The Sleeping Sands Page 4

  Awad reported that the Bedouin leader claimed that they wanted simply to beg some bread from the travellers. Layard looked suspiciously at the fierce horsemen, with long red cloaks and ostrich-plumed spears armed with long, evil-looking points. With a careful grip on his gun, he nodded assent and instructed Antonio to lay out carpets and bread. The Bedouins dismounted, stacking their lances against the rocky wall. With polite exchanges of formal Arab greetings, the two parties sat down to share bread and smoke some of Layard’s tobacco. Layard made a point of politely enquiring the Bedouins’ names and noted them deliberately in his pocket-book. While they relaxed, Antonio, half-covering his face with his hand, came to squat next to Layard. He leant close and spoke quietly in Italian.

  ‘Effendi,’ Layard noticed a slight quaver in the young dragoman’s voice, ‘Awad did not tell you the whole story. The Bedouins asked our guides to join them in robbing you. They say all Franks carry at least fifty purses and robbing you could make us all rich!’

  ‘Really?’ Layard took a bite of the sweet, flat bread and continued to speak lowly, his mouth half full.

  ‘What did our guides reply?’

  ‘They said that they were under orders from Abu Dhaouk to ensure our safe passage. They wouldn’t make a deal with the tribesmen.’

  ‘Well, then, I doubt we have too much to worry about. Enjoy your bread.’

  Layard smiled and tapped the dragoman reassuringly on the upper arm, while smiling and nodding at the nearest seated Bedouin. Antonio could not help but notice, however, that the Englishman’s left hand rested a little closer to the double-barrelled gun lying at his side.

  After the meal and a further exchange of pleasantries, the parties took their leave of each other. The Bedouins headed to the north and Layard’s group continued south. Awad hung back a little, informing Layard that he should stay behind to ensure the horsemen did not double back and attack them from the rear. Two hours later, when he rejoined the group, which had stopped to await his return, Layard asked him what the Bedouins had really wanted.

  Awad smiled a wide grin and drew his thumb slowly across his neck.

  * * *

  Heading deeper into the hills, the travellers were forced by the unsteady ground to dismount their camels and proceed by foot. Hot, disorientated and footsore, they wound their way through the twisting maze of the hills, until they came at last to the rocky crag on the edge of the Wadi Musa, the Valley of Moses, where the guides were at last sufficiently sure of their safety to make camp.

  Night had fallen by the time their rudimentary camp, of carpets spread beneath the cold desert sky, was set. After another simple meal of bread and dates and a smoke of their precious and dwindling tobacco, Layard stretched out on his carpet and listened to the grunting, rhythmic breathing of the sleeping camels as he watched the cloudless, starlit sky. Gazing at the great sweep of the Milky Way and its myriad constellations, he mused that he was nearing each day that great cradle of civilisation where men had first given names to the stars and unravelled their mysterious secrets. Little evidence remained of those great cities of Assyria, Persia and Babylon among the wild and lawless tribesmen they had encountered on the road. He wondered what those Bedouins, eager for an opportunity to steal a few pieces of gold or beg a crust of bread, would have said if they had known the true object of his mission.

  Against the infinite expanse of the stars and thinking of the enormity of the responsibility that the Society had placed upon him, Layard once more felt a compelling sense of isolation and helplessness. He rolled over to look at the hulking shapes of the sleeping camels, their breath steaming in the cold night air. Pulling his blankets up against the cold, he closed his eyes and fell slowly into a fitful sleep.

  A cackling group of red-legged partridges rudely woke Layard the next morning. He was beginning to get used to the sudden, noisy populations of birds that would apparently materialise out of nowhere during the cooler hours of early morning and late afternoon in the otherwise deserted landscape. Rueing his guides’ advice to refrain from shooting any birds for the table – for fear that gunshots would draw unwelcome attention – Layard joined his companions in breaking camp and packing the camels. Awad and Musa were keen to leave the Wadi Ghor as quickly as possible and would not stop for even a rudimentary breakfast. As the sun was beginning to peer above the rocky hilltops, the party entered the Wadi Musa – the Valley of Moses – and within an hour and a half they were riding through the steep-walled ruins of Petra.

