meant that few Westerners came to investigate further.
The plane landed at Aksum Airport, bumping along a meager runway strip in the middle of a plain that stretched up towards the mountains beyond. A Range Rover sat on the tiny runway, waiting for them. Natasha pulled on her mirrored sunglasses and headed outside as Isac motioned two of their men to follow, for they only needed a small team for this initial incursion.
“Welcome to Aksum,” the driver greeted them with a warm smile and open arms. Isac stepped forward and spoke to the man in a hushed tone, giving him a wad of American dollars. Natasha and the other men stood silent as the man’s attitude changed and a glimmer of fear crept into his eyes. He took the roll of dollars, briefly thumbed through it and nodded.
“Of course, sir. I’ll take you there now.”
The tires of the old vehicle threw up a cloud of dust as they drove into Aksum, the eucalyptus trees lining the road providing scant shade from the Ethiopian sun. They passed a man in a white gjellaba leading a camel up the street, and a young girl in a mustard shamas herding three goats with a thin stick. Neither gave them a second glance, for this was a town on the edge of survival where eking out an existence took all the energy the residents had. Natasha couldn’t see how the Ark could possibly be here, for how could it have come from the gold plated temple of Solomon to this humble, poverty-stricken place? But she had to be sure.
Glancing to her left, Natasha noted a strange field dotted with granite obelisks that stretched tall into the cornflower sky. The driver saw her look and risked speaking.
“There are many mysteries here in Aksum. This field of obelisks contains the tallest single pieces of stone quarried in the ancient world, eclipsing those in Egypt.”
“What do they signify?” she asked.
“Perhaps they mark graves,” the driver replied, “but nothing is known for sure about them. Few scholars come here now.”
The Range Rover pulled up in front of the sanctuary of St Mary’s Church, contained within a walled compound at the centre of the town.
“The church of Mary of Zion was built in the fourth century, the earliest Christian church in sub-Saharan Africa.” The driver’s tourist explanation tailed off as he realized that no one was listening. Natasha stepped out into the dust and motioned for the men to follow her. Steps led up to the church and the whole complex was surrounded by a stone wall. A turreted guardhouse sat at either side of the main approach, but the guards who were once stationed there were long gone.
Olive trees provided patches of shade in the courtyard at the side of the church and Natasha could see a few monks sitting there, robes blending into the shadows. They didn’t rise to greet the visitors but watched their approach with faint interest. She decided to start gently and pulled a shawl over her head, an exhibition of modesty indicating respect for the religious tradition that ruled here. She could feel her gun in the small of her back and its presence soothed her, but sometimes getting what you wanted could be achieved without violence. After all, she didn’t want an international incident that mentioned the Ark until they were ready.
She walked slowly over to the monks. They wore faded purple robes, the color of aubergines that had sat in the sun for too long, and all had long, grey beards on old wrinkled faces. With eyes demurely cast down, Natasha spoke to the senior man.
“Father, I have come a long way to learn about the Ark of Zion and to pay my respects to the church.” She paused, then looked him in the eyes. “I have brought gifts for your community.”
She waved and Isac brought over a thick envelope stuffed with one hundred dollar bills. The old monk looked at the envelope and around at his brothers. One of them gave an imperceptible nod. The man spoke in halting English.
“We are pleased to
The plane landed at Aksum Airport, bumping along a meager runway strip in the middle of a plain that stretched up towards the mountains beyond. A Range Rover sat on the tiny runway, waiting for them. Natasha pulled on her mirrored sunglasses and headed outside as Isac motioned two of their men to follow, for they only needed a small team for this initial incursion.
“Welcome to Aksum,” the driver greeted them with a warm smile and open arms. Isac stepped forward and spoke to the man in a hushed tone, giving him a wad of American dollars. Natasha and the other men stood silent as the man’s attitude changed and a glimmer of fear crept into his eyes. He took the roll of dollars, briefly thumbed through it and nodded.
“Of course, sir. I’ll take you there now.”
The tires of the old vehicle threw up a cloud of dust as they drove into Aksum, the eucalyptus trees lining the road providing scant shade from the Ethiopian sun. They passed a man in a white gjellaba leading a camel up the street, and a young girl in a mustard shamas herding three goats with a thin stick. Neither gave them a second glance, for this was a town on the edge of survival where eking out an existence took all the energy the residents had. Natasha couldn’t see how the Ark could possibly be here, for how could it have come from the gold plated temple of Solomon to this humble, poverty-stricken place? But she had to be sure.
Glancing to her left, Natasha noted a strange field dotted with granite obelisks that stretched tall into the cornflower sky. The driver saw her look and risked speaking.
“There are many mysteries here in Aksum. This field of obelisks contains the tallest single pieces of stone quarried in the ancient world, eclipsing those in Egypt.”
“What do they signify?” she asked.
“Perhaps they mark graves,” the driver replied, “but nothing is known for sure about them. Few scholars come here now.”
The Range Rover pulled up in front of the sanctuary of St Mary’s Church, contained within a walled compound at the centre of the town.
“The church of Mary of Zion was built in the fourth century, the earliest Christian church in sub-Saharan Africa.” The driver’s tourist explanation tailed off as he realized that no one was listening. Natasha stepped out into the dust and motioned for the men to follow her. Steps led up to the church and the whole complex was surrounded by a stone wall. A turreted guardhouse sat at either side of the main approach, but the guards who were once stationed there were long gone.
Olive trees provided patches of shade in the courtyard at the side of the church and Natasha could see a few monks sitting there, robes blending into the shadows. They didn’t rise to greet the visitors but watched their approach with faint interest. She decided to start gently and pulled a shawl over her head, an exhibition of modesty indicating respect for the religious tradition that ruled here. She could feel her gun in the small of her back and its presence soothed her, but sometimes getting what you wanted could be achieved without violence. After all, she didn’t want an international incident that mentioned the Ark until they were ready.
She walked slowly over to the monks. They wore faded purple robes, the color of aubergines that had sat in the sun for too long, and all had long, grey beards on old wrinkled faces. With eyes demurely cast down, Natasha spoke to the senior man.
“Father, I have come a long way to learn about the Ark of Zion and to pay my respects to the church.” She paused, then looked him in the eyes. “I have brought gifts for your community.”
She waved and Isac brought over a thick envelope stuffed with one hundred dollar bills. The old monk looked at the envelope and around at his brothers. One of them gave an imperceptible nod. The man spoke in halting English.
“We are pleased to
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