Chapter 45

Purcell, Vivian, and Mercado, all fresh from their communal bath, joined the princess and the colonel for cocktails on the patio. Vivian wore her best khaki pants and green T-shirt, and the two gentlemen wore khakis, top and bottom.

The sun was setting and the night had grown pleasantly cool. The purple African sky above the date palms was magnificent, Purcell thought, and if it wasn’t for Colonel Gann’s Uzi on the table, he could imagine he was someplace else.

Colonel Sir Edmund Gann had gone unnative, and he wore his paramilitary khakis to cocktails, though he’d kept his afternoon sandals.

Princess Miriam wore a purple evening shamma, trimmed with lion’s mane, the sign of royalty in old Ethiopia.

Cocktails were limited to Boodles gin, a half bottle of which Colonel Gann had been saving for a special occasion, and this was it—which pleased Henry. The gin could be had with or without fruit juice.

The cocktail chatter had mostly to do with the Falasha exodus and the local security situation. Gann explained, “Getachu and his army control the Gondar area and the surrounding Simien Mountains. Here, to the south, which is nearly unpopulated, there are counterrevolutionaries operating in the jungle valleys, as I’ve said, as well as the remnants of the Royalist forces.” He further explained, “These two groups have far different agendas—an elected government on the one hand, and a return to an absolute monarchy on the other.” He told them, “I’m trying to get them to pull together to get rid of the Marxists. I explained to both sides how we in Britain have a monarch and an elected parliament. But they’re not understanding the concept.”

Purcell admitted, “Neither do I.”

Cocktails were brief, and they were escorted into the palace, where dinner was served in a room that held a long table which would seat about twenty; suitable for large family meals, except that everyone was gone. The floor, Purcell noticed, was laid with black stone.

The teak table was set simply, though the silverware was real, Purcell noticed, and each piece was decorated with the Lion of Judah. The dishes, too, had the heraldic lion hand-painted on them. The dinner theme, Purcell saw, was lions.

Fading sunlight came through the high louvers, and oil lamps flickered on the table.

On the menu was grilled goat, some sort of root vegetable, and flatbread, with bowls of dates scattered around the table. Fermented fruit juice was poured into bronze goblets that looked like the ones Prince Joshua once owned, and the one that he, Purcell, had overpaid for in Rome.

Two ladies in middle age served the simple meal and kept the fizzy fruit juice flowing. Miriam promised fresh coffee at the end of the meal.

She was an intelligent and interesting lady, Purcell saw, and he could see why the other old goat in the room—Sir Edmund—was taken with her.

Dinner conversation began light, and in answer to Vivian’s question, Miriam explained, “Most of the Solomonic line are Christian, of course, but some are Jewish, and some are even Muslim. The line from Solomon and Sheba is well recorded, but over the centuries, the three religions have influenced the faith of some families.” She added, “The Jews are not the oldest religion in Ethiopia—the pagans are. If you call that a religion.”

Purcell had just learned that the pagan Gallas ate human testicles, but he didn’t know how to work that into the dinner conversation—or if he should try.

Purcell also wanted to ask Miriam why, in her early thirties, she was not married yet with ten kids, but to be more subtle and polite, he asked, “So do you have to marry within the Solomonic line?”

She stayed silent for a few seconds, then replied, “I was married at sixteen, to a Christian ras, but we produced no heirs, so my husband divorced me. This is not unusual.” She added, “Most of the rasses are now dead, or they have fled, so I have few prospects for marriage.” She looked at her boyfriend and said without cracking a smile, “So I have settled for an Englishman.”

Everyone got a laugh at that, and Gann said, “Could do worse, you know.”

Vivian asked boldly, “Do you two plan to marry?”

Miriam replied, “We have no word for knight, so here they call him Ras Edmund, which makes him acceptable.”

Again everyone laughed, but clearly this was a touchy subject, so the nosy reporters did not ask follow-up questions.

