The Mer- Lion
Page 41
CHAPTER 83
That night was spent at the Kasbah, that sprawling combination of soldiers' barracks, slaves' quarters, and government offices where the day-to-day business of managing the country went on without the Moulay's immediate attention. To the slaves, the quarters seemed luxurious since each man was able at last to stretch out full length on straw spread over a cold stone floor.
The slaves woke sernirested at the call to prayer at daybreak. Slop buckets were removed, water was passed out for hasty washing as well as drinking, and slaves brought food. One skimpy threadbare robe, two loincloths and a pair of rope sandals were issued each. From a square of patched cloth and a length of old rope, each man fashioned a head covering. Finally, the men were- chained, neck to neck, a scant three feet between. Escorted by silent ones on horseback and followed by supply camels, the human chain departed by a side gate out onto the square facing the Dar al Bey, where Aisha and Ramlah were enjoying the three-hour bathing ritual preparatory to attending the Great Mosque.
The narrow streets, usually thronged with people, were practically deserted for it was Friday, the Moslem Sabbath, and the shops were shuttered. The only ones they passed were slaves and now and then a Jewess wearing her kufia or sugarioaf hat, loose jacket, and tight-fitting trousers. The point of a silent one's spear kept the slaves from ogling the women openly.
Whenever the crooked lane opened into a square, the slaves could see the graceful white minarets of the city's hundreds of mosques silhouetted against the cloudless cerulean sky. While passing near the Roman reservoir, they came close enough to the Mosque al Ksar, the oldest in Tunis, to hear the sonorous chanting of the owners of the shoes lined up outside the doorway.
Passing through the poorer quarters of the city, the slaves saw many a bloated belly supported by spindly legs. There were worse things in Tunis than being a well-cared-for slave. As they left the city gate, they turned not toward the east where the brilliant blue of the sea rivaled that of the sky, but southward toward the interior.
Soon, the slaves tramped past the last few signs of civilization and into a broad plain dotted with groves of olive and palm trees. Their welcome shade was sorely missed a few miles farther to the south when the group reached near-desert. The parched, sunburnt plain was coursed by numerous oueds, about which they must detour or laboriously traverse, not easy when walking so close to the man in front.
Mostly they walked single-file, picking their way over rocks deposited by rampaging waters running off the Bysacene and Zenghane mountains and flooding the plain during the rainy season. The salt crusts left by the evaporating water were cruel to the feet, and while trudging through them, the slaves were grateful for their rope sandals.
Off on the horizon, the slaves could see a long line of ragged and fantastic peaks, at least fifty kilometers high. Their eyes were playing tricks on diem, for the Djebel Zaghouan Massif rose only two kilometers into the air, although it seemed much higher because .of the flat plain that stretched to the base of the slope.
A piercing whistie called the first halt. While the guards faced Mecca and prayed silently, the drovers noisily forced their camels to kneel, the first human voices the slaves had heard since they left the city behind. The slaves, too, would kneel. But as they had learned the hard way while crossing the oued, no one moves independendy of his fellows when chained neck to neck. Carlby, who had commanded many a slave chain in his time, realized the silent ones were not about to give directions, so he took command. "On the count of three, all squat. Hold onto the shoulders of the man before you, that will give you purchase. One... two... three!"
The camel drovers passed goatskins of tepid water that must be tilted, squeezed, and squirted in the general direction of one's mouth. De Wynter finally captured some and to him it tasted better than King Hal's best Madeira. Wiping his splattered face on his forearm, he watched to see how Drummond, to his left, would fare with this damnable Arab contraption. John the Rob, to his right, having drunk already, was searching the ground for large pebbles.
"Pass me that one there," he said, pointing to a rock about the size of a fig, near de Wynter's left foot. "And that."
Others seeing his interest, passed the round stones within their reach down the line to the beggar. One of the silent ones, noting the activity of the slaves, came over to see what was afoot.
