Murray Peat
Murray Peat: Prestor John - Lost and Found
Book I. Prestor John - Lost and Found
(1121-1122 AD)
Chapter Index Page
Introduction
Ethiopia - Mac’s Inventions 2
Ethiopia – Hamarach 4
Ethiopia - Roman soldiers 8
Ethiopia - The History Lesson 15
Steve’s Account
Ethiopia - Lake Tana 22
Ethiopia - Axum 26
Sudan - Blue Nile and White Slave 31
Chad - Abeche and Ennedi Massif 35
Chad - Yosef at Tibesti 37
Chad - The Inner Library at Tibesti 41
Chad - Elias 48
Libya - Waw en Namus 54
Libya - Cyraenica 58
Malta - Reunion 65
Mac’s Account
Ethiopia - The Riddle 69
Ethiopia – South Danakil Desert 73
Ethiopia – North Danakil Desert 78
Eritrea - Massawa 82
Red Sea - Iotabe Island monastery 86
Jordan - Aqaba and Wadi Rum 95
Jordan - Petra and Sadash the bedouin 101
Jordan - Edessa and Joscelin I 105
Syria - Aleppo and King Baldwin II 112
Syria - Antioch and Pope Calixtus II 116
Cyprus - Kykkos monastery 119
Ionian Sea - Kalynthos Pirates & Malta 127
Prestor John
Aeolian Islands - Mt Stromboli 136
Italy - Salerno & Cava 138
Prestor John’s Italian Home 142
The Future Vision 146
Book II. Prestor John - Persian Adventure
(1122-1144 AD)
Esther 1:1 “From his royal throne in Persia's capital city of Susa, King Xerxes ruled 127 provinces, all the way from India to Ethiopia.”
Book III. Prestor John - Indian Adventure
(1150-1169 AD)
Esther 1:1 “From his royal throne in Persia's capital city of Susa, King Xerxes ruled 127 provinces, all the way from India to Ethiopia.”
Isa 11:11 When that day comes, the Lord will once again use his power and bring back home those of his people who are left in Assyria and Egypt, in the lands of Pathros, Ethiopia/Sudan, Elam, Babylonia, and Hamath, and in the coastlands and on the islands of the sea.
Book IV Prestor John – Ethiopian Adventure
(1170-1177 AD)
Isa 18:1 Beyond the rivers of the Sudan in Ethiopia there is a land where the sound of wings is heard. From that land ambassadors come down the Nile in boats made of reeds. Go back home, swift messengers! Take a message back to your land divided by rivers, to your strong and powerful nation, to your tall & smooth-skinned people who are feared all over the world.
Act 8:27 So Philip got ready and went. Now an Ethiopian eunuch, who was an important official in charge of the treasury of the queen of Ethiopia, was on his way home. He had been to Jerusalem to worship God and was going back home in his carriage. As he rode along, he was reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah.
Chapter 1
Ethiopia - Mac’s Inventions
“Prestor John, you say? Wasn’t he that mythical Middle Age priest with a Christian kingdom in Abyssinia?”
“None too mythical now, though, Ted. Steve texted to say Mac’s found him in the middle of Ethiopia.”
“Really? THE Prestor John? What, bones and all?”
“Not just bones. The real walking exhibit.”
“You’re pulling my leg!”
Mid-autumn was the best time for adventure and the forest had less of a grip on the ground then. Mac swept his scythe back and forth, carving something that resembled a path through the jungle west of Dese. It’d been a day and a half since he dropped down from Bahir Dar on the southern shores of Lake Tana, following the Blue Nile valley more or less to its conjuction with a largish tributary to the NE. Here he crossed the river and headed east, keen to reach Dedeme in the next day or two ... or what used to be Dedeme before something came through and wiped out the entire village. No bones, no sign of eighty or so villagers, no footsteps, no trace. So they said. Mac loved mysteries but this one he had to see for himself.
The jungle monkeys swooped overhead laughing at his feeble attempts to gain access to this remote corner of Africa. Snakes, often disguised as criss-crossing vines, hung lazily on the tall interlocking branches. Parakeets bellowed noisily but colourfully across the dark forest, golden shafts of light occasionally breaking through the matted leafy ceiling above him.
Mac loved the solitude. Alone in creation, surrounded by the animals he knew, loved and respected. His childhood a happy memory on an African mission station. His youth capturing lions, tigers and elephants... on film. His early adulthood trained in engineering with subsequent experience on a safari station. The loss of his beloved wife to dengue fever was a bitter blow but time had healed that scar and their inability to have children. Now in his early 50s, after studying languages of many kinds and teaching not a few too, Mac spent all his holidays roaming the more remote places in the world, ever on the lookout for a spot of adventure.
The day wore on and the ceiling darkened until it was time to pitch camp. Finding several bulky trees near each other, Mac hacked at the undergrowth until he’d cleared a considerable space between them. From his pack he drew out a lightweight concertinered cylinder that resembled an up-market thermette. Pulling it out to its full length, he stood it up on end. Then placing a few small twigs in the cylinder, he pressed a small key on what resembled a miniature key-pad. Mac’s other hobby was inventing things. He’d recently discovered how to take radio waves and turn them into a strong power source. In fact, the power source was so strong he’d had to take extreme care not to blow up his various pieces of new hardware.
A red light indicated the twigs were being dried and shortly would ignite. The orange light shone which meant the fire was lit. Mac turned the power down to a bare minimum while gathering some fresh mushrooms, snails and frogs. From a nearby tree he collected damp moss and fed it into a pocket on the side of the cylinder and pressed another key. A few moments later, pure drinkable water flowed from the small funnel below, pumped up through a small plastic heat-proof tube and into the small basin at the head of the cylinder. The water at boiling point a few minutes later, the mushrooms, snails and frogs were cooked to perfection. Mac licked his lips with satisfaction, as he completed his rich tasty evening meal.
He cleaned up and checked the LTD - his abbreviation for his Locator/Time/Date invention. Opening the cover, he felt a sudden zap, like a small electric shock but only momentarily. ‘That’s never happened before,’ he said to himself. ‘Must be a short-circuit somewhere.’ He checked the statistics. Latitude/longitude: 11°N, 38°E. Date: May 4th, 1177 Time: 8.12pm.
‘...1177? Right day, wrong date. Well, I guess something had to be broken with that short-circuit!’ he reflected. His forehead wrinkled as he pondered for a moment how he would fix that function when he got home.
From his pack Mac now drew a small rectangular plastic sheet. Unfolding it one way then the other, out sprung a ready-made elephant-proof tent. Zipping himself inside, Mac lay down, his head resting on the plastic pillow that also popped out automatically from the side. His mind drifted off and for some reason began to toss round adventures of Prestor John. No-one had ever proved he lived in this part of the world though it was suspected he might have. Mac knew a little about the historical records of this man but little about the times in which he lived. And fell fast asleep…
…His peaceful dreams were shattered around 6am by a huge wail, like the sound of an elephant in tremendous pain. With the morning sun struggling to penetrate the leafy blanket overhead, Mac unzipped his bag in haste for fear this thing would shortly trounce him. Hurriedly stuffing his tent into his backpack, he crouched and waited. Shortly, another long wail. Now that he was fully awake he realised it wasn’t an elephant. In fact it wasn’t an animal he recognised... which worried him just slightly!
