Britons always cut to the chase.” He straightened his tie. “Very well, then. But rather than tell you, I will show you. Follow me.”
Matakala led Sarah to the dining room, where he had set up projection equipment. He opened a laptop and brought up an image of a granite throne, then zoomed in on the inscription. “This is Greek.” He turned to her. “But you know that.”
“An Aksumite king’s throne?” She was intrigued.
“Indeed. This was erected by King Ezana late in the fourth century, toward the end of his reign. He raised several of these throughout the empire, as you well know.”
“Ah, yes. The postbattle monuments that paid homage to the gods and told of the king’s heroics.”
“We Ethiopians like to think of them as our earliest history books. So little is known from that period; these inscriptions are like windows to our past.”
“Why are you showing me this particular inscription?”
“It is of consequence to you and your expedition. And of even greater consequence to us.”
She crossed her arms. “Go on.”
Matakala scrolled up to the beginning of the script and translated it to English. “By the might of the Lord of heaven, who in the sky and on earth holds power over all beings, Ezana, son of Ella Amida, Bisi Halen, king of Aksum, Himyar, Raydan, Saba, Salhin, Tsiyamo, Beja, and of Kasu, king of kings, never defeated by the enemy.” He pointed at the screen. “This is a record of the king’s battle in Meroe against the Noba people. I won’t bore you with all the details.” He opened the next image. “This is the part that should be of interest to you. If I may?”
Sarah nodded.
“A terrible Noba warrior dared threaten the king. But it was the will of the Lord of all that I survive and rule the land. My medicine man placed himself between my body and the lance-blade and fell in my place. It was the loss of a fine and brave man. But his sacrifice was not for naught, for my troops killed the enemy and took prisoners and returned home victorious, thanks to the might of the Lord of heaven.”
“The Lord of heaven. Ezana was the Christian king,” Sarah recalled. She was well versed in Aksumite history but downplayed her knowledge. “I don’t understand how this is relevant.”
“Patience, Doctor.” He called up a different screen, this one showing a stele. “This is from an obelisk erected near your expedition site, on the cliff where Dabra Damo now stands. It says, ‘Let it be known that the brave medicine man who was sanctified by the church of the Lord of heaven is laid to rest with the highest honors and privileges for saving the life of King Ezana, king of kings, ruler of Aksum and of the vast empire. May his soul be forgiven and accepted into the kingdom of heaven by the Lord of the land and of heaven and of all things holy. I have raised this gravestone by the power of the Lord of heaven and if anyone defaces it or removes it, let him and his race be removed from the face of the earth.’” Matakala paused and looked at Sarah.
She kept staring at the words. “You say this stele was near our site. Where is it now? I should like to see it.”
“It is in private hands, I’m afraid. This was stolen from Ethiopia by bandits many years ago and sold on the black market to a German collector. No one knew where it was until he died and his estate was auctioned. We tried to acquire it but were outbid by an anonymous collector. We managed to get these photos from the auction house.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me why you asked me here.”
“It’s … complicated.” Matakala seemed to weigh his words. “Are you a person of faith, Doctor?”
“I am a scientist. I believe what I can see, hear, and touch.”
“This is a matter of faith. Let me see if I can put it plainly. As you may know, our faith recognizes nine saints—the Tsadkan, or righteous ones. These are the pious men who spread the word of Christianity and built monasteries across our
Matakala led Sarah to the dining room, where he had set up projection equipment. He opened a laptop and brought up an image of a granite throne, then zoomed in on the inscription. “This is Greek.” He turned to her. “But you know that.”
“An Aksumite king’s throne?” She was intrigued.
“Indeed. This was erected by King Ezana late in the fourth century, toward the end of his reign. He raised several of these throughout the empire, as you well know.”
“Ah, yes. The postbattle monuments that paid homage to the gods and told of the king’s heroics.”
“We Ethiopians like to think of them as our earliest history books. So little is known from that period; these inscriptions are like windows to our past.”
“Why are you showing me this particular inscription?”
“It is of consequence to you and your expedition. And of even greater consequence to us.”
She crossed her arms. “Go on.”
Matakala scrolled up to the beginning of the script and translated it to English. “By the might of the Lord of heaven, who in the sky and on earth holds power over all beings, Ezana, son of Ella Amida, Bisi Halen, king of Aksum, Himyar, Raydan, Saba, Salhin, Tsiyamo, Beja, and of Kasu, king of kings, never defeated by the enemy.” He pointed at the screen. “This is a record of the king’s battle in Meroe against the Noba people. I won’t bore you with all the details.” He opened the next image. “This is the part that should be of interest to you. If I may?”
Sarah nodded.
“A terrible Noba warrior dared threaten the king. But it was the will of the Lord of all that I survive and rule the land. My medicine man placed himself between my body and the lance-blade and fell in my place. It was the loss of a fine and brave man. But his sacrifice was not for naught, for my troops killed the enemy and took prisoners and returned home victorious, thanks to the might of the Lord of heaven.”
“The Lord of heaven. Ezana was the Christian king,” Sarah recalled. She was well versed in Aksumite history but downplayed her knowledge. “I don’t understand how this is relevant.”
“Patience, Doctor.” He called up a different screen, this one showing a stele. “This is from an obelisk erected near your expedition site, on the cliff where Dabra Damo now stands. It says, ‘Let it be known that the brave medicine man who was sanctified by the church of the Lord of heaven is laid to rest with the highest honors and privileges for saving the life of King Ezana, king of kings, ruler of Aksum and of the vast empire. May his soul be forgiven and accepted into the kingdom of heaven by the Lord of the land and of heaven and of all things holy. I have raised this gravestone by the power of the Lord of heaven and if anyone defaces it or removes it, let him and his race be removed from the face of the earth.’” Matakala paused and looked at Sarah.
She kept staring at the words. “You say this stele was near our site. Where is it now? I should like to see it.”
“It is in private hands, I’m afraid. This was stolen from Ethiopia by bandits many years ago and sold on the black market to a German collector. No one knew where it was until he died and his estate was auctioned. We tried to acquire it but were outbid by an anonymous collector. We managed to get these photos from the auction house.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me why you asked me here.”
“It’s … complicated.” Matakala seemed to weigh his words. “Are you a person of faith, Doctor?”
“I am a scientist. I believe what I can see, hear, and touch.”
“This is a matter of faith. Let me see if I can put it plainly. As you may know, our faith recognizes nine saints—the Tsadkan, or righteous ones. These are the pious men who spread the word of Christianity and built monasteries across our
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