The small village with its humble, windowless houses, stingy streets, and groves of mulberry and olive trees was hard to imagine as the city Hakki described as once having been the glory of Greece and Rome. Only the ancient wall, curving protectively around the town and stretching out onto the plain as far as you could see, suggested that Antioch had been worth defending. I was becoming depressed by all the dwindled cities, their glory gone to rags and tatters.
Hakki called to Mustafa, “You must take us to the home of the British consul.” Mustafa led the caravan through quiet streets—for it was the hour of kef, the noon rest hour—to a house considerably larger than its modest neighbors. A servant with a tumble of curls and dressed in a fez, shirred trousers, silk shirt, embroidered vest, and a brightly striped sash opened the door and led us into a handsome drawing room. There was a haughty quality about the servant’s courtesy that suggested we were lucky indeed to enjoy his attentions. With a toss of his curls he asked us to wait while he summoned his master.
Seen from the street, the house showed nothing but a few narrow slits serving as windows, so I was astonished by my first view of its interior. The walls were hung with silk prayer rugs and the floors laid with Turkish carpets in rich colors. There was the shine of polished brass, and everywhere there were tiles decorated in bright blue. In my grimy clothes I felt out of place, but the consul, who hurried into the room to welcome us, immediately set about making us feel at home. He was a small, immaculately dressed man in his early fifties wearing a neat gray suit and an impeccable shirt with a stiff collar.
His approach to us was motherly. “You must tell me what refreshments we can bring you. When I am riding in this terrible countryside, which I do as seldom as possible, I always fancy a glass of lemonade. How would that do? And as soon as you have had some refreshments, we’ll get you baths. You look rather hot and you certainly need dusting. Now, do stop standing about as though this were a garden party at Buckingham Palace.”
He urged us onto chairs made comfortable with silk cushions and directed his servant with the Medusa curls, who hovered in the background, to bring lemonade and meringues. The latter treat seemed a wild luxury, and in spite of our worry about Monsieur Louvois I saw that we were all beginning to relax, thinking we were in the hands of someone resourceful.
“Now you must tell me your names,” the consul said. “I am Cornelius Robinson, England’s humble representative in this very humble town. Was I misinformed, or was I to have the pleasure of accommodating five guests? Have you been careless and misplaced someone?”
Hakki launched into the tale of Monsieur Louvois’s arrest, ending with “We hoped you might give us help.”
Mr. Robinson was distressed. “Of course I and Monsieur Potton, who is the consular agent for France, will do all we can, but the truth is our influence here is rather disappointing. It is a Turkish city, and I suspect they will be tempted to make a great deal of the matter. I don’t suppose a long prison sentence is in the offing, but possibly some sort of slap on the hand and certainly deportation and a rather heavy fine. Even a single day in a prison here is unwholesome, if not actually hideous, so we will put a stop to that. The sooner we make an effort, the better. Saladin will show you to your rooms, which I’m afraid are very modest, and I will go at once to the French consul. Any of you with influence might come along.”
Father said, “I don’t have much influence—I’m only a solicitor—but I’ll put in a word for Louvois.”
Edith offered herself. “I’m not sure I can do much, but the Turks will be so shocked to have a woman on the attack, it might bring them to their senses.”
The room assigned to Edith and me was small but full of charming touches. The draperies on the windows and the bed hangings were of a heavy pale-peach silk. Silken pillows in pastel colors were thrown on the bed, and on the floor was a Turkish rug in rich shades of apricot and brown. I lay down, thinking I would rest a moment or two while Edith went with Father and Mr. Robinson to the French consul. The next thing I knew was the sound of knocking. Graham was at my door.
He wanted forgiveness. “I feel a coward for not going along with the others,” he said, “but there is something about this moldering city that frightens me: Anyone might be bought or sold here. Look what happened to Louvois. I’m afraid I could be next, and I don’t have the courage to put myself in the lions’ den. If they got hold of me and used torture, I’m not sure I would be up to keeping quiet about the tribes I’ve made contact with.”
