Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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He then built some sort of bamboo ladder down into the ravine. My

informer tells me that they are clearing a hole at the bottom of the

empty pool-'

"A hole? What kind of hole?" Von Schiller turned pale as he listened,

and began sweating in a light sheen across his forehead.

"Are you all right, Herr von Schiller?" Nogo was alarmed. The German

looked very ill, as if he were about to collapse.

"I am perfectly well," von Schiller shouted at him.

"What hole was this? Describe it to me."

"The woman bringing the message is a stupid peas ant." Nogo was

uncomfortable, squirming under von Schiller's grilling. "She says only

that when the river water fell, there was a hole in the bottom that was

filled with rock and rubbish and that they have cleared this out."

"A tunnel!" Nahoot could contain himself no longer.

"It must be the entrance tunnel to the tomb."

"Be quied' Von Schiller turned on him furiously. "You have no facts to

back up that supposition. Let Nogo finish." He turned back to the

colonel. "Go on. Give me the rest of it."

"The woman says that there is a cave at the end of the hole. Like a rock

shrine, with pictures on the walls-' "Pictures? "What pictures?"

"The woman said they were pictures of the saints." Nogo made a

deprecating gesture. "She is a very uneducated woman. Stupid

"Christian saints?" von Schiller demanded.

Nahoot interjected, "That is not possible, Herr von Schiller. I tell you

that Harper has discovered the tomb of Mamose. You must act swiftly

now."

"I will not warn you again, you miserable little man," von Schiller

snarled at him. "Keep quiet."

He turned back to Nogo. "Was there anything else in the cavern? Tell me

everything the woman said."

"Pictures and statues of the saints." Nogo spread his hands. "I am

sorry, Herr von Schiller, that's what she said.

I know this is all nonsense, but that is what the woman told me."

"I will judge what is and what is not nonsense," von Schiller told him.

"What did she say happened to these statues of the saints?"

"Harper has packed them in boxes."

"Has he removed them from the shrine?"

"I do not know, Herr von Schiller. The woman did not say.

Von Schiller stepped down from his block. He began to pace up and down

the length of the hut, muttering to himself distractedly.

"Herr von Schiller-' Nahoot began, but the German waved him to silence.

At last he stopped in front of Nogo and stared up at him.

"Did they find a mummy, a body, in the– shrine?" he demanded.

do not know, Herr von Schiller. The woman did not say.

"Where is she?" Von Schiller was so agitated that he clutched the front

of Nogo's uniform jacket and stood on tiptoe to thrust his face up close

to his. "Where is this woman? Have you let her go?" Tiny droplets of

spittle flew into Nogo's face and he blinked and tried to duck, but von

Schiller had him in a death grip.

"No, sir. She is still here. I did not want to bring her to you-, "You

fool. All you are telling me is secondhand.

Bring her in here immediately. I want to question her face to face." He

shoved Nogo away from him. "Go and fetch her."

Nogo returned minutes later dragging the woman into the room by one arm.

She was young, and despite the blue tattoos across her cheeks and chin

she was pretty. She wore the long black robes and head-covering of a

married woman, and carried an infant on her hip.

As soon as Nogo released her arm she sank to the floor and whimpered

with terror. The child she carried whined in sympathy. Its nostrils were

plugged with white crusts of dried snot. The woman opened the top of her

robe with a shaking hand, fished out one of her milk-swollen breasts and

thrust the nipple into the child's mouth. Infant and mother stared at

von Schiller with terrified eyes.

"Ask her if there was a coffin or body of the saint in the shrine," von

Schiller ordered, eyeing the woman with distaste.

Nogo questioned her for a minute and then shook his head. "She does not

know anything about a body. She is very stupid. She does not understand

very well."

"Ask her about the statues of the saints. What has Harper done with

them? Where are they now? Has he removed them from the shrine?"

After another long exchange with the woman, Nogo shook his head. "No.

She says that the statues are still in the shrine. The white man has

packed them into boxes and the soldiers are guarding them."

"Soldiers? What soldiers?"

"Soldiers of Mek Nimmur, the. shufta commander that I told you about. He

is still with Harper."

"How many boxes are thereP In his impatience von Schiller went up to

where the woman sat and prodded her with the toe of his boot. "How many

statues are there?"

The woman waited with terror and shrank away from him. Von Schiller

recoiled from her at the same time, with an expression of disgust.