"If you're going to brain one, here's your chance," de Wynter observed.
The beggar only grinned. "Watch this." Within seconds one, two, three, four, six of the rocks had flown up into the air and begun circling effortlessly under the spell of the beggar's hands. The silent one watched a few moments, then walked away, only to return with three of his fellows.
"You have made a conquest," de Wynter said, looking up at the quartet of guards staring, almost hypnotized, above tiieir veils at the whirling stones.
John the Rob said nothing, simply changing the juggling configurations. Evidendy, so long as he was willing to juggle, the guards were willing to watch. When one rock slipped from his hands and fell noisily to one side out of his reach, one of the guards helpfully retrieved it and handed it back to the beggar.
Just then, the whisde sounded. Not one of the white-robed ones objected when John the Rob gathered up his rocks and, making a pouch of his spare loincloth, tucked the ends through the cloth encircling his thin waist.
Again on Carlby's count, the men, leaning one on the other, dragged themselves to their feet. Before they started off, Drummond via de Wynter asked John the Rob, "What was mat all about?"
"Later. And watch what you say. Our guards may be silent, but there's nothing wrong with their hearing."
The caravan was soon under way again. The silent ones' destination was Kairouan by nightfall of the second day out. Though it was the fabled holy city of northern Ifriquiya, the guards knew where there were women to be wooed silentiy and wine to be sipped noisily within the cool shade of one of the city's many mosques.
That first day, the weary caravan plodded through the sand and salt for fourteen hours, with but brief stops for water or prayer, and once for a quick meal of biscuits and dried dates, washed down with water from a local well worked by a donkey. A transverse beam with stone weights at either end was rigged over the well. The small desert donkey pulled a rope attached through a pulley to one of the weights. As the donkey moved away from the well, a makeshift leather bucket was raised to the surface, where a man tipped it with a rope, allowing the water to spill into a container, or in this case direcdy into a trough. When the animal walked back toward the well, the goatskin bucket dropped back into the well and was refilled.
The poor dumb thing, de Wynter thought, watching the donkey move back and forth, He has made the trip so many thousands of times, he no longer needs supervision. With a grimace, de Wynter saw the sinularity to his own situation.
As darkness approached, the caravan came to a halt, the slaves again being allowed to kneel. This time on Carlby's count, the results were less ragged and uncomfortable. A tent was pitched for the owner of the whistle, and fires were built; soon the aroma of coffee drifted the slaves' way.
One of the camel drovers brought out a skin of flour—to which a little water and salt were added—and pounded it to mix the dougti within. Big handfuls were then shaped into cakes. He raked some embers out of the fire and in their place dropped the cakes of dough. When heat-seared on one side, they were turned over. Finally, s hollow was scooped out in the sand under the embers, and the dougfc buried there with a covering of hot sand and embers.
After what seemed like hours to the watching hungry slaves, the cakes were dug up and the sand and ashes brushed off. When cool enough to handle, they were distributed among the slaves, alonj
with a handful of dates and goatskins of water. With practice, more of the water went into de Wynter's mouth and less on his face. His cake of dough was soggy, Dnimmond's brick-hard. Bom agreed the consistency was like sawdust, yet they tasted like manna.
Exhaustion preclude
d any other talk. But, tired as they were, they slept fitfully, being forced to lie spoonlike on their right sides because of the neck manacles. The heat of their close-pressed bodies kept off some of the cold night desert air.
At dawn they were almost glad to be roused from their sandy beds. Gladder yet when .they stopped an hour later for water and another handful of dates.
Their midday meal varied not one whit from that of the morning, but their puffy, reddened eyes could make out shapes shimmering on the horizon. The heat haze made Kairouan's crenellated ramparts and white minarets look more mirage than real. The city itself seemed to rise out of the air rather than resting on higher ground like most cities. Perhaps that was what led to her name, Kairouan, "Caravan of the Desert" in the tongue of the Moslems who built her.
