Just ahead, this new passage ended in a short downward flight of steps, and the shattered remains of a wooden door. The door had been barred, but the timber was old and rotten; someone had kicked their way through the lower half of the door, the fractured pieces of which were scattered over the floor inside.
Holding the torch before me, I squatted down, ducked through the opening, crawled over the broken bits of timber, and found myself in a small vaulted room containing stacks of slowly mouldering papyrus scrolls tied in braided cords. Moving quickly on, I proceeded through the arched doorway at the end of the room and entered a much larger room, this one filled with ceremonial saddles, bridles, and other such tack for horses and camels-row upon row of high-backed saddles trimmed in silver and gold, some displayed on standards, some merely heaped on the floor. There were scores of lances, too, most with cloth pennons and flags attached to their blunted ends; and in one corner, I saw four chariots, resting on their axles, their painted wheels stacked and leaning against a pillar.
'We have found the treasure house, Wazim,' I said softly. 'Now to find the rood.'
I had expected to find a single, hall-like room filled with the caliph's wealth and riches-a great jumble of objects, boxes, and caskets filled with coin and plate, bowls and cups, rings and jewelled ornaments, and the like. It was instead a very house: room gave way to room, with connecting galleries and corridors, halls, chambers, and storerooms. We passed quickly through the first two chambers and came to a long, double-vaulted gallery with a central row of pillars and low doorways on either side.
Upon entering this gallery, the pounding sound-which had been absent for some time-commenced anew; this time the blows were sharper, harder, more measured. I suspected that either newer, fresher troops had been assigned to the duty, or better tools had been found -perhaps both. I did not know how long the iron-bound timber could withstand such battering, but reckoned that we had little time to make our discovery and escape. There were many rooms to explore, but only one torch, and that would not last long. So, without an instant's hesitation, we started the search-beginning with the nearest rooms.
The first two chambers contained jars of various kinds; as the dust on the floor revealed no recent footprints, I did not bother looking further than the doorway. The third room contained rugs, rolled up or tied in bundles; the fourth room was full of caskets of many sizes, and at first I thought I might find some of the treasure that had come to Cairo with me, but again, the dust had not been disturbed in a very long time, so we quickly moved on.
Meanwhile, the crashing on the wooden door grew steadily louder, the blows falling harder and more rapidly, as if those on the other side were becoming more determined. We had searched but four rooms, and twice that many remained. At the pace we were making, the torch would burn out before we finished-if the Templars did not break through first. 'There must be an easier way,' I grumbled, darting towards the doorway of the next room.
And then it came to me… the dust on the floors-of course!
Abandoning the search of the chambers at the end of the gallery, I made directly for the rooms nearest the entrance. Holding the torch low, I saw that the chamber on the right-hand side had not been recently used. I cautioned Wazim to silence, and moved quickly to the other side of the gallery, passing the door which was now shuddering under the violence of the attack; I could hear the wood splintering as the axes thudded, and the grunt of the men as they hewed at the solid timber.
At the doorway to the last room, I paused and held the torch to the floor-holding my breath at the same time. And I saw it: a trail in the dust of the chamber floor caused by the passing of many feet. 'This way,' I whispered. I stepped into the chamber, and my heart sank.
It was not a chamber at all, but another gallery, and larger than the one we had just searched. The torch was already flickering as it burned the last of its fuel, and from the sound of the shuddering door, the Templars would soon be through. There was nothing for it, but to go on and hope for the best.
Holding the torch low, I moved as quickly as I could, following the trail in the dust. Once inside the gallery, however, the trail quickly dissolved as footprints scattered everywhere across the floor. It seemed to me that most of them tended towards the rooms on the left-hand side of the long, double-vaulted room, so that is where we began.
The first chamber contained a quantity of small wooden caskets-many carved and inlaid with mother-of-pearl; a swift inspection revealed the boxes contained cups, bowls, and ornamental bells. 'Hold this,' I said, giving the torch to Wazim. And, taking up one of the caskets, I dumped out the cup and carried the empty box back out into the gallery where I smashed it against a pillar. The wood was old and dry, and splintered easily into pieces. I instructed Wazim to break up the pieces still further, and hurried back for another. I did this with three more of the boxes, then heaped the broken fragments against the base of the pillar and, using a wad of cloth from the inside of one of the caskets, set the heap on fire with the torch.
'Stay here and keep the fire going,' I instructed Wazim. Taking up the torch, I hurried on.
The second room contained earthenware jars filled with perfumed oil, and in the third rolls and bundles of cloth of gold, and silver, and multi-coloured, richly patterned Damascus cloth. I looked in three more-each with similar items, but there was nothing I recognized as having come from Amir Ghazi's hoard.
As I rushed on to the next rooms, a great crash sounded from the main gallery. The sound seemed to fill the treasure house, resounding and echoing through the underground corridors. This mighty clash was followed by a long silence, after which the pounding of the axes resumed in earnest.
I quickly completed the search of the last three rooms-one was little more than a narrow alcove and contained nothing but a few pottery jars and, high up on the end wall, a large, square vent covered by a partially open iron-work grate. The other two rooms were each filled with items of ceremonial armour: stacks of painted wooden shields, bundles of tasselled halberds, sheaves of curved swords standing upright in wooden barrels, helmets ranged around the walls and floor in ranks. Upon examining the last room, I dashed across and started in on the opposite side of the gallery.
Feeling the grip of desperation tightening around me, I prayed, 'Great King, if you care about the honour of your name, help me to restore it now.'
In truth, I do not know what I meant by this; the words came to me and I spoke them out. The reply was immediate-if from an unexpected source.
'Da'ounk!' Wazim Kadi shouted behind me. I turned to see the little Saracen standing beside the pillar, the fire at its base burning brightly in the gloom of the gallery. He was pointing across to a chamber on the other side of the entrance. 'Look!'
I glanced where he indicated and saw the glow of a torch as it passed from view into the chamber.
'Did you see who it was?' I called, already running for the doorway.
'It was a father,' he replied.
At least, that is what I thought he said; it did not make sense to me, but there was no time to ask questions. I sped to the chamber and looked in. It was a large room with several columns forming aisles, between several of the columns someone had heaped up mounds of objects. There was no sign of the torch-bearing man Wazim had seen. Was it a trick of the light? Had we imagined it? Then I saw the gold-trimmed box containing Bohemond's head, and all questions vanished. Having carried that grotesque trophy all the way from Kadiriq to Damascus, I would have recognized its gleaming tracery and metal-bound edges in my sleep.