by Nat Edwards
‘There, we have done the introductions – now, you shall taste this very fine Madeira and torture me no longer by keeping me from it with your incessant prattle.’ At which, he lifted his own glass and took a long, thirsty draught. Layard dutifully sipped his glass, savouring the sweet, luxurious taste and taking the opportunity to survey his uncle.
William Layard was an imposing figure. He was as tall as young Henry, to which he added a girth that seemed to almost match his height, inch for inch. His hair, neck and cravat were all red; as was his nose and a number of blood vessels that appeared to have randomly burst across his features. This internal map of the bon viveur was sister to a similar, external map of his gastronomic adventures, spread across the globe of his body. His eyes, which, regardless of his bodily preoccupations, never left their study of his nephew, twinkled with mischief. His clothes, though well-made, were old and faded, with antique stains of dubious parentage. He had a faint scar, running from the corner of his right eye to the line of his jaw, which only became visible when his face flushed in mirth, or else to splutter on an over-hasty gulp of wine. Although adipose to the point of apparent incapacity, those movements he did make seemed to possess a balletic and almost feminine grace. Layard mentally noted that he had never before seen a decanter and glass handled so adroitly, not even by the most experienced Parisian sommelier, so that not a single drop was spilled nor wasted. William Layard seemed in fact to his nephew to be a complete opposite of his other uncle, the dry, particular Benjamin Austen. While one offered a lifetime of service to the dispassionate law, the other promised a lifetime of life. William Layard seemed to delight in every word he spoke, playing with each sentence the way a cat plays with a mouse.
‘I have to apologise for entertaining you in this dungeon, dear boy,’ continued his uncle, mopping at the corner of his mouth with a red silk handkerchief. ‘The other rooms are far more comfortable, but I felt the need for intimacy, since this is such an important family reunion. Besides,’ he added, pouring himself another glass and topping up Layard’s barely sipped one, ‘I have some reason for staying below the notice of certain individuals. I find it such a bore to complicate one set of business with another.
‘Now,’ he continued, ‘dear Sara writes exceedingly well of you’ he made a small sound like a sigh and flicked at his jacket sleeve, as if removing an imaginary crumb, ‘and I believe that others have spoken well of you, too. Mr Disraeli, Sir John and Mr Murray concur at the very least that you are not an imbecile and Canning has a faint notion that you may find some sort of useful purpose in life.’
Layard opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by his uncle.
‘More Madeira? Good. Never could stand modesty.
‘As I was saying, there are some of the less discerning among London society who consider you to be not beyond redemption. So, entertaining the fantasy that you may have some interesting qualities, I decided after all these years to make your acquaintance. But what do I find? You are articled to that pinnacle of tedium, Benjamin Austen.’
‘Mr Austen has been good to me –‘
‘I don’t doubt it, dear boy. Good is about the only thing Austen ever does, and then in the most unimaginative way possible. However, I suspect that it is due to Sara you get any consideration at all. No, no, no. If Mr Austen has his way, you shall end your days under a layer of dust and wig powder in the corner of some crumbling inn of court. That is not for you, boy. Not for a Layard. London is not for you.’
‘London?’
His uncle leant forward, his bulk looming ominously over the table, which looked very frail by comparison.
‘Do you like tea, dear boy?’
‘Tea?’ Layard looked around, half expecting to see a tea service appear.
‘Tea,’ William Layard repeated. ‘Never touch it myself, but I believe some find it favourable.
‘The thing about tea, dear boy,’ continued his uncle, pronouncing each word with an exaggerated emphasis as if he was reciting a nursery rhyme, ‘is it grows in the East and the East is the place to be.’ His uncle leaned back in his chair and crossed his large pudgy hands under his chin, while beaming angelically across at his nephew.
‘For the last twenty years, the world has been shrinking, dear boy. We have made Europe our playground and penetrated the very frozen wastes of the Poles. We are taming America, Africa and the Antipodes and driving adventures into hiding. But in the East, there is a great game afoot. The East has always drawn Layards and it is in the East that Layard talents can blossom.
‘That is why, dear boy, if you must insist on following the law, then it must be in the East – and not as some petty solicitor, but as a barrister.’