"Gott im HimmeW He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his

mouth and nose with it. "She stinks like an animal. Ask her how many

boxes."

"Not many," Nogo translated, "perhaps five, not more than ten. She is

not sure."

"What size? How big are they?"

When Nogo put the question to her, the w6man indicated the length of her

arm. Von Schiller's disappointment registered clearly in his face.

"So few pieces, and so insignificant." He turned away from the woman and

went to stare out of the south-facing window of the hut, down over the

escarpment rim into the wilderness of the gorge. "If what this creature

says is true, then Harper has not yet discovered the treasure of Mamose.

There should be more, much more."

Nogo was talking rapidly to the woman again, and now he turned back to

von Schiller. "She says that one of Harper's party has left the camp in

the gorge, and gone to Debra Maryam."

Von Schiller spun away from the window and stared at him. "One of his

party? Who? Which one!'

"She is an Ethiopian woman. The concubine of Mek Nimmur. A woman she

calls Woizero Tessay. I know of her. She was married to the Russian

hunter, before she became Mek Nimmur's whore."

Von Schiller rushed across the room and seized the woman by the front of

her robe. He hauled her to her feet with such violence that the infant

was jerked from her grip and fell howling to the floor.

"Ask her where the woman is now," he instructed Nogo.

The mother pulled free from his grip and grovelled on the floor, trying

to pick up and console her screaming infant, Nogo grabbed her and

slapped her face resoundingly to get her attention. She clasped her baby

to her breast and gabbled out a reply.

"She does not know," Nogo admitted. "She thinks she is still at Debra

Maryam."

"Get that filthy bitch out of here!" Von Schiller jerked his head at the

woman and her child. Nogo dragged them from the hut.

"What else do you know of this woman of Mek Nimmur's?" he asked in

milder tones when Nogo returned.

"She is from one of the noble families in Addis Ababa, a blood relative

of Ras Tafari Makonnen, the old Emperor Haile Selassie."

"If she is Mek Nimmur's woman, and has come directly from Harper's camp,

then she will be able to " answer the questions that this other creature

could not."

"That is true, Herr von Schiller. But she may not wish to tell us."

"I want her," von Schiller said. "Bring her here. Helm will speak to

–her. I am sure he will be able to make her AN, see reason."

 is an important person. er family has muc influence." Nogo thought

about it for a moment. "But on the other hand, she has been consorting

with a notorious bandit. That is all the reason I need for bringing her

in.

I will send a detachment of my men, under one of my most trusted

officers, to arrest her immediately." He hesitated. "If the woman is

questioned severely, it would be as well that she were not allowed to

return to her friends in Addis. They could make trouble for all of us.

Even for you, Herr von Schiller."

"What do you propose?" von, Schiller wanted to know.

"When she has answered your questions, there will have to be a little

accident,'Nogo suggested.

"Do what is necessary," von Schiller ordered. I will leave the details

to you, but make sure that if it is necessary to dispose of the woman it

is done property. I have had enough bungling." As he spoke these words

he looked across at Nahoot Guddabi, who lowered his gaze and flushed

angrily.

They had spent almost two full days at the shrine of Osiris in the long

gallery. No ancient worshipper had ever studied the texts upon those

walls more avidly than Nicholas and Royan, or examined the flamboyant

murals of the great god with more minute attention They took it in turn

to recite aloud the extracts from the stele of Tanus that Royan had

picked out and recorded in her notebooks, repeating them until they knew

each station by heart. While one read aloud, the other quo concentrated

his or her full attention upon the walls, trying to discover some

connecting link.

"'My love is a flask of cold water in the desert. My love is a banner

unfurling in the breeze. My love is the first shout of the newborn

infant,"' Nic as rea Royan looked up at him from where she squatted

attentively before the shrine, and smiled. "At times Taita was really

rather cute, wasn't he?" she said. "Such a romantic."

"Concentrate, for heaven's sake. This isn't a poetry appreciation class.

We are doing serious business here."

"Barbarian!" she muttered under her breath, but turned back to the wall

of inscriptions.

"Try this one again," Nicholas ordered, and read out, "'We he in the

vale of a thousand joinings, of infant to mother, of man to woman, of

friend to friend, of teacher to pupil, of sex to sex."'

