The Seventh Scroll tes-2

by Wilbur Smith

  then laying it gently on the surface of the water so that it floated

  lightly on the ripples. On his second cast there was a swirl under the

  fly. The rod tip arced over sharply, the reel whined and Nicholas let

  out a whoop.

  "Gotcha, my beauty!'

  watched him indulgently from the top of the bank.

  Sh In his excitement and enthusiasm he was like a small boy.

  She smiled when she noticed how his injuries had miraculously healed

  themselves, and how he no longer limped as he ran back and forth along

  the water's edge, playing the fish. Ten minutes later he slid it,

  gleaming like a bar of freshly minted gold as long as his arm, sopping

  and flapping up on to the beach.

  "Yellow fish," he told her triumphantly. "Scrumptious.

  Breakfast for tomorrow morning."

  He came up the bank and dropped down in the grass beside her. "The

  fishing was really just an excuse to get away from Boris. I brought you

  here to tell you about what I found up there yesterday." He pointed up

  through the archway of pink stone above the bridge. She came up on her

  elbow and watched him with her full attention.

  "Of course, I have no way of telling if it has anything to do with our

  search, but somebody has been working in there." He described the niches

  that he had found carved into the canyon wall. "They reach from the lip

  right down to the water's edge. Those below the high-water mark have

  been severely eroded by the floods. I could not reach those higher up,

  but from what I could see they have been protected from wind and rain by

  the dished shape of the Cliff., it has formed a veranda roof over them.

  They appear to be in pristine condition, very much in contrast to those

  lower down."

  "What do we deduce from that?" she asked.

  "That they are very old," he answered. "Certainly the basalt is pretty

  hard. It has taken a long, long time for water to wear it down the way

  it has."

  "What do you think was the purpose of those holes?"

  am not sure he admitted.

  "Could it be that they were the anchor points for some sort of

  scaffolding? she asked, and he looked impressed.

  "Good thinking. They could be, he agreed.

  "What other ideas occur to you?"

  "Ritual designs," he suggested. "A religious motif." He smiled as he saw

  her expression of doubt. "Not very convincing, I agree."

  "All right, let's consider the idea of scaffolding. Why would anybody

  want to erect scaffolding in a place like that?" She lay back in the

  grass and picked a straw which she nibbled reflectively.

  He shrugged. "To anchor a1adder or a gantry, to gain access to the

  bottom of the chasm?"

  "What other reason?"

  "I can't think of any other."

  After a while she shook her head. "Nor can She spat out the piece of

  grass. "If that is the motive, then they were fairly committed to the

  project. From your description it must have been a substantial

  structure, designed to support the weight of a, lot of men or heavy

  material."

  "In North America the Red Indians built fishing platforms over

  waterfalls like that from which they netted the salmon."

  "Have there ever been great runs of fish through these waters?" she

  asked, and he shrugged again.

  "Nobody can answer that. Perhaps long ago who knows."

  "Was that all you saw down there?"

  "High up the wall, aligned with mathematical precision between the two

  lines of stone niches, there was something that looked like a has-relief

  carving."

  She sat up with a jerk and stared at him avidly. "Could it clearly? Was

  it script, or was it a design? What you see was the style of the

  carving?"

  "No such luck. It was too high, and the light is very poor down there. I

  am not even certain that it wasn't'a natural flaw in the rock."

  Her disappointment was palpable, but after a pause she asked,

  "Was there anything else?"

  "Yes," he grinned. "Lots and lots of water moving very very fast."

  "What are we going to do about this putative has-relief of yours?" she

  asked.

  "I don't like the idea in the least, but I will have to go back in there

  and have another look."

  "When?"

  "tomorrow. Our one chance to get into the maqdas of the cathedral. After

  that we will make a plan to explore the gorge."

  "We are running out of time, Nicky, just when things are getting really

  interesting."

  "You can say that again!'. he murmured. She felt his breath on her lips,

  for their faces were as close together as those of conspirators or of

  lovers, and she realized the double meaning of her own words. She jumped

  to her feet and slapped the dust and loose straw from her jodhpurs.

  "You only'have one fish to feed the multitude. Either you have a very

  high opinion of yourself, or you had better get fishing."

  wo debteras who had been detailed by the bishop to escort them tried to

  force a way for them through the crowds. However, they had not reached

  the foot of the staircase before the escort itself was swallowed up and

  lost. Nicholas and Royan became separated from the other couple.

  "Keep close," Nicholas told Royan, and maintained a firm grip on her

  upper arm as he used his shoulder to open a path for them. He drew her

  along with him. Naturally, he had deliberately contrived to lose Boris

  and Tessay in the crush, and it had worked out nicely the way he had

  planned it.

