The Seventh Scroll tes-2

by Wilbur Smith

  But he was in no doubt what the sound was. He had heard it so often

  before. It was the sound of faraway automatic gunfire, almost certainly

  an AK-47 assault rifle firing, not long ragged bursts, but short taps of

  three rounds, an art that took expertise and practice.

  He was sure that the person doing the shooting was a trained

  professional.

  He tilted his wrist so that the luminescent dial of his watch caught the

  starlight, and he saw that it was a few minutes after three 'clock in

  the morning.

  He stood listening for a long time, but the firing was not repeated. At

  last he returned to where Royan lay and settled down beside her again.

  However, he slept only shallowly and intermittently, and kept starting

  awake listening for more gunfire in the night.

  Royan began to stir at the first lemon and orange flush of dawn in the

  eastern sky, and while they ate the remains of the survival rations for

  their breakfast he told her about the noise that had woken him during

  the night.

  "Do you think it could have been Boris?" she asked.

  "He May have caught up with Mek and Tessay."

  "I doubt that very much. Boris has already been gone several days. He

  should be well out of earshot by now, even beyond the sound range of the

  heaviest weapons."

  "Who do you suppose it was, then?"

  "I have no idea. But I don't like it. We should start back to camp as

  soon as we have had another look around the quarry. After that there is

  nothing further that we can do at this stage. We should make tracks for

  home and mother."

  As soon as the light was strong enough, Nicholas shot a spool of film to

  make a record of the quarry. For ison of scale, Royan posed beside

  compar the wall in which the embryonic blocks still lay. As she warmed

  to her role as a model she started to clown for him. She climbed on to

  the biggest of the slabs and hammed it up for the camera, pouting with

  one hand behind her head in the style of Marilyn Monroe.

  When, finally, they went off down the valley towards the monastery they

  were both exultant and garrulous after their success. Their discussion

  was animated as they bounced ideas back and forth, and laid their plans

  for the further exploitation of these wonderful discoveries.

  By the time they reached the pink cliffs at the lower end of the chasm

  it was late morning. There they met a small party of monks from the

  monastery coming up the trail.

  Even from a distance it was obvious that something dreadful had happened

  during their absence: the sorrowful ululations of the monks sent chills

  down Royan's spine.

  It was the universal African sound of mourning, the harbinger of death

  and disaster. As they approached they saw that the monks were picking up

  handfuls of dust from the track and pouring it over their heads as they

  wailed and lamented.

  "What is it, Tamre?" Royan asked the boy. "Go and find out for usP Tamre

  ran ahead to meet his brother monks.

  They stopped in the middle of the path and fell into a high-pitched

  discussion, weeping and gesticulating. Then Tamre ran back to them.

  "Your people at the camp. Something terrible has happened. Bad men came

  in the might. Many of the servants are dead," he screamed.

  Nicholas grabbed Royan's hand. "Come on!" he snapped, "let's find out

  what is going on here."

  They ran the last mile to the camp, and arrived to find another circle

  of monks gathered around something in front of the kitchen hut.

  Nicholas pushed them aside and elbowed his way to the front. There he

  stopped and stared with a sinking feeling in his gut, and the sweat on

  his face turned cold with horror. Under a buzzing blue pall of flies lay

  the bloodsplattered corpse of the cook and three other camp servants.

  Their hands had been bound behind their backs, and then they had been

  forced to kneel before being shot in the back of the head at close

  range.

  "Don't lookV Nicholas warned Royan as she came up.

  "It's not very pretty."

  But she ignored his advice and came to stand beside him. "Oh, sweet

  heavens. They have been slaughtered like cattle in an abattoir," She

  gagged.

  "This explains the sound of gunfire that I heard last night," he

  answered grimly. He went forward to identify the dead men. "Aly and Kif

  are not here. Where are they?" He raised his voice and called in Arabic,

  turning to face the crowd. "Aly, where are you?"

  The tracker pushed his way forward. "I am here, effendi." His voice was

  shaky and his face was haggard. "Mere was blood on the front of his

  shirt.

  "How did this happen?" Nicholas seized his arm and steadied him.

  "Men came in the night with the guns. Shufta. They shot into the huts

  where we were sleeping. They gave us no warning. They just started

  shooting.

  "How many of them? Who were they?" Nicholas demanded.

  "I do not know how many of them there were. It was dark. I was asleep. I

  ran away when the shooting began.

  They were shufta, bandits, killers. They were hyenas and jackals - there

  was no reason for what they have done.

  These men were my brothers, my friends." He began to sob, and the tears

  streamed down his face.

  Royan turned away, sickened and horrified. She went to her hut and

  stopped in the doorway. It had been ransacked. Her bags had been turned

  out on to the floor.

  Her bedding had been stripped, and the mattress thrown into the corner.

