Hal switched into Latin. "Who are you, Father?"
"I am Fasilides, Bishop of Aksum, confessor to his Christian Majesty Iyasu, Emperor of Ethiopia," he replied, in fluent, scholarly Latin.
"I humbly beg your forgiveness, your grace. I mistook this ship for an Islamic marauder. I crave your blessing." Hal went down on one knee. Perhaps I am pouring too much oil, he thought, but the Bishop seemed to accept this as his due. He made the sign of the cross over Hal's head, then laid two fingers on his brow.
"In no mine patris, et filii, et spirit us sancti," he intoned and gave Hal his ring to kiss. He seemed sufficiently mollified for Hal to press the advantage.
"This is a most providential encounter, your grace." Hal rose to his feet again, "I am a Knight of the Temple of the Order of St. George and the Holy Grail. I am on a voyage to place my ship and its company at the disposal of the Prester John, the Most Christian Emperor of Ethiopia, in his holy war against the forces of Islam. As His Majesty's confessor, perhaps you could lead me to his court."
"It may be possible to arrange an audience," said Fasilides importantly.
However, his aplomb was shaken and his manner much improved when the dawn light revealed the power and magnificence of the Golden Bough, and he became even more amenable when Hal invited him aboard and offered to convey him on the rest of his journey.
Hal could only guess at why the Bishop of Aksum should be creeping around the islands at midnight in a small, smelly fishing dhow, and Fasilides became remote and haughty again when questioned. "I am not at liberty to discuss affairs of state, either temporal or spiritual."
Fasilides brought his two servants aboard with him, and one of the fishermen from the dhow to act as a pilot for Hal. Once on board the Golden Bough, he settled comfortably into the small cabin adjoining Hal's. With a local pilot on board Hal was able to head on towards Mitsiwa with all dispatch, not even deigning to shorten sail when the sun set that evening.
He invited Fasilides to dine with him and the good Bishop showed a deep affinity for Llewellyn's wine and brandy. Hal kept his glass filled to the brim, a feat that called for sleight of hand. Fasilides" dignity lowered in proportion to the level in the brandy decanter, and he answered Hal's questions with less and less reserve. "The Emperor is with General Nazet at the monastery of St. Luke on the hills above Mitsiwa. I go to meet him there," he explained.
"I have heard that the Emperor has won a great victory over the pagan at Mitsiwa?" Hal prompted him.
"A great and wonderful victory!" Fasilides enthused. "In the Easter season, the pagan crossed the narrows of the Bah El Mandeb with a mighty army, then drove northwards up the coast seizing all the ports and forts. Our Emperor Caleb, father of Iyasu, fell in battle and much of our army was scattered and destroyed. The war dhows of El Grang fell upon our fleet in Adulis Bay and captured or burned twenty of our finest ships. Then when the pagan arrayed a hundred thousand men before Mitsiwa it seemed that God had forsaken Ethiopia." Fasilides" eyes filled with tears and he had to take a deep draught of the good brandy to steady himself. "But He is the one God and true to his people, and he sent us a warrior to lead our shattered army. Nazet came down from the mountains, bringing the army of the Amhara to join our forces here on the coast, and bearing in the vanguard the sacred Tabernacle of Mary Mother of God. This talisman is like a thunderbolt in Nazet's hand. Before its advance the pagan was hurled back in confusion."
"What is this talisman of which you speak, your grace? Is it a sacred relic?" Hal asked.
The bishop lowered his voice and reached across the table to grip Hal's hand and stare into his eyes. "It is a relic of Jesus Christ, the most powerful in all Christendom." He stared into Hal's face with a fanatical fervour so intense that Hal felt his skin crawl with religious awe. "The Tabernacle of Mary contains the Cup of Life, the Holy Grail that Christ used at the Last Supper. The same chalice in which Joseph of Arimathea collected the blood of the Saviour as he hung upon the Cross."
"Where is the Tabernacle now?" Hal's voice was husky, and he returned Fasilides" grip with such strength that the old man winced. "Have you seen it? Does it truly exist?"