Miriam switched to another touchy subject—her benighted country. “This is an old civilization in the middle stage of history—a medieval anachronism. The Muslims keep harems and slaves. The Christians dispense biblical justice, and men are made eunuchs, and women are sold for sexual purposes. The Jews, too, have engaged in Old Testament punishment. The pagans practice unspeakable rites, including castration and crucifixion. And now the Marxists have introduced a new religion, the religion of atheism, and a new social order, the mass killing of anyone who is associated with the old order.”

Purcell needed another drink after that. When he was first here, in September, living at the Hilton in Addis, he had almost no idea what life was like outside the capital, which itself was no treat. Their trip out of Addis to the northern front had opened his eyes a little to what Ethiopia was about. Gann, however, had known this place since 1941, and Mercado even longer. And yet they’d returned, and in Gann’s case, he found something compelling about this country—something that drew him to it the way some men are drawn to those places on the map marked “terra incognita—here be dragons.” And Signore Bocaccio… he’d forgotten there were better places to do business.

Vivian, like himself, had come here clueless and freelance, but she had discovered that she was chosen by God to be here, which was better than being chosen by the Associated Press.

And then there was Frank Purcell. He needed to think again about why he was still here.

In his mental absence, the subject had again turned to dark matters. Miriam said, “Mikael Getachu’s father worked for my father in Gondar in the weaving shop. My father treated the family well, and paid for Mikael’s education at the English missionary school.”

Purcell informed everyone, “Getachu’s biography says his parents went without food to pay for his education.”

Miriam replied, “They went without nothing.”

Gann said, “Miriam’s brother, David, was actually lured by Getachu to come to Gondar with the promise that Getachu would release two young nieces and a nephew of the family if David would identify and sign over the family’s assets to Getachu.” Gann added, “Getachu knows he can’t violate the ancient sanctity of Shoan, or more importantly the international agreement protecting the Jews during the exodus. But he has sent a message to Miriam saying that if she voluntarily comes to Gondar, then he will release David, and the nieces and nephew.” He added, “The children’s parents, who are Sahle’s sister and brother-in-law, have already been shot.”

Purcell looked at Miriam, who seemed stoic enough on the outside, but he could imagine the conflicts and pain inside her.

Gann said, “Getachu’s goal all along was to get hold of his princess.”

Miriam said bluntly, “He will not have me.”

Vivian was looking at her, but said nothing.

Mercado suggested in a quiet voice, “You should leave here as soon as possible.”

“I will be the last to leave. That is my duty.”

Gann said, “We’re hoping for a UN helicopter pickup here next week.”

Purcell would have liked them all to be on that helicopter, but he knew that would jeopardize not only the Falashas, but also the UN mission. In fact, just their being here did all of that, plus some. He said, “We are leaving at daybreak, and we won’t return until everyone here is safely gone.” He also suggested to Gann, “Set fire to the aircraft so it looks like we crashed and burned. Lots of fuel on board.”

Mercado did not like that, but he understood it.

Gann assured everyone, “I’ll have that done in the morning.”

Miriam wanted to know about Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian, and they filled her in on some of the details, though she seemed to know most of this from her boyfriend, Purcell thought, including the fact that they’d had the pleasure of Mikael’s company.

She warned them, “He has a long memory and a great capacity for cruelty and revenge. Do not fall into his hands again.” She added, “But you know that.”

As for Prince David, Miriam had no illusions that Getachu would be treating him well, but she felt or hoped that after she was out of Getachu’s reach, and she was in Israel, Getachu would release her brother, and the nieces and nephew, under pressure from the Israelis and the UN, and hopefully under orders from his own superiors in Addis. Purcell thought that was a possibility, but he was sure that David, if he ever did arrive in Israel, would be a broken man. As General Getachu himself had indicated, shooting a man is easy; breaking a man is more fun—especially if the man or woman was an arrogant aristocrat, or an annoying journalist.

Miriam suggested to her guests, “Perhaps you can write about what you have seen here. And perhaps you will mention my brother and my nieces and nephew. That could be helpful for their release.”