Worse, he could now distinguish two wails. One lower pitched than the first. Since the sound wasn’t advancing towards him, that he could tell, he took out the chain round his neck and opened the IR compass. Another of his inventions. No ordinary compass. This one was a long-range infra-red heat sensor which calculated distances between anything warm-blooded whether on land, in the air or underwater, up to 10 kilometres away. It had a secondary function which calculated water vapour throughout the troposphere to a limit of 100 kms, excellent for long-range weather forecasting.
Shortly he calculated there to be two considerably sized animals at a distance of about 500 metres from him, one moving back and forth over a distance of roughly 200 metres, the other more or less stationery about 5 metres off the ground. In which case the second could only be a gigantic humming bird! If this were the case he certainly didn’t want to be anywhere near its beak!
Mac crept off in the direction of the beasts. Creep he wouldn’t have needed to do because the noise was deafening. But best to be quiet anyway because most animals have an acute sense of impending danger. The thought then came to him “What if I don’t survive this approaching encounter?” With that reflection growing, Mac extracted his spare beacon finder, punched in the time and date, and his expected location, stating that should he not clock in 24 hours from now, trouble was at large. He tuned it to Steve’s emergency beacon frequency, placed it in a waterproof bag and hid it in a rock cleft nearby. Steve’s beacon gave hourly updates and this at least would give Mac some back-up, though if Steve were in South America that wouldn’t help much.
The undergrowth was dense in this region and it took him some thirty minutes to quietly crash his way to the area of the wailing. He was glad he’d not been in a hurry, for suddenly the ground ahead of him disappeared into a huge chasm. Mac took a gulp as he looked straight down a solid rock wall, not to a river below but to a gorge, its jungle-clad valley squashed almost out of recognition. Mac didn’t remember there being such a chasm marked on his map. He would have checked but the wailing which had ceased for a short time, immediately recommenced and just about deafened him. In the same instant a huge mass of an arm or neck or something swept past his eyes and swept back again. He couldn’t tell which part it was because he couldn’t see the whole thing with the bush beside him.
Mac turned to edge his way along the lip of the canyon towards his right. Pausing some 50 metres later, he looked over the lip. What was he looking at? The back of a huge creature that almost filled the crater? He rubbed his eyes. He must be dreaming. Nothing is that size. Now he noticed that on the far side of the gorge, beyond the creature, deep etchings were carved down the side of the wall. Further, there appeared at one time to have been an arch bridge of sorts over the canyon, for the remains were clearly visible on the far side.
Mac scratched what remained of the hair on his head. Was it a beast? Suddenly the wailing began again and it was definitely coming from the creature he was watching. A movement. Now the beast rose, slowly at first, then turned and Mac, expecting the worst, cowered back. Throwing itself upward, literally, the beast appeared to be attempting to leap from the canyon. As Mac watched he detected a limp in one of its legs. ‘Perhaps it’s wounded,’ he thought. Two furry arms lashed about as it clawed at the rock wall.
Suddenly its long arm swung past Mac, almost taking off his head. Mac ducked and stayed low. Flat on the ground, Mac tried to look up but the sun was making his eyes wet. Back and forth the arm swung - yes, it definitely was an arm. What was this creature trying to do?
As Mac tried to take stock of his situation, he now noticed that the jungle on the far side of where the rock bridge had been was also mown down. Mac examined his map. Indeed, the direction from which the creature had come was in the vicinity of the village Mac was trying to locate. Perhaps the creature had come from the village, tried to cross the bridge, the weight broke and it had been trying to escape, unsuccessfully. How long had it been down there? The map had no sign of such a chasm and with mountains at both ends, it couldn’t go far. So... the creature was trapped below ground and it sent out a wail seeking rescue. It all made perfect sense. Except for two small facts. Such creatures didn’t exist and this chasm was uncharted.
Believing there to be a perfectly good explanation, Mac bade his time trying to think what that explanation was! Well, he would have but for what happened next. The creature spotted him. The enormous head came at him in a flash, its long head cascading down to him, large round eyes stopping millimetres from his! It peered into Mac’s face, more curious than angry, Mac thought. Pity Mac hadn’t had time to snap a photo.
No sooner had the head lowered than it disappeared again. Out of the corner of Mac’s eye he thought something flashed at him. He turned his head to the west. There it was again! Was someone there with a flash camera? Then the huge wailing increased exponentially and the creature bolted in the direction of the flash of light, crashing its way through the jungle on the floor of the canyon towards a bluff in the distance. Mac decided to follow.
An hour or so later he reached the end of the canyon which inexplicably concluded quite dramatically at a steep vertical cliff in the mountain side. There was no way the creature could have escaped. From where he was standing, there appeared to be a large dark black hole or cave in the corner of the bluff.
Mac shot his jet rope over the side of the canyon then gingerly made his way over the side of the precipice, descending to the trampled forest below. Below he pressed a tiny trigger at the end of his rope which released the small tentacled clamp at the top, compacted the clamp and the rope dropped down to his side. Making his way over some huge round boulders, he approached the cave as quietly as possible. Well, well. It wasn’t a cave after all. Just a huge black wall. Yet, mysteriously, the furrow through the bush the creature had made appeared to go right through the wall. Bending closer Mac even found branches that appeared to be crushed beneath the wall.
Mac’s puzzled frown and broad smile showed his love for the mystery. Removing his IR compass from his backpack, Mac swept it round to attempt to identify where the creature was. With no trace showing on the meter, he was about to put it away when, swinging it past the rock wall, there it was... about 30 metres away inside the bluff! Mac put his ear to the wall, waited and suddenly detected a dull “thud” inside. It sounded like something hitting the wall.
Quickly Mac ran back to a secure posse away from the wall and nearer the side of the rift. He only just arrived in his hiding place when, with a low metallic sound, the “wall” disappeared and the creature burst out and hurtled its way back to where he’d first seen it.
Where was it going? Why in such a hurry? Did Mac dare a peek inside? What if the wall closed in on him and crushed him like the branches? Not a nice thought! The longer nothing happened, the more impatient Mac became. About to leave his safe position, he heard a shrill whistle and the creature came tearing back, disappeared into the cave and the “door” closed once more. Mystery after mystery! Mac waited an age this time.
Suddely the creature burst from the cave a second time and bush-crashed its way in the same direction with a man sitting on its back holding a rope! Mac gasped and then yelled “Oi!” The man glanced left just in time to see Mac wave his arm. The man, in a wink, spun the rope in Mac’s direction, lassooed Mac, gripping him and yanked. Mac lurched forward and was propelled onto the back of the creature, the wind whipping in his face as the party sped forward. Despite lying awkwardly, Mac had time to see the remains of the arch go past, the creature leap upwards ... and Mac fainted.