Graham seemed truly frightened, like a small boy who has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I felt a great tenderness for him and reached out my hand in sympathy or something more. He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Can I count on you to stand by me?” he said. “I feel the others on the trip would not be sorry to see me follow Louvois to a Turkish jail.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, but of course you can count on me,” I said. I believed there was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect Graham.
We heard voices in the rooms below and hurriedly went downstairs, to find Father, the consul, and Edith, all looking glum.
“Poor beggar,” Father said. “They’ve got him cooped up in a filthy hole with some cutthroats to keep him company. I’ve never seen anyone so miserable.”
Mr. Robinson said, “The French consul is trying the informal connections he has in the city. We went on to visit the Turkish authorities, where Miss Phillips played a part. Quite intimidated they were by her, even allowed her a private talk with the official in charge. I believe your father did some good as well, Miss Hamilton. He also had a private talk with the Turkish official. What a mysterious group you are with all your secrets!
“Now we must have our dinner. You are all probably hungry for a meal at a table. I have never understood why people will pay to wander about in the desert and be uncomfortable. If you would like to retire to your rooms to wash up, I’ll see to the cuisine.”
In my room Saladin brought warm water for our wash-stand and then bowed himself out, seeming less a servant than an actor in a play of his own imagining. “An odd fellow, that,” Edith said.
“He goes nicely with the decoration,” I said.
“A little too much the poseur for my taste,” said Edith. “I don’t know where to sit or stand in this room—the carpet looks too valuable to tread on with my boots, and the pillows and draperies are something out of a harem. Whatever Robinson says, I’m afraid I feel more at home in a tent; at least there you know where you are.”
But for all her protestations Edith put on her one good dress for dinner. “You look quite smart,” I said.
“Nonsense. It’s just that it’s been a week since you’ve seen me with my face properly washed. You, on the other hand, are quite lovely.”
I had dug out a sky-blue silk skirt-and-waist and was feeling festive. “What I really wish I could wear are those draperies. What a stunning gown they would make.”
Saladin ushered us into the dining room. Porcelain plates rimmed in gold, and knives and forks of hammered brass and silver, were set out on a gleaming mahogany table. There were thick damask napkins with patterns of leaping stags woven though them and candlesticks of cut glass. Saladin, passing the dishes, looked as amused as ever, as if at any moment he would give up the game of waiting on us and sit down at the table beside his master.
We were served grilled lamb perfectly roasted and aubergines done in a spicy sauce. For dessert there was a compote of exotic fruits, and with coffee the meringues reappeared. In spite of the excellent dinner we were all tired and relieved to hear Graham excuse himself: “I’m afraid the long journey and our concern for Louvois, to say nothing of the effect of all that excellent food, has made me sleepy.” In minutes the dinner party was over.
It is hard to keep on worrying when the worry is not about yourself, but about someone else. At breakfast, after our night’s sleep, we were more lively and optimistic, each of us with some idea of how we might rescue Monsieur Louvo
is. We were comparing ideas as we finished bowls of fresh strawberries, when there was a knocking on the outer door. Saladin led Monsieur Louvois into the dining room. Even in the desert he had always been carefully dressed, so it was shocking to see him unshaven and in wrinkled and soiled clothes. I noticed with surprise that he still had his case. From the way he clutched it, the precious antiquities appeared still to be there. He looked quickly about the room. “I see you have had a little more luxury than I have had.” His voice was bitter.
Mr. Robinson, all concern, was on his feet at once. “Welcome, welcome. I am delighted to have you with us. Please join us for breakfast, or would you prefer to go upstairs first and change?”
Louvois looked longingly at the table, but he said, “I must bathe and then je regrette I must go. I’m afraid I am persona non grata in this city, and I have no wish to involve the rest of you. I only wanted to say merci beaucoup for your help in having me released. I leave tomorrow from Alexandretta, and the Turks have kindly insisted on seeing me there themselves.” He gave one more envious look at the table—was unable to resist the plucking and consuming of a strawberry—then hurried away after Saladin.
