They turned a corner with the sergeant still on their trail. I dodged a donkey cart and saw them enter into a lofty archway.
I had to put in a smart stride to catch up, I turned the corner and stopped. Fontaine must have been lying in wait with four gendarmes. The sergeant arrived to join them, just as Fontaine held his hand out for Lady Maitland’s gun. I could see her reluctance to part with it and it took even more threats before she handed him the rolled up paper I’d given Persi the night before. Fontaine wasn’t stupid, he awaited the delivery of another page, which I guessed was the translation into English.
Hell! I swore under my breath, now what?
There was nothing to be done except report back to Swift.
As I retraced my steps through the souk, I realised I was being followed by the same beggar as yesterday – I thought he must be one of Qarsan’s men. I’d read any number of novels where people are followed and the thing to do is move rapidly in one direction and then nip into a dark place, or doorway, and hide.
I put on a spurt and turned out of the market place into a winding street with higgledy-piggedly houses, then executed a nifty sidestep into a shady ginnel and nearly fell over a tethered goat. I peered around the crumbling stone wall to stare back from where I’d come but couldn’t see a damn thing. The goat nibbled my jacket, I tried to shoo it off. I counted to one hundred then stepped out of the shadows to find the damn beggar leaning against the wall.
He grinned toothlessly, hopped in front of me and gabbled loudly, then he stuck his fist into his ragged robes and pulled out a bundle of filthy fur.
‘No, thank you, old chap,’ I politely refused and turned smartly about, but he was quick on the crutch and pivoted into my path again.
‘No,’ I shouted and shook my head firmly, with my hands up for emphasis.
He jabbered away then prodded the fur.
It squeaked.
That made me stop and stare.
The man was no fool and realised he’d got my attention. He almost stuffed it up my nose in enthusiasm. It squeaked again. I lifted a matted tuft of fluff from the top of the bundle and saw two bright eyes, a small black nose and a pink tongue. It was a puppy.
I let loose a sigh. It proved to be a five dollar puppy, which seemed a lot of money for such a tiny scrap of dog. The beggar was suddenly miraculously cured of most of his afflictions and raced off jabbering and gesticulating in apparent delight – well, at least I’d brought cheer to somebody’s day.
It took me some time to retrace my route to the Hotel Al Shami and I re-entered the courtyard hot and sticky. Swift was just coming down the staircase.
‘Lennox,’ he called.
I didn’t reply, just went and handed him the tiny puppy. ‘Here, hold this for a moment.’
‘What the…?’ he began, but I was already on my way to the bar.
Bing was slumped over the mahogany counter singing. ‘Good-bye-ee, Good-bye-ee, wipe the tear, baby dear, from your eye-ee’. I grabbed the glass from his grasp, handed it to the bartender and hauled Bing off his stool by the collar. He protested all the way to the fountain and then yelled loudly as I tossed him in.
He caused a tremendous splash. A bevvy of shocked servants arrived and formed a small crowd to gaze at him as he flailed in the water. He stopped floundering and sat up, chest-deep in the pool, to stare at me.
‘What the devil did you do that for?’
‘Because you need to get a grip, Bing,’ I told him. ‘And you have to stop pandering to your idiotic infatuation for Josephine. She’s dead and she was never, ever, worth it.’
He clambered to his knees as the spray from the fountain sprinkled over his head, then, with sodden jacket and trousers, clambered over the wall to stand and face me.
‘Lennox.’ A puddle formed at his feet as water ran in small rivulets from his hair and clothes. ‘Lennox,’ he said again and pointed a dripping finger at me. ‘If you ever do that again, I promise I will shoot you.’
Swift was still clasping the puppy, a smile playing on his lips.
I took the little tyke from him and held it out to Bing. ‘This is yours.’
A waiter arrived with a mop and began swabbing the tiles at his feet.
Bing swayed as he brought the ragged ball of fur into focus. ‘What is it?’
It barked a small woof.
He lifted a knot of fluff and raised his brows.
‘It’s a dog.’
