The Sergeant, twenty yards away to Roger's left, was yelling: 'Up you go, lads! Get after the swine! No quarter! Give it 'em in the kidneys as they run. Come on now! ' He was already out on the parapet and the men on either side were scrambling up over it.
Swiftly, Roger took advantage of the fact that the light was not sufficient for his actions to be seen from any distance. Falling on his knees, he pulled Zanthe down and said, ' Lie on your stomach with an arm twisted behind you. We must sham dead, or the Sergeant will force us to take part in the fighting.'
As she obeyed him, he thrust a hand on to the wound of the nearest dead Muslim, smeared blood from it over his own face and threw himself on his back across Zanthe's legs. He had acted none too soon. The Sergeant was striding along the parapet of the trench, routing out laggards with a spate of curses. But after one glance at Roger's bloody face and the tangle of bodies about him he passed on.
Having given him time to get well away, Roger got to his feet, jumped up on the fire-step and peered about him. It was getting a little lighter, the stars were paling in the east and dawn could not be far off, but he still could not see very far because the smoke from the muskets now helped to limit the field of vision. As far as he could make out, the Muslims had rallied on the crest of what remained of the wall and a fierce conflict was taking place there.
So far, during the loilg night, he had been buoyed up by the need for being constantly on the alert and the knowledge that, one after the other, he was surmounting the perils that beset him. But now he was suddenly seized with fears and forebodings. They had escaped from Djezzar's palace, come through the city unchallenged, overcome the one sentry who had endangered their flight, secured uniforms which would protect them from being shot on sight by the French and succeeded in reaching the French lines. But now fortune seemed to have deserted them. They had become caught up in the midst of a battle and he could see no way of getting them out of it.
The Unholy Land
Roger was in a terrible quandary. Now that a battle had begun it seemed certain that both sides would throw in reinforcements and the struggle in that sector would continue for many hours. If he and Zanthe continued to sham dead and within a short time the Muslims re-took the trench they would, as was their custom, slaughter any wounded and mutilate any dead they found there. If the Muslims were held at bay French stretcher-bearers would make their appearance. Having collected the wounded they would, as they invariably did, search the dead for any items of value they might have on them. When they found him and Zanthe apparently unconscious, but still alive, they would revive them and force them to go forward to join in the fighting. Worse, should an officer be present he would arrest them and give them short shrift as cowardly malingerers. Even should they escape such calamitous attentions they could not possibly remain there shamming dead all day. Heat, thirst, the' stench and the myriads of flies that would be attracted by the wounds of the dead would force them into making a move in one direction or the other. But which?
If they went forward they could not escape becoming involved in the fighting. Against the fanatical Muslims Roger knew he would have all his work cut out to defend himself. It would be almost impossible to protect Zanthe at the same time, and the thought of her being cut down or having a pike thrust through her body was unbearable. Yet if they made for the rear that held the worst risk of all. They could not possibly get far without meeting other troops. As they were unwounded it would at once be assumed that they had turned tail and run. In Bonaparte's
Army there was only one penalty for deserting one's comrades when in action: it was to be shot out of hand without even the formality of a drumhead court martial.
As Roger wrestled with this problem, a tall soldier came lurching out of the murk towards the trench. Staggering from side to side, he reached its parapet some ten yards to Roger's right, tripped on it and fell headlong into the trench. Roger had seen that the man was carrying something that projected a good two feet above his head. Wondering what it could be, he scrambled along to find out. As he came nearer and realized what the object was, he gave a cry of delight. The man was a giant Sergeant of Grenadiers, and he was clutching to his chest a captured Turkish standard.
The Sergeant lay twisted sideways. From his mouth a stream of blood gushed, then he was quite still. Obviously he had received a mortal internal wound and his fall into the trench had finished him. Stooping, Roger took the standard from the clutching fingers. The lower few feet of the pole had been broken off, but the standard itself was intact. It was not a flag, but a flat, diamond-shaped sheet of silver cut out to form an intricate design of Arabic letters. It was surmounted by a crescent lying on its back, from which hung a fine horse-tail.
Carrying it back to Zanthe, he exclaimed, ' My sweet, your prayers to Allah for our safety have been answered. See, he has sent us this. It will prove our safe-conduct to the rear of the French lines. We have only to tell everyone we meet that we have been ordered to take it to Bonaparte.'
Without losing a moment they climbed out over the back of the trench and set off. But they were not yet out of danger. The guns of the city were replying to the French artillery and were trained on reinforcements that were hurrying forward. They had covered only fifty yards when a cannon ball bounded past within two feet of Zanthe. There was little cover but, zigzagging from side to side, they ran on, taking such advantage of the ground as they could.
Dawn had now come. Ahead of them they saw a company of infantry coming towards them at the double. Roger raised the captured standard high above his head and cried, ' Vive la France! Vive Bonaparte! ' The nearest officer grinned and waved his sword in reply. The men broke into cheers as they streamed past them.
Another five minutes and they were out of range of the guns. Fulling up, they sat down on some rocks to regain their breath. Laughing, they hugged one another, then Roger said:
' I have as yet had little chance to think of your situation while with the French Army, but I count it unlikely that there will be other women at headquarters. For your protection it seems best that I should give out that you are my fiancee.'
Lifting his hand, she kissed it then gave him her most ravishing smile. ' The will of Allah has made you my dear lord, and I am happy that you should wish everyone to know it.'
Soon afterwards they set off at a walk and, although the strain of the past night was now telling heavily on them, they met with no difficulties. Everywhere they were greeted with cheers and, after many enquiries, learned the whereabouts of the General-in-Chief's headquarters. He had come up from Mount Carmel to direct the battle and had taken up his position on a slight rise about three miles from the city.
As they trudged up the slope, they saw that a marquee had been set up for him and that he was standing in front of it with his telescope to his eye, surrounded by his Staff, several of whom were mounted ready to gallop off with his orders to the different Divisions and Brigades. Not thinking it fitting to approach him while he was making his decisions, Roger halted some thirty yards from the edge of the group, then he and Zanthe turned to look back across the plain at the city from which they had escaped.
The whole field of battle lay spread before them. Full daylight had come and the sun glinted on the domes and minarets of the great fortress city. Parts of it were wreathed in smoke which was stabbed every moment by the flash of cannon. The still-standing towers stood out sharply against the blue sky and the whole was framed by the background of the bay, where lay the British frigates and gunboats. They too were partially obscured by smoke and rows of little white puffs kept on bursting from them as they fired broadside after broadside at the attackers. In three places where breaches had been made in the walls solid columns of infantry were carrying out assaults. Dotted about the plain were batteries of guns and dozens of other regiments, awaiting orders to enter the battle. The French Army numbered close on ten thousand men and was supported by several thousand auxiliaries: Copts, Druses, Armenians and other Christian warriors whom Bonaparte had enlisted in his war against the Turks. Even at that distance the roar of the guns and the constant discharge of thousands of firearms came to them like the rolling of thunder. To witness such a vast assembly—white, brown and black—which, including the garrison and the British ships' crews, amounted to some fifty thousand men engaged in conflict, was an unforgettable spectacle.