"That's the third time you have picked out that particular quotation

this morning. What is there about it that appeals to you so strongly?"

She did not look up at him, but the back of her neck turned a ruddier

shade of red.

Sorry! Thought you might find that one as romantic as the other," he

mumbled. "Let's try this one then. "I have suffered and loved. I have

withstood the wind and the storm.

The arrow pierced my flesh but did not harm me. I have eschewed the

false path that lies straight before me. I have taken the hidden

stairway to the seat of the gods."'

Royan rocked back on her heels and glanced down the long gallery.

"Something there perhaps. "The false path that lies straight before me.

The hidden stairway"?"

"We are straining a bit now. Snapping at gnats like a hungry trout."

She stood up and pushed the tendrils of sweaty hair off her forehead.

"Oh, Nicky. It's so discouraging. We don't even know where to begin."

"Courage, lassie." He feigned the cheerfulness he did not feel. "We

begin at the beginning like your friend Taita said we must. Let me try

you with this one again." He laced his hand over his heart like a

Victorian actor and emoted, "'The vulture rises on mighty pinions to

greet the sun"-'

She laughed softly at his clowning, and then her eyes wandered from his

face and passed over his shoulder.

Suddenly she started.

"The vulture!" she blurted, and pointed at the wall behind him.

He spun around and stared in the direction she was indicating.

There was the vulture, a magnificent image of the bird, the fierce eyes

glaring and the yellow beak hooked and spread wide, with each feather

ointed. Its wings were outlined in jewel-like colours. It stood as tall

as Nicholas, but its wing-spread covered half the wall. They stared at

it together, and then Royan lifted her eyes to the ceiliAg high above

where they stood. She touched his arm and motioned him to do the same.

"The sun!" she whispered. The golden sun disc of Ra was painted in the

highest portion of the roof. Its warmth seemed to illuminate the

shadows. Its rays spread out Mi every direction, but one of these beams

followed the curve of the wall and descended to envelop the vulture

image in its spreading luminosity.

"'The vulture rises to greet the sun"," she repeated. "Does Taita mean

it literally?"

He moved closer to the mural and examined it minutely, running his hands

over the wings and down its belly to the cruel curved talons. Beneath

the paint the plastered wall was smooth. There was no Projection or any

irregularity.

The head, Nicky. Look at the head of the bird!" She jumped up and tried

to reach it, but her fingers fell short and she turned to him with a

desperate edge to her voice.

"You do it – you are much taller than I am," Only then did he see the

slight shadow down one side of the bird's head where the floodlamp

caught it, and as he touched it he realized that the head was in relief,

standing slightly above the level of the surrounding wall. He ran his

fingers over the raised head and found that the beak was part of the

relief.

"Can you feel any joint in the plaster?" Royan demanded.

He shook his head. "No. It's smooth. It all seems to be part of the main

wall."

"'The vulture rises to greet the sun",, she insisted. "Can't you detect

any movement? Try pushing the head upwards towards the sun painting."

He placed the heel of his hand under the bulge of the head and pushed

upwards. "Nothing!" he grunted.

"It's been there for almost four thousand years." She was hopping from

one foot to the other with frustration.

"Dammit, Nicky, if there is a moving part, it will be stiff.

Harder! Push harder!'

He shifted his feet to get well under it and placed both hands under the

projection of the head. Slowly he brought all his strength to bear. The

cords in his neck stood out and blood flooded his face, turning it a

deep, angry red.

"Harder!" she implored him, but at last he dropped his arms to his sides

and stood back.

"No." His voice was hoarse and strained with the effort.

"It's solid. Won't budge."

"Lift me up. Let me look."

"With the greatest of pleasure. Any excuse to lay hannds on you." He

stepped behind her and placed lascivious han both arms around her waist,

then lifted her until she was able to touch the bird's head.

Quickly she explored it with her fingertips, and then she let out a

small cry of triumph.

"Nicky! You have started something. The paint is cracked all around the

outline of the head. I can feel it.

Lift me higher!

He grunted with the effort but raised her another foot off the floor.

"Yes, definitely!" she exclaimed. "Something has a hairline crack in the

wall above the moved. There is head, as well. You have a look!

He fetched one of the empty ammunition crates from the landing outside

the entrance and placed it below the vulture image. When he stepped up

on to it he was on a level with the vulture's eye.