‘Yes.’
He leaned in to peer more closely. ‘For me?’
‘Yes.’
He touched the filthy fur. It tried to lick his hand.
‘I’ve never had a dog before.’ He reached out and stroked the matted knots away from its head. ‘What should I do with it?’ He asked gazing into its bright little eyes.
‘You will bathe it, feed it, care for it, and teach it the basics.’ I told him. ‘And if you touch one more drop of liquor I will remove it from you and render the wrath of Heaven down upon your bloody head.’
‘Right o,’ he agreed and took the bundle very gently from my grasp and clasped it to his soggy chest. ‘Thank you.’
He shuffled off, closely followed by the waiter with the mop.
Swift came to stand next to me and we watched Bing climb the stairs with his new charge.
‘Lennox,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Come on, you deserve a drink.’
‘Make it a large one,’ I said, and grinned.
The barman placed two tall gin and tonics on the counter almost as we said it. He really was an excellent chap.
‘What happened?’ Swift said.
‘They’ve been arrested, or detained anyway.’ I told him what I’d seen.
‘Bloody hell,’ he swore quietly.
‘What about Persi?’ I asked.
‘They’ve put two guards on duty, one at each end of the corridor.’ He sipped his drink. ‘I opened the door from the inner stairs and came face to face with the new man. He raised his sword and almost cleaved the door in two as I made a quick exit.’ He gave a grim smile.
‘Oh.’ I took a draught of my drink, savouring it.
Swift continued, ‘I saw you with Jamal. I had a word with him after you left.’
‘About what?’ I asked.
‘The widows or rather one of them. I’ve got an idea.’ He finished his drink, stood up, tightened the belt of his trench coat and marched off. ‘I told Jamal to meet me in the roof garden.’
I downed my drink and followed.
Jamal was awaiting us with today’s black clad widow hovering at a distance. I could hear her puffing in the heat.
‘Jamal,’ Swift began and then explained in unnecessarily lengthy detail that the lady must go to Persi’s room, hand over the veils, and allow her to escape. Jamal translated. I lost interest and went to stare over the city rooftops. The fat chap in white was on the neighbouring roof, he sat up in his day bed when he saw me and watched in anticipation for whatever I may do next. I waved, he raised a hand back, then I returned to join Swift in his negotiations.
‘The lady has agreed to do it!’ Swift told me in triumph.
‘Hum,’ I replied, looking down at the widow’s sandals just visible below the hemline. She wore socks, one of which had a hole in the toe. I can’t say I am noted for my skills of observation, but to my mind, very few ladies have hairy feet. I stepped forward and ripped the veil from her head.
‘Argh,’ the bath-draw boy gasped in guilty horror.
‘You!’ Jamal stepped back, pointing an accusing finger. ‘You are not dead!’ he yelled in English then reverted to his mother tongue and let all hell loose.
There was a lot of shouting, probably some swearing, and plenty of drama. I noticed the fat man on the other roof had clambered to his feet to stare in our direction.
�
��Enough!’ Swift eventually shouted. ‘Jamal, you can deal with this later.’ He turned to the bath-draw boy, who had become very red in the face. ‘I want some answers from you first.’
‘Not now, Swift,’ I told him. ‘We must get Persi out.’
Swift swore. ‘Right, damn it! Jamal make him go and exchange himself for Persi. And don’t let him go until we get back.’
‘He is not leaving anywhere, effendi. He will remain in Ladies Row.’ Jamal raised a finger at the accused. ‘And after that, you will know the wrath of our master!’
I handed the veil over, and Jamal made the bath-draw boy drape it back over his head. Hastened along by the furious factotum, he stomped, off muttering under his breath.
It took almost fifteen minutes. We were anxiously peering over the bannister when Jamal re-appeared at the top of the staircase, followed by an apparition in black. A slim hand reached up to pull the veil away. It was Persi, she gave a huge grin. I picked her up and hugged her.
We laughed, even Jamal cheered up and we sent him off with hearty thanks. I didn’t even remind him about getting my dollars back.
