And El Kassem feared him as well.
They left three days later on a steamer headed for Lattakia via Piraeus and Limassol. Lino bade Philip farewell, drying his eyes with a handkerchief, and sent them off with a cardboard suitcase he had filled with provisions and other things they would find useful.
‘I’m afraid I’ll never see you again,’ he said. ‘I’m old and your journey is a long one.’
‘Don’t say that, Lino,’ protested Philip. ‘People who care for each other always end up meeting again, sooner or later.’
‘God willing,’ said Lino.
‘Inshallah,’ said El Kassem.
Without realizing it, the old Neapolitan servant and the mighty Arab warrior had said the same thing.
THE LEGIONNAIRES ADVANCED in a single column along the gully wedged into the Amanus Mountains between Bab el Awa and the Monastery of the Ladies, so called because of the ancient Byzantine coenobium set between the spurs of the massif. General LaSalle, the new commander appointed by the fort of Aleppo, was keeping his eyes wide open and had sent out groups of scouts ahead of the column and on both sides, knowing that the territory had recently been subject to raids by desert marauders: Druses from Mount Amanus and from Lebanon, and bedouins from the plains.
The day was drawing to a close and the officer ordered the squad to stop at the ruins of the monastery and set up camp there. The imposing complex, reused in the Abassid era as a caravanserai for convoys from Anatolia headed east, had long been completely abandoned, but its thick walls and massive bastions made it a good refuge for the night. A flock of ravens rose croaking from the sentry tower at the entrance and LaSalle watched them with satisfaction; their hectic flight meant that no other humans had been around to disturb them.
The men dismounted, took the saddles off their horses and left the animals to graze on the tufts of yellow grass sprouting here and there among the ruins. They gathered dry tamarisk and broom branches in the middle of the vast courtyard and lit a fire to cook their evening meal.
The commander posted sentries on the bastions and thought he could allow himself a little rest until the meal was ready. He knew of the fame of that monument and he began to explore the complex structure. It had been built in the Byzantine era but its walls incorporated a quantity of material from other much more ancient buildings, so that here and there he could spot capitals from the Hellenistic and Roman periods, along with columns, statue bases and even altars, complete with dedicatory inscriptions.
He realized that one day, long ago, victims had been offered to a god on those very altar stones. The inscriptions they bore, corroded by the wind and sand, had once been carved so that the victims might rise to the heavens with the smoke of the burning incense. He wondered whether the day would come in which the God of the Christians and the God of Islam would be forgotten like Jupiter Dolichenus and Hermes Trismegistus.
Death overcame him before he could formulate an answer to his questions. Surprised by a shot to the nape of his neck, he fell, gasping, as furious rounds of musketry exploded all around him. The attackers had come from underground.
From the crypts and the galleries which were honeycombed beneath the great courtyard, hundreds of marauders sprang up and surprised the men at the very moment their dinner was being distributed. The sentries, who were looking outwards, were the first to be felled, and then it was the turn of the other soldiers, mostly gathered around the campfire. Those who chaotically tried to grab hold of their weapons were immediately mown down and the battle was over in a few minutes.
The marauders ran wild over the camp, seizing horses, arms and ammunition and stripping the corpses.
A man of impressive stature and pale skin was just coming up from underground. He wore well-buffed brown leather boots and had an automatic pistol in a holster hanging from his belt. He climbed up the ruins until he found General LaSalle where he lay dying. With the last bit of energy he had, the officer turned his head slightly towards him and recognized his icy stare, saw the yellowish stain on his shirt over his right side. ‘Selznick!’ he managed with his last breath. ‘Your side still bleeds . . . I . . . I am dying, but you are cursed by God . . .’
Selznick considered him for a moment or two without batting an eye, then knelt beside him and plunged a dagger deep into the general’s right side. He waved to one of his men, who approached, stripped the cadaver of its uniform and handed it over to Selznick. It was just about his size, and he went inside to put it on. He removed his own jacket and shirt and glanced briefly at the bandage covering the wound on his right side, which would not heal. When he reappeared, his men saluted him by shooting into the air and he moved towards the courtyard to choose his horse. He ordered one of the marauders to put on a legionnaire’s uniform and then approached the bedouin chieftain.
‘You can go now,’ he said. ‘We’ll proceed alone. I’ll let you know when I need you again.’
He watched them take off at a gallop down the narrow gully, then removed a little silver box from his pocket, took a pinch of opium from it and began chewing it slowly, enjoying its bitter flavour and pungent scent.
He waited until the drug had taken effect and assuaged the pain of his wound, then mounted his horse. The two men took off at a swift pace, heading south. When they had reached the plain, they turned left, towards the east. By the first light of dawn they were within sight of the Ain Walid fort. They slowed and continued at a trot until they were in front of the entrance.
‘Who goes there?’ shouted out the sentry. ‘Make yourselves known!’
‘It’s General LaSalle!’ said Selznick. ‘Open up, quickly! We were ambushed! We are the only survivors.’
The sentry took a closer look. The general was listing in his saddle and holding his right side. He called out to the officer on picket duty to open the gate and let him in.
The wounded man slipped off his horse. ‘I’m General LaSalle,’ he said in a pain-filled voice. ‘The new commander of the Aleppo garrison. My men and I were attacked. We defended ourselves . . . We fought bravely, but it was no use. We were outnumbered ten to one . . .’