They all promised they would do that when they left Ethiopia. And they would keep that promise—if they left Ethiopia.

Miriam thanked them, and then painted for them a grim picture of post-revolutionary Ethiopia for their lead story. “The land is laid waste by war, and by locusts and drought, sent by God. Famine has killed too many to count, and millions more hang by a thread. Pestilence is spreading across the land and the people have withdrawn into themselves. Churches are looted and monks lock themselves in their monasteries. All this is punishment by God for what we have allowed the godless men in Addis to do. God is testing us, and we must show him that we remain true to him. Only then will we be saved by God.”

No one spoke, and Gann, Purcell thought, looked both embarrassed and proud of his princess. Clearly, there was a great cultural divide between them, but they were both righteous and decent people, and what separated them was not as great as what divided them. Love conquers all, as Vivian said.

Coffee was served with some sort of concoction of goat’s milk, honey, and almonds.

Miriam said, “Trade with Gondar and other cities has been greatly reduced since the troubles began. So we have only what we have. But that is more than they have in the places where the drought and the locusts have killed the land.” She forced a smile and added, “In any case, we are all going to the land of milk and honey.” She asked if anyone had been to Israel, and Mercado and Purcell had, and they painted a bright picture for Miriam that seemed to comport with what her English knight had already told her.

Purcell had encountered a few former aristocrats or landed gentry and former capitalists in the bars of Hong Kong and Singapore, and in the capitals of Western Europe, and most of them were indignant that they’d been innocent victims of some revolution or another. Almost all expressed a sense of loss, and what they all had in common was a stunned disbelief that the world had changed so much, or had gone so mad. Born to rule or born to great wealth, these refined refugees could not understand or accept that the lowest elements of society—the Getachus—were the most recent mutation of social Darwinism, and that the former lords and masters were the dodo birds in the process of natural selection and extinction.

Princess Miriam, Purcell thought, was a nice person, and he was sure that she and her family had never knowingly hurt anyone. In fact, they’d sent Mikael Getachu, and probably other poor children, to school. But the two greatest scapegoats in the history of the world were the nobility and the Jews—and if you were both, you had a serious problem.

Gann switched to another subject and informed everyone, “Obsidian was quarried in these mountains since ancient times and sent down the Nile on barges to Egypt, where it was prized for its strength and its ability to be polished to a high black luster. We’ve all seen the Egyptian statuary carved from obsidian in museums. It’s difficult to work with, and it is rarely seen as a building material, except in floors, such as the one in this room, which could be a thousand years old.”

Purcell wasn’t sure where this was going, but then Gann said, “The quarries in this area have not been worked for hundreds of years, and they are mostly overgrown and lost to memory. But there are a few that I’ve identified, and on the theory that this black monastery is built of obsidian—which is so heavy that it can’t be transported too far—I think we should have a look around these three ancient quarries which I’ve identified on a map.”

Everyone nodded, except Miriam, who clearly didn’t want to participate in any discussion about finding the black monastery.

It occurred to Purcell that, as Vivian said, they were close, and with some luck and brains they could actually be seeing what Father Armano saw forty years ago—high black walls rising out of the jungle in front of them. But was the monastery now deserted? He suspected that it was, especially after the Jewish elders of Shoan told the monks that they were all leaving. Gone, too, would be the Grail, of course. But if he, Vivian, Mercado, and Gann found the monastery, that would be enough for him and maybe for his companions. The journey would be over, and the Grail—as it had a history of doing—would be gone, but safe from the world which had grown evil.

But if they reached the walls of the monastery and a reed basket was lowered… well, forewarned was forearmed.

Dinner was over, and everyone stood. The long night had begun, and at dawn they would begin their quest for fame, fortune, salvation, a good story, a Grail rescue mission, inner peace, or whatever was driving them into the dark interior.

If, indeed, they had been chosen for this journey, then the answer to why they’d been chosen was waiting for them.