The Sign and the Seal

by Graham Hancock

  He next went on to describe as ‘by no means improbable’112 the account given in the Kebra Nagast of the queen’s love affair with Solomon and the subsequent birth of Menelik. In the same vein he then retold the story of Menelik’s own visit to Jerusalem and ultimate return to Ethiopia bringing with him ‘a colony of Jews, among whom were many doctors of the law of Moses’.113 These events, Bruce concluded, had led to ‘the foundation of an Ethiopian monarchy, and the continuation of the sceptre in the tribe of Judah down to this day … first when Jews, then … after they had embraced Christianity.’114

  All this was nothing more nor less than a straightforward précis of the Kebra Nagast in a context that granted it a great deal of weight and historical authenticity. Strangely, however, while covering every other major detail, Bruce at this point made absolutely no mention of the Ark of the Covenant – an omission that could only have been deliberate given the central and all-pervasive role played by the sacred relic in the Ethiopian national epic.

  Once again, therefore, I was forced to conclude that the Scottish traveller had knowingly misled his readers about the Ark. But why should he have wanted to do that? What possible motive could he have had? My curiosity aroused, I carefully re-read his description of Axum and came across an important detail that I had completely overlooked before: his own visit there had taken place on 18 and 19 of January 1770.115

  This timing, I suddenly realized, could have been no accident, for on precisely those two days he would have witnessed the celebration of Timkat, the most important festival of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. During this festival, and at no other time – as I had established when I talked to the guardian-priest in 1983 – the Ark of the Covenant was traditionally wrapped in rich brocades (‘to protect the laity from it’116) and carried out in procession.117 Bruce had therefore chosen to be in Axum on the single occasion in the year when, as a layman, he might have had a reasonable opportunity to get close to the sacred relic.

  I was by now seriously beginning to wonder whether it had not been the Ark all along that had lured the Scottish traveller to Ethiopia: his claim to have gone there to find the source of the Nile did not stand up to close scrutiny and bore all the hallmarks of a ‘cover story’ intended to veil the real object of his quest. Moreover his evasiveness on the subject of the Ark itself was most peculiar and really only made sense if he had indeed had a special interest in it – an interest that he had wanted to keep secret.

  Soon I learned other things that deepened my suspicions. I discovered, for example, that Bruce had been fluent in ancient Hebrew, Aramaic and Syriac118 – dead languages that he could have had no reason to learn unless he had wished to make an intimate study of early biblical texts. Moreover, there could be no doubt that he had made such a study: his knowledge of the Old Testament, which shone out from nearly every page of the Travels, was described by one scriptural expert as ‘outstanding’.119

  Nor was this the only example of Bruce’s ‘more than common erudition’.120 As I already knew, he had also carried out meticulous and original research into the culture and traditions of the black Jews of Ethiopia. ‘I did not’, as he himself had put it, ‘spare my utmost pains in inquiring into the history of this curious people, and lived in friendship with several esteemed the most knowing and learned among them.’121 Because of such efforts he had managed to make a lasting contribution to the study of Falasha society – a contribution that, like so much else, did not jibe at all with his professed enthusiasm for geographical exploration but that was entirely consistent with a quest for the lost Ark.

  I telephoned the historian Belai Gedai in Addis Ababa and asked him whether he had any views on Bruce’s motives. His reply shook me: ‘As a matter of fact what we Ethiopians say is that Mr James Bruce did not come to our country to discover the source of the Nile. We say that he was just pretending that. We say that he had another reason.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ I requested. ‘What do you think his objective could have been if it wasn’t the Nile?’

  ‘The real reason he came was to steal our treasures,’ Gedai said resentfully, ‘our cultural treasures. He took many precious manuscripts back to Europe. The book of Enoch, for example. Also from the imperial repository at Gondar he carried off an ancient copy of the Kebra Nagast.’

