an impressive land. Too bad it’s a province of Rome.

Akintunde walked back around his desk and reclined in his chair. So, you took the opportunity to see the country?

Yes sir. I visited ancient cities and even the pyramids in Geza, just like you wanted me to.

Akintunde noted the slight tone of sarcasm in his voice but decided to let it go. I simply wanted you to be exposed to other links of our culture. I wanted you to do it while you were young, he shifted his eyes to the scrolls covering his study table. Did you visit Thebes and Memphis?

Yes, Kenyon responded, turning his attention to his father’s collection of spears and war trophies. Too bad the people there are second-rate citizens in their own land.

Akintunde received Kenyon’s anti-Roman tone all too clear. He knew his son did not appreciate the requirement that he had placed upon him to study in Alexandria as opposed to Meroë. Akintunde had made it his mission to train his children to become future ambassadors who could think and reason as opposed to negotiate with the sword as a first resort. However, as with so many other things, Kenyon resisted.

Kenyon turned his focus to the scrolls on his father’s desk. What are you reading?

The Proverbs of Solomon, Akintunde announced.

I thought you read those years ago, Kenyon said, recalling the many times he found his father examining the old Hebrew Scriptures.

I try to read some of them every morning, the king replied, slowly leaning back in his chair. I receive something different from them every time. He noticed Kenyon’s eyebrow rise slightly. It was clear to Akintunde that his faith in the Hebrew God still didn’t sit well with his son. He had been able to share his faith freely with Negash and Kimbaveta but not with Kenyon.

Kenyon walked over to the window. Have you given any thought to my post? he asked, bracing himself.

Yes, in fact, I have. Akintunde folded his hands. He knew how important this was to Kenyon, and he knew exactly what the young man wanted. For the time being, you will be assisting Chief Kadak in Wegro.

Kenyon received the statement as if it were a judgment being passed on him. Wegro’s nothing more than a loose band of tribes. Why there? I thought maybe I could …

Take a military post? Akintunde interjected as he rose and walked over to his son. At that point he verified that Kenyon had indeed grown a bit taller, even though he was still shorter than the king. That will come in time, my son.

In time? Kenyon pouted, stepping back. His anger intensified the more he thought of the flat plains of Wegro and administrating a mob of toothless herdsmen. "No, Father. I’ve done everything you’ve requested of me. I’ve learned every language and studied every lesson that you selected! When will I be able to do something that I want?"

We can’t always receive what we want, the king answered. There are many things you must learn before you can take on military command.

Like what? demanded Kenyon. I’ve been trained in our combat and strategic ways, and it won’t take me that long to learn any new methods from Telenik.

No, not those things. He searched for the correct terms. You must first learn about qualities such as loyalty and honor.

Kenyon shook his head in confusion and disbelief. Have I not been loyal to you and Telenik all of the years that I’ve been here?

Of course, you have, but that’s not the type of loyalty I mean, Akintunde softened his tone. I am speaking of learning how to earn loyalty and respect from those who serve you. People want to trust those who lead them.

Kenyon’s gaze fell to the ground. His deep sigh informed Akintunde that the youth didn’t understand the message.

I don’t recall Negash going through this experience, Kenyon voiced, surprised at the boldness behind his accusation. A wave of insecurity washed over him as he thought about what he said. Akintunde was still the negus and could order him to be banished, imprisoned, or even executed. However, his father rarely lost temper. In fact, in the ten years that Kenyon had lived with him, he had never seen Akintunde make an angry or rash decision. It was almost as if the man lived in an envelope of peace. It was a quality that Kenyon both admired and despised.

Do you really believe that I have shown a preference towards Negash over you? Akintunde asked, still staring out of the window.

Kenyon groped for his response. You always spent more time with him. The rigid answer was spoken softly.

Negash will be king someday. He needed to be trained. Akintunde knew that Kenyon understood his older brother was destined to rule the kingdom. Throughout the years he tried to make it painlessly clear to him that it wasn’t an issue of favoritism and that Negash’s preparation had begun long before Kenyon came to live with them.

Akintunde turned to face his son who wore a face riddled with spite. You shouldn’t compare yourself with your brother, he said gently. It may seem hard to understand now, but no matter how you feel, your destiny is unique and … uncommon.

Kenyon’s face softened slightly as he considered his father’s words. For a moment, Akintunde thought maybe they could finally talk about their past with civility. Then, Kenyon drew a sharp breath and exhaled. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t like being treated as if I were an accident.