His expression changed. Quickly he groped in his pocket and brought out

his clasp knife, He opened the blade and probed carefully around the

outline of the head.

Tiny specks of dried paint and plaster filtered down as he worked.

It does look as though the head is a separate detached piece, "he

admitted.

"Look on top of it, higher up the wall. There along the edge of the

sunbeam. Can't you see a vertical crack in the plaster?"

"You are right, you know," he admitted. "But if I try to open that crack

I am going to damage the mural. Do you want me to do that?"

She hesitated only a moment. "This tomb is going to be reflooded when

the river rises, so we are going to lose it again anyway. It's worth the

risk. Do it, Nicky!'

life-blade into the fine He pressed the point of the kn crack and

twisted it gently. A slab of painted plaster the size of his s'read hand

fell out of the wall and splattered into the dust on the agate tiles of

the floor.

He peered into the cavity that it had left in the wall.

"It looks like some kind of slot or groove in the wall," he said. "I am

going to clear its full length." Carefully he worked at the cavity he

had opened, and more loose plaster rained down.

Royan sneezed in the dust, but would not retreat, Particles of debris

lodged in her hair like confetti.

"Yes," he said at last. "There is a vertical groove running up here."

"Chip the plaster away from the crack around the vulture's head," she

ordered, and he wiped the blade against his trouser leg and attacked the

wall again.

"It's free," he said at last. "It looks as though the head will travel

up the groove. Anyway, I am going to try it, Stand back and give me room

to work."

He placed the heels of both hands under the head of the vulture, and

heaved upwards against it. Royan bunched her hands into fists and

screwed up her face in sympathy with his effort.

There was a soft grating sound, and the head began to move jerkily up

the exposed groove in the wall. It reached the top of the slot and

Nicholas jumped down from the crate. They both stared expectantly at the

disembodied head, now disfigured by the chipped and damaged plaster.

After a long, breathless wait, Royan whispered dejecr edly, "Nothing It

hasn't changed anything."

"The rest of the quotation from the stele," he reminded her. "There was

more to it than just the vulture and the sun."

"You are right." She looked around the rest of the wall eagerly. "'The

jackal hops and rests Upon his tail.

She pointed with a trembling finger at the small, almost insignificant

figure of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the graveyards, on the wall

opposite the vulture that they had mutilated. Standing at the foot of

the huge, towering painting of Osiris, he was only a little larger in

size than the ringed and bejewelled big toe of the husband of Isis and

father of Horus.

Royan ran to the wall, and the moment she touched Anubis she felt that

his image too was raised. She flung all her strength against the tiny

figure, trying to twist it first one way and then the other.

"'The jackal turns upon his tail"," she panted as she wrestled with him.

"He must turn!'

"Here, let me do that." Gently Nicholas pulled her away, and knelt

before the black-headed god image. Once again he used the blade of his

clasp knife to chip away the plaster and the thick layer of paint from

around the outline.

"It seems to be carved in some sort of hard wood and then it's been

plastered over," he told her, as he tested the construction of the

figure with the point of the blade.

When at last he had chipped it clear he tried to twist it in a clockwise

direction, and grunted with the effort.

"No! He gave up at last.

"They had no clock dials in ancient Egypt," she reminded him agitatedly.

"The other way. Turn it the other way-$

When he tried to turn it counter-clockwise, there was another rasping,

gritty sound from behind the wall panel.

The tiny figure revolved slowly in his hands, until the black head

pointed down towards the yellow tiles.

They both stood well back from the wall, looking expectantly at it, but

after another long wait even Nicholas was disheartened.

"I don know what to expect, but whatever it is, it isn't happening he

grunted with disgust.

"There is still the last part of the quotation," Royan whispered. "'The

river flows towards the earth. Beware, you violators of the sacred

plain, lest the urrath of all the gods descend upon you!"'

"The river?" Nicholas asked. "As Sapper might say, I don't see no

perishing river."

Royan did not even smile at the cockney accent.

Instead she searched the profusion of writing and images that covered

all the walls around them. Then she saw it.

"Hapi!" Her voice was shrill with excitement. "The god of the Nile! The

river!'

High up the wall, on a level with the head of the great god Osiris, the

god of the river looked down upon them.

