that nature," she told him, and turned over, presenting him with her
back.
"Ah, we are standing on ceremony this evening!
Goodnight, Woizero Royan."
"Goodnight, Alto Nicholas," she replied, keeping her face turned away
from him so that he could not see her smile.
The gorilla column moved out before dawn the next morning. They marched
in full battle order, with scouts moving ahead and flankers covering
each side of the path.
"The army come down here into the gorge very seldom, but we are always
ready for them when they do come," Mek Nimmur explained. "We try to give
them a hearty welcome."
Tessay was watching Mek Nimmur as he spoke; indeed, she had seldom taken
her eyes off him that morning. Now she murmured to Royan, "He is a truly
great man, a man who could unite our land, perhaps for the first time in
a thousand years. I feel humble in his presence, and yet I also feel
like a young girl again, filled with joy and hope."
The march back to the monastery took the entire morning. When they came
in sight of the Dandera. river, Mek Nimmur drew his men back off the
path into thick bush, while sending only one scout forward. After an
hour's wait, a party of acolytes came up from the monastery, each
carrying a large bundle balanced upon his head.
They greeted Mek with deep reverence, and handed over their bundles to
his men before returning down the pathway into the gorge of the Abbay.
The bundles contained priestly shammas, headcloths and sandals. Mek's
men changed out of their camouflage fatigues into these garments, all of
which were well worn and unwashed for the sake of authenticity. They
wore only their sidearms under the robes. All their other weapons and
equipment they cached in one of the caves in the limestone Cliffs, and
left a detachment to guard them.
Now as a party of monks they covered the last few miles to the
monastery, to be welcomed joyously by the community there. Here Nicholas
and the women left Mek, and climbed the steep path up into the grove of
wild fig trees. Boris was waiting for them, pacing about the camp, angry
and frustrated.
"Where the hell have you been, woman?" he snarled at Tessay. "Been
whoring around all night, have you?"
"We lost our way yesterday evening." Nicholas fed him the cover story
that they had agreed with Mek Nimmur, to maintain his security. Boris
was hardly the man to trust.
"And we were picked up by a party of monks from the monastery this
morning. They brought us back."
"You are the big hunter and tracker, are you?" Boris sneered at him.
"You didn't need me to guide you, hey? You got yourself lost, did you,
English? I see now why you want only to shoot dik-dik." He guffawed
without humour, and looked at Tessay with those pale dead eyes. "I will
talk to you later, woman. Go and see to the food."
Despite the heat, both Nicholas and Royan were hungry. In short order,
Tessay was able to serve a tasty cold lunch under the shady branches of
the fig trees. Nicholas refused the wine that Boris offered him.
want to go out hunting again this afternoon. I have lost almost a whole
day."
"You want me to hold your hand this time, English?
Make sure you don't lose yourself again?"
"Thanks, old chap, but I think I can manage without you."
While they ate Nicholas nudged Royan and told her, "Your admirer has
arrived."
He jerked his head at the lanky, ungainly figure of Tamre, who had
sneaked up quietly and was now sitting near the kitchen hut, As soon as
Royan looked at him his face split into a doting idiotic grin, and he
bobbed his head and squirmed with ecstatic shyness.
"I will not come with you this afternoon," Royan told Nicholas quietly,
when Boris was not listening. "I think there is going to be trouble
between him and Tessay. I want to stay here with her. Take Tamre with
you."
"My word, what an attractive alternative. All my life I have waited for
this moment." But when he had picked up his rifle and pack, he beckoned
the boy to follow him.
Tamre looked around eagerly for Royan, but she was in her hut. At last,
dragging his feet, he followed Nicholas up the valley.
"Take me to the other side of the river," he told the boy. "Show me how
to reach the side where the holy creature lives." Tamre perked up at the
prospect, and broke into a shambling trot as he led Nicholas over the
suspension bridge below the pink cliffs.
For an hour they followed the path, but gradually it petered out until
it ended in bad and broken ground amongst the erosion'carved hills.
Undeterred, Tamre plunged into the thorny scrub, and for another two
hours they scrambled over rocky ridges and through thorn-choked valleys.
"I can see why you didn't want to bring Royan this way here. You will
not move. You will not speak. You will even breathe very, very quietly,
until I come back to fetch you.
If you utter even one little prayer before I return, I will personally
start you on your journey to meet St.. Peter at the gates of heaven. Do
you understand me?"
He went forward alone, but the little antelope was thoroughly alarmed by
now Nicholas saw it twice more, but he only had fleeting glimpses of
ruddy brown movement almost entirely screened by bush. He stood
directing bitter imprecations towards the boy monk and listening to the
tick of small hooves on dry earth as it raced away, deeper into the
thickets. In the end he was forced to give up the hunt for that day.
It was after dark when he and Tamre got back to camp.
As soon as Nicholas stepped into the circle of firelight, Royan came to
meet him.
"What happened?" she asked. "Did you see the dik-dik again?"
"Don't ask me. Ask your accomplice. He scared it off.
It is probably still running."
"Tamre,'you are a fine young man, and I am very proud of you," she told
him. The boy wriggled like a puppy, giggling and hugging himself with
the joy of her approval as he scurried away down the path to the
monastery.
Royan was so pleased with the outcome of the hunt that she poured
Nicholas a whisky with her own hand and brought it to him as he sagged
wearily by the fire.
He tasted it and shuddered, "Never let a teetotaller pour for you. With
a heavy hand like that you should take UP tossing the caber or
blacksmithing." Despite the complaint, he took another tentative sip.
She sat close to him, fidgeting with excitement, but it was a while
before he became aware of her agitation.
"What is it? Something is eating you alive."
She threw a cautionary glance in the direction of where Boris sat on the
opposite side of the fire, and then dropped her voice, leaned close to
him and spoke in Arabic.
"Tessay and I went down to the monastery this afternoon to see Mek
Nimmur. Tessay asked me to go with her, just in case Boris - well, you
know what I mean."
"I have a vague idea. You were playing chaperone." Nicholas took another
sip of the whisky and gasped. He exhaled sharply and his voice was
husky. "Go on," he invited her.
"At one stage, before I left them alone together, we were discussing the
festival of Timkat. On the fifth day the abbot takes the tabot down to
the Abbay. Mek tells us there is a path down the cLiff to the water's
edge."
"Yes, we know that."
"This is the interesting part - this you didn't know.
Everybody joins the procession down to the river. Everybody. The abbot,
all the priests, the acolytes, every true believer, even Mek and all his
men, they all go down to the river and stay there overnight. For one