The Quest: A Novel (10 page)

“And if you should get away from here, write a good story about the emperor and his army—as you did when the Italians invaded.”

“I will do that.”

“Good.” The prince rose. “I must see to my duty.”

Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian stood and bowed. As the prince was turning to leave, Vivian called to him, “Prince Joshua?”

“Yes?”

“You must know of a Prince Theodore. He fought the Italians when they invaded and he had a fortress in the jungle a few days’ march from here.”

The prince nodded. “Theodore was my uncle. He was killed fighting the Italians with a band of partisans in 1937. My cousin, also Theodore, still keeps the garrison in the jungle. It is a fine fortress. Cement and stone. Why do you ask?”

“I heard there was fighting there. I just wondered if you knew of it.”

“No. I have heard nothing. I would not even know which side controlled the fortress or who attacked it. Why are you asking?”

“Oh, I just thought that if perhaps the fighting were over, we could find sanctuary there.”

“I think not. Excuse me.”

“Prince Joshua?”

The prince turned and breathed a sigh of impatience. “Yes, madam?”

“There is also a monastery in the area. We thought, perhaps, we could reach that. A monastery of black stone, I think.”

“There is no such place. You will be joined by Sir Edmund shortly and you can ask him your questions. Excuse me.” He turned and left.

Purcell wiped the sweat from his neck. “You are a pushy bitch, Vivian. But good questions.”

Mercado sat down on a cushion and said to Vivian, “The man is contemplating a Galla massacre or an army firing squad and you have to annoy him. Really, you are insensitive.”

Vivian sat also and poured another scotch. “We aren’t exactly at the Hilton in Addis, you know, Henry. His fate could very well be ours.”

“Yes. You’re right, of course. But
we
have a chance.”

Purcell sat on the low table and helped himself to the scotch. He said, “Well, at least we know that the garrison in the jungle is real.”

They could hear excited noises outside the tent and the unmistakable sounds of military deterioration. Arguments broke out, and at least one disagreement was settled with a gun. Tents around them
were being plundered by the fleeing soldiers, but the flag of the Lion of Judah kept their tent inviolate for the time being, though they felt their perimeter of safety shrinking as they sat sipping scotch in the hot, fetid enclosure.

Purcell said to Mercado, “You were right, Henry. This is where the story is. And I think we’re about to be part of it.”

Mercado did not reply.

Vivian said, “I’d like to get some photographs.”

Purcell motioned toward a row of ceremonial shields and spears leaning against the tent wall. “Henry, dress up a bit.”

Again, Mercado did not reply, but he said to Vivian, “You will not leave this tent.”

Purcell suggested they look around to see if there were any other weapons in the tent aside from the spears.

Mercado said firmly, “We cannot be found carrying a firearm. We are journalists.”

“Everyone else has one.”

“That’s the point, Frank. We can’t shoot our way out of here.” He added, “This is not an American cowboys and Indians movie.”

Purcell stayed silent for a moment, then said, “I was thinking more along the lines of avoiding a fate worse than death.”

No one replied, then Mercado said, “You’re being a bit fatalistic, Frank.” He asked, “What would you like to do?”

Purcell thought a moment, then replied, “There’s only one option left.”

“What is that?”

“Another round.” He emptied the remaining scotch into the three bronze goblets and said, “I hope those lances can drip more scotch into our cups.”

“Don’t be blasphemous.”

Purcell took one of the spears and stuck it in the ground next to the table. They all sat on the tabletop, facing the closed tent flap.

Purcell had no idea who would come through that flap—mutinous soldiers, Colonel Gann, the prince, or Gallas. With luck, the cavalry in the form of the government soldiers would arrive and Henry would wave his press credentials and safe-conduct pass and
remember how to say in Amharic, “Thank you for rescuing us from the prince.”

Meanwhile, the sounds of desertion and disintegration outside the tent were growing quieter. In fact, ominously quiet.

