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November 15, 1049 B.C.
Axum, Ethiopia

Princess Makeda stumbled through a sea of dead bodies holding the tail of her gown to her nose to hold back the retch as she searched the grounds of the enormous courtyard through the early morning mist. She visualized through the hideous scene unfolding before her eyes, what must have preceded her arrival--the clashing of swords, the clanging of shields, the bleating of horses, and the shrieks of the dying--the sounds of death. Now that the dust and smoke had settled, the only sounds she heard were the soft footsteps at her side and a few hopeless moans here and there from the dying. With tear stained eyes, she moved stiffly with slow strides through the outer courtyard lined with granite temples, marble baths and stone statues. She felt as though her heart had been ripped from her body as she saw one familiar body after another. Had it not been for Tamrin delaying her at the Palace on the last sun, she would be lying there herself. She finally reached the Temple of the Moon when she saw what she had seen in a dream. Set in the doorway of the roofless open air structure was a large bronze basin filled with water and blood. Her mother, queen Zenobia, stared at her from behind the basin where her toppled golden throne had fallen. The world spinned around before Makeda eyes. She gripped Tamrin's shoulder at the horrid sight, screaming a silent scream then collapsed into his arms.

Kabena ran to the side of her mistress, sickened at the sight of her dead queen, while Tamrin buried his emotions and examined the meaning of this grim sight. He knew that a level head was what was needed. The realism suddenly struck him that at seventeen monsoons, Makeda was not prepared for her new role as the Queen of Sheba.

Hatred ran cold through Tamrin's blood as bitter memories crossed his mind of the queen fighting this tribe and that to protect her small but rich kingdom from greedy outsiders whose only interest was in thwarting, controlling and attacking Sheba for her gold mines and riches. Tamrin knew that the day for Sheba to be ruled by women had finally come to an end. What was needed now was a King to rule Sheba, and an army of strong well trained soldiers to protect Sheba from the warrior tribes from the south. He knew that it was only a matter of time before this would happen. Sheba had lost too many of her young men and boys in battle trying to protect their small kingdom. Tamrin was getting old and tired, but he was determined to preserve his kingdom even if it killed him.

He carried Makeda in his arms down the long trek from the dry rocky slopes, to the edge of the forest where he had tied their horses to a tree. He had waved Kabena away with a nod of his head when he eyed her wringing her hands wearing a bewildered look. Kabena followed behind him quietly talking to herself, wondering what she could say or do to ease her mistresses' pain when she awoke from her state of unconsciousness. She stopped in her tracks when she heard a faint voice cry out her name. She turned and saw her sister Adwa, the handmaiden of queen Zenobia, buried underneath the throne. She cried out her name once more.

Kebena ran to her sister's side and saw that Adwa's chest had been crushed, and that her face had been slashed. She motioned for a young lad searching through bodies to come and help her, but his eyes widened when he saw his dead queen lying there and ran away. Kebena, cursed him and pushed up the heavy throne with all of her might until it stood away from Adwa's body. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of her sister's crushed body and hearing the thud of her beautiful queen's body hit the ground. She kneeled down to her sister and smiled through eyes glistening with tears, "Adwa, be quiet, you are going to be fine." She questioned if she would have the strength to endure this task. She pushed her emotions to the side and focused on the task at hand, which was to save her sister. She faced the fact that she could do nothing for her queen, but she could help her sister in her time of need.

Kebena bent down closer to Adwa and rubbed dried blood from her face with the edge of her gown.

"Do not talk my sister, I must get you out of here." Adwa had no idea that she had a slash that ran the entire length of her face, and broken ribs from the fall.

Kebena pulled back shocked by Adwa's confession "What do you mean you are the cause?" she asked with a dreadful look upon her face.

"The Zagwe tribe from the south did this. On the last moon, Melut asked me when our village would be at its weakest to protect itself from a raid. I was full of love and suspected not the reasoning of his question. I told him that our soldiers carried no weapons on the night of the Feast of the Moon." Blood began to dribble from Adwa's facial wound and her breath became short with all of the talk.

"No, my sister do not speak of such things," Kebena, wiped more blood from her face and kissed her sister's forehead.

Fearful that she would die, Adwa needed to rid herself of the guilt that plagued her mind. "The Zagwe covered up this attack by using weapons from the tribe of Gojam, but it was not the Gojamians who did this, it was the Zagwe."

Kebena watched Adwa drift off into unconsciousness leaning on the edge of death, but she called her back. Adwa's eyes opened halfway once again, but Kebena put her finger over her mouth, "Shhh...do not talk my sister, you are too weak."

Adwa flinched from a sharp pain in her chest, "Promise me that you will not speak about this with anyone. Promise me Kebena....I, I must protect him."