Son, as I have told you before, you were not an accident.

As I said, my Lord Negus, I don’t need your sympathy or your explanations.

Akintunde gazed at him for a moment as if he were looking into a mirror. He knew that he had made many mistakes with Kenyon, but he wondered how long he would have to pay for them.

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As soon as Negash arrived home, he set out to find Kenyon. Although he was a bit melancholy that he wasn’t able to meet his younger brother when he arrived home from Alexandria hours earlier, he was still very much excited to see him.

Kimbaveta informed Negash that Kenyon was most likely in the stalls examining the horses. As he quietly walked into the stalls, Negash recalled his brother’s affinity for horses. Although Kenyon wasn’t as skillful a rider as he, Negash still admired the breath of knowledge his brother possessed about horses. At the moment, his younger brother was feeding a firmly built brown steed spotted with large white patches.

Looks like Okanda recognizes you, Negash noted as he observed how the steed nibbled the oats out of Kenyon’s hand.

How could she not, Kenyon replied as he turned around to face his brother. His shortly cropped hair and light beard gave Negash the look of a man older than twenty-eight. As far back as Kenyon could remember, Negash had possessed a personality that commanded a presence in just about every situation.

Looks like you’ve grown a little, Negash commented as he looked Kenyon over.

Kenyon cracked half a smile at the comment and then turned his attention back to the horse. Aren’t you going to ask me how Alexandria was?

No, Negash responded as he scooped up a handful of the oats and started to feed another horse. I’m sure you’re tired of answering that question. Negash recalled his own return from the Egyptian learning center and the constant questioning.

So, I hear there is going to be a wedding, Kenyon said, referring to Negash’s engagement to Amara, the daughter of the chief of Kaskase. Did Father arrange it to secure the alliance with the eastern tribes?

It’s not a political marriage, Negash insisted. I actually love her.

Kenyon could tell that his brother meant it by the tone in his voice. Love is a strong word, Negash.

So are my feelings, he answered, looking his brother in the eye.

Well, at least you sound excited about it, Kenyon commented.

For a long moment, nothing but the soft braying of the horses filled the stable.

I have a message from Telenik for you, Negash divulged with a slight grin on his face. He could see the interest it aroused in his brother. "He said you are ordered to report to his home tonight for dinner."

Ordered? Kenyon repeated, rearing both his eyebrows. Well, I can’t disobey the nagast now, can I? At least someone notices that I’ve returned from Tartarus.

Alexandria is hardly hell, Negash said.

Yeah, you’re right, Kenyon retorted with a smile.

Father is planning a banquet for you when we return from Hawelri, Negash said. It would have been sooner, but you arrived several days late.

Will you be there tonight? Kenyon asked.

I won’t be able to attend the dinner, Negash answered, his mind already focusing on the report he had to make to his father. However, I will be coming by later on. Amara is staying there.

Kenyon straightened up. So, I’ll be meeting her tonight?

Yes, Negash replied as they started to head out of the stables. Just remember she’s already engaged to me.

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Jwahir and Fala were on their third round of honey wine when their conversation finally switched from meaningless rhetoric to more provocative topics. Fala had just delivered a wedding invitation to Akintunde from Kandace Naytal thus completing the first half of her assignment. Now that she sat alone with Jwahir in her mansion, she could deliver her second and more significant message.

Fala took a sip of her wine and smiled at Jwahir. The kandace is looking forward to seeing you at the wedding, Jwahir. She misses you.

Flattered, Jwahir’s dark brown eyes followed Fala as she moved through the room examining the decorative masks hanging on the walls.

Tell me, Fala, does Naytal really approve of Teritnide’s marriage to Anadias? After all, she is from Kerma with no real connection to the Amani’aa’lia.

Anadias’s family has a strong tradition of producing military leaders. Her influence over the northern tribes will help Naytal to maintain her influence in the region – if the need arises. That reason above all made her the perfect choice for Teritnide.

Jwahir, the kandace wanted you to hear the truth. She has always seen you as a daughter. Now, she wishes to reward you with the opportunity of a lifetime.

Jwahir looked puzzled. You mean to say that Naytal approved of Anadias specifically for a military advantage? Why? I thought the loyalty of the northern tribes to the kandace was without question.

Though the problem is from the north, the local tribes are not the source of it, Fala replied, sitting next to Jwahir on the colorful couch.

