welcome you here, my child. We appreciate your generosity.” He took the proffered envelope and slipped it into his robes. Natasha was faintly disappointed at how easily he had given in.
“What is it you would like to know?”
Natasha sat on a low wall, while Isac and the other two men stood further back.
“How did the Ark come to be here?” she asked.
The old monk took a deep breath. “The Ethiopian holy book, the Kebra Nagast, the Glory of Kings, states that when the Queen of Sheba went to Jerusalem to meet with King Solomon, she lay with him and became pregnant.” Around him, the other monks nodded their assent to the tale.
“Many years later, her son Menelik returned to Jerusalem to meet with his father and claim his inheritance, but the meeting didn’t go as planned. The son of the High Priest Azarius decided to steal the Ark and leave a replica in its place so he stole the Ark on the return to Ethiopia with Menelik. Because the Ark could strike down anyone whom it did not bless, it was decided that God willed the move. The Archangel Michael protected the Ark on the journey back and it has remained in Aksum ever since. The wings of the angels still rest upon its lid, for God is with us and has not deserted us.”
“Even throughout the wars and famine,” Natasha questioned, one eyebrow raised.
The monk nodded. “Even so.”
“And where is the Ark now?”
He pointed to a separate building behind and to the side of the main church. “It is in the Treasury. The Ark of Zion is locked in its own chest and there has been a guard on it throughout the millennia it has lain here. The brother who takes on the sacred duty to guard the chest lives with it and must never leave until he dies.”
Natasha looked at the Chapel of the Tablet, also known as the Treasury. It was square with ornate carved walls ringed by a rust-red metal fence taller than a man, keeping it separate within the sacred compound. Windows rimmed with turquoise dominated the square structure, while roundel decorations and carvings stood out in the walls, geometric shapes in the brick. On the roof, a small dome stood proud with an ornate cross reaching towards the sky, and a faded scarlet curtain hung over the entranceway to the shrine. It seemed a disappointing resting place for such a great relic.
Natasha had read in Gamal’s notes that the Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie had had the Ark moved there into the Treasury so that it would be more secure. She also knew that, because of the military conflict with nearby Eritrea, no one but the High Priest of the Church could view the Ark anymore, not even the President of Ethiopia himself.
“I would like to pray before the Ark, Father,” she said. Natasha knew that he understood what the money was for but he hesitated before speaking.
“Indeed, you can pray there,” he said, “but you will not see the Ark. It is only brought forth twice a year, on Epiphany and the Feast of St Mary of Zion.”
Natasha nodded. “Even so, I would like to pray before the shrine.”
“Of course, my child.”
He gestured to the youngest looking of the monks who got slowly to his feet. Natasha could see that these holy men would not be around for another generation, and whatever secrets they kept would die of old age. The man shuffled towards the Shrine and pulled a key from his belt. He unlocked the fence that walled off the Shrine and waved her inside, holding a hand up indicating that Isac and her men should stay outside.
Natasha stepped inside the gate, pushed through the velvet curtain and entered the shrine. Inside, it was stuffy and smelled of the man who had slept and eaten here for many years, overlaid with the heavy scent of incense. It was a cloying, sickly atmosphere with no sense of anything holy, not like the awe and wonder she felt when she encountered the ancient Egyptian temples. But she had to be sure of what the monks really kept in here, for
“What is it you would like to know?”
Natasha sat on a low wall, while Isac and the other two men stood further back.
“How did the Ark come to be here?” she asked.
The old monk took a deep breath. “The Ethiopian holy book, the Kebra Nagast, the Glory of Kings, states that when the Queen of Sheba went to Jerusalem to meet with King Solomon, she lay with him and became pregnant.” Around him, the other monks nodded their assent to the tale.
“Many years later, her son Menelik returned to Jerusalem to meet with his father and claim his inheritance, but the meeting didn’t go as planned. The son of the High Priest Azarius decided to steal the Ark and leave a replica in its place so he stole the Ark on the return to Ethiopia with Menelik. Because the Ark could strike down anyone whom it did not bless, it was decided that God willed the move. The Archangel Michael protected the Ark on the journey back and it has remained in Aksum ever since. The wings of the angels still rest upon its lid, for God is with us and has not deserted us.”
“Even throughout the wars and famine,” Natasha questioned, one eyebrow raised.
The monk nodded. “Even so.”
“And where is the Ark now?”
He pointed to a separate building behind and to the side of the main church. “It is in the Treasury. The Ark of Zion is locked in its own chest and there has been a guard on it throughout the millennia it has lain here. The brother who takes on the sacred duty to guard the chest lives with it and must never leave until he dies.”
Natasha looked at the Chapel of the Tablet, also known as the Treasury. It was square with ornate carved walls ringed by a rust-red metal fence taller than a man, keeping it separate within the sacred compound. Windows rimmed with turquoise dominated the square structure, while roundel decorations and carvings stood out in the walls, geometric shapes in the brick. On the roof, a small dome stood proud with an ornate cross reaching towards the sky, and a faded scarlet curtain hung over the entranceway to the shrine. It seemed a disappointing resting place for such a great relic.
Natasha had read in Gamal’s notes that the Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie had had the Ark moved there into the Treasury so that it would be more secure. She also knew that, because of the military conflict with nearby Eritrea, no one but the High Priest of the Church could view the Ark anymore, not even the President of Ethiopia himself.
“I would like to pray before the Ark, Father,” she said. Natasha knew that he understood what the money was for but he hesitated before speaking.
“Indeed, you can pray there,” he said, “but you will not see the Ark. It is only brought forth twice a year, on Epiphany and the Feast of St Mary of Zion.”
Natasha nodded. “Even so, I would like to pray before the shrine.”
“Of course, my child.”
He gestured to the youngest looking of the monks who got slowly to his feet. Natasha could see that these holy men would not be around for another generation, and whatever secrets they kept would die of old age. The man shuffled towards the Shrine and pulled a key from his belt. He unlocked the fence that walled off the Shrine and waved her inside, holding a hand up indicating that Isac and her men should stay outside.
Natasha stepped inside the gate, pushed through the velvet curtain and entered the shrine. Inside, it was stuffy and smelled of the man who had slept and eaten here for many years, overlaid with the heavy scent of incense. It was a cloying, sickly atmosphere with no sense of anything holy, not like the awe and wonder she felt when she encountered the ancient Egyptian temples. But she had to be sure of what the monks really kept in here, for
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