The Sign and the Seal

by Graham Hancock

  Covilhan was still alive when the first official Portuguese embassy to the court of Prester John landed at the port of Massawa in 1520 and made its way inland to meet with Lebna Dengel, the Solomonic emperor who had been on the throne since 1508. One of the members of this embassy was Father Francisco Alvarez – and the reader will recall that it was Alvarez who had been told by priests of the ancient tradition that the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela had been ‘made by white men’.79

  I now turned back to the English translation of the lengthy narrative that Alvarez had written after leaving Ethiopia in 1526. Re-reading his chapter on Lalibela I was struck by the description he gave of the church of Saint George. Carved into the roof of this great edifice, he said, was ‘a double cross, that is, one within the other, like the crosses of the Order of Christ.’80

  Of course, as I already knew, the Lalibela churches had been hewn in the time of the Templars, long before the Order of Christ was created to follow in their footsteps. It seemed logical to suppose, however, that the cross of the Order of Christ was derived from a design that would have been significant to the Templars. It was therefore intriguing to learn that this design had been used on Saint George’s – undoubtedly the finest church in the Lalibela complex. Casting my mind back to my own visit there in 1983, I could not recall the double cross motif. I was sufficiently interested, however, to look out the photographs that had been taken on that trip; these confirmed that the description that Alvarez had given of Saint George’s was absolutely correct: the double cross was there.

  In the mid-1520s, while the Portuguese embassy was still at the court of Lebna Dengel, it became clear that Ethiopia would soon come under attack from Muslim forces massing in the emirate of Harar in the eastern part of the Horn of Africa. These forces were led by a redoubtable and charismatic warlord, Ahmed Ibn Ibrahim el Ghazi, whose nickname was ‘Gragn’ (meaning ‘the left-handed’).

  After some years of careful preparations, Gragn eventually declared his holy war in 1528 and led hordes of wild Somali troops (supported by Arab mercenaries and Turkish matchlockmen) on a rampage into the Christian highlands.81 This turned out to be no brief campaign but rather continued, year in year out, without any remit. Across the length and breadth of Ethiopia towns and villages were burnt, churches were destroyed, priceless treasures were looted, and thousands of people were put to the sword.82

  Lebna Dengel had been somewhat cool towards the Portuguese. During the six years that their embassy had been in his country (1520–6) he had constantly stressed his own self-sufficiency, saying, in spite of the Muslim threat (which was very apparent by 1526), that he saw no point in hastening into an alliance with any foreign power.83 This strangely aloof attitude, I believe, could have been occasioned by concerns as to the true motives of the European visitors – particularly as regards the Ark of the Covenant.

  Whatever fears the emperor may have entertained, however, it gradually became apparent to him that Gragn posed a far greater threat than the white men ever would – and not only to the sacred relic but also to the very existence of Ethiopian Christendom. In 1535 the Muslims attacked Axum and razed to the ground the ancient and most holy church of Saint Mary of Zion84 (from which, as I shall recount later in this chapter, the priests had already taken the Ark to another place for safekeeping). In 1535, too –and not by coincidence – Lebna Dengel at last overcame his antipathy towards foreign alliances and sent an envoy to the king of Portugal with an urgent request for military assistance.85

  Meanwhile communications between Ethiopia and Europe had become much more difficult (because the Turks had won control of much of the coast of the Horn of Africa as well as many of the Red Sea ports). It took a long while for the emperor’s SOS to reach its destination and, in consequence, it was not until 1541 that a contingent of 450 Portuguese musketeers landed at Massawa to lend their support to the Abyssinian army – which appeared at that point to be utterly beaten and demoralized (Lebna Dengel, after years on the run, had died of exhaustion and had been succeeded by his son Claudius, then barely out of his teens).86

  Since they were armed with matchlocks, hand-guns, and several pieces of heavy artillery, much hope was pinned upon the intervention of the Portuguese troops. The Ethiopian royal chronicle for 1541 speaks of the confident manner in which they marched up into the highlands from the coast, praising them as ‘bold and courageous men who thirsted after battle like wolves and after slaughter like lions’.87 Nor did this description overstate their qualities: though small in numbers they fought with inspiring valour and won a series of decisive victories. The British historian Edward Gibbon was later to summarize their achievements in just nine words: ‘Ethiopia was saved by four hundred and fifty Portuguese.’88

  Significantly in my opinion, the commander of the relief force was none other than Don Christopher da Gama, son of the famous Vasco and, like his father, a Knight of the Order of Christ.89 James Bruce was inordinately interested in the character of this young adventurer and described him in the following terms:

  He was brave to a fault; rash and vehement; jealous of what he thought military honour; and obstinate in his resolutions … [However], in a long catalogue of virtues which he possessed to a very eminent degree, [he] had not the smallest claim to that of patience, so very necessary to those that command armies.90

  I believe that, as a Knight of the Order of Christ, Don Christopher may well have had an ulterior motive for his operations in Ethiopia: first he would defeat the Muslims; later he would seek out the Ark of the Covenant. His rashness and lack of patience, however, were to cost him his life before either objective could be achieved.

