Chapter Six
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
“Well?” Ramses asked. “What do you think?”
After the conclusion of the banquet, they had been shown to a smaller chamber behind the haremlik. It was part of a suite that had probably belonged to a favorite wife, consisting of a small bathroom and a sleeping room decorated in the same shabbily elaborate style as the main salon. The only light came from two oil lamps of pierced brass. Their hosts had also left a jug of water and a basket of oranges and figs.
Stretched out on the divan, David said sleepily, “I can’t complain about the accommodations or the food. Have you always been treated so well?”
Squatting at the head of the divan, his face on a level with David’s, Ramses said softly, “Tonight was the first time I’ve been allowed to bathe or change clothes for three days, and the amenities have improved considerably. It’s part of Mansur’s strategy—insignificant annoyances, but the sort that mount up. The question is, what is the lady’s strategy?”
David said in the same low murmur, “I assume we are being watched?”
“Or overheard, or both. Keep your voice down. It’s a safe assumption.” He went on in the schoolboy Latin he and David had sometimes used when they didn’t want to be understood. “Where are we?”
“You not know? I know not. I was a—uh—from Nablus when they…damn!”
This wasn’t working too well. David had forgotten most of his Latin. Ramses switched to the Cairene dialect of Arabic and spoke rapidly. “We need to get away. I don’t like the way this is going.”
“What do you mean?”
It would have taken too long to explain, even if he had been able to find the right words. He had assumed that Frau von Eine was the one giving the orders. Mansur’s petty tricks might have been his own idea; none of them would have violated a general order that Ramses not be physically abused. But watching the pair during that bizarre dinner party had left him with the distinct feeling that their relationship had changed—or that he had been mistaken about the nature of that relationship. Open conflict between the two could leave him and David uncomfortably in the middle, subject to the whims of whichever party was on top. And neither party had their best interests in mind.
Instincts weren’t evidence, but there was another, even stronger reason for his decision. David’s arrival had caught them by surprise; perhaps they hadn’t had time to arrange separate accommodations for him. Wily Mansur wouldn’t allow that to last. He must know that neither would try to escape without the other. This might be their last, best chance.
“Later. Is there anything in your pack that could be useful? A knife, even a torch?”
“I had an extra knife, but I doubt it is there now. They wouldn’t have given us our luggage if—”
“Look,” Ramses snapped.
David sat up with a grunt. “I ate too much,” he said in more audible tones. “Do you have anything to settle one’s stomach?”
Ramses suppressed a smile. David hadn’t lost his touch.
One of the lamps flickered and went out. The other was burning low. They dragged their luggage closer to the light and began sorting through the contents. The wind must be rising. The carved mashrabiya screens rattled and squeaked. A draft of air rustled the tattered hangings.
“Here’s the medical kit Mother gave me before I left,” Ramses said. “There may be something there. If I know Mother, there will be. She thinks of everything.”
“You haven’t looked?”
“Reisner had his own medical supplies.”
Silently David shoved the open box under his nose. Under layers of rolled bandages, compresses, cotton wool, and tightly packed, neatly labeled containers of aspirin, iodine, stomach powders, and alcohol was a small leather folder that contained a set of surgical instruments.
Ramses breathed out a word that would certainly have won him a scolding if his mother had been there. David’s response was less profane but equally admiring. “Amazing! Er—the stomach powders. Just what I need.”
He uncapped the bottle and reached for the jug of water. Ramses took a closer look at the bottle labeled “Alcohol.” He couldn’t see the contents, since the glass was dark brown, but he didn’t doubt the label was accurate. His mother favored brandy as a general antiseptic, since it could also be drunk.
Their search turned up several other items that could be useful, including all the money Ramses had been carrying. Ramses put it aside, with the medical kit. Honest fellow, Mansur, he thought. Either it hadn’t occurred to him that a large sum of cash could be the equivalent of a key to a locked door, or he believed his people were too fanatical or too intimidated to be bribed.
They were methodically going through the pockets of coats and trousers when a stronger gust of air extinguished the lamp. It came, not from the windows but from the door. A slit of light appeared and widened.
Ramses sprang to his feet, gesturing David to stay where he was, and took up a position next to the opening door. If this was another of Mansur’s games, allowing them to find items that gave them a faint hope of escape and then confiscating them, he’d have to take them by force.
The light came from an electric torch. Its beam focused on David, kneeling by the suitcase. He was trying to look ineffectual, his mouth ajar and his eyes squinting—but he had tossed a few items of clothing over the medical box. The beam moved away from him, darting round the room as if in search of something. Ramses had averted his eyes as soon as the light was switched on; now he made out a dark shape in the doorway. He plunged through the opening and caught hold of it. Before he could get a solid grip or whisper an order for silence, he knew who it was.
IT HAD BEEN, I admitted to myself, a grave error to take Emerson to the holiest site in Christendom. If anything could have reinforced his negative opinion of organized religion, the garish, unsuitable adornments and the quarreling of the followers of the gentle Prince of Peace would have had that effect. However, he had the sense to let the matter lie, and we spent a quiet evening going over our lists and planning our schedule for the following day.
