Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden in the African Jungle (Golden Sofala) Volume 5
Page 5
She made her best attempt to explain. "I-I made a promise. And I must keep it." And seeing the confusion on his face, "I can’t explain more. I’m not fully certain why myself. But when we find the tomb, I’ll know. Please, William, trust me."
Lord Hayden studied her face a bit longer as he held back further questions. She needed his trust, and he remembered other times when her instincts had proved right. He would wait, but he did not like it one bit. "All right," he conceded. "We’ll find the tomb, if it’s here." He turned to Moore. "And then we’re getting the hell out of this valley!"
Moore’s smile contained venom. "I’m sorry, Lord Hayden, but once we have found the tomb, it is my intention that you both return with me. You will never leave Golden Sofala. Its existence must never be revealed." He clicked an order and the guards immediately raised their rifles. "You have no choice in this matter." He motioned the guards to flank the two archaeologists.
A lilting tune floated upward from the halls below, a combo of a stringed instrument and a flute, accompanied by a tenor’s voice. Again, curiosity overrode conflict, and the party hurried from the room and headed down. They followed the tune into the dining room. At least a hundred Europeans, Africans and Asians, in medieval garb of their respective cultures, sat at tables arranged in a rectangle that culminated at the foot of a dais, upon which a table also was set, but the seats were as yet unoccupied. As the diners became aware of their new guests, the balladeer stopped singing, and the room fell silent.
They were a beautiful people, Lord Hayden noted, except for their eyes. He felt himself recoil at the savagery they projected. He experienced fear and the desire to retreat quietly, and then to run when Elizabeth uttered, "Oh, my God!" as she stared white-faced at a dish on one of the tables in the rectangle. Moore paled and Lord Hayden’s stomach spasmed. The guards began muttering anxiously amongst themselves, frightened as well at the sight of an eyeless human head on a golden platter, surrounded by a bounty of fruits and legumes. The final description in the manuscripts reared up in the party’s minds: the last guardians—the race that ate human flesh, who regarded it a solemn duty to consume the remains of their relatives and friends. The head on the platter confirmed the latter myth. It bore a strong resemblance to the elegantly robed Caucasian sitting before it, preparing to eat.
Lord Hayden paid closer attention to the rest of the food and realized with another spasm what the remaining platters held. It was clear to him now that centuries ago these guardians had lived outside the palace grounds, perhaps even in the tunnels, protecting the secret valley and its civilization from conquerors and fortune hunters. The empty seats at the table on the dais proposed a further conclusion: Prester John had been dead for many of those centuries, but the guardians’ descendents continued to await his return. He recalled the tunic and robe laid out at the foot of the bed, Prester John's bed. The atmosphere of the palace cried expectancy.
Myth reputed Prester John to have lived well over five hundred years because of a fountain of youth that was available to his entire kingdom. Perhaps among the guests present sat Moore’s ancestors, along with the original guardians themselves. So many questions and conflicting theories. Lord Hayden was certain of only one thing that flight was imperative before he and the others with him ended up as the household’s next meal. He turned to Elizabeth. Beloved, are you thinking what I’m thinking?" Elizabeth nodded. Lord Hayden’s smile was casual and his tone light. "Well, we have to be going now," he said to no one in particular. "Sorry for any inconvenience. Just passing through…" And with that, he took Elizabeth by the arm and began backing away.
Moore and his guards were less casual; his scowl and his soldiers’ panicked murmurings proved the catalyst. First one, then another, then ten and twenty of the guardians left their seats to approach the group. Any hope for negotiations was dashed when Moore suddenly drew a gun and fired, instantly killing a guardian. A bestial snarl that Lord Hayden could hardly credit as issuing from the mouths of humans shook the dining room. He pulled his wife farther from the room, yelling, "Run!" He did not look back as they fled out of the room and toward the vestibule and the golden doors that had welcomed them with open arms.
Nobles and Ladies of the court blocked the exit. Lord Hayden frantically scanned the hallway for another exit. "This way!" he hollered, leading the escapees through a side door. Perhaps they could escape through a window.
Rooms led into rooms; finally, they reached one with windows and scrambled through them into a courtyard. Elizabeth recognized the fountain, and gazed up at the window of Prester John’s bedroom. At the same moment, Lord Hayden spotted what he had been hoping to find: a small gate, partially hidden by flowering vines; exits common in medieval courtyards. "This way!" he howled again. No one argued with him, for the enemy was very close.
The gate led into a trellised walkway. The escapees ran its length and found themselves in front of another door, this one similar to the one through which they had gained entrance into the valley from the tunnel. Lord Hayden and Moore cooperated eagerly to drag the door open. The sunlight weaving between the lattices overhead revealed a descending stairway. Flashlights were once more employed as the stairs gave way to an underground passage. In concert, all hoped that this route might lead them out of the valley. A half hour later, they slackened their pace, relaxing. No sign of the guardians remained. Their heightened spirits sank as the passage widened into a closed cavern. They had reached a dead end.
