The Flames of Time (Flames of Time Series Book 1) (11 page)

Copies of our collective notes along with directions to the site would be sent for secure storage with family or friends in our respective homelands, in order to avoid the possibility of the site ever being lost again. We would then journey to Jerusalem to discover what the scroll and wall writings could reveal.

Despite the debate and disagreement though, it was still an amicable decision once made, and then it became just a question of breaking the work down into its necessary actions for the following few days labour. Documenting our findings was going to be the single biggest task, and for that we were going to rely heavily upon Harry to identify the areas where we should focus. Jean would then attempt to capture as much detail as possible of the relief carvings and inscriptions in a number of sketches and rubbings. Peter and myself would simultaneously attempt to survey and map the layout of the temple, its dimensions and alignment, the chambers we’d discovered within it, as well as to describe as best we could its construction materials and the location of the different elements being documented in more detail. The idea being that we’d be able to figure out where each illustration, script or feature was located within the complex, even after we’d left the site.

Marlow had decided to focus entirely upon the final chamber. He was convinced he’d missed something or not understood his vision correctly, as such he was going to attempt to document the layout and detail of the cavern, its obelisks and perhaps most importantly the altar. We’d also asked Mkize and the other men to work on a couple of makeshift ladders for the entrance and a cover that we could place over the hole before filling the earth back in, once we were ready to leave.

It was interesting work once we got into it, and there were several details within the chambers we only really began to pick up on once we started to examine them in a more systematic way. In fact it was only the gradual build up of smoke from our torches that made us break off from the work once we’d started. But even with our dedication the level of detail was always going to be too great for us to be able to capture anywhere near all of it. Perhaps if we’d had better lights to enable us to take better photographs it would’ve been different. But without them, having to record everything by hand became at times frustrating and overwhelming experience, especially for Harry. Over the course of the next week though we eventually managed to capture enough detail for him to give his reluctant approval he still made us leave a message inside indicating when and by whom the temple had been rediscovered, just in case.

CHAPTER 8 - REVELATIONS

Blocking the hole up into the temple and then back filling it along with the rest of our excavations, was an oddly frustrating experience, which just seemed to jar with something inside me. I understood why we we’d agreed to keep the discovery a secret, but on some level, even with the veracity of Marlow’s vision literally staring me in the face, I still found the idea of trying to follow it further somehow foolish. At the same time, foolish or not, I was still eager to find out more about this place, with its elaborately carved walls and enigmatic writing.

As soon as we were sure the site was once more secure, we started our journey back to Fort Victoria, from where we intended to travel to the coast and then hopefully by ship northward to Mogadishu, Mombassa, the Red Sea, Suez and finally Jerusalem.

The journey back was relatively straightforward. We stopped briefly to look around the mighty ruins and speculate once more about the people who once lived there. But with no sudden revelations or vivid descriptions from Marlow they seemed a pale imitation of antiquity beside the perfectly preserved temple we’d just left behind, and so before long we continued on our way again.

It had been several weeks now since the rains, and the flush of greenery and growth that had followed, was beginning to fade again. Dust once more began to accompany us as we walked, and I found myself thinking thoughts that until recently would’ve been unthinkable for me… that it might be good to leave Africa for a short while, not to go back home, but to explore somewhere new.

Another couple of days and we were back at the Fort, once more intending on a quick change around, to get in, make the arrangements we needed to make and get out again, but on our arrival Marlow discovered a telegram from Luke waiting for us. There was no real detail, simply the statement that he’d had a change of heart and would like to re-join us. The telegram was just over a week old and had obviously missed us by a few days. In any event he was heading back to Nyrobi and was expecting to be there in another weeks’ time, which meant he was probably travelling through the Red Sea as we spoke and we might just be able to get a message to him before he headed inland from Mombasa.

The surprise and pleasure at getting this good news was apparent on everyone’s face, and whilst it hadn’t even been two months since he’d left with Silvio, all that had happened somehow made it seem longer, and we were all eager to see him again.

