‘What makes you think that they will attempt their escape this evening?’ Diaz had asked.
‘Because there is no moon, and because tomorrow is the feast day of one of the local marabouts or holy men so the Muslim guards will be preparing their celebrations.’
‘What happens if a whole gang of prisoners swarms down the ropes? There are not enough of us to deal with all of them.’ It was Diaz’s cavalry friend Roberto who spoke. He was checking over the pair of pistols that Hector had provided, weapons Hector had borrowed from the Arsenal without consulting Sean Allen.
‘There should be only three men, perhaps four,’ Hector had reassured the Spaniard. ‘In the letter they have received, they have been told that the guide refuses to take more than three men at a time because a large group would be too noticeable as it made its way across country.’
‘Let’s hope the Frenchmen heed that advice,’ the Spaniard had grunted. ‘I don’t fancy facing a whole lot of them with just a pistol in my hand and no back-up.’
‘Try not to harm any of them,’ Hector had reminded him. ‘We want to take them alive.’
As the hours of darkness had dragged past, Hector was becoming aware of a flaw in his plan. He had failed to take into account the incessant howling and barking of the city’s population of dogs. As one pack of dogs fell silent, another group started up, filling the night with their clamour of useless noise and evoking a counter chorus which slowly faded away, only for some lone animal to howl plaintively and start the whole process over again. The racket made it impossible to hear the sounds of anyone who might be scrambling down the wall across the ditch from him, and the face of the wall was so obscured in the gloom that his eyes played tricks on him. Several times he had imagined a shadowy movement, only to be disappointed when, after a long interval, all remained dark and still.
Beside him Dan seemed impervious to the long wait. The Miskito was squatting on his heels, not moving. Hector, by contrast, was obliged to shift his legs from one position to another whenever he felt the first warning twinge of cramp. And as the wait grew longer, Hector grew more and more fretful. He had expected something to have happened by now. He wondered if Piecourt and the others had become suspicious of the note they had received, or if they had decided it would be better to wait for the Franciscans to arrange their ransom. He looked up at the stars, trying to calculate how long he and his companions had been lying in ambush. It was a clear night with only a few shreds of high thin clouds, and he could easily identify the constellations he had studied on the star globe in Turgut Reis’s library. It seemed so long ago that he and Dan had been held in the Algiers bagnio and discussed the possibility of their own escape. Now he was trying to prevent the escape of others. Everything seemed to have assumed a different shape. Back in Algiers he had told himself that he must survive the bagnio so that he would be free to track down his sister Elizabeth. Yet he had always known such an ambition was a fantasy. Now, however, he found that he was allowing himself to believe genuinely that he might locate her. He struggled to justify the reason for this new hope. Partly it was because he knew from Sean Allen that Hakim Reis’s ship might put into port one day, and he would have the chance to interview her captain. Yet there was something else which was making him more optimistic: he sensed that at last he was gaining control of his own fate, albeit slowly, and that he was no longer at the mercy of others.
A light touch on his hand interrupted his thoughts. It was Dan. The Miskito had not moved for so long that Hector had almost forgotten his presence. Now Dan was pointing upward. Hector looked towards the top of the rampart. For a second he glimpsed a shape, the outline of a man’s head, dark against the starry sky. The town dogs had renewed their howling, so he could hear nothing except their uproar. He kept absolutely still, gazing up towards the parapet. Time passed, and he wondered if he had been mistaken. Then Dan tapped him again on the hand twice, then once more. A moment later Hector could make out two heads against the sky and, almost immediately the head and shoulders of a third man who was leaning out, looking downwards cautiously. Hector felt for the loaded pistol that he had placed beside him, slid his fingers around the butt of the weapon, and waited.
There was a faint sound, so close now that he heard it over the distant crying of the dogs, a gentle slap. Hector guessed that it must be the sound of a rope’s end knocking against the wall as it dropped from above. He strained his eyes, trying to see the rope, but the outer face of the wall was in shadow from the starlight and he could see nothing. Looking upward he again detected movement, and this time he was certain. There was the dark outline of someone clambering out over the edge of the wall. The man, whoever it was, was starting his descent. Hector calculated that he would reach the ground about ten yards to the right of where he and Dan lay in wait. Still he did not move.
The figure passed into shadow and disappeared. Hector found that he was gripping the butt of the pistol so tightly that his fingers were numb. Gently he relaxed his grip. He no longer smelled the stench of the ditch. All his senses were concentrated on trying to gauge just how far down the rope the man had come, and to identify the spot where he would touch the ground. No more than half a minute later he heard a noise which he supposed was the sound of someone setting his feet carefully on the edge of the ditch. The base of the wall was so deep in shadow that Hector imagined, rather than saw, the dark shape of a man now standing and waiting there.
A scrabbling sound, and Hector realised that he had missed the start of the descent of a second man. He was already halfway down the rope and descending more swiftly than the first. The second man reached the ground even as Hector was coming to realise that he might have miscalculated badly, and had placed Diaz and his Spanish friend too far away to have noticed what was happening. He feared that they were too distant to help once the trap was sprung. Momentarily Hector dithered, his mind whirling. He did not know if he should act as soon as the next man reached the ground – he was now halfway down the wall – or wait to see if there were other escapees, more than the original three. He feared that if he delayed too long, those who were already on the ground would cross the ditch and escape into the darkness. And if they included the Chevalier, he might never be recaptured.
Hector came to a decision. He rose to his feet and called out, ‘Stand where you are or you will be shot.’ Hastily he climbed up the slope of the ditch, and ran to the point where he faced directly across to the three men. Dan was at his heels. The three fugitives remained in the deep black shadow at the foot of the wall and it was impossible to make them out distinctly. He hoped that there was enough starlight for them to see that he and Dan both held pistols.
There was silence from across the ditch.
‘Now come across towards me, one by one,’ Hector ordered.
The first shadow moved, stepped out into the starlight. Immediately Hector knew it was Yakup, the rowing master. The man’s squat shape was unmistakable as he made his way down into the ditch, slipping slightly, then squelched his way across and clambered up until he stood in front of the young Irishman. Yakup exuded such a sense of raw physical power that a prickle of fear ran up Hector’s spine, and he retreated a pace. ‘Come no closer! Step over there and lie face down on the ground,’ he ordered, motioning with his pistol. He heard movement over to his right, thankfully Diaz and the Spanish cavalryman were coming to his aid.