Begemder paid an annual tribute of 300,000 dols., and supplied at all times the Queen's camp with grain, cows, &c., and during the stay of the Emperor in the province liberally provided his camp. Moreover, it furnished 10,000 men to the army, all good spearmen, but bad shots. Theodore, therefore, preferred for his musketeers the men of Dembea, who showed more skill in the use of fire-arms.
Begemder, the proverb says, "is the maker and destroyer of kings;" certainly it was so in the case of Theodore. After the flight of Ras Ali, Begemder at once acknowledged him, and caused him to be looked upon as the future ruler of the land. Theodore was well aware of the difficult game he had to play, but believed his precautions were such that he would inevitably succeed. At first he was all smiles; chiefs were rewarded, peasants flattered; his stay would be short; every day he expected he would leave. The annual tribute was paid; Theodore gave handsome presents to the chiefs, honoured many with silk shirts, and swore that as soon as the cannons his Europeans were casting should be completed, he would start for Godjam, and with his new mortars destroy the nest of the arch-rebel Tadla Gwalu. He invited, all the chiefs to reside in his camp during his stay, to rejoice his heart. They were his friends, when so many rose against him. Would they advance him a year's tribute? could they not provide more liberally for the wants of his army? He was going away for a long time, and would not for years trouble them for tribute or supplies. The chiefs did their best; every available dollar, all the corn and cattle the peasants could spare, found its way into Theodore's treasury and camp. But the peasants at last got tired, and would not listen any longer to the entreaties of their chiefs. Good words Theodore perceived would be of no avail any more, so he adopted an imperious, menacing tone. One after the other, on some good ground, he imprisoned the chiefs; but it was only to test their fidelity: they would, he knew get for him what he wanted, and then he would not only release them, but treat them with the greatest honour. The poor men did their best, and the peasants, in order to obtain the deliverance of their chiefs, brought all they had as a ransom. At last, both chiefs and peasants found that all their efforts failed to satisfy their insatiable master.
This state of things lasted for more than eight months, and during that period, first by plausible and honeyed words, afterwards by intimidation, he kept himself and army without difficulty and without trouble. He made no expeditions during that time, except one against Gondar. He hated Gondar—a city of merchants and priests, always ready to receive with open arms any rebel: any robber chief might sit undisturbed in the halls of the old Abyssinian kings and receive the homage and tribute of its peaceful inhabitants. Several times before Theodore had vented his rage on the unfortunate city; he had already more than once sent his soldiers to plunder it, and the rich Mussulman merchants had only saved their houses from destruction by the payment of a large sum. It was no more the famous city of Fasiladas, nor the rich commercial town that former travellers had described; confidence could no longer dwell under the repeated extortions of king and rebel, nor could the metropolis of Abyssinia afford to answer the repeated calls made upon its wealth. But still the forty-four churches stood intact, surrounded by the noble trees that gave to the capital such a picturesque appearance; no one had dared extend a sacrilegious hand to those sanctuaries, and until then Theodore himself had shrunk from such a deed. But now he had made up his mind: the gold of Kooskuam, the silver of Bata, the treasures of Selassié should refill his empty coffers; her churches should perish with the doomed city: nothing would he leave standing as a record of the past, not a dwelling to shelter the people he despised.
On the afternoon of the 1st of December, Theodore started on his merciless errand, taking with him only the elite of his army, the best mounted and the best walkers amongst his men. He never halted until he came, the next morning, to the foot of the hill on which Gondar is built—a march of more than eighty miles in less than sixteen hours. But though he suddenly pounced upon his enemy, it was too late; the news of his approach had spread faster. The joyous elelta resounded from house to house; the anxious and terrified inhabitants desired to appear happy in presence of the dire calamity such a visit presaged. The rebel's deputy had left the palace in time, and accompanied by a few hundred horsemen, awaited, at some distance from the town, the result of Theodore's coming. He had not long to wait. The invaders searched every house, plundered every building, from the churches to the poorest hut, and drove away before them like cattle the 10,000 remaining inhabitants of that large city. Then, the work of destruction began: fire spread from house to house, the churches and palace, the only remarkable buildings the country possessed, became a heap of blackened ruins. But the priests looked sullen; some entreated, others murmured, a few were bold enough to curse; at an order given by Theodore, hundreds of aged priests were hurled into the flames. But his insatiate fury demanded fresh victims. Where were the young girls who had welcomed his entrance. Was it not their joyous shouts that had scared away the rebel? "Let them be brought!" cried the fiend, and these young girls were thrown alive into the fire!
