The Seventh Scroll tes-2

by Wilbur Smith

  Well, seeing that we are here, we might as well sit a while and see if

  great-grandpa's dik-dik puts in an appearance."

  He picked out a spot in the shade of one of the stunted trees that hung

  on the lip of the chasm, and with his hat swept the ground clear of

  fallen thorns until there was a place for them to sit. He placed his

  back against the trunk of the thorn tree and laid the Rigby rifle across

  his lap.

  By this time it was past noon, and the heat was stifling.

  He passed the water bottle to Royan and, while she drank, glanced at

  Tamre and suggested to her in English, "This might be a good time to

  find out what, if anything, the lad knows about the Taita ceramic in the

  crown. He is besotted with you. He will tell you anything you want to

  know.

  Question him."

  She began gently, chatting softly to the boy. Occasionally she stroked

  his head and petted him as though he were a puppy- She spoke to him of

  the previous night's banquet, the beauty of the underground church, and

  the antiquity of the murals and the tapestries, and then at last

  mentioned the abbot's crown.

  "Yes. Yes. That is the stone of the saint," he agreed readily. "The blue

  stone of St. Frumentius."

  "Where did it come from?" she asked. "Do you know?" The boy looked

  embarrassed, "I do not know. It is very old, perhaps as old as Christ

  the Saviour. That is what the priests say."

  "You do not know where it was found?"

  He shook his head, but then, eager to please her, he suggested, "Perhaps

  it fell from heaven."

  "Perhaps." Royan glanced at Nicholas, who rolled his eyes upwards and

  then pushed his hat forward to cover his face.

  "Perhaps St.. Frumentius gave it to the first abbot when he died." Tamre

  warmed to the subject. "Or perhaps it was in his coffin with him when he

  was placed in his tomb."

  "All these things are possible, Tamre,' Royan agreed.

  "Have you seen the tomb of St. Frumentius?"

  He looked around him guiltily. "Only the ordained priests are allowed

  into the tnaqdas, the Holy of Holies," he hung his head and whispered.

  "You have seen it, Tamre," she accused him gently, stroking his head.

  She was intrigued by the boy's guilt. "You can tell me. I will not tell

  the priests."

  "Only once," he admitted. "The other boys. They sent me to touch the

  tabot stone. They would have beaten me if I had not. All the new

  acolytes are made to do this." He began to babble with the horror of the

  memory of his initiation ordeal. "I was alone. I was very afraid. It was

  after midnight when the priests were asleep. Dark. The maqdas is haunted

  by the ghost of the saint. They told me that if I was unworthy the saint

  would strike me down with lightning."

  Nicholas removed the hat from his face and straightened up slowly. "My

  word, the child is telling the truth," he said softly. "He has been into

  the Holy of Holies-'Then he looked across at Royan, "Keep questioning

  him. He may just give us something useful. Ask him about the tomb of St.

  Frumentius."

  "Did you see the tomb of the saint?" she asked, and the boy nodded

  vigorously. "Did you go into the tomb?" This time he shook his head.

  "No. There are bars across the entrance. Only the abbot is allowed into

  the tomb, on the birthday of the saint."

  "Did you look through the bars?"

  "Yes, but it is very dark. I saw the coffin of the saint. It is wood and

  there is painting on it, the face of the saint."

  "Is he a black man?"

  "No - a white man with a red beard. The painting is very old. The

  picture is faded, and the wood of the coffin is rotting and crumbling."

  "Is it lying on the floor of the tomb?" Tamre screwed up his face in

  thought, then after careful consideration shook his head. "No, it is on

  a shelf of stone in the wall."

  "Is there anything else you remember about the tomb of the saint?" Royan

  tried to prod his memory, but Tamre shook his head.

  "It was very dark, and the opening in the bars is small, he apologized.

  "It does not matter. Is the tomb in the back wall of the rrtmdu?"

  ."Yes, it is behind the altar and the tabot stone."

  "What is the altar made of - stone?"

  "No. It is wood, cedarwood. There are candies, and a big cross, and the

  many crowns of the abbot, and the chalice and staff."

  "Is it painted?"

  "No, it is carved with pictures. But they are different from the

  pictures inside the tomb of the saint."

  "What is different? Tell me, Tamre."

  "I don't know. The faces are funny. They wear different clothes. There

  are horses." He looked puzzled. "They are different."

  Royan tried for a while to get a clearer description from him, but he

  became more and more confused and contradictorywhen she pushed him, so

  she changed tack.

  "Tell me about the tabot," she suggested, but Nicholas forestalled her.

  "No, you tell me about the tabot," he demanded of her.

  "Is it similar to the Jewish Tabernacle?"

  "Yes, at least in the Egypti She turned to him, an Church it is. It is

  usually kept in a jewelled box and wrapped in an embroidered cloth of

  gold. The only difference is that the Jewish Tabernacle is carved with

  the ten commandments, but in our Church it is carved with the words of

  dedication of the particular church that houses it.

  It is the living heart of the Church."

  "What is the tabot stone?" Nicholas frowned with concentration.

