A mixture of fear and great excitement took over. He had actually done it. He had quite possibly found the entrance to the underground city. Others had failed, but he, Alexandre Chevalier, had doggedly followed a hunch which had proved him right. He allowed himself a moment of self-congratulatory pleasure before standing up and looking around.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom, relieved to see at least some light, even if it was only a faint glow. The air smelt musty and old, moist and earthy, but the whisper of a breeze stroked his wet face bringing an overtone of freshness. Eerily quiet, all he could hear was the echoing drip, drip, drip of water on stone and a faint rippling in the underground lake.
Alexandre stood up and balanced along the ledge until he reached a wider area of rock floor. The walls looked solid with no other entranceway that he could see. He walked along a little further, clambering over rubble. He stepped onto a smooth rock, shaped like a slice taken from an enormous cylinder, but broken in half. Climbing up further, he came to a large gap in the wall. An entranceway? His heart sped up. It looked like it could be a tunnel.
He stepped over the broken rock and peered into unending darkness. Close up, were fragments of what appeared to have been a carved pillar. He entered the black space and crept forward a little way. It was no good. The darkness would swallow him up. He needed more light. Alexandre backed out and climbed down over the large broken wheel-like stone. It had a hole in the middle, like a massive millstone.
Could this really be the underground city from the legend, sealed off from the inside and hidden from the outside world? He started to believe it and yearned to explore but knew that right now was not the time. Reluctantly, he returned to the river bank, surfaced next to the stone column and swam back to dry land where he saw Isik waiting, scanning the river for him.
‘It is there. It is as the old woman said,’ Alexandre panted, sitting on the river’s edge and sipping the water Isik handed him.
‘But this is incredible. Tell me what you saw.’
Alexandre got his breath back and went on to describe the underground lake in the cavern. He told him about the partially blocked tunnel that he believed could very well lead to other parts of the lost city.
‘The carved pillar proves it is not just a natural cave. And those tunnels are most probably man made.’
‘We are only about an hour from camp,’ Isik said. ‘Shall we go now before it is dark? You must be eager to tell your family of your great discovery.’
‘No. I am going back in, but I need to take supplies with me.’
‘You cannot go there alone,’ Isik said. ‘Forgive me, but that would be foolish, with or without demons.’
‘You said yourself we are not far from camp. I could travel back there through the caves. I would probably make it there within only a few hours.’
‘No,’ Isik said. ‘I must insist you do not go. It will be dark soon and we should return. You will have your chance to explore tomorrow. Just be patient for one more day ... Please.’
‘You are right of course. It is just that I am burning with curiosity to see what lies there. But I will wait. Shall we make camp here tonight? I suddenly feel very tired. I think it must be all that swimming.’
Isik laughed. ‘Tired? A moment ago, you were ready to go exploring underground caves. Very well, we will leave first thing in the morning and in the meantime you can dream of your caves.’
He continued chuckling to himself whilst Alexandre stared into the river where the water eddied at the top of the stone pillars.
*
Isik awoke, as always, at dawn. He opened his eyes and sat up. The sun rose behind him and the sky slowly bleached white before deepening into a familiar blue. He instantly knew something was wrong. Alexandre was nowhere to be seen.
His eyes fell upon a small scrap of paper on the ground, weighted down with a rock. He growled and ripped it out from under the rock to read.
Forgive me, Isik. I had to go. Do not worry.
I will see you back at the site very shortly.
Alexandre
Isik kicked the rock that had weighted down the note.
‘That damn donkey of a boy!’ he swore in his native tongue. Didier Chevalier will never forgive me, he thought to himself. I am a fool to have trusted his son.
Isik did not bother with breakfast. He jumped onto his horse, took Alexandre’s steed and galloped back to camp as fast as he possibly could. He worried about what the Chevaliers would say to him. Would they hold him responsible?
Thankfully, the boy had the good sense to take Isik’s bag and knife, but the Turk would have beaten anyone else who dared take his knife without asking. He knew he had to get back to camp as quickly as possible, but he dreaded telling them what had happened. He also felt foolish. Luckily he did not have far to travel.
Heads down, eyes narrowed, the horses thundered across the dirt and they thundered across the rock, oblivious to what waited below.
*
The old woman’s story of the demons, although patently fictional, had spooked Alexandre somewhat and if he was to go alone into a dark underground cave, he would feel more reassured if there was daylight outside. He waited until most of the night had passed, preparing to leave before dawn. His plan would go awry if Isik awoke before him.
Alexandre hesitated before borrowing the guard’s knife and leather drawstring bag, but reasoned that Isik would not mind. He would return them soon enough. And if the water damaged them he would replace them.
He tucked the knife securely into his breeches. Then, into the bag he put his own leather boots. In each of these he had placed some provisions. In one: a flask of fresh water, some strips of meat and some pitta bread. In the other: a compass, two candles and some striking matches. He placed a metal cup over the top, hoping the contents would manage to stay dry. He tied the bag across his bare chest and dropped into the cold dark river.
