The Temple Covenant

by D C Macey

  ‘The Copts were still the great majority of Egypt’s population but dominated by a small Muslim ruling elite. Over hundreds of years, the Copts were taxed and brutalised by a long succession of caliphs, with the next one always wanting more than the last. Islam allowed the Copts to continue because they needed their administrative and accounting skills to manage Egypt, in order to strip its wealth.’

  ‘It sounds awful,’ said Helen. ‘How did they survive?’

  ‘Over hundreds of years, they were bled almost dry. Too weak and disorganised and constantly harassed by the caliphs, the Copts were never in a position to help Christian Europe in the crusades. In fact, the taxes and penalties they paid would have helped pay for the Muslim war efforts.’

  ‘Okay, Ignatius, but where are we fitting in?’

  ‘It had become a practice to blame the Copts for whatever ill befell Egypt at any given time. The result would always be the same. The arrest and imprisonment of the Coptic Pope who would be held until demands for reparations were met.

  ‘When the caliph decided that he needed a new fleet his next decision was obvious - the Copts must pay for it and the Coptic Pope was seized. The Copts had protested they had no money left to pay the caliph’s demands; as a result, he took his extortion efforts to new heights.

  ‘The families of many senior Coptic officials were seized; the wives and daughters were to be sold into slavery as the playthings of any who had the money to pay, and the boys sold as field or galley slaves. There really was no wealth left so the caliph allowed the Coptic officials a year and a day for full settlement, after which the families would be sold to pay for his fleet.’

  ‘That is awful, but what’s this about a pope?’ said Helen.

  ‘Yes, awful indeed. The patriarch of the Coptic Church is also known as the Pope. And now, this is where you, or rather your predecessor, came in.

  ‘The Coptic Church decided to seek help and sent a secret envoy to the Pope of the Catholic Church in Avignon. They needed support, a Christian army to drive Islam from their lands. The Pope was weak and gave nothing. But just when the Coptic envoy thought all was lost, he met a man from another delegation, also visiting the Pope’s court, a man of integrity and strength. He was a priest and a truly good man.

  ‘The priest’s home church was St Bernard’s in Edinburgh and he was in Avignon as an envoy of his King, Robert the Bruce of Scotland.’

  ‘He was my predecessor,’ said Helen. ‘I’ve heard about him.’

  ‘You are the ring bearer so that would be expected.’

  ‘What happened? What did they do together?’

  ‘It seems your predecessor had something he needed to hide. He had in mind to hide it as far from the grasp of the Roman Church as possible. But the Coptic Church and its peoples were tired. Stripped of their wealth and dignity, it was no place to hide anything. But they did have one safe place, my land, Ethiopia.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The Edinburgh priest saw how poor and broken the Copts had become, and he felt for the officials whose families were to be sold as slaves. He met again with the Coptic envoy and struck a bargain.

  ‘Your man was returning to Edinburgh, to his church, St Bernard’s, but he promised to send another priest back at once with sufficient gold to free the Pope, the families, and bolster the Coptic Church’s fortunes. In return, he wanted a promise that a bishop would take into Ethiopia a package the priest would bring with him from Edinburgh. Even then, my Ethiopia was solidly Christian and forever safely beyond the rule of both Rome and Islam, and it was subject to the Coptic Pope’s religious oversight. That package, the key, was to be held secretly in Ethiopia until the ring bearer would return to collect it.’

  ‘You have a package for me?’

  ‘Indeed, I do. The priest left Avignon for Edinburgh and was as good as his word. Some months later his ship returned to Alexandria, this time with a younger priest on board. He appeared as a merchant. His cargo was unloaded and, concealed within it, was a cache of gold, just as had been promised. The Pope and the families were freed and there was more gold besides to sustain the Coptic Church again.