Chapter 2
Ethiopia - Hamarach
When Mac woke up, he found himself lying on a huge double bed, luxurious purple curtains hanging from the four poster about him. He blinked. He blinked again. He rubbed his eyes. The thick wooden door opened. A dark African peered at him curiously. The African wore colourful robes. He approached Mac and said something. Mac heard what he said but it didn’t register in his brain. Obviously a tribal dialect Mac hadn’t met before. Where was he? His mind was one big puzzle with so many questions and no answers.
Mac got off the bed and walked to a window and looked out. He was astounded at what he saw. Cobbled streets lined with palm trees, stone walls, white sculptures in the midst of cascading water fountains, castle-like buildings and a high turretted wall surounding the whole place. Grape and kiwifruit vines, banana plants, citrus trees, irrigated streams. A “land flowing with milk and honey” surely! Curious now to see out of the other window, he discovered more of the same plus a wide central street that shone like gold, leading up to an enormous palace higher up. Between the building Mac was in and the palace was a stone cross lying on the ground. No, on closer inspection it appeared to have been carved out of the rock it lay in, not unlike the St Georges rock church at Lalibela. Had he been transported there in the night by plane? But no, Lalibela was definitely not surrounded by a high turretted wall.
His bedroom led into an ensuite of sorts and needing to go to the toilet, Mac found a room with a urinal that emptied out a hole over the side of the building! Huh. That reminded him of the one at Blarney Castle! No flush toilets here but you wouldn’t expect to find one out in the jungle. Then again you wouldn’t expect to find streets that looked like gold either. The only gold streets he’d ever heard about were in the Book of Revelation and referred to the new and heavenly Jerusalem. He pinched himself to check if in fact that’s where he was. Ouch! No, he was definitely still on earth and very much alive. Whether he was actually awake was another matter.
Suddenly a loud horn sounded, not unlike his friend Mike’s horn on his old Rover. Perhaps he was on a movie set. Yes, that must be it. He’d stumbled onto a historical movie in the making. That would account for a lot of things. The horn was the wake-up call after the midday siesta. Mac tried his cell-phone. It didn’t surprise him to be out of range up here in the mountains.
A servant appeared. The Ethiopian wore strange white and pink knotted rope-glasses without any glass! Weird. He beckoned Mac to follow him. Gladly. Answers at last. Descending some rough-cast marble stairs, an ornate wooden door was opened and Mac was ushered into an expansive library.
Books filled all the walls. Having been left on his own, he walked to one side and withdrew a brown book. Opening it, he discovered Old English prose inside – difficult but not impossible to read for anyone with a linguistics degree, as he had. ‘Must have found the Old English section of the library,’ he whispered to himself. He walked across the room and chose another book. Here was a book written in Hebrew called “The Gold of Ophir.” That would make interesting reading since Solomon had built his temple in Jerusalem with Ophir gold, the source of which had long been hidden. He chose another and found this one full of drawings of crosses, symbols and building designs. Another one had sketches of what looked like angels. Yet others were written in Urdu (from the Indus region), Hindi (India), classical Mandarin (China), Swahili (Africa), even Aramaic and Armenian. Finally he found a book he recognised - the New Testament in its original Greek. Having majored in classical Greek, Mac skimmed over a few passages he knew well.
Why so many foreign books? Where was the English section? The servant returned, lightly tapped Mac on the shoulder and beckoned him to follow. They entered through a similar door and into a luxurious study, full of even more books. However, it was the maps on every wall that attracted his attention this time. Maps of an assortment of places but from odd angles and directions. And a few metres away, a large desk and a man seated, head low, poring over one such map stretched wide and flat in front of him.
The gentleman had very white hair, in striking opposition to the African’s at Mac’s side. He was wearing glasses on a thin but strong nose. An off-white shirt covered his upper half and beneath the desk Mac could see he was wearing laced sandals. “Philip!” the man suddenly spoke in a loud strongly accented English voice. “Master Philip!” he repeated, banging the map with his fist and jumping up. The shirt had now lengthened to more of a toga and in his waist was tucked a dagger. His arms were bronzed and rugged, not unlike Mac’s. His face shone as if he’d recently applied facial cream and his aqua blue eyes sparkled warmth, courage and authority.
He came around his desk, looking at Mac’s clothes and at his back-pack. He indicated he wanted the pack on the chair so Mac obliged.
“I....” Mac began.
“Shhhhhh!!!!” the man said, his finger to his lips. He beckoned the servant to leave. On their own, the man extended his hand, “Johannes. Have we met?”
Mac shook it warmly and replied, “Mac. I don’t think so.”
“Welcome to Hamarach,” Johannes continued in Old English. “Where is Master Philip? I’ve been expecting him. I need him here as soon as possible. The Muslim armies are advancing. Our people are fearless and numerous but Islam is a tide that is steadily encroaching. Any word from Bahir Dar?”
Mac looked around to check Johannes wasn’t talking to someone else behind him. No, he was the only one in the room! “I’m sorry, Johannes. You must be confusing me with someone else. I know no-one called Master Philip nor a Bahir Dar. Where do they live?”
Johannes looked directly at Mac. “Then you are not a messenger from Rome?”
Rome!! Why Rome? Johannes leaned over his map again and Mac followed his eyes. The map was a very antiquated one of Africa. At least several hundred years old, Mac guessed.
“Here we are,” said Johannes pointing to a location somewhere east of Lake Tana. “Here are the Muslim armies coming across from Arabia.” (Pointing to what could only be Yemen.) “They have landed on the east coast and made bandit raids on some of our coastal towns. They are ruthless, killing all who will not honour Allah as the one God and Muhammed as his messenger. Here in the north the copts warn us of what has befallen them in Egypt and even bandits are fleeing south up the Nile. Africa will fall to Islam if we do not stem the tide, just as it also advances in India and Rus. Much help is needed. Europe must be with us. You must return and bring back the Byzantine armies. ”
Until that point, some of it made sense but at the mention of Byzantine armies, Mac decided Johannes was off his rocker! The Byzantine armies were of another age long gone. Perhaps Johannes was one of those historians who set up miniature models of soldiers in their study to fight great historical battles.
“I’m sure your president has everything under control.”
“President? You mean Emperor Lalibela? Two years into his reign is too short. He needs help and of course that‘s why I’m here to give it. But we’re hard-pressed at every side.”
“Lalibela?” Mac said questioningly. He didn’t remember Ethiopia having a Lalibela as ruler since the Middle Ages. As for calling them emperors, that title had died with Haile Selassie in 1974, the last of the Solomonic Dynasty.
“Look Johannes,” Mac began, “I’d like to get involved in this game or story but I must get on to the abandoned village to see what became of the villagers who have fled or died.”
Johannes looked alarmed for the first time. “Villagers have fled? Where?”
“Here I’ll show you my map.” Mac extended it over Johannes’. It covered the upper Nile basin from the Sudan and into Ethiopia and Eritrea.
Johannes looked quizzically at it. “What are these lines?” he asked.
“Altitude lines,” Mac replied, a little surprised that the question needed to be asked. “See. Here we know that Lake Tana is 1800m above sea level.”
“And these round dots?”
“Those indicate the towns and cities.”
“Is that Lake Tana?” Johannes asked. Mac indicated it was. “Alas, your map is in error. There is no town at the foot of the lake.”
