Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden in the African Jungle (Golden Sofala) Volume 5

by Freda, Paula

  A rock flew from behind him, striking one of the horned opponents across the forehead. The creature slumped to the ground, unconscious. Not wasting time to ask where the rock had shot from, Lord Hayden grasped the moment and doubling over, he slung-shot himself into the second creature’s midriff. Bones cracked as the two hit the stone wall, but Lord Hayden was saved. The hairy, thick-skinned fleshy body of his opponent acted as padding, and Lord Hayden was left with only a slight disorientation. He shook his head to clear it as the creature slid, insensate, to the ground. He turned to find Elizabeth and saw her picking up another rock.

  One of the traits he loved most about her was that as long as she retained her senses, she never stood by helplessly. But more creatures were rushing toward them. Elizabeth threw another rock and felled one more creature. Lord Hayden smiled. If the accuracy of her bean balls were any indication, the ladies Major Leagues had lost a promising pitcher when Elizabeth had chosen to pursue an academic career. Her quick action gave him the precious seconds he needed to regroup.

  Moore and his soldiers had begun firing on the pig men, who were fleeing. When the attackers were at last gone, Lord Hayden turned to Moore. "Do you know who those creatures were?"

  "Not what they were called, but I did come upon mention of them in the manuscripts. Three armies guarded Prester John’s Kingdom. The first were hideous horned creatures that grunted like pigs and lived in the desert."

  "But this is not the desert," Elizabeth observed.

  "No, we are not in the desert," Moore agreed, "but their presence proves we are heading in the right direction. This handful of creatures may be what remains of the original horde that once inhabited the desert. And I firmly suspect they were placed here to guard the tomb of Prester John." Moore added, chuckling, "This was a minor skirmish. The writings also mentioned pygmies and giants, and a race who feed on the flesh of men and prematurely born animals, a race that does not fear death."

  "Pygmies and giants, especially giants, considering their size, could not survive for long in these tunnels," Lord Hayden said, hopefully.

  * * *

  The following morning found them closer to the surface. Very soon, they arrived at a staircase hewn from the rock. Moore did not hide his delight; he ran up the steps while his soldiers prodded Lord Hayden and Elizabeth behind him. For all her feistiness, Elizabeth’s dream of the monk and her promise to him, unnerved her. Was the monk Prester John? Legend said he was a unique combination of kindness and determination, a holy man, a ruler, a mythical figure attributed with wealth to boggle the mind—a crystal palace roofed with precious gems, a sapphire-studded bed.

  Lord Hayden placed his hand on hers and smiled encouragingly. He’d sensed her fear for a while now, though he knew full well that Elizabeth was no coward. Something bothered her, and as soon as they were allowed to stop for the evening, he intended asking her what it was.

  At the top of the stairs a tall door encrusted with dirt and rust blocked the way to the world outside. Moore attempted in vain to wedge his fingertips into the door’s edge and pull it open.

  "A pry bar would help," Lord Hayden said. "The door probably has not been used for centuries."

  "I know we need a pry bar," Moore snapped.

  Elizabeth’s attention was drawn to a spot that had escaped the ravages of time. It shone under the beams from the flashlights. "Gold," she said. "This door is solid gold!"

  Lord Hayden and Moore began examining the portal with an eye for medieval construction. Taking his handkerchief from his pants pocket, Lord Hayden rubbed some of the dirt away to reveal an embossed design, the figure of an angel, its wings spread, its face, arms, and hands lifted up in a stance of adoration, like some of the angels in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. "Is it possible it truly existed," Lord Hayden asked, incredulously, "the mythical kingdom of John the Prester?"

  "I would not be here if I believed otherwise," Moore said. "We are on the threshold of a great discovery. Think of the artifacts, hidden, untouched for centuries. And my ancestor’s tomb, his remains, the final proof that will refire my people’s patriotism, rekindle their desire for unity."

  For all his apparent sincerity, Elizabeth did not trust the man. "And all that gold and precious gems—" she added dryly.