Elizabeth saw it first—a plain, unadorned sarcophagus, set humbly in an unobtrusive corner of the cavern. "William," she whispered, "I suspect we have found John’s tomb."
One by one, the small party approached the coffin. Elated, Moore clicked an order to his soldiers. He explained, "I have told them to remove the lid."
"No! Elizabeth shouted. "Don’t touch it! Let him rest in peace."
Even Lord Hayden glanced at her askance. Not that he was anxious to aid Moore, but he, too, was curious. "Since we’re here, we might as well see what historians have considered a mere myth all these years."
"It’s an enormous discovery," Moore seconded.
Lord Hayden knew his Elizabeth, and he knew she rarely said anything without a solid reason behind it. "Why do you think opening the coffin would disturb his spirit?" he asked in earnest.
"Nonsense!" Moore exclaimed, and motioned for his guards to proceed. Stone scraped against stone as three of the guards strained to lift the lid. Moore ordered them to slide it crosswise. As they did so, and glanced inside, their eyes widened, and fear paralyzed their features. They fell back, uttering childhood prayers to ward off evil.
Moore peered into the coffin, and froze. Lord Hayden and Elizabeth followed suit and gasped. Inside the sarcophagus lay a middle-aged man whose cheeks had not yet lost their color. He was wrapped in red velvet. A highly ornate cross with a ruler’s staff straddled a jeweled crown placed at his feet, evoking the symbol that the hermit had drawn in the manuscript, the symbol that Moore had located and brought to Zimbabwe, the key that had opened the door to Golden Sofala and Prester John's kingdom. Surprise giving way to triumph, Moore laughed. "Even in death his body remains youthful. This is just as Prester John described in his diary."
"The diary you didn’t show us," Lord Hayden remarked.
Moore inclined his head. "Precisely." He went on confidently, "The diary spoke of the map which Prester John ordered be buried with him upon his death. A map to his holdings in other parts of the world, to secret mines, and the identity and locations of alchemists and doctors who held cures to terminal diseases. Such as the one that is destroying me. That’s right," he said to everyone’s astonished faces. "I’m dying." He was telling the truth at last; Elizabeth was certain of it. His dark eyes had filled with despair, and his stern mouth trembled.
"The fountain of youth," Elizabeth said, "the one in the courtyard. Why didn’t you drink from it? It might have cured you."
Moore shook his head. "According to John’s diary, the water of
the fountain only worked if you were in good health. Whatever its source, or perhaps by virtue of some herb or root over which the water flowed that gave it its special properties, it acted as an immunization potion, a vaccine against illness and the onset of old age. But the cure to the disease that is slowly killing me lies with one of the descendants of the doctors I can locate with the map—and your help. Now you see the full intent of my purpose in bringing you here. You cannot remain opposed now that you realize the discoveries to which the map will give us access, the map Prester John holds in his left hand." He slipped the folded parchment from the priest’s fingers. "The map and all its holdings and information now belong to me. I will live!" He clutched the parchment to his heart.
Not so distant voices clamored into the cavern. The guardians had broken past their own self-imposed barriers and were only minutes away. As Elizabeth turned her head toward the threatening sounds, she saw the white marble Cross lying on the ground. Despite its thick round base, it had somehow been knocked over, by thieves perhaps or an earthquake. "William, help me!" she called urgently. "The Cross! We must replace it in front of the sarcophagus. See the pedestal a few feet away? We have to put it back so that John’s spirit can rest."
Lord Hayden wanted to argue, to tell her there was no time, for the sword-and-mace-wielding guardians had reached the mouth of the cavern and spotted them. However, he had grown used to her odd requests that almost always proved worthy. Besides, they were caught between a dead end and a hundred medieval cannibals. Where could they hide? Steeling himself, he motioned to the guards past panicking and in shock. "Help me," he said, "if you value your lives. This may be our only chance for survival." He really wasn’t sure how putting the cross back on the pedestal in front of the sarcophagus would save them from becoming the cannibals next meal, yet the assurance on Elizabeth’s face held no doubt. He had spoken in English to the guards, hoping against hope that they would gather his meaning from the sound of his voice and his hands motioning to the relic. In actuality, two of the guards understood English, though Moore had forbidden them to acknowledge this.
For an instant, the guards turned to Moore. He continued to stand clutching the map to his heart. Wildness had replaced the despair in his gaze, as though he had gone mad at the sight of the guardians and certain death. Faced with a crazed ruler and the Cross that represented supernatural help, the only help left them in the face of oncoming doom, the soldiers scurried toward the two archaeologists to aid them. Together, they heaved the Cross between them and carried it the few feet to the foot of the coffin, and set it into the matching round inset on the pedestal, just as an ambitious guardian flung his dagger at the intruder into his realm, Dr. Moore. The knife pierced Moore’s hand and the map, and imbedded itself into his heart. Moore’s body shuddered, but he did not cry out. An uncanny laugh spread across his lips before his heart stopped and he fell, dead.
