The Quest

Mercado was keenly aware that this was an Old Testament country, and important things were always said with biblical allusions. He replied, “So the Lord was with Joshua; and his fame was noised throughout all the country.”

The prince smiled again.

Vivian said, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?” She, too, smiled.

Mercado looked at the prince, then at Vivian. “Vivian.”

“Book of Jeremiah, Henry.” She looked around. “Bad choice?”

The prince stared at her, then said, “I am black but comely; thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies. Song of Solomon.” He eyed her for a long second.

Vivian smiled. “I like that.”

The prince raised his goblet and said, “Welcome.”

They all raised their goblets and Mercado said, “To the emperor.”

Everyone drank, but the prince said nothing further.

Mercado took the lead and began conversationally, “I was here in 1935 when the Italians invaded your country. I had the honor, then, of meeting his royal highness. And then again in England, when the emperor was in exile, I had the honor of writing a news story on him.”

Prince Joshua looked at Henry Mercado with some interest, then said, “You don’t look old enough for that, Mr. Mercado.”

“Well… thank you. But I assure you I’m that old.”

The prince asked, “So what can I do for you?”

“Well,” Mercado replied, “we have come from Addis Ababa to find you and your army. But we have had many mishaps along the way. The Gallas roam the countryside and the fighting is confused. So we ask you to give us safe-conduct passes-perhaps provide us with soldiers so we may return safely to the capital and report-”

“Mr. Mercado. Please. I am no fool. You are here because you couldn’t find the Provisional government army forces. I cannot give a safe-conduct pass anywhere. I am in control of nothing more than this hill. My forces are badly beaten and at any moment the army will ask for my surrender or they will attack again. Unless, of course, the Gallas attack first. My men are deserting by the hundreds. We are living on borrowed time here.”

Mercado glanced at his companions, then said to the prince, “I see… but… that puts us in a rather tight situation…”

“Well, I am sorry for that, Mr. Mercado.”

Purcell said, “We certainly understand that your situation is worse than ours. But we would like to be able to tell your story and tell of the bravery of the Royal forces. So if you could spare a few armed men-”

The prince interrupted, “I will see what I can do to get you into the army forces. From there, perhaps, you can get a helicopter or a resupply convoy to the capital. I have no wish to see you die here with me.” He spoke the words simply, but they were strained. He asked, “Any news of the emperor?”

Mercado replied, “He is still well. The army moves him from one palace to another in and near the capital, but he is reported in good health. A fellow journalist saw him last week.”

“Good.” He sipped his scotch. “I have here another Englishman. A Colonel Sir Edmund Gann. Do you know him?”

Mercado nodded. “Heard of him, yes.”

“He is my military advisor. He is out inspecting the positions. I told him there were no positions left to inspect, but he insisted.” The prince shook his head at the lunacy. “The English are sometimes strange.”

Purcell lifted his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

“He is overdue now. But when he comes, I will try to make plans to get you all to safety if I can.”

“Thank you, Ras.” Mercado felt the old sadness return. It was the Spanish Civil War again; Mount Aradam, 1936; the trapped men at Dunkirk; fleeing Tibet with the Dalai Lama. All the losing causes met here on this hilltop. And always, he, Henry Mercado, had slipped away at the last moment while brave and doomed men waved at him and wished him bon voyage. But he had gotten his. Berlin, 1946. With a lousy U.S. Army surplus Kodak camera. He no longer felt any guilt at slipping away. He felt relief. “Yes. That would be fine.”

“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?”