The Seventh Scroll tes-2

by Wilbur Smith

  a flag party.

  "Soon now!" he-beamed at Tessay. "Only small delay.

  Then you speak to British Embassy in Addis."

  Tessay, who knew well what a small delay constituted, retired to the

  front veranda of the post office and sent for food and flasks to be

  brought from the village tej shop. She treated her escort of monks,

  together with half the population of Debra Maryam, to a happy picnic

  while she waited for her call to be patched through half a dozen

  antiquated village exchanges to the capital. Thanks to the tei, spirits

  were high amongst her entourage when finally, an hour later, the

  postmaster rushed out tell her proudly that they had succeeded and that

  her party was awaiting her on the line in the back room.

  Tessay, the monks and fifty villagers followed the postmaster back into

  the exchange and crowded, jabbering, into the cubicle. The overflow

  backed up into the main post hall.

  "Geoffrey Tennant speaking." The upper'class English accent was tinny

  with distance and static.

  "Mr Tennant, this is Woizero Tessay."

  "I was expecting your call." Geoffrey's voice lightened as he realized

  that he was talking to a pretty girl. "How are you, my dear?"

  Tessay passed Nicholas's message to him.

  "Tell Nicky it's as good as done," Geoffrey acknowledged, and hung up.

  "Now," Tessay addressed the postmaster, want to place another call to

  Addis - to the Egyptian Embassy." There was a buzz of delight from her

  audience when they realized that the entertainment was not yet over for

  the day. Everybody repaired to the veranda for more tej and

  conversation.

  The second call took even longer to connect, and it was after five

  'clock when Tessay was at last put in contact with the Egyptian cultural

  attach. Had she not once met him at one of those ubiquitous cocktail

  parties on the diplomatic circuit in Addis, and made a profound

  impression on him then, he would probably not have accepted her call

  now.

  "You are very lucky to have reached me so late," he told her. "We

  usually close at four-thirty, but there is a meeting of the Organization

  of African Unity on at the moment and I am working late. Anyway, how may

  I help you, Woizero Tessay?"

  As soon as she told him the name and rank of the person in Cairo to whom

  Royan's message was addressed, his superior and condescending attitude

  altered dramatically and he became effusive and eager to please. He

  wrote down everything she said in detail, asking her to repeat and spell

  the names of people and places. Finally he read his notes back to her

  for confirmation.

  At the end of the long conversation, he dropped his voice to an intimate

  level and told her. "I was greatly saddened to hear of your recent

  bereavement, Lady Sun.

  Colonel Brusilov was a man I held in high regard. Perhaps when you

  return to Addis you would do me the honour of dining with me one

  evening."

  "How kind and thoughtful of you." Tessay's tones were honeyed. "I would

  so much enjoy meeting your charming wife again." She hung up while he

  was still making confused noises of assent and denial.

  By this time the sun was already setting behind the sky castles of

  cumulonimbus, and there was the smell of rain in the air. It was too

  late to start the journey back down the escarpment that evening, so

  Tessay was relieved when the headman of Debra Maryam village sent one of

  his teenage daughters to invite her to spend the night as a guest in his

  home.

  The headman's house was the finest in the village, not one of the

  circular tukuls, but a square brick building with an iron roof. His wife

  and daughters had prepared a banquet in Tessay's honour, and all the

  village notables, including the priests from the church, had been

  invited. It was therefore after midnight before Tessay was able to

  escape to the principal bedroom, which the headman and his wife had

  vacated for her.

  Just before Tessay fell asleep she heard the heavy raindrops rattling on

  the corrugated iron roof over her head. It was a comforting sound, but

  she thought briefly of the dam further downstream in the gorge, and

  hoped that this shower was merely the harbinger and not the true onset

  of the big rains.

  When she started awake much later the rain had passed. Beyond her

  uncurtained window the night was moonless and silent, except for the

  howling of a pariahdog down in the village. She wondered what had woken

  her, and was filled suddenly with a premonition of impending disaster, a

  legacy from the Mengistu days, when any sound in the night might warn of

  the arrival of the security police. So strong was this feeling that she

  could not get to sleep again. Creeping quietly out of her bed, she began

  dressing in the dark. She had decided to call her monks and start back

  along the trail in the darkness. Only when she was at Mek Nimmur's side

  once again would she feel secure.

  She had just pulled on her jodhpurs and was searching beneath the bed

  for her sandals when she heard the sound of a truck engine in the

  distance. She went to the window and listened. The air had been cooled

  by the rain and she felt the chill on her naked arms and chest.

  The truck sounded as though it was approaching the village from the

  south, up the track that followed the river bank. It was coming fast,

  and her sense of unease sharpened. The villagers had spoken to the

  monks, and it was now common knowledge that she was Mek Nimmur's woman.

  Mek was a wanted man. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable and alone.