  "You think I’m power-hungry," Moore said blandly. Elizabeth’s silence was confirmation enough.

  Moore’s chin went up and his back stiffened. "Very well, think what you like. At the moment opening this door is our main concern." One of the soldiers came up from behind and offered him a large pocketknife. Moore smiled at him. "Yes, perhaps that will do. If we can dig out some of the dirt around the edges…"

  The door resisted their efforts, but in the end, a border of light streamed through the edges. The men achieved a fingerhold and pulled with all their strength. The door squealed in protest as they hauled it open. Light flooded the stairs, hurting eyes that had become accustomed to darkness and flashlights. Curiosity overcame discomfort as the group entered a courtyard overgrown with leafy vegetation and wild flora. Warm, dry air comforted, after days spent in the cold, damp underground tunnels. Elizabeth breathed deeply.

  A few yards from a stilled fountain, a life-sized statue of a cherub, its limbs and face wreathed in wild growing vines, posed with a basket of flowers on its shoulders.

  Moore called out excitedly, "There’s a gate in the east wall."

  On the other side of the gate, the African jungle rose to meet them.

  "The garden was probably a rest station, an oasis in the desert, so to speak," Lord Hayden said to Elizabeth as they followed Moore. Two of the soldiers had taken the lead, hacking away to clear a beaten path overgrown with vines and overhanging ferns for centuries undisturbed.

  "Yes," Moore agreed, despite that he was not the one Lord Hayden had addressed. "And this is the road a traveler would have used to come or go; the road we will follow."

  They stopped briefly during the early afternoon to eat and rest and then resumed their journey. By nightfall, the group had covered close to ten miles; the jungle had thinned to an open plain the size of a ball-field. Lord Hayden warned Moore, "We should stop for the night. There is a full moon tonight. We’d be open targets crossing the field."

  "Open targets for whom?" Moore jeered.

  Elizabeth answered. "For whoever or whatever might be lurking about. I can’t forget what you said you read in the manuscripts about the guardians, especially since the first ones proved to be real."

  "They’re all dead, madam," Moore laughed, his enthusiasm to push on, overwhelming logic. "What we are investigating are ruins of a long dead civilization. The garden was abandoned, the path overgrown and uncared for."

  "Still," Elizabeth urged, "it’s better to be cautious, than sorry."

  Lord Hayden said, "The guardians we encountered earlier may not be the only survivors of your ancestor’s civilization. If we must cross, then let’s at least keep to the shadows."

  Moore shook his head. "We’ll camp for the night on the other side of the field. There’s nothing here to fear."

  "At least take the long way around the field, using the vegetation for cover."

  But Moore was adamant. Both Elizabeth and Lord Hayden breathed somewhat easier as they finally reached the opposite side. Perhaps Moore was right about the lack of any further danger.

  Moore ordered his soldiers to set up camp for the night. Lord Hayden advised him to move further inward, "Right here, we can be spotted easily."

  Once more Moore waved his suggestion aside. "Nonsense. There’s no one here to see us." He did, surprisingly, acquiesce to Lord Hayden’s request for "no fire," shaking his head, "You worry too much." He permitted Lord Hayden and Elizabeth to place their bedrolls behind some jungle growth, away from the clearing, but in the soldier’s line of vision.

  Lying under the blankets, Lord Hayden gathered his wife into his arms. If the Priest-Ruler’s tomb was as close as Moore believed, then the usefulness of his prisoners was also close to an
end. Totally exhausted, Elizabeth fell asleep almost immediately. Lord Hayden kissed the top of her head. The red-gold strands mussed and sprinkled with pollen from the jungle’s flora, smelled sweet. He yearned to make love to her, but of course, their present circumstances precluded any intimacy. He closed his eyes, turning his thoughts to devising some plan of escape. None presented itself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  In the morning, after a breakfast of bread, cheese, and coffee, they continued inland, and around noon came upon a deserted village of tall wooden huts with thatched roofs. Everything inside the huts was oversized, from the doorways, to the tables and chairs, to the fireplaces and the rusted pots that hung from dried and splintered mantels over long-spent fires and desiccated kindling. "Another race of guardians," Lord Hayden voiced everyone’s opinion. "Giants."