  Layard felt that he had never encountered a place as strange as the deserted city of Petra. The wild and twisted desolation of the surrounding landscape was by no means diminished by the mark of ancient hands. Rather, the weathered rocks of friable limestone seamlessly intertwined with the ruins of ancient buildings and tombs so that sometimes it seemed impossible to distinguish the artifice of civilized man from that of a crazed and savage nature. No vegetation relieved the monotony of the parched brown earth of the valley. Among the chaos of weathered rock-forms and tumbled masonry, impossibly huge columns stood and giant staircases were cut into the rock. Among the walls of the arid and unforgiving valley, countless dark eyes gazed down upon the travellers. Thousands of doorways and windows, cut by an unguessable multitude of forgotten hands – their temples, theatres and tombs a defiance of any rational sense that this should be a place that could sustain life.

  Now, the city was deserted and dead beyond any imagining of death. In the windless solitude and hot silence of the valley it seemed as if even ghosts could not bear to haunt its sad and lonely shadows. Exposed to the empty and cavernous eyes of the city, Layard shivered, despite the intolerable heat of late morning. He gave orders to the party to climb up the side of the valley to where a broad platform below a group of rock tombs offered a promising campsite and a good spot for breakfast. The group moved slowly up the steep, rocky incline, the faint sounds of their footsteps and dislodged rocks swallowed into the all-pervading silence of Petra. Layard fancied that anything that belonged to the world of the living, such as movement or sound, could not long survive in this domain of the dead. They made their way in silence to the platform and pitched camp. As he settled down on his carpet, Layard felt an even stronger sensation of being watched. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the tomb entrances around the campsite. In each of what had moments before been empty caves there now stood groups of strange and wild-looking Arabs. Before Layard had the chance to warn his companions a host of them swarmed out of the hillside and surrounded the party. They had made scarcely a rustle. Layard looked at the ring of silent, staring tribesmen. They were like no other Arab tribe he had yet encountered. They wore little clothing save for rags and tattered cloaks and their hair was worn in long, matted locks that reached almost to their waists. Each of the men carried either a long spear or a curved sword and each wore a strange necklace of what Layard suspected were bones around his neck. Each man wore a red thong around his upper arm and had blackened his upper cheeks with thick streaks of soot or kohl that made his eyes look unnaturally white.

  The fierce looking men stood and watched in complete silence as Layard called for some bread and milk from Antonio and settled to his breakfast. Antonio’s hands shook as he brought the food forward and Awad and Musa anxiously watched the crowd and began to re-secure the camel’s packs. All the time, the men stood and watched, seemingly unblinking eyes immune to the glare of the heightening sun. Layard deliberately and carefully finished his breakfast and then turned to look at the tribesmen again. None moved or spoke. He nodded, then began to pack up his carpet. At last, movement. One of the tribesmen stepped forward and stood between Layard and his camel, pushing his face forward and staring into the Englishman’s eyes. He said something but with an accent that made it impossible for Layard to understand. His voice was dry and sibilant with a sound like sand slipping through cracks in ancient rocks. Layard called Antonio forward to translate. The tribesman spoke again.

  ‘If you wish to walk among the rui
ns, you must pay the Dead their price.’

  ‘Really,’ replied Layard through Antonio, ‘and who are you that speak for the Dead?’

  ‘We are those they left behind to watch. We are those who collect the debt that the living owe the dead.’

  ‘Well, I am a visitor and under the protection of Sheikh Abu Dhaouk, so I do not feel that I owe any debts to the dead of this place. I am of course happy to provide recompense for any provisions that your companions might be able to sell to my party; but as for the dead, I am sure they will be quite content without my contribution.’

  ‘The dead are never happy. That is why you must pay the debt.’ The tribesman named a figure well in excess of any funds Layard carried.

  ‘That is a ridiculous price,’ laughed Layard, ‘I am afraid that I have every intention of visiting the dead without paying it and we will just have to see what they will do about it!’

  The tribesman put his hand to his sword as the crowd stepped forward to make a tighter circle around Layard’s party.

  ‘All must pay the price,’ he hissed, ‘that is why we watch.’