Vivian said, “I think we’re alone.”

The tent flap opened and Purcell said, “Not anymore.” He reached for the spear.

A
tall, thin man wearing a sweat-stained khaki uniform stooped and entered. He glanced at the spear in Purcell’s hands, then said in a British accent, “Hello. I think we’ve lost the war.”

Purcell noted that Colonel Sir Edmund Gann wore a reddish mustache and carried a riding crop. He was hatless, but there was a tan line on his forehead, so he’d lost his hat somewhere, though not his service revolver, which he wore on his hip. He also had a pair of field glasses hanging around his neck. Purcell stuck the spear back in the ground and stood.

Mercado introduced himself, and Colonel Gann said, “Yes, I’ve read your stuff.”

“Thank you.” Mercado introduced his companions, and Vivian said to Colonel Gann, “If you’ve read Henry’s stuff, I like you already.”

Colonel Gann forced a smile and told them, “We have to move quickly.” He informed everyone, “There are several hundred nasty-looking Gallas less than a thousand yards from here.”

No one replied, but Purcell saw that Mercado had gone pale.

Colonel Gann added, “But they are dismounted and moving slowly.” He explained, “Stripping corpses, finishing off the wounded, and looking for booty.”

And, Purcell knew, mutilating the dead and wounded, and that takes awhile.

Purcell exited the tent and looked around. The entire camp was deserted, and he noticed that the prince’s flag was gone. More importantly, their Jeep was also gone.

Mercado, Gann, and Vivian came out into the bright sunlight, and Purcell asked Gann, “Do you have horses to go with that riding crop?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Vivian asked, “Where’s our Jeep?”

Gann replied, “Last I saw it, there were a dozen Royalist soldiers in it, headed south toward the jungle valley.”

Vivian said, “Everything we own was in that Jeep.”

Mercado added, “Including our chance to get out of here.” He asked Gann, “Where is Prince Joshua?”

“Last I saw of him, he and six of his staff were on horseback, also heading south.”

Purcell remarked, “I hope he remembered to take his crown.”

Vivian said, “This is not funny, Frank.”

“Look at the bright side, Vivian.”

“And what is that?”

“The Gallas can’t castrate you.”

Colonel Gann interjected, “The Provisional government forces are to the north. I would advise you to try to reach their lines and show your press credentials. However, they apparently have allowed the Gallas to have some fun before the army advances. So that puts the Gallas between you and the government army.”

No one replied, and Colonel Gann continued, “But you can give it a go if you’d like.”

Vivian asked, “And will you come with us?”

“No. I’m a known advisor to the Royal Army. The government forces would probably shoot me.”

Purcell said, “So let’s all head south and catch up with the retreating Royalists.”

Colonel Gann informed them, “I’m afraid they don’t fancy me much.” He explained, “I was a strict disciplinarian. You understand?”

Purcell observed, “It seems no one likes you, Colonel.”

“I’m not here to be liked.”

Vivian said, “Well, I like you. So come with us.”

Mercado inquired, “Where are we going?”

Colonel Gann suggested, “We can follow the rear guard of the Royal Army, keeping our distance from them, and staying a few steps ahead of the advancing Gallas.”

“Between a rock and a hard place,” said Purcell.

Colonel Gann also suggested, “You three can probably join up with the Royalist rear guard… though I’m not sure they’d treat you well.” He explained, “The prince is on the run and discipline has broken down.”

“And,” Purcell reminded him, “you’re no longer in a position to enforce good order and discipline.”

“Correct.”

“Well…”

In the distance, to the north, they could hear a man scream.

Colonel Gann said, “The Gallas have arrived.”

Mercado, without a word, began moving quickly downhill toward the goat trail.

Vivian snapped a few quick pictures of the prince’s tent and the deserted camp, then she and Gann started to follow, but Purcell said, “I’ll look for water in the tent and catch up.”

Gann informed him, “We looked. There is no water.” He added, “Whiskey’s gone, too, I’m afraid.”

