Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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here. We will both need visas for Ethiopia, but I have a contact who can

arrange that in twenty-four hours."

As soon as he completed the list he sent her up to her room to pack the

few personal items she had brought with her from Cairo.

By the time they were ready to leave Quenton Hall it was dark outside,

but still he stopped for an hour at the York Minster Hospital to allow

her to say goodbye to her mother. He waited in the Red Lion pub across

the road, and he smelt of Theakston's Old Peculier when she climbed back

into the Range Rover beside him. It was a Pleasant, yeasty aroma, and

she felt so much at ease in his company that she lay back in the seat

and fell asleep.

His London house was in Knightsbridge, but despite the fashionable

address it was much less grand than Quenton Hall, and she felt IF more

at home there, even if it was only for two days.

During that time she saw little of Nicholas, for he was busy with all

the last-minute arrangements, which included a number of visits to

government offices in Whitehall. He returned with wads of letters -of

introduction to high officials and British Embassies and High

Commissions throughout East Africa.

"Ask any Englishman," she smiled to herself "There is no such thing as

upper-class privilege any longer, nor is there an old-boy network that

runs the country."

While he was away, she went off with the shopping list he had given her.

Even walking the streets of the safest Capital city in the world she

found herself looking back over her shoulder, and ducking in and out of

ladies' rooms and tube stations to make certain that she was not being

followed.

"You are acting like a terrified child without its daddy," she scolded

herself.

However, she felt a quite disproportionate sense of relief each evening

when she heard his key in the street door of the empty house where she

waited, and she had to control herself so as not to rush down the stairs

to welcome him.

On Saturday morning, when a taxi cab deposited them at the departures

level of Heathrow MNIJ Terminal Four, Nicholas surveyed their combined

luggage with approval. She had only a single soft canvas bag, no larger

than his, and her sling bag over her shoulder. His hunting rifle was

cased in travel-worn leather, with his initials embossed on the lid. A

hundred rounds of ammunition was packed in a separate brass'bound

magazine and he carried a leather briefcase that looked like a Victorian

antique.

"Travelling light is one of the great virtues. Lord save us from women

with mountains of luggage,5 he told her, refusing the services of a

porter and throwing it all on to a trolley, which he pushed himself.

She had to step out to keep up with him as he strode through the crowded

departures hall. Miraculously the throng opened before him. He tilted

the brim of his panama hat over one eye and grinned at the girl at the

check'in counter, so that she came over all girlish and flustered.

It was the same once they were aboard the aircraft.

The two stewardesses giggled at everything he said, plied him with

champagne and fussed over him outrageously, to the obvious irritation of

the other passengers, including Royan herself. But she ignored him and

them and settled back to enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of the reclining

first-class seat and her own miniature video screen. She tried to

concentrate on the screen images of Richard Gere, but found her

attention wandering to other images of wild canyons and ancient stelae.

Only when Nicholas nudged her did she look around at him a little

haughtily. He had set up a tiny travelling chessboard on the arm of the

seat between them, and now he lifted an eyebrow at her and inclined his

head in invitation.

When they landed at Jomo Kenyatta airport in Kenya they were still

locked in combat. They were level at two games each, but she was a

bishop and two pawns up in the final deciding game. She felt quite

pleased with herself.

At the Norfolk Hotel in Nairobi he had booked a pair of garden

bungalows, one for each of them. Within ten minutes of her flopping down

on the bed, he called her from next door on the house phone.

"We are going to dinner with the British High Commissioner tonight. He

is an old chum. Dress informal. Can you be ready at eight?"

One did not have to rough it too onerously when travelling around the

world in this man's company, she thought.

It was a relatively short haul from Nairobi up to Addis Ababa, and the

landscape below them unfolded in fascinating sequences that kept her

glued to the cabin window of the Air Kenya flight. The hoary summit of

Mount Kenya was for once free of cloud, and the snow-clad double peaks

glistened in the high sunlight.

The bleak brown deserts of the Northern Frontier District were relieved

only by the green hills that surrounded the oasis of Marsabit and, far

out on the port side, the dashing waters of Lake Turkana, formerly Lake

Rudolf.

The desert finally gave way to the highlands of the great central

plateau of the ancient land of Ethiopia.

"In Africa only the Egyptians go back further than this civilization,'

Nicholas remarked as they watched it together. "They were a cultured

race when we peoples of northern climes were still dressing in untanned

skins and living in caves. They were Christians when Europeans were

still pagans, worshipping the old gods, Pan and Diana."