  This was news to me – but exciting news if true. I investigated further and in due course confirmed that Gedai was absolutely correct. On leaving Ethiopia Bruce had indeed carried the Kebra Nagast with him – and not just the single splendid copy taken from the imperial repository but also a copy of that copy that he had made himself (his knowledge of Ge’ez, the classical Ethiopic language, being near-perfect122). Much later he gave both manuscripts to the Bodleian Library at Oxford, where they remain to this day (as ‘Bruce 93’ and ‘Bruce 97’).123

  Nor was this all. Prior to the eighteenth century, scholars had believed the book of Enoch to be irretrievably lost: composed long before the birth of Christ,124 and considered to be one of the most important pieces of Jewish mystical literature, it was only known from fragments and from references to it in other texts. James Bruce changed all this by procuring several copies of the missing work during his stay in Ethiopia. These were the first complete editions of the book of Enoch ever to be seen in Europe.125

  I was of course interested to discover that Bruce had brought back the Kebra Nagast to Europe – and that he had also gone to the trouble of copying out the entire massive volume by hand. This made the omission of the Ark of the Covenant in his summary of that work look even more suspicious than I had originally thought. Suspicions are not certainties, however. It was therefore only when I got the full story of the Book of Enoch, and of the service that the Scottish adventurer had performed for scholarship in this regard, that I finally felt sure that I was on the right track.

  I learned that the Book of Enoch has always been of great significance to Freemasons, and that certain rituals dating back to long before Bruce’s time identified Enoch himself with Thoth, the Egyptian god of wisdom.126 I then found a lengthy entry in the Royal Masonic Cyclopaedia which recorded other relevant traditions of the order – for example that Enoch was the inventor of writing, ‘that he taught men the art of building’, and that, before the flood, he ‘feared that the real secrets would be lost – to prevent which he concealed the Grand Secret, engraven on a white oriental porphyry stone, in the bowels of the earth.’ The entry in the Cyclcopaedia concluded with these words: ‘The Book of Enoch was known to exist from very ancient times, and is continually alluded to by the fathers of the Church. Bruce brought home three copies from Abyssinia.’127

  This brief and familiar mention of Bruce, coupled with the fact that he had gone to such great lengths to obtain not one but three copies of the Book of Enoch, raised the possibility that he might himself have been a Freemason. If so, then a solution to all the puzzles about his evasiveness and dishonesty suggested itself. I was already convinced that he had a special interest in the Ark of the Covenant – an interest that he had been determined to conceal. Now I could see exactly how he might have acquired that interest (and why he might have wanted to keep it secret). As a Freemason – and a Scottish Freemason to boot – he could have been exposed to the Templar traditions concerning the Ark’s presence in Ethiopia.

  But was Bruce a Mason? Finding the answer to this question was by no means easy. In the more than 3,000 pages of his Travels there was not a single clue that would have enabled me even to arrive at an informed opinion on the matter. Nor was any enlightenment shed by the two detailed and extensive biographies that had been written about him (the first in 1836128 and the second in 1968129).

  It was not until August 1990 that I was at last able to travel to Scotland to visit Bruce’s family estate, where I hoped I might be able to obtain some definitive information. I found Kinnaird House on the outskirts of the Falkirk suburb of Larbert. Situated well back from the main road in extensive and secluded grounds, it was an imposing edifice of grey sto
ne. After some understandable hesitation, its present owner – Mr John Findlay Russell – invited me in and showed me around. It was quite obvious from many architectural details, however, that the building did not date back to Bruce’s time.

  ‘That’s quite right,’ Findlay Russell agreed. ‘Kinnaird House passed out of the possession of the Bruce family in 1895 and was knocked down by its new owner, a Dr Robert Orr. He built the present mansion in 1897.’

  We were standing in an immense panelled hallway directly in front of a broad stone staircase. Findlay Russell now pointed to these stairs and added proudly: ‘They’re just about the only original feature to have been preserved. Dr Orr left them in place and built his house around them. They’re of some historic significance you know.’

  ‘Oh, really? Why?’