Kebena looked at Adwa through eyes full of tears, confused as to what to say to her sister who had done this dastardly deed in the name of love.

"I promise my sister" A single tear ran down Kebena's face as she lay her sister's head down. She leaned her ear down on her sister's chest to listen to her heartbeat which was faint. She quickly rose and caught up with Tamrin and rode back to the village to fetch a cart and someone to help bring her sister back home.

At the encampment of the Zagwe soldiers, fighting broke out among the men over the spoils they had collected from their dastardly deeds. Jeweled bracelets, golden platters, bowls and grails, and other amulets lay scattered on a Persian rug in the middle of the camp along with two young Sheban maidens who clutched each other tightly. The squabbling was quickly silenced by a sharp command by chief Makele who sat on a chair draped in a leapard skin cape at the far end of the camp. Palm wine flowed abundantly and roasted meats and flatbread was eaten greedily by the men with ravenous appetites. One large man the color of black olives clutched an iron spear tightly in his big hand and began speaking in a foreign tongue that the chief did not understand. He demanded his claim of he booty. He had joined the group during their march north, barely escaping his fated death, for murdering a farmer and ransacking his hut. Only a few Zagwe men including Melut were versed in Arabic and understood his intent. He was threatening Chief Makele with death and sending up curses to Allah if he did not receive his portion at that moment. Before he could draw his sword, Melut came up behind the soldier and stabbed him in the back. When the soldier fell with a thick thud, Melut stood before Chief Makele with his sword dripping with blood and kneeled. While keeping a lustful eye on one of the young girls, Chief Makele took a long swig of palm wine from a golden grail studded with rubies and emeralds and grunted at Melut and told him to sit at his side. He told Melut that he had done well with bringing him the information about the weakness of the Shebans and that King Lablibela would be pleased to hear about the success of their mission. Soon, all of the gold of Sheba would belong to the Zagwe Empire. He then informed Melut that his new duty would be his personal body guard.

Chief Makele stood up and made way toward his tent, he told Melut to bring one of the girls, pointing to the tall slender one. Melut ordered a thick soldier standing near the girls to loose the tall pretty one and bring her to the chief's tent. The soldier bent down to untie the trembling girls, both virgins of not more than fifteen monsoons. The short one narrowed her eyes and spat in his face. With a heavy fist he hammered her across the face flailing her slim body through the air. Her companion shrieked and cried out at the abusiveness of the soldier. Melut barked an order to him and told him to leave her be--that she belonged to him. The soldier untied the tall one, her feet were shackled together with chains. He forced her to take small steps to keep up with his pace. When she tripped and fell the soldier grabbed her by the arm dragging her and laughing until she fell in front of Melut. She raised her head to face her foe, anger welled in her beautiful Sheban eyes as she cursed them both calling them filthy heathens in her tongue and wishing them all death. With a forceful jerk, Melut pulled her up and took her into the chief's tent and left.

A while later a scream lashed out at the girl's ears who had finally awakened from her unconscious state. She glanced at the tent fearful of her friend's fate, knowing that hers would soon follow. At that moment, she felt a tug on her arm as Melut dragged her away into his tent. He threw the girl onto a camelskin floor mat and stood before her to undress. He kneeled down to caress the breasts of the proud trembling girl who returned his gesture by spatting back into his. He pushed her to the ground and tore her lenin tunic from her body and began fondling her breasts with his rough dirty hands. Soon thereafter, the girl succumbed to the same fate as the other with a scream of terror.

The vast royal palace of Axum was decorated with ivory, gold and precious stones, and constructed of single blocks of granite connected with gigantic stone pillars with an inscribed exterior that recorded Sheban history and a hollowed interior with deep precise carving, showing beams and windows at each floor. The ceilings and interior walls were beautifully decorated with colorful paintings, tapestries and imported silks from the far east. The monumental structure stood 33 feet high, the tallest structure in the land.

Inside her bed chamber, Princess Makeda floated in and out of consciousness with images of a recurring dream holding her captive in an unreal world. She found herself roaming the highlands in a misty haze, and followed by a dark shrouded figure. At times the figure would disappear only to appear once more. The chase kept on until the figure stood in front of her face, and pointed to her kingdom which was being destroyed by fire. Then the figure pointed to the north where she saw a temple engraved with a star in a land far away. The shrouded figure pointed and said go.

"Mother, my mother." Tears slid down Makeda's cheeks as she awoke from her dream. With weeping eyes and a lowly spirit, she lay on her sheepskin bed as quiet as the silence before a storm. She had cried herself to sleep so many times that she lost count. With one sweep, she gripped the edge of the sheepskin cover and tossed it, whirling into the air. She snached down silk curtains and overturned lampstands, and pots filled with water, and flung golden platters of uneaten fruit and jeweled grails of undrunken wine at the walls, and kicked over tables, then pulled her jeweled dagger from its sheath, and began slashing at red silk pillows filled with goose feathers, and tapestries, and curtains. She toppled everything that stood in her way until she was out of breath and surrounded with floating feathers. Tamrin heard the ruckus and ran up the stairs to her room. She swung the shudder to her chamber wide open and cried out a mourning cry for her mother in a loud voice for all to hear. "Murderers...murderers...murderers."