  Quickly she pulled the woollen shamma over her head and thrust her feet

  into her sandals. As she crept from the room she heard the headman

  snoring in the front room where he and his wife had moved to make room

  for her.

  She turned down the short passage to the kitchen. The fir i I in the

  hearth had burned down, but she could make out the shapes of the

  sleeping monks on the mud floor. They lay With their shamnus pulled over

  their heads, completer overed, like a row of bodies on mortuary

  tables. She knelt beside the nearest of them and shook him, but

  obviously he had enjoyed the tej at dinner because he was difficult to

  rouse.

  The sound of the approaching truck was much louder and closer by now,

  and she felt her uneasiness take on a tinge of panic. Realizing that in

  an emergency the monks would probably be of little real help to her, she

  stood up and groped her way quickly towards the back door.

  The truck was right outside the front of the house now. The headlights

  flashed across the front windows and were briefly reflected down the

  passageway. Abruptly the engine roar sank to a burble as the driver

  decelerated, and she heard the squeal of brakes and the crunch of tyres

  in the gravel outside. Then there was shouting and the trampling of many

  feet as men jumped down from the back of the stationary truck.

  Tessay froze halfway across the small kitchen, her head cocked to

  listen. Suddenly there was a loud banging on the flimsy front door, and

 
chillingly familiar shouts of, "Open up here! Central Intelligence! Open

  the door! Nobody leave the house!'

  Tessay ran for the back door, but in the darkness she tripped over a low

  table covered with dirty dishes from the previous evening's meal. She

  fell heavily and the bowls -till and tei flasks crashed to the floor and

  shattered. Instantly the men at the front door put their shoulders to

  it, tearing it off its hinges. They burst into the house, shouting and

  breaking furniture, torches flashing as they searched the front rooms.

  There was a confused babble of alarm as the headman and his family

  struggled awake, and then the sound of heavy blows with club and rifle

  butt, followed by shrieks of pain and terror.

  Tessay reached the back door and struggled to open it.

  The sound of strange men rampaging through the house made her fingers

  clumsy. She struggled with the lock. All the while she could hear other.

  men outside running through the yard to surround the house completely.

  At last she got the door open. It was dark and the area was unfamiliar

  so she did not know in which direction to run, but she heard the river

  close by in the night.

  "If I can only reach the bank," she thought, and started across the

  yard.

  As she did so the beam of an electric torch blinded her, and a coarse

  voice bellowed, "There she is!'

  Any doubt that she was the prey was instantly dispelled, and she fled

  like a startled hare in the beam of the light. They bayed behind her

  like a pack of hounds. She reached the bank of the river and spun off to

  the right, downstream. A pistol cracked out behind her and she ducked as

  a shot fluted past her head.

  "Don't shoot, you baboons!" a voice roared in commanding tones. "We want

  her for questioning."

  In the torch beam her white shamnw flashed like the wings of a moth

  flitting around the candle flame.

  "Stop her!" shouted the officer behind her. "Don't let her get away."

  But she was fleet as a gazelle, and her lightly sandalled feet flew

  across the rough terrain while the heavily equipped soldiers blundered

  along behind her. Her spirits soared as she realized that she was

  pulling away from them.

  The sound of the pursuit dwindled behind her and she had reached the

  limit of the effective range of the torch beam when she ran into a fence

  of rusty barbed wire. Three wire strands whipped across her lower body,

  at the level of her knees, her hips and her diaphragm. The top strand

  drove the breath from her lungs, and the barbs tore through the wool of

  her clothing and into her flesh. They snagged her like a fish in the

  mesh of a net, and she hung there struggling helplessly. Rough hands

  seized her and dragged her off the wire, and she sobbed with despair and

  with the pain of the sharp wire spurs tearing her skin. One of the

  soldiers grabbed her wrist and twisted it up between her

  shoulder-blades, laughing with sadistic relish when she cried out at the

  pain.

  The officer came up panting over the rough ground.

  He was overweight, and even in the cold night air he was sweating

  heavily. It greased his fat cheeks and glistened in the light of the

  torch.

  "Do not hurt her, you oaf," he gasped. "She is not a criminal. She is a

  high-bred lady. Bring her to the truck, but treat her with respect."

  With a man on each arm they marched her to the truck, holding her so

  that her feet barely touched the rough ground, and then shoved her up

  into the cab on to the seat beside the uniformed driver. The plump

  officer climbed in heavily after her, and she found herself wedged

  in'firinly between the two men. The soldiers scrambled up into the rear

  of the truck, and the driver revved the engine and let out the clutch.

  Tessay was sobbing softly, and the officer glanced sideways at her. She

  saw in the reflection of the headlights that his expression was gentle

  and sympathetic, completely at odds with his actions.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked softly, stifling her sobs. "What

  have I done wrong?"

