Her eyes hardened. “I cannot believe that. If I did, then I would also have to believe that Rudi killed Ernst. I cannot accept it.”
“Maybe K’Ayub sent his sergeant off in the wrong direction,” Durell said. He stared at the sunlight on the slope above. “Maybe Rudi pushed on ahead of us.”
“Why should he do that?”
“To find Bergmann’s flags first. To radio the Chinese.”
“But that would be treasonous,” Alessa whispered.
“Exactly,” Durell said.
She left him abruptly, and thereafter walked beside Hans.
The wind whistled coldly across the bleak, rocky slopes. Now and then the snow blew in hard, icy particles that scratched their faces. The angle of ascent increased, and Hans reconnoitred the way ahead with care. Climbing ropes were the rule of the day, and their progress was slower than they had hoped. In the thin snow cover, Alessa found traces of the original encampment she made on her first expedition here. It was late afternoon when K’Ayub announced they would make camp for the night.
There was nothing special to be seen on the pinnacle of the North Peak. It looked desolate, separated from them by a deep valley that lifted in a series of steep ledges to a tumbled peak three miles away and two thousand feet higher. Because of the failing light, no details were discernible. Alessa stared through field glasses for long moments, then lowered them in disappointment.
“I see nothing unusual. Omar must have been lying.”
“Didn’t he say about looking for the spot in the morning light?”
She bit her lip. “There cannot be anything over there.”
Durell took her glasses and studied the tantalizing peak. It was empty, barren, savage—the end of the world. In the dark shadows that mantled the eastern slope, there were few details to be seen. But if Bergmann had planted pennants on his climbing wands to mark his discovery, surely they would show up against the thin crust of snow. But he saw nothing.
Then a small black spot moved, infinitely tiny, and vanished.
He was not sure he had seen it.
He watched the place for long moments.
Another spot. And a third.
Then they were all gone.
Three, he had counted. Not two, which might have meant Sarah and Rudi had gone ahead, but three. Perhaps more. He watched, but there was nothing else. The light changed the snow to dark purple as the sun went down behind the savage western peaks. The air grew colder at once. His fingers were numb from holding the glasses to his eyes.
He walked over to Colonel K’Ayub and mentioned what he had seen. K’Ayub was impassive. He ordered a double guard for the night.
No one slept much during the hours of darkness.
In the morning, with the sun full on the face of the North Peak, there were still no details to be seen except the natural ravages of erosion and avalanches. It was warmer, and much of the snow evaporated in the thin, dry air. No fires were permitted for breakfast.
K’Ayub consulted with Alessa and decided to wait for the changing light to verify, if possible, Omar’s story of a cave mouth being visible from where they stood. The hours dragged. Again and again, Durell scanned the ominous peak. He did not see any further movement there.
At noon precisely, they scanned the cliffs ahead for anything unusual. No one spoke. The light on the mountain brightened, faded, and brightened again. Several reddish streaks suddenly glowed as the sunlight played on the cliffs. There were only a few pale clouds in the sky. In the silence, they could hear the distant thunder of the wind, the rumble of a rock slide somewhere. The air vibrated with vast, primeval pressures.
“Oh,” Alessa whispered.
“What is it?”
“I think I saw it—wait a moment.”
She studied the mountain again, through her field glasses. Durell tried to spot the precise area she watched. The face of the cliff seemed sheer and solid up there. A wisp of cloud made a shadow cross the distant rock, melting all detail in the monolith. Then the sun shone brightly again.
He saw it at the same moment Alessa spoke again.
“Ernst spoke of a fault—a rock slide—that happened some years ago over there.”
“That dark streak?” Durell asked.
“Yes.” Alessa was taut with excitement. “See the shale at the bottom of the bank of rubble, like a col? Is it a split in the rock, or just a discoloration?”
Hans rumbled. “It will be difficult to approach, Alessa.”
“But we must try!” she cried.
