The Temple Covenant

by D C Macey

  • • •

  Stepping off the shuttle bus Helen and Sam spotted the orange Land Rover at once. The shuttle had pulled to a halt in the parking area of an impressive hotel. There were less than twenty paces from shuttle bus to Land Rover.

  Helen went directly to the Land Rover to introduce herself while Sam waited for their cases to be hauled from the shuttle’s undercarriage.

  Climbing out of his vehicle the driver gave her a welcoming smile. A huge man, the proverbial barn door. Scrunching a wrapper in his left hand, he hurriedly swallowed down the last of his chocolate while wiping his right hand against his trouser leg. ‘Hello, miss. Welcome to Arusha. My name is Mauwled. You’re coming to the Mount Meru View Guesthouse with me,’ he said while shaking Helen’s hand. He let it drop, and opening one of the rear passenger doors, he waved her in. Then he stepped over to help Sam with the bags.

  Mauwled was a forceful driver, which proved useful in Arusha’s heavy traffic. It took about a half an hour to turn his Land Rover, run a little south along the main road and then swing off to his left on a road leading out of the city. Here the road began to rise. It didn’t take long before they had left behind the city and its metalled roads and were moving slowly up a rutted dirt track onto the lower slopes of Mount Meru.

  The track was fringed with groves of trees. Beyond those, Helen could see homes built of corrugated iron and wood. Some set in little clearings cultivated for market gardening, most with larger cleared patches of land for farming. Filling the skyline ahead was Mount Meru, the great volcano that dominated the landscape and whose height created a microclimate that kept its slopes green even in the height of the dry season.

  Breaking up the run of homesteads were high-walled compounds behind which could be seen more substantial buildings - large villas with outhouses and properly constructed staff homes. The Land Rover slewed off the dirt track into a yet narrower lane, completely shaded by the trees; it ran just twenty paces before ending at a solid metal gate. Mauwled sounded his horn several times. The blast was immediately met by a cacophony of barking, then a voice from beyond the gate shouted and the dogs fell quiet. The voice called out an enquiry. Leaning his head out of the driver’s side window Mauwled bellowed a response.

  Mauwled’s voice recognised, the gate opened a little and a watchman’s head appeared to check all was in order. Satisfied, he swung the gate wide. Dressed in what may have been old military fatigues, he waved Mauwled forward and stood by, ready to close the gate as soon as the vehicle was through.

  Helen saw the guard’s friendly nod towards Mauwled as he passed, and she saw their driver’s hand raised in response. Immediately inside the gates was a pack of dogs, all tethered by long chains. They were watching the arrival with interest. She counted five, maybe six. Big dogs, sandy red in colour with a dorsal ridge running down their backs from neck to hip. Rhodesian ridgebacks - lion hunting dogs, animals not to be messed with.

  ‘That’s Joseph, the watchman,’ said Mauwled as he revved the engine and moved the Land Rover forward.

  Helen saw three happy little children playing in the dirt at their mother’s feet as the Land Rover passed the guardhouse, which was set immediately inside the gates. The children all waved to Mauwled as he passed, and he tooted his horn in response, which the children clearly loved. Helen and Sam received friendly waves from the children too just as Mauwled stretched an arm out of the window and tossed chocolate bars towards the youngsters. They scrambled to collect them as the dogs launched into another round of barking and the Land Rover pulled away up the drive, which was in much better condition than the rutted public lane. Helen saw it had been topped with gravel. Mauwled brought their vehicle to a halt near the entrance.

  ‘Here we are. Welcome to Mount Meru View Guesthouse.’ He jumped out and pulled open Helen's door, pointing her towards the front door while he began wrangling the cases. The door opened, and a smiling teenage girl greeted Helen and Sam, waving them into the vestibule.

  ‘Come in please,’ said the housemaid, pointing Helen into the cool shadows of a corridor beyond the vestibule. ‘Come in. Come in. Welcome to Mount Meru View. My name’s Val, I’m the maid.’