  At last they reached a position where Nicholas could set his back firmly

  against one of the stone columns of the terrace, to prevent the crowd

  jostling him. He also had a good view of the entrance to the cavern

  cathedral. Royan was not tall enough to see over the heads of the men in

  front of her, so Nicholas lifted her up on to the balustrade of the

  staircase and anchored her firmly against the column.

  She clung to his shoulder for support, for the drop into the Nile opened

  behind her, The worshippers kept up a low monotonous chant, while a

  dozen separate bands of musicians tapped their drums and rattled their

  sistrums. Each band surrounded its own patron, a chieftain in splendid

  robes, sheltering under a huge gaudy umbrella.

  There was an air of excitement and expectation almost as fierce as the

  heat and the stink. It built up steadily and, as the reased in pitch and

  volume, the crowd singing inc began to sway and undulate like a single

  organism, some grotesque amoeba, pulsing with life.

  Suddenly from within the precincts of the cathedral there came the

  chiming of brass bells, and immediately a hundred horns and trumpets

  answered. From the head of the stairway there was a fusillade of gunfire

  as the bodyguards of the chieftains fired their weapons in the air.

  Some of them were armed with automatic rifles, and the clatter of AK-47

  fire blended with the thunder of ancient black powder muzzle-loaders.

  Clouds of blue gunsmoke blew over the congregation, and bullets

  ricocheted from the cliff and sang away over the gorge. Women shrieked

  and utulated, an eerie, blood-chilling sound. The men's faces were
<
br />   alight with the fires of religious fervour.

  They fell to their knees and lifted their hands high in adoration,

  chanting and crying out to God for blessing.

  The women held their infants aloft, and tears of religious frenzy

  streaked their dark cheeks.

  From the gateway of the underground church emerged a procession of

  priests and monks. First came the debteras in long white robes, and then

  the acolytes who were to be baptized at the riverside. Royan recognized

  Tamre, his long gangling frame standing a head above the boys around

  him.

  She waved over the crowd and he saw her and grinned shyly before he

  followed the debteras on to the pathway to the river.

  By this time night was falling. The depths of the cauldron were obscured

  by shadows, and hanging over it the sky was a purple canopy pricked by

  the first bright stars.

  At the head of the pathway burned a brass brazier. As each of the

  priests passed it he thrust his unlit torch into the flames and, as soon

  as it flared, he held it aloft.

  Like a stream of molten lava the torchlit procession began to uncoil

  down the cliff face, the priests chanting dolefully and the drums

  booming and echoing from the cliffs across the river.

  Following the baptism candidates through the stone gateway came the

  ordained priests in their tawdry robes, bearing the processional crosses

  of silver and glittering brass, and the banners of embroidered silk,

  with their depictions of the saints in the agony of martyrdom and the

  ecstasy of adoration. They clanged their bells and blew their fifes, and

  sweated and chanted until their eyes rolled white in dark faces.

  Behind them, home by two priests in the most sumptuous robes and tall,

  jewel-encrusted head-dresses, came the tabot. The Ark of the Tabernacle

  was covered with a crimson cloth that hung to the ground, for it was too

  holy to be desecrated by the gaze of the profane.

  The worshippers threw themselves down upon the ground in fresh paroxysms

  of adoration. Even the chiefs prostrated themselves upon the soiled

  pavement of the terrace, and some of them wept with the fervour of their

  belief.

  Last in the procession came Jali Hora, wearing not the crown with the

  blue stone, but another even more splendid creation, the Epiphany crown,

  a mass of gleaming metal and flashing faux jewels which seemed too heavy

  for his ancient scrawny neck to support. Two debteras held his elbows

  and guided his uncertain footsteps on to the stairway that led down to

  the Nile.

  As the procession descended, so those worshippers nearest to the head of

  the stairs rose to their feet, lit their torches at the brazier and

  followed the abbot down. There was a general movement along the terrace

  to join the flow, and as it began to empty, Nicholas lifted Royan down

  from her perch on the balustrade.

  "We must get into the church while "there are still enough people around

  to cover us," he whispered. Leading her by the hand, with his other hand

  hanging on to the strap of his camera bag, he joined the movement down

  the terrace. He allowed them to be carried forward, but all the time he

  was edging across the stream of humanity towards the entrance to the

  church. He saw Boris and Tessay in the crush ahead of him, but they had

  not seen him, and he crouched lower so as to screen himself from them.

  As he and Royan reached the gateway to the outer the eased them out of

  the throng of chamber of the church, humanity and drew her gently

  through the low entrance into the dim, deserted interior. With a quick

  glance he made certain that they were alone, and that the guards were no

  longer at their stations beside the inner gates.

  Then he moved quickly along the side wall, to where one of the

  soot'grimed tapestries hung from the ceiling to the stone floor. He

  lifted the folds of heavy woven wool and drew Royan behind them, letting

  them fall back into place, concealing them both.