  "Where did they go?" Elizabeth asked, then replied to her own question. "Inland perhaps... or did they somehow become extinct?" No one had the answer. The party dusted off a few of the bowls and utensils and put them in their backpacks for further study, if and when they returned home.

  A few miles further, they encountered another village, not much different from the previous, except that the huts and everything within was dwarfed. "A third race of guardians: the pygmies," Lord Hayden observed. "Another race probably dispersed during the centuries after Prester John’s death, when they were no longer needed to protect his kingdom." Once more Moore permitted the gathering of a few artifacts, then ordered the group onward.

  For two more days and two nights they traveled. Few animals inhabited the secret valley. Some chattering monkeys swung in the branches overhead. At a clearing, a herd of fleet-footed zebras appeared and as quickly vanished. Later, they passed by some lion cubs playing by the banks of a stream. One cub discovered a Bee Eater’s burrow. He investigated until one of the birds flew out, a beautiful creature with a long slender bill and swallow-like wings. Its crown and mantle were chestnut, shading into primrose, with other colors blending and shading into a bluish green underbelly. Elizabeth had read about this species. They were called Bee Eaters because their diet consisted mainly of bees and wasps.

  The cub’s attention was solely on the fluttering bird. As it flew up and beyond its reach, the lion cub leapt after it, but his young legs were far too short, and he landed in an ungainly heap on the edge of the bank. As the tried to regain his balance, he slid down the bank’s muddy slope and landed in the water, where he began to mew pitifully and flail his little paws, trying desperately to regain the bank’s edge and solid earth. Elizabeth rushed to his aid and lifted the frightened, confused cub from the water. He did not struggle as she half-expected. Perhaps it was the manner in which she held the cub to her chest, like the baby it was. She cooed to him and spoke softly, forgetting that this cub would grow to be a roaring, snarling lion that would not think twice about making her his meal.

  Lord Hayden’s voice sounded harsh and unreasonable as he told her to put the creature down quickly. Elizabeth did not pay heed to his warning until another voice brought her to her senses. This one belonged to the mother lioness, snarling and running towards her. Elizabeth dropped the cub and fell back, too frightened to scream. Moore drew his gun and fired several shots into the air, startling the lioness enough that she stopped. The cub, in the meantime, even more frightened by the gunshot, rushed to its mother. Everyone in the party stood motionless and not breathing. The lioness licked her cub’s neck, removing the alien’s odor. He was safely beside her. The creatures with the loud bang were too many. She snarled once more, eyed them stealthily, then with her teeth seizing her cub gently by the furry nape of its neck, padded back into the jungle. The rest of the cubs eagerly padded behind her.

  Elizabeth chided herself for not recognizing beforehand the danger she had placed herself and the others by holding on to the cub. It had awakened her maternal instincts. Since her nuptials, she’d harbored hope for a child or two of her own. At age thirty-five, her life as a teacher of archeology had precluded a family, not wanting to choose between the two. Her life with Lord Hayden was filled with teaching and the fieldwork they shared; the subject of children had rarely come up. And her hope that it would simply happen, that one morning she would awaken to find herself pregnant, had yet to occur.

  Further thoughts about children were put aside as Lord Hayden directed everyone’s attention to something in the distance that glinted and prismed under the intense sunlight. A crystal palace atop a short hill, just a few miles ahead. Awed and solemn, Elizabeth remembered the dream and her promise. Close by, Moore stood transfixed, a look of vindication and conquest on his face. His exuberance overflowed as he led the party at a run toward the palace. When at last they all stood before its doors, Lord Hayden’s doubts about its true construction were confirmed. The palace was not made of crystal, except for the windows. It was a magnificent edifice, with balconies and towers, the stone polished and smooth and marble-inlaid, and trimmed with gold wherever frames and lintels allowed. The combination of white stone, marble and crystal windowpanes under the fierce African sun caused the entire structure to sparkle. Anyone catching sight of it from a distance would indeed believe he was seeing a crystal palace.