Hapi was'a hermaphrodite, with the breasts of a woman and the genitals

of a man protruding from under the pendulous belly. The mouth in his

hippopotamus head gaped wide to display the great curved tusks that

lined his cavernous jaws.

Standing on a pile of ammunition boxes, Nicholas was able to reach the

Hapi image at the full stretch of his arms.

As he touched it he exulted, "This one is raised also."

"'The river flows towards the earth,"' she called up to him. "It must

move downwards. Try it, Nicky."

"Give me a chance to clear the edges." He used the point of the blade to

chip the outline of the god free, and then he probed the plaster beneath

it and found another vertical slot running towards the floor.

"Ready to give it a go now.  He folded the knife and tucked it back into

his pocket. "Hold your breath and say a little prayer for me," he

instructed.

He settled both hands on the image of the god and began to pull steadily

downwards, Gradually he brought more pressure to bear upon it, until he

was hanging all his weight on it. Nothing moved.

"It's not working, he grunted.

"Wait!" she ordered. "I am coming up."

She scrambled up on to the boxes behind him and  tight,, placed both

hands around his neck. "Hang  she ordered.

"Every little bit helps, I suppose," he agreed, as she lifted her feet

and hung her full weight on his shoulders.

"It's moving!" he shouted. Suddenly the image of Hapi gave way under his

hands, and with a sharp grating sound travelled down to the bottom end

of the groove in the wall.

Nicholas lost his grip on the smoothly rounded shape as it came up hard

against the end of its slot. The stack of boxes under them toppled, and

both he and Royan dropped back to the floor of the gallery. She was

still hanging around his neck, and he lost his balance as she pulled him

over backwards. The two of them sprawled on the agate floor in an untidy

tangle of arms and legs. Nicholas scrambled to his feet and pulled her

up beside him.

"What has happened?" she gasped, looking up wildly at the damaged Hapi

figure and then around the walls of the gallery.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing has moved."

"Perhaps there is another-' she began, but broke off at a sound from the

roof above them. They both stared upwards, startled and filled with

sudden trepidation. There was a ponderous movement from above the high

plastered ceiling.

What is thatV Royan whispered. "There is something up there. It sounds

like a living thing."

A giant was moving, coming awake after slumbering for thousands of

years, stretching and turning as he awoke.

'is it-?" She could not finish the question. She had an image in her

mind of the great god himself stirring in a hidden chamber in the rock,

opening those baleful, slanted eyes, rising on one elbow to discover who

had disturbed him from his eternal sleep.

Then there was another sound, a creaking and rumbling as though the arm

of a mighty balance was swinging slowly across, as its equilibrium

altered. Softly at first, then louder, the movement gathered momentum,

like the beginning of a mountain avalanche. Then there was a report like

the shot of a cannon.

A crack appeared in the high ceiling, running the length of the gallery.

Dust smoked from the jagged opening, and then, slowly as a nightmare,

the roof began to sag down over where they stood. Both of them were

paralysed with superstitious horror, unable to tear their gaze from the

slow, inexorable collapse of the ceiling upon them. Then a chunk of

plaster struck Nicholas's upturned face, slamming into his cheek,

tearing the skin and sending him staggering backwards against the wall.

The shock and pain aroused him at last.

"The warning!" he blurted. "Taitals warning. The wrath of the gods." He

sprang to her side and grabbed her hand, "Run!" He pulled her after him.

"Taita has booby-trapped the roof!'

They raced back along the gallery towards the opening in the seated

entrance. Lumps of stone and plaster began to rain down and dust filled

the passageway, halfblinding them. The dull rumble overhead became a

rising roar as progressively the roof collapsed. They did not dare to

look back as the thunder of falling masonry swept towards them,

threatening to overtake and overwhelm them before they were able to

reach the entrance.

A jagged piece of rock as large as her head struck Royan a glancing blow

on her shoulder, and her legs sagged under her. She would have gone down

if he had not flung one arm around her and held her upright, dragging

her along the gallery. The dust obscured the passage ahead of them, so

that the square opening that offered their only chance of escape receded

in the choking fog.

"Keep going!" he yelled at her. "Almost there." As he  spoke, a thick

sheet of plaster came crashing down and smashed into the tripod stand of

the floodlamp. Instantly the gallery was plunged into utter darkness.

Completely unsighted, Nicholas's first instinct was to come up short and

try to orientate himself. But all around him the rubble of the roof was

falling heavier and faster.

