The Golden One (44 page)

When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment he must still be dreaming. The face close to his was a disconcerting blend of Sahin’s strong features and the round-cheeked houri who had
nestled in his embrace. But the pain in his hands was real, and so was the pocket torch whose beam wavered wildly before she put it down on the bench beside him. He sat up straighter and started to
speak. She put her hand over his lips.

‘Don’t speak, don’t cry out,’ she whispered in English. ‘I will help you escape.’

Her hand was soft and plump and perfumed. Her hair was black; it had been twisted into a knot, but long strands had escaped to hang limply over her forehead. Her nose was her father’s,
large and curved, and her mouth was the same shape, though it was now tremulous and, he noticed, carefully painted. There could be no doubt of her identity. Was this another trick of Sahin’s
– a version of cat and mouse, raising hopes of escape before dashing them, with his daughter as the very visible alternative to re-imprisonment?

Her palm and fingers slid slowly across his mouth. ‘Why?’ he asked softly.

‘Don’t ask questions!’ Her voice was thin with nervousness. She straightened, and he saw she was wearing the enveloping black tob over a rather frivolous pink frock of European
style.

It took her a while to open the manacles. Under the perfume that wafted round her, Ramses could sense the fear that made her hands shake and soaked her with sweat.

The iron circles finally parted. He had lost all track of time in the eternal darkness, but he must have been there for hours. Slowly he lowered his aching arms and flexed his hands. She was
kneeling, working at the chain around his feet. He bent over and pushed her hands away. ‘I’ll do it. Hold the torch. How do they work?’

‘You have to push . . . here . . .’ A shaking finger indicated the spot. ‘And pull this at the same time. They’re rusty, stiff . . .’

The chains clinked and he swore under his breath. They were making too much noise and taking too much time. It was too damned quiet. Hadn’t Sahin left a guard? Maybe it wasn’t a
trick after all. If her father had set it up, she was putting on a very convincing show of fear. As soon as he stood, she thrust a bundle at him.

‘Put it on. Hurry!’

The caftan was probably one of Sahin’s. It was of fine wool and far too costly for someone who wanted to be inconspicuous, but since he had no choice in the matter, he put it on, and wound
the woollen scarf over his head and face. The last item in the bundle was a knife. She’d thought of everything – except a belt. He slashed a strip off the bottom of the caftan, tied it
round his waist, and slipped the knife through the makeshift sash.

She let him precede her to the door but stayed so close behind him he could hear her agitated breathing. She’d left the door ajar. Ramses swept the torch in a hasty circuit, half expecting
to see Sahin’s grin and a heavily armed guard; but the corridor was empty.

‘That way.’ She extended a shaking arm over his shoulder.

‘I know. Is there anyone in the other cells?’

‘What does it matter? Hurry!’

She pushed at him, but he stood firm. ‘Is there?’

‘No!’

The light of the torch showed that the doors were not barred or bolted, but he couldn’t leave without making certain. He eased them open, one after the other, just far enough to look
inside. Despite his care, the hinges gave off a series of groans, echoed, on a higher note, by the girl. She tugged at his arm.

Ramses let himself be drawn away. The cells had been unoccupied except by a family of rats that had set up housekeeping in a pile of mouldy straw. She led the way now, tiptoeing, her black
skirts raised. Ramses followed her up the stone steps and through a mazelike series of narrow passages and small storerooms. She certainly knew her way around the cellars. He doubted very much that
she had explored them herself.

But they had met no one and seen no one when she finally stopped by a wooden door and tugged at the handle. Somehow Ramses was not surprised when the portal swung silently open. Stars shone
bright overhead, illumining a walled courtyard. It was strictly utilitarian; no fountain, no flowers, only weeds and piles of trash. They were at the back of the villa, near the kitchens. He looked
up, scanning the night sky, and found the Dipper and the North Star. It would be light in a few hours. Time was definitely of the essence, but there was one question he had to ask.