Another minute went by. Then it was certain. The old slide had exposed a natural fissure, a giant chimney fault that seemed to go far back into the face of the huge ledge. From this distance and perspective, it was possible to spot it only when the sun struck it at this angle. Even as they watched, the light changed and the face of the cliff flowed together to hide the dark fissure that had been evident a moment ago.
Hans had taken a compass bearing on it.
“Let us go. It will be a hard climb, to reach it before dark.”
Alessa’s eyes shone. “Oh, if the crown of Alexander is hidden somewhere over there!”
Durell wondered. He was sure something waited for them on that distant peak. He thought of the tiny dark movements he had seen the evening before. What they might find on S-5 might not be pleasant.
The light snow had evaporated from the path they had to take. The descent into the valley between the two summits was tricky, the upward climb over the series of huge ledges exhausting. Now there was nothing to be seen in the face of the cliff. It loomed in shadow, the sun hidden behind the soaring mountaintop above.
Twice, K’Ayub halted for radio transmissions with other Pakistan frontier posts. The second time, he packed the gear grimly.
“No answer from Junnam,” he said.
“Is that the post that reported Chinese troop movements?” Durell asked.
“Yes. We should hurry.”
In the end, their goal was suddenly visible and easily accessible. A rock slide had to be climbed, scaled by Hans first, who belayed ropes for the others to ascend after him in rapid order. At the top was a small plateau slanting up to the tumble of debris at the base , of the next giant ledge.
A high, narrow fissure led in from the shale that had poured down the face of the mountain, and something red fluttered feebly in the wind at the opening.
“It is one of Ernst’s flags!” Alessa called.
She started to run forward, scrambling up the shallow slope, only to be halted by a sharp command from Colonel K’Ayub. The Pakistani was wary of a trap, although nothing was in sight. He sent two armed men forward to scram-Ble up the crumbly gneiss to the opening in the rock wall, while the others waited. The minutes seemed interminable. Then, for what seemed an even longer time, the two troopers vanished into the narrow cleft above.
They came out moving backward, facing the dark fissure.
K’Ayub called up to them. One man turned, and his voice was small against the vast mountainside. He signalled for the rest to come up.
Alessa, Durell and Hans were among the first to reach the narrow opening. The troopers, burdened with equipment, were a little slower. The two scouts still stood and stared into the darkness between the rock.
“It is a cave, Durell sahib,” one of them said. “The Cave of a Thousand Skulls.”
“Did you go in?” he asked sharply.
“Only a few steps. It is an unholy place. Aza had a flashlight, but he dropped it. It is not a fit place for decent men.”
K’Ayub arrived and called for electric torches from the packs carried by his men. The first two troopers were reluctant to enter the fissure again. Alessa picked up Bergmann’s wand and the little scrap of red flag attached to it. The wind had shredded the bit of cloth in the month since it had been driven with its pole into the ground.
“We are the first here,” Alessa exulted. “Otherwise, would an enemy have left this to guide us? Bergmann said he left three flags and a cairn
to mark the ore deposit. Can it be the ore is in the cave, with the crown itself?”
“Bergmann never mentioned finding the crown, did he?” Durell asked.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Would he have kept such information to himself, Alessa?”
She looked crestfallen, frowning. “No. But Uncle Ernst was not interested in anything but geological formations.”
The lanterns had been brought up. Durell, Hans and Alessa went inside, with K’Ayub a step behind. Almost immediately, within the fissure, the light grew dim. High overhead, three or four hundred feet up, the narrow crack of rock showed the afternoon sky, like a jagged tongue of brightness above them, shining on the next shelf higher up. The fissure narrowed rapidly for the first fifty steps, then formed a sharp left turn. Rubble slid out underfoot, and each step had to be chosen with care. A second ragged red flag on a thin willow wand, in better condition than the first, marked the turn.
The scrap of blue sky vanished from overhead. The fissure was becoming a cave, widening at the bottom, with the rock walls leaning toward each other at the top and lowering to form a cavern ceiling. The battery lanterns were necessary now. A few more steps, and the third flag and the cairn, as Alessa promised, was found.
