by Scott Hunter
After a few minutes he had succeeded only in creating a superficial hole, no more than a hand’s breadth into the stubborn soil. He bit his lip in frustration. He couldn’t even be sure he was digging in the right place. Dracup retraced his steps to the sundial and measured out another seven paces. It brought him to the same spot. With a sigh of resignation he resumed the laborious task of softening the earth with the edge of the spade. Sweat ran down his back as he worked, and soon his shirt was soaked through. To add to his discomfort it began to rain, lightly at first but then more persistently. Dracup cursed as he toiled away until he realized the rain was beginning to work for him, rather than against him. The more soil he exposed, the more effective the softening rain became.
Thirty minutes later he was standing at the side of a muddy pit several feet deep. Panting, he stood back to assess his handiwork. He heard the thrum of an engine accelerating past the house. Somewhere out towards the city a siren’s wail rose and fell. Dracup returned to his work, probing with the spade into the thick mud. Farrell remained out of sight. Dracup hoped he was awake, then realized he had never actually seen the American sleep; he seemed to be on perpetual alert.
The spade hit an unyielding portion of his hole, returning a hollow sound that made Dracup jump in surprise. He threw the spade aside and got down on his hands and knees, scrabbling to clear the detritus away from whatever he had uncovered.
Five minutes later he had exposed the rectangular shape of what appeared to be the lid of a metallic container. Several minutes’ more effort and he had cleared space enough to get his hands under the container and free it from its bed of earth. It was heavier than he expected for its size, but eventually he gained enough purchase to lift it out and set it down carefully beside its former resting place. Dracup sat, exhausted on the damp grass, feeling the rain trickle down his mud-spattered face. He was about to signal Farrell to give him a hand when some intuition made him change his mind.
The box opened easily, and Dracup shone his pencil torch into its depths. Within lay the object from Theodore’s sketch. Elated, Dracup pulled the perished covering aside. Beside it, also wrapped in what appeared to be some kind of waterproof cloth, was a smaller square parcel. Dracup stole a furtive look towards the house. He flashed the torch in a prearranged signal. For a moment there was nothing, then Farrell’s torch pierced the darkness. Good. He had time. Dracup uncovered the smaller parcel and extracted the contents.
He peered at it, running the beam across its surface. It was a wax writing tablet, similar to those he had seen in museums and on boyhood excursions to Roman villas, but clearly modern because it was inscribed with that familiar hand he knew belonged to Theodore. But now was not the time for a lengthy perusal. He rewrapped the tablet and placed it carefully in his coat pocket, then quickly replaced the lid and signalled to Farrell for assistance. As he waited for the agent he marvelled at Theodore’s provision; he was gaining a healthy respect for his grandfather. What better way to preserve a buried message than to inscribe it on wax? Theodore had been neither fool nor lunatic, but something had happened to him, something destabilizing. Dracup watched Farrell’s noiseless approach. He patted his pocket protectively. Whatever Theodore had intended to communicate, Dracup wasn’t prepared to share it with Potzner’s team. Not yet.
Chapter 12
They were assembled in the great chamber. Ruth held Natasha’s hand and waited for Kadesh to make his entrance. She was nervous. He had mentioned a matter of discipline, but it was not the usual practice of the Korumak Tanri to air such things in public. Over and over her mind was repeating like a mantra: It is not our way. It has never been our way. The chanting began, quietly at first, like a gentle wave breaking on a distant shore, then louder, growing in volume until the whole chamber was filled with the resonance of song and subtle drum beat. Ruth felt her heart pounding and joined in with the familiar words.
She looked at Natasha. Her eyes were closed and she was swaying gently with the lilting rhythm. Her growing attachment to the girl gave her new concerns, concerns that overrode even the unwelcome forebodings she had experienced since their arrival. It should be a time of rejoicing, but the unsettled atmosphere was distracting. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so exposed, so unprotected. Furthermore, the directness with which she had spoken to Kadesh frightened her. She hadn’t believed herself capable of such boldness. But she knew the truth. She hesitated in her recital of the ancient verses and bowed her head low, allowing the knowledge to run free in her mind. It will never be. He does not want me. He wants someone else.
