The Time Roads

“Your Majesty. Commander Ó Deághaidh.”

“How is our friend?” I asked.

“Well enough. Curious. We’ve said nothing, as you wished.”

The cell where they had put Michael Okoye was larger than the others, with a small vent in the outer wall to let in fresh air and sunlight, but it was nevertheless a bare bleak room, with its walls of gray stone, the dented metal washbasin, and the chamber pot tucked into one corner. The air was chilled, more like winter than spring.

Michael Okoye sat on the cot, his gaze pinned on the vent, which was covered with a network of iron bars. Though they must have roused him from his bed, he was dressed in a fine dark suit and stiff white shirt. His manner was still and contained, his expression remote, as though he had wiped away all emotion, all expectation. He did not acknowledge our presence.

Aidrean Ó Deághaidh spoke first. “Mister Okoye. I have come to ask you some questions.”

Okoye glanced from him to me. “Why am I here?”

“Because your delegation chose you,” I said.

“No. I chose myself. Now tell me. Why am I in this cell?”

His voice was cool and soft, the vowels faintly rounded as was usual for the Anglian tongue. I caught a hint of anger in those few words, however much he had tried to hide it, and I exchanged a glance with Aidrean Ó Deághaidh. He too had heard something in Okoye’s tone. He motioned for the warden to unlock the cell door.

“We shall be comfortable enough,” he told the man. “Lock the door behind me, and leave us until we send for you. Her Majesty wishes to observe.”

A bench with pillows was fetched. I took my seat and the warden left us.

Okoye watched these preparations impassively. He had spent three weeks waiting for an audience with me. It seemed he was willing to wait longer.

Aidrean did not begin his questions at once. He sat on a wooden stool, which I had not noticed before, and leaned against the wall, studying Okoye with a pleasant smile. Okoye met his gaze steadily, even as the silence extended to a quarter of an hour and beyond, and I felt myself grow invisible to the two men inside the cell.

Then, “How old are you, Mister Okoye?”

Michael Okoye drew a quick breath, startled against his will. “Surely, you know everything about me, Commander. Éire has spies enough in our country.”

“Please answer the question, Mister Okoye.”

“First tell me why you have arrested me. I’ve committed no crime—”

“Answer the question, or I shall charge you with treason.”

Aidrean Ó Deághaidh spoke mildly, and the pleasant smile never left his face. I had not witnessed this aspect of his character before.

Okoye remained silent a moment longer, then said, “Twenty-six.”

Younger than I had guessed.

“Where were you born?”

“If I answer, will you tell me why—?”

“Where were you born, Mister Okoye?”

“In Londain,” Okoye said with a sigh. “Why must you ask me these questions, when surely you have the answers already?”

Because ink and paper are only the outermost details, I thought. Because Aidrean Ó Deághaidh will learn more about your character from the timbre of your voice, the silences and hesitations, the almost infinitesimal changes in the direction of your gaze, and the tension in your mouth. I know this because I have lived my entire life in Court, reading the character of men and women as Aidrean Ó Deághaidh now reads yours.

Aidrean merely shrugged and asked another question—this one concerning the number of siblings and their names. A dozen more seemingly irrelevant questions followed. From them I learned that Michael Okoye was the second oldest of five children. He had three brothers and one sister, the youngest. From twelve to sixteen, he lived with his father’s relatives in the Nri Republic, where he perfected his knowledge of the Igbo language, as well as learning the family business—a trade consortium his great-grandfather had founded.

Behind Okoye’s answers, I heard the squabbling of brothers and sisters, and affection, too. I saw a large family immersed in duty to an even larger family that extended from Africa to Éire to the Western Continent. I saw a young man with a restless curiosity who was adept at languages and poetry, as well as the far different world of trade.

I also saw a young man with a passion for justice. Such a passion must have led him to join the cause for Anglian liberty, and from there to Peter Godwin’s useless and dangerous faction.