"I have prayed over the Tabernacle that contains the sacred chalice, although none may view or lay hands upon the chalice itself."
"Where is this holy thing?" Hal's voice rose with excitement. "I have heard of it all my life. The chivalric order of which I am a Knight is based upon this fabulous cup. Where may I find it and worship before it?"
Fasilides seemed to sober at Hal's excitement, and he drew back, freeing his hand from Hal's grip. "There are things which cannot be disclosed." Once again he became remote and unapproachable. Hal realized that it would be unwise to pursue the subject further, and he sought some other topic to thaw the Bishop's frozen features.
"Tell me of the fleet engagement at Adulis Bay," Hal suggested. "As a sailor, my concerns lie heavily upon the seas. Was there a tall ship similar to this one fighting with the squadrons of Islam?"
The Bishop unbent a little. "There were many ships on both sides.
Great storms of gunfire and terrible slaughter." "A square-rigged ship, flying the red croix pattge?" Hal insisted. "Did you have report of such a one?" But it was cleat that the Bishop did not know a frigate from a quinquereme.
He shrugged. "Perhaps the admirals and the generals will be able to answer these questions when we reach the monastery of St. Luke," he suggested.
The following afternoon they sailed past the entrance to Adulis Bay, steering inshore of the island of Dahlak at the mouth of the bay. In this much Fasilides had been accurate in his report. The roads were crowded with shipping. A forest of mast and rigging was outlined against the brooding red hills that Tinged the bay. From each masthead flew the banners of Islam and the pennants of Omani and the Great Mogul.
Hal ordered the Golden Bough hove to, and he climbed to the main yard and sat there for an hour with the telescope held to his eye. It was not possible to count the number of ships at anchor in the bay, and the waters seethed with small boats ferrying the stores and provisions of a great army to the shore. Of one thing only Hal was certain, when he returned to the deck and ordered sail to be set once more. there was no square-rigged ship in Adulis Bay.
The shattered remnants of the Emperor Iyasu's fleet lay off Mitsiwa. Hal anchored well clear of these burned and battered hulks, and Fasilides sent one of his servants ashore in the longboat. "He must find out if Nazet's headquarters are still at the monastery, and if they are we must arrange horses for us to travel there."
While they waited for the servant to return, Hal made arrangements for his temporary absence from the Golden Bough. He decided to take only Aboli with him, and to leave command of the ship to Ned Tyler.
"Do not remain at anchor, for this is a lee shore, and you will be vulnerable if the Buzzard should find you here," he warned Ned. "Patrol well off the coast, and look upon every sail as that of an enemy. If you should encounter the Gull of Moray you are, under no circumstances, to offer battle. I shall return as swiftly as I am able. My signal will be a red Chinese rocket. When you see that, send a boat to pick me up from the shore."
Hal fretted out the rest of that day and night but at first light the masthead hailed the deck. "Small dhow coming out from the bay. Heading this way."
Hal heard the cry in his cabin and hurried on deck. Even without his telescope he recognized Fasilides" servant standing on the open deck of the small craft. He sent for the Bishop. When Fasilides came on deck he was showing the effects of the previous evening's tippling, but he and the servant spoke rapidly in the Geez language. He turned to Hal. "The Emperor and General Nazet are still at the monastery. Horses are waiting for us on the beach. We can be there by noon. My servant has brought clothing for you and your servant that will make you less conspicuous."
In his cabin Hal donned the breeches of fine cotton that were cut full as petticoats and taken in at the ankles. The boots were of soft leather with pointed upturned toes. Over
the cotton shirt he wore an embroidered dolman tunic that reached half-way down his thighs. The Bishop's servant showed him how to wind the long white cloth around his head to form the haik turban. Over the head cloth he fitted the burnished steel onion-shaped helmet, spiked on top and engraved and inlaid with Coptic crosses.
When he and Aboli came back on deck the crew gawked at them, and Fasilides nodded approval. "Now none will recognize you as a Frank."