The expedition had been successful; Gondar was utterly destroyed. Four inferior churches only had escaped destruction. Gold, silks, dollars were now abundant in the royal camp. Theodore was received on his return to Debra Tabor with all the triumphal honours bestowed on a victor; the Gaffat people went to meet him with lighted torches; and compared him to the pious Hozekiah. If Theodore's star had been dim before this wanton barbarity, it disappeared altogether from that day: all went against him—success never attended him more.
The burning of Gondar increased immensely the power of the rebels. They advanced steadily and cautiously, seizing district after district, until whole provinces acknowledged their sway, and all joined in anathematizing the sacrilegious monarch who had not hesitated to destroy churches that even the Mussulman Gallas had respected. As long as the soldiers had money the peasants willingly sold them their goods; but this could not last long: soon scarcity prevailed in the camp. Theodore applied to the chiefs; they must use their influence and force the "bad peasant" to bring in more supplies. The peasants would listen no longer; they told the chiefs, "Let the king set you free and then we will do anything you tell us, but now we know that you are only acting under compulsion." Theodore ordered the chiefs to be tortured: "If they cannot bring grain they must give money." Some who had a few savings sent them—for torture was worse than poverty; but this did not improve their condition. Theodore believed that they had more, and as they had nothing to give, many died under the daily repetition of the tortures Theodore now inflicted on his prisoners; amongst whom were his bravest soldiers, his staunchest supporters, nay, his bosom friends.
Desertions were now more frequent than ever; chiefs left in the open day with their followers; the gunman threw away his weapon, and joined his oppressed brother the peasant; great numbers of the Begemder soldiery daily abandoned his cause and returned to their villages. Theodore, in this plight, resorted to a former practice of his. He must plunder, and feed his army by plunder. But the Begemder men would not plunder their own countrymen, and he did not place much confidence in the bravery of his Dembea men: therefore he pitted the man of Gahinte against the peasant of Ifag, the sons of Mahdera Mariam against those of Esté—all districts of the same province, but far distant from one another, and with long feuds existing between some of them. At first he succeeded, and returned from his expeditions with ample supplies; but his fearful cruelties at last aroused the peasants. Joined by the deserters they fought in their own way, cut off stragglers, sent their families to distant provinces, and for miles around Debra Tabor ceased cultivating the soil.
In March, 1867, Theodore started for Kourata, the third town in importance in Abyssinia, and the greatest commercial centre after Gondar and Adowa. But this time he failed completely; ever since his expedition to Gondar, the peasants of all the surrounding districts were always on the alert: beacon-fires were ready, the people telegraphed to each other in their rude way, and the victims evaded the tyrant.
At Kourata he found no one, and hardly any plunder; the rich merchants, priests, every one had embarked with all their goods in the small native boats, and, out of range of Theodore's rifles, quietly awaited his departure to return to their homes. Theodore was greatly disappointed; he expected to reap a rich harvest and found nothing. He must revenge himself; but here, again, he was frustrated. The soldiers deserted en masse; few, very few would remain with him, he was told, if he destroyed Kourata. The sacred town, houses, streets, trees, had all been dedicated to God's service; such a sacrilege was beyond the rascality of even the Abyssinian soldier. Theodore had to return to Debra Tabor. Sometimes once or twice a week he would go forth and plunder; but with little success: each time his difficulties increased; the peasants had lost their first great dread of him; they fought well at places, and defied the gaily-dressed chiefs: none as yet stood before him, but the day was not far off when his prestige had fallen so low that a man was found who challenged his anointed king.
The position of the Europeans near Theodore was, indeed, most painful. Always to please a ferocious, mad, enraged tiger, would have been trifling compared to what they had to undergo during the last year they served him. Theodore was quite changed; no one who had known him in former days would have now recognized the elegant and chivalrous young prince, or the proud, but just Emperor, in the homicidal monomaniac of Debra Tabor.