  Yet at the same time, the edifice was hidden from aerial view by virtue of its design and the location of the secret valley. On a clear, sunny day, anyone looking down from a hill or an airplane, would see only a shiny blur—perhaps the sun reflecting on the Falls or a lake. On a cloudy day, the mass of flora and vegetation and the shape of the hills and the valley itself, provided the perfect camouflage.

  The castle's huge golden doors hung open as if in welcome. This castle had no battlements or slit-towers through which archers could fling their arrows; no keep preambled the entrance. In that moment, Lord Hayden understood more clearly the purpose of the guardians, and a sixth sense warned him not to pass through these portals thrown open in welcome. The guards behind him gave him no choice but to follow Moore into the vestibule, a gigantic room with a mosaic floor, depicting Christ walking upon a sea of blue in Galilee. The tapestries on the walls of the vestibule depicted scenes of Christ’s life: The Sermon on the Mount; the raising of Lazarus; the Crucifixion, the Resurrection. Another pair of doors, smaller than those of the entrance, led to a royal blue throne room. Moore hardly glanced at the magnificent throne, but sprang instead toward a side door. "Yes, just as I thought. A stairway leading to the upper floors," he called.

  "Wait," Lord Hayden cautioned. "Haven’t you noticed there’s no dust or cobwebs anywhere? Everything is clean and polished. This palace is no ruin – it's someone’s home."

  No, Moore had not noticed. His excitement had blinded him. Lord Hayden was correct. The palace appeared to be inhabited. "Well," Moore said, "if there’s someone here, I think we should meet them. They may be upstairs." He stepped through the door.

  "Perhaps he’s right," Elizabeth said, and before Lord Hayden could stop her, she hurried after Moore.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "We check this floor first," Moore said, and ordered everyone to follow him. Lord Hayden, scowling, sure that everyone, including his beloved Elizabeth, had gone daft, complied mutely as one of the soldiers prodded him rudely with the butt of his rifle.

  As was usually the case in medieval castles, the stone stairway curved and wound upward, with landings and entrances at each of the floors.—in this case, five,—then narrowed considerably as it spiraled toward the tower. On the first floor, Romanesque arched wood doors inlaid with gold and fitted with iron bolts led into opulent bedrooms, strewn with Persian rugs. Exquisite and vibrantly colored velvet and lace spreads covered the beds under tasseled canopies supported by posts that shone with recently applied beeswax. Fireplaces were stacked with freshly cut wood, awaiting kindling, and golden vases filled with daisies, a flower common to many parts of Africa, adorned elegant tables with thick, beautifully carved legs. Every sign of occupancy, yet where were the people?

  The bedroom at the end of the c
orridor boasted two magnificently carved doors that resembled the one they had encountered in the underground tunnel. Like the former, it also depicted scenes from the New Testament, and like the former, astounded even Lord Hayden. The bedroom within was three times the size of the others. Large sapphires encrusted the white velvet bedcovers. A blue tunic and red robe of wool, filigreed with silver and gold thread that shimmered with the light filtering through the windowpanes, was draped over the foot of the bed. Elizabeth recalled the words in the ancient manuscript, The King slept on a bed of sapphires, and his robes were made of salamander wool and cleaned in fire."

  Drawn to the window with its crystal panes and marble casings that sparkled in the sunlight, Elizabeth gasped as she beheld the garden below. In its center was the fountain in her dream, gushing water straight upward, almost to the level at which she stood. She turned to Lord Hayden who was examining a medieval bible that lay on a table at the side of the opulent bed. "William," she spoke, brooking no argument, "We have to find Prester John's tomb."

  Moore agreed avidly. "Yes, we must find it, and I strongly suspect he is buried somewhere on these grounds."

  "Yes, for sure," Elizabeth added, a trance-like gaze in her eyes that Lord Hayden had seen before. What was it that she was not telling him? "Why?" Lord Hayden demanded of his spouse.