"They were a civilized people when Taita passed this way nearly four

thousand years ago," she agreed. "In his Scrolls he writes of them as

almost his cultural equals which was rare for him. He disparaged all the

other nations of the old world as his inferiors in every way."

From the air Addis was like so many other African cities, a mixture of

the old and the new, of traditional and exotic architectural styles,

thatched roofs alongside galvanized iron and baked tiles. The rounded

walls of the old tukuls built with mud and wattle contrasted with the

rectangular shapes and geometrical planes of the brick built

multi-storeyed buildings, the blocks of flats and the villas of the

affluent, the government buildings and the grandiose, flag-bedecked

headquarters of the Organization of African Unity.

The distinguishing features of the surrounding countryside were the

plantations of tall eucalyptus trees, the ubiquitous blue gums that

provided firewood. It was the only fuel available to so many in this

poor and war-torn land, which over the centuries had been ravaged by

marauding armies and, more recently, by alien political doctrines.

After Nairobi the high-altitude air was cool and sweet when Royan and

Nicholas left the aircraft and walked across the tarmac to the terminal

building. As they entered, before they had even approached the row of

waiting immigration officers someone called his name.

"Sir Nicholas!" They both turned to the tall young woman who glided

towards them with all the grace of a features lit by a welcoming dancer,

her dark and delicate smile. She wore full'length tradition al skirts

which enhanced her movements.

"Welcome to my country of Ethiopia. I am Woizero Tessay." She looked at

Royan with interest, "And you must be Woizero Royan." She held out her

hand to her and liked each other Nicholas saw that the two women

immediately.

I will see to the "If you will let me have your passports. There is a

formalities while you relax in the VIP lounge.

from your British Embassy waiting there to greet you, man Sir Nicholas.

I don't know how he knew that you were arriving."

 the VIP lounge.

There was only one person waiting i He was dressed in a well-cut

tropical suit and wore the orange, yellow and blue diagonally striped

old Sandhurst tie. He stood up and came to greet Nicholas immediately,

Nor, ? it's good to see you again Must be all

"Nicky, how are yo of twelve years, isn't it?"

"Hello, Geoffrey. I had no idea they had stuck you out here."

"Military attache. His Excellency sent me down to meet you as soon as he

heard that you and I had been at Sandhurst together." Geoffrey looked at

Royan with marked interest, and with a resigned air Nicholas introduced

them.

"Geoffrey Tennant. Be careful of him. Biggest ram I safe within half a

mile of north of the equator. No girl him."

"I say,. steady on,, Geoffrey protested, looking pleased with the

reference that Nicholas had given him. "Please don't believe a word the

man says, Dr Al Simma. Notorious prevaricator."

Geoffrey drew Nicholas aside and quickly gave him a r6sum6 of conditions

in the country, particularly in the outlying areas. "HE is a little

worried. He doesn't like the idea of you swarming around out there on

your own. Lots of nasty men down there in the Goiam. I told him that you

knew how to look after yourself.)

In a remarkably short time Woizero Tessay was back.

"I have cleared all your luggage, including the firearm and ammunition.

This is your temporary permit. You must keep it with you at all times

whilst you are in Ethiopia. Here are your passports – the visas are

stamped and in order. Our flight to Lake Tana leaves in an hour, so we

have plenty of time to check in."

"Any time you need a job, come and see me,'Nicholas commended her

efficiency.

Geoffrey Tennant walked with them as far as the departures gate, where

he shook hands, "Anything I can do, it goes without saying. "Serve to

Lead", Nicky."

"'Serve to lead"T Royan asked, as they walked out to the waiting

aircraft.

"Sandhurst's motto the explained.

"How nice, Nicky, she murmered.

"I have always considered Nicholas to be more dignified and

appropriate he said.

"Yes, but Nicky is so sweet."

 the high, thin air the Twin Otter aircraft that took them on the last,

northern, leg pitched and yawed in the updraughts; from the mountains

below.

Although they were at fifteen thousand feet above sea level, the ground

was close enough for them to make out  the, villages and the sparse areas

of cultivation around them. Subjected for so many centuries to primitive

agricultural methods and to the uncontrolled grazing of domestic herds,

the land had a thin, impoverished look, and the bones of rock showed

through the thin red fleshing of earth.

