The Quest: A Novel (32 page)

Purcell didn’t know if he was actually back in the reading room of the Vatican Library, or if this was a recurring nightmare. Vivian, however, seemed fascinated by the library and impressed with all the documents that Henry had assembled.

Mercado had assured Purcell that this would be a quick visit, to wrap up his background briefing. Next stop was the Ethiopian College, and if they weren’t kicked out again, he, Mercado, and Gann had been allowed one hour in the college library. Vivian, because of her gender, was not welcome.

Mercado continued, “The British Expeditionary Force was led by Sir Robert Napier, and they advanced on the new Ethiopian capital of Magdala. Theodore was beaten in battle and committed suicide on Easter Day 1868.”

Purcell glanced at his watch. Vivian had volunteered to stay in this room and read through Henry’s notes. She’d also brought her camera with her, a brand-new Canon F-1, to begin her photographic documentation of their story, starting with this reading room, and ending, Purcell hoped, with cocktails in the papal reception hall, with everyone holding up the Holy Grail like it was the Stanley Cup.

Vivian saw Purcell smiling and took his picture.

Mercado continued, “Napier, in good imperial tradition, sacked
the emperor’s palace and the imperial library at Magdala, carrying off a trove of ancient documents. He took four hundred or so of the most promising of them back to England. He also took the ancient imperial crown that wound up in the British Museum.”

Gann said, “I believe we gave it back.”

“You did,” said Mercado. “And now it’s probably in the hands of the Marxists—or it’s been sold or melted down for the gold and gems.”

Purcell said, “We get the point, Henry.”

Mercado continued, “Inside the rim of the crown is engraved, in Geez, the ancient language of Ethiopia, which remains the language of the Coptic Church, these words”—he glanced at his notes—“King of Kings, Conquering Lion of Judah, Descendant of the House of David, Keeper of the Ark of the Covenant, and Keeper of the Holy Vessel.” Mercado looked at his audience and said, “We can assume that is the Holy Grail.”

No one argued with that translation, but everyone knew that kings and emperors liked to give themselves titles. Theodore may have descended from the House of David, Purcell thought, but he wasn’t the conquering Lion of Judah on Easter Day 1868. Nor was he King of Kings. He was dead. As for keeper of the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail, Purcell was sure that Theodore believed it, but that didn’t make the relics real.

Mercado continued, “Napier, now Lord Napier of Magdala, sold some of the looted documents at auction, and a few of them found their way into the Vatican archives, and this”—he took a curled, yellowed parchment out of a velvet folio—“is one of them.”

Mercado held up the parchment by a corner and said, “It is written in Geez, and I had one of the Ethiopian seminarians who can read Geez translate it for me.”

Gann was looking closely at the parchment as though he could read it, but he said, “It’s Geez to me.”

Mercado smiled politely and replaced the parchment in its velvet folio. “The seminarian thought that based on the style of Geez used, and on the historical event described, this is from about the seventh century—about the time that Islam conquered Egypt.”

Mercado referred to his notes and continued, “This parchment is
unsigned, and the author is unknown, but it was probably written by a church scribe or monk and it is an account of a miraculous healing of a Prince Jacob who was near death from wounds sustained in battle with the Mohammadans, as they are called here, who had invaded from Egyptian Sudan. According to this account, Prince Jacob was carried to Axum to die, and was taken to the place—it doesn’t say which place—where the Holy Vessel was kept. The abuna of Axum, the archbishop, gave this prince the last rites, then anointed him with the blood from the Holy Vessel, and Prince Jacob, because he was faithful to God, and because he loved Jesus, and also because he fought bravely against the Mohammadans, was healed of his wounds by the sacred blood of Christ, and he rose up and returned to battle.” Mercado said, “Unfortunately, there is no actual mention of the Lance of Longinus.”

Purcell thought there were other problems with that story. In fact, it sounded like propaganda to rally the troops and the citizens in time of war. But everyone understood that, so he didn’t mention it.

Mercado, too, saw the story as a morale builder and possibly a bit of a stretch. He said, “This proves little, of course, but it does mention the Holy Grail being in Axum at this time, and it is one of the few early references to the Grail having the power to heal.”

Vivian said, “The power to heal those who believe.”

Mercado nodded at his former protégée, then said to everyone, “At some point after this time, with Axum being threatened by Islam, the Grail was taken to a safe place—or many safe places—and now we think we know where it is.”

Mercado stayed silent a moment, then said, “Edward Gibbon, in his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, wrote, ‘Encompassed on all sides by the enemies of their religion, the Ethiopians slept near a thousand years, forgetful of the world, by whom they were forgotten.’ ”

Mercado looked at his watch and said, “We will now go to the Ethiopian College.”

A
short, squat Ethiopian monk met them in the antechamber and escorted them, without a word, to a second-floor library. The college appeared to still be closed for the long Christmas holiday, and they seemed to be the only people there.

A very large monk stood inside the entrance to the library, and the two monks exchanged a few words in what sounded like Amharic.

Purcell looked around the library, which was windowless and badly lit. Book-laden shelves extended up to the high ceiling, and long reading tables ran down the center of the room.

The short monk left, and the big one remained in the room. Apparently he wasn’t leaving, so Mercado said something to him in Italian, and the monk replied in halting Italian.

Mercado informed Purcell and Gann, “He’s staying.”

Purcell asked, “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” He said, “There’s a map room here somewhere, and that’s what we want to see.”

Gann suggested, “Don’t go right for it, old boy. We’ll look around here a bit, then find the map room.”

Mercado nodded and moved over to the shelved books and scanned the titles. Gann did the same, so Purcell took a look at the books. Most seemed to be in Latin, some in Italian, and many in what looked like Amharic script.