Mac laughed. “Well, it’s not a large town but it’s certainly larger than a village!”
Johannes looked at Mac with a frown. “Sir,” Johannes continued, “with respect, the only person who lives on the southern shore of Lake Tana is my watchman Bahir Dar and his extended family.”
Now it was Mac’s turn to frown. What was Johannes playing at? Bahir Dar wasn’t a person, it was a town! He changed the subject so as not to offend the man. “Out of interest, where were you born?”
Johannes smiled. “Perhaps a place you have never heard of.”
“Try me,” Mac replied.
“The Island of Socotra.”
Mac nodded. “In the Indian Ocean. An unusual place to be raised.”
“Well done, sir. You surprise me,” Johannes replied. “My father was a sea captain trading between India, Persia and Egypt, primarily, though we also took longer sea voyages.”
“Was that how you picked up so many unusual books?” Mac asked.
“Ah, now that is a much longer story. And the books you’ve seen here are but a drop in the ocean of books and manuscripts I have in my possession. More are in Axum, our blessed capital.”
Now Mac knew Johannes was kidding! Addis Ababa had been the capital of Ethiopia since the 1800s. True, Axum had been the capital up to the 8th century. Then the invading Muslim armies conquered the city and forced the inhabitants up into the mountains to the south. Johannes obviously meant it was the capital in the early years of Abyssinain history. Well, he needed to get on. He could return later after he’d been to the village. It was time to leave. Mac picked up his pack and headed for the door. “God bless you, Johannes. I must go.”
“Wait!” Johannes quickly held his right hand up for Mac to stop which Mac did out of respect. Opening a drawer, Johannes removed a small object. It was a signet ring featuring a tiny jasmine cross. Johannes put it on Mac’s small finger on his left hand and said, “Keep this to remember me.” Mac wasn’t sure about wearing a ring for too long but he nodded in the meantime. Johannes returned to his table, leaned over his map and muttered to himself, “Philip. Philip. Where are you, my man?”
Mac quietly left the room.
Johannes gave no restraints to Mac. He was not a hostage then. That was reassuring. He exited the building he was in and decided before he left town, to check out the curious stone cross he’d seen from his bedroom window. Two guards at the entrance of the building initially blocked his way with long spears but, noticing the cross round his neck, suddenly stood back and resumed their post at the great doors. Mac would be leaving this neck cross on for some time!.
It was a short walk to the stone cross. Mac gasped. It was a replica of the huge stone cross church of St George at Lalibela. Lalibela had 11 such rock-hewn churches but St George was considered by all to be the most ingeniously carved as the sculptors began from the top and worked down. And here was its twin! By George, what a historical find! But... how could this structure have been hidden so long with so many in this town knowing its existence and the place not have been swamped by tourists???
Mac continued his walk up the golden street. He stooped to ascertain the composition of the rock street. Not painted. Scraping a small amount with his fingernails, he inserted this into a small test tube which he took from his backpack. Later he’d test the rock. For now he wanted to see a little more of the town before he headed towards a ridge yonder and hopefully a view of where he was. A running, sparkling river flowed down a trough in the middle of the street. Further up he came to the source of the river - a water fountain cascading from a large hole in the rock wall at the top of the town and at the end of the street. The carved scupltures around the gushing hole were a magnificent work of art - quite Byzantine in design - strange pictures of a beautiful throne and books being opened, with something akin to a paradise on one side and a great fire on the other. Two guards, likewise with spears, stood here at attention.
Above the rock and the fountain, carved into the side of the mountain was a palace of sorts but there being no obvious entrance nor any stairs, Mac had to leave exploration of that in the meantime. He was keen to find out his location, find the village he was seeking and then he could return and get answers to the remaining unanswered questions. To the NW of the town he found a gate through the high city wall, albeit barred with expansive swing doors, guarded by the ever-present sword-wielding guards. They let him out, though Mac sensed they did it with fear, not for themselves but strangely, for his own safety.
What was there to fear? Wild animals Mac could deal with. Other African tribes, Mac knew how to elude or appease. Then Mac remembered the large beast! He’d forgotten all about it. He should have asked Johannes. Who was this guy? Perhaps he should have stopped awhile longer and got to the bottom of his “game.” Oh well, first things first. He could pop back later.
The twin-peaked ridge he knew well from previous journeys to this area of Africa though he’d never managed to get anywhere near it before. Today he would fulfil just one more of his adventurous goals. It took considerable patience finding paths across the rock-strewn and densely-carpetted ground until some hours later, he emerged through a line of trees, to be but a few hundred metres from the lower of the two peaks. Exhausted, he dropped to squat on a large boulder away from the scurrying large blank ants that would scale his ankles and nip his legs if he stopped too long.
More carefully now he began scaling the steep slope, his rope and pick coming in handy as he edged his way up the side of this small mountain peak. At last, slithering up a few last metres, he reached the summit, found a safe place to perch and gazed out over the panoramic vista that stretched far below and out to the horizon.
In the remote distance he could see the Blue Nile winding its way south. He imagined it continuing west and then north to meet with the White Nile at Khartoum. To the south, the southern peaks of the great Rift Valley hid in the haze of the westwards moving sun To the west, Lake Tana stretched out just below the horizon surrounded by its mountain enclosure save for the Blue Nile valley headed his way. What a magnicent eagle-eyes view from Mount Talo, glad it was summer for the mountain would soon be covered in snow and bitterly cold. He calculated the town where he woke this morning to be SE of Lake Tana and SW of this mountain, down in the valleys somewhere west or northwest of Dese. He retrieved his map. No town listed here. How could you lose a town?? Was it after all a movie set? Time to test the gold. Mac took out his rock analyser and sprinkled some of the rock from the test tube into the tiny cup at the top. He closed the lid and turned on his instrument. A few moments later, the analysis was digitally printed on the tiny screen in front of him. “Gold.”
Mac looked at this for a moment, shook his head and keyed in a question: “What degree gold?” The answer rapidly returned: “100% gold.” Mac shook his head again. It wasn’t possible. He looked across to where he guessed the village was and was surprised to discover he couldn’t now see it. ‘It is well camouflaged’, Mac thought. He looked again at the reading - “100%” His brain tried to reason why it would be pure gold for no-one in their right mind, especially on a movie set would sprinkle or lay pure gold on a street where everyone walked every day.
Well, one plan at a time. The reason he began this adventure was to find out what had become of the village and its people. Mac plotted his course back to the abandoned village and eventually reached it late afternoon. He was certainly surprised to be greeted by a happy throng of dark children lapping at his feet, excitedly chattering and pointing at his interesting back-pack. They escorted him to the large round hut in the middle of the village. Someone rushed inside and a few moments later, out came the chief. They were introduced. “Tamooba” was the chief’s name. He was delighted to have a stranger through his village and invited Mac to stay for dinner. Their langage was Teryke, a much older version than he knew but he knew enough to be understood.
“How are your people?” Mac asked casually while picking river fish bones from his teeth.
“My people are very happy. We have everything we need - fish, meat, health, fine women and good protection. Our God is good..”
“Great to hear that, Tamooba. Which God is that?”