Lagging feet felt lighter and spirits lifted as the city took form in front of them. And by sundown, their blistered feet, rope-burned and lacerated by their sandals, trod the hard stones of Kairouan's streets. Past nineteen mosques, and countless shrines of marabouts, or holy men, they were marched, straight to the courtyard in front of the Great Mosque. There the camel-riding drovers kicked their mounts to kneel before the well.This was no ordinary well. Its designers had provided comfortable drinking for all—man and beast. Around its perimeter were ledges of varying heights and depths, calculated to fit hooves and paws as well as the knees of kneeling thirst-quencher. The guards helped themselves first to the cool liquid, then came the horses, then slave drivers and camels, finally the prisoners. Custom called for humans to touch the water only with their lips, and the parched prisoners who attempted to splash some of the cool water on their faces and arms received smart cuffs from their silent guards as the well's guardians harangued them to drink, not bathe.
After all had drunk, the guards, without any apparent discussion, led their train to the left, into a narrow, seldom used lane. Eventually, they came to a cleared area before the great wall separating the
medina from the rest of the city. Here was a natural prison. The brick wall, some 500 years old, had windowless abutments jutting from it One man or two, thanks to the walls, could keep a hundred closely chained prisoners from escaping. At the same time, the curious and beggars could not get close.
After a meal of goat meat, milk, and bread, the prisoners took a more lively interest in their surroundings. The guards were gathered off to one side, silently devouring a meal no more varied though mere plentiful than that of the prisoners. The camel drovers, having wolfed their food, made themselves comfortable leaning against their kneeling beasts. All was somnolent.
Now John the Rob had his chance. Out came his round pebbles and up they flew. Soon, one drover got to his feet and then another. Finally all seven had formed a semicircle around the juggler.
"Quickly," John the Rob muttered out of the side of his mouth to de Wynter. "Ask the nearest one where we are."
"Who cares?" de Wynter whispered back. "I want to know where we go."
"Fine, ask him, but be quiet about it."
"Al Djem," was the sibilant reply.
"Where the hell is that?" de Wynter whispered back. A gesture in the general direction of the south was the quick reply. The drovers, torn between fascination for the flying stones and the prisoners' demands for information, grew restless. John the Rob began adding objects his fingers had found and stored within his pouch—a date, a stick, a link of chain—and the drovers hunkered back down. "Ask why the guards don't speak," came John the Rob's terse instructions.
Stealing a look to make sure no guard was nearby, the drover made a cryptic cutting movement of two fingers before an outstretched tongue. No more need be said. And the drovers decided already they'd said too much. They got to their feet and scurried back to the safety of their cud-chewing beasts.
Meanwhile, the guards were involved in some spirited, though silent, discussion, their hands gesticulating rapidly. Finally, one of them rose and went to his saddlebags. The matter of contention, whatever it was, was settled by throws of bone dice passed from
hand to hand. One last throw and half of the guards hurried off to dig clean robes out of their saddlebags.
For the first tune, the prisoners saw guards unveiled and in the flesh. Some were dark-skinned, but most light, one even fair. All had the lean, hard; muscular look of fighting men kept trim. If all were naked, one could not have told guard and prisoner apart. Scrubbing hands with sand, polishing teeth with a twig, one or two scraped away at their facial hair with a sharp dagger and the aid of a polished tray. Robed and reveiled, the six disappeared into the night, leaving their spears behind.
Four, remaining, unrolled blankets to sleep, the other two standing first watch. The prisoners, having shared with one another the information gleaned from the drovers, soon fell asleep, too, one after the other like a stack of spoons.