Mercado said, “Here’s a Bible in Geez.”

Purcell’s three minutes of pretending were up and he moved toward the far end of the long room, where there was a closed door, which he opened, expecting to be shouted at by the monk. But the monk didn’t say anything, so Purcell entered the room, which was indeed the cartography room.

A long, marble-topped table sat in the center of the room, and
hundreds of rolled maps sat stacked on deep shelves, each with a stringed tag attached. He looked at a tag that was handwritten in Italian, Latin, and Amharic.

He heard something behind him and turned to see the monk standing a few feet from him. Purcell asked, “Mind if I smoke?”

The monk did not reply.

Purcell moved along the shelves, looking at the hanging tags, though he couldn’t read any of them.

Mercado and Gann joined him, and they seemed pleased to see all the maps. Mercado began immediately reading tags, and Gann said, “Here are the Italian Army maps.” As he picked a few dust-covered maps off the shelf, Purcell unrolled them and laid them on the map table, weighting their corners with brass bars that had been stacked there for that purpose.

There didn’t seem to be a card catalog, but Mercado soon figured out how the maps were grouped, and he took a few ancient maps, hand drawn on parchment and papyrus, and set them gently on the table.

The monk watched, but said nothing.

Gann was now sitting at the table, studying the unfurled army maps, and Purcell sat to his right and Mercado to his left. Sir Edmund was once again Colonel Gann.

Purcell saw that the army maps were color printed, with shades of green for vegetation, shades of brown for arid areas, and pale blue for water. The elevation lines were in dark brown, and the few roads were represented by black dotted lines. The symbols for other man-made objects were also in black, as were the grid lines and the latitudes and longitudes. The map legend and all the other writing was in Italian. Gann said, “We used these captured maps in ’41, and map words are the extent of my Italian.”

Gann pointed to a map and said, “This one is a 1:50,000 map of the east bank of Lake Tana. It was partially field checked by the Italian Army’s map ordnance section that made it, but most of this map was compiled from aerial photographs. This map here is of the fortress city of Gondar and environs. It is a more accurate 1:25,000, and completely field checked. Everything else seems to be crude 1:100,000- and 1:250,000-scale maps, not field checked.”

Purcell knew how to read aviation charts, but these were terrain maps, and unless you understood what everything meant, it was like looking at paint spills on graph paper.

Gann continued, “Most of Africa was accurately mapped by the colonial powers. Ethiopia, however, was not a European colony until the Italians invaded, and the Ethies themselves hadn’t any idea how to make a map, or what use they were. Therefore, most of what exists is a result of the Italian Army’s brief control of the country.”

Mercado asked, “And nothing since then?”

Gann informed them, “The former Ethiopian government had a small cartography office, but they mostly reproduced Italian maps, and now and again they’d produce a city map or a road map, though never a proper field-checked terrain map.” He added, “Both armies in the current civil war are using what we see here from 1935 until 1941.”

Purcell pointed out, “I assume the black monastery hasn’t been moved, so maybe these are better than nothing.”

“Quite so.”

Gann studied the maps closely, then unrolled a few more.

“Here. This is the area where we were, and this is the map I was using then.” He ran his finger in a circle around a green-and-brown-shaded area. “This is the jungle valley where the spa is located, and this is the unimproved road by which you presumably arrived.”

Purcell asked, “Where is the spa?”

“Not here, actually. Probably built after the map was done. But right here”—he pointed—“is where it is.”

Gann bent over the map and said, “These are the hills where Prince Joshua set up his camp… These are the hills where Getachu’s camp was located. And this is the high plains or plateau between the camps where… where the armies met.”

Purcell stared at the map—the same one Gann had shown him—and that unpleasant day came back to him as it had just come back to Colonel Gann.

Purcell said to Mercado, “Puts me right there again, Henry. How about you?”

“Makes me wonder why we ever left.”

They all got a laugh at that, and Gann continued his map recon.
He glanced at the monk across the room, then joked, “Don’t see the symbol for hidden black monastery.”

Purcell asked, “Do you see anything that could be a fortress?” He reminded Gann, “Father Armano’s prison for almost forty years.”

“No… don’t see any man-made structures…”

Mercado reminded everyone, “Father Armano walked through the night
from
this fortress
to
the spa.”

“Yes… but what direction?”

Purcell said, “He mentioned something about Gondar to the north. And I’m assuming the fortress was in the jungle—the dark green stuff.”

“Yes, possibly… here is something that would be a night’s march to the spa…” He pointed to a small black square identified as “
incognita
”—unknown.

Gann surmised, “Probably seen from the air and put on the map, but never field checked to identify it.”

Mercado said, “Could be the fortress. I don’t see any other man-made structures in this jungle valley.”

Gann agreed that
incognita
could be the fortress, but he advised, “The scale of this map is so large that even these hills, which we know are large from being there, look quite small.”

In fact, Purcell thought, those hills had almost killed Henry.

The monk had moved and was now standing across the table, looking at them.

Gann said, “Don’t assume he doesn’t speak English.”

Purcell said to Mercado, “Maybe this guy wants to back off.”

Mercado said something to the monk, who moved a few feet away.

Purcell said softly, “The priest said he was taken
from
the black… place by the monks and handed over to soldiers of this Prince Theodore, who marched him to the fortress.” He thought back to the spa and to Father Armano’s dying words. “The priest didn’t remark about the march, so maybe it was a day’s march at most.”

Mercado, too, was thinking about what Father Armano had said. “I don’t know if we can make that assumption… I wish we’d known we were going to be looking for this place. I’d have asked him to be more specific.”