The Sleeping Sands (10 page)

‘They lost their appetite for righteous vengeance pretty quickly. After that, it wasn’t too hard to negotiate safety for the surviving Jews and things have been pretty quiet from then on. Haym seems to think I deserve some small credit for the peace and his continued survival – so accordingly, he cannot do enough for me.’

The big cavalryman fumbled for a moment in his pouch and pulled out an object. He offered it to Layard, who peered at a tiny silver token, held gently in the man’s great paw of a hand. He took it carefully and examined it.

It was a dirty oval of silver, with an age-worn and almost indistinguishable device. Layard fancied he could see some sort of circle, at the centre of a tree-like pattern. In the circle was a star and a Hebrew character – Layard thought it may be
tav
but the ancient pattern was hard to decipher. He looked quizzically at the Bashi Bozuk.

‘Haym gave it to me once,’ explained the soldier. ‘It’s some old Jew thing. Show it to him as a token from me. He will help you with whatever you need.’

‘You do too much for us,’ protested Layard, ‘this might be of value.’

‘Its value is that it helps a man of spirit find his destiny,’ laughed the Bashi Bozuk, poking Layard in the chest playfully.

‘It might help you find your road, and,’ he added, mischievously, ‘it might remind you how far you still have to go. Little Frank.’

Layard looked questioningly at the big cavalryman.

‘It is
Tiferet
– the sixth
sefira
.’

Layard’s blank look continued.

‘Tiferet is the sixth of the sefirot in the Kabalah,’ continued the Bashi Bozuk, ‘the sixth of the emanations of the Divine. Tiferet is beauty – the balance of compassion and severity. It is order made manifest. Perfection. Six.’

Layard struggled with a vague memory of the previous night’s conversation.

‘A six is always a six,’ said the big soldier, ‘it’s the luckiest number you can roll.’

Then, with a great rippling convulsion, he began to laugh.

The Bashi Bozuk’s thunderous laughter soared past Layard’s ears and echoed around the ruins, drawing curious and anxious glances from their residents. A small flock of white egrets flapped up from the cistern in startled confusion; flying in different directions in their ignorance of the source of the cacophony. Staring down at the token in his hand, Layard felt as confused and ignorant as the disorientated birds. He shrugged inwardly and looked up at the giant soldier, laughing unrestrainedly and gloriously in the morning sun. From behind his shoulder, he heard a shy, nervous giggle. Antonio. From some buried place within his own lost and uncomprehending being, Layard felt the germ of the cavalryman’s laughter take hold. It struggled against the loneliness and melancholy of his desert ordeals – against the disappointment of his encounters and against all the anxieties that the shadow of the future held. Strengthened by the warm sun and encouraged by the soft musical laughter of the boy, it attacked his soul with a renewed strength and took shape, rising until it possessed him utterly and he found himself shaking and crying with laughter.

‘Why are we laughing, Effendi?’ asked his dragoman, wiping a tear from his eye.

‘I have no idea,’ laughed Layard. On an impulse he grabbed the boy’s cap from his head and threw it to the Bashi Bozuk, who roared with renewed vigour and tossed it back, in a great spinning arc.

Antonio danced and sang in delight as the soldier and the adventurer took turns to throw his bright, scarlet cap between them – waving his outstretched arms in a vain attempt to reclaim it. A small crowd of curious Arabs, diverted from their morning routines among the ruins, stood and watched the ungainly and bizarre spectacle of the skinny boy, the tall Frank and the enormous Egyptian. Even some of the egrets recovered their shattered nerves sufficiently to settle and watch the show.

For the tiniest of moments, among the honey-stained columns of Jerash, plague, penury and adversity were completely forgotten and a happy peace was the only sense in anyone’s heart.

Two hours later, the big soldier was still chuckling softly to himself as he watched the pair disappear from sight into the distant hills. He scratched himself in a lazy, ursine manner and smiled. He stretched and took a small, dirty notebook from his pouch, and excavated a tiny stub of pencil from behind his ear. With a slight protuberance of pink tongue poking from between his full stubbly lips and frowning in concentration, he painstakingly and deliberately began to write a series of numbers, drawn in an almost childishly particular manner. Pausing every now and then to mop some sweat from his brow or to mutter some calculation, at length he filled a page of the notebook with tightly packed ranks of numbers. He tore it carefully from the book and called to a skinny young Arab who had been leaning against a wall in the shade of a nearby temple.