The problem is Rome, Fala continued. This new emperor, Nero, has broken the Treaty of Samos and has sent several expeditions deep into our kingdom in search for new supplies of gold. We cannot just stand by and be violated by them.

Jwahir knew Fala’s words simply echoed the kandace’s thoughts. Over eighty years earlier, another kandace uttered the same proclamation and plunged Meroë headlong into a war with the Roman Empire. The great conflict ended in a stalemate with both sides reaching a compromise. Rome officially relinquished all claims to any territory south of Elephantine and rescinded the levee of tribute against the Kushites.

However, many years later, the Roman Emperor Tiberias managed to convince Kandace Amanitore to allow them access to the old gold mines at Dakka. Since then, an entire Roman colony and garrison had grown up in the region.

Rome is strong, Fala, Jwahir said.

Rome is arrogant, and the arrogant tend to see little more than themselves. That, in turn, will be their greatest weakness. The disdain in her voice for the empire was all too evident. Jwahir, Kandace Naytal has been working on a way to drive the Romans from the lands that rightfully belong to us, and she needs your help.

Chapter 2

T elenik was one of the many Axumites who abhorred city living and preferred instead to dwell outside of its boundaries. He knew there were risks to living on the outskirts, such as wild animals and bandits, but he liked being free of the overcrowding that accompanied life in the capital city. His mansion was like a smaller version of the fort he commanded. A wall roughly the height of two men ran along the perimeter of his home, and armed soldiers slowly paced the apex of the wall as they watched for signs of trouble.

Inside the walls, Telenik and his guests dined on tenderized lamb and spicy soup made from okra in the mansion’s center courtyard. Several large torches burned with an incense to keep insects at bay. Musicians provided melodies that blended the soft tones of percussion and flutes to entertain those who reclined at the large dining table.

Kenyon and Kimbaveta sat across from Amara, Negash’s future wife. She was a lovely woman in her late twenties with deep dark skin and even darker eyes that sparkled in the torchlight. From first sight, Kenyon had been taken by her astute personality. Several times during the course of the dinner, he had to remind himself that she was engaged to Negash.

It appeared that Amara and Kimbaveta got along well as the two filled the night air with giggles and amusing anecdotes about Negash. Telenik’s wife, Solana, even joined in and their combined laughter carried over the mansion’s walls.

Telenik reclined at the head of the table and didn’t say much. After asking Kenyon about his studies and his journey home, the husky man simply ate his food and observed the women. At times he glanced over at Kenyon and found amusement in the young man’s inability to relate with the chattering females.

After the dinner, Telenik and Kenyon retreated to one of the balconies that overlooked the courtyard.

So, what do you think about your assignment to Wegro? Telenik asked.

I was wondering when you were going to bring it up, Kenyon replied, taking a drink of the warm beer he held. I figured you had to have known about it.

And how do you feel about your father’s choice? Telenik’s question dangled in front of Kenyon like a large piece of bait.

I think the man doesn’t trust me, Kenyon admitted. His tone was more defeated than rebellious. He knew that he could let his guard down around Telenik, and he always did.

Are you sure the opposite isn’t true?

I don’t understand what he wants from me, Kenyon voiced, facing Telenik. I’ve done all he has commanded of me. Why won’t he let me do what I feel like doing?

Telenik shook his head and then stared intensely at Kenyon.

Listen to yourself. Two years have passed, and you still talk as a child. You should be more concerned about becoming a man who is respected among your father’s peers. Someday the time will come for you to possess a position of responsibility in this kingdom. Sooner or later you will have to learn how to think and reason as a man, not a boy.

I’ve learned enough. I’m tired of learning. I’m ready to…

You are ready to do nothing! Telenik interjected forcefully. You may have been exposed to many different philosophies in Egypt, but it is obvious that there are lessons which you have yet to learn. You should know I was in total agreement with his selection of Wegro for your initial posting.

I suppose I should thank you. The sarcasm in Kenyon’s voice was sharp and bitter. "Try not to do me any more favors."

An attendant appeared behind them and spoke softly into Telenik’s ear just as he was about to respond to Kenyon. The attendant’s red and white kilt signified that he was a captain from the fortress.

I have to go now, Telenik placed his chalice on a table. Kenyon, you can decide to either embrace the path you have been placed upon, or you can rebel against it. Either way, in the end you will discover all men are ultimately the products of the decisions they make.

