The Quest

Purcell, Vivian, and Mercado thanked their hosts, and entered their rooms.

Purcell looked around the small, whitewashed room with a beamed ceiling. There were no windows, but narrow wooden louvers sat high in the wall to let in air and light, and to keep out wildlife and uninvited guests.

There were two gray steel beds against one wall that looked like they’d come from an institution. Against the opposite wall was a wooden table, on which sat their luggage and an oil lamp. In one corner was a chair, and in another was a washstand with a bowl and pitcher. He said, “Looks like a monk’s cell.”

“This will look good after a week in the jungle.”

“It will look like a palace.”

She asked him, “Are you all right with this?”

He didn’t reply.

“I can ask for a separate room.”

“Let me do that.”

“Frank. Look at me.”

He looked at her.

“I am sorry, and I love you.”

“We’ll discuss this in Gondar.”

“We are not going to Gondar.”

“Right.”

She changed the subject and said, “I didn’t think Sir Edmund had so much romance in his soul.”

Purcell admitted, “I was a bit surprised.”

“Love conquers all.”

“Any good news?”

“I’m going to find the bath.” She left.

He stood there awhile, then decided he needed a bath.

He found the door at the end of the loggia and went inside a roofless enclosure in which was a sunken pool against the far wall. The face of a black stone lion was embedded in the wall, and a stream of water poured from the lion’s mouth. Vivian’s clothes lay on a stone bench, and Vivian herself was floating full frontal nude in the pool.

He took off his clothes and slipped into the water, which was unheated but warm.

She said to him, “No one would believe a village of Jews in the middle of the Ethiopian jungle.” She added, “Or a Roman spa. Or a monastery of Coptic monks.”

“Don’t forget the Jewish princess.”

“Maybe this is a dream.”

With a bit of nightmare, for sure, he thought.

She stayed silent awhile, floating with her eyes closed. She said, “We’re very close.”

“Closer than I thought we’d get.”

“Do you think Miriam will help us?”

“She’s thinking about it.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, then Vivian said, “Thank you for staying with this.”

He didn’t reply.

“You could have left, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“It’s a good story.”

The door opened, and Mercado said, “Oh… sorry…” He asked, “Mind if I join you?” He explained, “I’m a bit rushed for time.”

Vivian did not reply, but Purcell said, “You don’t need to ask. We’re all friends.”

Chapter 45

Purcell, Vivian, and Mercado, all fresh from their communal bath, joined the princess and the colonel for cocktails on the patio. Vivian wore her best khaki pants and green T-shirt, and the two gentlemen wore khakis, top and bottom.

The sun was setting and the night had grown pleasantly cool. The purple African sky above the date palms was magnificent, Purcell thought, and if it wasn’t for Colonel Gann’s Uzi on the table, he could imagine he was someplace else.

Colonel Sir Edmund Gann had gone unnative, and he wore his paramilitary khakis to cocktails, though he’d kept his afternoon sandals.

Princess Miriam wore a purple evening shamma, trimmed with lion’s mane, the sign of royalty in old Ethiopia.

Cocktails were limited to Boodles gin, a half bottle of which Colonel Gann had been saving for a special occasion, and this was it-which pleased Henry. The gin could be had with or without fruit juice.

The cocktail chatter had mostly to do with the Falasha exodus and the local security situation. Gann explained, “Getachu and his army control the Gondar area and the surrounding Simien Mountains. Here, to the south, which is nearly unpopulated, there are counterrevolutionaries operating in the jungle valleys, as I’ve said, as well as the remnants of the Royalist forces.” He further explained, “These two groups have far different agendas-an elected government on the one hand, and a return to an absolute monarchy on the other.” He told them, “I’m trying to get them to pull together to get rid of the Marxists. I explained to both sides how we in Britain have a monarch and an elected parliament. But they’re not understanding the concept.”

Purcell admitted, “Neither do I.”

Cocktails were brief, and they were escorted into the palace, where dinner was served in a room that held a long table which would seat about twenty; suitable for large family meals, except that everyone was gone. The floor, Purcell noticed, was laid with black stone.

The teak table was set simply, though the silverware was real, Purcell noticed, and each piece was decorated with the Lion of Judah. The dishes, too, had the heraldic lion hand-painted on them. The dinner theme, Purcell saw, was lions.

Fading sunlight came through the high louvers, and oil lamps flickered on the table.

On the menu was grilled goat, some sort of root vegetable, and flatbread, with bowls of dates scattered around the table. Fermented fruit juice was poured into bronze goblets that looked like the ones Prince Joshua once owned, and the one that he, Purcell, had overpaid for in Rome.