He turned to the girl. ‘Who helped you?’

‘No one helped me! I did it myself, all of it. I saw you today when they brought you in, and I . . . There is no time for this. You must hurry.’

‘But how did you know – ’

‘No questions! It won’t be easy to find your way out of the city. I must show you where – ’

‘No, go back to your rooms before you are missed. I know where I am now.’

She put her hands on his arms. ‘A horse. I will get one for you.’

‘Why don’t you just paint a target on my back?’ Ramses inquired, and immediately felt guilty when her mouth quivered pathetically. Her face was so close he could see the kohl
lining her eyes. She’d made herself up as if for an assignation, and that absurd pink frock was probably one of her best.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, and although every moment counted now, he racked his brain to remember a few pleasing platitudes. ‘You have saved my life. I will never forget
– ’

His breath came out in a grunt as she threw herself against him. ‘We will meet again one day,’ she gasped. ‘You can never be mine, but your image will be enshrined in my
heart!’

‘I forgot that one,’ Ramses muttered. She was a well-rounded armful, soft and warm and heavy, and there seemed to be only one way of getting her to stop talking.

So he kissed her, thoroughly but somewhat absentmindedly, and then detached the clinging arms and propelled her through the open door.

‘Through that gate,’ she panted. ‘Turn to the left – ’

‘Yes, right. Uh – God bless you.’

He pulled the door shut and headed, not for the gate, but for the wall to his right. How long would it be before they discovered he was gone, and warned the defenders that an English spy was on
the loose? Maybe not for hours. Maybe a lot sooner. He couldn’t take the chance of waiting until morning and strolling out the way he had come.

Once over the wall, he found himself in a typical Middle Eastern street, narrow, dusty, and extremely dark. His suspicions had been incorrect; there was no one lurking outside the gate.

He had exaggerated a trifle when he told the girl he knew where he was, but it didn’t take long to orient himself. The lacy, domed minaret of the Great Mosque pricked the moonlit sky to
the southwest. He was near the Serai, then, the governor’s palace, and the quickest way out of town was westward.

It took him longer than he had hoped. He had to avoid the main east-west street, which was well lighted, with men standing guard at the entrances to official buildings. The lanes wound in
illogical curves, and twice he had to climb a wall to avoid patrols. Luckily the marching men made enough noise to warn him of their approach.

Three miles of sand dunes separated Gaza from the Mediterranean. There was plenty of cover – the ruins of the ancient seaport of Gaza – and the picket lines were widely spaced, since
their primary purpose was to guard against agents who might be landed from the sea. The first pallid light of dawn was showing in the east before Ramses waded out into the water. He had hoped to
‘borrow’ a fishing boat under cover of darkness, but it was too late now; a boat would be seen and fired upon. With a heartfelt groan, he shed Sahin’s caftan and began to
swim.

‘He’s all right,’ Nefret said. ‘Believe me. I always know when he isn’t.’

I wanted to believe her. The bond between them was so strong that she had always been able to sense, not so much danger – Ramses was in trouble a good deal of the time – but an
imminent threat to his life. She didn’t look as if she had slept well, though. None of us had. It had been almost twenty-four hours since we got the word that Ramses had been captured and we
had spent most of that time discussing what we should do about it. Emerson does not bear waiting well. By late afternoon he had walked a good ten miles, pacing back and forth across the tiled floor
of the salon.

‘We cannot act yet,’ I insisted, for the tenth time. ‘Give him a little more time. He’s got himself out of worse situations, and at least we know he was alive when he was
last seen. Emerson, for pity’s sake, stop pacing. What you need is a nice hot cup of tea. Help me, Nefret.’

Emerson said he did not need the confounded tea, but I needed something to do and so, in my considered opinion, did Nefret. The confidence she had expressed to us had not rendered her
indifferent to the fate of one dearer to her than life itself; her breath came quick and fast, and her hands shook so badly I had to prepare the tea myself.

