He was there ahead of us, as he had promised. He rode with me, before me in the saddle, and none of us ever said anything more about the tunnels. We left the city of Aksum. We followed the graveled high road to Adwa, three hours’ journey under the thick and luminous stars. We reached Kidane’s country estate in time to sleep before the sun rose, but we did not dare remain throughout the day. We were still close enough to Aksum that we could easily be tracked. We studied the Itinerary over our hasty breakfast. “There are two ways to go,” I said. “One of them looks twice the distance, but the other follows the main road. If we take the longer route we can leave the highway today.” “Good,” said Turunesh. “Your white face will be remarked by everyone who passes you.” We took one of the farm ponies for Telemakos and set out. The roadside sparked with the wild gold of Meskal daisies, the bright asters of the Aksumite highlands. Terraced fields sloped toward woodland where coffee grew wild and monkeys danced across the treetops.