  ‘Because James Bruce died on them. It was in 1794. He’d been giving a dinner in one of the upstairs rooms and he was escorting a guest down the stairs when he tripped and pitched over on his head. That was the end of him. A great tragedy.’

  Before leaving I asked Findlay Russell if he had any idea whether Bruce might have been a Freemason or not.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No idea at all. Of course I take a great interest in him, but I wouldn’t claim to be an expert.’

  I nodded, disappointed. As I was walking out of the door, however, another question occurred to me: ‘Do you happen to know where he’s buried?’

  ‘Larbert Old Church. You’ll have a job finding the tomb though. There used to be a great iron obelisk raised up over it, but that was pulled down some years ago because it was rusting away. It was considered a danger to the public.’

  The drive to the church took only ten minutes. Locating the last resting place of one of Scotland’s greatest explorers took much longer, however.

  It was a miserable, rainy afternoon and I grew more and more depressed as I hunted up and down the rows of gravestones. As a personality, there was no doubt that Bruce had had many failings. Nevertheless, I felt strongly that this brave and enigmatic man deserved some lasting monument: it seemed shameful that he should have been left to lie in a completely unmarked patch of ground.

  After I had thoroughly searched the main cemetery and found nothing, I noticed a thickly overgrown area surrounded by a low stone wall set into which was a small gate. I opened this gate and then walked down a flight of three steps which led … to a rubbish tip. Piles of old clothing, discarded shoes, tin cans and bits of broken furniture lay scattered around amidst dense patches of stinging nettles and brambles. Several massive trees locked branches overhead and their intertwined leaves formed a dripping green canopy that allowed very little light to penetrate.

  Cursing the swarms of midges and wasps that rose up to greet me, I proceeded to stamp down as much of the vegetation as I could. I had looked everywhere else, I reasoned, so I might as well look here too. I had almost given up hope, however, when finally, in the centre of the enclosure, I stumbled upon several solid stone slabs laid flat on the ground and completely covered with moss, lichen and vile nettles. With a sense of reverence – but also of anger – I cleared the slabs as best I could and gazed down at them. There was nothing to say that they covered Bruce’s remains but, somehow, I felt sure that they did. Involuntarily a lump rose in my throat. Here lay a man – a great man – who had preceded me to Ethiopia. Moreover, if my guess about his Masonic connections was correct, then there could be little doubt that he had gone to that far country in quest of the lost Ark. Now, however, it seemed that I might never be able to prove those connections. The only thing that was certain was that Bruce was lost himself – lost and forgotten in the land of his birth.

  I stayed there for a while, thinking my gloomy thoughts. Then I left the little enclosure, not by the gate through which I had entered it but rather by clambering over the surrounding wall into a courtyard beyond. There, almost immediately, I saw something interesting: lying on its side quite close to where I stood was an enormous metal obelisk. I approached and found that James Bruce’s name was engraved upon it, together with the following epitaph:

  His life was spent performing useful and splendid actions.

  He explored many distant regions.

  He discovered the fountains of the Nile.

  He was an affectionate husband, an indulgent parent,

  An ardent lover of his country.

  By the unanimous voice of mankind his name is

  Enrolled with those who were conspicuous

  For genius, for valour, and for virtue.

  What I found most exciting of all about the obelisk was that it was intact – not rusting and crumbling – and that it was covered with fresh red primer paint. Someone, clearly, was still taking an interest in the explorer – enough of an interest to have had his monument restored, though not yet set up over his grave again.

  Later that afternoon I made enquiries with the church authorities and discovered the identity of the mysterious benefactor. It seemed that the obelisk had been taken away for repairs some years previously and had only been returned to Larbert the day before my own arrival. The restoration work had been organized and paid for by no lesser person than the titular head of the Bruce family in Scotland – the Earl of Elgin and Kincardine, himself a Master Mason.130

  This was a promising lead and I followed it all the way to Broomhall, the beautiful estate just north of the Firth of Forth where Lord Elgin lived. I telephoned first – the Broomhall number was not ex-directory – and made an appointment for Saturday morning, 4 August.

