The Scepter

by Tom Hunter

  “Interesting,” nodded Samuel, taking the book from Basile’s hands to read the details for himself. “According to this, the stele was built around 330 AD. That would put the final king as having lived a fair few decades before St. Augustine’s birth. That would make my theory redundant.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” shrugged Basile. “Do we have any more information about this Ezana?”

  Shafira hurried over to a bookshelf and found a slim volume about the kingdom of Axum. “Apparently, the kingdom of Ezana of Axum lasted until approximately 360 AD,” she replied.

  “One moment.” Basile took the book he’d been studying back from Samuel and turned the pages to get to a section that struck him as relevant. “Voila.” He turned the book so Samuel could see the text. “Apparently, there were four rulers who succeeded Ezana through St. Augustine’s lifetime. Of those four, we only really have any information about one of them, an Ouazebas. Apparently his coins were printed with the phrase ‘May this please the people.’”

  “Ooh! Like these!” Shafira pointed to some coins in one of the display cases. Although the text was hard to make out, the label next to them stated that they were all inscribed with the same motto Basile had pointed out. “That would certainly suggest an uncommon concern for public welfare. Is that the sort of thing we should be chasing up?”

  “It’s a tenuous link at best,” Samuel pondered. “But given how little insight Fatima gave us on what we were supposed to do once we arrived here, I’d say that that and the Stele are our best clues right now.”

  “They certainly follow the principles that were important to St. Augustine,” Shafira agreed. “The Knights seem to gravitate towards anyone who shares their ideals. If it’s true that this Ouazebas had genuine concern for the welfare of all his people, it’s not such a stretch to imagine that more of St. Augustine’s secret would have been buried either with him or in his vicinity to honor his message and symbolize the common good that was preached by the early Christians.”

  “Fantastique!” beamed Basile. “We’ve managed to narrow down our search and we have a starting point for the next stage of our mission. Now let’s go and rescue that poor clerk from Waleed. He looks like he’d do anything to make Waleed shut up.”

  “I have no sympathy for the man,” shrugged Shafira. “He’s only been dealing with Waleed for thirty minutes. We’ve been forced to put up with him for days!” Shafira and Basile laughed as Samuel shushed them.

  “Play nice, you two,” he ordered. “But you’re right. We should go and talk to the curator of the archives about Ouazebas. He might be able to give us a little more information to point us in the right direction. The store clerk should be able to get him for us.”

  Twenty-One

  Pin sat on his own in the back of a VTOL filled with mercenaries, zooming towards Meroe. He gripped St. Augustine’s hat tightly as he stared blankly out of the window, deep in thought as he considered his next move.

  He started and frowned as some of the soldiers burst into loud, raucous laughter when one of them cracked a dirty joke. Noticing Pin’s reaction, Gord motioned to them to keep the noise down as he moved to sit next to his boss.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked. “You’re looking a little twitchy, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “I’m fine,” snapped Pin, waving him away.

  Gord made to get up, but Pin changed his mind and gestured to him to stay.

  “You’re right. I am a little on edge. I think we can both agree that our current mission has been more than a little vexing,” Pin told him. “I’m becoming more than a little tired with the hurry-up-and-wait attitude that has plagued our mission recently. I’ll feel better once we’re actively on the hunt, rather than waiting for our next order.”

  “I hear that,” Gord agreed. “I know that I feel better when I feel like I’m making an active contribution to the fortune of the Bruard dynasty. Speaking of which, I’ve sent word ahead to contact the hidden Bruard cell in Khartoum to have jeeps or Striders planted near Meroe just in case our targets attempt to flee. I thought it would be best if we could cover all bases.”

  “Good work.” Pin nodded his approval. “Samuel and his cohorts have proven to be somewhat slippery in our dealings with them, but they can’t evade the might of the Bruard forever.”

  Gord nodded. The pair sat in awkward silence, as Pin lightly drummed his fingers against St. Augustine’s hat.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to recover the scepter before McCarthy gets his mitts on it?” Gord asked finally.

  “I have every confidence that we will,” replied Pin. “I am sure that you would not dare risk disappointing me yet again.”

  “Maybe if you were to keep me in the loop instead of being so secretive all the time, I would be more effective,” Gord pointed out. “How am I supposed to do the job when I don’t even know half of what’s going on? I can’t be prepared to counter threats I haven’t been warned about.”

  “This mission is on a need-to-know basis,” Pin countered. “There’s very little that you need to know. You’re not paid to think. Stop kidding yourself that you can help strategize. Stick to what you do best: using your fists instead of your brain.”

  Anger flashed across Gord’s face momentarily. He took a second to get his tone under control before he opened his mouth. “If you’d listened to me, then McCarthy would be dead by now, buried under tonnes of dirt with a bullet through his head. You were the one who stopped me using force, remember?”

  “Are you still going on about that?” sighed Pin. “McCarthy makes life interesting, but ultimately he’s a distraction, nothing more. He’s got no real power. He’s no threat to us.”

  “You say that, but he’s remained one step ahead of us ever since he escaped that cave,” Gord reminded him.