‘I am not sure that I am yet qualified to consider the Bar, uncle.’
‘That may be so, dear boy, which is the reason why I have taken it upon myself to arrange your appointment. There is a position waiting for you as a barrister in Ceylon.’ His uncle paused and gazed archly at his nephew, who was quite speechless.
‘No need to thank me, dear boy. I had to do something to get you out of the clutches of Austen. Besides,’ Layard fancied that his uncle blushed ever so slightly, ‘I felt some obligation to Sara to do right by you.
‘There is a young man named Mitford who is also travelling to the East and in whom the Society has also recognised some faint worth. I suggest that you take the opportunity to travel overland together rather than by sea as this will give you the occasion to exorcise some of your more adolescent notions of adventure. While you are at it, there may be one or two small services that you might do to the Society; maps that need updating, relics that might bear investigation – that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t know what to say uncle. Of course I would be-‘
‘Well, that is settled, then. The Society will arrange a passport for you with Palmerston and will let you know what small things they may wish you to survey on your travels. In the meantime, I suggest you learn Arabic and Persian.’ He suddenly sprang to his feet with an agility belying his size. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a stained and crumpled sheet of paper, which he thrust into Layard’s hand.
‘Here, I almost forgot. Sir Charles Fellows has thoughtfully made a list of the equipment that you might purchase to make the best use of your time while travelling.’
Layard read aloud from the list.
‘A pocket sextant, a prismatic compass, a telescope, an artificial horizon, a set of thermometers, an aneroid barometer and a silver watch.’
‘Silver,’ repeated his uncle, ‘and paint it black, just for good measure.’ He tripped towards the door and opened it with a flourish, indicating that it was time for their appointment to end.
‘Oh yes,’ said his uncle, as Layard walked past him, through the open door. ‘Best get yourself a gun too. A big one.’
* * *
‘Effendi!’
Antonio’s voice broke Layard’s reverie. He looked up, to see that the three goats had finished their grazing on the olive tree and were now standing a few yards away, staring curiously at him. He looked around for his dragoman.
‘Effendi, the bastinado is over. All the visitors have left the house. The Colonel wishes to see you at his pleasure.’
Layard swung his legs over the edge of the rock and jumped lightly to his feet. A few yards down the path that led from the town, stood Antonio, carrying a skin of water. Across the valley, the shadows were lengthening.
CHAPTER 2
IN THE LATE AFTERNOON LIGHT, THE CAMELS CAST LONG, GROTESQUE SHADOWS across the barren, twisted landscape that stretched out before the travellers. Despite their complete lack of vegetation, the hills and ravines writhed in an orgy of wild colours. Deep reds, violent oranges, soft ochre and infinite variations of blues and purples vied with each other in the impossibly intertwined and contorted body of the earth.
It was, thought Layard, a savage desolation – a riot of the most varied and fantastic shapes as far as the eye could see – caught in
the middle of some violent and cataclysmic act, as if the waves of a storm-tossed ocean had been suddenly frozen at their most extreme point of chaos. Each pinnacle and peak appeared so unique and so striking as to have been the result of some conscious and omnipotent hand. At the same time each appeared to be so utterly tortured and desperate that to imagine the mind behind that hand was terrifying beyond comprehension. Pausing at the summit of a high pass and gazing out on the immense and fearsome hills that surrounded him, Layard fancied that he had never been closer, nor more absolutely remote from the terrible intelligence of creation.
To the north, a faint line of gold in the dying light marked the distant Dead Sea. Below, surrounded by the inhospitable expanse of the Wadi Ghor were the gateway to the Valley of Moses and the trail to Petra. Layard turned from his meditation to the two Arab tribesmen that the colonel had procured him and told them to begin preparing a camp.
‘It is not safe, Effendi, we must move down into the Wadi. There are too many robbers in these hills.’
Layard sighed. The ascent had been hard and thirsty work and he was convinced that the hills held rock tombs that bore investigation. Still his guides, Awad and Musa were local tribesmen who knew the land well and they had already encountered one armed band of Bedouins who had shown more than casual interest in their business. Reluctantly, he nodded assent.
‘Very well. We will move on but I want to make camp before the night falls.’