Once Alexandre surfaced in the underground cavern, he tugged at the drawstring to Isik’s heavy wet bag and pulled out his sopping boots. He smiled with relief to see his compass working, his candles and matches still dry. Pulling on his squelching boots, he held out the compass to see which way was west – the way back to camp.
Having clambered back up onto the broken stone, Alexandre peered once again into the unyielding blackness of the tunnel. He stepped inside, struck a match and lit one of the candles. The smell of sulphur burned sharp in his nostrils and the flame illuminated moisture dripping down black-green walls.
Suddenly, a great cloud of squeaking swooshing bats shot out of the darkness and headed straight for him. He dropped the candle and tried to shield himself as they flew into his hair and at his face. He shook himself and shuddered as the last one dived away. They swept on past him, circled the cavern and disappeared into the roof of the cave.
Alexandre picked up the candle with trembling fingers. What else could be hiding down here? He held out the candle and relit it. Then, with his free hand, he fingered the handle of Isik’s knife, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger. The bats had unnerved him and he tried to slow his breathing and calm down before continuing.
The flame cast an eerie glow in the long grey tunnel. Narrow and low-ceilinged, it sloped gradually downwards away from the river. The rock walls were dry down here and the sound of dripping water receded. All Alexandre could hear were his loud breaths and the squelching trudge of his soggy leather boots. Every few feet, recesses had been cut into the wall, maybe to house candles or lanterns of some kind.
After about a ten minute walk, Alexandre reached a crossroads. Each way was clear, so he pulled out his compass and headed into the west-facing tunnel. A few moments later, he found himself standing in a great hall with a high barrel-vaulted ceiling. Frescoes and carvings adorned the walls and thick carved columns ran along both sides of the space. Alexandre shook his head at the sheer scale and craftsmanship.
He held his candle out in front of him to inspect the frescoes more closely. They a
ppeared to be religious pictures, beautifully depicted but the subject matter was quite gruesome with much blood and gore. Alexandre supposed they were biblical scenes of hell or maybe some of the more grisly Old Testament stories. He shivered and turned away, looking instead at his compass which showed west to be in the left hand corner of the cavernous hall.
He walked across the vast expanse, his footsteps echoing, and saw a flight of steps leading downwards. Another floor! But he could not descend now; he needed to get back to the camp. He shivered, still wet and now quite chilled. Entering another corridor, he broke into a slow run to try and warm himself up, shielding the candle with his hand to stop it going out.
He felt less nervous now and grinned to himself, excited at the thought of telling his parents what he had found. They would be ecstatic.
But suddenly, Alexandre slowed. Up ahead the tunnel ended. Something was blocking his path. Something huge.
*
Whilst Alexandre travelled beneath the ground, his family was back at the site having breakfast with the Swintons. They looked up from their conversation as Isik charged into camp, dust flying out behind him like a swirling serpent.
The Turk dismounted and tried to break the news of Alexandre’s disappearance without anger or worry coming through in his voice. But he could not prevent the reaction that he knew his news would provoke.
‘That boy has always been trouble!’ Didier shouted. ‘What in the name of God was I thinking, letting him go off like that? I should have known the stupid idiot was not to be trusted.’
‘Shhh, Didier,’ Marie-Louise rubbed her hands up and down his upper arms, trying to calm him. ‘I too feel sick with worry but there is no use upsetting yourself like this.’
‘He is wilful, but worse than that, he is selfish,’ Didier fumed. ‘Does he think he is going to come back to a hero’s welcome? Pah!’
‘He is a child, he was excited …’ she began. And then she burst into tears.
‘He is a man and he is an idiot,’ Didier countered and then, as he realised his wife was crying, he stopped talking and put his arms around her to try to offer some comfort. What was to be done?
Everybody was at a loss as to what to do or say next.
‘Well,’ Harold finally said. ‘Victoria and I could return with Isik to the river bank whilst you wait here to see if he returns. I could go down into the cave and try to find him there ...’
‘If anybody is going into the cave, it will be me!’ said Didier. ‘I am the foolish boy’s father. I cannot let anybody else put themselves in danger on his account.’
‘Whatever you decide, Didier,’ Harold said. ‘You ask it and we shall all comply willingly.’
‘You are a good friend, Harold,’ Didier’s tone softened. ‘I am sorry for shouting. It is just that I am so worried. And look at the distress he has caused his mother.’
*
In the tunnel, Alexandre had been forced to stop. And now he saw the reason why. Something huge was blocking his way. It was a giant millstone.
He looked up at the massive cylindrical slice. It reached over head height, maybe eight or nine feet tall. He would have to turn back and find another route. A niggle of worry crept in but he tried to ignore it. He would find another way out. And if the worst came to the worst, he would just have to go back to the river. Alexandre paused, his brain making connections and then it suddenly came to him!
Back at the camp, down in the shaft, that large rock with the hole in it which blocked the entrance - it was a millstone! Excitement replaced worry and Alexandre pushed at the edge of the cylinder to see if it would move. It rocked just a fraction of an inch, so he put his full weight behind it. His heart lightened as it rolled heavily, crashing into a u-shaped stone at the side which held it in place. A wide opening in the rock wall was revealed.