  “Perhaps he’s lucky,” Pin suggested. “His luck won’t last forever. Of course, there’s always the possibility that you’re just not doing your job properly.” Pin glared at Gord, who shook his head.

  “You’re keeping me on too short a leash,” he complained. “Let me take a few of the mercs and head out on my own. We can eliminate the McCarthy threat once and for all. We’d then be free to recover the rest of the St. Augustine artifacts at our leisure.”

  “Enough!” Pin shook his head in disgust. “Don’t overstep your position, Gord. You might be my second in command but that doesn’t make you my equal. I’ve had enough of you questioning my decisions. Go away and leave me be.”

  Gord nodded, clearly trying keep furious inner demons at bay, before, stomping up the aisle to sit back with the mercenaries.

  “Is everything all right with the boss?” One of the goons leaned over and whispered to him. “He looks like that stick up his butt has been rammed in even further.”

  “Don’t speak about him like that!” retorted Gord. “Remember who pays your wages.”

  “Yeah. About that.” The soldier shuffled even closer. “There’s been some talk among the lads and I wanted to know whether the rumor’s true. Are we really on a mission for the Bruard or is there something else going on? Because I signed up to be on the winning side, and the way Pin’s been behaving makes me question whether he’s genuinely following Bruard orders or if he’s gone rogue.”

  “Well you can stop those rumors right now,” hissed Gord. “Pin assures me that the Bruard himself has commanded us to go and recover a series of relics for the glory of the Dynasty. Our mission is crucial to the war effort and I will not listen to anyone questioning that. You might be a mercenary, but you can still be punished for insubordination. And you and I both know how serious an offense that is, carrying the stiffest penalty.”

  “Indeed.” The mercenary paled at the thought of public execution. The method varied from being burned alive through to stoning. The Bruard regime tolerated nothing but unquestioning obedience, backing this up with claims of being on a divine mission.

  “I’m sorry,” the guard apologized. “I’ll say no mo
re about it.”

  “See that you don’t,” nodded Gord.

  The mercenary fell quiet. However, his words had sown a seed of doubt in Gord’s mind. He looked over his shoulder at Pin. Once again, he was lost in thought, utterly oblivious to the men around him. Did the mercenary have a point? Did Pin have a hidden agenda?

  He’d certainly been acting strangely ever since he got his hands on that damned hat. These days, he never seemed to be able to put it down for long. It was almost as though he couldn’t bear to be away from it, a feeling that went deeper than simply wanting to protect it. Surely the safest place for it would be in a vault deep in the heart of Bruard territory? Carrying it everywhere with him risked exposure or theft. If Pin did have his own thing going on, that was for him to worry about. The Bruard would deal with him sooner or later. So long as Gord continued to follow orders, he would be absolved of any guilt.

  As it was, there was a good chance that they were going to encounter Samuel and his friends in the not too distant future. This time, he would make sure that they didn’t survive their meeting.

  The other men looked at him oddly as he let out a sudden bark of laughter, but Gord didn’t care. The thought of getting his hands around Samuel’s throat drove him to a sickly, delicious glee.

  Twenty-Two

  “The store clerk said that the curator’s office is back here and on the left,” announced Samuel, as he, Basile, and Shafira made their way through the tourist cultural center to find the curator. “So I guess this must be it.”

  He knocked on a nondescript door with no sign to indicate what was inside.

  “Let’s hope that this isn’t the restroom and we’re not just standing outside looking stupid,” muttered Basile.

  “'Udkhul!” came a cheerful voice from inside. “Come in!”

  Samuel turned the door knob and pushed open the door to reveal a large, jovial looking woman sitting behind a desk.

  She stood up when she saw them walk in, extending a hand in welcome. “Marhabaan! Hello!”

  “Hello,” replied Shafira, shaking her hand. “I’m sorry, but my companions don’t speak Arabic. Would it be possible for us to talk in English?”

  “Of course,” beamed the curator. “Anything to make visitors to our fine center feel welcome. My name is Ayesha. How may I help you?”

  “It’s a bit of a strange request,” Shafira warned.

  “Don’t worry,” smiled Ayesha. “I’ve dealt with plenty of strange requests in my time.”

  “We were wondering whether you could tell us anything about King Ouazebas,” Samuel explained.

  “Ouazebas?” Ayesha frowned. “Well, I do know a little about him, but I am curious as to why you’d be so interested in a king that has nothing to do with Meroe. Most people who come here want to learn about our ancient city, not foreign rulers.”

  “That’s just it,” said Samuel. “We think that Ouazebas may have a closer connection to Meroe than is commonly acknowledged. As you know, Ezana, King of Axum, is believed to have built a victory stele in the city. The kingdom of Axum survived until around 360 BC, and it is possible that there were closer connections between the two territories than the history books acknowledge. Of the kings who followed Ezana, we only really have information about Ouazebas. We noticed that you had coins in your store that were printed with a phrase dear to him–‘May this please the people.’ We are pursuing a theory that if Ouazebas did have a link with the area, he may have been interred or at least honored somewhere in Meroe. As I’m sure you know, age or vandals have destroyed so much of our ancient heritage that just because you haven’t unearthed any concrete evidence yet, doesn’t mean that Ouazebas isn’t buried here somewhere.”