“There is only one God, Mac. The great God Yahweh!”
Mac looked at the chief, startled. “You worship Yahweh?”
“Of course! And I see you do too, Mac. Your cross gives you away.”
Mac had forgotten about the jasmine cross Johannes had given him. “Yes, I do, but I know few people who know His true name where I’m from. Do you know His son?”
The chief smiled. The people clapped their hands and danced round in happy circles. “His son, Yeshua? Yes, yes, indeed! And by his Ruach Spirit we are guided and taught. And by his Ruach I believe you are here today, Mac. We look forward to hear your news.”
News! All the news Mac had thus far was a mysterious collection of facts that didn’t add up. A gorge that didn’t appear on his map. A creature he couldn’t identify. Streets lined with gold. A village that was far from destroyed.
“But we can wait until morning. You look very tired. Mosa will show you to our guest hut.”
“Thank you, Chief Tamooba. Tomorrow I have some questions I’d like to ask you.”
“Thank you Mac. I, the chief, will answer all your questions, if Yahweh allows.”
Mosa was a friendly fellow, carrying an odd type of guitar. It looked more like a lyre and as they walked, Mosa strummed it and sang a song which he composed to welcome his visitor:
“Mac came down from the hills to Tamooba. News to bring. News to bring.
Mosa walked with his new found friend. Thank the King. Thank the King.”
Inside a tidy hut, Mac lay back on a bed of straw and drifted off to sleep, with Mosa singing his lullaby outside the open door.
The moon was bright that night and Mac only stirred the once when he turned in his sleep. The moon shining through the open door caught him direct in his eye. What a beautiful sight. He checked his LTD and it read: Latitude/longitude: 11°N; 38.5°E. Date: May 5th. Year -0004. Time: 11.55pm. Mac turned over and thought ‘First thing I do when I get back home is fix the date component. How can you have a minus reading for the date?!’ At this rate all of his instruments would soon be malfunctioning. His hand reached out to check his backpack was there, and he slid his hand through the waist belt to draw it closer, and promptly fell asleep.
Chapter 3
Ethiopia - Roman soldiers
Mac yawned. His head felt stiff and he sat up slightly to adjust his straw pillow. It wasn’t there. In its place was a small log and on the log was a large scorpion looking right at him. Mac’s eyes grew wide and then in an instant he leapt to his feet, his backpack caught in his arm flying behind him. “Mosa!” he called as he ran to a nearby tree. He stopped, looked back and shivered that he’d been so close to a terrible fate. “Mosa!” he called again.
Mac turned to face Tamooba’s hut. Where was it? Where was the village? Or now he realised he should have been asking “Where am I?” He thought back. Yes, he definitely went to sleep in the hut. He definitely only woke the once during the night and yet... here he was in the middle of the jungle.
Mac decided to head back to his locator and clock in so Steve didn’t worry. He began to move in the direction the gorge should be and was delighted to reach it by mid afternoon. In the process he had to cross a stream where he guessed the villagers had caught the tasty fish the previous night. Must be one of the Blue Nile tributaries, Mac surmised.
By the time he reached the gorge, the sun was sinking fast. At least tonight he’d sleep well in his own little tent. Approaching the gorge, he suddenly stopped. There was a magnificent stone arch bridge spanning the gorge. “I must be further upstream than I was the other day.” As he stepped onto the bridge, he noticed a lovely shiny plaque to his left. He stooped down and read the writing. It was in Latin. Latin! He was grateful he’d studied Latin at school so he translated it to himself:
“Built this May 5th, in the 27th year of Tiberius Caesar Augustus, son of the divine Augustus.” What a remarkable archaeological find! And it looked so new.
Returning to a standing position, Mac looked over the side of the bridge. What he saw was the last thing on earth he’d have expected to see. Tent after tent after tent, neatly ordered as far as the eye could see along the gorge, with a straight path right down the middle! Had he stumbled on a scout jamboree? Surely not. Not here in the midde of Africa.
Next he heard the sound of marching and looking to his right saw a group of soldiers in uniform approaching him. They were in full battle dress. Roman battle dress!! Very intimidating. Another movie in the making?
“Name?” asked the Roman officer at the front, speaking in old Greek!
“Mac.”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m sorry. Is this area off-limits? I’m just back from the hills...” Mac began, dredging up his classical Greek..
Interrupting him, the soldier asked, “Did you see anyone in the area where you came from?”
“Quite a few people actually,” Mac replied honestly, his Greek warming to the occasion.
The soldiers looked suspiciously at Mac when he said this. The officer continued, “Who?”
“Well there were the village people and a mad white-haired man in a crazy castle with ...” Mac stopped. He’d said enough. Why did they want to know anyway? “What are you guys doing here?”
The soldier refused to answer this question. Instead he said, “You will take us to the village and the castle this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry?” Did Mac hear the question right? “No, I’m not going back that way just yet. I need to check in at my base camp first.”
“Is your base camp far?”
“No, just an hour or so east of here.”
“How many are there?”
“No-one is there. I just want to check my locator beeper.”
The soldier thought about this and then continued. “You will not return to your camp. You will come with us to the village and the castle.”
“Hey guys. Ask me nicely and I might come but don’t order me around!”
“Romulus, arrest this man!” the officer commanded, at which point Mac was roughly grabbed and dragged across the bridge, struggling to get free, and put in a rope-pulleyed shaft and lowered to the camp below. He was taken into a tent, tied to the single post in its centre and a guard was placed at his tent door.
“So much for a peaceul sleep tonight,” Mac quietly said to himself. These were either great actors or he had found himself in the middle of some European military uprising that the newspapers had forgotten to mention. Sadly it appeared to be more likely the latter case. What an army! There must have been several hundred soldiers judging by the amount of tents he’d seen. Mac didn’t sleep well that night. He wondered how horses and birds slept on their feet.
Early the next morning, a battalion of soldiers were up early, for he heard them doing their ablutions and inside an hour were ready for the march. Mac was untied and joined the march at the head, the senior officer or commander beside him, with two ox-like soldiers as bodyguards for the commander. Two things annoyed Mac after awhile: 1) the noise and 2) the destruction the soldiers were making with so many crashing through the undergrowth. He wouldn’t need his compass coming back down this path!
The village was reached without trouble although it’s location was not exactly where Mac recalled it to have been. As before, dark children came rushing to Mac’s feet, until they saw the soldiers, then backed away in fear. Mac didn’t like to see this on their faces. Not among such a happy village. Surely Yahweh would guide them as before. “Take me to Tamooba,” Mac asked one of them. The children kept quiet and remained motionless so Mac wandered over to the chief’s hut, looking out for Mosa on the way. The villagers were being very subdued. Not a smile amongst them. Mac couldn’t understand it. He tried a wave. No sign of recognition! He reached the hut and asked to see the chief.
The chief exited his hut and stood in front of Mac. This was not Tamooba! Oh oh, Mac thought. Must have the wrong village!
“Post a troop on this village,” ordered the commander. “Don’t let anyone leave without permission until we return.” Then turning to Mac, he continued, “”On! On to the castle!”
