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,
"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
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