  “That’s a very interesting theory you have there.”

  Was it Samuel’s imagination or had Ayesha’s smile lost a little of its shine?

  “Would you mind if I discussed this with the director?” she went on. “He may have more information about this. He’s a lot more knowledgeable about current archaeological research than I am–my focus is more on the archiving of our artifacts.”

  “Of course.” Samuel inclined his head a little. “We welcome input from anyone who can help us with our work. In the meantime, we’re going to do a little sightseeing around Meroe, get a feel for the area. We’ll come back later in the day to see if you’ve been able to find out anything further for us, if that’s all right?”

  “Of course,” beamed Ayesha. “Have a wonderful day in our majestic city. I’ll go and find the director now and see if he can shed any light on your theory.”

  She reached out for her phone to contact the director as Samuel, Basile, and Shafira left out to join the others.

  “Thank goodness. Spare me from Waleed’s playacting,” begged Josh, hurrying over to meet them when he saw Samuel coming out of the back of the center. He gestured with his head to where Waleed was wearing three pairs of sunglasses fanned over his forehead, telling jokes to the sales clerk who didn’t know where to look.

  “Waleed! Time to go!” Samuel snapped his fingers and Waleed hurriedly removed the glasses from his head and returned them to the display.

  “Can I go back and buy a pair of sunglasses after all?” he asked, as they stepped outside of the center and into the bright, glaring sun.

  “Later,” said Josh. “I want to know what Samuel found out, if anything. Get any leads for us?”

  “Potentially,” nodded Samuel. “We think we’ve found the name of a king who might be buried in the area. There’s a victory stele in Meroe that was built by one of the monarchs of Axum. The problem is there’s so little known about the kingdom of Axum that it’s hard to know if it’s a lead or not. Still, it seems like the most logical thing to do is to investigate the one king who dates roughly to St. Augustine’s time, Ouazebas. At the very least he’s left us some archaeological evidence, which suggests that he shared a similar philosophy to the saint. It’s a tenuous connection, but we found enough to think that his final resting place might give us a clue to where we can find the scepter.”

  “Wow.” Josh whistled. “Talk about a long shot.”

  “I know,” sighed Samuel. “But it really is our best lead, trust me. The one thing that really concerns me is that if my guess is correct, the more we look into it, the greater the chance is that we’ll attract the attention of the Order. Although I suppose that if we do get a bunch of angry Knights coming after us, we’ll know that we’re on the right path.”

  “And if we’re wrong?” asked Akhenaton. “What then?”

  “There’s always the long way,” replied Samuel. “We work our way individually through over 200 pyramids. It’ll be just another day in the office for me, but who knows how long it could take before we strike it lucky?”

  He looked around at the disappointed faces of his team. “I’m sorry, guys. I know that this isn’t what you wanted to hear. I’d love nothing more than to be able to tell you that I know exactly where the scepter is. I’ll admit it. I’m just winging it right now. We simply don’t have enough information to go on, so I’m having to fill in the blanks as best I can. But Fatima had faith in us. She couldn’t give us anything that the Bruard could use. So what little we have must be all we need to track down the scepter. I genuinely believe that’s true.”

  “So what’s the next step?” asked Waleed. “We can’t sit around here all day. I’ve practically exhausted my repertoire of jokes and the clerk didn’t even laugh at most of them.”

  “Wonder why not?” snarked Josh, earning a dark look from Waleed.

  “Don’t worry,” Samuel reassured them. “I’ve been thinking about how we can make the best use of our time as well. I don’t like wasting a second, not when Fatima’s still imprisoned. I thought that we could go and check out the victory stele for ourselves. If we’re right in our assumptions, we might spot a clue while we’re there. And if we manage to get away from the regular tourist route and get some time to ourselves…” He shrugged. “If we’re
not supposed to be here, I’m sure someone will let us know soon enough. Now, Waleed, you didn’t manage to pick up a map of the area during your flirting with the clerk, did you?”

  “Funny you should ask.” Waleed reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled up pamphlet. He passed it over to Samuel, who unfolded it and smoothed it out as best he could.

  “Okay.” He ran a finger over the map to find the cultural center. “We’re… here. And the victory stele is… there. So we need to go…” He looked up and around. “This way!”

  He headed away from the center, the others following close behind.

  Twenty-Three

  “Is this it?” asked Waleed, as they gathered in front of the victory stele. “It’s not very impressive.”

  “Are you kidding? This is amazing!” gasped Shafira, clenching her fists at her side to restrain the urge to run forward and run her hands over the ancient structure, ignoring the signs that warned tourists to keep their distance. “It’s in such amazing condition for something that’s stood here for so long.”

  She slowly started to walk round the tall, obelisk-like structure. Each side was engraved with pictures of unidentified people, and an obscure script ran around the base of the images detailing the reasons why the stele was built in the first place.

  “According to this, the stele was restored in 2072,” Josh read from a plaque mounted nearby. “Repairs became essential after a 5.3 earthquake shook the structure almost to tipping point. So if there was something hidden here, you’d have thought that it would have been uncovered when they dug new foundations to secure the obelisk.”