Being uphill, it was wearying for Mac, having made the same journey only yesterday. Across the stream, they came to the last ridge before the view over to the stockaded castle. The commander had just asked Mac, “Is it far?” and Mac had replied, “You shall see it in a few seconds,” when Mac looked and gasped. “It’s gone!”
“Gone?” demanded the commander. “What’s gone?”
“The castle! It extended from the lower part of that ridge right up to the edge of that enormous cliff and the palace was carved into the higher point of it!”
“Show me!”
They marched right up onto the site where the castle and walls had been. Not a sign. No carvings, not a stream and certainly no water coming out of the cliff face! The place was barren rock. Mac walked right up to the cliff and the only thing he could find was a small opening inside with a tiny cave.
“Guard, put him in that cave and secure it!” Mac was thrown into the cave and the lights went out. Suddenly all was still and quiet and very dark! ‘I hope there are no lions in here,’ Mac thought!
Yes, it definitely wasn’t a movie. It was a war. But who was fighting who? And now Mac was a hostage. He felt his way back into the tiny cave to see how far in it went and sat down to rest against the wall. Except there wasn’t any wall just there. So...the cave went back further. ‘Well, might as well see how far back it goes,’ Mac muttered as he began crawling. Then he remembered his solar torch. Retrieving it from his bag, he switched it on. ‘Hallelujah! Some things are still working properly.’ He was glad he’d designed it to charge by the warmth of the day as well as by solar conduction. It would last for a good few hours.
The cave lit up and he discovered that the cave opened up the further back he went. He checked his LTD and added a search on the cave depth. His calculator took a few seconds and then he read the length of the cave: 55kms east; 120kms west; plus sub-branches. “Come on! How can one cave be 55kms let alone 120kms? I’m certainly not going that far!” Mac said aloud. He shook the LTD even though he knew that was pointless. He read the rest of the statistics: Lat/long: 11.5°N; 38°E. Date: May 6th. Year: -1446. Time: 3.30pm. The date reading was getting worse.
Unless. No.... Mac shrugged off the impossible thought.
Mac heard a small sound deeper within the mountain. Oh oh, he’d disturbed a wild animal. Was it a lion, a bear, a wolf... or one of those terrifying creatures he’d seen earlier? Forbid the thought. But now he was trapped. At best he could squeeze himself into a crack and hope the animal was killed by the soldiers when it left its lair. Mac waited an age and then curiosity got the better of him. He silently shuffled along the cave, his torch on the lowest brightness, taking every step so carefully. He’d already been through one rounded out cave but for safety sake continued deeper. Rounding the next corner, his torch seemed to fade and he turned it off for a moment. There was light ahead!
Had he inadvertently come full circle to another exit? Peeping round the corner, he saw an equally amazing sight to the one when he’d seen the rows and rows of tents in the gorge. An olive-skinned man with long dark hair seated, bending over a central rock in the shape of a table, writing!! By the light of an oil lamp!!!
Mac shook his head in amazement. Was the man friendly? Was he mad? Was he one of the enemies of the soldiers? Were there others about? Mac coughed quietly to find out. The man almost died of fright!
He spun round and called out, “Who’s there?!” in an unusual form and dialect of Hebrew!
‘Hebrew?’ Mac asked himself. Why was he speaking Hebrew of all things?
Peering at Mac in the half-light, the man continued. “Who are you?!”
“A popular question today,” Mac replied in Hebrew. “I’m Mac. And you?”
“Gershom,” the man replied solemnly and politely.
“Pleased to meet you, Gershom. Shalom.” The name sounded vaguely familiar but Mac couldn’t remember why.
“Are the soldiers outside friends or foe?”
“Soldiers?!” Gershom replied, nervously. “Copts or Likuds?”
“Neither. They look like Roman soldiers!” Mac described their uniforms.
“Rameses!”
Mac wasn’t sure if Gershom was swearing or what. Rameses had been one of the fiercest pharoahs of ancient Egypt but in his favour had left behind a wonderful legacy of fantastic monuments. Mac changed the subject to calm the man down a little. “What does your name mean, Gershom?”
“It means ‘I have become an alien in a foreign land.’ My father gave me the name.”
“Interesting name, Gershom. And what foreign land was that?”
“Midian.”
“Midian? You mean central west Arabia?”
“Possibly. A beautiful oasis where my grandfather tended sheep.”
“Oh, so you have a farming background. By why were you aliens there?”
“Oh no, we weren’t. My father was. He was originally from Egypt but my mother was Midianite.”
“Do you have any children of your own, Gershom?” Mac asked, a puzzled thought beginning to enter his mind.
“Several actually but Shebuel has done best of them all. He’s recently been appointed security priest over the temple treasury and I can tell you, they have some treasure there! ” ( I Chron 26:24)
“Have you ever been to Egypt?”
“Sadly, no. We were going to be going but at the last moment, my mother Zipporah, and my younger brother Eliezer and I stayed back. Otherwise we would have moved to Memphis with our uncle Aaron and aunt Miriam. It’s just as well we didn’t go as things turned out, with the plagues and all. My dear mother Zipporah died not long ago in Midian. My younger brother Eliezer lives in the north now. Aunt Miriam, who was excellent on the tambourine and used to sing us such joyful songs, regretfully died in the wilderness of Zin near Kadesh.”
Gershom looked at Mac. Mac’s eyesbrows were raised and he was looking straight at Gershom. “What did you say your grandfather’s name was?!”
“I didn’t mention it before. His name was Jethro.”
“Jethro! Jethro, the priest of Midian?” This dream Mac was having was taking a new twist.
Now it was Gershom’s turn to look surprised. “You know my grandfather? But that’s impossible!”
Mac paused, took a deep breath and said, “Perhaps. Actually I know more about your father.”
“You knew my father?! You don’t look like an Egyptian!”
“No, I’m not Egyptian. I’m English. I’ve never met your father but I’ve read most of his books.”
Gershom shook his head from side to side. “Then sir, you must be mistaken. That’s quite impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?”
“Because I was his scribe and apart from those who committed his history and speeches to memory, no books have been completed. Sadly, he wasn’t allowed to cross the Jordan River and died...” Gershom choked with the memory.
“...on Mt Nebo.” Mac finished the sentence. “I know. I’m sorry. He was a great man,”
“You’re a surprising man, Mac. You’ve come to me tonight out of nowhere and told me some very surprising things. Are you an angel?”
Mac laughed. “No sir. Definitely not!”
“What’s that cross round your neck?”
“It was given to me by a man who lives just outside this cave... On second thoughts, I’ll explain that later. Have you ever heard of a man called Johannes?”
“No, Mac. Is he a good man?”
“Yes, I believe he is.”
Mac paused, then asked, “Did you come here because of your Cushite mother?”
Gershom looked up quickly at Mac. “You knew my mother had an Ethiopian background?!” Then he looked down and shook his head, saying nothing.
“I know,” Mac continued. “Miriam and Aaron didn’t like your mother for that reason. Don’t worry. Remember what Yahweh thought about that.”
Gershom turned back to face Mac. “He was very angry with them.” (Num 12:1)
“That’s right. So don’t be ashamed of your background.”
