The Quest: A Novel

remnants of the Ethiopian army harassed us, and the Gallas also attacked the Ethiopians. Was there ever so much bloodshed in such a confused, senseless manner? Everyone was like the shark and the vulture. They attacked the weak and the sick at every opportunity. I buried boys who had been baptized in my church. But we arrived at Lake Tana and made a camp, with the lake at our backs, so we could go no further.”
    Father Armano fell silent, and Mercado had no doubt the old man was not so much remembering as he was reliving that terrible battle and its aftermath.
    After a full minute, Father Armano continued. “Now, the battalion commander was a young captain—all the senior officers were dead—and we had perhaps two hundred men left. And this young captain sent a patrol into the jungle to see what was there. Ten men he sent and only five came back. These five said they were ambushed in the jungle by Gallas. The Gallas captured two or three of the five missing men. The returning patrol said they could hear the screams of the men as they were being tortured… and the men of the patrol also told of seeing a high black wall in the jungle. Black like coal. It was like a fort, they said, but they could see a cross coming from a tower within the walls, so perhaps it was a monastery. I asked thecaptain if I could go back and find the bodies of the lost soldiers. He said no, but I said it was my duty as the priest of the battalion and he conceded to my wish. Also, I wished to see this black wall and the tower in the jungle… but I said nothing of this.”
    Vivian translated for Purcell, who commented, “This guy had balls.”
    “Actually,” said Mercado, “he had orders from the pope, and he had his faith.”
    Vivian added, “And he knew he had found what he was looking for.”
    Father Armano looked at his three benefactors as though he knew what they were saying, and he nodded, then continued. “So with the five soldiers who had survived the ambush, and who were not happy to go back, and five others, we returned to the place of the ambush. The soldiers we were looking for were dead, of course. The ones who had been captured alive—three of them—had been tied to trees by the Gallas and castrated. I gave the last rites and we buried them all.”
    Father Armano stayed silent awhile, then said, “So now I had to make a decision… I had to know… so I opened the envelope that was with me since Rome, and I read the words… and I had to read the words in Latin again and again to be certain…”
    Mercado asked, “What did the letter say?”
    The priest shook his head, drew a long breath, and continued, “So now I imposed upon the leader of this patrol, a young sergeant, whose name I only remember as Giovanni, to show me the place of the black walls that he had seen. He asked my forgiveness and he refused. So then I told him and the men of the patrol of my mission to find the black monastery… I showed them the letter with the seal of the Holy Father and I told them that the Holy Father himself had asked me to do this… that within the monastery was a sacred object of the time of Jesus… I promised them that if we found this monastery and the sacred relic, I would petition the Holy Father to bring them home and they would receive great honors… Perhaps I promised too much, but they spoke among themselves and agreed, so we set off into the jungle.”
    Father Armano stared into the darkness awhile. “It was a longdistance and took many days and we were lost, too, I think. The sergeant was not sure. I felt that the Ethiopians or the Gallas were following… Please, some water.”
    Vivian gave it to him as she translated for Purcell. The dark hour before the dawn had come and gone and now the sky began to lighten again.
    “We can move in about a half hour,” announced Purcell.
    Mercado said, “We can leave now. We need to get him to Gondar.”
    Purcell replied, “He needs to finish his story, Henry. He’s left us hanging.”
    Mercado was again torn, but there were no good choices.
    Vivian said, “I agree with Henry.”
    “Well,” said Purcell, “I don’t. And it’s my Jeep.” He added, to soften his words, “It’s not only about the monastery. Father Armano wants us to tell his people and the world what happened to him—if he dies.”
    Mercado said, “It’s actually about the monastery and the relic. But you make a point, Frank.”
    The priest had sat himself up higher in the corner. In the