The longboat deposited them on the beach below the cliffs, where an armed escort was waiting for them. The horses were Arabians with long flowing manes and tails, the large nostrils and fine eyes of the breed. The saddles were carved from a single block of wood and decorated with brass and silver, the saddle-cloths and reins stiff with metal-thread embroidery.
"It is a long ride to the monastery," Fasilides warned them. "We must waste no time."
They climbed the cliff path and came out onto the level ground that lay before Mitsiwa.
"This is the field of our victory!" Fasilides crowed, and stood in his stirrups to make a sweeping gesture that encompassed the grisly plain. Although the battle had taken place weeks before, the carrion birds still hovered over the field like a dark cloud, and the jackals and pariah dogs snarled over piles of bones and chewed at the sun blackened flesh that still clung to them. The flies were blue in the air like swarming bees. They crawled on Hal's face and tried to drink from his eyes and tickled his nostrils. Their white maggots swarmed and wriggled so thickly in the rotting corpses that they appeared to move as though they still lived.
The human scavengers were also at work across the wide battlefield, women and their children in long dusty robes, their mouths and noses covered against the stench. Each carried a basket to hold their gleanings of buttons, small coins, jewellery, daggers and the rings they tore from the skeletal fingers of the corpses.
"Ten thousand enemy dead!" Fasilides said triumphantly, and led them on a track that left the battlefield and skirted the walled town of Mitsiwa. "Nazet is too much a warrior to have our army bottled up behind those walls, he said. "From those heights Nazet commands the terrain." He pointed ahead to the first folds and peaks of the highlands.
Beyond the town on the open ground below the bleak hills the victorious army of Emperor Iyasu was encamped. It was a sprawling city of leather tents and hastily built huts and lean-tos of stone and thatch that stretched five leagues from the sea to the hills. The horses, camels and bullocks stood in great herds amongst the rude dwellings, and a cloud of shifting dust and blue smoke from the fires of dried dung blotted out the blue of the sky. The ammonia cal stink of the animal lines, the smoke and the stench of rubbish dumps rotting in the sun, the dunghills and the latrine pits, the ripe odour of carrion and unwashed humanity under the desert sun rivalled the effusions of the battlefield.
They passed squadrons of cavalry on magnificent chargers with trailing manes and proudly arched tail plumes. The riders were clad in weird armour and fanciful costume of rainbow colours. They were armed with bow and lance and long-barrelled jezails with curved and jewelled butts.
The artillery parks were scattered over a league of sand and rock, and there were hundreds of cannon. Some of the colossal siege guns were shaped like dolphins and dragons on carriages drawn by a hundred bullocks each. The ammunition wagons, loaded with kegs of black powder were drawn up in massed squares.
Regiments of foot-soldiers marched and counter marched They had added to their own diverse and exotic uniforms the plunder of the battlefield so that no two men were dressed alike. Their shields and bucklers, were square, round and oblong, made from brass, wood or rawhide. Their faces were hawklike and dark, and their beards were silver as beach sand, or sable as the wings of the carrion crows that soared above the camp.
"Sixty thousand men," said Fasilides. "With the Tabernacle and Nazet at their head, no enemy can stand before them."
The whores and camp-followers who were not scavenging the battlefield were almost as numerous as the men. They tended the cooking fires or lolled in the sparse shade of the baggage wagons. The Somali women were tall and mysteriously veiled, the Galla girls bare-breasted an, bold-eyed. Some picked out Hal's virile broad-shouldered figure and shouted unintelligible invitations to him, making their meanings plain by the lewd gestures that accompanied them.
"No, Gundwane," Aboli muttered in his ear. "Do not even think about it, for the Galla circumcise their women. Where you might expect a moist and oleaginous welcome, you would find only a dry, scarred pit."
So dense was this array of men, women and beasts that their progress was reduced to a walk. When the faithful recognized the Bishop, they flocked to him and fell to their knees in the path of his horse to beg his blessing.