‘You are the swiftest runner, I am told?’

‘Yes, Effendi, I am.’

He folded the paper casually and handed it to the boy, along with a gold five piastre coin.

‘Take this to Colonel Yusuf Effendi, in Hebron,’ he glowered at the boy. ‘No delay. Get it there quick and you’ll get two more of these.’ He gestured to the coin. ‘Too slow and don’t let me ever find you.’

‘Yes, Effendi!’

The boy scampered back along the road, in the direction of Hebron, red dust flying from his heels. The Bashi Bozuk scratched the back of his enormous, grubby neck and stowed the notebook back into his pouch. He carefully inserted the stub of pencil in a crease behind his ear, sighed and walked slowly towards his horse.

C
HAPTER 5

A
S SOON AS HE HAD SEEN THE
B
ASHI
B
OZUK’S TOKEN
, Haym had welcomed the travellers without question. He was a gentle, cultured man who had come, with many of his people, to find a new home among their ancestral lands. It had not been easy for the settlers. In the earthquake three years previously, some 4,000 members of the local Jewish community had met their deaths.

‘It hit the Jews especially hard,’ he explained, in soft, faultless Italian, over a cup of peppermint tea.

‘The earthquake struck during one of our festivals,’ the pain of memory darkened his fine features, ‘when most of my people were gathered together in the synagogues at Tiberias and Safed. It was truly terrible. The buildings collapsed within a matter of moments – leaving little time for those within to escape.

‘When the survivors returned to what was left of their homes, they soon found themselves to be held up as scapegoats for the disaster. If it had not been for our friend,’ he indicated the token, now sitting on the table before him, ‘I and my family would certainly have been massacred.’

He picked up the token and ran its well-worn faces between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.

‘Here,’ he said, handing it across the table to Layard, ‘I think that you should keep this. It might bring you some luck.’

‘It has already brought us the good fortune of meeting you, Signor Haym,’ asserted Layard, gratefully taking back the sefira. ‘Do you really think that you can help us cross the cordon?’

Haym creased his brow and thought for a minute. Outside, Layard heard the faint rumble of distant thunder. He could taste the faintest sense of electricity on the air. Shivering slightly, he took another sip of the warm, sweet tea.

‘You will need to arrange a firman from the Muteselim in Safed,’ Haym said, dropping his voice a little and leaning forward slightly. ‘Alas, I do not know how much currency such a document will have in these difficult times. I fear that you will still need to move quietly and in secret. It is a delicate task.’

He sat a while longer in silence, scrutinising Layard’s face, as if searching for a sign that he could put his trust in the Englishman. He leant back in his chair and took a little tea, appraising Layard over the rim of his cup.

I have a countryman in Safed,’ Haym said at length, running his fingernail absently along the edge of a faded silk runner on the table. ‘He does much business between here and Damascus. I have found that he has often been able to lay his hands on goods that are otherwise hard to come by. His name is Shimoth. If anyone can find a way for you across the quarantine, it is he.’

‘Can he be trusted to help us?’

‘He is a good friend of mine and a brave fellow. He can be trusted. Besides,’ added Haym, pouring more tea, ‘a great many of us are thankful for the peace that our mutual friend negotiated. We travelled a long and hard road to settle among the country of our forefathers and are more than a little happy not to have to flee it once more. Shimoth will help you for the Egyptian’s sake, if nothing else.’