I had learned enough about the terrain we would have to cover to conclude that stout boots and trousers were de rigueur. It was a pleasure once again to assume my working costume, with its many pockets and belt of useful accoutrements. I selected the stoutest of my parasols, made to my specifications with a heavy steel shaft and somewhat pointed tip, and proceeded to the dining salon, where I found that Emerson had ordered for me and was already halfway through his meal. He paced up and down (to the annoyance of patrons coming and going), talking to himself while I took my time about eating. The rapid consumption of food is detrimental to the digestive processes.
Having finished, I persuaded my impatient spouse to sit down and addressed our little group. “You all know where we are going today.”
Plato looked up from his plate. “Where?”
“Do we have to take him with us?” Emerson addressed the table at large. It was obvious from Daoud’s and Selim’s dour expressions that they were against the idea, but, as always with Emerson, Nefret’s emphatic “Certainly” won out. Emerson sighed.
“Very well. See here—er—it is time you made yourself useful. We are going to Siloam, where I intend to begin excavations. You claim to be well acquainted with the earlier archaeological excavations there. I will wish to discuss the current situation with you after we return, so stay on the qui vive and don’t go wandering off again. And if I find you have nothing useful to contribute…”
He left the sentence unfinished, perhaps because he couldn’t think of an appropriate threat. I certainly could not.
Selim had offered to arrange for donkeys, but we all declined except Mr. Plato, whom I overruled. Given the narrow streets and abundance of obstructions, animal and human, we could cover the ground more quickly on foot. Emerson and Daoud led the way, clearing a path through the crowded streets. It was still early morning when we stood on the Hill of Ophel looking down on the
site of our future labors.
Behind us, high on its platform, the great golden dome of the Noble Sanctuary rose against the azure vault. The steepening slope before us was a jumble of broken walls, natural crevices, and gaping pits that might once have been tombs. The houses of the small village of Silwan spilled down the southern slope.
“There it is,” said Emerson, pointing. “The pool of Siloam. It is fed by a spring carried here through the ancient water tunnel.”
“Where is the entrance to the tunnel?” I asked, shading my eyes with my hand. “Emerson, I would like very much to explore it. I remember reading the description of the gentleman who was the first to explore it thoroughly—Mr. Warren, I believe—when it was silted up almost to the roof and the explorers had to slide through on their stomachs carry ing candles in their mouths!”
“I am not at all surprised that you should find the idea attractive, Peabody,” said my husband. “Given your penchant for crawling through the bat-infested substructures of pyramids. However, you will have to postpone that pleasure. It seems that Morley has got there first.”
People swarmed like ants around the pool and its environs. A number of them were filling waterskins and climbing back up the hill toward the city, for the pure spring water was reputed to have healing qualities. More to the point for us, one end of the area was closed off by ropes and barricades, and surrounded by armed men.
“Is that his aim, then?” I asked, as we descended. “To excavate the tunnel?”
“It may come to that,” said Emerson, taking my arm. “Where would the temple treasure be hidden but under the Haram, which is on top of Herod’s temple, which is supposed to be on top of the temple of Solomon? Morley won’t be allowed to dig at the base of the Haram, so he will try to come at it from below, like earlier explorers. They sank shafts deep into the ground and then drove tunnels horizontally toward the base of the Mount.”
One of the guards came running toward us, waving his rifle and shouting. He stopped short at a burst of extremely bad language from Emerson. My spouse’s command of Egyptian insults is as remarkable as the power of his voice. A rain of small pebbles rattled down the slope. As the guard stared, eyes wide, Daoud, towering over the rest of us, added his comments. “Do you know to whom you speak, son of a camel? This is the mighty Father of Curses, and his chief wife the Sitt Hakim, who brings the dead back to life, and his daughter the Light of Egypt. Beg his forgiveness lest he strike you blind and deaf.”
The guard had been joined by another, equally unkempt, individual, who appeared to be in command of the squad. He also appeared to have better sense than his subordinate, for he addressed Emerson politely. “You must have permission to be here, effendi. By order of the governor, Azmi Bey Pasha.”
Emerson took the firman from his coat pocket and held it up. “I have permission. By order of the Sublime Porte.” He didn’t give the guard time to read the document, supposing he had been able to do so, but put it back in his pocket. “You may tell your Mudir that Emerson Effendi is here and will return.”
He turned his back on the guards and took my arm. We walked on together, and Emerson said, “My tentative plan, Peabody, is to begin work at the other side of the hill, just there, where you see the foundations of what looks like a wall. The first step is to lay out a grid system.”
“The first step,” I corrected, “is to find a house. We cannot carry our supplies back and forth every day. The terrain is too difficult.”
“What about those confounded tents you dragged all the way from England?”
“Where do you propose we set them up? The whole area is swarming with people. We wouldn’t have a moment of privacy.”
“Not like Egypt, is it?” I could see that I had already lost his attention; his eyes were fixed, with greedy intensity, on the stretch of uneven tumbled stones that, in my humble opinion, looked nothing like a wall. “By all means, Peabody. I leave the domestic arrangements up to you.”