  ‘And, if we don’t pay?’ asked Layard, staring defiantly back and reaching for the butt of his gun.

  ‘You will pay – one way or another.’

  Layard stifled a derisive snort. The tribesman’s eyes widened in anger and his lips curled into a snarl, revealing two rows of stained, irregular and unnaturally sharp teeth. He drew his sword a few inches from its scabbard and his voice, dry as the scrape of rusting steel against ancient leather, took on a tone of incantation – as if chanting a well rehearsed liturgy.

  ‘The sands are shifting and the day is coming when all the old debts are paid. That is why we wait and watch. Those who come here bring new stories that tell us the day is getting near. Across the land, crops are failing and animals are dying. There is a sickness spreading among the holiest of places. Plague has cut off the trails to Damascus and villages and encampments are being abandoned once more to the dead. The old secrets have been disturbed and those that seek them,’ he leaned forward so that their noses almost touched and Layard could feel his hot breath upon his face. The pitch of his voice dropped to a dry hiss, ‘those that seek them should fear the price for disturbing them thus.’

  Layard said nothing. An anxious fear began to twist in his stomach. He leaned back from the tribesman, who continued.

  ‘The price we ask is trifling next to the price that is being paid for the blasphemous disruption being suffered by the land.’ He drew his sword fully and waved it in Layard’s face. ‘You will pay the price, Frank!’

  Layard pulled up his own gun and cocked it. ‘Antonio,’ he barked, ‘tell these men that we under the protection of Sheikh Abu Dhaouk and what’s more of Ibrahim Pasha too, and, if anything happens to us then their tribe will not only owe a blood debt to Abu Dhaouk but also will face extermination at the hands of the Egyptian army.’

  Terrified, Antonio stuttered out a translation of Layard’s defiance. The tribesman spat back.

  ‘Abu Dhaouk is known to us. He is a bloodthirsty bandit who has carried off hundreds of our cattle and sheep. Neither has the reputation of Ibrahim Pasha gone unheard in Petra. It is fitting that you hide behind the protection of these robbers and cut-throats for your blasphemous mission. Still. We have no desire to feel the attention of the Pasha. We will let you walk among the ruins for half of the usual price.’

  Even half of the price was well beyond Layard’s means. He levelled his gun. Awad and Musa jumped to his side, raising their own weapons and Antonio half-crouched behind Layard, instinctively clutching at his jacket. The crowd stepped forward once more, drawing swords and knives and levelling their spears at the four men.

  ‘You will find that we sell our lives dearly,’ cried Layard. ‘Those of you that survive an attack on us will find no mercy at the hands of Ibrahim Pasha’s army – and your women and children will face the hospitality of the tents of Sheik Abu Dhaouk.’

  For what seemed to be an age, no-one spoke or moved. There was no sound except for the faint buzzing of a lone insect, a little to Layard’s right, and the occasional snort from the camels. In the cruel desert sun, time seemed suspended. Layard became conscious of a rhythmic surging roar in his ears – the distant sound of his own heartbeat, slowed impossibly in the thick hot air.

  At last, the tribesman dropped the point of his sword and gestured to the ring of warriors who drew back to allow a pathway for the travellers.

  ‘As a dog you came and as a dog you leave,’ spat the tribesman.

  Layard reached into his pocket and drew out a small silver coin. He threw it disdainfully in the dirt at the tribesman’s feet.

  ‘Here is payment for your hospitality. We shall enjoy our visit to the ruins.’

  As the party made their way cautiously back down the hill, the tribesman sang out once more.

  ‘Your road will be long and hard. You will see those you love suffer and die. You will know hunger and pain. When you eventually find that which you seek, Frank, you will find that it is not so easy to avoid paying its price!’

  ‘Superstitious savages,’ muttered Antonio, who had regained confidence as they moved away from the warriors. ‘Pay them no heed, Effendi – they do not know anything.’

  ‘Nor they do,’ smiled Layard reassuringly. However, he could not help but wonder how much the tribesman had known of his affairs. He turned to Awad. ‘Who were those men? They weren’t like any Bedouin I have seen before.’