“I try not to let it but it does bug me occasionally... Hey, I really don’t understand how you know these things, Mac?”
“I’ll tell you sometime, my friend. By the way, what’s the name of your book?”
“I’m calling it The Book of the Wars of the Lord. Do you like the title?”
Upon hearing the title Mac exclaimed, “But they’re lost!”
“What are lost?” Gershom asked.
Mac quickly took a small well-worn book from his bag, flipped through a few pages, back and forth, until he found what he was looking for. Then he continued, “May I quote from your book?”
“How can you quote from it? I haven’t finished it yet. Here it is lying in front of me. Besides you’ve never seen it nor me before!”
Mac read from his text: “As He did in the Red Sea, so will He do in the streams of Arnon...(Gershom picked up the line in unison with Mac)... And the torrents will rest in Ar, and lie down in the borders of the Moabites.” (Num 21:14)
“You must be God’s angel!” Gershom announced.
“No, I’m not, my friend. Look, your book doesn’t survive so can I suggest you put it somewhere safe?” Mac then unexpectedly yawned. “Oh dear, I am tired. Do you mind if I have a nap while you continue with your writing? I’d like to read more in the morning.”
“Of course, sir. Please lie down here on my bed.”
Mac lay down and slept soundly.
He woke some hours later and checked his LTD for the time. It was now 5.30am. He’d slept longer than he intended. The table was clear of documents. Perhaps Gershom had slipped out to get some food. He called out and checked round a few corners but couldn’t remember which path he’d come in through, there being various choices. Then a niggling thought hit him. He looked back at his LTD to the date. May 7th, -3234. Oh oh! He came back to the main cave where he’d been sleeping and sure enough, no sign of anyone ever being here!
He was thankful for the evening meal Gershom had kindly made him the night before. The question now was ‘Do I return and face possible soldiers outside or look for Gershom who may well have disappeared or explore this cave to another exit?’ He chose the latter.
The cave’s path was surprisingly easy to navigate. Not too much climbing was needed for the elevation was more or less horizontal. However, at one point, there was a kind of rock staircase and Mac stumbled. Falling, he hit his head making him pretty groggy. The rest of his journey through the long cave network was in a somewhat dazed state so that he wasn’t aware how far or how long he’d been walking. It was certainly a long way, most of it as if he were in a dream. At one point in the dream it looked like he passed through a castle in the mountain.
Most likely hours later, he saw a light in the faint distance which grew until it bathed him in warmth. Standing at the entrance was a man in a loin-skin. Mac didn’t want to give the man a fright so he coughed quietly. The man turned, unleashed a dagger but unable to see into the dark, simply peered and waited, perhaps for the lion he was expecting to jump him. Mac walked out into the light.
The man took a few paces back and his forehead wrinkled. What puzzled Mac was that the man was not a dark African but an olive-skinned Semitic. This was a dangerous situation. If the man was Islamic, Mac might have a fight on his hands. Mac unhooked his backbag and dropped it to his feet. He showed the man that he carried no weapon. Though he’d rather not part from his bag, to assure him further, Mac walked away from his bag.
The man then cautiously moved to Mac’s bag and picked it up, gingerly. One by one he emptied its contents gently onto the ground after examining each item, keeping a close eye on Mac at the same time. The man found no particular interest it seemed in any item except his swiss army knife. Perhaps the red attracted his attention. He turned it over and over, feeling its smooth shape. Then, noticing a silver sleeve, pulled on it and out came one of the knives. The man looked at it in wonder and folded it back and out several times. By and by, he noticed another blade and pulled that out too. The whole time, Mac simply froze not wanting to alarm the man. Time passed and within 10 minutes the man had managed to find all but two of the knife’s devices.
Finally and quietly he folded them all up and stood there for a time looking at the swiss army knife and at Mac. In a most surprising gesture, he then laid Mac’s army knife on the ground and his dagger alongside, and stood back some distance from both. He looked again at Mac.
The ball was in Mac’s court now. If he moved towards the knife, the man might leap first and…. Mac decided to leave the knives where they were. Instead, he backed off and came round to the man. Slowly, peacably.
“Salam,” Mac said, bringing a greeting of peace to the man he guessed was a Yemeni Muslim. There was no response or flicker of understanding.
Mac tried another tack. “Shalom.”
The man’s face suddenly turned from a dull stare to a broader and broader grin until he beamed and replied, “Shalom!”
Whew! Mac breathed a huge sigh of relief. He’d been on edge since exiting the cave tunnel. The man approached Mac, clasped his hands and shook them warmly. “Shalom,” the man said again. There followed a stream of Hebrew, Mac so grateful he’d majored in languages for he’d certainly needed a lot the past few days.
Mac learned that the man’s name was Cush. (‘Appropriate name for an Ethiopian!’) He and his family were travellers from afar, looking for lands for settlement. They had sailed down the Red Sea, crossed the rift valley desert, come up the Awash River and into the Ethiopian hills, led by Yahweh. Mac was surprised to hear that name again, especially on the lips of an Israeli. Usually they declined to speak God’s real name, being too holy to say. One tragedy had struck them. A young woman had slipped on a large boulder crossing the Awash, her head fell savagely against a rock and she died not far from the scene. They buried her in cave near that place and painted a picture of a rainbow in the rock above her head. Her name was Lucia.
Mac asked, “Why a rainbow?”
Cush smiled and replied, “Because of the flood. Yahweh’s promise.”
Mac didn’t fully understand the reply but let it go in the meantime. He’d let go asking many questions the past few days. One more wouldn’t go astray.
Mac tried to explain where he was from but Cush couldn’t seem to follow any of it so Mac changed the subject. Able now to retrieve his belongings, Mac packed them away. The evening was closing in on them and Mac was getting pretty hungry. Cush sensed this and indicated for Mac to follow him. Half an hour later, they emerged through bush to a lake. “Bstima!” Cush announced. Apparently it was the name they’d given to the lake after a local Ethiopian guide and friend. Mac saw that makeshift round thatched tents had been erected near the lake, with smoke rising from within and escaping out holes in the centre of each tent. Approaching, Mac discovered these tents were larger than he first thought and when Cush invited him inside one, Mac was amazed at several things that caught his eye.
First, the furnishings inside the tent were luxurious. Cushions and carpets of exquisite colours and fabrics with exotic wall-hangings. Then there was the beautiful aroma of flowers, herbs and spices. Finally, the sea of faces watching him, some inside the tent and the rest peering through the pulled back bamboo door they’d just stepped through. Later Mac learned that their animals included sheep, oxen, horses, camels and even elephants, together with unusually shaped cart-chariots for carrying heavy loads. These chariots could be disassembled for crossing rivers and reassembled remarkably easily. Quite an engineering feat.
Cush raised his voice and greeted Mac, welcoming him to the transit village. At the end of his short speech, everyone clapped and cheered. After giving thanks to Yahweh the feasting began in earnest, followed much later by dancing round the outdoor fires.A happy occasion indeed. Mac loved it.