The tunnel entrance was clear again! He marvelled at the ingenuity of the people who had built this place but he had no time to stop and ponder. He continued on his way, passing more millstones and more sets of staircases descending downwards. He noticed large earthenware pots, huge carved pillars, arches and all manner of things that he would return to explore more thoroughly. But right now, he had to try to ignore this strange and wondrous place and get back to the site.
His route took him through black tunnels and caverns. Every so often, a faint wisp of light shone down from above and he would breathe in slightly fresher air – ventilation shafts. Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain in his fingertips and, without warning, he was in absolute darkness again. After a second or two of panic, he realised his candle had burnt out and he fumbled in his bag to reach the tin which contained the spare candle and matches.
In the absolute black of the tunnel his breathing sounded thunderous and he tried to think of things to stop the fear creeping in. He pictured Leonora’s face, the scornful look she reserved just for him, her lustrous hair, her ... He struck the match and the blessed light flickered and wavered in his shaking fingers. He lit the wick and breathed a sigh of relief. It was not a pleasant experience to be alone and underground in complete darkness, especially with tales of demons haunting his mind.
Alexandre was almost certain the deep shaft back at the camp would be easily accessible, for he knew now that it was millstones which blocked the entrances. But this time he would be on the right side to roll them out of the way and ascend the shaft by rope.
Yet again he found his way blocked by another of the massive stones. He wheeled it aside and walked through. His new candle was instantly extinguished by a breath of wind but it did not matter, for a small glimmer of daylight swam around him, filtering down from above. He smiled triumphantly, not quite believing where he was.
He had done it! He was here! The familiar rope hung in front of him and he hauled himself up, hand-over-hand, back into the morning light, to the sweet fresh air and to his waiting parents, who were furious.
*
‘Is everybody talking about me again?’
All heads turned towards the sound of his voice.
‘Alexandre?’ Leonora saw him first. He was bare-chested, dishevelled, wet and grimy, but his smile was so broad it hurt his face.
‘Oh Alexandre!’ his mother cried and ran to throw her arms around him. ‘You scared us all to death,’ she sobbed into his chest.
‘But … But, how did you get back here?’ Isik asked. ‘You left your horse behind with me. Surely you did not come here through the underground caves?’
‘But that is exactly how I came here.’ Alexandre enjoyed looking at their confused faces. ‘I have been to the lost city.’
After making his apologies for worrying everybody, having a much-needed wash and pouring himself a hot cup of coffee, Alexandre sat down with the rest of the camp to tell them of his early morning adventure. He was questioned and cross-examined by his family and friends until he felt dizzy. He was shouted at, cried over, reprimanded, kissed and congratulated.
Eventually, when all was forgiven and the enormity of the discovery had been realised, it was time to get excited and, in gleeful moods, everybody prepared for the exploration of the lost ancient underground city of the legends.
*
Tools and supplies were lowered into the shaft, followed by Alexandre, Papa, Maman, Harold and Victoria. Isik had insisted that he and two of his guards accompany them. This time they all carried lanterns, illuminating everything much more clearly. Alexandre proudly led the way towards the great hall he had encountered earlier.
‘Incredible,’ Papa said as he saw the great millstone that had been rolled aside. ‘I believe the hole in the centre could be a spy hole, or perhaps a rod went in there to roll the stone more easily. Tell us where you saw the steps to the lower level, Alexandre.’
‘There were many places with stairs leading down. I must have seen at least half a dozen sets of stairs. I know there are some in the corner of the great hall.’
‘Look!’ Victoria pointed to a large room off one of the tunnels. ‘Are t
hose stone troughs? Yes, look at those rock-built stalls. I do believe these were stables.’
They crowded into the room. Alexandre was amazed to see rough-hewn stables with columns. Victoria addressed everybody.
‘I have to say, this is the most exciting day of my career. I think we will be here for many, many months to come. It is an absolute treasure trove of history.’
As Alexandre led the others along the low-ceilinged corridors, he revelled in his new-found status of discoverer and leader. Their excited voices bounced off the rock walls, echoing strangely. Whispers were multiplied and exclamations of surprise reverberated in his ears. Here and there, ventilation shafts threw down narrow beams of light. Soon they reached the great hall and they stood in a rare moment of silence, staring around at the vast decorative space.
‘A barrel-vaulted ceiling!’ Harold exclaimed.
‘Frescoes!’ Papa said. ‘Come and look at these. They are depicting some kind of sacrificial scene. Quite incredible.’
‘Quite disturbing,’ added Maman.
‘Disturbing, but beautifully depicted,’ Victoria added. ‘They were artists.’
‘How old would you say this place is?’ Alexandre asked.
‘It is too early to tell,’ his father replied. ‘But my best guess, at this stage, is that we’re looking at over one thousand years old ... perhaps eighth century or maybe even older.’
Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) Page 15