With frenzy twisting her face, she jumped up to mount the window, but a loud voice rang out. "Get down from there my queen!" Tamrin commanded as he ran to her side to pull her down.

Makeda stumbled backwards at the tug of her arm, and fell against a toppled table. She lay at the foot of the table, hair in a tangle, panting breathlessly, and feathers flying everywhere. Tamrin offered his arm to help her up, and advised her in a sympathetic voice, "There is nothing you can do about your mother my lady. Killing yourself will not bring her back."

"Mourning is one thing, killing yourself is another." He pulled Makeda up and grasped her shoulders and gave her a sympathetic look, "You must get a hold of yourself Makeda." He advised with fatherly concern. "Sheba needs you."

"I have already summoned for the queen's...excuse me, your mother's body to be brought back to the palace. As we speak, our dead are being buried by the serfs of Sheba. Your mother will be buried in our tradition on the next sun."

With tearstained eyes, and a swolen nose, she gave him a pitiful look, her slanted afroasiatic eyes speaking her pain. "Tamrin, I saw my mother's death in a dream two moons ago."

Alarmed by her statement, Tamrin gave her an intense look, and pondered the possibility that like her grandmother, she posessed the gift of prophecy. Tedra, her grandmother had saved Tamrin's life when he was but a babe. She had a dream that the village would be attacked by a vicious man eating lion, and that her handmaiden's child would be killed. Tedra warned her handmaiden of the vision, who believed her not. Tedra convinced her handmaiden to let her child stay the night in the palace, which he did. The next sun her handmaiden fell prey to the lion and was killed.

Tamrin gave Makeda a serious look, "It was your grandmother who saved my life and raised me, and your mother was as a sister."

"Why, Tamrin, why was my mother murdered? Who could do such a thing?" Makeda asked innocently.

Tamrin had an idea who had killed her, but had no proof. He had hired a young boy to take care of his clothing and errands while on a voyage at the Red Sea. The boy had told him that he had overheard two men talking about how it was just a matter of time before they owned the gold of Sheba, and control of the Red Sea trade routes. Sheba had always controlled the trade routes of the Red Sea through her port at Massawa. Tamrin made it a point to find out who these men were and to watch them. He sent the boy as a spy to find out to what tribe they belonged. The boy came back and reported that they belonged to the Zagwe.

Upon arriving at the palace on the last sun, Tamrin had come while everyone was enroute to the temple, only to find Makeda tallying. He decided to wait and escort Makeda to the Moon ceremony. Tena, the high priestess came to him wearing a crown on her head and jeweled bracelets on her arms. She alerted him to stop because she had seen a vision only moments before his arrival of a great catastrophe that would take place this darkness in the Temple of the Moon. She warned him to keep Makeda at the palace, and not attend the celebration. Tamrin being a man of great insight believed the priestess. He told her that he needed to do something to prevent the catastrophe. The high priestess told him there was nothing he could do because as they spoke, all were being killed at the temple.

Anticipating Makeda's resistance, he came upon her and covered her mouth with his hand and forced her through a secret door on the second floor near her bed chamber. They walked down the circular stairs of the east pillar until they came to another door that led to a tunnel. The smell of mildew, and still water from the monsoon season tore at their nostrils. At the end of the tunnel was a river, it was there that they hid, until the next sun. Makeda was angry at Tamrin for the abduction, but then fell alseep after a while. At the rising of the sun they came upon the horrible scene as Tamrin had suspected. Tamrin noticed that the weapons; swords, arrows, spears and shields had the markings of the Gojamian tribe.

Someone knocked on the door, it was Tena the high priestess. She walked over and kneeled by Makeda and pulled her to her bosom giving her a motherly embrace. Tamrin felt relieved, because he knew that Makeda should talk to Tena about her dreams.

Tena gave Tamrin a startled look but continued to console Makeda. "Hush my little one, I am here,"

Tena pulled her up from the Persian carpet and said in a soft voice, "Whenever the moon is full, you need only to look upon the silver sphere, and there you will see your mother's face." She gave Makeda a serious look. "Our queens never die. You must remember this Makeda." She glanced sideways at Tamrin who eyed her with a frown. On many occasions, they both clashed on the subject of who should rule Sheba. Tena believed Sheba should be ruled by Queens. Tamrin believed Sheba should be ruled by a King.

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