  As though she were a sleepwalker in a nightmare, she crossed the floor

  and picked up the canvas folder in which she kept her papers. She turned

  it upside down and shook it. It was empty. The satellite photo graphs

  and the maps, all her rubbings of the stele, the Polaroids that Nicholas

  had taken in Tanus's tomb - everything was gone.

  Royan picked up the bed and set it the right way up.

  She sat down on it, and tried to gather her thoughts. She felt confused

  and shaken. The image of those bloody, bullet-ripped corpses laid out in

  front of the kitchen haunted her, and she found it difficult to

  concentrate and to think clearly.

  Nicholas burst into her hut and looked around quickly.

  "They did the same thing to me. Ransacked the place. My rifle has gone,

  and all my papers. But at least I had the passports and travellers'

  cheques in my day-pack-' He broke off as he saw the empty canvas folder

  lying at her feet. "Have they taken the-'

  "Yes!" she forestalled his question. "They have cleaned out all our

  research material, even the Polaroids. Thank God you had the undeveloped

  rolls of film with you. It's the same as happened to Duraid and me all

  over again. We aren't safe from them, even here,'even out in the

  remotest part of the bush." There was the edge of hysteria in her voice.

  She jumped up from the bed and ran to him.

  "Oh, Nicky, what would have happened if we had been in camp last night?"

  She threw her arms around him, and clung to him. "We would be lying out

  there in the sun now, all bloody and covered with flies."

  "Steady on, my de
ar. Let's not jump to any conclusions.

  This could just be a chance raid by bandits."

  "Then why did they steal our papers? What value would ordinary shtifta

  place on rubbings and Polaroids?

  Where was the Pegasus helicopter heading just before the raid? They were

  after us, Nicky. I feel it so strongly. They wanted to kill us just as

  they did Duraid. They could return at any time, and now we are unarmed

  and helpless."

  "All right, I agree with you that we are pretty vulnerable here. It

  would be wise to get out as soon as possible.

  There isn't any point in staying on here anyway. There's nothing more we

  can do at this stage." He hugged her and shook her gently. "Brace up! We

  will salvage what we can from this mess, and then get moving back to the

  vehicles right away."

  "What about the dead men?" She stood back, and with an effort forced

  back her, tears and brought herself under control. "How many of our

  people survived?"

  "Aly, Salin and Kif escaped. They dived out of their huts and ran off

  into the darkness as soon as the shooting started. I have told them to

  get ready to leave right away. I have spoken to one of the senior

  priests. They will take care of the burial of the dead, and will report

  to the authorities as soon as they are able. But they agree that the

  attack was aimed at us, and that we are still in danger, and that we

  should get away as soon as possible."

  Within the hour they were ready to start. Nicholas had decided to leave

  all the camping equipment and Boris's personal gear in the charge of

  Jali Hora. The mules were lightly loaded, and he planned to make a

  forced march out of the gorge.

  The abbot had given them an escort of monks to accompany them to the top

  of the escarpment. "Only a truly Godless man would attack you while you

  are under the protection of the crosss' he explained.

  Nicholas found the dried hide and head of the striped dik-dik still in

  the skinning shed. He rolled it into a bundle and strapped it on to the

  load atop one of the mules, and then gave the order for the attenuated

  caravan to move out.

  Tamre had insinuated himself into the group of monks who were escorting

  the party. He kept close behind Royan as they set off up the trail, with

  the lamentations and farewells of the monastic community following them

  for the first mile.

  It was hot in this brutal midday. There was no movement of air to bring

  relief, and the stone walls of the valley sucked up the heat of that

  awful sun and spewed it back over them as they toiled up the steep

  gradients. It dried their sweat even as it oozed through their pores,

  leaving patterns of white salt crystals on their skins and clothing. The

  muleteers, spurred on by fear, set a killing pace, trotting behind their

  beasts and prodding their testicles with a sharpened stick to keep them

  moving at their best pace.

  By midafternoon they had retraced the morning's travel and once more

  reached the putative site of Taita's dam wall. Nicholas and Royan took a

  few.minutes'breather to dip their heads in the river and sluice the salt

  and sweat from their faces and necks. Then they stood together above the

  falls and took a brief farewell of the chasm in which lay all their

  hopes and dreams.

  "How long until we return?"she asked.

  "We cannot afford to leave it too long," he told her.

  "Big rains are due soon, and the hyenas have got the scent and are

  crowding in. From now on every day will be precious, and every hour we

  lose may be crucial."

  She stared down into the chasm and said softly, "You haven't won yet,

  Taita. The game is still afoot."

  They turned away together and followed the mules up the trail towards

  the escarpment wall. That evening they did not stop at the traditional

  campsite beside the river, but pressed on several miles further until

  darkness forced a halt. There was no attempt to build a comfortable

  camp.