‘She, or rather he, came in and pushed a pile of towels into my hands.’ Persi related. ‘Then he started struggling with his robes and I couldn’t understand what on earth was happening.’ She laughed again. ‘And as he dragged the robes higher, I caught a sight of his underwear! I was about to shout for the guard when he wiggled out of the frock and I realised it was that funny little man.’
‘Bandy legs and all!’ I laughed and put my arm around her shoulders.
‘Exactly and a far clearer view than I needed!’ She exclaimed. ‘Then he told me to put the dress on and come up here. I thought it must be your idea, I couldn’t imagine anyone else thinking of such a harebrained idea!’
We found it all very amusing, but then we told her about Fontaine’s ambush, which wasn’t amusing at all.
‘Do you have the directions, Persi?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I made my own copy,’ she pulled a rolled up piece of paper and showed us. It didn’t make much more sense than the Phoenician squiggles.
‘We’ll have to go,’ I said. ‘If the Colonel finds it first, we won’t have anything to negotiate with.’
‘You must take me with you, darling.’
‘No,’ Swift interjected. ‘It could be dangerous and you will be breaking your terms of arrest. I insist you remain here.’
‘Oh nonsense. You won’t find it without me,’ she told him. ‘Even with the translation.’
‘Why?’
‘I made a mistake.’
‘What sort of mistake?’ Swift asked.
‘It was the name of the fountain. I’ve sent them to the wrong place.’
‘You mean, you’ve given Lady Maitland the wrong location?’ I asked.
‘Yes, that’s what I just said!’
‘Ha!’ I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Well done, old stick! I mean, dearest… erm…sweet… thing.’
‘Wait, it’s not…’ Swift began then stopped. ‘Oh, very well – lead the way, Persi.’
She laughed delightedly, then pulled the veil back over her head. ‘Come on.’
Swift tightened the belt of his trench coat and we headed for the stairs.
Chapter 20
‘The locals are watching us,’ Swift hissed to me as we followed the black swathed form of Persi through the crowds.
‘Swift, they are always watching us,’ I told him.
‘But everyone will know where we go,’ he whispered.
I didn’t bother to reply because they probably knew where we were going before we did.
Finding the Temple of Jupiter wasn’t terribly difficult. I’d passed through its remnants on my travels to the souk, although I hadn’t realised it at the time.
The huge entrance supported an arch and some perilously perched stones. The roof had long been demolished and the temple resembled a colonnaded market place – it even housed stalls between the rows of pillars. I looked up to spot the remains of delicate mosaics clinging to some of the highest stonework. The capitals topping each of the columns were intricately carved with leafy fronds, eroded fruit and curling tendrils. Many of them were cracked and broken in places.
‘Hurry up, Lennox,’ Swift called. ‘Persi’s gone through there.’
I strode to catch up as he pulled open a low door and ducked into it.
I blinked. We were in a cavelike chamber lit by two flaming torches held in iron cradles, driven into mouldering walls. A snarling carved lion’s head splattered water into a stone basin. The room was filled with a mist of fine droplets which settled on our hair and clothes. The vaulted ceiling ran with condensation; green algae and moss clung to the stones and plasterwork – the place smelled like the bottom of a well. We had to raise our voices over the racket of the streaming torrent to be heard.
‘This is it!’ Persi threw off the black robes to reveal her archaeologists’ garb of cream shirt and dull green trousers beneath. ‘This is where the directions in the spiral start.’ Her eyes shone with excitement.
‘So, where did you instruct Lady Maitland to go?’ Swift spoke above the noise.
‘The Roman Lion fountain,’ she replied.
‘And this is…?’ I asked.
‘The font of the Roman lion,’ she answered. ‘But I think Fontaine will be able to work it out before long.’
‘Are there many Roman fountains in the city?’ I asked.
‘Enough,’ she laughed. ‘Now, according to the directions, we go this way.’ She stepped through an opening on the other side of the fountain, then halted again. ‘Oh, I’m such an idiot! I forgot to bring a flashlight.’