Suddenly she sprang up. It was anticipation, not fear, that had made her tremble – the unbearable, final moments of waiting for an event greatly desired. As she turned towards the door, it
opened, and there he stood. There was no mistaking him, though he was wearing a British uniform, and the brim of his pith helmet shadowed his face.

I had not really been worried. Nefret’s instincts had never been wrong. All the same, I felt as if a set of stiff rods had been removed from my back and limbs.

‘Ah,’ said Emerson, trying to appear unconcerned. ‘I had begun to believe I might have to go looking for you.’

‘I had begun to think so too.’ Ramses removed his hat and unbuckled the belt with its attached holster. ‘You’ll never believe . . . Nefret!’

Her face had gone dead-white. Ramses sprang to catch her as she crumpled. He held her to him in a close embrace, with her head resting on his shoulder. ‘Nefret – sweetheart –
darling, say something!’

‘There is no need for such a fuss,’ I assured him. ‘It’s only a swoon. Put her down.’

‘She’s never swooned in her life!’ Ignoring my sensible suggestion, he dropped onto the divan, holding her tightly. Uttering incoherent ejaculations, Emerson snatched one of
her limp hands and began slapping it. I selected a clean cup, poured tea, and added several heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

A moment or two later Nefret stirred. ‘What happened?’ she asked weakly.

‘You swooned,’ Emerson said in a hoarse voice.

‘I’ve never swooned in my life!’ Her colour was back to normal and indignation brightened her blue eyes. ‘Put me down.’

‘It was my fault,’ Ramses said wretchedly. ‘I shouldn’t have burst in like that. I suppose you thought . . . Are you sure you’re all right?’

She smiled up into his anxious face. ‘I can think of something that would complete the cure.’

I have no objection to public displays of affection between married persons or those about to be wed, but I did not want Ramses distracted. I said firmly, ‘A nice hot cup of tea,’
and took it to her.

Nefret pushed it away. ‘Give it to Ramses. He looks as if he needs it more than I do.’

‘I’m all right. Just a little tired. I haven’t had much sleep in the past forty-eight hours.’

‘Did you come in through the secret door?’ Emerson asked.

Ramses shook his head. He had acquired a few more scrapes and bruises, including a sizable lump on his temple. ‘There’s no need for secrecy now. The job is blown, Father. A complete
disaster from start to finish.’

Nefret studied him critically. ‘It would be nice if just once you could come back from one of your expeditions unbruised and unbloodied.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Ramses said defensively.

‘According to Chetwode, you heroically took on ten men so that he could get away,’ Emerson said.

‘So he’s been here. It was only six,’ Ramses added.

‘Hmph,’ said Emerson. ‘Yes, he’s been here, and our cover is also blown. He insisted on delivering his message in person, and if he didn’t know my identity when he
came, he does now. I – er – I forgot myself when he broke the news that you had been captured and were in “the merciless grip of the most dangerous man in the Ottoman
Empire”, as he put it. The fellow has something of a melodramatic streak.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Ramses. ‘So he lingered long enough to see that, did he?’

‘He claimed he had hoped to come to your assistance, but the odds were too great, and he was obliged to follow your orders. It was at this point that your mother and Nefret came rushing in
– ’

‘We were in one of the secret passages,’ I explained. ‘Very useful devices. The news that a British officer had come here with a message naturally aroused our interest, so we
– ’

‘Also forgot yourselves,’ said Emerson.

‘My dear, the damage was already done. Lieutenant Chetwode did not seem at all surprised when we popped out of that cupboard.’

‘He’s going to put you in for a DSO,’ Nefret said.

‘How nice,’ said Ramses, with sardonic amusement. ‘So you sat here drinking tea while, for all you knew, I was undergoing hideous tortures?’

‘We were discussing what steps to take in order to rescue you,’ I explained. ‘And how to go about them in the most efficient manner.’