by Freda, Paula
"The next page, as meticulously drawn as the first, showed the reverse of the medallion. The inscription read, ‘No poisonous herb grows, no querulous frog quacks, no scorpion exists nor does the serpent glide among the grass. In Sofala reigns John the Priest, and Solomon stretches out his hand.’ You see," Moore continued excitedly, "The gold medallion was the key, and somewhere on the Conical Tower was the lock. I was certain that the ruins of Zimbabwe held more than history.
"I was not a wealthy man back then, and could not afford to travel, so I turned my efforts to researching manuscripts in museums throughout the world without ever leaving my home town. I searched through catalogs, reports of archaeological finds, any and every piece of material that might offer further clues to the whereabouts of the medallions. I felt without a doubt that somewhere, someplace, at least one of these medallions had survived the ravages of time. And I was right.
"I will not bore you with the details of my coming here and establishing a bond with these people. They had little if any knowledge of the modern world above them. The elders in their wisdom destroyed any remaining medallions, the only keys allowing entry into their city. But as the years passed, and the population grew, so did the need for food and the everyday necessities plentifully available in the past. When I entered the city, I found a starving population in rags and decay. The descendents of the elders welcomed me, and my promise to keep their secrets. With me as their clandestine liaison with the outside world, I have restored their prosperity while keeping their world safe from outside intrusion."
He seemed to have come to the end of his story, but Lord Hayden and Elizabeth felt no wiser as to why he had brought them here. Their faces mirrored their question, and Lord Hayden asked, "If you have everything you need here, what do you want with us? If secrecy is your motto, why involve us at all."
"Because there are more mysteries here than I alone can unravel." Once again he had their wary attention. "The underground arteries below Zimbabwe extend for many miles—numerous caverns, and twists and turns. I have lost scouts that have never been heard from or seen again; I need a team of experts." He waited for this latter information to sink in. Then he added, "You see, it’s been my lifelong ambition to find the tomb of Prester John, the Christian King."
Lord Hayden understood. "Yes, of course, the inscription on the back of the medallion, No poisonous herb grows, no scorpion exists... how did it go…"
Moore took up the quote, "…nor does the serpent glide among the grass. In Sofala reigns John the Priest, and Solomon stretches out his hand."
"But Prester John’s existence is merely a legend!" Elizabeth insisted. "Mostly rumor and confusing reports. The legend portends that Prester John lived in a crystal palace roofed with precious gems. We’ve seen no sign of such a palace in this city."
"You won’t", Moore said. "I told you earlier that Golden Sofala was once situated above ground, until fortune hunters forced the population underground. The crystal palace, along with Prester John's tomb, is located in the upper world. And it is not far, but the palace and the tower are not visible from the sky of the outside world."
Puzzled, Lord Hayden asked, "And how would you know this? Do you have written records?"
"Your information is from rumors and confusing reports," Moore said. "Mine is from the word of mouth and the writings of Prester John's descendents, themselves, handed down from generation to generation." He raised his chin proudly. You see, I discovered during my extensive research that Prester John was my ancestor. My genealogy traces back to his."
Lord Hayden’s eyebrows lifted speculatively. Elizabeth was intrigued, but suspicious. "Honorable, but why do you want to find his tomb?"
Both found Moore’s reaction mystifying. The man stuttered, "W-why... to preserve it, to venerate it. The tomb is an artifact and proves undeniably that Prester John was our kingdom’s founder."
"And you have kidnapped two professors to prove a fact that you have written records to back up?" Lord Hayden remarked. "Why do I feel there’s something more you should tell us?"
Moore’s mouth tightened in annoyance. He turned away momentarily. "Very well," he said, facing them again. "There is something else, but what I said thus far is not a lie. Only half of my reason."
"And what’s the other half?" Elizabeth inquired.
"I need a symbol; I need a unifying agent, news, or event. There is unrest among my people, the effect of the western world, and democracy. I need to save Sofala from the contamination of the world above."