At that same moment, under the weight of the Cross the pedestal sank, and the sound of heavy iron gears came into play, then jarred to a stop, as though unable to finish their task. The guardians, too, were startled, and ceased moving forward; they were now only a few yards away.
Lord Hayden glanced about him and his gaze lit with hope as it rested upon the half-opened tomb. It was clear to him now. "Over here," he beckoned. "Help me straighten the lid." No one argued. As the lid closed over the sarcophagus, the gears resumed their work, the cavern shook, the rocks fell loose from the walls, and the ground coughed up dust. The guardians screamed and fell back as the walls at the dead end of the cavern slowly slid apart and the sun’s rays flooded the cavern. Elizabeth met Lord Hayden’s ardent gaze. She smiled at him, lovingly and thankfully. She whispered, "He said to me, ‘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.’"
Lord Hayden took Elizabeth’s hand and pressed it to his lips. Then, he shouted to the guards, "Let’s get out of here." The soldiers followed him eagerly, and as the last man passed into the open jungle, the walls rejoined, forming again the side of a hill and an overgrown ravine.
CHAPTER NINE
The small New England town was settling peacefully to a mellow sunset. Decorative brown cornstalks and straw brooms hung on the white doors and curtained windows of the small town’s cottages. Lord Hayden parked his Buick in front of his home and climbed out. The interior lights were on, and smoke curled from the chimney, filling the air with the sweet-pungent smell of well-seasoned logs burning in the fireplace. Along with the smoke, drifted soft strands of music. He opened the white picket gate, traversed the length of the walkway, and unlocked the door. With it open, the smell of frying chicken invited him in.
It was good to be home, good to have Elizabeth there, waiting for him. He liked their new arrangement, where her workday at college ended earlier than his, giving her time to change roles. He needed and respected both Professor Elizabeth Eldridge and Grace Quinlan, but in the evening, when his day was done, he needed his beloved Lady Elizabeth Hayden.
She was in the kitchen, wearing an apron over a housedress. She had tied her red-gold hair loosely behind her ears with a green ribbon. On her feet she wore a pair of snuggly slippers. Lord Hayden chuckled to himself as he regarded the lady professor. Most of his students and the faculty could not understand his attraction to her. But they knew the drab adopted persona that made her acceptable to university hiring committees and a restrictive society, not the fiery and sensitive red-gold haired beauty that was his soul mate.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said, announcing his arrival. She turned and her emerald eyes sparkled. She seemed lovelier than usual tonight, her smile more radiant, despite the fact that she was tired after a full day of classes. Tonight after dinner, they would sit together in the study and grade term papers, review lessons, and later, they would sit close together on the couch before the fireplace, not speaking much, rather reveling in the peaceful silence and their simple proximity.
In spite of their welcomed normal routine, all through dinner and their work in the study, Lord Hayden could not dismiss the notion that something was very different about Elizabeth tonight, something unusually arousing. By the time they had settled down to relax in front of the fireplace, he could no longer restrain himself. He took her in his arms, desperately wanting to make love to her, but Elizabeth held him at arms’ length. Her blush was amazing. He had not seen her blush this rosily since their wedding night.
"What is it?" he asked in earnest.
She stammered, "In the summer, William, our child will be born in the summer." She studied his eyes to see if they showed joy or confusion. She saw tears followed by a warm embrace.
How this woman could have so captured his heart and mind no longer amazed Lord Hayden, because the woman was Dr. Elizabeth Eldridge, also known as, Grace Quinlan, the spunkiest, feistiest, gentle-hearted female he had ever known. She had set her cap for him by the most underhanded and brazen plot that few women would concoct and get away with, and she had reeled him in, hook, line, and sinker. That she was a fellow archaeologist, with the same fierce love for the past as his, that she was intelligent, conscientious, and always ready and willing to unlock the past and preserve it for the future, coupled with the most beautiful, sparkling emerald eyes and vibrant red-gold hair he had ever seen, certainly had not hindered her quest for his heart. She was the woman he had waited for all his life. He loved her now and would love her when her red-gold hair turned to grey, and her waist was not so slim, or her shoulders so straight. Her soul would always be beautiful to him.
Dr. Elizabeth Eldridge Hayden smiled contentedly as Lord William Hayden enclosed her in his arms, whispering joyous sweet nothings. Tonight, she would make no entry in her journals. Some things were simply too personal to record.
The End
Copyright 1985, 2006, 2010, 2011
by Dorothy Paula Freda
All five volumes are contained in the full length novel,
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br /> In Another Life
(from the Journals of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden)
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