  "I don't know," she admitted. "Our Church does not have a tabot stone."

  "Ask him!

  "Tell me about the tabot stone, Tamre."

  "It is so high, and so square." He indicated a height of a little above

  his own shoulder, and the width of his spread hands.

  "And the tabot stands on top of this stone?" Royan guessed.

  Tamre nodded.

  "Why did they send you to touch the stone and not the tabot itself?"

  Nicholas demanded, but Royan shook her head to silence him.

  "Let me do the talking. You are too harsh with him. She turned back to

  the boy. "Why the stone, rather than the Ark of the tabot that stands on

  top of it?"

  Tamre shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. They just did."

  "What does the stone look like? Are there paintings on it also?"

  "I don't know." He looked distraught at not being able to satisfy her.

  He wanted desperately to please her. don't know. The stone is wrapped

  with cloth."

  Nicholas and Royan exchanged startled glances, and then Royan turned

  back to the boy.

  "Covered?" Royan leaned closer to him. "The stone is covered?, "They say

  that it is only uncovered by the abbot on the birthday of St..

  Frumentius."

  Again Nicholas and Royan stared at each other, and then he smiled

  thoughtfully. "I would rather like to have a look at the tomb of the

  saint, and the tabot stone - in its uncovered state."

  "You' have to wait for the saint's birthday," she said, she broke and

  have yourself ordained. Only the priests off and stared at him again.

  "You aren't thinking of - no, you wouldn't, would you?"

  "Who, me?" he g
rinned. "Perish the thought."

  "If they caught you in the maqdas, they would tear you to little

  pieces."

  "The answer, then, would be not to let them catch me."

  "If you go, I am going with you. How are we going to manage it?"

  "Throttle back, dear girl. The thought only occurred to me ten seconds

  ago. Even on my good days, I need at least ten minutes to come up wit a

  brilliant plan of action."

  They both stared out across the chasm in silence, until Royan whispered

  softly, "The covered stone. Taita's stone testament?"

  "Don't say it aloud," he pleaded, and made the sign against the evil

  eye. "Don't even think it aloud. The Devil is listening."

  They were silent again, both of them thinking furiously. Then Royan

  started, "Nicky, what if-' she broke off. "No, that won't. work." She

  relapsed into frowning silence again.

  Tamre broke the quiet with a sudden squeak of excitement, "There it is.

  Look!'

  They were both startled by the interruption. "What is it?" Royan turned

  to him.

  Tamre seized her arm and shook it. He was trembling with emotion. "There

  it is. I told you." With his other hand he was pointing out across the

  river, "There at the edge of the thorn bushes. Can't you see it?"

  "What is it? What can you see?"

  "The animal of John the Baptist. The holy marked creature."

  Following the direction of his outflung arm, she picked out a soft,

  brownish blur of movement at the edge of the thicket on the far bank. "I

  don't know. It is too far-'

  Nicholas scrabbled in his pack and brought out his binoculars. He lifted

  and focused them, and then he began to chuckle.

  "Hallelujah! Great-grandpa's reputation is safe at last." He passed the

  binoculars to Royan. She focused them and found the little creature in

  the field. It was three hundred yards away, but through the ten-power

  lens she could make it out in detail.

  It was almost half as large again as the common dikdik that they had

  seen the previous day, and instead of drab grey its coat was a rich red

  brown. Its most striking feature, however, was the distinct dark bars of

  chocolate colour across its shoulders and back - five evenly spaced

  markings that did indeed look like the imprint of fingers and thumb.

  "Madoqua harperii, no less," Nicholas whispered to her.

  "Sorry, great-grandfather, for doubting you."

  The dik-dik stood half in shadow, wriggling its nose as it snuffled the

  air. Its head was held high, suspicious and alert. The soft breeze was

  quartering between them and the animal, but every so often a wayward

  eddy gave it the faint whiff of humanity that had alarmed it.

  Royan heard the snick of the rifle action as Nicholas worked the bolt

  and chambered a round. Hurriedly she lowered the glasses, and glanced at

  him. "You aren't going to shoot it?" she demanded.

  "No, not at that range. Over three hundred yards, and a small target.

  I'll wait for it to get closer."

  "How can you bring yourself to do it?"

  "How can I not? That's what I came here to do, amongst other things."

  "But it's so beautiful."

  "I take it, then, that it would be perfectly all right to whack it if it

  were ugly?"

  She said nothing, but raised the binoculars again. The eddy of the wind

  must have changed, for the dik-dik lowered its head to nibble at a tuft

  of coarse brown grass.

  Then lifted its head again and came on down the clearing in the Thorn

  scrub, stepping daintily, pausing every few paces to feed again.

  "Go back. She tried to will it into safety, but it kept on coming,

  meandering towards the edge of the chasm.

  Nicholas rolled on to his stomach and settled himself behind the trunk

  of the tree. He screwed up his hat into a soft pad on which to rest the

  rifle.