Curiosity brought Mac back to Cush during the evening. They sat together in a quieter place once the fires had gone down and the stars could be seen through the clearing. Very bright they were that night, thought Mac. Mac pointed out Pleiades to Cush. Cush didn’t know it by that name but as The Jewels (“Kiymah” in Hebrew). That made sense, there being 7 stars in a cluster. Perhaps Cush hadn’t studied Greek or navigation for then he’d have known that Pleiades was a Greek name meaning to navigate since the 7 stars appeared in May at a time favourable to sailors. Mac also pointed out Orion’s Belt but again Cush had a different name, Kesiyl (“The Fat stars constellation.”) At least both of them agreed that the line of the Belt pointed due west.
Turning to Cush’s background, Mac managed to fathom a few odds and ends in-between much he couldn’t understand. He thought Cush had told him he was 120 years old but Mac was never clear on Hebrew numerals so figured he’d misheard him there. It made more sense to hear his son was 30 years old and that everyone was expecting him to turn up the following day and throw a party for him. His son’s name was Nimrod but they all called him Nimrod the Hunter because they said that Yahweh gave him great ability in this. Meanwhile, somewhere in the back of Mac’s brain, something was trying to tell him something but he just couldn’t put the pieces together. (Gen 10:8)
For the past week little had made sense unless it was all a gigantic plot to trick him into taking part in this far-fetched movie in the middle of the Ethiopian jungle.
Mac asked where Cush had come from. He explained that originally their families had come from the north Euphrates hills (in north Iraq) but after the flood which his grandfather and father had survived, they had moved to the mid Euphrates nearer Babylon (which he called “Babel” for some reason.) Mac asked if the flood had killed many others? Cush looked at Mac strangely and replied, “Everyone!” Mac was sorry to hear that all their area had perished and no wonder they’d moved to a safer area, although it seemed strange that they’d moved out of the safety of the hills into a low river valley system known for flash floods. Cush seemed more than a little puzzled himself that Mac knew nothing of this whole account.
Mac asked if he had any brothers. Yes, he had three younger brothers whose names were Egypt, Libya and Canaan. Well!!! He knew parents who named their children strange names but he’d never heard of kids with names after countries before! One of Cush’s brothers’ families had now settled in Yemen which he called Sheba. Cush had a liking for calling places by their original names. His two uncles had remained in the Euphrates with his father and settled down there, under Nimrod’s young leadership, Cush proudly said. It appears the provinces where they lived were looking for a strong leader and Nimrod was providing that authority and wisdom. Mac was now also looking forward to meeting Nimrod on the morrow. Apparently he was “calling in” after an expedition to the old city of Nineveh in Iran. Perhaps he was an archaeologist as well as a hunter, thought Mac.
It was time for sleep. It had been a long day. Mac asked where he would sleep and Cush explained that everyone slept in several large round tents, about 10 to a tent, their feet all facing the centre. Mac crawled under some blankets, his head on a soft purple pillow and fell quickly asleep.
Nearer morning, Mac woke and sleepily checked his LTD to see the time. It was 4am. As usual the coordinates were all correct except for the date. This time it read: Lat/Long:11.5°N; 38°E. Date: Day 3. Year -4114. Turning over to continue his sleep, he reached for the blanket and realised it was missing. In the dark he felt around but to no avail. Carefully, he stood up so as not to disturb the others, and when his eyes became accustomed to the dark, discovered he was no longer in a tent but on hard ground. Mystery of mysteries. When would he wake from this long dream?
Mac moulded his body this way and that and trying to get back to sleep but as he was about to close his eyes, suddenly sat bolt upright. He looked into space and there were no stars. Perhaps clouds had arrived since the previous evening. He got his IR compass out to find out how widespread the cloud cover was, to discover there was no cloud cover. That meant one of two things. Either his IR compass was now also faulty, certainly the most plausible reason. Or there were no clouds and no stars. Highly implausible, to say the least. How could there be no stars! The other thing he noticed was the incredibly fresh smell in the air. Like the smell after rain has come, except there had been no rain. Out of curiosity, he decided to check his LTD for any large animals that might be in range. To his astonishment, there was no reading whatsoever of large or small animal. He kept adjusting the scale down to try to find the merest small animal, and then the merest insect, but nothing at all registered. Nothing. Just rocks. It was as if he’d travelled to a planet where animals and stars didn’t exist.
Just as he was wondering if there would be a sunrise that day, sunlight swept through the sky, as if it had somehow materialised out of nowhere, and dawn appeared, blazing across the almost barren landscape. Where was he? The mountains were the same but they were not covered in trees. They were covered in small plants not much bigger than seedlings. Thousands and thousands of them. He bent over to examine these plants. Some were baby trees. Some were varieties of grass and grain. Then he noticed the lake had gone. Sure there was a hole for a lake but no water in it.
Mac pinched himself again. This was still real. But what had become of the trees and animals and insects? No animal life whatsoever. Just him. Alone on a lonely planet. Mac had been alone before but suddenly he felt very lonely. Why was he here? Where were Cush and Nimrod? For that matter, where was anyone?
“Yahweh?” he called out.
Just then he felt a small breeze. It swirled around him and blew gently in his face. It hovered over his head and then swept in behind him, pressing him to move. So move he did. Where he was going, he knew not. But on he walked, over rocks, through fields springing to life, towards the rising sun, to the edge of a mountain spur. Here he stopped and stood on the jagged peak, looking down to the Danakil Plain below and out to the Red Sea in the far NE and the Gulf of Aden in the east.
He sat on the side of the mountain wondering what had happened to him. Though he was still alone, he was surprised that he no longer felt lonely.
“Yahweh?” he asked again.
In the wind words wafted to him in whispered questions. “Have you ever commanded a day to dawn? Do you know where the light comes from? Can you send darkness back to where it came from? Can you tie Pleiades together or loosen the bonds of Orion’s belt? Do you know the laws that govern the atmosphere? Can you shout orders to the clouds? Can you command the lightning to flash? Who tells the ibis when the Nile will flood? Who gave the wild donkeys their freedom? Does an eagle wait for your command to build a nest high in the mountains?” (Job 38)
Mac heard all these questions which seemed like riddles. Surely only the Creator would know answers to these questions.
“Yes, Mac. I made the universe and determined its size. When the earth dawned, the heavenly beings sang for joy. I marked a boundary for the sea and I keep the snow and hail in storerooms ready for use. I rule the earth from the deepest caves to the highest hills to the deepest oceans. Wherever you go, I am there. The wicked cannot escape my wrath and the repentant cannot escape my love. My Word will last forever. Men seek gold but My Words are richer than the finest gold. Love My Words, follow them and preserve them.” (Ps 119:127)
Mac couldn’t quite work out if it was an actual voice talking or if it was just thoughts drifting in the wind.
After that there was silence and the wind drifted off. He looked to his side and was surprised to see a small baby tree grow while he watched it. It grew to about 6 feet, threw out some branches, leaves and then fruit. He picked a few, then nestled down comfortably amongst its roots and ate. They were the sweetest freshest fruit he’d ever eaten. By and by he drifted off to sleep, the words “Love My Words, follow them and preserve them” running through his mind. Mac slept a very deep sleep. (Jonah 4:6)
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