  ‘As soon as he was released, the Pope sent my predecessor personally to the sister church in Ethiopia with the package and sufficient gold to maintain an office for its preservation. Over time, that job evolved and was absorbed into the wider Ethiopian Church. And here I am,’ he threw back his head and laughed.

  ‘Right,’ said Helen. ‘So where does that leave us? You have a key for me?’

  ‘Not exactly, I have a box.’

  ‘I see. Is the key in the box?’

  ‘I don’t know, it is sealed and forbidden to be opened - except by the collector, the one with the ring.’

  ‘So, what happens next?’ said Helen.

  ‘It’s not here. It is hidden in our most secret place. But we can make an arrangement. Though if you do not know of this, presumably you do not have the lock that the key should open? The covenant demands that the key and the lock are brought together - it is the only way to turn the lock.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘That is for you to resolve.’ The bishop pulled out his wallet, flicked it open, and took out a picture that he passed to Helen. ‘This is the key. It is held ready for you.’

  Helen had no idea where the lock was, but she was interested to see the key. She looked at the picture and was puzzled. ‘It really is a box.’

  ‘Yes, and yet it is the key,’ said the bishop.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what lock is opened by a box,’ she said and then looked again. The photograph clearly captured the design on the box. Its swirling symmetrical pattern, exquisitely executed, seemed to owe much more to Islamic art than to anything from the Christian tradition. As she was handing the picture back, something stirred in the back of her mind. She held on to it for a moment, then pulled it back and looked again.

  Then, she knew it, or thought she did. Couldn’t be absolutely certain. But she knew where a box very like this was kept. In a Swiss bank vault. In her Swiss bank vault, which she had inherited from John Dearly. It had been a couple of months before when she had visited Switzerland and inspected the contents of the security box. At the time, it had been an interesting artefact, nothing more. A box she couldn’t open so had just put to one side in the rush to deal with the pressures of that moment. Now she wished she’d paid more attention.

  Just before she handed his picture back to the bishop, a thought occurred to her. When in the vault, she had photographed everything for Sam. She excused herself, checking her phone on the pretext that Sam may have sent her a message while she quickly flicked through her picture archive. Slowing then stopping. She studied one image very carefully, glanced discreetly at the bishop’s photograph - a pair! Putting her phone away, she looked up and smiled at the bishop while returning his photograph.

  • • •

  Mauwled slammed on the Land Rover’s brakes and it came to a halt, with the nearside wheels on the kerb. He jumped out and hurried directly into the conference centre reception, a trail of protesting attendants following behind. He ignored their frantic shouts while casting about for Helen. There was no sign of her anywhere. Just as he was about to give up and hurry home to consult Jeanie Albright, his eye chanced on Helen’s distinctive auburn hair in one of the glass fronted alcoves.

  He sprinted over, the pursuing attendants raising a clamour of protest in his wake, and as he reached the glass door into the alcove they were joined by the junior priests attempting to bar his way. Mauwled had no intention of stopping for anyone and the growing commotion attracted security who came running across just as the bishop’s assistant opened the door to demand an explanation. He was bundled aside as Mauwled forced his way into the alcove.

  The sheer weight of bodies eventually brought Mauwled to the ground and then a security guard’s weapon pressed against his head brought the struggle to a close.

  Helen had been watching the melee as it unfolded but on
ly now could she get a good look at the perpetrator. ‘That’s my driver,’ she said. ‘Mauwled, what are you doing? What’s going on?’

  One security guard was shooing the pack of facility attendants out of the alcove while his colleague kept Mauwled flat on the ground. He realised this was not a simple intrusion, and a little puzzled, he looked about for guidance.

  ‘Big problem, Helen. Big problem,’ said Mauwled.

  ‘What is it?’ Helen waved the security guard back; the man did not move. She turned to the bishop. ‘He’s my driver. I need him freed at once.’

  The bishop turned to his assistant and gave a little wave of his hand.