After sending a return telegram to try and catch Luke, we enquired about the timetables for ships heading up the coast to the Red Sea. We knew there was likely to be something heading our way sooner or later. But, as chance would have it, the same passenger liner I’d originally caught to bring me to Africa was due to call at Maputo in the next week on its quarterly trip from Portsmouth to Suez. It didn’t leave us much time to travel to the coast, but more by luck than planning we managed to get passage down the Limpopo, and ten days later we were steaming into port at Mombassa on the Portsmouth to Suez ship. Luke was waiting there for us on the quayside ready to come aboard, along with the various cases and trappings we’d left at the lodge.

There was a momentary awkwardness when we all stood facing him again, which was soon brushed aside by the ever-enthusiastic Harry, who seemed perennially oblivious to such things. It wasn’t long before we were exchanging tales of our respective travels, much to Luke’s wonder and amazement, and as soon as our respective belongings were aboard we retired to one of the deserted lounges with our pipes and cigars to catch up properly.

Mombassa was also the point at which Mkize was leaving us, and it was with genuine regret that I prepared to say goodbye to him and thank him for his help. I think, if I’d had a better idea of where we were going and when we’d be returning, I might’ve been able to convince him to travel with us a little further. But he was understandably reluctant to leave his homeland again so soon, so I walked with him down the gangplank, before shaking his hand and saying goodbye.

Back in the lounge with the others, and it seemed Luke and Sylvio had made good time after they’d left us, despite the rain and sodden earth, they’d managed to get back to Nyrobi and then by train to Mombassa without incident. Sylvio had apparently continued to be troubled by the visions of his lost brother, and as they travelled and discussed their plans, he’d eventually decided to return to Italy to see his family and visit his brother’s grave. Luke had accompanied him back to Italy with the intention of visiting his own family, before perhaps heading off for a little skiing and to visit friends just the other side of the Swiss boarder in Austria.

‘It is always good to be back in Rome,’ continued Luke, ‘even over the winter, the city is still a welcoming and warm place to its returning sons, and at times it can seem as though every doorway, shop or coffee house contains a welcome and a smile.

‘As it happens, while I was away our old priest, Father Francisco, had retired and had been replaced by Father Andrea. He was a young man from a family I knew, and had travelled a little in his youth. Before I realised it I was talking to him about Africa and the friends I had left behind. I even spoke of the visions we’d received and the journey upon which you had all started and how I felt I could not accompany you in pursuit of such things.

‘I don’t know why exactly, but while talking to Father Andrea I began to think differently about some of my decisions, and perhaps sensing this he asked me to visit him again at his home later in the week to discuss the matter further.

‘I won’t bore you with the details of our discussion on my next and subsequent visits. What I will say, is in the following weeks he helped me to realise such a goal as yours is not in itself intrinsically wrong. Rather it is how we choose to pursue such a goal that is of greater consequence, and the principle that we should not neglect our daily lives lest we forget our devotions or responsibilities.’

‘Well said,’ responded Jean, ‘your Father Andrea is something of a philosopher perhaps?’

‘Perhaps so Jean, perhaps so.’ continued Luke thoughtfully, ‘But the guidance he gave me does not mean I am yet fully supportive of your choices or your goals. All I know for the moment is that the value I place upon our friendship is enough to enable me to travel with you a little further.

‘That and the fact…’ continued Luke, with an infectious smile, ‘that I now have several irrefutable moral arguments with which to confound even you Jean.’

There was much laughter at this last point of Luke’s and the friendly raillery that ensued reminded me greatly of the first night when I’d encountered this group those few, short, exceptional months ago.

As Luke was finishing his story we were informed the ship was about to get underway once more, to start our northward journey.

It was Marlow’s turn to look thoughtful now, and excusing himself, he informed us that he’d very much like to watch our departure from Mombassa. Jean also excused himself to accompany him, leaving the rest of us to continue our conversation with Luke.

