'Throw them off the terrace to the crocodiles in the cauldron of the
Nile?' she suggested maliciously. 'Anyway, you are not going in there
without me.'
This was not the time to argue, he decided, and instead he tried to see
as much as possible through the open doors of the qiddist. The middle
chamber seemed much smaller than the outer chamber in which they stood.
He could just make out the shadowy murals that covered the portions of
the inner walls that he could see. In the facing wall was another
doorway. From Tamre's description, he realized that this must be the
entrance to the maqdas. The opening was barred by a heavy grille gate of
dark wooden beams, the joints of the cross-pieces reinforced with
gussets of hand hammered native iron.
On each side of the doorway, from rock ceiling to floor, hung long
embroidered tapestries depicting scenes from the life of St. Frumentius.
In one he was preaching to a kneeling congregation, with the Bible in
one hand and his right hand raised in benediction. In the other tapestry
he was baptizing an emperor. The king wore a high golden crown like that
of Jali Hora, and the saint's head was surrounded by a halo. The saint's
face was white, while the emperor's was black.
'Politically correct?' Nicholas asked himself, with a smile.
'What is amusing you?' Royan asked. 'Have you thought of a way of
getting in there?'
'No, I was thinking of dinner. Let's go!
At dinner Boris showed no ill effects from the previous night's debauch.
During the day he had taken out his shotgun and shot a bunch of green
pigeons. Tessay had marinated these and barbecued them over the coals.
'Tell me, English, how was the hunting today? Did you get attacked by
the deadly striped dik-dik? Hey? Hey?' He bellowed with laughter.
'Did your trackers have any success?' Nicholas asked mildly.
.'Da! Da! They found kudu and hushbuck and buffalo.
They even found dik-dik, but no stripes. Sorry, no stripes.'
Royan leaned forward and opened her mouth to intervene, but Nicholas
cautioned her with a shake of the head. She shut her mouth again and
looked down at her plate, slicing a morsel from the breast of a pigeon.
'We don't really need company tomorrow,' Nicholas explained mildly in
Arabic. 'If he knew, he would insist on coming with us.'
'Did your Mummy never teach you no manners, English? It's rude to talk
in a language that others can't understand. Have a vodka.'
'You have my share,' Nicholas invited him. 'I know when I am
outclassed.'
During the rest of the meal Tessay replied only in low monosyllables
when Royan tried to draw her into the conversation. She looked tragic
and defeated. She never looked at her husband, even when he was at his
loudest and most overbearing. When the meal ended, they left her sitting
with Boris at the fire. Boris had a fresh bottle of vodka on the table
beside him.
'The way he is pumping the liquor, it looks as if I might be called out
on another midnight rescue mission,' Nicholas remarked as they made
their way to their own huts.