"What you want is to preserve your power over the people, and you want us to provide you with the propaganda," Elizabeth pounced icily.
Moore rallied. "My desire is to sustain the peace and prosperity, and the safety of the city Prester John founded and ruled."
Lord Hayden added, "I don’t suppose your sources also tell of immeasurable treasures, and a fountain of youth from which Prester John supposedly drank, and lived to well over five hundred years?"
"Despite whatever connotations you may put on that information—Yes!"
Elizabeth attempted to inject a note of logic. "Whatever your reasons, why not speak with your people; see what they want, come to an agreement? Democracy works, when given a fair chance."
Moore replied belligerently, "I will not endanger a regime that has kept Sofala alive and fixed... until now, because of a few disturbed individuals. You will find no poverty or starvation among my people."
"But they’re not free!" Elizabeth insisted.
"Do you let a beloved pet wander freely over streets and highways that may bring it death?" Moore rebutted.
"Is that what you consider your people, pets?"
"They’re my children."
Lord Hayden interjected impatiently, "We can stand here all year and debate forms of government, but it won’t get us home. There are democracies and there are monarchies, and scores of others in between. For my part I’m glad I live under the former and wish to continue doing so. My present objective, along with my colleague and spouse, is to return to our duties at home. Now, if we help you find the tomb, will you guarantee our safe release?"
Moore’s expression took on the texture of granite, and his dark eyes, the fires of hell. "I will guarantee you nothing. You will help me—or die; your remains to be buried here, your whereabouts to remain a perpetual mystery to those above. Then I will find another team, one who will understand my quest and help me willingly."
Lord Hayden warned him, "We do not function well under threats."
"In that case…" Moore called out a command to the soldiers posted outside.
Immediately they filled the room, their rifles cocked and pointed at the two prisoners.
"Say your prayers, Lord and Lady Hayden."
Lord Hayden paled. "No!" he cried, fully realizing that Moore was not bluffing. He suddenly felt very sorry for the people of Sofala. Their leader lacked the most important trait of a just ruler: compassion. "All right, you made your point. We will help you find your precious tomb. He glanced at Elizabeth entreatingly. This was not the time to argue. They would find a way out, but for now… He breathed easier as Elizabeth nodded her agreement... for now, at least.
"I’m sorry your help has been enlisted under the threat of death," Moore said, motioning to his men to lower their rifles. "But perhaps when you have seen the manuscripts and sources that tell of the beginnings of Sofala, the explorers in you may grow eager." He ordered his men out. "I will have food brought to you first, then the sources I spoke of. Study them well, and be ready to start on the expedition at dawn." He did not wait for a reply. The conversation was over. He turned and went out, leaving the door wide open with the soldiers looking in.
Lord Hayden and Elizabeth had not realized how famished they were until the food was brought in. Again, the mixture of nationalities was evident both in the meal’s preparation and in those serving it on gold trays. No cutlery was provided. The duo sat on the mats and ate with their fingers without complaint, glad of th
e meat and honeyed fresh fruit, milk and wine. Lord Hayden remarked on two possibilities: that knives and forks were not a part of this culture—again the mixture of the old and new—or that Moore was afraid they might steal some to use as weapons.
When they had finished eating, the servants returned with basins of water and towels, then proceeded to clear the room, before carrying in three cardboard boxes filled with centuries-old yellowed manuscripts, scrolls, atlases, logs, and bibles. The two archaeologists nearly forgot they were here under forced detention and the threat of death. They nearly forgot their own names as they immersed themselves in the ancient documents, reveling in the past. Here was the history of a people, preserved and revered.
Lord Hayden was first to speak. "It’s all here, the answers to a thousand questions! Solomon, Sheba, Ophir…"
Elizabeth translated the Latin script on the first page of a leather bound book, well preserved for its age. "Prester John, his signature. This is a Roman Catholic Missal and prayer book. And look at this! She handed Lord Hayden a letter-sized glass case containing a wooden board on which had been carefully glued a parchment also in Latin.