A small tin box was atop the cairn. K’Ayub went up to it, drew a deep breath, and at a nod from Alessa, opened it. It had not been locked. Inside were folded papers, a notebook, a few rock samples. The writing was in German, and the colonel turned it over to Durell. The notes confirmed the finding of nickel deposits and promised a variety of other mineral finds in the area.
It was what K’Ayub had come here for.
“We have found the place,” K’Ayub said heavily.
“It looks like it,” Durell said.
“There is no need to go farther, then.” The colonel showed some uneasiness at being in here. The air held the chill of centuries where the sun never penetrated. Durell saw Alessa shiver, and Hans, beside her, lifted his arm as if to hold her; but the big man checked the solicitous move.
K’Ayub went on, “we must get out a radio signal that our search has been successful. We cannot doubt Bergmann’s notes or the validity of his ore samples, or that this is the place he took them from. Karachi will send up a team of geologists and an armed escort and engineers. It will be a great help to my country, to have a mining development here.” He looked at the black walls closing them in. “The radio will not work in this place. Let us go back, outside.”
“Wait,” Durell said. He was watching Alessa. “Like you, Bergmann turned back at this point. Let’s look farther inside.”
“Why?”
“Miss von Buhlen should be satisfied about the legend of Alexander the Great, and Xenos’ disappearance on this mountain with his thousand men.”
“I do not believe such legends,” K’Ayub said shortly. “We are wasting time.”
“It will take only a few minutes,” Alessa pleaded. “Otherwise, Hans and I will go in alone.”
K’Ayub looked angry, then shrugged. “Very well.”
The cliff walls that joined overhead now came down at a swift slant, lowering the ceiling of the cave above them. It was obvious that rubble had fallen in within recent times. Perhaps the fissure had been wide open in past centuries, and then a quake or rock slide had closed it as the mountain settled to a new adjustment. Then, within the past decade or two, a new avalanche or tremor had opened the chimney once more to the outside world.
Durell took a lantern from a trooper and probed ahead. The darkness was as cold and silent as eternity. They went on for a hundred feet. The ceiling of rock sometimes forced them to stoop. The darkness seemed to suck the light from the powerful lanterns and gave them little more power than a flickering candle. Durell wondered if it was wise to go on. K’Ayub was right in worrying about the need for haste. The sooner they returned to the open and got their radio message out, the better their chances for a safe return. One part of his mission was accomplished. But there was still Sarah Standish to think of. She must have gone willingly with Rudi, or there would have been an alarm. But what had Rudi promised, to get her away from the others? Was she a prisoner somewhere—a hostage in Mirandhabad, with all the diplomatic complications such a situation would mean? Or was she even alive at this moment?
He did not know. He felt K’Ayub’s impatience—and then Alessa, who had pushed ahead of the others, gave a small, choked scream.
Her torchlight had dissolved into a massed whiteness far back in the recesses of the cavern. Durell added his light to hers. A hush fell over everyone.
The centuries when the rock chimney had been closed had preserved the scene untouched since the days of Xeno’s ancient disaster. No man could ever know the truth, Durell thought grimly. Had the savage hillmen of ancient tribes drawn the Macedonian and his thousand hoplites into this trap, leaving them to die of starvation, thirst, and wounds? The cavern floor was littered with the bones and skulls and ancient armor of men. As far as their light reached, the whiteness of grinning skulls and ribs and femurs gleamed, mocking them from two thousand years in the past.
It was like stumbling into an ancient charnel house, seeing the massed, tumbled skeletons of what had once been proud fighting men of ancient Macedonia. A few dusty helmets and bucklers of bronze still remained; the wood had rotted from the spears, leaving only the bronze blades; the swords and daggers still shone, melted into the tumbled bones, with here and there a helmet with proud horsehair plume in fragile outline, ready to dissolve into gossamer dust at a breath, a touch.
No one spoke.