  The assistant responded with a volley of instructions to the guard, who initially looked startled and then called over his shoulder to his partner. That triggered another round of shouting from the bishop’s assistant. Almost immediately, the guard backed off and left the alcove with his partner. Deprived of the prestige of their prisoner, the two guards ensured the facilities’ attendants suffered as they shepherded them out of the reception.

  ‘How did you manage to move them on so easily?’ said Helen.

  ‘Easy,’ said the assistant, ‘my bishop is today’s conference chairperson. Nobody is going to go against his word today.’

  Mauwled was climbing to his feet, brushing himself down and grumbling to himself.

  ‘Gentlemen, I’m sorry for this disturbance. I know Mauwled will have an explanation.’ She looked at him expectantly.

  ‘I need to speak with you privately, Helen.’

  ‘Whatever the reason your driver may have, I’m sure we all need to hear it, since if it were not for my bishop your driver would already be on his way to Arusha Police Headquarters.’

  Helen looked at the assistant and looked again at the bishop, who had resumed his seat and was waving his hand to indicate that Helen and his assistant should also sit.

  She sat, as did the assistant while simultaneously pointing the two junior priests towards the glass door.

  ‘Well, Mauwled? What’s the story? And where’s Sam got to?’

  ‘He’s been arrested.’

  ‘What? What’s happened?’

  ‘When we got to the Arusha University offices, we were directed to the unit which has been allocated to your professor from Dar es Salaam. As Sam had expected, he’s still in Dar, only a support worker was there, and Sam reported to him, asked when the professor was likely to arrive.’

  ‘Right, that’s what we planned. So, what went wrong?’

  ‘The support worker asked us to wait while he made a call. We sat down, and he went into the back office. A few minutes later the police burst in and took Sam.’

  ‘But why?’ said Helen.

  ‘I guess somebody must have been chatting between the universities. When Sam appeared this morning, the support worker called the local police. Now he is to be transferred to Nairobi to help investigations into a killing at the university up there.’

  Helen felt a sickening knot tighten in her stomach. ‘Oh, heaven. This has to be a mistake. Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know. The police station, I expect. They took him away in the police chief’s car. He was there so it must be an important case.’

  Helen turned to the bishop. ‘Sorry, I’m going to have to leave you now. I have to get to the police station.’ She turned to Mauwled. ‘Will you take me please?’

  ‘Of course, we can go now.’

  ‘Wait, wait a minute. Let’s think about this before you rush in,’ said the bishop.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Helen.

  ‘Look, I don’t know anything about your Sam, but I’m sure of three things. If he’s with you, he’s our friend. You can spend all day sitting in an African police station without finding out a thing and, most important, you need a lawyer. It would be my privilege to help you if you will allow it.’

  Helen could tell the bishop was talking sense. ‘So how do we start?’

  The bishop turned to his assistant and rattled off a series of instructions in Amharic. The assistant stepped out of the room and repeated the instructions, ending with a shouted exclamation and an arm waved towards the bowels of the conference centre. The driver priest ran off in the direction of the assistant’s gesture.

  The assistant came back into the room and carefully closed the door before sitting. He nodded to the bishop.

  ‘Before acting, we need some local knowledge,’ said Bishop Ignatius. ‘Fortunately, we have a church here in Arusha, to serve our diaspora and to reach out to help the poor of the city, of whom there are very many. I have sent for our local priest who is attending the conference too. His local knowledge will be of use.’

  Helen paced about the alcove. ‘How can this have happened? He’s innocent, you know?’

  Before the bishop could respond the young priest with the wounded leg tapped on the glass and pulled the door open, pointing across reception from where his colleague and another man were hurrying towards the cubicle.

  ‘Sit now,’ implored the bishop.

  Helen sat as the local priest arrived, anxious not to keep his bishop waiting. Entering, he bowed his head slightly and the bishop invited him to sit. The priest took a seat on the empty sofa. Introductions were kept brief and were it not for the pressing circumstances Helen might have found pleasure in the priest’s name, Angel Eli. The bishop got straight to the point, explaining the problem to his local priest. Then he asked Helen to provide the background, which she did as concisely as possible, including their flight from Nairobi.

