He reached the pile of rubble from the collapsed wall, pulled his revolver, and climbed to the top. Inside the fortress he could see stone and concrete buildings with corrugated steel roofs in various states of ruin. The whole compound seemed to cover about two acres, which was not large for a fortress, but it looked imposing here in the jungle.
He satisfied himself that the place was deserted, and signaled everyone to join him.
Gann, Mercado, and Vivian began crossing the clearing quickly, and Purcell came down from the rubble pile.
He said to them, “No one home. There’s an open gate around the corner.”
He led them along the wall and they rounded the corner, where large iron gates stood open in the center of a long stone wall.
They passed cautiously through the gates and into the fortress. In front of them was an open area, a parade ground, where grass now grew. As they moved farther into the compound, they saw bleached white bones and skulls lying in the brown grass. The smell of the dead was barely noticeable after five months, but it still clung to the dusty earth.
Gann looked around and said, “This is what a half-hour artillery barrage will do.” He looked at the collapsed section of wall where Purcell had stood atop the rubble, and said, “Gallas probably came through that breach.” He added, “Nasty combination of Getachu’s modern artillery and primitive, bloodthirsty savages waiting like jackals to get in.”
Purcell could imagine the artillery rounds falling into this tight compound, blasting everything to rubble as the sun set. He could also imagine Prince Theodore’s soldiers being blown to pieces by the explosion, or ripped apart by shrapnel. And when the barrage ended, there would be a minute or two of deadly silence before the Gallas came screaming over the walls.
Gann, too, was imagining it and said, “The Gallas who got in first on foot would have opened those gates, and the mounted Gallas would have come charging in.” He added, “A Galla war cry is something you don’t want to hear more than once in your life — in fact, if you hear it once, you will not hear it again.”
Purcell saw Mercado looking over his shoulder at the open gates, as though expecting a horde of Gallas to come charging in. Also, Henry’s face had gone from ruddy to pale. Henry was remembering Mount Aradam again.
Purcell shifted his attention to the field of bones. Indeed, it must have been terrifying, he thought, for the soldiers here who had survived the barrage to see Galla horsemen pouring through the open gates with their scimitars raised. Death on horseback.
Gann said, “I don’t see any horse bones, so it wasn’t much of a fight.” He let them know, “Even if your walls are breached and your gates are open, you must maintain discipline and put up a good resistance. Better than being slaughtered like lambs in a pen.”
Purcell didn’t think that was information he could ever use, but he was glad to see that Colonel Gann was wearing his brass military balls.
Purcell said, “The question is, how did Father Armano survive this slaughter?” He said quickly to Vivian, “Do not say it.”
“Well, I will. God spared him.”
Purcell was getting a bit impatient with her divine explanations for everything, and he pointed out, “God wasn’t looking out for the Coptic Christian soldiers of Prince Theodore.” He suggested, “Maybe God is Catholic.”
Vivian seemed annoyed and didn’t respond.
Mercado said, “It does seem a bit of a miracle that Father Armano escaped this.”
Purcell speculated, “It might have something to do with his prison cell. Certainly the Gallas did not spare him.” He suggested, “Let’s look around.”
They walked through the small fortress which held only about twenty buildings, consisting mostly of barracks and storage structures. A large water-collecting cistern had been shattered by an explosion and it was dry. An ammunition bunker had been hit, and the secondary explosions had flattened everything around it. The headquarters was identified by the Lion of Judah painted in fading yellow over an open doorway. They looked inside and saw that whatever had been there had been burned, and a fine layer of ash lay on the floor and on the skeletons of at least a dozen men.
Gann drew everyone’s attention to the pubic bones of the men, and pointed out the hack marks, saying, “They use their scimitars to do their nasty business. Sometimes the poor buggers aren’t even dead.”
Purcell said, “Thanks for that.”
They continued on between the shattered structures and came to an almost undamaged building that measured about ten feet on each side. It was the only building whose door was intact and closed. The door was rusted steel and there was a hasp on it, but the lock was gone. At the bottom of the door was a steel pass-through with an open bolt.
Purcell said, “Looks like a prison to me.”
Purcell stepped over several disjointed skeletons that lay near the door and pushed on it, but it would not give. Gann joined him and together they put their shoulders to the door, but it was stuck, probably rusted shut.
Vivian suggested using the pass-through at the bottom, and Purcell knelt and pushed on it until it squeaked open.
Vivian, too, knelt and said, “I’ll go.” No one objected, so she shucked her backpack but kept her camera, and squeezed her slim body into the opening. Her legs and feet disappeared and the door fell shut.
They all waited for her to call out, but there was only silence.
Finally, Purcell banged on the door. “Vivian!”
“Yes… come in.”
Purcell went first, followed by Mercado and Gann.
They all stood in the middle of the dirt floor and looked around at the small, stone prison cell. The floor was covered with debris, and the roof was gone except for a single sheet of corrugated steel. There was a small opening high up one wall, and under the opening was a cross that had been etched into the stone.
Vivian said, “Forty years… my God.”
She reached up and touched the cross. “What incredible faith.”
Purcell and Gann looked at each another. Mercado said, “Indeed, this man was a saint and a martyr.”
Purcell wanted to point out that it was other Christians who’d put the priest here, but he’d exhausted his theological arguments.
Vivian took a dozen photographs of the cell, then suggested they all observe a silent minute of prayer.
They had been mostly silent anyway, and Purcell had no problem with this as long as they could do it standing, which they did.
Vivian said, “Amen.”
Purcell said, “This, I think, solves the mystery of how Father Armano escaped the Gallas.”
They looked around the sparse cell in case they missed something, like a note scratched in the wall or, Purcell hoped, a map or instructions directing them to the black monastery. He reminded everyone that Getachu’s soldiers had been here five months ago, and said, “This place has been picked clean.” Purcell suggested, “We should get out of this cell.”
Gann agreed. “This is not a good place to be if anyone comes round.”
Gann crawled out first with his Uzi, followed by Mercado, Vivian, and Purcell. Gann suggested, “We can take a short lunch break, then move on to our next objective.”
They found a shady spot along a wall and sat on the ground. They broke out some bread and dates, but no one seemed to want the dried meat, perhaps because of the smell of death on the bones all around them.
Gann said, “We need to find a stream. Shouldn’t be too difficult, but sometimes it is. Don’t drink from the ponds. But a wash is all right.”
Mercado said, “I saw some berries on the trail. And fruit of some sort.”
“Yes, some are good. Some will kill you.”
Vivian asked, “Do you know which is which?”