Lord Hayden translated reverently, "Dated in Rome, 1177, a letter to John the Illustrious and Magnificent King of the Indies." {referring to the East as in India} He read the rest quietly, then suddenly looked up. "My God, this is a letter from Pope Alexander the Third, who was said to have believed in the Christian King’s existence, and to have written to him, although no answer was ever recorded."
"But apparently the letters did reach him," Elizabeth said.
Lord Hayden frowned. "These are magnificent finds, but I have yet to find any clue to the location of his tomb. Our lives depend on finding Prester John’s tomb."
"And all this information is certain to remain rumors," Elizabeth added dolefully, "since Moore obviously will never allow us to take anything back. He’s right about one thing: the tomb is the only concrete and final proof of Prester John’s existence."
"Then I believe our search should begin with Ophir," Lord Hayden said. "This atlas here shows the way clearly. Northwest, about fifteen miles."
"But that would bring us to Victoria Falls!" Elizabeth pointed out, perplexed. "Moore wants us to explore the tunnels. Why? With all the time he’s had to study these documents, he must have reached the same conclusion as ours."
Lord Hayden shrugged. "I would venture that he wants us to search for the tomb from below."
"We could easily get lost below ground," Elizabeth said. "We need a map of the tunnels, or at least a guide."
"And you shall have one," Moore said, entering. "I will be your guide, and my soldiers your guardians."
The man seemed addicted to eavesdropping, Lord Hayden thought, anger welling up in his chest, as Moore’s smile taunted. Yet, at the moment he could do nothing but nod.
"My men will escort you to your quarters," Moore continued. "Your luggage has been procured from the hotel. My servants have prepared your baths. I suggest a good night’s rest. We have a fascinating, if perilous journey ahead of us."
Later, under the thick quilt, of a four-poster, Lord Hayden and Elizabeth lay quietly contemplating the pending journey through the underground passages. Elizabeth broke the silence, whispering, "William…."
Lord Hayden gazed at her, the fire gold curls framing her brow and cheeks. The wistful yearning in her eyes he recognized as desire to know the secrets of the past, but to do so freely of her own accord, a feeling he shared equally. He drew her into the crook of his arm. "Try to sleep," he told her. "We will need all of our wits about us these next few days.
Elizabeth snuggled gratefully against his side. "William…" she whispered soulfully, "I love you." Closing her eyes, the warmth of his body at last lulled her to sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
With Moore in the lead and five armed guards in the rear, they set out at the break of dawn. After a while the earth under their feet and the rock about them grew damp and mossy. The moisture on the walls glistened whenever touched by a beam from the flashlights. The group of explorers followed the clues from the five hundred year old atlas, moving northwest. The tunnels did not slope downward, continuing level, the distance to the surface the same as when they had started their journey.
"I think I know what’s causing the excessive moisture," Lord Hayden said.
"We’re approaching Victoria Falls."
"Correct, Lord Hayden," Moore confirmed. "A few more miles and we will be directly under the Zambezi River. These walls you see about you were formed millions of years ago, and one day, the moisture will complete its task of eroding the rock and the river will burst through."
Elizabeth touched the wall and placed her ear against it. Shock froze her features; she turned to Moore. "My God, we’re closer to the falls than we think. I can hear the water rushing on the other side. Don’t you realize the danger to your people?"
"Like mighty Atlantis, shall we, too, be swallowed by the sea?" Moore weighed. "A fitting end, I think." His dark eyes seem to fill with eerie laughter.
He’s a little mad, Elizabeth thought, watching him warily.
They moved on for hours, stopping only briefly to rest and eat some canned meats and dried fruits. The moisture on the walls increased to droplets, the humidity so thick, it pressed against their bodies. They were close to breathing water. The sound of the fall’s torrents crashing into the river outside the walls was clearly audible.
"We will have to continue past the Falls until the moisture has lessened," Moore told them, "well into the evening."