  Val bustled past them in the corridor. ‘This way. I’ll show you your room and tell Miss Jeanie you’ve arrived.’ The corridor contained six dark wood doors, three evenly spaced to either side. Beyond them, at the corridor’s end, were double doors, one side had been left open, giving a partial view into what seemed to be a large lounge.

  At the third door on the right-hand side, Val stopped and opened it, inviting them in. ‘This is your room, I hope you like it. There’s a bathroom and shower inside too. I made the bed for you just now. Please, go in. I’ll fetch you drinks … cold water?’

  ‘Water would be smashing,’ said Sam, allowing Helen to lead into the room as Val hurried away. He followed Helen in and looked around, his eyes making contact with Helen’s as she glanced back from the bathroom doorway. She smiled an approving smile.

  The distant voice of an older woman reached them from somewhere in the public space beyond the double doors. ‘They’re here? Why didn’t you tell me?’ They couldn’t quite make out the maid’s response but did hear the sound of approaching flip-flops slapping on the marbled floor. This was the voice of another of the colonial era matriarchs, clinging on in her personal corner of Africa. Helen shuddered; they had known Susan Curtis only twenty-four hours and she had died.

  A well-rounded white woman appeared in the doorway, smiling and puffing. Her shoulder-length hair, once brown now mostly silver, was held back from her face with a hair band. ‘There you both are! Welcome, welcome.’

  She gave each a hearty handshake. ‘Jean Albright, call me Jeanie, everyone does. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, I was making sure the gardener had done the grass the way I like. He’s very good, but I like to let him know I’m around. You really must sit out on the patio later. He keeps everything so well. Lovely views.’

  Jeanie clapped her hands and gave a chuckle. ‘Now I know what that shuttle bus is like. What are you drinking? G and Ts?’ she turned to Sam. ‘Or would you prefer a lager?’

  ‘I think there’s some water on its way,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, whatever you want. You must treat this place as your own. You’re quite lucky - I was full until this morning when the group I’ve been hosting, a film crew and some animal experts, lion people mostly, packed up and headed off. They had been here for a little while, waiting for the Small Rains. Something about recording the change in hunting behaviours as the rains begin. The long-range forecast is for rain, at last. It’s very overdue. So off they went to get to wherever they’re meant to be.’

  ‘Yes, we noticed. Everywhere is so dry up in Ethiopia and Kenya too,’ said Helen.

  ‘Oh! You’ve been getting about, what have you been up to? But never mind just now, you can tell me over dinner, if you like. Please, get cleaned up and come on through and I’ll show you round. You’re the only guests tonight.’

  11.

  Friday, 25th October - Evening

  Helen and Sam sat in easy chairs on the patio. Helen had been delighted to discover that Jeanie had a stock of South African rosé, and an almost empty glass now rested on the occasional table in front of her. Sam held a lager bottle in his hand. The warm air carried just the faintest of sweet flowering scents - courtesy of the gardener who, taking advantage of the microclimate effects on the slopes of Mount Meru, still managed to produce a few blooms in the garden, in spite of the wider drought. A few bees still buzzed, stragglers busy on their final pollen gathering trips before nightfall. Otherwise, just the sound of cicadas clicking away in the undergrowth lulled them both into a moment of peace.

  ‘Doesn’t that look lovely,’ said Helen, looking up to where Mount Meru’s highest slopes glowed, caught in the last shafts of sunlight; while the lower slopes and the garden’s colour had already faded into the shades and monochrome of the deepening twilight.

  ‘Impr
essive,’ said Sam. Jeanie’s villa was set on the lower western slopes of Mount Meru, positioned above Arusha City. Though only a few minutes from the city, it was surrounded by smallholdings and almost on the edge of the protected mountain park. ‘You’d pay millions for a property like this back home.’

  They heard a chuckle behind them. ‘Yes, it’s lovely, isn’t it? I’ve been here for more than forty years and I love it just as much as ever. It originally belonged to my husband’s family. I don’t know how much it’s worth. One or two people have approached me in the years since my husband died, but I won’t sell.

  ‘It’s nice now, but I think you’ll like the morning too. My favourite time is when the sun rises over the mountain and fills the garden with sunlight. You can feel the dew lifting, the birds go wild with song and every sort of insect is buzzing about their business. Always have my coffee out here in the mornings. You must join me tomorrow. Now are you coming in to eat? Mama Grace is ready to serve and it’s bad form to keep her waiting.’