Abruptly ahead of them the plateau over which they were flying was rent

through by a monstrous chasm. It was as though the earth had received a

mighty sword-stroke that struck through to her very bowels.

"The Abbay river!" Tessay leaned forward in her seat to tap Royan's

shoulder.

The rim of the gorge was Clear-cut, and then the slope dropped away at

an angle of over thirty degrees. The bare plains of the plateau gave way

immediately to the heavily forested walls of the gorge. They could make

out the candelabra shapes of giant euphorbia rising above the dense

jungle. In places the walls had collapsed in scree slopes of loose rock,

and in others they were up-thrust into bluffs and needles that erosion

had sculpted with a monstrous artistry into the figures of towering

humanoids and other fantastic creatures of stone.

Down and down it plunged, and they winged out over the void until they

could look directly down, a mile and more, on to the glittering snake of

the river in the depths.

The funnel shape of the upper walls formed a secondary rim as they

reached the sheer cliffs of the sub-gorge five hundred feet above the

Nile water. Deep down there between its terrible cliffs the river gouged

dark pools and long slithering runs through the red sandstone. In places

the gorge was forty miles across, in others it narrowed to under ten,

but through all its length the grandeur and the desolation were infinite

and eternal. Man had made no impression upon it.

"You will soon be down there," Tessay told them in a voice so awed that

it was almost a whisper, and they were both silent. Words seemed

superfluous in the face of such raw and savage nature.

.. Almost with relief they watched the northern wall rise to meet them,

and the high mountains of the Choke range stood up against the tall blue

African sky, higher than their fragile little craft was flying.

The aircraft banked into its descent and Tessay pointed over the

starboard wingtip.

"Lake Tana," she told them. It was a wide and lovely body of water, over

fifty miles long, studded with islands on each of which stood a

monastery or an ancient church. As they dropped in over the water on the

final approach, they could make out the white-robed priests plying

between the islands on their traditional little boats made from bundles

of papyrus.

The Otter touched down on the dirt strip beside the lake and rolled out

in a long trailing cloud of dust. It swung in -and stopped engines

beside the run-down terminal building of thatch and daub.

The sunlight was so bright that Nicholas pulled a pair of sunglasses

from the breast pocket of his khaki jacket and placed them on his nose

as he stood at the top of the boarding ladder. He took in the pock-marks

of bullets and shrapnel on the dirty white walls of the terminal, and

the burnt'out hull of a Russian T35 battle tank standing in the grass on

the verge of the runway. The' barrel of its turret gun pointed

earthwards, and grass had grown up between the rusted tracks.

The other passengers pushed forward impatiently behind him, jostling him

and jabbering with excitement as they saw friends and relatives waiting

to greet them under the eucalyptus trees that shaded the building. There

was only one vehicle parked out there, a sand-coloured Toyota Land

Cruiser. The roundel on the driver's do6r had at its centre the painted

head of a mountain nyala, with long corkscrew horns, and in a ribbon

below it the title "Wild Chase Safaris'. A white man lounged behind the

wheel.

As Nicholas came down the ladder behind the two women, the driver

slipped out of the truck and strode out on to the strip to meet them. He

was dressed in a faded khaki bush suit, and he was tall and lean and

walked with a spring to his step.

"Fortyish," Nicholas judged his age from the grizzling in his short

beard. "One of the hard men," Nicholas thought.

His ginger hair was cropped short, his eyes were pale killer blue. There

was a puckered white scar that ran across one cheek and up to twist and

deform his nose.

Tessay introduced `Royan to him first, and he made a short, choppy bow

as he shook her hand. "Enchant6, he told her in an execrable French

accent and then looked at Nicholas.

"This is my husband, Alto Boris," Tessay introduced him. "Boris, this is

Alto Nicholas."

"My English is bad," Boris said. "My French is better."

"Not much to choose between them," Nicholas thought, but he smiled

easily and said, "So we will speak French then. Bonjour, Monsieur

Brusilov. I am delighted to make your acquaintance." He offered the

Russian his hand.

Boris's grip was hard – too hard. He was making a contest out of the

greeting, but Nicholas had expected it He knew this type of old, and he

had taken a deep grip so Boris could not crush his fingers. Nicholas

held him without allowing any strain or effort to show on his lazy

smile. Boris was the first to break the handshake, and there was just

the trace of respect in those pale eyes.