Or fail to make, Kenyon added.

Telenik glared at the youth and then disappeared into the mansion. For a long moment Kenyon leaned on the iron rail and watched the cinders from the torches ascend into the clear evening sky.

As he gazed down into the courtyard, he spotted an unfamiliar servant clearing the table. As he watched the young woman work, he tried to place a name with the face. Only minutes before, another servant extinguished two of the four torches dimming the courtyard, making it difficult for Kenyon to get a clear look at the woman’s face. She had to have been new, but he also knew that Solana didn’t like to have inexperienced servants attending their home.

He judged her to be in her early twenties. Even though she was clearing the dining table, her moves were graceful and refined for a servant. She even seemed to be dressed nicer than the other household laborers were. Curious, he decided to take a closer look.

After making his way down the stairs, Kenyon approached the unidentified woman from the back. Now that they were on the same level, her womanly features were more apparent to him. Much like Kimbaveta, her long black hair was woven into one long braid that dropped just below her slender shoulders. The dress she wore was embellished with fancy patterns and matched perfectly with the bright red sash bound to her slender waist.

A sensation of warmth filled his chest as he watched her work. Strangely enough, she didn’t even notice him. She simply continued to wipe one section of the table. He narrowed his eyes and drew a deep breath. The fact that she wouldn’t turn around into the light aroused him even further.

As he silently walked up behind her, one of his father’s warnings suddenly arrested his mounting passion. Akintunde always discouraged his sons from bedding women for the pure pleasure of it. He reasoned that it would be dishonorable for a prince of Axum to sire children who could never be potential heirs to the throne.

Akintunde was especially adamant against any relationships with slave women.

Kenyon shoved the warning out of his mind and allowed his instincts to have full reign. Besides, she didn’t appear to act like a slave. Slowly and seductively, he uttered several words in the Greek tongue.

The woman slowly turned around in response to the unknown words. The soft torchlight caressed her smooth face as she searched for the origin of the voice. She finally located Kenyon lurking just inside of the foyer area. She had heard stories about him and recognized him instantly. As he drew near, she could see the obvious signs of his predatory gaze.

I am sorry, she said, lowering her head, I don’t understand, my Lord Prince.

For a few moments, his licentious impulses gave way to admiration. He had seen many beautiful and exotic women in Alexandria, Adulis, and Matara, but many of those women were lovely because they fashioned themselves that way. This one was different. The look in her eyes reminded him of Kimbaveta. It was a strong, intelligent look tempered with femininity.

It is Greek. The language of the civilized world, he said with a sarcastic twist. I said ‘I have eyes for you only, my lovely queen.’ I was quoting a verse of a song.

A song? she asked, her eyes focused on the ground.

Yes. The Greeks love to sing and recite poetry. Those words were spoken by a soldier who had not seen his wife in over ten years.

The young lady was silent as Kenyon moved closer. She dared not look up at him.

As the story goes, he was a soldier returning home from the wars in Troy.

I’ve never heard of such a place, my Lord Prince.

It never really existed, Kenyon said with a smile. Tell me, where are you from?

Adulis, my Lord Prince, she replied.

Is that where Solana purchased you?

No, my Lord Prince. I am not of this household.

Then, what are you doing here, and why are you cleaning the table?

I serve Lady Amara, my Lord Prince.

Amara, Kenyon repeated softly. I see. What is your name?

Nyieda, my Lord Prince.

Why do you keep calling me that? Kenyon questioned, realizing that she was addressing him by his royal title even though he had not revealed his identity. And please, look at me.

She complied by slowly rolling her eyes upward while leaving her head bowed. Is it no longer your title, my Lord Prince?

It’s still my title, but I don’t require everybody to address me by it. He gently tipped her head up with his finger. You may call me Kenyon if you wish, but how did you know I am a prince?

He could tell that her speechless gaze masked her fear. Just as he was about to reiterate the question, she finally spoke.

I’ve heard Prince Negash and Princess Kimbaveta describe you to Lady Amara, she replied softly.

Kenyon was surprised by her boldness. Most slaves and servants knew better than to reveal what they overheard behind closed doors no matter how trivial. He decided to push it.

Tell me, what have they said about their little brother?

His question was once again met with a silent gaze that pricked his curiosity even further.

Very wise, Nyieda. I see you are as cautious as you are beautiful.