  They rose to follow Jeanie through the glass sliding doors into the guesthouse’s public lounge space. Immediately inside the lounge was a cluster of comfortable chairs, set around a pair of coffee tables and arranged to provide their occupants with a view out through the glass, across the gardens and on up the slopes of Mount Meru.

  Jeanie walked on deeper into the broad lounge. To their left, the closed double doors that opened onto the corridor off which the bedrooms lay. To the right, a doorway - shielded by a long fringe of hanging beadwork that blocked out any light from beyond but not the sounds and smells emanating from within. Jeanie didn’t need to tell them it was the kitchen. Then, reaching the far side of the lounge area she waved Helen and Sam towards a long dining table - one end was set for three.

  ‘Oh, by the way, we don’t go out after dinner without telling Joseph, our watchman, first.’

  ‘Wild animals?’ said Helen.

  ‘’No, big dogs. Joseph normally lets some of his boys run loose in the grounds at night. All the locals round about here know; it makes sure we have no pilfering.’

  They sat and were immediately attended by Val, the young maid who had welcomed them earlier in the day. As she hurried back and forth from the kitchen, they became aware of Mama Grace’s presence, signified by banging pots and shrieked outbursts.

  Suddenly realising just how hungry they were, Helen and Sam were happy to set about the generous portions of braised beef, rice and vegetables that Val served to them.

  Meal over, Val cleared away the dishes, leaving them to sit around the table with mugs of strong African coffee and glasses of Drambuie. Jeanie proved to be a mine of local information. She expected the extra border controls to be in force for several more days as everyone was on edge. Sam was happy to hear that - it might yet give him time to catch up.

  His big problem was he wanted to maintain the cover of being in Tanzania on university research business but had arrived two weeks ahead of his planned rendezvous with Professor Malangwa who was based at the university in Dar es Salaam. Jeanie suggested that, next morning, he should present himself at the office in Arusha University that Professor Malangwa and his team were using as a base for their fieldwork. She thought there was bound to be somebody there, if only a caretaker, who could at least report Sam’s presence, and then he would be on the professor’s radar. Sam recognised it was a good plan.

  Eventually, Helen stood and muttered about a long day and needing to get sleep. Just as the others rose, the quiet of the evening was shattered by the barking of angry dogs somewhere out in the darkness of the grounds.

  All three turned to look across the lounge to the great windows that afforded views out across the lawn and gardens to Mount Meru during the day. Right now, they were nothing more than shiny mirrors preventing any sight of the outside action.

  ‘Val! Switch off the lights,’ Jeanie’s voice filled the room. ‘Let’s see what’s going on.’

  Val scurried out from the kitchen and flicked the light switches off. The whole area was plunged into darkness. They waited while their eyes adjusted.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ said Sam.

  ‘No idea. Could be nothing, maybe an animal come down scavenging from the mountainside, perhaps an intruder. We’ll know soon enough.’

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sam had watched Jeanie working her way across the room to a bureau. Once there, she had folded down the front leaf and pulled open an internal drawer. She lifted out a handgun.

  ‘Are you going to need that?’ he said.

  ‘I hope not, but sure as hell, nobody is coming into my home. You don’t want to know what house robbers will do to women out here.’

  ‘Is it loaded?’

  ‘Always.’ Jeanie raised the weapon for Sam to see. ‘And I’m a dead shot with it, believe me.’

  ‘Have you ever actually used it in anger?’ said Sam.

  Jeanie didn’t answer.

  Sam looked closely at the gun. It was an old British Army service issue revolver, an Enfield No 2, World War Two vintage. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘My husband’s father served in the King’s East African Rifles during the War.’ She turned her attention back to the gardens where they could now make out the shapes of shrubs and bushes around the patio. ‘It’s always been kept in the bureau, ready. My father-in-law always said, “Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.” And he was sure one day it would be needed.’