‘You know, I think he loves this country,’ commented Peter, once Marlow and Jean had left to go up on deck. ‘I’ve journeyed with him in a dozen countries, including England, but there’s something about him when he’s here.’

‘It is a strange land and no mistake,’ responded Harry, ‘some think it is the cradle of humanity, the place from which we all came, and yet by comparison with almost every other area of the planet, we know next to nothing about Africa and it’s history.’

We talked for a little while longer before we were interrupted again by a steward informing Luke that his cabin was ready, and with that we each took the opportunity to go our separate ways until dinner.

The comparative luxury of the ship and a real bed was something I found very easy to get accustomed to. And, several days later as we pulled into Suez after making our way through the Red Sea, I found myself almost reluctant to disembark, even momentarily toying with the idea of staying aboard and returning to Portsmouth.

We’d arrived in Suez in the early morning, a light mist floating on the surface of the great canal giving the thoroughly false impression that the day might be cool and refreshing. But after finding a berth on one of the cleaner cargo ships it didn’t take long before we were disillusioned of that impression.

It may have only taken a couple of days to reach the other end of the canal, but it was two days of living in a steel sweatbox. In parts the desert came right up to the waterfront, bringing its scorching heat with it. In other areas as the canal broadened out into one of the lakes along the way, the dry heat of the desert was replaced by an even more suffocating humidity that left us all lethargic and wanting only to sleep. By the time we disembarked in Port Said on the shores of the Mediterranean the shade and cool of town seemed like paradise by comparison.

From Port Said it was a well-established and easy sea route to the ancient port of Jaffa and from there a relatively short dusty car journey to the old city of Jerusalem. Harry had apparently travelled quite extensively around the Holy Land and took the greatest of pleasure in pointing out some of the biblical landmarks and features that were located along our route. His commentary made the journey pass all the quicker, and before we knew it we were slowing down in order to navigate the busy streets of modern day Jerusalem. A few minutes later and we were entering the Old City walls through the great Jaffa Gate after which it seemed only a heartbeat before we were pulling up outside our hotel, which was located just on the edge of the Christian quarter.

Harry had telegraphed his friend, Dr Chukjadarian of the Armenian Library, from Maputo, to let him know we were coming, and had then managed to call once we disembarked at Jaffa. As always with Harry, it was impossible to bypass his enthusiasm for long enough to build up any kind of picture of his friend, but we didn’t have long to wait before meeting him. The hotel was a big old building, with the main entrance through a shady and cool courtyard at its centre. The car had dropped us off outside the hotel’s heavy street doors, that opened onto a small piece of verdant paradise, complete with lemon trees and small glittering fountain, beside which in a comfortable wicker chair sat a flamboyant figure that could only be Harry’s friend.

‘Chuk!’ bellowed Harry as soon as he laid eyes on the figure.

‘Harrison!’ exclaimed the impeccably dressed stranger, immediately jumping to his feet and striding across the courtyard to grasp Harry’s hand. ’Finally you have returned my friend, it has been far too long.’

‘I could never visit frequently enough for my liking,’ replied Harry. ‘How have you been?’

Harry had talked at length, but told us very little about ‘Chuk’ as we’d travelled here, and I was beginning to see why. He was a slender man of average height, and at first glance seemed to be somewhere in his late thirties, but as he came over to meet us, it became clear he was probably closer to Harry’s age, if not a little older. It also became clear that the crimson cravat and matching breast-pocket handkerchief weren’t the only flamboyant aspects to a character that seemed almost able to eclipse even Harry’s for enthusiasm and eagerness.

Exuberant hello’s out of the way, Harry eventually remembered his manners and turned back toward us to perform the introductions.

‘My friends I am very pleased to be able to introduce you to one of my best and oldest friends. George, Rob, Jean, Luke, Peter this is Androushan Chukjadarian, or as he’s known to his many friends, Androus.’