Onward along that silent corridor we walked. I say these things went on and on. After a while, though, I stopped looking. After what I’d seen done to living flesh in Alexandria, you might think none of this could have much effect on me. But there is a difference between what is done from some shadow of regard for the public good, and is an admitted deviation from the normal course of government, and what is gloatingly celebrated in what may be the best art of a race manifestly superior in the art of war to those attacked and conquered and eradicated for pleasure. Priscus himself might have learned something from all this. Priscus himself might even have been rattled by the immense iteration and reiteration of horrors.
I tried to start a debate with the Bishop about the orthodox claim that ‘at no point was the difference between the Natures taken away from the Union, but rather the property of both Natures is preserved and comes together into a Single Person and a single Subsistent Being.’ He made a faint effort, and the mere sound of our voices, as we went over words traded again and again on the surface, brought some cheer in that place of dry and ever colder silence.
We ran into trouble after perhaps half a mile of our twisting downward course. At first, it seemed we were reaching a dead-end. As we got close enough, though, for our lamps to make sense of the dim shapes outside the immediate pool of light, I could see that it was a door. Better described, it was one of those stone slabs you read about that drop from the ceiling and close off all access beyond. In Egypt – elsewhere in the Empire too in the days of the Old Faith – the rich would try endless elaborations of these things to keep their embalmed corpses and their grave goods safe. Fat lot of good it ever seems to have done: if not because of tomb raiders, why else are the antiquities markets so often glutted?
‘We could go back and bring down men with tools,’ the Bishop suggested.
I shook my head. I had no wish to turn back now. Besides, getting anyone else down here might be more trouble than it was worth. If there was any way through this door, it wasn’t to be had by brute force. I leaned against the slab and pushed hard. I took the pressure off, then leaned again. There was no movement.
‘There may be some hidden lever,’ I said. There was any number of concealed openings in the Imperial Palace back in Constantinople. Three centuries of palace intrigue around emperors, sometimes driven mad by fear of being trapped, had left the place riddled with secret tunnels. Most had been forgotten on the death of the commissioning Emperor. Many led to the least likely places. I’d seen enough of these on my exploratory trips with Heraclius to know the ingenuity with which the rocking levers that opened them could be blended into the surroundings. As said, the decorative scheme here tended to the elaborate, and it was a matter of feeling round for a concealed depression.
Whatever we did next, there was no point in hurrying. By unspoken agreement, this was an opportunity for rest and reflection. We sat down on the floor. We chewed slowly and in silence on some bread and dried dates and drank some of the water the Bishop had been carrying on his back.
‘My son,’ he said, now looking for words of greater directness than he’d needed for theological dispute, ‘for what little comfort it may bring, I will say that, if I had influence over any but the unarmed Sheep of Christ, I would never allow what is happening. As it is, I will, if required, excommunicate the renegade Egyptian and write to the Greek Patriarch in Alexandria about the shameful conduct of the Lord Priscus.’
I nodded. Flowery thanks would have been less convincing. So too would a pretended conversion to the Monophysite heresy. Martin had done good work with the man. We might yet have a way out of this mess. The Bishop prayed awhile in Egyptian, interpreting every line into Greek for my benefit. I tried to look solemn as I thought again how stingy Priscus had been in not having any wine packed for us.
‘I am wondering, My Lord’ – Macarius spoke for the first time since we’d left the surface – ‘if these tunnels might not be an elaborate ruse to throw us off the true path. Might not this doorway be nothing more than a carving into the solid rock? I have heard of such in tombs.’
I continued chewing on the rough bread. I’d been thinking the same. If this were a diversion, it might mean retracing our steps all the way to the surface, and examining every inch along the way. There might be another concealed way from the entrance chamber. There might even be another entrance from the surface, and the function of the one through which we’d entered was to draw attention from this.
‘No,’ I said after a long silence. I got up and pointed. ‘Those torch brackets have been used too often to suggest this is just a dead-end. Look at the soot marks on the ceiling. There must be centuries of deposits there.’ I was about to mention the good air: it had to be coming from somewhere. But I found myself staring back along the way we’d come. I was at just the right angle to see. ‘Look at the floor,’ I cried eagerly. I pointed again, now downward. It was so plain, I could hardly understand why we’d not seen it as we came here. The floors nearest the walls were as rough as when first chiselled out of the rock. The central couple of feet, however, were worn smooth, and in places shiny, from the passing and repassing of many feet. This smooth smear on the granite came from as far along the corridor as we could see, but stopped short about six feet from where we were sitting.
‘There’s a hidden door in the wall!’ Macarius hissed. There might be. Or there might have been some hidden entrance in the floor or the ceiling. One thing for certain was that people had come to and gone away from a certain point in that corridor, but then had come no further towards where we were sitting.
It was in the floor. Now that we were looking, the slab in the floor couldn’t have been more obvious. Though of the same granite as everything else, the more finished texture of the stone would have shown its nature even without the tiny shadow made by the gap that ran about it. Running my hands over it, I could feel that this was the source of the draught that had kept the air pure around us. Less obvious was how to lift the thing. I must have fumbled my way over every square inch of wall space several yards either way along the corridor. I ran hands over the grosser or more theatrical tortures shown in the reliefs. I tapped on every carved protrusion from the background of burning cities. I found no hidden lever. I had little doubt there was one. If not on the walls, it would be on the ceiling or on the floor. It was a question of looking.
‘See – it moves!’ the Bishop suddenly cried, stepping back from one of the torch brackets. He’d pulled gently on the ring that was to hold the base of any torch. With a gentle rumble, the slab in the floor had moved upwards a fraction of an inch. This should have been the mostly likely suspect, and I couldn’t understand how I’d not thought of it first.
‘After so long,’ Macarius said as he bent down to look at the slab, ‘the mechanism may have perished. I suggest you pull gently. The moment there is a gap opened, I will push in this water flask to stop it from falling back.’
Good idea, I thought. I took a deep breath, then pulled firmly but slowly on the bracket.
With a sudden rush of air, the slab flew upward on powerful hinges, and flipped over on to its back. The crash was deafening. It echoed up and down the way we’d come as if a hundred other doors had smashed all at the same time on to the granite floor. If it hadn’t been heard right back at the entrance, it would have been a surprise. As it was, I barely noticed at first how the rush of air had blown our lamps straight out.
‘We must go back after all,’ the Bishop said mournfully out of the blackness. ‘We must go back for more light.’
I felt his hand reach out for me. I took it in the darkness and squeezed – as much to receive as to give reassurance. It felt suddenly colder without the light. I was much more aware of how loud our breathing was in the surrounding silence. Everything seemed suddenly so much more open, but also more oppressive. Until I wasn’t able to see them, I hadn’t realised how comforting those ghastly reliefs had become. It would be impossible to get lost on the way back. The single corridor led, with whatever twisting, to only one place. However far it might be, the way back was clear and open. Still, I had to fight with all my courage – and all my pride – against the urge to turn and bolt.
‘Stand where you are and be silent!’ Macarius hissed beside us.
I heard him go through his satchel. He cursed and muttered in Egyptian. I heard things drop on to the floor and then his rummaging among them. Then I heard the striking together of flint and steel, and saw the bright sparks. Four – perhaps five – times, the sparks jumped and went dark again. At last, I saw a comforting glow as the dried weeds caught fire. Another few moments, and he was pushing the horn protector into place on his own relit and now refilled lamp.
Chapter 63
