The gate opened to a small portal chamber with a similar gate on the far wall. The outermost opening was supported by massive basalt lintels, dark with age and wear. Once inside Paul was surprised at Jabr’s next statement. “I must ask you to undress,” he said hurriedly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Please, there is very little time. You must change clothing.” One of the guards tramped in with an armful of dull brown burlap.
“As you wish,” said Paul, feeling very uncomfortable about this situation. “What about the clothes I was wearing when I arrived?” He suddenly realized that he had his wallet, money, keys and other personal effects with him that had gone missing.”
“I’m very sorry,” Jabr said quickly. “They were all destroyed by fire. It is customary when anyone comes through the well. Please, we must hurry.”
Paul didn’t like the sound of that. Now there would be no easy way he could identify himself to the authorities if he ever obtained his freedom. He wondered if they meant to kill him here and now. Were they merely reclaiming the finery he had been dressed in so they could dispose of his body in these rags? He took up the garment, unhappy to see how it was soiled and muddied, as though only recently cast off by a traveler on the road. Was this to be his burial gown? Resigned, he undid the woven sash at his waist, and moments later he was tying off the new robe, if it could be called such, with a simple twine rope.
“The hood,” said Jabr. “Please cover your head.”
Paul reached back to pull the drooping hood up onto his head, realizing that he must look like a cloistered monk in these heavy brown robes.
Jabr squinted at him. “That will do. Be careful not to show your face. We must move quickly now.”
It comforted Paul to see that both the guards, and Jabr himself were changing into similar garb. It was now evident that they meant to secret him away from the castle, and they seemed in a great hurry.
“Alas,” Jabr forced a smile. “Samirah was nearly turned by the Sami. I think she meant to poison you tonight, or at least she was pressed to that deed by some great fear. I am sorry to have burst in upon you in such an unseemly manner, but if you had taken the cup from her hand I think your sleep would have been very dark. Sadly, you will not enjoy her company tonight. Before you count your losses, consider that your life may be gained by this move. Things did not go well with the Sami. The severed head is an ill omen. His men are afoot in the castle and there may be bloodshed soon. The Kadi has ordered me to secure your life, but the next few hours will be critical. Another will lie in your place, dressed in your robes, and carry out the ruse that you are still in your quarters as before. I do not envy him. Come, we must make haste!”
The guards pushed open the outer gate and they passed through to emerge at the stony edge of a steep precipice. As his eyes adjusted Paul soon saw a narrow path winding down into a cloven gully, lit by a low setting moon, and partially obscured by the hills. The whole setting was overshadowed by the brooding prominence of a great castle that had been built on a high limestone hill. The walls leapt up from this point, as if they had grown from the sheer cliffs about them. The tawny stones were scored with the weathering of wind and occasional rain, yet they seemed impregnable—a massive fortress of brick and rock spiking up into a gray-black sky.
Paul realized that their long descent had taken them below the level of his original quarters. Apparently the castle builders had exploited many natural crevices and hollows to delve out a series of underground passageways and vaults beneath the rugged limestone elevation.
“Follow quickly,” said Jabr. “Keep to the shadows. The way may be open for a time, yet we must be very careful. I do not think that the Sami could to spy us out in this light, even from the Eyrie of Sinan, but he will certainly have watchers on the outer towers. This way is seldom used, and not easily seen from above. We must reach the chamber of hiding before the Sami realizes you are gone.”
So much for drifting to this place on the underground river, thought Paul. He was on a high range of coastal mountains, and the terrain about them looked nothing like Wadi Rumm. How could he have reached this promontory height from an underground cavern? Think now, he told himself, you must have been driven here while unconscious. He was very confused, but pressed by the immediacy of the danger.
There was now little doubt in his mind that the Sami had argued for his death in the council that morning. He probably meant to stab him or cut his throat, but something stopped the man when he approached. Perhaps he could not risk such an obvious act of defiance in the presence of the Kadi. Paul thought of Samirah and the decoy that would take his place in the room where he had been quartered. He wondered what would happen to the girl if Jabr’s suspicions about her complicity in the plot proved true. The subtle clues began to mount up in his mind, and he understood why she seemed so upset. The porcelain cup had been filled with a lethal agent. She had been ordered to poison him! Yet, though her fear compelled her to obey, and pour the dark liqueur for him as before, something else happened there. She dashed the cup away, protecting him on an impulse. He must tell Jabr that Samirah should not be harmed.
The way led them down into a steep ravine, overgrown with scrub and thorn. The thick outer garments were coarse and itchy, but they made good sense to Paul now. He was grateful for the protection they afforded as the small party slipped through the gorge, descending all the way. They walked for nearly half an hour before they came upon two horses tied to a withered tree stump. One was a gray-flecked mare, and the other a sturdy caramel plow horse with heavy fetlocks and muddied hooves. Jabr approached them silently, and Paul saw that he had produced a small handful of brown sugar, which he used to quiet the horses while the two guards took up their reins and prepared to mount.
“We will ride two men to each horse,” said Jabr. “I will go forward with Hamza, and you will follow with Aziz. They are good men both. Have no fear.” He watched while Paul cast a sidelong glance at the plow horse. “Do you ride well?”
“To be honest,” Paul confessed, “I’ve never been on a horse in my life.”
This brought a moment of real surprise to Jabr’s eyes. He stared at Paul, as if trying to see through him, see into him to some understanding of who he was and why he had come. “You are no Templar,” he concluded. “That much is certain. And I doubt if you are a sergeant or even a squire if you have never set your cheeks upon the back of a horse. The Sami was wrong. Come now, Aziz will assist you.”
Yes, thought Paul. I’m no Templar—but who in blazes are you? Where in God’s name am I—or must I call upon Allah now to find that out? He knew that much of the world still lived in backward, almost medieval conditions, but this was too much. How could a band of Arab radicals be occupying the ruins of an old castle with complete impunity? All those sites were considered antiquities now and carefully managed by local governments. Yet these men ran about with turbans and swords as if they were acting out some private little fantasy here. It was all too strange. Nothing made sense!
Paul needed the help of both guards to get up on the back of the plow horse. Once he was safely mounted, the guard, Aziz, leapt deftly aboard, seating himself behind Paul and urging the beast on.
Paul squinted through the hood of his robe at the landscape around him. He was struck by the barren emptiness of it all. The hills were sparsely vegetated, falling off to a tumbled lowland below. He could see no sign of the village Jabr had mentioned. It was very odd. There were no lights, no glow of cities in the distant darkness of the night. Wherever this castle was, it must surely be remote. He looked over his shoulder at the stark outline of the castle in the distance and suddenly knew what was wrong.