Even with my limited Amharic I could follow much that was said at the audience which followed in the monastery chapel. Uliba was conducted with great deference to a chair hurriedly placed between the front pews, while the Abba enthroned himself nervously on a stool before the altar, his attendants standing by with palms, crutches, and open mouths. I don’t know if Coptic priests are celibate, but these gaped at her like hayseeds at a burlesque show in the Chicago Loop; I don’t suppose their modest little God-hutch had ever seen her like, and she played it like the grandest of dames, surveying them coolly and turning that elegant profile as she swept off her fillet and veil and handed them carelessly to me, looking stern beside her chair. She charmed them with a gracious apology for interrupting their rehearsal, and the Abba near fell off his stool assuring her that it didn’t matter tuppence, honestly, and please how could they serve her excellency?
This before she’d said a word about being a great swell on her way to a queen’s court, or being despoiled; she did it simply by style and looks and those remarkable legs, and had them eating out of her dainty palm. Awe-stricken, she’d said they’d be, and awestruck they were.
The account of our adventures which she gave them was succinct and fairly offhand, but it had them agog, knuckles to teeth and gasping concern. The Abba didn’t know what Habesh was coming to, what with evil emperors and foreign invaders and plundering rebels and noble ladies molested and robbed by heathen brigands, God forgive them, but what protection and comfort the Church could offer, she should have, and her servant too, infidel though he was. This consisted of food, drink, attention, prayers, the best chamber in the monastery placed at her ladyship’s disposal (with a mattress in the passage for Vilkins the butler), and the promise of such clothing, equipment, and transport as could be drummed up overnight.
I was given my vittles in the monks’ refectory, watched by curious and none too friendly eyes, for they’ve no use for non-Christians, and as a “Hindee” I was right beyond the pale. Uliba dined in some state in the Abba’s private apartments, and if the news she got was confused and disturbing, it was definite at least on the main point.
“Masteeat has her camp on the Abai river, below the falls which the people of Metcha call the Great Silver Smoke.” She was jubi lant. “Five days’ journey by horse or camel, even by the western shore of Tana—see!” The Abba had given her a map, a pretty coloured thing with Lake Tana all little blue waves with boats afloat, and an Ark at anchor with hippos and pythons and monkeys clam bering aboard under the eye of a distinctly Ethiopian Noah, the whole lot being blessed by a dusky Jesus. “Here at Azez we are forty miles from Gorgora, at the head of the lake; another fifty at most to Zage, and perhaps fifty down the Abai—”
“Why not the straight way, by the east shore?” I could see it would cut the journey by as much as a third.
“Because Theodore had his camp at Kourata last year—” she tapped a finger on it “—and he will have troops there still, and who knows how many between the lake and his army which marches on Magdala? He has wasted all Begemder, and these churchmen say he is already at the Jedda ravine, but their news will be a week old; he may be close on Magdala by now.”
“And Masteeat’s army, by your reckoning, is about ninety miles from Magdala… where’s Napier, do they know?”
“They heard of him last at Antaloo, but that too will be old news. At best, he can hardly be more than a day’s march south of the Ashangi lake.” She traced a finger up from Magdala; Napier had a good hundred miles to go, by the look of it.
“Well, Theodore can win the race on a tight rein,” says I. “If he gets his guns into Magdala…” I didn’t care to think of that. The place was said to be impregnable, which was doubtless an exag geration; British troops can take anywhere, given a commander who knows his business, but the Bughunter didn’t have time for a siege, not with his striking force at full stretch, with food and forage running low. If he came to a dead stop before Theodore’s defences… well, it would be a dead stop indeed, far from home and no way back. His army would starve where it stood, and Theodore’s highlanders could cut up the remains at leisure… no doubt with the rebel warlords joining in. My consolation was that I’d be better placed as a free agent with Uliba, rather than as a hapless lump of cannon-fodder in Napier’s Last Stand… I had a sudden horrid rec ollection of Gandamack, with the 44th trapped on the icy slope, Soutar with the colours round his middle, and the Ghazis closing in…
I asked about the rebels, and she spat. “Cattle! Cowards! They run in circles, frightened of Theodore, fearful of each other! That much is plain from this old fool of an Abba’s tale, but he knows little more to any purpose. That drunken fat sow Masteeat,” sneers she with satisfaction, “had the game won, had she used the wits she wastes in guzzling and coupling! Two months ago she stood before Magdala with her army, while its garrison of weaklings and traitors wrung their hands, willing to surrender but in dread of Theodore’s vengeance when he returned from plundering in Begemder. Oh, had I stood in her place they’d have surrendered fast enough!” She clenched her fists and shook them, and I believed her. “But she puts off, and idles away her opportunity, and is forced to retreat at last because the hyena Gobayzy and the jackal Menelek come prowling into Galla country, afraid to attack Magdala, but still outnumbering her, so she withdraws to the Abai. It is very well,” says she, pleased as Punch. “Things could not stand better!”
Blessed if I could see that, and I said so. “If she has cut and run, what’s the use in our going on? She and her army’ll be no help to Napier if they’re ninety miles away!”
She waved that aside. “Galla armies can move at speed. Besides, she’ll have left more warriors in the hills about Magdala, ready for action, than she’ll have taken to the Abai. Let the Queen of Wollo Galla but say the word and there will be a steel ring—was not that what your general called it?—round the amba of Magdala, with Theodore held fast within.”
The Queen of Wollo Galla… but which queen? We had been discussing her ambitions, and what part I might be called on to play in realising them, when the Soudanis had interrupted us, and the topic had not been resumed; well, it could be let lie for the moment. That she’d make a bid for her sister’s throne, I knew, if not when, where or how. In the meantime it was enough that we knew Masteeat’s whereabouts, and that these jovial monks would speed us on our way.
They didn’t stint us, either, with the loan of two camels, their saddle-bags filled with grub and flasks of tej, cloaks and blankets, and a couple of chicos to race ahead to make sure our coast was clear. Uliba made no offer of payment, simply fluttering a queenly hand at me, and I presented the chief deacon with a purse of fifty dollars, to which she added one of her bracelets which she presented in fine Lady Bountiful style to a small girl in the crowd—for every soul in the place, priests, lay brethren, labourers and menials, was on hand to see us off. We mounted the camels, they lurched to their feet, the Abba blessed us, and off we went with a camel groom trot ting in our wake; he would bring the beasts back from Lake Tana, where we would seek other transport. A chorus of farewells fol lowed us, and before we were out of earshot they were making a joyful noise to the Lord, either in rehearsal for Palm Sunday or rejoicing for the dollars.