Edith watched Monsieur Louvois’s departure. “I’d say he was in a bit of a rush.”
“I can assure you,” Mr. Robinson said, “that after a few hours in a Turkish prison, one would wish to leave the Ottoman Empire as soon as possible. However, relieved as I am, I’m surprised they’ve given him his freedom so quickly.”
Before we left the breakfast table, Monsieur Louvois was back—scrubbed, in fresh clothes, and ready to depart. Even under the circumstances his leave-taking was abrupt. There were handshakes for the men and kisses on the hand for me and a startled Edith. “I am most sorry to have caused trouble for our little famille,” he said. In a moment his carriage had drawn up, and with a quick wave Paul Louvois, still hugging his case, was gone.
“How do you suppose he managed to get out of prison with all his possessions?” Graham asked the consul.
“There’s no telling. I wish I could take some credit for his release,” Mr. Robinson answered, “but I should be less than honest if I did, and the French consular agent is a man of even less influence. I do not think money alone could have been successful in releasing him, but perhaps I underestimated the amount at his disposal. Or perhaps Louvois had something beside money to offer the police?” He paused to study us. “I don’t suppose he was privy to any particular information that might be useful to the Turkish authorities?”
“I can’t think of any information he might have,” Edith said, “unless the Turkish police would be interested in a lecture on early Assyrian art.”
I could not help looking across the table at Graham. His face had gone pale beneath its tan, and a fine perspiration had broken out across his forehead. I knew what he was thinking: Monsieur Louvois had a great deal of information about him if he chose to use it. He also had information about Father. I looked at Father, but he appeared unconcerned.
“Now that you have been freed from your worry about Monsieur Louvois, let me make a few suggestions for your visit here in Antioch.” Mr. Robinson assumed the attitude of the conscientious host. Hakki looked put out at the consul’s taking over his duties, Father was paying no attention at all, and Graham appeared lost in worried thought. Only Edith and I half listened to what seemed a well-rehearsed speech.
“Our village was called by Marcellinus ‘the fair crown of the Orient.’ Antony married Cleopatra here. You will know from your New Testament that Peter was in Antioch, as, of course, was Paul. I don’t suppose you want to view our meager industries—licorice and knives and very good soap; I use it myself.” His lecture was interrupted by a pounding on the door. “Good heavens, what now? I’ve never known my place to be the center of so much excitement.”
For a moment I thought Monsieur Louvois had returned. Instead it was a contingent of Turkish soldiers whose number overwhelmed the small room. Instinctively our little group drew together. Mr. Robinson stood up from the table. “I do not know why I should put up with this trespass,” he said. This was bold of him, for the soldiers were armed and looked determined.
The bashi, or major, who led the group insinuated himself forward in a catlike movement. He was slender and wiry, with long sleek mustaches that enclosed his chin in a kind of parentheses, and a red line across his forehead where, before he removed it in deference to his surroundings, his fez had rested. “We regret this intrusion, Consul, but we are here to take a Mr. Graham Geddes away with us on a charge of spying.” The word spying terrified me, and I dug my fingers into my father’s arm and held on. Father’s hand covered mine.
“You must be joking. You can’t do that. I’m a British subject.” Graham looked toward the window as if he might be considering leaping to freedom. I prayed he wouldn’t do anything that might cause the soldiers to draw their guns and shoot him. I was terrified for Graham, but I was sure that any words on my part would only lead to more trouble. With the greatest difficulty I kept silent, but I resolved that if the soldiers took him, wherever he was, I would find him.
In an incriminating voice the major addressed Graham. “We know of the villages in which you have sown seeds of discontent with our government and our sultan, trying to foment revolution. You were not acting then like a British subject, and so we will not treat you like one.” He grabbed Graham’s arm.
Mr. Robinson said, “I absolutely forbid you to lay your hands on that man while he is on British territory.”