They caught up to Mercado and headed south, retracing the route they’d taken from the spa to Prince Joshua’s headquarters. They passed the open area where the bloated bodies lay and found the small, ravine-like goat path, then took it downhill, continuing south toward the jungle valley. Purcell noted that their tire marks had been completely obliterated by the sandal prints and bare feet of Royalist soldiers fleeing toward the jungle.

The sun was hot and bright, and the rocks radiated an intense heat. Behind them, they could hear the war cries of the Gallas, and Purcell guessed that they had reached the prince’s deserted camp.

Mercado was having difficulty breathing so they stopped to rest. Colonel Gann pulled an old Italian survey map from his pocket and studied it. Purcell lit a cigarette and studied Henry Mercado. Mercado had seemed to be in good physical shape, but his age was showing now.

Vivian was patting Mercado’s face with a handkerchief, and she said, “We need some water.”

Gann looked up from his map and replied, “There are a few mountain streams close by, but probably dry now.”

Purcell noticed that Vivian had left her bush hat in the Jeep and her cheeks were bright red.

Colonel Gann climbed out of the ravine and surveyed the terrain through his field glasses. He called softly down to his companions, “Some of the Gallas on horseback have actually gotten in front of us—between us and the rear guard of the Royal Army. In fact, they are all around us.”

Purcell climbed out of the ravine and took a look through Gann’s field glasses. Down the hill, on both sides of the ravine, he saw the mounted men picking their way carefully but skillfully down the rock-strewn slopes.

Farther up the slope, coming toward them, were more horsemen, dressed in black robes, their heads and faces swathed in black scarves. They carried scimitars, and they looked to Purcell like Death.

At the top of the hill where they’d come from, Purcell could see dust clouds that meant more horsemen.

He looked across the ravine to the west. A high, razorback ridge of rock ran up to a neighboring peak.

Purcell lowered the field glasses and pointed to the ridgeline.

Gann nodded and said, “Yes, almost impassable for horses…” He consulted his map and said, “If we can get onto that ridge, it will take us up to that peak.” He showed Purcell the map and pointed. “A descending ridge will take us to this plateau below the highlands where the government forces are dug in.” He asked Purcell, “Can you read a terrain map?”

“A little. And I can climb mountains.”

“Good. If we should become separated, just follow the ridgelines—west, then north.”

Purcell and Gann scrambled back into the ravine, and Purcell said, “Okay, there seems to be a route out of here, but it’s a lot of uphill.” He looked at Mercado and asked, “Can you make it, Henry?”

Mercado nodded, but Purcell noticed he wasn’t springing to his feet. Purcell gave him a hand and pulled him up.

Vivian asked Mercado, “Are you all right?”

“Yes… can’t wait here for the Gallas.”

Gann took the field glasses from Purcell and climbed up the west side of the ravine. He scanned the area, then waved everyone up.

Purcell and Vivian helped Mercado out of the ravine, and they all crouched around the jagged boulders, looking for signs of Gallas between them and the base of the ridgeline about three hundred yards across a rock-strewn slope that was covered with chest-high brown brush.

There were dust clouds upslope and downslope, but no visible horsemen.

Gann led the way, followed by Vivian and Mercado, and Purcell brought up the rear, urging Mercado on. They dashed in a crouch, keeping below the brush, from boulder to boulder.

Now and then, Purcell caught a glimpse of the Gallas and saw that some were dismounted, leading their horses, while others remained mounted. They were proceeding at a leisurely pace, like the scavengers they were, he thought, more interested in fallen men and abandoned equipment than engaging the rear guard of the prince’s army.

Gann called for a rest among high, jagged rocks, and commented, “When the Gallas have picked the field clean, they will regroup, then decide if they are strong enough to attack the Royal Army.” He added, “They would very much like to get the prince’s crown and his head with it.”

“Not to mention the prince’s family jewels,” said Purcell.