Kicks woke them. The guards were back and Ali ben Zaid was very much in command. When the long line moved out again, traversing crowded, crooked lanes, their chains roused no interest, not even from children. At last, they turned into a wide avenue leading to the Bab Djedid, the eastern gate in the Great Wall. Every caravan heading toward Sousse and the other coastal cities must pass between those two enormous wooden doors, as did those bound for al Djem and the smaller inland villages that dotted the Sahel. At this hour, the line of slaves was just one of many trying to get through the gates. Falling in between a camel train and a flock of bleating sheep, many hid their breakfast dates within their loincloths to be chewed later when there was less dust.
A few miles along the well-traveled road to Sousse, Ali ben Zaid turned his mare's nose southward into the bleak desert terrain and headed straight as an arrow to al Djem. Dutifully the line of slaves followed suit. For five hours with no respite, the caravan trudged across the now-burning desert, the scorching sun climbing from just above their left shoulders to straight overhead. A quick midday prayer and water break served only momentarily to interrupt the tortuous journey.
They plodded along on uneven ground, straining to keep in step so the neck rings did not start their sores to bleeding again. Sand fleas had invaded their clothing during the sleep by the wall. Soon everyone, guards and slaves alike, was rubbing and scratching in a vain attempt to dislodge the pests or relieve the itching of their bites. The slaves, forced always to cooperate, dug and scratched at one another's back. But too much of the torment was beyond the reach of these tethered men.
By midafternoon another apparition, pinkish as the setting sun rose sharply from the sand atop a low plateau to take shape on the horizon dead ahead. De Wynter rubbed his eyes, then looked again. It was the Colosseum of Rome. A mirage. Yet it did not quiver and disappear. Quite the contrary, with each step they took the colosse-um loomed larger.
Onward the slaves marched, each hour bringing the ruins into sharper focus. For twelve hundred years this great stone and mortar amphitheater had withstood the burning sun and driving sand storms, her great stone arches mellowing to a golden pink. Three tiers of superimposed arches rose thirty-six meters into the air, the height of twenty grown men. Decorated columns separatedeach arch. Roomy galleries formed a cross under the arena itself. In the passageway leading from the galleries to the arena, the ruins of a statue of Marcus Aurelius gazed down benignly.
As the slaves moved ever closer, they could see the remains of the Town of Thysdrus, once one of the richest cities in the whole of the Roman province of Ifriqiya. Alongside the amphitheater, dwarfed by its immensity, stood the ruins of vast villas, once the pride of rich olive growers; the scraggly remains of those same olive groves grew now in clumps to the east of the amphitheater. The villas they passed were desolate. Or sheep and goats and chickens took possession of rooms whose walls gleamed still with fragments of brilliantiy colored mosaics.
Off in the distance, a second amphitheater could be seen. This one smaller and older than the one at al Djem. Where Romans trod, monuments rose, and these long outlasted the halcyon days of the Roman Empire.
CHAPTER 24
Controlled by their neck rings, the slaves moved one by one through the main entrance to the colosseum, past the two guards there, up one ramp, then down another. The interior of the colosseum was cool, a welcome protection from the burning sun that for hours had scorched their thin robes. Then, blinking, back out into the sun they walked and into the central oval where their neck chains were removed. Free of one another, like sheep, they stayed together, only looking about independendy.
What they saw offered little hope for any escape. They were virtually sealed in, surrounded by a wall twice a man's height. If one surmounted that wall, the only exits were openings high up on the second and third tiers. To jump was suicidal. If one survived, unscathed, how could he avoid the guardposts the slaves had seen as they entered the area? No wonder chains were not needed to retain the slaves.
However, if they put in a full day of hard labor and obeyed the few rules the muraqib described—no shirking, no resistance, no backtalk, no sexual activity and no attempting escape—they could have the run of the lower area.
The slaves had not been freed from their fellows for more than an hour before the first escape scheme was hatched. The beggars, misled by the apparent paucity of guards, were its authors. John the Rob, hearing it, decried it but his people insisted. Finally, unable to reason with them, he threw up his hands and admitted defeat. "Have it your way. But I warn you, you will not win free.'' Despite him, they made their attempt.