‘There’s two over here,’ someone shouted in Syriac. The voice wasn’t above six yards away. Karim clutched at me again, and began the effort of pulling me back to my feet.
‘No!’ I said, now calm. ‘You’ll never outrun these men, or those who come to help them. Keep your mouth shut and leave this to me.’ There was a sudden blaze of light from one of the wooden huts outside the hall used for keeping food hot in the winter months. With a tremendous effort, I got up and tried to look active.
‘God be praised,’ I cried in Syriac – and luck be praised I’d kept my teeth in. ‘This is a blow for truth I never thought I’d live to witness.’
‘What are you doing here?’ someone snarled back at me. ‘This is a job for the fit.’
I croaked a variant on ‘Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace according to Thy word,’ and giggled.
‘Get the old fool out of here,’ the voice snarled again, now at Karim. Plainly, he was taken in by my words, if not impressed by my presence. ‘We’re holding the eastern gate.’
That should have been it. We could have sloped off deeper into the palace grounds, and waited for the Palace Guard to get its act together. But as Karim was pulling me back on to his shoulders, we almost fell over about half a dozen other men.
‘Get these wankers out of here!’ the voice now commanded. ‘We can’t lose another Elder.’
And that was it. Pulled and shoved to keep on course, Karim was hurried off to the eastern gate. I thought of pretending a heart attack to slow him down enough to be left alone. But I could feel that Karim was in no state to play along with me. With the panting sobs of a man terrified out of his wits, he had his head down and was keeping pace. Swaying about over his back, I could see the bright mass of torches coming closer as we approached the eastern gate. I could pass as anything I cared to be. What to do, though, about that brown face and his Saracen clothes?
‘Let us through,’ I cried as we came level with the gate. I noted the fallen bodies of the guards. ‘Let us through. My servant is wounded.’ The torches parted. No one could see Karim’s face. No one paid attention to his clothes. We hurried through into streets alive with people and more torches.
‘Is the palace burned?’ someone asked. ‘Is the tyrant dead?’ There was a ragged cheer at the very thought – though whether Caliph or Governor was in mind no one bothered to make clear. I clapped Karim on the back to keep going. Now staggering under my weight, he carried me into a side street and dropped me hard on the packed earth that served here in place of paving.
‘How many Saracens are there in Damascus?’ I asked. He leaned against a wall, wheezing and coughing. There was a blast of trumpets in the main road and the unmistakable tread of military boots. ‘We can’t stay here,’ I added. ‘Soldiers don’t know friend from foe in the dark.’ I repeated myself: ‘Is there a Saracen district nearby where we can get shelter?’
He shook his head despairingly. Even now, Damascus was overwhelmingly Christian. The Faithful lived in encampments outside the walls or inside the palace. The only converts were local trash – persons of very low degree, he emphasised.
‘Then let’s just get away and hide somewhere quiet till morning,’ I said.
Karim tried to protest. But I wasn’t going back anywhere close to that palace while there was a riot in progress. Whatever his father had been, Karim wasn’t a military Saracen. But if I wasn’t much of a soldier either, I’d seen dozens of riots in Constantinople, and I knew exactly what to expect. Not waiting for him to pick me up again, I started off away from the noise. A sword would have been useful. These fine clothes made us walking targets. But the first rule of street fighting is to get away from it, regardless of what further trouble may lurk round the corner.
‘So, where are we?’ I asked after half a mile. ‘You were happy enough the day before yesterday to show me the sights of Damascus. Shall we take this opportunity to see a few of them now?’
Karim stopped and took my arm off his shoulder. The clouds had parted, showing the nearly full moon. In its light, he guided me towards a bench. There was a heap of rubbish behind it and on both sides. If even I could smell it, there must have been quite a large dead animal rotting somewhere close by. The bench looked clean enough in the moonlight, however. Karim sat down and looked ahead in silence.
‘We’re lost,’ he said at last without turning.
No shock there, I thought. My reply was a sniff. I looked at the high, blank walls of the houses that, here and there, pressed almost together overhead.
‘At all times of the day and night,’ he went on, ‘these streets around the palace are crowded with Cross Worshippers of the lowest and most desperate kind. Once order is restored, we shall be lost among them. They will surely tear us apart. I have failed His Highness the Governor in allowing you to sit here, waiting for death. I have failed you, My Lord – and failed so ignobly. May my family curse the day that I was born!’ His voice shook. It was as if I heard the tears rolling down into his beard. The Saracens were maturing fast into their exalted position: some of them weren’t only non-military; they also weren’t particularly brave.
‘Then I suggest we get up and keep moving,’ I said firmly. The last thing you want in a coward is a fit of the shakes. We’d never move anywhere with that. I looked along the street in the direction we’d been going. After a dozen yards, it twisted sharp right. Left or right, all the streets had been doing that since we left the palace. According to the moon, we were going west. Just a while earlier, it had been east. I sniffed again. No hint of a nosebleed was my first good news since I’d seen Meekal projected through my lenses. ‘If only you lot might listen,’ I said, ‘you’d learn a lot from the Greeks about town planning. A grid arrangement of at least the central districts of a city can bring so many benefits. So, while we’re on the subject, can a touch of street lighting. We can only hope that continued progress along this dried-up riverbed of a street will bring us somewhere safer than we are now.’
As I was about to push myself upright, there was a sound of running footsteps from where we’d come. I looked round. The sodding moon was full out – not a cloud in sight. There was nowhere to hide. Even if Karim was up to lifting me again, he’d never outrun whoever was coming our way. I thought of telling Karim to take to his heels. There was no reason for both of us to be butchered. But what I’d feared in his case had come to pass. He was clutching at himself and leaning forward. He began droning some edifying gibberish from his Holy Book. I sighed and tried to make myself comfortable on the bench.
‘What the fuck are you doing there?’ a man shouted in Syriac. ‘We’ve got the whole Palace Guard after us, and you just sit there, waiting to be cut down!’
‘I told you there was an Elder went off this way,’ someone whined at him. ‘You tell me now I was wrong.’
Panting from the run, a big man with a bushy beard stood before me. He turned and waved at the three other men with him. ‘Get him up into your arms,’ he said. ‘He’ll never get away by himself.’ He knelt down and kissed the hem of my robe. ‘Forgive me, Father, my profane words, but we cannot afford to lose another Elder to the darkies.’
I patted his head uncertainly, then uttered a benediction. No one bothered with Karim. If he wanted to get away, now was his moment. But, as I was lifted off the bench and perched between two of the Angels of the Lord, I saw that he was getting ready to tag along beside us. Oh, well, I thought, explaining him as well wouldn’t be much harder than explaining myself.
As we moved off, I thought I heard the thud of hooves on the packed earth of the streets. It really wasn’t my evening.