She raised her head before anyone noticed her distraction and caught Jassim’s eye. He smiled at her reassuringly. At least she had her brother to offer some measure of sympathy. But he was a man, and as such could not enter into discussions of intimacy, of passion, of longing. And, like everyone else, he was under Kadesh’s authority.
She felt a tug on her sleeve and found Natasha’s face looking up at her. “I’m thirsty.”
“We have to wait, ’Tash. Kadesh will speak with us soon.”
“Don’t call me that. Only my mummy and daddy call me that.”
Ruth bent and whispered, “What would you like me to call you?”
“I don’t know. Just Natasha.”
“All right. But we must be quiet now.” Ruth pointed. A procession had entered the chamber. She recognized most of the male acolytes, led as usual by Kadesh. There was one dressed in red, the traditional colour of celebration, walking beside him. She stood on tiptoe to identify him. It was Ibrahim, her cousin. She knew of his long absence, of his training under Kadesh’s guidance. Next to Mukannishum, he was the favoured son. She pursed her lips and wondered at the purpose of the assembly. A matter of discipline.
The cortège had reached the centre of the chamber. Kadesh held up his arms. Silence fell immediately, and his commanding voice rang out. “Our legacy has been returned to us and it is right and proper to celebrate. For decades our plans have been laid; our people have been sent forth to integrate and befriend, to work alongside and to learn; to listen and to emulate. To become as one with our offenders. It has been a long journey – a journey fraught with many obstacles and setbacks. But we have overcome by our patience, by our commitment and by our obedience to Him who is eternal. And your praises are heard by the most high God. It is He who commands us, not I. It is He who is judge, not I. It is He who watches over us to see that we have not fallen into half-heartedness or worldliness. We must remain set apart, a holy people. He alone has guided our hands and has brought us to this moment of triumph.”
The chamber erupted into applause. Ruth felt the words warming her soul. She forgot her misgivings and clapped her hands wildly to the beat of the acolytes. Our legacy has returned. That is all that matters. I must put my feelings aside for the good of the community. It is right and proper.
Kadesh’s raised hand signalled quiet. “Our brother Ibrahim has also returned. His mission was important to us.” Kadesh placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Ibrahim was shorter, of stocky build, dark eyes alert behind low brows. He seemed at ease, relaxed and confident, continually glancing around the assembly, smiling as he recognized a familiar face. Kadesh’s voice went on. “The outsiders who invaded our sanctuary and committed the great act of sacrilege have received justice – not by our hand directly, but from those whom they served. But they will not stop until they have found our sanctuary and destroyed it. For they always destroy that which they cannot understand. That which is different.” Kadesh shook his head emphatically and a murmur of assent rumbled around the hall.
“However, the time of fulfilment is almost upon us. Prophecy will become reality. The world will know the power of God, and we will know his favour!”
Applause broke out again as his words sank in. Ruth’s heart was beating with excitement. The fulfilment? Surely not, that she should be so privileged to live in these days –
Kadesh’s voice escalated in volume, cutting into
her amazement. “For that reason, we must be thorough in everything we do. We must apply rigour. If we slacken we shall fall. Failure will not be tolerated.”
“What is he saying?” Natasha whispered to Ruth. Ruth placed a finger over her lips. “Hush. We must not interrupt.”
Kadesh’s voice filled the space. “Yes, Ibrahim has achieved a measure of success. The transgressor’s diary is now in our possession. In it are pictures, records of the blasphemous and evil violation of the great boat.”
The silence in the chamber was now absolute. All eyes and ears were attentive to the leader. Ruth was fascinated. She had heard of the outsiders’ expedition to Noah’s great ship – and had longed to see it herself, because of what it had carried. Sometimes she dreamed of the solitary vessel, afloat upon a dead world with nothing but sea and sky surrounding it. In her mind she wandered amongst the animals, feeding them, caring for them, chatting with Noah’s sons and their wives. Shem, Ham and Japheth were her friends. She had known them in her visions for as long as she could remember. She made a mental note to describe them to Natasha.