"So you have come for a dikdik?" he asked, just short of a sneer. Most

of my clients come for big elephant, or at least for mountain nyala."

"Bit rich for my nerves," Nicholas grinned, "all that big stuff. Dik-dik

will suit me fine."

"Have you ever been down in the gorge?" Boris demanded. His Russian

accent overpowered the French words and made them difficult to follow.

"Sir Nicholas was one of the leaders of the 1976 river expedition,'

Royan intervened sweetly, and Nicholas was amused by her unexpected

intervention. She had picked up the antagonism between them very

quickly, and come to his rescue.

Boris grunted, and turned to his wife. "Have you got all the stores I

ordered?" he demanded.

"Yes, Boris," she answered meekly. "They are all on board the aircraft."

She is afraid of him, Nicholas decided, probably with good reason.

"Let's get loaded up, then. We have a long journey ahead of us."

The two men rode in the front seats of the Toyota, and the women sat

behind them with many of the packages of stores packed in around them.

Good African protocol, Nicholas smiled to himself: men first, women fend

for themselves.

"You don't want to do the tourist run, do you?" Boris made it sound like

a threat.

"The tourist run?"

"The outlet from the lake, and the power station," he explained. "The

Portuguese bridge over the gorge and the point where the Blue Nile

begins," he added. But before they could accept he warned them, "If you

do, we won't get into camp until long -after dark."

"Thanks for the suggestion,) Nicholas told him politely, "but I have

seen it all before."

"Good." Boris made his approval evident. "Let's get out of here."

The road swung away into the west, below the high mountains. This was

the Goiam, the land of the aloof mountaineers. It was well-populated

country, and they passed many tall, thin men along the roadside as they

strode along behind their herds of goats and sheep, with their long

staffs held crossways over their shoulders. Both men and women wore

shammas, woollen shawls, and baggy white jodhpur pants, with their feet

in open sandals.

They were people with proud and handsome features, their hair dressed

out into thick, bushy halos, and their eyes fierce as those of eagles.

Some of the younger women in the villages they passed through were truly

beautiful.

Most of the men were heavily armed. They carried twohanded swords in

chased silver scabbards, and AK-47 assault rifles.

"Makes them feel like big men," Boris chuckled. "Very brave, very

macho."

The huts in the villages were circular walled tukuls, surrounded by

plantations of eucalyptus and spiky-headed sisal.

Bruised purple storm clouds boiled over the high peaks of the Choke and

swept them with squalls of rain. Like silver coins, the huge drops

rattled against the windscreen of the Land Cruiser and turned the road

to a running river of mud under their wheels.

The condition of the road surface was appalling; in places it

deteriorated into a rocky gully which even the four-wheel drive Toyota

could not negotiate, and Boris was forced to make his own track across

the rocky hillside.

Often reduced to walking speed, they were nevertheless tossed about in

their seats as the wheels bounced over the rough terrain.

"These damn blacks don't even think to repair the roads," Boris grunted.

"They are happy to live like animals." None of them replied, but

Nicholas glanced up into the rear-view mirror at the faces of the two

women. They were closed and neutral, hiding any hurt that either of them

might have felt at the remark.

As they went on, the road, bad as it had been originally, became even

worse. From here onwards the soft the fire. The two women sat a little

to one side, talking quietly, and Boris had his feet propped on the low

table as he leaned back in his chair with a glass in one hand.

He indicated the vodka bottle on the table, as Nicholas stepped into the

circle of firelight, "Get yourself a drink Ice in the bucket."

"I prefer a beer," Nicholas told him. "Thirsty drive." Boris shrugged

and bellowed for his camp butler to bring a brown bottle from the

portable gas refrigerator.

"Let me tell you something, a little secret." He grinned at Nicholas as

he poured himself another vodka. "There is no such animal as a striped

dik-dik these days, even if there ever was one. You are wasting your

time and your money."

"Fine," Nicholas agreed mildly. "It's my time and my money."

"Just because some old fart shot one back in the Dark Ages, doesn't mean

you are going to find another now. We could go up into the tea

plantations for elephant. I saw three bulls there only ten days ago. All

with tusks over a hundred pounds a side."

As they argued, the level in Boris's vodka bottle fell like the Nile at

the end of the inundation. When Tessay told them that the meal was

ready, Boris carried the bottle with him; he stumbled on his way to the

table. During the meal his only contribution to the conversation was to

snarl at Tessay.

