The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 56

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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,

a mass of gleaming metal and flashing faux jewels which seemed too heavy

for his ancient scrawny neck to support. Two debteras held his elbows

and guided his uncertain footsteps on to the stairway that led down to

the Nile.

As the procession descended, so those worshippers nearest to the head of

the stairs rose to their feet, lit their torches at the brazier and

followed the abbot down. There was a general movement along the terrace

to join the flow, and as it began to empty, Nicholas lifted Royan down

from her perch on the balustrade.

"We must get into the church while "there are still enough people around

to cover us," he whispered. Leading her by the hand, with his other hand

hanging on to the strap of his camera bag, he joined the movement down

the terrace. He allowed them to be carried forward, but all the time he

was edging across the stream of humanity towards the entrance to the

church. He saw Boris and Tessay in the crush ahead of him, but they had

not seen him, and he crouched lower so as to screen himself from them.

As he and Royan reached the gateway to the outer the eased them out of

the throng of chamber of the church, humanity and drew her gently

through the low entrance into the dim, deserted interior. With a quick

glance he made certain that they were alone, and that the guards were no

longer at their stations beside the inner gates.

Then he moved quickly along the side wall, to where one of the

soot'grimed tapestries hung from the ceiling to the stone floor. He

lifted the folds of heavy woven wool and drew Royan behind them, letting

them fall back into place, concealing them both.

They were only just in time, for hardly had they flattened their backs

against the wall and let the tapestry settle when they heard footsteps

approaching from the qiddist. Nicholas peeked around the corner of the

tapestry and saw four white-robed priests cross the outer chamber and

swing the main doors closed as they left the church.

There was a weighty thud from outside as they dropped the locking beam

into place, and then a profound silence pervaded the cavern.

"I didn't reckon on that," Nicholas whispered. "They have locked us in

for the night."

"At least it means that we won't be disturbed," Royan replied briskly.

"We can get to work right away."

Stealthily they emerged from their hiding-place, and moved across the

outer chamber to the doorway of the qiddist. Here Nicholas paused and

cautioned her with a hand on her arm. "From here on we are in forbidden

territory. Better let me go ahead and scout the lie of the land."

She shook her head firmly. "You are not leaving me here. I am coming

with you all the way." He knew better than to argue.

"Come on, then." He led her up the steps and into the middle chamber.

It was smaller and lower than the room they had left.

The wall hangings were richer and in a better state of repair. The floor

was bare, except for a pyramid-shaped framework of hand-hewn native

timber upon which stood rows of brass lamps, each with the wick floating

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