“The boat was raided,” Kadesh was saying. “Many treasures were removed, including parts of the sacred staff of Noah. These were deciphered and our home was found, for the inscriptions tell of Ham’s journey into the dark land and how his people settled there. They revealed where the Korumak had settled. Here, where God has placed us away from prying Western eyes. Then the greatest violation of all took place.”
Murmurs of anger now reverberated through the chamber. Kadesh raised a hand and silence fell abruptly. He paused, then continued in a low, hoarse whisper. “While the diary remained in Western hands the threat to our security was always present. Always.”
At this point Kadesh looked to Ibrahim who, for the first time, Ruth observed, began to look puzzled. She wondered herself at Kadesh’s intent. The diary had been secured, so all was well. Or was it?
“Ibrahim has returned to us,” Kadesh repeated. “And his return will serve as an illustration for our benefit. He is going to teach us an important lesson.”
Ruth turned and looked nervously behind her to see if she could make a swift exit. Something was very wrong. She could sense it. She reached for Natasha’s hand and began to back away. The girl shot her a questioning look as the drums began again in a low, insistent rhythm. Ruth was pushing through the packed chamber now, regretting her decision to secure a position near the front. People jostled them disapprovingly as they passed, one woman even grabbing Ruth’s clothing to hinder her progress. She prayed that Kadesh would not notice the disruption.
“We are not secure,” he continued, his voice carrying authoritatively even to the far corners of the chamber, “because the diary was copied before our brother recovered it.” The last words were spoken in a whisper of judgement. Ruth’s heart was beating a tattoo in her chest; the hand that held tightly onto Natasha’s was slick with sweat. She was almost pulling the girl along behind her.
“Ibrahim will learn that we cannot tolerate mistakes.”
Ruth found the exit passage as the assembly’s confused mutterings gained in volume so that Kadesh was forced to raise his voice above the hubbub. Ruth stopped and turned, fixed to the spot in horrified fascination. She saw a glint of metal raised high, heard a moan escape from the crowd in a corporate exhalation of surprise and fear. She pulled Natasha into the tunnel’s protective shadow as Ibrahim’s screams rang out above the din in a high shriek of despair.
Natasha gave a little cry of pleasure and stepped forward to the water’s edge. “Careful now. It’s slippery.” Ruth steadied the child with her outstretched arm as she scrambled over the mossy stones. Water cascaded down the rock face from the opening high above into a wide, foaming pool, from where it began its final, secretive journey to join the great river. Natasha’s delighted eyes danced from the pool to the waterfall and back again. “I like it here!”
“Yes, but it’s dangerous too – wait – don’t step on that.” Ruth grabbed the girl’s arm again.
“Ow. You’re hurting.”
“Yes, but look.” Ruth pointed to the far edge of the pool where, masked by the spray, a dark void opened up as the rocky shelf dropped away.
“Ugh. A hole.”
“Yes, and you don’t want to go down there. It’s very deep.”
“Have you been down there?”
“I have not. It probably goes down a long way. No one goes in there.”
“Really? It might be fun.”
“We never go into an unknown chamber. Now come – we’re here to get water, remember?” Ruth bent and dipped her jar into the stream. “Like this. Go on, you try.”
Ruth watched Natasha filling her jar. Two days had passed since the public execution, and the atmosphere had changed from celebratory to fearful at a single stroke. Now the writing was on the wall. Kadesh’s headship had turned from inspirational to dictatorial. And yet no one had crossed him. No one dared. Ruth’s fear for her child hostage grew with each passing hour. She lived for the moment, expecting at any time to hear the footfall at her door that would reveal Kadesh’s intentions for her charge. To make matters worse the girl asked questions constantly, questions that had no answers. Why? When? What next?