  ‘They are not true Bedouin, Effendi.’ Awad spat in the dirt. ‘They are the children of the people that lived here long ago. They are not strict Muslims but worship ancient spirits in the rocks. It is said among the desert tribes that their ancestors lay with djinn to learn the secrets of building a great city – so they are not even whole humans. We would do well to be clear of here by nightfall or else they will crawl out of their holes like snakes and return to rob us.’

  Layard turned to look back up at the tribesmen. Most had now dispersed and were hidden once more among the tombs. The leader stood for a moment, watching them. Then, he crouched and picked up the silver piastre that Layard had thrown at his feet, bit it and slipped it into a fold of his ragged jacket before slipping into the darkness of a nearby cavemouth.

  ‘See, Effendi. No true Bedouin would take payment for hospitality. These are dishonourable robbers, with nothing but lies on their tongues.’

  ‘For our sake, I hope you’re right.’

  * * *

  With a rustling of dry rags on dust and the soft rattle of bones, the caves returned to their silent and blind vigil. The tribesmen’s leader had watched the retreating party longest, so none saw him slip into the deepest of the caves, his hands absently clutching at the silver coin in his pocket. There were none to hear him muttering angrily as he hurried, sure-footed down a long, dark, winding tunnel. Nor did anyone see the contortions of rage on his brow freeze into a half-smile of shock at the sound of something both completely unexpected and compellingly familiar. A soft chink of stone on stone. A slight scrape of gravel and a short rapid hiss.

  Then silence. There was no-one from his tribe to witness that half-smile widen into a grimace from which no sound would ever again issue. When some did find him, days later, he had a second smile stretched across his neck in a black mockery of his mouth. Around him was a dark stain of something congealed. In the flickering light of torches, the buzzing of unseen flies around this stain seemed to the ears of the frightened watchers an echoing taunting laughter, which came not from insects or any earthly throat but rather emanated from his impossibly animated second mouth.

  They turned and fled that place, not even stopping to retrieve the dirty silver piastre that had slipped from his fingers.

  CHAPTER 3

  TIME SEEMED TO MELT INTO ITSELF WITH THE SHIMMERING DESERT HEAT. Layard found it hard to remember whether it had been weeks or just days since he had sat with Edward Mitford, his travelling companion; arguing long int
o the Jerusalem night over his plans. Layard had joked about the nature of breeding. He had dismissed Mitford’s concerns about the wisdom of his proposal to travel alone in the Syrian Desert, purely, as Mitford saw it, to indulge a curiosity about ruins. He had expounded at length over a glass of Palestinian wine, on the nature of civilization; how it had sprung from the East and how it had been inherited by the West, refined by Athens, wrought by Rome and handed down to men of spirit such as themselves. He recounted the conversations he had had with Benjamin Disraeli on his own return from the Ottoman lands.

  ‘Ben says we shall be an Empire soon – within our own lifetimes even,’ he clumsily gestured in the general direction of the window of their lodging. ‘We have as much right to be out there, where it all began, as any of the savage tribesmen who camp in the shadows of civilization without knowing the slightest bit of its history themselves.’

  ‘Disraeli is hardly the best model of political astuteness,’ observed Mitford. ‘How much did he lose in his South American mining endeavours – or with that ridiculous newspaper?’

  ‘Ben knows the future is in the East – not among the indolent and insular little coterie of clerks and tradesmen that make up English society. Out there is where we will find our destinies. That’s why Ben came to Constantinople – and why you and I find ourselves together on this journey. We are the generation that is building a new future. It is in our blood.’ Layard felt, not for the first time on the journey, slightly exasperated by Edward Mitford’s caution and lack of adventure. He was brave enough when it came to a fix, to be sure – he had proved a solid and reliable sort on their travels so far. Yet he seemed not to burn with the same romantic ambition that Layard had cultivated under Disraeli’s tutelage. Sometimes he felt he could not imagine what the Society had seen in Mitford nor what special instructions they might have given to him. He indulged himself with the notion that it was quite likely that Mitford had been given no special tasks whatsoever but was simply provided as a convenience for Layard in their more public responsibilities. He repeated, a note of frustration in his voice.