Then one of K’Ayub’s troopers murmured in superstitious terror. The colonel spoke sharply, and the man subsided. Something collapsed in the vast heap of bones ahead of them, rustling gently.
“The Cave of a Thousand Skulls,” Durell said quietly.
“It is Xenos and his men,” Alessa whispered. Her face was pale. “The fable was true. I really didn’t—didn’t dare believe—”
Durell felt a deep wonder at these relics of ancient men, at this dust that remained from the proud conquests that shook the old world and left Alexander’s name stamped for all time on all the far comers of the world.
“And the crown?” Durell asked. “Do you think it’s here?”
“I must see,” Alessa whispered.
She went forward, picking her way delicately among the bones and skulls that grinned at her, some with rakish helmets tilted over an eyesocket, some in contorted writhings that indicated a painful death. More than one had a sword thrust through the ribcage, indicating how they had chosen to die quickly by falling on their weapons rather than linger on. The cave was vast, echoing. Every whisper was answered from the dry vaulted ceiling.
Durell and Hans started after Alessa. K’Ayub and his men chose to wait. The cave narrowed and then opened into a kind of inner chamber. Here were helmeted, armored relics that indicated the officers, the last survivors. And there was one skeleton alone, propped against a far wall, grinning foolishly to belie the tales of noble strength and endurance that had come down through the dusty corridors of time.
Alessa ran to these last remains and knelt to pick up something from among the white bones. She turned her face to Durell, and he saw the shattered blindness of tears in her eyes.
“The crown,” she whispered. “Here. Here it is.”
The centuries had tarnished the thin band of gold. It looked dented, fragile, a poor relic to represent ancient splendors. Alessa’s trembling fingers pointed out the gem sockets.
“The jewels are gone. They must have been stolen from here long, long ago,” she whispered.
Her disappointment was crushing. Years of hope and research might be capped with academic honors, if they escaped here alive, Durell thought. But Alessa had been after the crown for its own value, too, and the jewels that represented wealth even in the twentieth century.
Her mouth arched with bitter disillusionment. The tears slid down her face. “I so much hoped—to go home an
d restore my family’s position—to end our wretched poverty—”
She stood up slowly, the thin, relatively valueless circlet dangling from her gloved hand. She looked at Durell, took a step toward him, and then Hans murmured in German and with a sob, she suddenly flung herself into the big man’s arms.
At the same moment, the sudden rattle of automatic rifle fire, like the chattering of a mocking idiot, echoed in shock waves through the darkness of the cave.
chapter fifteen
K’AYUB shouted, his voice enormous in the hollow cavern. Another burst of fire spattered the darkness with shrieks and whines. The pickets stationed at the cave opening, two hundred feet outward, answered with a few erratic shots. Everyone turned, running toward the entrance.
Durell was with the colonel as they turned the last corner and saw the fading evening light through the high walls of rock. Two of the troopers sprawled on the shale outside the entrance. A grenade exploded somewhere out of sight. Another burst in their path, and K’Ayub and Durell threw themselves flat as splinters shrieked overhead. One of the troopers behind them groaned and fell, holding his face. A third grenade burst outside.
Then there was abrupt silence.
Somewhere beyond the fissure opening a man screamed in the thin air. A single shot punctuated the sound. The scream ended.
Durell lifted his head. They were just inside the place where the leaning rock walls parted to admit a faint streak of waning daylight into the bottom of the crevasse. A hundred feet ahead was the opening where Bergmann’s tattered flag fluttered in the cold wind. There was nothing to see beyond except the darkening sky, a jagged segment of far mountains, and the emptiness of the bitterly cold air between.
He tried to guess where the enemy could be. On either side of the opening, he supposed, covering their escape with automatic rifles and grenades. The pickets had been wiped out with the first bursts of fire. All their gear, food and water, had been left outside. The ambush had been sprung with deadly precision. They were hopelessly trapped.
K’Ayub looked pale. Durell turned his head toward him.
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