  There was no movement, but the sounds were clear and coming closer. Running feet, little shrieks of fear and the sound of determined hunting dogs forcing themselves through the shrubbery to reach their quarry. Suddenly the figure of a man burst into view, running for the sanctuary of the house. A hand grabbed the patio door and attempted to slide it open. As part of her duties, Val had locked it while the guests ate dinner.

  The hand jerked frantically on the handle and they could clearly hear his cries of fear. This was not an attacker; this was a man scared for his life. The reason for his flight manifested itself in a series of low shapes emerging from the dark. They manoeuvred and paced, methodically boxing in their prey. The dogs emitted long throaty growls that ended in gruff half barks as they steadily closed on their target. He now stood resigned to his fate, back pressed to the window, arms outstretched towards the ridgebacks.

  ‘Are you going to let them attack?’ said Helen.

  ‘I can’t stop them. Only Joseph can do that,’ said Jeanie.

  ‘Where is he?’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, house robbers normally come in a pack; there are probably others to be flushed out.’

  ‘Strikes me, he’s on his own and I’m not keen on seeing somebody ripped apart by dogs. The man’s terrified.’ Sam stepped over to the patio door, slid the bolt back and cracked open the door. He reached out, grabbed the shaking man by the shoulder, jerking him backwards through the doorway and slammed the door just as the dogs launched their attack.

  The man cried out anew in fear, and this time, in pain. As he’d been pulled through the door, one of the dogs had just managed to seize his foot, which it held clamped tight in its jaws, keeping it caught beyond the door. The man toppled, pulling Sam down too. The ankle was preventing the door from sliding fully shut, leaving a gap through which the remaining dogs were competing to thrust their muzzles, forcing the door further open in a push for their prize - the man’s soft fleshy calf, and the rest of him.

  Helen stepped up quickly, placed both hands on the door handle and pressed the door tight against the man’s ankle, causing him more pain but preventing the dogs from getting through the door. She could feel the dogs’ breath, felt drips of drool as the tongue from the highest muzzle licked round to taste her fingers on the handle. She shuddered but held the door tight.

  ‘What now, Sam?’ she said, flinching as one of the snarling hounds threw itself at the glass beside her shoulder, its muzzle open, teeth kept from her face only by a quarter inch of plate glass. The dog
fell back and the glass in the patio doorframe shook again as the dog bounced back for another attempt. ‘We need to do something now; this glass won’t hold for much longer.’

  Sam released the prostrate man and stood up. Immediately, the man’s ankle, lubricated by his own blood and pulled by the blood-crazed hound, started to slide out through the gap in the doorway. A second dog forced its muzzle down against the newly exposed expanse of calf muscle and bit. The man’s screams redoubled as the weight of two dogs pulling together threatened to drag his entire leg outside. Helen pressed her whole weight against the handle; the extra pressure temporarily putting the brakes on the man’s slide.

  Helen glanced at Sam, needing action now, knowing the pressure she was applying on the handle was either going to break the man’s leg or snap the handle off. She hoped it was the leg breaking; without a handle to hold the door the dogs would force it open in seconds.

  Sam reached across and took the service revolver from Jeanie’s hand. For all her earlier bravado, she was now transfixed by the scene and the weapon slipped out of her grasp without any resistance. Sam stepped over the crying man and knelt down, bringing the gun to within a few inches of the nearest dog’s head. Its fevered eyes rotated up to look at Sam whose hand was now only a muzzle’s length away from its teeth. The intensity of its snarl grew, but the dog had a good hold on the calf and nothing would induce it to let go.

  Sam waited, unflinching as another dog lunged in above the others, throwing itself at the gap in a desperate attempt to take Sam. Its muzzle forced through the gap, snapping and snarling, trying to reach him. Then, as it fell back to ready itself for a further lunge, Sam took his chance. He thrust his arm forward, pushing the barrel of the revolver through the doorframe gap, putting his hand into the bite zone. Sensing the dog was already moving forward again for its second attempt to take him, Sam brought the revolver to within an inch of the calf-locked dog’s jaws and fired.

  The report of the revolver reverberated round the room, the calf-biting dog let out a howl and whine and the man on the ground continued to scream.