Mad thoughts chased through Ruth’s dreams. She would take the girl and escape. They would leave in the early hours and find a hiding place. Perhaps they would be picked up by the Americans, or the British. By anyone who would protect them from Kadesh. There were vehicles hidden above, she knew. She would make enquiries, find a way to take one and drive into the wilderness. She would hand herself over to insurgents, to anyone except him. Perhaps they would even make it to the city, board a plane, fly away to – anywhere. America, perhaps. They would start a new life under assumed names. And, and – Ruth covered her eyes with her hand. It was all impossible. She could never leave him. Not while there was hope. His feelings could change. Perhaps he was distracted, confused, preoccupied by his responsibility. He could love her, surely. And with her gentle spirit, she could change him. He would see how wrong he had been. There would be forgiveness – not without repentance, of course. But he would see. She would be his saviour. He would rule them justly, with her steadying hand on his shoulder, guiding, supporting.
“What’s the matter?” Natasha held up her jar. “Look. It’s full. I can hardly lift it.”
“I’ll carry it.” Ruth took the jar and let Natasha dip her toes into the water.
“It’s freezing!”
“It comes from the mountains – underground all the way. It sees no sunlight until it joins the river.”
“Can we go to the river? Is it beautiful?”
“Yes, very beautiful.” She smiled at the child’s unsullied enthusiasm. “But it is a long way and very dangerous. We cannot come and go as we please.”
“What else can we do? I don’t expect I’ll be here long, will I? I want to see everything.”
A male voice spoke. “Has she seen the paintings? She would enjoy those.”
Ruth turned to see her brother, Jassim, watching them calmly. His head was uncovered and he wore a long, loose-fitting dishdash with colourful, embroidered cuffs. His beard was short and oil gleamed slickly in his hair.
“Hello brother. Natasha is enjoying the waterfall. She wanted to help me carry the water.”
“It’s all right. I’m not checking up on you.” Jassim smiled and sat informally on a boulder. He threw a pebble into the stream, making it skip across the surface. Ruth relaxed and sat next to him.
“Can I try?” Natasha scooped a handful of stones and began throwing them into the water.
“Not like that. Look.” Jassim repeated his trick and guided Natasha’s next effort with his own hand. The pebble skipped obligingly across and rattled against the rock face on the far side of the stream. Natasha laughed delightedly.
“So you’re Natasha,” Jassim said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“She’s a good girl,” Ruth said. “No tr
ouble.”
“I’m sure.” Jassim smiled and chucked the girl under her chin. “Very pretty, too.”
Natasha giggled. “That’s what my dad says.”
Jassim nodded seriously. “Well, he’s quite right. He is obviously a discerning man.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he can recognize what is beautiful, what is ugly and what is good; what is right and wrong,” Ruth said.
Jassim looked away, avoided her eyes. “Yes, that’s it.” He bent and drew a line on the soft ground, parting the pebbles with his fingers. “Tell me, Natasha, what would your father do if he lost something? Would he look everywhere for it until he found it, or would he become frustrated and decide to do something else instead?”
“Frustrated means angry and annoyed at not being able to do something,” Ruth said.
“I know that,” Natasha said indignantly.
“See – she is a bright girl,” Jassim said.
Natasha chewed her thumb thoughtfully. “He would keep looking until he found it. Once he pulled the carpets up in the lounge to look for his cufflinks. Mummy was very cross. She said he was stubborn and he wouldn’t find them there.”
“And did he?”
“Yes – and he found Mummy’s necklace too, so she wasn’t cross any more. She said he was single-minded. And they laughed a lot.” Natasha bit her lip. “I remember because they didn’t used to do that much.”
Jassim nodded attentively. “Adults sometimes behave in ways that are hard to understand. But there is usually a reason. When you are older you will know what I mean. Now then –” he stood up and clapped his hands. “Would you like to see some paintings?”
“Yes. All right.”
“You don’t sound very sure,” Ruth chided. “These are no ordinary paintings.”
“They are very old.” Jassim frowned. “Some say even older than me.”
Natasha giggled, and Ruth forced a smile for the child’s sake.