lower down."
"What do we deduce from that?" she asked.
"That they are very old," he answered. "Certainly the basalt is pretty
hard. It has taken a long, long time for water to wear it down the way
it has."
"What do you think was the purpose of those holes?"
am not sure he admitted.
"Could it be that they were the anchor points for some sort of
scaffolding? she asked, and he looked impressed.
"Good thinking. They could be, he agreed.
"What other ideas occur to you?"
"Ritual designs," he suggested. "A religious motif." He smiled as he saw
her expression of doubt. "Not very convincing, I agree."
"All right, let's consider the idea of scaffolding. Why would anybody
want to erect scaffolding in a place like that?" She lay back in the
grass and picked a straw which she nibbled reflectively.
He shrugged. "To anchor a1adder or a gantry, to gain access to the
bottom of the chasm?"
"What other reason?"
"I can't think of any other."
After a while she shook her head. "Nor can She spat out the piece of
grass. "If that is the motive, then they were fairly committed to the
project. From your description it must have been a substantial
structure, designed to support the weight of a, lot of men or heavy
material."
"In North America the Red Indians built fishing platforms over
waterfalls like that from which they netted the salmon."
"Have there ever been great runs of fish through these waters?" she
asked, and he shrugged again.
"Nobody can answer that. Perhaps long ago who knows."
"Was that all you saw down there?"
"High up the wall, aligned with mathematical precision between the two
lines of stone niches, there was something that looked like a has-relief
carving."
She sat up with a jerk and stared at him avidly. "Could it clearly? Was
it script, or was it a design? What you see was the style of the
carving?"
"No such luck. It was too high, and the light is very poor down there. I
am not even certain that it wasn't'a natural flaw in the rock."
Her disappointment was palpable, but after a pause she asked,
"Was there anything else?"
"Yes," he grinned. "Lots and lots of water moving very very fast."
"What are we going to do about this putative has-relief of yours?" she
asked.
"I don't like the idea in the least, but I will have to go back in there
and have another look."
"When?"
"tomorrow. Our one chance to get into the maqdas of the cathedral. After
that we will make a plan to explore the gorge."
"We are running out of time, Nicky, just when things are getting really
interesting."
"You can say that again!'. he murmured. She felt his breath on her lips,
for their faces were as close together as those of conspirators or of
lovers, and she realized the double meaning of her own words. She jumped
to her feet and slapped the dust and loose straw from her jodhpurs.
"You only'have one fish to feed the multitude. Either you have a very
high opinion of yourself, or you had better get fishing."
wo debteras who had been detailed by the bishop to escort them tried to
force a way for them through the crowds. However, they had not reached
the foot of the staircase before the escort itself was swallowed up and
lost. Nicholas and Royan became separated from the other couple.
"Keep close," Nicholas told Royan, and maintained a firm grip on her
upper arm as he used his shoulder to open a path for them. He drew her
along with him. Naturally, he had deliberately contrived to lose Boris
and Tessay in the crush, and it had worked out nicely the way he had
planned it.
At last they reached a position where Nicholas could set his back firmly
against one of the stone columns of the terrace, to prevent the crowd
jostling him. He also had a good view of the entrance to the cavern
cathedral. Royan was not tall enough to see over the heads of the men in
front of her, so Nicholas lifted her up on to the balustrade of the
staircase and anchored her firmly against the column.
She clung to his shoulder for support, for the drop into the Nile opened
behind her, The worshippers kept up a low monotonous chant, while a
dozen separate bands of musicians tapped their drums and rattled their
sistrums. Each band surrounded its own patron, a chieftain in splendid
robes, sheltering under a huge gaudy umbrella.
There was an air of excitement and expectation almost as fierce as the
heat and the stink. It built up steadily and, as the reased in pitch and
volume, the crowd singing inc began to sway and undulate like a single
organism, some grotesque amoeba, pulsing with life.
Suddenly from within the precincts of the cathedral there came the
chiming of brass bells, and immediately a hundred horns and trumpets
answered. From the head of the stairway there was a fusillade of gunfire
as the bodyguards of the chieftains fired their weapons in the air.
Some of them were armed with automatic rifles, and the clatter of AK-47
fire blended with the thunder of ancient black powder muzzle-loaders.
Clouds of blue gunsmoke blew over the congregation, and bullets
ricocheted from the cliff and sang away over the gorge. Women shrieked
and utulated, an eerie, blood-chilling sound. The men's faces were
alight with the fires of religious fervour.
They fell to their knees and lifted their hands high in adoration,
chanting and crying out to God for blessing.
The women held their infants aloft, and tears of religious frenzy
streaked their dark cheeks.
From the gateway of the underground church emerged a procession of
priests and monks. First came the debteras in long white robes, and then
the acolytes who were to be baptized at the riverside. Royan recognized
Tamre, his long gangling frame standing a head above the boys around
him.
She waved over the crowd and he saw her and grinned shyly before he
followed the debteras on to the pathway to the river.
By this time night was falling. The depths of the cauldron were obscured
by shadows, and hanging over it the sky was a purple canopy pricked by
the first bright stars.
At the head of the pathway burned a brass brazier. As each of the
priests passed it he thrust his unlit torch into the flames and, as soon
as it flared, he held it aloft.
Like a stream of molten lava the torchlit procession began to uncoil
down the cliff face, the priests chanting dolefully and the drums
booming and echoing from the cliffs across the river.
Following the baptism candidates through the stone gateway came the
ordained priests in their tawdry robes, bearing the processional crosses
of silver and glittering brass, and the banners of embroidered silk,
with their depictions of the saints in the agony of martyrdom and the
ecstasy of adoration. They clanged their bells and blew their fifes, and
sweated and chanted until their eyes rolled white in dark faces.
Behind them, home by two priests in the most sumptuous robes and tall,
jewel-encrusted head-dresses, came the tabot. The Ark of the Tabernacle
was covered with a crimson cloth that hung to the ground, for it was too
holy to be desecrated by the gaze of the profane.
The worshippers threw themselves down upon the ground in fresh paroxysms
of adoration. Even the chiefs prostrated themselves upon the soiled
pavement of the terrace, and some of them wept with the fervour of their
belief.
Last in the procession came Jali Hora, wearing not the crown with the
blue stone, but another even more splendid creation, the Epiphany crown,