By the time Tafari was four years old, he was no longer merely a child in his parents' eyes. Though small in stature, his presence carried an uncanny awareness that unsettled even the most seasoned attendants of Ras Makonnen's household.
One bright morning, Tafari was seated on a low cushion in the corner of the hall as his father met with several nobles and advisors. The discussion centered on the northern provinces, which had reported unrest and rumors of foreign spies near the borders.
"Ras Makonnen, our scouts report irregular movements near Aksum," said one general, his voice cautious. "We must send a small detachment to investigate before it becomes a threat."
Ras Makonnen's brow furrowed. "Do we risk sending troops into uncertain terrain? And what of the local chiefs? They may misinterpret our actions."
Tafari, though barely able to walk steadily, craned his neck. In his infant mind, he compared the situation to countless historical examples he had memorized. Diplomacy before action, always. Force invites resistance.
He reached out for his rattle, but instead of shaking it, he banged it lightly on the floor. The sound drew attention, and all eyes turned toward the boy.
Ras Makonnen smiled faintly. "Ah, my son. You are listening closely, I see."
Tafari gurgled in response, but in that small gesture, there was an unmistakable air of command. The nobles, unsettled, found themselves pausing longer than usual before speaking.
Abba Tekle, standing nearby, whispered to one of the generals, "Do you see? Even at this age, he carries a weight beyond years. Observe, but speak carefully."
One of the more cautious advisors cleared his throat. "Perhaps, Ras Makonnen, it would be wise to send envoys first, to assess the loyalties of the local chiefs before deploying troops."
Ras Makonnen considered this and nodded slowly. "Yes. Diplomacy first. The boy's… observation is not wasted. Proceed as suggested."
Tafari's mind recorded it all. He had spoken without words, influencing the decision merely by the perception of his awareness.
Later, as the hall emptied, Ras Makonnen knelt beside him. "You are watching closely, Tafari. Do you understand what we just did?"
Tafari, unable to reply verbally, reached for his father's hand, gripping it tightly. In that simple act, his intent was clear: I understand. I see the threads of power, and I will guide them someday.
His mother, observing from a distance, smiled softly. "He learns fast, faster than any child should. But his heart is good. That is as important as knowledge."
Tafari's historian's mind reflected on the lesson: influence does not always require words. Sometimes, presence, observation, and subtle signals were enough to sway the decisions of men older and wiser.
That night, as he lay in his crib, he stared at the flickering candlelight. His first real taste of influence had been small, but meaningful. The boy who carried the soul of an old man realized: Ethiopia can be guided even before it knows it needs guidance. Power begins with understanding.
And in the quiet of his nursery, Tafari whispered silently, I will prepare. I will wait. And when the time comes, I will lead.
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This chapter establishes:
Tafari's age (4 years old)
His first significant observation of the court and political discussions
The way he begins to subtly influence adults without speaking, purely through presence and perceived intelligence.