His lips curled slightly as she drew a quick, sharp breath.

The courtyard dimmed even more as a servant extinguished another torch. How long have you been in Amara’s service?

Five years, Prince Kenyon.

And before that, what did you do?

I was a slave in the household of Zakka, the chief of Kwali.

How long were you a slave there? Kenyon asked, surprised at the genuine concern in his voice.

For eight years, she said, lowering her eyes again. Lord Zakka conquered my tribe when I was nine years old and…

You’ve been a slave ever since.

Yes, my Lord Prince.

What kind of work do you do for Amara?

Nyieda was about to answer when another voice addressed the young prince.

Excuse me, Prince Kenyon, Hebron, Akintunde’s personal messenger, interrupted. The negus would like to see you at once.

Kenyon nodded in acknowledgment and then turned to Nyieda. Now my master calls, he uttered, adjusting his burgundy cloak. I’m sure we will meet again, Nyieda.

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Kamose scarcely noticed Jwahir as he entered his bedroom chamber. Several candles positioned on miniature altars to Isis and Ra in the far corners of their room sparsely lit the room. Instinctively, he went over to the closet and hung up his embroidered black and gold cloak.

Hello, my dear, Jwahir greeted as she propped herself up in their oversized bed. How did the gods bless you today?

Kamose didn’t even acknowledge her until he finished removing his sandals.

He pulled off his kilt and tossed it aside, standing only in his loincloth. The candlelight cast several shadows of his tall brawny body. He went over to the altar of Ra and knelt down to pray. Jwahir could tell by his body language that he was frustrated by something. He always prayed to the Egyptian god when he was upset.

What did Akintunde do or say now?

Kamose arose from his prayer and lumbered over to the window. He pushed it open and caught the cool night breeze that brushed in. For a moment, his mind responded to the chill instead of the heat of his frustration. It’s more what he didn’t say.

Malek received the governorship of the Tsana region, she replied, sighing softly and running her fingers through her hair. And you, she started, dreading the response, where are you to be reassigned?

I am to remain in an administrative post here in the palace.

Jwahir did all she could to mask her mortification at the idea of remaining in Axum. For the past several months she had been hoping that Kamose would be promoted to the governorship of a region outside of the Axumite capital. I am sure there will be another region that will open up for you, she lied, knowing full well that Akintunde had no designs on expanding the kingdom.

Kamose shut the window and sat dejectedly on the edge of their bed. Jwahir closed her eyes and begged Isis to preserve what was left of their dignity. One of Kamose’s most appealing characteristics was his lineage. He had been born and reared in Lower Egypt and was a distant descendant of the renowned Egyptian Pharoah Taharqa. At times, Jwahir wondered if Akintunde was simply prejudiced and discriminated against Kamose because he was not a dark-skinned Axumite.

It’s not fair, she consoled, rubbing his thick muscular neck. You can be so much greater than what he has relegated you to.

He is the negus, and we will let his wishes stand, Kamose spat.

That we shall, Jwahir responded, pulling him down into the soft bedspread.

Chapter 3

S tealth was the most dreaded trait of the Medjay warrior. Although their outright appearance alone was intimidating, their ability to ambush their enemies in droves added to their cryptic mystique.

Twenty towering Medjay troops escorted a covered horse-drawn chariot along the paved road that led from the Blue Nile to the city of Meroë. The ranking warrior insisted on taking this road rather than the primary road usually congested with merchants and others with business in the kingdom’s capital city. Traveling along the back way into the city was generally more dangerous because it cut through the dense jungle between the river and the capital. The setting was the perfect environment for thieves and slave traders to victimize unsuspecting travelers.

None of these issues concerned Zoser, however. He knew that even a fraction of his warriors could decimate a band of twenty-five raiders. Riding inside the chariot, the frail old man focused on his belabored breathing. Kaltaz, his adjutant, sat across from him and watched him struggle through the fits of gasping that were usually followed by severe barrages of coughing. He silently wondered why his chief chose to leave the confines of their desert fortress and respond to the kandace personally.

After struggling through another round of coughing, Zoser managed to regain his composure. He knew that he was dying. A man could resist death for only so long until his mind and body gave out. He mopped the small beads of sweat from his cleanly shaven head as he closed his eyes and recounted the last three decades of Medjay history. Although the Medjay had never been conquered, they ultimately lived as slaves to their own persona. They had sold their services as