He knew that at any second the entire roof would come down on top of

them, burying and crushing them. Running on without a check, he dragged

Royan along behind him in the darkness. He reached the end wall at full

tilt, and the impact knocked the breath out of him. Now, through the

swirling dust cloud, he was just able to make out the rectangular

opening in the plaster wall in front of him, back-lit by the lamps on

the landing at the head of the staircase outside.

As he reeled backwards he seized Royan around the waist and lifted her

bodily off her feet. He hurled her through the opening and heard her cry

out as she fell heavily on the far side. Another piece of rubble struck

him on the back of his head and knocked him to his knees. He felt

himself teetering on the very brink of consciousness, mail but crawled

forward, groping frantically until he touched the jagged edge of the

opening. With this handhold he was able to drag himself over the sill,

just as the full weight of the roof came thundering down along the

entire gallery.

Here on the upper landing of the staircase Royan was crouching on her

knees. She crawled towards him, guided once more by the lamplight.

"Are you all right?" she panted. A trickle of blood snaked down her

cheek from a wound in her scalp line. It cut a dark glistening runnel

through the caked white dust that powdered her face.

He did not answer, but dragged himself to his feet and pulled Royan up

beside him. "Can't stay here," he croaked, _1ro just as a thic '. lite

at  St. ug  mouth of the opening and swept over them, choking them and

dimming the floodlamps to a faint glimmer.

"Not safe." He pulled her away from the opening. "The whole thing might

cave in." His voice was rough, his throat closing with the dust.

He dragged her to the head of the steps and they staggered down

together, stumbling against each other, their feet sliding under them as

they came on to the algae.

slippery footing. Through the dust mist ahead of them loomed the broad

square figure of Sapper.

"What the ruddy hell is going on?" he bellowed with relief as he saw

them.

"Give me a hand here," Nicholas yelled back at him.

Sapper lifted Royan in his arms and together they ran back -down the

tunnel, only stopping to draw breath when they reached the causeway over

the sink-hole.

unburrit and glared like a mirror in the high mountain sunlight. The

public telephone should have been in its booth outside the front door.

However, the instrument had long since vanished – stolen, vandalized or,

more likely, removed by the military to prevent it being used by

Political dissidents and rebels.

Tessay had expected this, and hardly glanced into the booth before she

strode into the small room which was the main post office. It was filled

with a motley crowd of peasants and villagers, queuing to conduct their

leisurely business with the elderly postmaster, the only person behind

the barred counter. Some of the customers had spread their cloaks on the

floor and settled in for a long he post office in the village of Debra

Maryarri a small building in the dusty street behind was the church. Its

walls were of unplastered unpainted brick, and its galvanized iron roof

T

wait, chatting and smoking while their children romped and crawled

around them.

Most of the patient crowd recognized Tessay as soon as she entered the

room."Even those who had waited most of the morning in the lines at the

counter greeted her respectfully and stood aside to allow her to go to

the, head of the queue. Despite two decades of African socialism, the

feudal instincts of the rural population were still strong.

Tessay was a noblewoman and she was entitled to this preference.

"Thank you, my friends." She smiled at them and shook her head. "You are

kind, but I will wait my turn."

They were embarrassed by her refusal, and when the old postmaster leaned

over his counter top and added his insistence to the others, one of the

older women seized Tessay's arm and forcefully propelled her forward.

"Jesus and all the saints bless you, Woizero Tessay." The postmaster

clapped his hands in respectful greeting.

"Welcome back to Debra Maryam. What is it that your ladyship desires?"

The entire clientele of the post office crowded around Tessay so as not

to miss a detail of her transaction.

"I want to make a telephone call to Addis," she told the postmaster and

there was a hum of comment and discussion. This was unusual and

important business indeed.

"I will take you to the telephone exchange," the postmaster told her

importantly, and donned his official blue cap for the occasion. He came

around the counter shouting and hectoring the other customers, pushing

them aside to make way for Lady Sun. Then "he ushered her through to the

back room of the building, where the telephone exchange occupied a

cubicle the size of a small lavatory.

Tessay, the postmaster and as many of the other customers who could find

standing room pushed their way into the tiny room. The exchange operator

was almost overcome by the honour being accorded him by the beautiful

Tessay, and he shouted into his headset like a sergeant major commanding

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