  "I have been ordered to take you to Colonel Nogo, the district

  commander, for questioning in connection with shufta activities in the

  Gojam," he told her, as they jolted and bounced down the rough track.

  They were both silent for a while, and then the officer said quietly in

  English, "The driver speaks only Amharic, I wanted to tell you that I

  knew your father, Alto Zemen.

  He was a good man. I am sorry for what is happening here tonight, but I

  am only a lieutenant. I have to follow my orders."

  "I understand that it is not your choice, or your blame."

  "My name is Hammed. If I can, I will help you. For Alto Zemen's sake.,

  "Thank you, Lieutenant Hammed. I need friends now."

  while they waited for the dust of the cavein to settle, and for any

  loose hanging rock to fall or stabilize, Nicholas dressed the minor

  injuries that Ryan had sustained. The cut over her temple was not deep,

  barely more than a scratch.

  Nicholas saw that it did not require a stitch. He disinfected it and

  covered it with a Band Aid. However, her shoulder, which the falling

  rock had struck, was badly bruised. He massaged it with arnica cream.

  His own bruises he treated less ceremoniously. Within an hour of the

  cave-in he was ready to go back up the tunnel. He ordered Royan and

  Sapper to remain on the causeway over the sink-hole while he returned to

  the landing at the top of the stairs alone. He carried a bamboo pole and

  a hand lamp connected to the Honda generator.

  Nicholas proceeded with the utmost caution, probing the roof of the

  tunnel for weakness as he went. When he reached the landing he saw at

  once that the rock fall had smashed down what remained of the wkite

  plaster door that had originally sealed the entrance to the tomb. The

  ammunition crates, eight of which contained the statues JVI from the

  shrines, had been knocked about and scattered, and some of them were

  partially buried under the fallen rubble. He retrieved them and opened

  each of the packed crates in turn to check the contents. With immense

  relief he discovered that the stout metal containers had withstood the

  rough treatment and there was no damage to the precious statues they

  held. One at a time he carried them back down the tunnel as far as the

  causeway and handed them into Sapper's care.

  When he returned to the landing outside the tomb, Royan insisted on

  accompanying him. Even his lurid descriptions of the danger of a further

  rock-fall could not dissuade her. Her dismay when she stood outside the

  shattered gallery was overwhelming.

  "It's totally destroyed," she whispered. "All those mar, vellous works

  of art. I cannot believe that Taita wanted this to happen."

  "No,'Nicholas agreed ruefully. "His plan was to give us a big send-off

  along the road past the seven pylons to the happy hunting grounds. And

  he damned nigh succeeded."

  "It's going to take a lot of hard work to clear up this mess," she said.

  "What on earth are you talking about?" He turned on her in genuine

/>   alarm. "We have saved the statues, and that's all we can hope for. Now I

  think it's time to cut our losses and get out of here."

  "Get out of here? Are you crazy?" She rounded on him furiously. "Are you

  out of your mind?"

  "At least the statues will pay our costs," he explained, and there might

  even be something left over to divvy up between us, in accordance with

  our agreement."

  "You aren't dreaming of giving up now, when we are so close?" Her voice

  rose sharply with agitation.

  "The gallery is destroyed-' he began in more reasonable tones, but she

  stamped her foot with agitation and shouted him down.

  "The tomb is still there. Dammit! Nicky, Taita would not have gone to

  those lengths if it were not. We are getting too close now - that is why

  he fired that warning shot across our bows. Don't you see? We have him

  really worried now. We can't give up with the prize almost in sight."

  "Royan, be reasonable."

  "No! No! You be reasonable." She refused to listen.

  "You have to start clearing the gallery right away. I know the entrance

  is open now. All we have to do is clear this mess, and I am certain that

  we will find the true entrance to the tomb behind the rubble that Taita

  deliberately dropped on us."

  I think that bang on your head has loosened a couple of nuts and bolts."

  He threw up his hands in resignation.

  "But what's the use arguing with a crazy woman? We will clear just

  enough of the scree to prove to you that there is nothing more to

  discover in there."

  "The dust is going to be our big problem." Sapper eyed the blocked

  gallery entrance when they told him what they intended. "As soon as we

  touch that rubble there is going to be clouds of it - more than our

  little blower fan can handle."

  "Right," Nicholas agreed briskly. "We will have to wet it all down. Two

  lines of men back down the tunnel to the sinkholes One chain passing up

  water buckets, and the other chain passing back the rubble from the

  cave-in."

  "It's going to take a lot of work." Sapper sucked his bottom lip

  lugubriously.

  "You signed on to be tough,'Nicholas reminded him.

  "No time to start whinging now."

  The monks, still convinced that they were engaged on the Lord's work,

  accepted this new task cheerfully. They sang as they passed the chunks

  of broken plaster and -rock in one direction and the clay pots of water