"The lamb is raw. Why don't you see to it that the cook does it

properly? Damn monkeys, you have to watch everything they do."

"Is your lamb under-cooked, Alto Nicholas?" Tessay asked without looking

at her husband. "I can have them cook it longer."

"It's perfect he assured her. "I like mine pink."

Si By the end of dinner the vodka bottle at Boris elbow was empty, and

his face was flushed and swollen. He got up from the table without a

word and disappeared into the darkness in the direction of his tent,

swaying on his feet and occasionally catching his balance with a

two-step jig.

"I apologize," essay told them quietly. "It is only in the evenings. In

the day he is fine. It is a Russian tradition, the vodka." She smiled

brightly; only her eyes stayed sad.

"It is a lovely night, and too early yet for bed. Would you like to walk

up to the church? It is very old and famous.

I will have one of the servants bring a lantern, so that you may admire

the murals."

The servant walked ahead of them, lighting their way, and an ancient

priest waited to welcome them on the portico of the circular building.

He was thin and so very black that only his teeth flashed in the gloom.

He carried a magnificent Coptic cross in massive native silver, set with

carnelians and other semi-precious stones.

Both Royan and Tessay dropped on their knees in front of him to ask for

his blessing. He slapped their cheeks lightly with the cross and

genuflected over them, mumbling his benediction in Amharic. Then he

ushered them into the interior.

The walls were covered with a magnificent display of paintings in

brilliant primary colours. In the lantern light they blazed like

gemstones. There was a strong Byzantine flavour to the style: the

saints' eyes were huge and slanted, with great golden halos over their

heads. Above the altar, with its tinsel and brass furnishing, the Virgin

cradled her infant while the three wise men and a host of angels knelt

in adoration. Nicholas slipped his Polaroid camera from the pocket of

his jacket and adjusted the flash. He wandered around the church

photographing these murals, while Tessay and Royan knelt before the

altar side by side.

Once he had finished his photography Nicholas found a seat on the

hand-hewn wooden pews and sat quietly watching their intent faces which

the candlelight touched with golden highlights, and he was moved by the

beauty of the moment.

"I wish I had that kind of faith," he thought, as he had so often

before. "It must be a comfort in the hard times. I wish I were able to

pray like that for Rosalind and the girls." He could not stay longer,

and he went out and sat on the church portico where he watched the night

sky.

In these high altitudes, in the thin unpolluted air, the stars were such

a dazzling blaze that it was difficult to pick out the individual

constellations. After a while his sadness abated. It was good to be back

in Africa.

When the two women emerged at last from the dark interior, Nicholas gave

the old priest a one hundred birr note and a Polaroid photograph of

himself which the old man clearly valued above the money. Then the three

of them walked back down the hill together in companionable silence.

icky!" Royan shook him awake. When he sat up and switched on his torch,

he saw that she had thrown the woollen shawl over a pair of men's

striped pyjamas before she had come into his tent.

"What is it?" he asked, but before she could answer he heard the sound

of a hoarse and angry voice shouting invective in the night, and then

the unmistakable thud of a clenched fist striking flesh and bone.

"He's beating her." Royan's voice was tight with out-' rage. "You have

to make him stop."

There was a cry of pain after the blow, and then sobs.

Nicholas hesitated. Only a fool interferes between a man and his wife,

and his reward usually is to have them unite and turn savagely upon him.

"You must do something, Nicky, please., Reluctantly he swung his legs

out of the cot and stood up. He slept in'boxer shorts, and he did not

bother to find his shoes. She followed him, also on bare feet, to the

end of the grove where Boris's tent stood beyond the dining tent.

There was a lantern still burning within, and it threw magnified shadows

on the canvas walls. He saw that Boris had his wife "by the hair and was

dragging her across the floor, roaring at her in Russian.

"Boris!" Nicholas had to shout his name three times to get his

attention, and then they saw the shadow play on the canvas as he dropped

Tessay and flung open the tent flap.

He was dressed only in a pair of underpants. His torso was lean and

muscular, the chest flat and hard-looking, covered with coppery curls.

On the floor behind him Tessay lay face down, sobbing into her cupped

hands. She was naked, and the planes of her body were sleek as those of

a panther.

"What the hell is going on here?" Nicholas demanded, his anger only just

beginning to stir as he witnessed the gracious, gentle woman's distress

and humiliation.

