‘But how?’
‘Move as far away from the window as you can, please. And cover your ears.’
‘What?’
‘It might be a good idea to crouch, too.’ He disappeared.
Well, that was ominous. Mamelukes had a head-on way of doing things. I pushed my way to the opposite corner of the cell and addressed the others in the dimness. ‘I think something dramatic is about to happen. Please move to this side of our apartment.’
No one moved.
So I tried again. ‘I have some hashish, if you’ll all just gather around.’
They formed a nice shield just before there was a loud boom. The outer cell wall below the window blew inward with a spray of stone, a cannonball sailing on to hit the wood-and-iron cell door. The entry flexed, shuddered, and fell neatly away from its frame, hitting the corridor outside with a clang. The cannonball was imbedded in the wood like a berry in a muffin. We’d all sprawled in a heap, me at the bottom, my ears ringing and the air full of dust. Yet I knew opportunity when I saw it. ‘Now! Rush the bailiff!’ I cried.
As the others struggled up and stormed into the corridor, I crawled the opposite way outside, through the hole in the jail wall that Ash had just created. He was crouched in the shadows, waiting. He had a musket slung on one shoulder, two pistols stuffed in his shaft, and a sword at his waist. I recognised the weapons I’d confiscated from him when he was captured. Well, so much for my trophies.
‘Where the devil did you get a cannon?’
‘It was sitting in the yard back here, impounded as evidence.’
‘Evidence?’ Ah, yes, the soldier who’d tried to hock it. ‘They left it loaded?’
‘To use against the prisoners, if they tried to escape.’
There were musket shots, and we ran.
We flitted through the dark streets like thieves, retrieving my weapons, rope, and provisions where I’d hid them. Then we watched the march of the moon, waiting for the appointed hour. When we crept to the south wall of Yusuf’s house I wasn’t sure what to expect. The heavy door that marked the separate women’s entrance at the rear was thick wood with a large iron lock. There was no entry that way. So all I could do is wait silently below a south wall window, hoping that the French patrols scouring the city didn’t stumble upon us.
‘Now I’ve made you a fugitive too,’ I whispered.
‘The gods would not let you avenge my brother’s murder by yourself.’
The night was lengthening, and I heard nothing and saw nothing from the screened windows above. Was I too late for the rendezvous? Had my informant been found out? Impulsive and impatient, I finally took the golden eye of Horus from my pocket and lofted it upward at the opening. To my surprise, it didn’t fall back.
Instead, the charm weighted a silken thread that slithered down. I tied my rope to the thread and watched as it was hauled skyward. I gave a moment for it to be tied off, pulled to test, and planted my feet on the wall. ‘Wait here,’ I told Ashraf.
‘You think my eyes aren’t as curious as yours?’
‘I’m the expert on women. You hold the rifle.’
The harem window was fifty feet overhead, the shutter in its screen just big enough to get my head and shoulders inside. Panting from anticipation and exertion, I heaved my way in, my tomahawk on my belt. Given the trying events of the day, I was more than ready to use it.
Fortunately, lithe young arms helped drag me into the room, putting me in a better mood. My anonymous assistant, I saw, was young, pretty, disappointingly clothed, and even veiled. But then her almond eyes alone were enough to make a man fall in love: maybe there was method to Muslim madness. Her finger went to where her lips would be, signalling quiet. She handed me a second piece of paper and whispered, ‘Astiza.’
‘ Fayn? ’ I asked. Where?
She shook her head and pointed at the paper. I opened it. ‘It is hidden to be seen,’ it said in English, in Astiza’s hand.
So she had left the medallion behind! I looked about and suddenly noticed half a dozen pair of eyes staring at me, like animals from a forest. Several of the women in the harem were silently awake, but like my young guide they were dressed for the street, and timid as deer. All put fingers to veiled lips. Clear enough.
Whatever fantasies I had about limpid pools, serenading damsels, and diaphanous garments were disappointed. The harem quarters looked plainer and more cramped than the public rooms I’d seen, and no one seemed to be preening herself for Yusuf’s next nocturnal visit. It was, I realised, simply a segregated wing from which the women could cook, sew, and gossip without intruding on male territory.
They watched me in fear and fascination.
I began moving around their dim quarters looking for the medallion. Hidden to be seen? Did she mean by a window? All were shielded with mashrabiyya screens. The harem had one large central room and a warren of small ones, each with a rumpled bed, chest, and pegs hung with clothes, some revealing and others concealing. It was a world turned upside down, all colour turned inward, all thought confined, all pleasure locked.
Where had I hidden it? In a shoe, a cannon, a chamber pot. None of those were ‘hidden to be seen’, it seemed to me. I bent to lift up a bed covering, but the young woman who was my guide stayed my hand. They were waiting for me to spot it, I realised, to prove that I knew what I was looking for. And then of course the obviousness of my task became clear to me. I straightened, looking around more boldly. Hidden in plain sight, she’d meant. Round a neck, on a table, on…
A jewellery rack.
If there is one thing universal in human culture, it’s the love of gold. What these women would never display on the street they would drape on their skin for Yusuf and each other: rings, coins, bracelets and bangles, earrings and anklets, tiaras and waist chains. On a dressing table was a waterfall of gold, a yellow delta, a treasure like a small echo of L’Orient ’s. And there in the midst of it all, thrown as casually as a copper in a tavern, was the medallion, its shape obscured by the necklaces atop it. Bin Sadr and Silano never got in here, of course, and no one else had bothered to look.
I untangled it. As I did so, a heavy bangle of an earring came off the table and dropped to the floor like a gong.
I froze. Suddenly other heads came up from beds, these faces older. One started at the sight of me and leapt out, pulling street robes around her.
She spoke sharply. The young one replied impatiently. A hissing conversation broke out in rapid Arabic. I began easing toward the window. The older one gestured at me to put the medallion down, but instead I slid it over my neck and inside my shirt. Isn’t this what they’d expected? Apparently not. The older one gave a shout, and several of the women began to wail and scream. Now I heard a eunuch’s cry from outside the door, and male shouts from below. Was that the scrape of drawn steel? It was time to go.
As I made for the window the older woman tried to block me, arms flailing, sleeves wide, like a huge black bat. I shoved past, even as her fingers scrabbled creepily at my neck. She fell away, yelling. A bell began clanging, and there was a gunshot of alarm. They’d rouse the whole city! I grabbed the frame and kicked, busting out half the wooden screen. Pieces rattled down into the alley below. I rolled out the window and started slithering down the rope. Below, I saw the rear door burst open and servants, armed with clubs and staves, stream out. Other men burst into the harem behind me. Even as I descended, someone began trying to haul the rope back up.
‘Jump!’ Ashraf shouted. ‘I will catch you!’
Did he know what I weighed? And I didn’t want to simply let go because I figured we might use the line I’d bought just that afternoon. I grabbed the tomahawk from my belt and chopped at the rope above my head. It snapped and I fell the last thirty feet, landing with a whump in something soft and stinking. It was in an alley cart that Ash had wheeled to catch my fall. I heaved myself over the side, clutching the remains of the rope, and braced to fight.
There was a bang, the sound of Ashraf’s musket, and one of the servants charging from the rear door pitched backward. My rifle was shoved into my hands and I shot a second man, then whooped like an Indian and cracked the head of a third with the tomahawk. The others fell back in confusion. Ashraf and I dashed the other way, vaulting a low wall and sprinting down twisting lanes.
Yusuf’s men came in a mob after us, but were shooting blind. I paused to reload my own rifle. Ash had his