Awad gestured to a distant rocky crag that protruded above the trail at the foot of the hills. ‘There, Effendi. We can make a safe camp there.’
Layard turned back to the camels, which they had hired in Hebron to replace their exhausted mules. Wrinkling his nose at their pungent and now unwelcomely familiar smell, he helped Antonio to check and resecure their precious equipment. His mental listing of the apparatus was now almost automatic – as much a part of the routines and reflexes of daily life as eating or breathing. Everything was present, secure and whole. Reassured that his last remnant of connection with civilisation and the distant memory of London remained intact, he began the slow descent into the great valley below. As his aching muscles protested against the constant jarring of feet sliding on loose rubble or knees and ankles turned by hidden fissures, Layard felt a nostalgia for the town of Hebron. Among this desolation, he began to fancy Hebron’s few scrubby fruit trees and vineyards a sylvan paradise and its stinking, tumbledown streets a metropolis.
A crackle of thunder echoed across the hilltops. Musa, the second guide, turned to survey the sky.
‘Effendi. We must hurry if we want to pitch camp before dark.’
Layard scanned the jagged horizon of the peaks. There were no clouds to be seen.
In Hebron, Colonel Yusuf was sitting in the evening shade, enjoying a water pipe. Beside him sat a European. This Frank was shorter of stature than Layard and a number of years older, yet had, fancied the colonel, a similar bearing and aura of relentless determination. In the older man, perhaps, he sensed less recklessness; or else age had tempered it with the circumspection of a diplomat. From the morning’s evidence, the man certainly had greater stomach for the more visceral aspects of the Colonel’s work than had Layard – or else he was better at disguising his distaste. The two tall Lur tribesmen who kept a constant, silent vigil at the man’s shoulder had certainly appeared to show no misgivings about the Colonel’s methods and, he had carefully observed, watched all of the proceedings with the air of approving professionals.
He exhaled a long ribbon of fragrant blue smoke and continued, ‘as I was saying, I persuaded a sheikh of the Kalikat tribe to furnish your young friend with two camels and guides for his journey to Petra.
‘It was not easy. There has been much unrest and in-fighting between the desert tribes since the uprising and talk has been growing of – something worse. Caravans from the east are bringing stories of a plague spreading through the Holy Lands. Crops and livestock are dying and there is talk of war once more along the Persian borders. Against the rumours and superstitions of the desert savages, our authority is growing more tenuous by the day. Hence the occasion of a more frequent and emphatic use of administrative correction.’
‘Ah, yes. I saw how effectively you employed your administrative expertise this morning, Yusuf Effendi,’ replied the European. He drew on his own water pipe deeply and blew a series of perfect rings that floated up into the still evening air of the courtyard, expanding and changing from blue to black as they were silhouetted against the orange dusk.
The Colonel slightly inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment and continued, ‘I am afraid that Mr Layard found passage expensive. The town of Kerak is in more or less open revolt and the road to Petra is beset by marauding Bedouins. The sheikh who eventually provided camels and an escort only did so at an inflated cost and only then after a fairly concentrated negotiation.’ The Colonel raised an eyebrow and looked directly at the other seated man, his eyes glinting mischievously.
‘His brother remains a guest of mine.’
‘Your efforts on my countryman’s behalf are most appreciated, Colonel. He does not yet know it, but the object of his mission could well lead to a significant change for the better in the stability of the region. It is the duty of enlightened men such as we to help him on his way.
‘Speaking of duty, what has become of poor Elias? He has not, I trust, been subject to the more robust aspects of your administration?’
‘Elias is fine,’ the Colonel smiled. ‘He shares our finest cell with the sheikh’s brother and has even been allowed to keep his infidel books. He will be released in a month or two.’
‘Not sooner? After all, he has served his purpose.’
‘Alas no. For appearance’s sake, he must serve some sort of sentence.’ The Colonel shrugged with the universal, studied helplessness of the bureaucrat.
‘Ah, but of course,’ nodded the European politely. ‘For appearance’s sake - I understand. Still, the Society will recompense him for his inconvenience. I trust that you will be able to help us expedite the arrangements?’
