right with it., The monks seated around them were urging them to drink,
and Nicholas raised his flask. The monks clapped and laughed as he
tasted the liquor. It was light and pleasant, with a strong bouquet of
wild honey. 'Not bad!' he gave his opinion, but Tessay warned him,
'Later they will almost certainly offer you katikala. Be very careful of
that! It is distilled from fermented grain and it will take your head
off at the shoulders.'
The monks were concentrating their hospitality on Royan now. The fac t
that she was a Coptic Christian, a true believer, had impressed them. It
was obvious also that her beauty had not gone entirely unremarked by
this company of holy and celibate men.
Nicholas leaned close to her, and whispered, 'You will have to fake it
for their benefit. Hold it up to your lips and pretend to swallow, or
they will not leave you in peace.'
As she lifted the&ask the monks hooted with delight and saluted her with
their own upraised flasks. She lowered the flask again, and whispered to
Nicholas.
'It's delicious. It tastes of honey.'
'You broke your vow of abstinence!' he chided her laughing. 'Did you?'
'Just a drop,' she admitted, 'and anyway I never made any vows.'
The acolytes knelt in turn in front of each guest, offering them a bowl
of hot water in which to wash their right hands in preparation for the
feast.
Suddenly there was the sound of music and drums, and a band of musicians
filed through the open doors of the qiddist. They took up their
positions along the side walls of the chamber, while the congregation
craned expectantly to peer into its dim interior.
At last Jali Hora, the ancient abbot, appeared at the head of the steps.
He wore a full-length robe of crimson satin, with a gold
thread-embroidered stole around his shoulders. On his head was a massive
crown. Though it glittered like gold, Nicholas knew that it was gilt
brass, and the multi'coloured stones with- which it was set were just as
certainly glass and paste.
JahbHora raised his crook, which was surmounted by an ornate silver
cross, and a weighty silence fell upon the company.
'Now he will say the grace,' Tessay told them, and bowedh'er head.
JahHora's grace was fervent and lengthy, his reedy falsetto punctuated
by devout responses from the monks.
When at last he came to the end, two splendidly robed debteras helped
Jali Hora down the stairs and seated him on his carved jimmera stool at
the head of the circle of senior deacons and priests.
The religious mood of the monks changed to one of festive bonhomie as a
procession of acolytes entered from the terrace, each of them bearing
upon his head a flat woven reed basket the size of a wagon wheel. They
placed one of these in the centre of each circle of guests.
Then at a signal from JahHora, acting in unison they whipped the lid off
each basket. A jovial cheer went up from the monks, for each basket
contained a shallow brass bowl that was filled from rim to rim with
round sheets of the flat grey unleavened iniera bread.