  Despite overwhelming odds, he repeatedly engaged Ahmed Gragn’s forces in battle (on one occasion, deserted by the Abyssinians, the Portuguese faced 10,000 spearmen – and beat them). Such feats of derring-do, however, were loaded with risks and, in 1542, Don Christopher was taken prisoner (an eyewitness described how, shortly before his capture, he ‘had been shot in the right knee and was fighting with his sword in his left hand, for his right arm had been broken by another shot’91).

  The Portuguese commander was first horribly tortured and then, according to Bruce’s account of his last hours, was

  brought into the presence of the Moorish general Gragn, who loaded him with reproaches; to which he replied with such a share of invectives that the Moor, in the violence of his passion, drew his sword and cut off his head with his own hand.92

  Barely a year later, however, the Muslim leader too was killed. In a battle fought on the shores of Lake Tana on 10 February 1543 he was shot dead by a certain Peter Leon,

  a man of low stature, but very active and valiant, who had been valet de chambre to Don Christopher … The Moorish army no sooner missed the presence of their general than, concluding all lost, they fell into confusion and were pursued by the Portuguese and Abyssinians with a great slaughter till the evening.93

  Thus, after fifteen years of unparalleled destruction and violence, ended the Muslim attempt to subdue the Christian empire of Ethiopia. The costs to the Portuguese relief force were considerable: as well as the redoubtable Don Christopher, more than half of the original contingent of 450 musketeers were killed in the fighting. Abyssinian casualties, of course, were far greater (running into tens of thousands) and the cultural damage – in terms of burnt manuscripts, icons and paintings, razed churches and looted treasures – was to cast a shadow over the civilization of the highlands for centuries to come.

  The greatest treasure of all, however, was saved: moved out of Axum by the priests only days before that city was burnt in 1535, the Ark had been taken to one of the many island-monasteries on Lake Tana. There it was kept in safety until long after Gragn’s death. Then, in the mid 1600s, Emperor Fasilidas (described by Bruce as ‘the greatest king that ever sat upon the Abyssinian throne’94) built a new cathedral of Saint Mary of Zion over the gutted ruins of the old – and there, with due ceremony, the sacred relic was at last re-installed in all i
ts former glory.95

  Fasilidas did one other thing also. Despite the debt of gratitude that his country owed to the Portuguese (whose numbers had been allowed to increase steadily after the successful conclusion of the war with Gragn) he made it his business to throw all the settlers out. Indeed, he seemed so wary of their intentions that he entered into a business arrangement with the Turks at Massawa: any Portuguese travellers arriving there and seeking entry into Ethiopia were to be apprehended and decapitated – with a substantial sum in gold payable for each head thus obtained.96

  The source of a mystery

  After the death of Don Christopher da Gama the intense and focussed interest that the Order of Christ had shown in Ethiopia seemed to come to an end. And after the reign of Fasilidas there was no longer any way in which that interest could have been pursued by any Portuguese.

  However, as noted earlier, the Order of Christ was not the only vehicle in which Templar traditions were perpetuated. Scottish Freemasonry, too, inherited some portions of the mystical legacy of the Temple of Solomon – in which the Ark of the Covenant played such a central role. Because of this Scottish connection, and because he had claimed to be a distant descendant of the king who had welcomed the fugitive Templars in the fourteenth century,97 I felt that a closer investigation was warranted into the activities of one of the most audacious and determined foreigners ever to visit Ethiopia: James Bruce of Kinnaird.

  Standing rather more than six feet four inches tall, and with a girth to match, Bruce was a giant of a man (‘the tallest man you ever saw gratis’, as one contemporary described him). He was also wealthy and well educated. Born in 1730 in the lowlands of Scotland on the family estate at Kinnaird, he was sent at the age of twelve to Harrow school, where his work in the classical languages was considered excellent by his teachers. He later completed his studies at Edinburgh University.

  A period of illness followed and when he recovered he went to London intending to take up a job offer with the East India Company. Once there, however, he fell passionately in love with a beautiful woman named Adriane Allan, whom he married in 1753. Soon afterwards he joined his father-in-law’s winetrading business as a partner.

  Tragedy followed. On a trip to France in 1754 Adriane died suddenly and, though he remarried much later and fathered several children, Bruce seems to have taken a long time to recover from the loss of his first wife.

  Restless and depressed, he began to travel almost continuously, learning new languages with great facility wherever he went. His peregrinations took him first to Europe, where he fought a duel in Belgium, sailed down the Rhine, inspected Roman ruins in Italy, and studied Arabic manuscripts in Spain and Portugal. Subsequently – after his linguistic ability had been recognized by his government – he was given a diplomatic posting as British consul in Algiers. From there he later travelled extensively along the North African coast, visiting the ruins of Carthage, before journeying onwards to the Holy Land where he explored several other ancient sites. He also found the time to return occasionally to Scotland to attend to the family estates of which he was now the laird, his father having died in 1758.

  During this period the young Scotsman became something of an astronomer, acquiring two state-of-the art telescopes that subsequently went everywhere with him. He also picked up surveying and navigational skills that would be invaluable to him on his travels in Abyssinia.