The major’s answer was to approach Graham with his hand on his holster. “I do not believe the British government will raise many objections,” the officer said. “It is our understanding that this man’s activities have not been in the interest of the British government.”
Hakki got to his feet and, catching at one of Graham’s arms, tried to free him from the bashi’s grip. The bashi pulled Hakki away. “We have much room in our Antioch jail, and if there is any further interference with our duty, we can make another offender quite comfortable there.” The next minute Graham was marched out of the house.
I was shaking. My hands were ice cold. “How could you let them take him?” I asked. “Why didn’t someone stop them?” But even as I made the accusations, I knew there was nothing they could have done, and I was ashamed of taking my fear out on them.
“Mohammed could have given Geddes away,” Edith said. “If the Turks caught up with him in the desert, they would certainly have found a way to get him to tell what he and Geddes were up to.”
Looking puzled, Mr. Robinson said, “I’m afraid I am in the dark. Is there something I should know?”
“You might as well be aware of what we’re up against.” Father’s voice was impatient. He was going over too-familiar territory. “Geddes, I’m afraid, is guilty of just what he is accused of. I don’t believe he meant any great harm, but the truth is he belongs to a secret society composed of the revolutionary Young Turks, whose plan it is to depose the present sultan and restore constitutional government to Turkey. Graham tried to enlist the sympathy of the Druze tribes. He went about promising them that under the new Turkish government they would be given a certain measure of self-rule. Not only the Druzes, but any group under the heel of Turkey.”
Edith was indignant. “That was very wrong of Geddes. I’ve never thought one ought to meddle in the affairs of another country; there is in one’s own country confusion enough.”
Mr. Robinson looked thoughtful. “Did your Louvois know about Graham?”
“I’m sure he guessed,” Father said. “He wasn’t one to miss much. I see. You are suggesting Louvois gave them damming information on Geddes in exchange for his own release. Not a very nice thought.”
“Geddes is certainly a much bigger fish for the Turks, with his involvement in the Young Turks’ revolution,” Mr. Robinson said.
I had seen the hunger in Monsieur Louvois’s eyes when he’d looked at his treasures and the tenderness with which he handl
ed them. “What can we do?” I asked. “It isn’t just the horror of prison, is it? It might be worse than that.” I was thinking of what my father said about the “methods” that might have been used on Mohammed, and how Graham had worried about what he might say under torture.
Mr. Robinson reached across the table and patted my hand. “There is no need to think of unpleasant things. I will telegraph Britain’s diplomatic offices in Beirut at once. Just for a bit we won’t mention to them what Geddes has been up to. I suspect they would not be overly sympathetic to Geddes’s cause if they knew an Englishman was riding up and down the countryside opposing England’s policies.”
Edith said, “What we have to do is to work out a plan and write it down on paper, step by step. That’s the orderly way. First, Robinson will telegraph Beirut. Certainly we should talk with the kaimakam, Antioch’s governor. What else is to be done?”
In this way a plan was put together and, to humor Edith, written down like a shopping list. All the while I was thinking of Graham in a Turkish prison. I had no confidence in their schemes. I knew that I must find Graham at once; that if only I could see him, he would tell me what I must do to rescue him. Saying I would feel better if I lay down for a while, I excused myself.
I headed for the stairway, but as soon as I was out of sight, I escaped from the house. Hurrying down the street, I hailed a carriage, telling the driver to take me to the army garrison. He looked skeptical, shaking his head. “Effendim, no lady goes there. Only soldiers.”
“I must see someone there. It is very important that I go as quickly as possible.” Finally, after some urging and considerable baksheesh, he did as I asked. From the carriage window the city appeared shabby. A threat seemed to lurk around every corner. I wanted to tell Graham that I finally understood what he and the Young Turks were trying to do. This was a country where soldiers came into your house and took you away. If you weren’t important—if, like Mohammed, you did not have consuls and foreign offices to look after you—you were never seen again.
Parade of Shadows Page 16