We had already collected a little crowd of followers, mostly men and half-naked children. The local costume was simple, if not becoming: a shirt belted at the waist with a leather pouch attached to the belt, an abba (loose robe) over that, and a white tight-fitting cap wound round with a colored scarf to form a sort of turban. Leather slippers completed the ensemble. Some of the men were hoping for work; they had recognized us as archaeologists. The others had been drawn by pure inquisitiveness—a basic human trait. Turning, I addressed the gathering. “We wish to hire a house. If any man knows of a good place, let him come here and talk to me.”
An animated babble of conversation ensued among the members of the audience. I seated myself upon a rock—there were plenty of them around—with an expression of gracious amiability, but for a while no one seemed brave enough to approach closer. Selim and Plato had gone on with Emerson, leaving Nefret and Daoud with me. “Step back a bit,” I said to Daoud. “I believe you make them uneasy.”
“They must show proper respect,” Daoud rumbled.
“They do, they are, they will. Back off, Daoud, and stop scowling. They are simple, friendly people who mean us no harm.”
It was at that moment that a large muscular man, waving a pistol, with a large knife and even larger sword stuck through his sash, came sliding down the slope straight at me.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
She freed herself from his grasp and pushed past him, closing the door behind her. “Don’t be a fool,” she said quietly. “I am here to help you.”
The torch had gone out when he took hold of her. She switched it on again, shielding it with her hand.
“Why?” Ramses asked.
“Why do I offer to help you? Because I need your help.” Completely composed, she seated herself on the divan and gestured him to join her. She was wearing a loose dark robe, her hair covered with a scarf of black lace. “You need not fear being overheard,” she went on. “Mansur is asleep—I made sure he would sleep soundly—and the man at the listening post understands very little English.”
“So we are being watched,” Ramses said.
“There are spy holes in every room of this place. An old Turkish custom.”
“Are there guards at the door?” Ramses asked.
“They are mine.”
“So it’s yours and his, is it?”
“It has come to that. Listen now, you and your friend. He is trustworthy?”
David had settled onto the floor, legs crossed, next to the box that held their only weapons. “We are brothers,” he said briefly.
“If you expect us to help you carry out your mission,” Ramses began.
“And you believe you know what that mission is?”
“Why don’t you tell us?” Ramses said.
Her eyes reflected the dim light with a pale glow. “I did not set out on this journey to foment rebellion and violence. My wish was simply to visit the archaeological sites where I have worked in the past and others where I would like to work in the future. I am looking for relics, if you like; I would call them artifacts, objects that will tell us more about the history of this region. I visited Samaria because the site has many possibilities; if Mr. Reisner gives up his concession, I may ask for the firman.”
She paused, reaching for the water jug. David jumped to his feet and poured a cup for her. He pointedly avoided looking at Ramses.
He hasn’t fallen for it either, Ramses thought. But, by God, she was doing a beautiful job of covering the suspicious points. He didn’t doubt she had spoken the truth when she said she was not trying to stir up a rebellion. Not now. It was too soon, Germany wasn’t ready. And her claim to be investigating future sites for excavation couldn’t be disproved.
“So where does Mansur enter into this?” he asked.
“He came to me before I left Istanbul and offered his services. It was clear to me that he was in the pay of the Sublime Porte and that I had no choice but to accept his offer or be refused permission to travel. The soldiers who accompanied us were under his command. A
s I learned to know him, I came to admire his intelligence and knowledge of Islam. I found myself increasingly in sympathy with his aspirations, his detestation of Ottoman rule, his hopes of freedom and prosperity for his people.”
A rattle of the screens made her start. She spoke more hurriedly. “It took me some time to realize that he was not willing to wait for that freedom, that he was spreading messages of hatred and violence. When I charged him with it tonight, he denied it, but now he knows I am no longer in sympathy with his schemes. He will make me stay with him. I am afraid of him.”
“What can we do?” David asked. “We are prisoners.”
“He hasn’t made up his mind what to do with you. He would like to kill you both, but he is familiar, as am I, with Professor Emerson’s reputation. If you disappeared, he would move heaven and earth to learn what had befallen you. For the time being you are safe with Mansur—and I will be safe if you are with him. Perhaps together we can come up with a plan. Will you give me your word you will not try to escape without me?”
“Word of an Englishman,” Ramses said solemnly.
“Thank you. I must go now. We will speak again soon.”
She held out her hand. Instead of kissing it, Ramses gave it a firm British shake.
She left them in darkness, and a lingering fragrance of lily.
David let out his breath. “How does she do it? She’s a small woman, with a soft voice—”
“‘An excellent thing in woman,’” Ramses quoted.
“—but I feel as if I’ve been leaning into a gale for the past five minutes.”
“I know what you mean. It’s called force of personality.” Ramses slid off the divan and felt his way toward David. The room wasn’t totally dark; irregular spots of light danced on the floor under the wind-shaken mashrabiya screens.
“The screens are loose,” he said. “And cracked. Empty your bag and start packing the things we’ll need. We’re getting out of here tonight.”
“What about word of an Englishman?”
A River in the Sky Page 16