‘But of course,’ smiled Yusuf Effendi, leaning back and taking a long, luxurious draw on his water pipe.
In the courtyard, the night air was heavy with the smell of tobacco, cardamon and roses. Above, in the darkening sky, a single bright star was visible. To the east, a nightbird let out a single, mournful note. The Colonel blew out a languorous column of smoke, watching it rise in a dance of swirling shapes into the night. He sat in silence for a minute, contemplating the star.
‘Let us withdraw to the house. It is beginning to get cold.’
* * *
With the assistance of the Colonel, Layard had haggled the cost of camels and guides for his trip across the desert to two thousand piastres – or about twenty pounds. The price was steep but, after several days in Hebron, he could find none willing to go cheaper and had reluctantly concluded the deal in the black tents of Sheikh Abu Dhaouk, camped a day’s journey from Hebron in view of the shore of the Dead Sea. His discontent at parting with so much of his dwindling money was only surpassed by that which he felt at his first attempt at camel riding. Having, with Antonio’s assistance, secured his equipment and pack to a camel, along with a rolled carpet for camping along the way, Layard succeeded in mounting the beast, after several false starts. Unused to the disconcerting, swaying motion of the camel, Layard soon began to feel both saddle-sore and seasick. As the camel descended a steep hill and his stomach began to churn unbearably, Layard pulled on its halter to slow it to a gentler pace. Rather than respond to his commands, the camel simply turned its neck to fix Layard with a large, brown and spiteful looking eye, while doubling its pace to a run. With a mixture of clatters and thuds, first Layard’s carpet, then his pack and then each piece of equipment slid tumbling from the camel’s back, to be followed, in a sprawl of arms and legs by Layard himself.
Winded, though unhurt and secretly relieved to be dismounted from his malodorous and apparently
homicidal transport, a dust-covered Layard sat at the head of a parade of scattered encumbrances and watched the remaining members of the party chase his ill-natured mount for half a mile into the vanishing haze of the desert. His feelings were mixed when, twenty minutes later, they returned with his re-captured yet unrepentant animal.
A day and night of uncomfortable but uneventful travel by camel followed, heading south from the Dead Sea, through a series of deep, stony ravines. Until the morning of the second day, Layard had begun to believe that the wasteland through which they laboured was utterly devoid of life. Then, just as the sun had risen high enough to begin to dissolve the horizon into shimmering blur, a cloud of dust appeared out of the haze. The dust cloud grew bigger and more defined. Within it, dark forms could now be seen, rapidly approaching. Soon, Layard could hear the drumming of horses’ hoofs. He could now make out a group of a dozen mounted Bedouins, carrying long, plumed spears. The sharp points of the spears flashed in the morning sun as the riders drew nearer, moving effortlessly across the hard baked earth. Layard felt his pulse quicken and an involuntary rush of excitement tightened the muscles around his mouth, curling his lip into something between a sneer and a wild grin. With a sharp command to Musa, Awad took up a position to the party’s left, levelling his long gun at the approaching riders. Musa took up a similar position to the right, a little higher and away from the group to allow a wider area of covering fire. Layard slipped from the rear of his camel, slipping his double barrelled gun free of its sling and taking a position by a large rock, to the right and rear of Awad, blocking the riders’ access to the camels and their equipment. With a whispered prayer, Antonio grabbed the camels’ reins and dragged them back into the shelter of the steep-walled gulley.
Seeing the travellers’ guns and the defensible position that they had taken, the riders slowed their horses a trot as they neared and reined them to a halt, a few yards from Awad. One of the Bedouins ushered his mount a few steps towards Awad and demanded to know why the travellers were pointing their guns at his companions as they were simple desert tribesmen who meant the travellers no harm. He dismounted and carefully laid his spear to one side, to emphasize his avowed peaceful intent. Awad dipped the barrel of his gun to the earth and stepped forward to negotiate with the man, who appeared to be the leader of the group. Meanwhile, Musa and Layard kept the party covered. Stealing a glance back to the camels and their precious equipment, Layard saw Antonio, half crouched behind a camel, peering around the side of its pack with wide eyes and an ear cocked to follow the conversation between Awad and the leader that was now in full, lively flow.