  ‘I can’t give you more than about fifteen minutes,’ the earl warned.

  ‘Fifteen minutes will be enough,’ I replied.

  Elgin turned out to be a short, stocky, elderly man with a pronounced limp (apparently the result of injuries received while a prisoner of the Japanese during the Second World War). Without much ceremony he ushered me into a splendid drawing room dominated by family portraits and suggested that I get straight to the point.

  So far his manner had been a little abrupt. As we talked about Bruce, however, he softened – and it gradually became clear to me from his detailed and extensive knowledge that he had made a close study of the life of the Scottish explorer. At one stage he took me into another room and showed me several shelves filled with old and esoteric books in many different languages. ‘These were from Bruce’s personal library,’ he explained. ‘He was a man of very wide interests … I also have his telescope, his quadrant and his compass … I can look them out for you if you like.’

  While all this was going on, the quarter of an hour I had been promised had turned into an hour and a half. Spellbound by Elgin’s enthusiasm, I had somehow still not managed to ask him the question that had brought me here. Now, quite suddenly, he glanced at his watch and said: ‘Gosh, look at the time. I’m afraid you’ll have to go. Things to do … I’m off to the Highlands this afternoon. Perhaps you can come back on some other occasion?’

  ‘Er … yes. I’d like that very much.’

  At this, beaming graciously, the earl stood up. I stood too and we shook hands. I felt distinctly foolish but I was determined not to leave without satisfying my curiosity.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ I said, ‘there’s one other thing I particularly wanted to ask you. It’s to do with a theory I’ve been developing about the motives that led Bruce to make his expedition to Ethiopia. Do you happen to know … er … um … I mean is there any chance, any possibility at all, that he might have been a Freemason?’

  Elgin looked slightly amazed. ‘My dear boy,’ he replied. ‘Of course he was a Mason. It was a very, very important part of his life.’

  Part III: Ethiopia, 1989–90

  Labyrinth

  Chapter 8

  Into Ethiopia

  On my visit to his estate in Scotland, the Earl of Elgin confirmed that my suspicions about James Bruce were correct: the explorer had indeed been a Freemason (a member of Canongate Kilwinning Lodge No. 2 in the city of Edinburgh).

 
Elgin also told me that Bruce had been very much involved in the ‘speculative’ side of Freemasonry – as distinct from the more pragmatic and mundane ‘craft’ Masonry. This meant that he would have cultivated an interest in the esoteric and occult traditions of the brotherhood – traditions, including ‘Knight Templarism’, that most modern Masons neither knew nor cared anything about.

  I should add, at this point, that I had never felt that all Masons would have had access to the Templar legacy; on the contrary, it was reasonable to suppose that such access would at all times have been restricted to a very few people.

  Bruce, however, looked like an ideal candidate for membership of that privileged group. With his extensive knowledge of the Scriptures, his scholarly attraction to mystical works such as the Book of Enoch, and his ‘speculative’ leanings within the Masonic system, he was precisely the kind of man who would have investigated Templar traditions concerning the last resting place of the Ark of the Covenant.

  After my meeting with Lord Elgin, therefore, I felt more confident than ever that it had been the Ark all along, rather than the Nile, that had lured the Scottish adventurer to Ethiopia in 1768. His paradoxical dishonesty on certain key issues (paradoxical because he was normally so truthful) now made sense to me; his evasiveness and secrecy were now explained. I might never know what mysteries he had uncovered in the Abyssinian highlands all those many years ago; now, however, I could at least be reasonably sure about his motives.

  It had been in the summer of 1989 when I had first begun to wonder whether Bruce might have been a Mason, but it was not until August 1990 that I had my discussion with Lord Elgin. Meanwhile, as recounted in the last chapter, I had followed up the ‘Portuguese connection’ represented by members of the Order of Christ who had travelled to Ethiopia in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.