  Angel sat quietly for what, to Helen, seemed a long time. Finally, he broke his silence, addressing his bishop.

  ‘This is a difficult situation. I will be happy to help. A member of our congregation is a solicitor, a good man, a friend too. With your permission, I will engage him to make contact with the police chief. In this part of the world, much of the legal system is a direct inheritance of the British colonial system. As a structure, it is quite predictable. But I know from previous dealings with this system that the problem we face is very real. There is an agreement that certain types of criminals and terrorists can be transferred between East African Community countries without a full extradition process, though officially a case must go to court and be considered by a judge before the prisoner is transferred.

  ‘Unfortunately, there have been many complaints in the news during the recent past that the police simply ignore the court appearance requirement and transfer prisoners between countries as quickly as possible and to suit their convenience.’

  ‘That can’t happen. If Sam ends up in Nairobi, he’s going to be in the frame for a murder he didn’t commit. There must be a way to stop this?’ said Helen.

  Angel looked from Helen to the bishop, saw the bishop’s encouraging nod and turned his gaze back to Helen. When he spoke, he measured his words very carefully. ‘There are rules. There are people who work within the rules. And there are people who enforce the rules. The police chief is an enforcer of rules. Not every rule is enforced with the same rigour in every case. The solicitor I mentioned has actively fought against some of the actions of the police in Arusha. He has few friends in the police force and that makes him a poor go between. But he will know who amongst the legal fraternity might best represent us to the police chief.’

  ‘Okay, that’s good. How quickly can you make the enquiries?’

  Angel looked a little embarrassed as he resumed. ‘First, might I enquire, how extensive are your resources?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Do you have money? The law is the law. However, we live in a society where almost everything has a price.’

  ‘You mean we could buy Sam out?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure. I do know he has committed no crime in Tanzania, so this is not the police chief’s personal problem. The right approach by a trusted face might encourage him to look the other way. It’s certainly worth a try.’

  ‘Okay, we have no resource problem. What
ever it takes, just get him out.’

  Angel nodded acknowledgement, then turned his attention back to the bishop. ‘With your permission, I will go at once to start an engagement.’

  The bishop nodded.

  ‘I’m coming too,’ said Helen.

  Angel shook his head. ‘It would be best if you didn’t come. A worried woman will be seen as a weak link and, worse still, if we don’t deliver what they ask quickly you might become a target.’

  Helen started to protest but saw Angel was determined to go alone. She bit her tongue for a moment and then nodded. ‘Okay, if you’re sure it’s the best way to achieve a solution … but keep me in the loop, and when it comes to money, I really meant it: whatever is required, it’s yours.’

  Angel stood, inclined his head towards the bishop, then to Helen, and with a final nod in the direction of the assistant he left.

  The bishop stood up. ‘I think there is nothing more that can be done on this matter until we receive Angel’s report. Perhaps this would be a good moment to break. I have a full meeting of the conference to address shortly. Let’s put the business of the key to one side for the moment. And I suspect you might benefit from some time to rest and think.’

  Helen didn’t need to rest but she did need to start thinking about her response to this latest problem. They all shook hands and agreed to meet again, as soon as Angel had reported back with news.

  Helen had Mauwled drive past the police station on the way back to the guesthouse. The journey in the Land Rover felt strangely lonely.

  13.

  Saturday, 26th October - PM

  Helen sat amidst the dappling sunlight watching it play across the patio beneath her feet as the sunbeams filtered through the overreaching boughs of an acacia tree. It had been carefully pruned and trained over decades to create the perfect natural parasol. Deep in thought, Helen was oblivious to the beauty around her. A sudden round of dog barking signalled visitors at the gate. Silence fell again, and she stood, hoping the visitor was for her.