So, with cautious haste, I swayed along in the chair. Back in the main buildings of the palace, the evening may still have been in full swing. This far out, there was nothing but the occasional covered chair and the ubiquitous slaves, all carrying boxes of food and drink and the obvious implements of pleasure. If Meekal had looked round more than once, he’d have found reason to pause and come back for enquiries. But he turned round not at all. He did stop at one point, but that was only to look up awhile as the moon dodged in and out of the clouds. The carriers stopped behind a deserted pavilion and, shaking with fear, waited for the chase to begin again. And it did. We passed now within some streets of derelict buildings that had, before the palace walls extended so far, been houses for the middling people of Damascus. These would, sooner or later, be demolished, the ground on which they stood given over to some more exalted purpose. For now, they remained as evidence – if such was needed – that the world in which I was living had nothing about it of the immemorial. There were five of these streets, dark and quiet beneath the fitful moon. As scared now of their surroundings as of Meekal, the carriers prayed softly as they picked their way through the overgrown streets.
At last, perhaps three hundred yards from the light outer rim of the walls, we came to a dense grove of trees. Every palace has one. In Constantinople, of course, the hunting ground covered an area at least three times larger. Being several hundred years older, the Emperor’s little forest was graced with much higher trees and a much more convincing appearance of natural growth. But, against the day when Damascus was besieged, or the palace itself was besieged by the people of Damascus, the caliphs had taken care that all the normal pleasures of life might continue, if on a smaller scale than usual. At a pinch, you’d go into there on horseback – though you’d have a better appearance on foot of boundless, overgrown solitude. Into this grove, Meekal now vanished.
‘We daren’t go in after him, My Lord,’ the head carrier gasped.
I nodded. Even on a gravelled path, anyone would have to be stone deaf not to hear us. I peered over at the walls. The grove seemed to run right up to them, though probably stopped ten or so yards short for security. Was there an unfrequented gate in that stretch of wall? Was Meekal only going through the grove so he could get out, unobserved, into the city?
‘Wait over by that tree,’ I said, trying to sound surer than I now felt about matters. ‘I will give further instructions when I am ready.’ Obediently, the carriers trotted over to the shade of the low apple tree. ‘Put me down here,’ I said, ‘and sit as if you are all at rest.’ I sat for what seemed an age. I sat until I began to feel stupid. The moon was now fully out from behind the clouds, and its mysterious light bleached out all that wasn’t in shadow. A gentle breeze ruffled the chair curtains. Somewhere in the distance – perhaps outside the palace grounds – a dog barked without letting up. The sky told me it was rather earlier than I’d assumed. We were still approaching the midnight hour. Even so, this vigil was dragging on and on.
Then, just as I was about to order the retreat, there was a sound deep within the grove. What it was I couldn’t tell with my hearing – but the carriers heard it. I saw them sit up and listen. At once, though, their own response was overwhelmed by the dry clatter of several hundred wings as what may have been every bird in the grove left its perch for the night. That, plus the cries of animals on the ground, brought the night suddenly to life. Just as suddenly, though, it faded again. The carriers looked at each other in the returning silence, and then to Heaven. I steadied them with a distribution of gold. So far as I could, I scanned the still blackness of the grove for any sign of movement.
I can’t say how much longer we waited. I had one of the chair curtains pulled down so I could wrap it about my own chilled body. There were faint bursts of sound as, back towards the centre of the palace, the bands of revellers began to break up for the night. The birds were almost set off again by a procession of several dozen blacks that passed by close to where we sat out of sight. Accompanied by drums, though in mournful voice, they shouted out what may once have been their battle cry as, chained neck to neck, they were hurried past by a pair of eunuchs who didn’t seem to care what skin they broke with their discipline rods. As if on some night exercise, they were driven from deep within the palace grounds, only to be turned and driven back.
And that was it. The drums and chanting faded into the night. The bursts of revelry became fainter and further apart. That dog barked endlessly, and the moon rose ever higher above the high wall of the palace and the trees that, young as they were, already topped the palace wall. Once again, I began to wonder if it was time to order the carriers out of their cautious doze and have myself taken off to bed.
Then, suddenly, a small, dark figure darted out from the trees. It stopped in the moonlight and looked frantically about. I sat up and stared hard. Was it a deer or some other small animal? Was it just a trick of the light? I strained and focused. I stood up and rubbed my eyes, and looked again. How the bloody hell…? I thought. I stepped forward and poked my stick into the back of one of the huddled carriers.
‘Catch that boy!’ I said urgently. ‘All of you – after him. Bring him back here. And try not to make any noise.’
As the carriers caught up with him and noiselessly surrounded him, I saw Edward pull out a knife. He turned round and round, stabbing frantically, his knife glittering dark in the moonlight. Without giving him space to break free and run, the slaves darted back. Still perky from the stimulants, I hurried over the thirty yards or so that separated us.
‘Edward, Edward!’ I gasped softly in English. I doubled up with a coughing fit, but was up again in moments. ‘It’s me. Come over here before we all get seen.’ The boy looked in my direction, then went back to stabbing at the air. I hurried closer and called again. This time, he looked properly at me. I caught a blurred glimpse of his face in the moonlight, and wanted to step away. Then, he dropped down and covered his eyes. His body shook with a wild sobbing. ‘Get him up,’ I called to the carrying slaves. ‘Get him into the chair with me, and get us both back to the Tower of Heavenly Peace. Be quick about it. There’s double gold all round.’
I looked at the dark, menacing stillness of the grove. Even I might have thought twice before stepping into that, come the dusk – certainly if I knew Meekal was lurking somewhere inside.
Chapter 52
‘I think you’re a bloody fool,’ I said, still in English. ‘If any of the agents I used to employ had confessed to half your incompetence, I’d have sacked him on the spot – and cancelled his pension too.’ I looked at Edward over the top of my visor. I pulled off my wig and dropped it on the desk. Now we were out of the open, the night heat was turning sticky. I took a deep breath and looked hard at him. ‘But I want you to tell me again,’ I said gently, ‘and this time, try to give me a connected account, exactly what you saw and heard. I don’t care what you think you saw, or what you think any of it might indicate. I want the facts as you witnessed them, and nothing more.’
The boy gulped down another mouthful of wine, and looked for reassurance at the bookshelves of my office. We’d got back here without trouble. The guards Karim had already taken care to double outside were all too busy sniffing their bowls of smoking hashish to pay that much attention. A distribution of what gold I’d not lavished on the carrying slaves had shut their mouths, and might keep them shut; besides, if they were already in her pay, I didn’t suppose anyone would be comparing the time I’d left Khadija with the time of my return. I’d helped get Edward out of his pissy, vomit-stained clothes, and he’d sat an age shuddering in the warm bath I’d drawn for him with my own hands. I noted how the weals were already healing on that marvellous skin. But, if the bruises and remaining cuts still hurt, he wasn’t calm enough to pay attention to the pain. Now, I stood over him, pouring wine into his cup, and hoping he wouldn’t pass out before I got enough of those tearful and discontinuous fragments to reconstruct the whole story.