At last they forged their way out of this morass of humanity, and spurred up the steep track into the hills. Fasilides led them at a gallop, his robes swirling about his wiry figure and his beard streaming out over his shoulder. At the crest he reined in his steed and pointed to the south. "There!" he cried. "There is Adulis Bay, and there before the port of Zulla lies the army of Islam." Hal shaded his eyes against the desert glare, and saw that the dun cloud of smoke and dust was shot through with sparks of reflected sunlight from the artillery trains and the weapons of another vast army.
"How many men does El Grang command in his legions?" "That was my mission when you found me to find the answer to that question from our spies."
"How many, then?" Hal persisted, and Fasilides laughed. "The answer to that question is for the ears of General Nazet alone" he said, and spurred his horse. They climbed higher along the rough track, and came up onto the next ridge.
"There!" Fasilides pointed ahead. "There stands the monastery of St. Luke."
It clung to a rugged hill top. The walls were high and their harsh square outline unrelieved by ornament, column or architrave. One of the Bishop's outriders blew a blast on a ram's horn, and the single massive wooden gate swung open before them. They galloped through into the courtyard, and dismounted before the keep. Grooms ran forward to take their horses and lead them away.
"This way!" Fasilides ordered, and strode through a narrow doorway into the warren of passageways and staircases beyond. Their boots clattered on the stone paving and echoed in the corridors and smoky halls.
Abruptly they found themselves in a dark, cavernous chapel, whose domed ceiling was lost in the gloom high overhead. Hundreds of flickering candles and the glow from suspended incense burners illuminated the hanging tapestries of saints and martyrs, the tattered banners of the monastic orders and the painted and bejewelled icons.
Fasilides knelt at the altar, on which stood a silver Coptic cross, six feet tall. Hal knelt beside him but Aboli stood behind them, his arms folded over his chest.
"God of our fathers, Lord of hosts!" the Bishop prayed, in Latin for Hal's benefit. "We give thanks for your bounty and for the mighty victory over the pagan which you have vouchsafed us. We commend this your servant, Henry Courtney, to your care. May he prosper in the service of the one true God, and may his arms prevail against the unbelievers."
Hal had barely time to complete his genuflections and his amens before the Bishop was up and away again, leading him to a smaller shrine off the nave.
"Wait here!" he said. He went directly to the vividly coloured woollen wall-hanging behind the smaller altar and drew it aside to reveal a low, narrow doorway. Then he stooped through the opening and disappeared.
When Hal looked around the shrine, he saw that it was more richly furnished than the bleak, gloomy chapel. The small altar was covered with foil of yellow metal that might have been brass but which shone like pure gold in the candle-light. The cross was decorated with large coloured stones. Perhaps these were merely glass, but it seemed to Hal that they had the lustre of emerald, ruby and diamond. The shelves that rose to the vaulted roof were loaded with offerings from wealthy and noble penitents and supplicants. Some must have stood untouched for centuries for they were thickly coated with dus
t and cobwebs so that their true nature was hidden. Five monks in grubby, ragged habits knelt at prayer before the statue of a black-featured Virgin Mary with a little black Jesus in her arms. They did not look up from their devotions at his intrusion.
Hal and Aboli stood together, leaning against a stone column at the back of the shrine, and time stretched out. The air was heavy and oppressive with incense and antiquity. The soft chanting of the monks was hypnotic. Hal felt sleep coming over him in waves and it was an effort to fight it off and keep his eyes from closing.
Suddenly there came the patter of running feet from beyond the wall-hanging. Hal straightened as a small boy appeared from under the curtain and, with all the exuberance of a puppy, rushed into the shrine. He skidded to a halt on the paving. He was four or five years of age, dressed in a plain white cotton shift and his feet were bare. His head was covered with shining black curls that danced as he looked about the shrine eagerly. His eyes were dark, and as large as those of the saints pictured in the stylized portraits that hung on the stone walls behind him.
Wilbur Smith - C09 Birds Of Prey Page 72