"I am giving this black whore a lesson in good manners," Boris gloated,

his face still swollen and flushed with drink and passion. "It's none of

your business, English, unless you want to pay some money and have a bit

of pork for yourself." He laughed, an ugly sound.

"Are you all right, Woizero Tessay?" Nicholas looked directly into

Boris's face, sparing the woman the further humiliation of another man's

eyes on her nudity.

Tessay sat up, lifted her knees against her chest, and hugged them with

both arms to cover her body.

"It's all right, Alto Nicholas. Please go away before there is real

trouble." Blood was trickling from one nostril into her mouth, and

dyeing her teeth pink.

"You heard'my wife, English bastard. Go away! Mind your own business. Go

away, before I give you a little lesson in good manners also."

Boris staggered forward and thrust his open hand against Nicholas's

chest. Nicholas moved as smoothly and as effortlessly as a matador

avoiding the first wild charge of the bull. He swayed to one side, and

used Boris's own momentum to send him on in the direction in which he

was already committed. Completely off balance, the Russian reeled across

the open ground in front of the tent until he collided with one of the

camp chairs and went down in a sprawling heap.

"Royan, take Tessay to your tent!" he ordered softly.

Royan ran into the tent and pulled a sheet from the nearest cot. She

spread it over Tessay's shoulders and lifted her to her feet.

"Please, don't do this," Tessay sobbed. "You don't know him when he gets

like this. He will hurt somebody."

Royan dragged her, still protesting and weeping, out of the tent, but by

now Boris was on his feet again. He bellowed with rage and picked up the

camp chair that had tripped him. With a single jerk he tore off one of

the legs and hefted it in his bunched fist.

"You want to play games, English? All right, we play!" He rushed at

Nicholas, swinging the chair leg like a Ninja baton, so that it hissed

with the force with which he aimed it at his head. As Nicholas ducked

under it Boris reversed the swing, going for the side of his chest,

under his upraised arm. It would have staved in his ribs if it had

landed, but again Nicholas twisted away.

They circled each other warily, and then Boris charged again. If it had

not been for the effect of the vodka on the Russian's reflexes Nicholas

would never have taken a chance with an adversary of this calibre, but

Boris was just loose enough in his control to allow him to duck in under

the swinging chair leg. He straightened, with all his weight rolling

into the punch, and his fist slogged into the pit Of Boris's belly just

under the sternum. The Russian's breath was driven out of him in a great

gusty belch.

The chair leg flew from his grip, and he doubled over and collapsed.

Clasping his middle, and heaving and wheezing for breath, Boris lay

curled in the dust. Nicholas stooped over him and told him softly in

English, "This sort of behaviour simply isn't good enough, old chap. We

don't bully-girls. Please don't let it happen again."

He straightened up and spoke to Royan, "Get her to your tent and keep

her there." He combed his hair back from his face with his fingers. "And

now, if you have no serious objections, may we get a little sleep?"

It rained again during the early hours. The heavy drops drummed down on

the canvas and the lightning lit the interior of the tents with an eerie

brilliance. However, by the time that Nicholas went through to the

dining tent for breakfast the next morning, the clouds had cleared and

the sunshine was bright and cheering. The sweet mountain air smelt of

wet earth and mushrooms.

Boris greeted Nicholas with hearty good fellowship.

"Good morning, English. We had some fun last night. I still laugh to

remember it. Very good jokes. One day soon we will have some more vodka,

then we will makesome more good jokes." And he bellowed through to the

kitchen tent, "Hey! Lady Sun, bring your new boyfriend something to eat.

He is hungry from all the sport last night."

Tessay was quiet and withdrawn as she supervised the' servants handing

round breakfast. One eye was swollen almost closed, and her lip was cut.

She did not look at Nicholas once during the meal.

"We will go on ahead," Boris explained jovially as they drank coffee.

"My servants will break camp, and follow us in my big truck. With luck,

we will be able to camp tonight on the rim above the gorge, and tomorrow

we will begin the descent."

As they were climbing into the truck, Tessay was able to speak to him

softly for a moment, without danger of Boris overhearing her. "Thank

you, Alto Nicholas. But it was not wise. You don't know him. You must be

careful now. He does not forget, not does he forgive."

From the village of Debra Maryarn Boris took a branch road that ran

alongside the Dandera river directly south, wards. The road they had

followed the previous day from Lake Tana was shown on the map as a major

highway. It had been bad enough. But this track that they were now on