With only snatches of rest, it was not long before Elizabeth’s legs threatened to buckle, yet stopping for the night in their currently wet surroundings would prove worse. By the time Moore finally brought them to a halt, Elizabeth had lost track of time, too exhausted even to check her wristwatch. If not for Lord Hayden, exhausted himself, lending her support, she would have long ago collapsed. Hardly tasting the food, she briefly partook of the meager supper of salted meat and dried fruits, unrolled her bed gear and fell into the blankets, weary to the bone.
Despite her exhaustion and the comfort of Lord Hayden’s arms, she slept fitfully. Her fear of the river crashing through the walls and trapping her and Lord Hayden into a drowning death, reared up vividly in her subconscious mind. Rock imploded as water gushed in, filling the tunnels. Water entered her nostrils and pushed against her mouth. She felt no grief because, oddly, she knew she was dreaming. Yet the threat of drowning felt real. She used her hands and arms to propel herself up until her head cleared the surface, where she beheld an island, from which rose a crystal castle. Then suddenly, the water vanished and she found herself standing in the vestibule of the castle, able to see through the crystal walls, except for the upper floors where the crystal was frosted. As in a trance, she walked until she came to a courtyard. In its center a fountain gushed a thick column of water as high as the eye could see, and even higher. Sensing a presence, she looked down. A bearded monk knelt at the fountain’s base, washing his face and hands in the sparkling water. His ablution completed, he cupped his hands and drank from the fountain.
When he had savored his fill, he turned and faced her. She beheld a benign face with deep-set eyes, the color of warm, churned earth. The eyes widened in surprise, then softened with a smile. His voice resounded strongly, yet not harshly, melodious as though carried on the wings of angels. "Welcome, gentle spirit. You bring me solace and company. Come and share a drink with me, and tell me of your purpose."
The fear she had felt about the river melted away at the sound of that voice and his smile. She drew close to the monk and accepted the water from his cupped hands. It tasted clean and cool, and as she swallowed, a feeling of perfect calm spread through her, rendering her light and carefree, as if she were no more than a wispy cloud, floating. The monk watched, still smiling, his gaze benevolent, giving. She did not speak, yet he was listening to her telling him all about herself, everything, from her earliest recollectio
ns to her present circumstances. So much she revealed, yet but a moment passed.
"You are one of them," the monk spoke reverently. "One of the gentle dreamers and preservers. Your spirit warms the cold night and evaporates the dampness; it brings the dawn and the warmth of the sun." He touched her shoulder, and Elizabeth felt the wind at her back. "Gentle spirit," he continued. "When you come to my resting place, replace the Cross of my Savior, and I will bless you and your loved ones with streams of molten gold from the heavens. Will you promise?"
Elizabeth did not question him. The sense of ethereality was so great, she nodded, her only desire to requite this communion of the spirit. "I promise," she said. The monk lifted his hand from her shoulder, and immediately she felt saddened. Then, something was pulling her back physically. Elizabeth resisted.
"Go back, gentle spirit," the monk advised her. "You are needed; there is danger." He pointed to the space behind her.
Elizabeth turned her head, and suddenly realized her eyes were closed. She opened them to see Lord Hayden’s unshaven face bending over hers, and his harried voice telling her, "Elizabeth, honey, wake up! There’s trouble!"
The sounds of the others waking and a scuffle somewhere behind Lord Hayden reached Elizabeth’s ears. The scuffle became a battle as the ugliest creature she had ever laid eyes upon—boar-like, hideously hairy, horned, and wielding a club, loomed over her husband’s shoulders. She screamed, and Lord Hayden, following her line of vision, swore just before his reflexes took over. He let go of Elizabeth and swung a fist right into the creature’s jaw, sending the half-man, half rabid animal crashing against the wall. He quickly pulled Elizabeth to her feet and put her behind him just as two more horned, pig-faced creatures, grunting and snorting ferociously, and waving clubs, ran toward them, ready to smash their victims’ skulls. Lord Hayden took a deep breath. Weaponless, the future boded ill. He prepared to go down defending the woman he had grown to love beyond all understanding.