  "Two hundred yards," he muttered to himself "That's a fair shot. No

  further." Resting the cushioned rifle on the twisted root, he aimed

  through the telescopic sight. Then he lifted his head, waiting to let it

  come within certain range.

  Abruptly the dik-dik lifted its head again and came to a halt, quivering

  with tension.

  "Something he doesn't like. Dammit all, wind must have changed again,'

  Nicholas growled. At that moment the little antelope bolted. It streaked

  across the clearing, back the way it had come, and disappeared into the

  thorn scrub.

  "Go, dik-dik, go!" said Royan smugly, and Nicholas sat up and grunted

  with disgust.

  "I can't make out what frightened him." Then his expression changed and

  he cocked his head. There was an alien sound on the air growing each

  second - a harsh, rising clatter and a shrill, whining whistle.

  "Chopper! What the hell!" Nicholas recognized the sound immediately. He

  took the binoculars from Royan's hand and turned them to the sky,

  sweeping the cloudless blue emptiness above the tops of the escarpment.

  "There it is," he said grimly, adding, "Bell Jet Ranger," as he

  recognized the profile. "Coming this way, by the looks of it. No point

  in drawing attention to ourselves. Let's get under cover."

  He shepherded Royan and the boy under the spread branches of the thorn

  tree. "Sit tight," he told her. "No chance they will spot us under

  here."

  He watched the. approaching helicopter through the binoculars. "Probably

  Ethiopian air force," he said softly.

  "Anti-shufta patrol, most likely. Both Boris and Colonel Nogo warned us

  that there are a lot of rebels and bandits operating down here in the

  gorge-' he broke off abruptly.

  "No. Hold on. That's not military. Green and red fuselage, and the red

  horse emblem. None other than your old friends from Pegasus

  Exploration."

  The sound of the rotors crescendoed, and now with her naked eye Royan

  could make out the flying horse on the fuselage of the helicopter as it

  flew low across their front, half a mile out, headed down towards the

  Nile.

  Neither of them paid any attention to Tamre as he crouched behind Royan,

  trying to hide behind her body.

  His teeth were chattering with terror and his eyes rolled until the

  whites showed.

  "It looks as if our friend Jake Helm has got himself some fancy

  transport. If Pegasus is in any way connected with Duraid's murder and

  the other attempts on your life, then we can expect them to be breathing

  heavily down our necks from now on. They are now in a position to

  overlook us at will." Nicholas was still watching the aircraft through

  the binoculars.

  "When your enemy is up in the air, it gives you a helpless feeling."

  Royan edged instinctively closer to him, staring up.

  The green and scarlet machine disappeared over the hump of the subgorge,

  down towards the monastery.

  "Unless he's just on a joy-ride, he's probably looking for our camp,'

  Nicholas guessed. "Under orders from the main man to keep tabs on us."

  "He will have no trouble finding it. Boris made no attempt to conceal

  the huts," Royan said uneasily. "Let's get out of here, then." She stood

  up.

  "Good plan."
Nicholas was about to follow her, when suddenly he caught

  her hand and drew her down again.

  "Hold it. They are coming back this way."

  The engine beat was rising again. Then they caught a glimpse of the

  helicopter through the canopy of leaves and thorn branches overhead.

  "Now he is following the river. Still searching for something, by the

  looks of it."

  "Us?"Royan asked nervously.

  "If they are under orders from the head man, could be," Nicholas agreed.

  The machine was very close now, and the shrill whine of the engine was

  deafening.

  At that moment Tamre's nerve broke. He let out a wail of terror, "It is

  the Devil, come to take me; Save me, Jesus Christ the Saviour, save me!'

  Nicholas put out a hand to restrain him, but he was not quick enough.

  Tamre broke free and leaped to his feet.

  Still howling with fear of the pit and the flames of hell, he darted

  away down the path into the Thorn scrub, the skirts of his shamma

  swirling about his skinny legs and his shiny black face swivelled back

  over his shoulder to watch the approaching machine.

  The pilot spotted him immediately, and the nose of the helicopter sank

  in their direction. It came directly towards them, slowing as it

  approached the lip of the chasm. They could make out the heads of the

  two occupants behind the windscreen of the forward cabin. Still

  decelerating, the aircraft hung suspended over the river, pivoting on

  the spinning disc of its rotor, while Royan and Nicholas crouched down

  in the scrub, trying to avoid detection.

  "That's the American from the prospecting camp." Royan recognized Jake

  Helm, despite the bulky radio earphones and the mirrored dark glasses.

  He and the black pilot were craning their necks to search the river

  banks.

  "They haven't spotted us-' But even as Nicholas said it, Jake Helm

  looked directly at them across the open void.

  Although his expression did not change, he tapped the pilot's shoulder

  and pointed down at them.

  The pilot let the helicopter sink lower until it hovered in the opening

  of the chasm, almost on the same level as they were. Only a hundred feet

  separated them now. No longer making any attempt at concealment,

  Nicholas leaned back against the hole of the Thorn tree. He tipped his

  Panama hat forward over one eye and gave Jake Helm a laconic wave.

  The foreman made no response to the greeting. He regarded Nicholas with