  It is not clear exactly when he conceived of this last adventure, but there is evidence that he had been planning it for a considerable while (it is known, for example, that he had begun to learn Ge’ez, the classical language of Ethiopia, as early as 175998). Because of such preparations, which included detailed readings of the works of all previous travellers, he had accumulated a great deal of background knowledge about the country by the time that he arrived in Cairo in 1768 to begin his epic journey.

  What was it that inspired Bruce to go to Ethiopia? His own account of his motives is unambiguous: he went, he said, risking ‘numberless dangers and sufferings, the least of which would have overwhelmed me but for the continual goodness and protection of Providence’, in order to discover the source of the Nile.99 Lest anyone should be in any doubt that this was indeed his ambition he enshrined it conspicuously in the full title of the immense book that he later wrote: Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile in the Years 1768, 1769, 1770, 1771, 1772 and 1773.

  There is a mystery here, however, which has attracted the attention of more than one historian (though no solution has ever been proposed to it).100 The mystery is this: long before he set out for Ethiopia, James Bruce knew that the Blue Nile’s source had already been visited and thoroughly explored by two other Europeans: Pedro Paez and Jeronimo Lobo (both of whom were Portuguese priests who had lived in Ethiopia in the 1600s before the Fasilidas ban was put into effect).

  As my research into the Ark of the Covenant progressed during 1989, the mystery of Bruce’s objectives came to engage my attention more and more. The five hefty volumes of his Travels had become essential reference works for me because they provided a unique picture of Ethiopian culture at a time when that culture was still not too far separated from its own archaic origins. Moreover, I knew the Scottish adventurer to have been a considerable scholar, and I was impressed from the outset by the solid accuracy of his observations and by the general worth of his judgments and opinions on matters of history. I also regarded him as an honest man, not overly prone to hyperbole, exaggeration or misrepresentation. How then, I had to ask myself – since it was clear from many of his own comments that he had carefully read the works of both Paez and Lobo101 – could I account for the fact that he had failed to give them credit for their achievements?102 Since I fully agreed with the subsequent judgment of history (namely that ‘Bruce, far from being a romancer, was a most reliable guide’103) I found myself increasingly puzzled by his obvious dishonesty over this crucially important issue – a dishonesty which he compounded with the bald assertion that ‘none of the Portuguese … ever saw, or indeed pretended to have seen, the source of the Nile’.104

  I was soon to discover that this was not the only matter about which Bruce had lied. On the subject of the Ark of the Covenant he was even more evasive and deceitful. Describing his own visit to the sacred city of Axum, he commented on the destruction by Ahmed Gragn of the first church of Saint Mary of Zion and added – correctly – that another had now been built in its place:

  In it [is] supposed to be preserved the Ark of the Covenant … which Menelik … is said, in their fabulous legends, to have stolen from his father Solomon on his return to Ethiopia … Some ancient copy of the Old Testament, I do believe, was deposited here … but whatever this might be, it was destroyed … by Gragn, though pretended falsely to subsist there still. This I had from the King himself.105

  In summary, what Bruce appeared to be saying was that the Ark had never been brought to Axum (since the story of Menelik and Solomon was just a ‘fabulous legend’), that the relic once stored in the church could therefore only have been ‘some ancient copy of the Old Testament’, and that even this relic no longer existed since it had been ‘destroyed by Gragn’. These statements were then backed up with the assertion that they had been corroborated by ‘the King himself’.

  Had it not been for that last remark I might have been content to believe that Bruce had simply never learned of how the Ark had been saved during the war with the Muslims, and of how it had later been returned to Axum after the rebuilding of Saint Mary of Zion. The claim that ‘the King himself’ had attested to the destruction of the relic was patently false, however: in 1690 – long after the Gragn campaigns and just eighty years before Bruce’s own visit – an Ethiopian monarch had entered the Holy of Holies of the new Saint Mary’s where he had actually seen the Ark (thus confirming its continued existence). The monarch in question (Iyasu the Great) had been a priest as well as a king, and because of this he had been allowed not only to view the sacred relic but also to open it and gaze inside
it.106 Since it is inconceivable that the king in Bruce’s day would not have known of this famous and unprecedented incident, I had to conclude that the Scottish traveller was once again being ‘economical with the truth’.107

  My conviction that this was so deepened further when I realized – contrary to his own statement quoted above – that Bruce had not in fact regarded the Ethiopian tradition of Menelik, Solomon and the Queen of Sheba as a ‘fabulous legend’. On the contrary, he had treated it with the utmost respect. In Volume I of his Travels – some thousand pages before his account of his visit to Axum – he had written at great length about the close cultural and commercial connections between Ethiopia and the Holy Land in early Old Testament times.108 Here, amongst other things, he had unequivocally stated his own view that the Queen of Sheba had been a real historical person (rather than a mythical figure),109 that she had indeed made her voyage to the court of King Solomon in Jerusalem (‘there can be no doubt of this expedition’110) and – most important of all – that she had come from Ethiopia rather than from any other country: ‘[Others] have thought this Queen was an Arab,’ he concluded,’ ‘[but] many reasons … convince me that she was an Ethiopian.’111