In Safed, Layard found that Haym had been true to his word. Shimoth proved to be as hospitable and helpful as his countryman. After Layard had spent several frustrating hours arranging a firman from the local official, Shimoth was a welcome and generous host. He insisted on feeding Layard and Antonio with a series of fine, luxuriant meals while they rested in his house, awaiting news of a guide that Shimoth assured them would take them to their destination. Despite the relative ruin of the house which had, like so many, not survived the earthquake unscathed, Shimoth still managed to secure two comfortable divan beds for the weary travellers. Not since leaving Hebron had Layard felt so comfortable nor so welcomed. He mused at finding such a civilized welcome among the remote and earthquake-ravaged towns; at finding settlements of such a familiar European character. Sitting around Shimoth’s fire, engaging in polite conversation with his friends and enjoying the relaxed and un-mannered company of his wife and daughters, Layard felt that he could almost be back in Mrs Austen’s salon. Outside the shattered walls, there may have been plague, upheaval and the menace of war, yet inside there was only the warmth of humanity. Even Antonio, who had been taught all manner of nonsense about Jews by his Italian friars, began to relax his suspicion a little. He would sit in bashful silence on the edge of the company and smile in mute embarrassment when one of Shimoth’s beautiful daughters occasionally asked him a question.

As the hours wore on and there was still no news of their guide, Layard began to fret about his chances of meeting Mitford in Damascus. Their agreed meeting date had long since passed. He pressed Shimoth for information about the man who was to guide them across the Jordan and through the plague quarantine.

‘Ahmed Saleh is a trustworthy man,’ said Shimoth, reassuringly. ‘His mules have trod many hidden paths through the hills for me, on more occasions than I can remember. I have never yet lost a consignment; nor has Saleh ever sold me short. When we had the trouble after the ‘quake, Saleh himself hid my daughters at his home to protect them from the fanatics. He will guide you faithfully.

‘I have sent word to his family, in the village of Zeytun. He will come as soon as he can – but you may have to wait a day or two more. There are patrols of irregular cavalry even out here, hunting for deserters and new recruits. What is more, as the Pasha’s men have been dwindling in numbers, the Bedouins have been getting more daring in their raids on travellers and pilgrims. The roads are no longer safe. Discretion, rather than speed is needed to pass through the hills. Saleh is the most discreet man I know. He will be here.’

‘I am sorry if I seem impatient,’ apologised Layard. ‘It has been a longer journey than I hoped. Without the kindness of men such as yourself and Signor Haym, I truly despair of having even got this far. I am at your mercy.’

‘You have no need to worry about that,’ said Shimoth kindly, ‘it is a sacred duty to care for the foreigner among us – it is one of the oldest creeds of our people.’

‘It is a creed that my own people forget too often,’ mused Layard, remembering impassioned discussions with Ralph and Ben Disraeli about the welcome extended to Jews in European states. He called to Antonio to check their packs once more so that there would be no delay on departure. Getting no answer, he turned to see the boy sitting and staring in awestruck worship at one of Shimoth’s daughters.

‘Antonio,’ he barked, slightly irritated at having to repeat himself, ‘stir yourself, boy. We need to be ready to leave at the shortest notice.’

The next morning, news at last arrived of Saleh. One of the Arab’s young sons arrived at Shimoth’s house with the message that his father would receive Layard at Zeytun that evening. He assured the impatient European that his father would be happy to take them on their journey at first light on the following day. This was a further delay for Layard but he took solace in the fact that he would soon resume his mission. He spent the rest of the morning carefully reviewing and organising the notes and sketches that he had made on the road from Hebron. Antonio sat in silence, watching his employer shuffle through the papers, muttering to himself and occasionally making some additional note or else peer curiously at one drawing or another. In the way that he would painstakingly read and re-read his notes and pour over each of his sketches, rotating it in his hand to examine it from fresh angles, it seemed to the boy as if the European was searching for some hidden but critical thing that he had somehow missed.

If he had expected some revelation, it was not forthcoming. The sun rose higher as Layard sat, muttering and scribbling. Antonio began to shift in his seat and to gaze out of the window towards the courtyard, where Shimoth’s household and many business partners and customers were coming and going. Every now and then a shift in his posture or an extra craning of his neck betrayed the brief appearance of one of the Jew’s daughters. At length, Layard completed his paperwork and fastidiously tied the papers into a tight bundle, which he packed into a slim soft leather wallet and tied to his chest, covering it with his now tattered and stained linen shirt. He sat, frowning for several long minutes in silence and then stirred himself, informing Antonio that he planned to spend some more time talking to the Jews in Safed and that he would not need Antonio’s assistance until they departed later that afternoon. With relief, Antonio sprung to his feet, a smile on his face.