  They were only just in time, for hardly had they flattened their backs

  against the wall and let the tapestry settle when they heard footsteps

  approaching from the qiddist. Nicholas peeked around the corner of the

  tapestry and saw four white-robed priests cross the outer chamber and

  swing the main doors closed as they left the church.

  There was a weighty thud from outside as they dropped the locking beam

  into place, and then a profound silence pervaded the cavern.

  "I didn't reckon on that," Nicholas whispered. "They have locked us in

  for the night."

  "At least it means that we won't be disturbed," Royan replied briskly.

  "We can get to work right away."

  Stealthily they emerged from their hiding-place, and moved across the

  outer chamber to the doorway of the qiddist. Here Nicholas paused and

  cautioned her with a hand on her arm. "From here on we are in forbidden

  territory. Better let me go ahead and scout the lie of the land."

  She shook her head firmly. "You are not leaving me here. I am coming

  with you all the way." He knew better than to argue.

  "Come on, then." He led her up the steps and into the middle chamber.

  It was smaller and lower than the room they had left.

  The wall hangings were richer and in a better state of repair. The floor

  was bare, except for a pyramid-shaped framework of hand-hewn native

  timber upon which stood rows of brass lamps, each with the wick floating

  in a puddle of melted oil. The meagre light they provided was all that

  there was, and it left the ceiling and the recesses of the chamber in

  shadow.

  As they crossed the floor towards the gates that closed off the maqdas,

  Nicholas took two electric torches from his camera bag and handed one to

  her. "New batteries," he told her, "but don't waste them. We may be here

  all night."

  They stopped in front of the doors to the Holy Of Holies. Quickly

  Nicholas examined them. There were A, engravings of St.. Frumentius on

  each panel, his head enclosed in a nimbus of celestial radiance and his

  right hand lifted in the act of benediction.

  "Primitive lock," he murmured, "must be hundreds of years old. You could

  throw your hat through the gap between the hasp and the tongue." He

  slipped his hand into the bag and brought out a Leatherman tool.

  "Clever little job, this is. With it you do anything from digging the

  stones out of a horse's hoof, to opening the lock on a chastity belt."

  He knelt in front of the massive iron lock and unfolded one of the

  multiple blades of the tool. She watched anxiously as he worked, and

  then gave a little start as with satisfying clunk the tongue of the lock

  slid back.

  a Mis-spent youth?" she asked. "Burglary amongst your many talents?"

  "You don't really want to know." He stood up and put his shoulder to one

  leaf of the door. It gave with a groan of unlubricated hinges, and he

  pushed it open only just wide enough for them to squeeze through, then

  immediately shut it behind them.

  They stood side by side on the threshold of the maqdas and gazed about

  them in silent awe.

  The Holy of H
olies was a small chamber, much smaller than either of them

  had expected. Nicholas could have crossed it in a dozen strides. The

  vaulted roof was so low that by standing on tiptoe he could have touched

  it with his outstretched fingertips.

  or upwards the walls were lined with From the flo shelves upon which

  stood the gifts and offerings of the faithful, icons of the Trinity and

  the Virgin rendered in Byzantine style, framed in ornate silver. There

  were ranks of statuettes of saints and emperors, medallions and wreaths

  made of polished metal, pots and bowls and jewelled boxes, candelabra

  with many branches, on each of which the votive candles burned providing

  an uncertain wavering light. It was an extraordinary collection of junk

  and treasures, of objects of virtue and garish bric-A-brac, offered as

  articles of faith by the emperors and chieftains of Ethiopia over the

  centuries.

  In the centre of the floor stood the altar of cedarwood, the panels

  carved with visionary, scenes of revelation and creation, of the

  temptation and the fall from Eden, and of the Last judgement. The altar

  cloth was crocheted raw silk, and the cross and the chalice were in

  massive worked silver. The abbot's crown gleamed in the candlelight,

  with the blue ceramic seal of Taita in the centre of its brow.

  Royan crossed the floor and knelt in front of the altar.

  She bowed her head in prayer. Nicholas waited respectfully at the

  threshold until she rose to her feet again, and then he went to join

  her.

  "The tabot stoneV He pointed beyond the altar, and they went forward

  side by side. At the back of the maqdas stood an object covered with a

  heavy damask cloth encrusted with embroidered thread of silver and gold.

  From the outline beneath the covering they could see that it was of

  elegant and pleasing proportions, as tall as a man, but slender with a

  pedestal topping.

  They both circled it, studying the cloaked shape avidly, but reluctant

  to touch it or to uncover it, fearful that their expectations might

  prove unwarranted, and that their ..hopes would be dashed like the

  turbulent river waters plunging into the cauldron of the Nile. Nicholas

  broke the tension that gripped them by turning away from the tabot stone

  to the barred gate in the back wall of the sanctuary.

  "The tomb of St. Frumentius!" he said, and went to the grille. She came