  They dined on cakes of injera bread dipped in the wat pot that the monks

  had carried with them. Then Nicholas and Royan spread their bedrolls

  side by side on the stony earth and, using the mule packs as pillows,

  fell into exhausted, dreamless sleep.

  The next morning, while the mules were being loaded in the pre-dawn

  darkness, they drank a bowl of strong bitter black Ethiopian coffee.

  Then they started out along the trail again.

  As the rising sun lit the sheer walls of the escarpment ahead of them

  they seemed close enough to touch, and Nicholas remarked to Royan, as

  she swung along longlegged beside him, "At this pace we should reach the

  foot of the escarpment this afternoon, and there is a good chance that

  we might sleep tonight in the cavern behind the waterfall."

  "That means we could cut a couple of days off the journey and reach the

  trucks some time tomorrow."

  "Possibly," he said. "I'll be glad to get out of here."

  "It feels like a trap," Royan agreed, looking at the rocky, broken

  ground that rose on either hand, hemming them into the narrow bottom of

  the Dandera river. "I have been doing a bit of thinking, Nicky."

  "Let's hear your conclusions."

  "No conclusions, only some disturbing thoughts. Suppose somebody at

  Pegasus who can understand them is now in possession of our rubbings and

  Polaroids. What will their reaction be if they know how much progress we

  have made in the search?"

  "Not -very happy thoughts," he agreed. "But on the other hand there is

  not much we can do about any of that until we get back to civilization,

  except keep our eyes wide.

  open and our wits about us. Hell, I haven't even got the little Rigby

  rifle. We are a flock of sitting ducks."

  Aly, the muleteers and the monks seemed to be of the same opinion, for

  they never slackened the pace. It was midday before they called the

  first brief halt to brew coffee and to water the mules. While the men

  lit fires, Nicholas took his binoculars from the mule pack and began to

  climb the rock slope. He had not covered much ground before he glanced

  back and saw Royan climbing after him. He waited for her to catch up.

  "You should have taken the chance to rest," he told her severely. "Heat

  exhaustion is a real danger."

  I don't trust you going off on your own. I want to know what you are up

  to."

  "Just a little recce. We should have scouts out ahead, not just go

  charging blindly along the trail like this. If I remember correctly from

  the inward march, some of the ound lies just ahead of us. Lord knows

  what we worst gr may run into."

  They went on upwards, but it was not possible to reach the crest for a

  sheet of unscalable vertical cliff barred their way. Nicholas chose the

  best vantage point below this barrier, and glassed both slopes of the

  valley ahead of them.

  The terrain was as he had remembered it. They were approaching the foot

  of the escarpment wall and the ground was becoming more rugged and

  severe, like the swell of the open ocean sensing the land and rising up

  in alarm before breaking in
confusion upon the shore. The trail followed

  the river closely. The cliffs hung over the narrow aisle of ound that

  made up the bank, sculpted by wind and gr weather into strange, menacing

  shapes, like the battlements of a wicked witch's castle in an old Disney

  cartoon.

  At one point a buttress of red sandstone overhung the trail, forcing the

  river to detour around it, and the trail was reduced so much that it

  would be difficult for a laden mule to negotiate without being pushed

  off the bank into the river.

  Nicholas studied the bottom of the valley carefully through the lens. He

  could pick out nothing that seemed suspicious or untoward, so he raised

  his head and swept the Cliffs and their tops.

  At that moment Aly's voice came up from the valley below, echoing along

  the slope as he shouted, "Hurry, effendi! The mules are ready to go on!'

  Nicholas waved down to him, but then lifted the binoculars for one more

  sweep of the ground ahead. A wink of bright light caught his eye - a

  brief ephemeral stab of brilliance like the signal of a heliograph. He

  switched his whole attention to the spot on the cliff from which it had

  emanated.

  "What is it? What have you seen?" Royan demanded.

  am not sure. Probably nothing," he replied, without lowering the

  binoculars. It may have been a reflection from a polished metal surface,

  or from the lens of another pair of binoculars, or from the barrel of a

  sniper's rifle, he thought. On the other hand, a chip of mica or a

  pebble of rock crystal could reflect sunlight the same way, and even

  some of the aloes and other succulent plants have shiny leaves. He

  watched the spot carefully for a few more minutes, and then Aly's voice

  floated up to them again.

  "Hurry, effendi. The mule-drivers will not wait!

  He stood up. "All right. Nothing. Let's go." He took Royan's arm to help

  her over the rough footing, and they started down. At that moment he

  heard the rattle of stones from further up the slope, and he stopped her

  and held her arm to keep her quiet. They waited, watching the skyline.

  Abruptly a pair of long curling horns appeared over the crest, and under

  them the head of an old kudu bull, his trumpet-shaped ears pricked

  forward and the fringe of his dewlap blowing in the hot, light breeze.

  He stopped on the edge of the cliff just above where they crouched, but

  he had not seen them. The kudu turned his head and stared back in the