Chapter 11
At dawn, Purcell watched as a squad of soldiers marched through the ground mist toward the three men hanging from the posts.
It was too early for a firing squad, he thought—the troops had not yet arrived to witness the execution.
Purcell let Vivian sleep and he came down from the platform.
The ten soldiers didn’t seem bothered by his appearance—they had no orders regarding him, and they didn’t know if he was the general’s guest or his next victim, so they ignored him.
Purcell saw that Mercado was half awake, watching the soldiers approach. Purcell asked him, “How are you doing?”
He looked at Purcell but did not reply.
Purcell held the canteen to Mercado’s lips, and he drank, but then spit the water at Purcell.
Purcell said to him, “You were delirious last night.”
“Get out of my sight.”
In fact, Purcell thought, Henry was having a recurring nightmare about Vivian that had come true.
The soldiers were now unshackling Gann, who was able to stand on his own, then they moved to Mercado, leaving the dead Ethiopian hanging for the troops to see at the morning muster.
Purcell went over to Gann, who was rubbing his raw wrists, and handed him the canteen. Gann finished the last few ounces, then asked, “How is Mercado?”
“Seems okay.”
“He had a bad night.”
Purcell reminded Gann, “Neither of you would be hanging here if he’d stayed awake on the mountain.”
“Don’t blame him. I should have stayed awake.”
Purcell didn’t reply, and Gann said, “He was shouting at God all night.”
Again, Purcell did not reply, but he’d heard Henry shouting at God, and also cursing him and Vivian, and Gann had heard that too, and probably surmised what and who Henry was angry at. But that was the least of their problems.
Gann asked, “Where is Miss Smith?”
“Sleeping.” He asked Gann, “What’s happening?”
“Don’t know, old boy. But it’s either something very good, or very bad.”
“I’ll settle for anything in between.”
“That doesn’t happen here.” He asked Purcell, “Why didn’t you make a run for it last night?”
“I fell asleep.”
Purcell noticed now in the dawn light that the post from which Gann had hung was splintered and pocked with holes that could only have been made by bullets.
Gann, too, noticed and said, “Well, the good news is that they do execute people by firing squad.” He nodded toward the dead Ethiopian. “Not like that poor bugger.”
Purcell didn’t want to get into that conversation, so he returned to Gann’s other subject and said, “If I did make a run for it, where would I go?”
Gann replied, “Well, first, I’d advise you to go alone. You don’t need a photographer.”
Purcell did not reply, but he didn’t want to leave Vivian here.
He continued, “About ten kilometers south and east of the Italian spa is a Falasha village. Ethiopian Jews. They’ll take you in and you’ll be safe there.”
“How do you know?”
“I know Ethiopia, old boy. That’s where I was going to head. They’re Royalists.”
Recalling what Mercado had said, Purcell pointed out, “The Royalists are being hunted down.”
“The Falashas are immune for the moment.”
“Why?”
“It’s rather complex. The Falashas trace their ancestry to the time of Solomon and Sheba, and they are revered by some as a link to the Solomonic past, as is the emperor.”
“And we know what happened to him.”
“Yes, but the Ethiopians are a superstitious lot, and they believe if you harm a Falasha you have angered God—the common God of Christians, Jews, and Muslims.”
“Works for the Falashas.”
“For now. The name of this village is Shoan.” He suggested, “If you’re not being shot or chained up today, you should give it a try tonight.”
“I was hoping for a helicopter ride to Addis this morning.”
“And I hope you are having a whiskey for me tonight in Addis. But you should have an alternate plan.”
“Right.”
“And if you should ever find yourself in Shoan, tonight or some other time, they will know a thing or two about the black monastery.” He looked at Purcell. “If you are still interested in that.”
Purcell had the feeling he’d stepped into Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. The mysterious dying priest, the surreal Roman ruin, the fortress city of Gondar, the good Prince Joshua, the evil General Getachu, Sir Edmund Gann, and the black monastery. And the Holy Grail, of course. And now the village of the Falashas. None of this seemed possible or real—but it was. Except for the Grail.
Purcell looked at Gann. “Thanks.” He felt he needed to tell Gann about his former employer, Prince Joshua, so he did, sparing no detail.
Gann listened without comment, and Purcell could see he was more angry than he was frightened that this could also be his fate. When Purcell had finished, Gann said, “Bloody bastard.”
“He’s insane.”
“Yes, but I’m sure you can convince him that a British soldier rates a firing squad, or at least a quick bullet in the head.”
“I’ll try to do better than that.” He reminded Gann, and himself, “I’m not sure what Getachu has planned for any of us.”
“He’s treading lightly with you and Miss Smith, or you’d be hanging on these posts.”
“Getachu may be insane, but he’s not reckless enough to endanger his own position with the Derg.” He explained, “They’d like nothing better than to find an excuse to summon him to Addis, and General Andom would be glad to arrest his rival and have him shot.”
“That’s good.”
“Or strangled.”
“Even better.”
“The Revolution,” said Colonel Gann, “eats its own.”
“It always does.”
“I predict that Getachu will put you and Miss Smith on a helicopter to Addis.”
“And Mercado?”
“Getachu will send him off to Addis to be dealt with at a higher level. Probably get expelled.” He added, “They’re not shooting Western reporters yet.”
“Good. Well, you seem to know these people.” He informed Colonel Gann, “Getachu hinted that he may want you to train and advise his officers.”
“That will not happen.”
“Don’t turn down that job.”
Gann did not reply, and Purcell pointed out, “The war is almost over. You won’t be helping him much.”
“I won’t be helping him at all.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’ve asked a favor of you. Please do it.”
“Do it yourself.” He made eye contact with Gann and said, “Look, Colonel, I’m trying to save your life, and you’re not helping. Don’t take the knight thing too seriously.”
Gann didn’t reply, but he looked past Purcell and said, “I think it’s time to go.”
Purcell turned around and saw that Mercado was on his feet without help from the soldiers, and Vivian had awoken and was trying to minister to her lover, who was having none of it—which seemed to confuse the soldiers who’d missed the reason for Mercado’s bad behavior toward the lady.
Purcell looked up at the dead Ethiopian, who seemed almost Christlike hanging there with his flesh torn. It occurred to Purcell that the new Ethiopia didn’t look much different than the old Ethiopia.
Purcell turned to the rising sun above the eastern mountains, then to the large open field shrouded in morning mist. God did a good job with the heaven and the earth. Not so good with the people.
The squad leader formed everyone up in a line of march and barked something in Amharic, then shouted, “Avanti!”
Forward.
