The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 97

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lay in a bundle, moaning and sobbing.

"He is too far gone in senility," the lieutenant shook his head. "His

mind has gone, colonel. He does not understand the command."

"Break it open, then," Nogo ordered, "No, don't waste any more time.

Shoot the lock away. The wood is rotten."

Obediently the lieutenant stepped up to the door, and gestured his men

to stand well clear. He aimed his AK-47 into the wood of the door lintel

and fired a long, continuous burst.

Dust and chips of wood and stone flew in a cloud, and fresh yellow

splinters splattered the paving. The noise of gunfire and the whine of

ricochets was deafening in the echoing hall of the qiddist, and the

monks wailed and howled and covered their ears and their eyes where they

knelt. The lieutenant stepped back from the shattered door. The black

wrought-iron hasp and staple hung at an angle, the supporting woodwork

almost shot through.

"Break it down now!" Nogo ordered, and five of his men ran forward and

put their shoulders to the sagging door. At their combined thrust there

was a crackling, rending sound, and now the monks were screaming' Some

of them had covered their heads with the skirts of their shammas so as

not to have to witness this sacrilege;,others were tearing at their

faces with their fingernails, leaving long bloody gouges down their own

cheeks.

"Again!" roared Nogo, and his men rushed the door once more, using their

shoulders in unison. The lock was ripped away from its fastenings, and

they pushed the massive door fully open and peered into the dim recesses

of I the maqdas beyond. The chamber was lit only by a few smoky oil

lamps.

Now suddenly even these non-Christians were reluctant to cross that

threshold into the holy place. They all hung back, even Tuma Nogo,

despite his defiant Protestations of non-belief.

"Nahoot!" He looked back over his shoulder at the bedraggled and still

sweating Egyptian. "This is your job now. Herr von Schiller has ordered

you to find the things we want. Come here."

As Nahoot came forward, Nogo seized his arm and thrust him. through the

doorway. "Get in there, oh follower of the Prophet. The Trinity of

Christian gods cannot harm you.

He stepped into the maqdas immediately after Nahoot and shone his torch

around the low chamber. The beam of light danced over the shelves of

votive offerings, sparkling on the glass and precious stones, on the

brass and gold and silver. It stopped on the high cedarwood altar,

lighting the Epiphany crown and the chalices, reflected from the

communion plate and the tall silver Coptic cross.

"Beyond the altar," Nahoot cried out with excitement.

"The barred gateway! This is the place where the Polaroids were taken."

He broke away from the group in the doorway and ran wildly across the

chamber. Gripping the bars of the gate in his clenched fists, he peered

between them like a prisoner sentenced to life imprisonment.

"This is the tomb. Bring the light! His voice was a high-pitched and

frantic scream.

Nogo ran to join him, brushing past the damaskcovered tabot stone. He

shone the torch through the bars of the gate.

"By the sweet compassion of God, and the eternal breath of his Prophet,'

Nahoot's voice sank from a scream to a whisper, "these are the murals of

the ancient scribe.

This is the work of the slave Taita." As Royan had done, he recognized

the style and the execution immediately.

Taita's brush was so distinctive, and his talent had outlasted the ages.

"Open this gate!" Nahoot's tone rose again, becoming strident and

impatient

"Here, you men!" Nogo responded, and they crowded around the ancient

structure, trying at first to rip it from the cavern wall by main

strength. Almost at once it became apparent that this was a futile

effort, and Nogo stopped them.

"Search the monks' quarters!" he ordered his lieutenant. "Find me tools

to do the job."

The junior officer hurried from the chamber, taking most of the troopers

with him. Nogo turned from the gate and studied the rest of the interior

of the maqdas.

The stele!" he rasped. "Herr von Schiller wants the stone above

everything else." He played the torch beam, around the chamber. "From

what angle was the Polaroid taken-'

He broke Off abruptly, and held the light on the damask-covered tabot

stone,- on which the velvet-cloaked tabernacle stood.

"Yes," cried Nahoot at his shoulder. "That is it."

Tuma Nogo crossed to the pillar with half a dozen strides and seized the

gold-tasselled border of the tabernacle cloth. He pulled it away. The

tabernacle was a simple chest carved from olive wood, glowing with the

patina that priestly hands had imparted to the wood over the centuries.

"Primitive superstitions," Nogo muttered contemptuously and, picking it

up in both hands, hurled it against the cavern wall. The wood splintered

and the lid of the chest burst open. A stack of inscribed clay tablets

spilled out on to the cavern paving slabs, but neither Nogo nor Nahoot

took any notice of these sacred items.

"Uncover it," Nahoot encouraged him. "Uncover the stone."

Nogo tugged at the corner of the damask cloth, but it caught on the

angle of the pillar beneath it. Impatiently he heaved at it with all his

strength, and the old and rotten material tore with a soft ripping

sound.

Taita's stone testament, the carved stele, was revealed.

Even Nogo was impressed by the discovery. He backed away from it with

the torn covering cloth in his hand.

"It is the stone in the photograph," he whispered. "This is what Herr

von Schiller ordered us to find. We are rich men., His words of avarice

broke the spell. Nahoot ran forward, and threw himself on his knees in

front of the stele. He clasped it with both arms, like a lover too long

deprived. He sobbed softly, and with amazement Nogo saw tears streaming

unashamedly down his cheeks. Nogo himself had considered only the value

of the reward that it would bring. He had never thought that any man

could long so deeply for an inanimate object, especially something so

mundane as this pillar of ordinary stone.

They were still posed like this, Nahoot kneeling at the stele like a

worshipper and Nogo standing silently behind him, when the lieutenant

ran back into the cavern.

Somewhere he had found a rusty mattock with a raw timber handle.

His arrival roused both men from their trance, and Nogo ordered him,

"Break open the gate!'

Although the gate was antique and the wood brittle, it took the efforts

of several men working in relays to rip the stanchions out of. their

foundations in the rock of the cavern wall.

At last, however, the heavy gate sagged forward. As the workers jumped

aside it fell with a shattering crash to the slabs, raising a mist of

red dust that dimmed the light of the lamps and the electric torch.

Nahoot was the first one into the tomb. He ran through the veil of

swirling dust and once again threw himself to his knees beside the

ancient crumbling wooden coffin.

"Bring the light, he shouted impatiently. Nogo stepped up behind him and

shone the torchlight on the coffin.

The portraits of the man were three dimensional, not only on the sides,

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