‘I have one,’ I told her and fumbled in my pocket to give it to her.
‘So do I, but I think it’s best to keep them for later.’ Swift said. ‘Here, we’ll take these.’ He pulled the flaming torches from their sconces, handed one to her and the other to me.
Persi led the way along an unlit passage. The walls were formed from rough stones, slick, wet and slimy with the all-pervading smell of damp. The corridor ended at a set of uneven steps, which wound tightly downwards. I could hear scuttling somewhere below and swore to myself because I really hated rats.
‘Down here,’ she whispered, holding up the burning torch. We followed tentatively.
‘Hell!’ I let out a yell as a snake slithered out of a cranny next to me. I stepped back smartly as it plopped onto the steps to wind its way between our feet and down into the darkness beyond.
‘Persi?’ Swift had stopped. ‘That snake wasn’t poisonous was it?’
‘It was a blunt-nosed viper and it’s quite deadly,’ she replied without breaking tread. ‘But if you don’t bother them, they will usually leave you alone.’
We went more slowly after that, keeping close together and nearly bumping into Persi when she came to a stop.
‘In here,’ she said quietly and entered a cave-like hollow. ‘It’s the Chamber of Tears.’
She raised her torch to illuminate the roof. A needle-like crystal protruded from the dark-red rock forming the ceiling.
‘The water dripping from the needlepoint falls into this hollow below,’ she moved the torch toward our feet where we could see a round hole in the sodden rock. ‘It never fills up, the water has been falling for so many centuries that it has eroded its way through the stone and into the ruins below.’
‘Have you been here before, Persi?’ I asked, forgetting to call her dearest, or darling or some such.
‘No, but I have read papers by archaeologists who’ve explored these tunnels.’
‘But they didn’t find Hanno’s house?’ I asked.
‘If they had, we wouldn’t be here,’ she laughed.
I gazed upward once again, then looked down to realise she had vanished.
I fr
oze. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s through here,’ Swift hissed then scrambled under a hole, hacked out near the base of the wall. I crawled after him.
It was almost beyond words. Persi was standing some way ahead, her flaming torch creating a halo of light within the cavernous dark. She was standing amidst row upon row of sarcophagi. I gasped, then moved to take a closer look. The ancient coffins were carved from pale limestone, rectangular in shape and about six feet by three wide and the same in height. They were all covered with closed lids.
We were in what appeared to be a huge underground cave, supported by columns of chipped rock rising to a ceiling lost somewhere in the blackness. None of us breathed a word, we just absorbed the sight.
‘They’re tombs.’ Swift broke the silence, his voice echoing away into the stillness.
‘Yes, Roman tombs.’ Persi strode over to the group nearest us. ‘This quarry lies beneath the old city, it would have provided building stone until it was exhausted and abandoned. The Romans turned it into catacombs for the dead.’
‘I thought they usually buried their dead outside their cities?’ Swift said.
‘They did,’ Persi replied. ‘But as the power of the Empire waned it became too dangerous to go beyond the walls and they used what space they had underground.’
‘Look at these,’ Swift had walked over to the far wall where hollows had been carved into the rock like sets of pigeon holes. Names were carved on plaques in precise Roman lettering.
‘They would have held ashes in urns, but it looks like they’ve been stolen,’ Persi informed him.
‘Tomb-robbers,’ I remarked.
‘I’m afraid so,’ she nodded. ‘Oh dear, I’m not sure where to go from here.’ She pulled out her sheet of paper and tried to study it one-handed.
Swift came to take her flaming torch and we huddled together to stare at the translation she had made.
‘What does it say?’ Swift asked.
‘Descend the tomb of the revellers,’ she showed us with a finger on the paper. It was about a third of the way into the spiral.
I heard the doubt in her voice.
‘You are sure it says ‘descend the tomb’, old stick?’
Death in Damascus: A 1920s Murder Mystery with Heathcliff Lennox Page 16