The officer helped him straighten up and led him towards the door. ‘Don’t strain yourself, General. You can tell us about it later. You’re wounded. Let us take care of you.’
Two legionnaires ran up with a stretcher while the picket officer gave orders for the infirmary to be made ready. Selznick was transferred to a bed and the medical officer removed his jacket and shirt.
‘A jatagan,’ said Selznick, nodding towards the dressing on his right side. ‘They gave me up for dead. I spent hours in a heap of corpses until the soldier who was with me found me.’
The medical officer removed the bandage and couldn’t hide his disgust at the sight of the wound. ‘My God, we’ll have to cauterize it . . . It must be cauterized immediately.’
‘Do what you must do, doctor,’ said Selznick. ‘I will leave again as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, all right,’ said the doctor, nodding. ‘I’ll put you out with some ether.’
‘No,’ said Selznick, ‘give me a little opium, if you have any. I don’t want ether. I’ve never lost consciousness in my life.’
He stared at the doctor with a look that did not allow objections. The medical officer gave him the opium, then scalded a blade over the flame of a Bunsen burner. When it was white hot, he placed it against the wound. The incandescent metal sizzled in contact with the flesh and a nauseating stench filled the little room. Selznick gritted his teeth but a low moan of pain slipped out nonetheless.
The medical officer disinfected the wound with alcohol and applied a fresh bandage. ‘You can rest now, General. It’s all over.’
Selznick dropped back onto the bed and closed his eyes.
He passed three days at the fort, nearly always sleeping, day and night, until one morning the medical officer found him on his feet, pale and silent. He left the next morning at dawn.
‘You are a tough man, General,’ said the
fort commander at the moment of departure. ‘But it’s certainly not prudent for you to try to reach Aleppo on horseback. I’ve called in a vehicle from our logistics centre. You’ll travel much more comfortably. Obviously, we immediately notified headquarters at Aleppo of the fate suffered by your unit and of your own wounds. The news was greeted with great shock. As I’m sure you know, many of your fallen officers were well known here and had old friends in the garrison. Supreme Command will certainly want a full report on the incident.’
‘I myself am still in shock, Commander,’ said Selznick. ‘On the other hand, none of us could ever have expected an attack from under the ground, as if from Satan himself.’
‘Indeed,’ said the commander. ‘Well, good luck, General LaSalle.’
‘Good luck to you, Commander,’ said Selznick, responding to his salute and shaking the man’s hand as well. ‘I hope we shall meet again.’
A military truck marked with Aleppo insignia was waiting for him in the courtyard. Selznick took his place alongside the driver and the vehicle disappeared in a cloud of dust.
‘What a remarkable man,’ observed the commander as he watched the little truck drive off down the track.
‘You can say that again,’ said the medical officer at his side. ‘I’ve never seen anyone recover so quickly from a wound like that.’
‘Was it serious?’
‘I must say, it was the strangest thing I’d ever seen. The iron sliced through the muscles of his side without damaging any vital organs. He was lucky, but there aren’t many men made of the same stuff that he is.’
‘Right you are. General LaSalle was a hero of the Battle of the Somme. I’m sure we’ll hear of him again. The villains who destroyed his unit have their days numbered, mark my words.’
SELZNICK REACHED ALEPPO in the late afternoon and ordered the truck to stop at the bottom of the hill on which the garrison’s Ottoman fortress arose. The clay tell was scored by deep vertical furrows and the ring of walls and towers at its top shimmered in the fierce light of the afternoon sun. It was on that very hill that Abraham was said to have offered sacrifice to his God in the land of Harran.
Selznick contemplated the superb sight for a moment before he slowly began to climb the steps that led to the entrance, under the astonished gaze of the officer on duty, who’d heard that the general had been wounded in battle just four days earlier. He looked small at the bottom of that majestic access ramp, like a tin soldier, but his figure took on an imposing stature as he ascended the steep incline at a steady pace.
As soon as the officer saw him near the gate he drew up the guard and gave them the order to present arms. Without turning his head, he could see the general from the corner of his eye as he passed. The man was deathly pale, and beads of sweat studded his brow and temples under his kepi, but his bearing was erect, his gait sure.
The ranks stood proud on the parade ground for his inspection and then the general was taken to his quarters.
IT TOOK PHILIP GARRETT and El Kassem nearly two weeks to reach Limassol because of the weather, which turned bad as soon as they passed the Strait of Messina. The ship had to stop at Patras and then again at Piraeus before taking to the open sea. A storm battered the Gulf of Saronico, raging against the cliffs of Attica with incredible violence, and Philip was glad when the captain decided against moving on in those conditions. El Kassem could not have borne another moment of seasickness.
They took advantage of the delay to explore their surroundings. The two men made an excursion on horseback to the top of Mount Citerone. The landscape was incredibly beautiful and the storm clouds that raced across the Hellenic countryside, over the land green with rain and the rocks shiny as iron, made the view even more impressive. To Philip it seemed a century ago that Colonel Jobert had asked to meet him at the Café Junot on Rue Tronchet.
They sought refuge in a tavern when the wind picked up again, promising another downpour, and they sat in a corner of the little place, its only customers. Philip ordered an ouzo that tasted much like his usual Pernod and a cup of Turkish coffee for his friend. Their host never took his eyes off them as they sat waiting for the rain to stop. He had never seen such an ill-assorted pair.
‘What caused their rivalry?’ Philip asked El Kassem suddenly. ‘What drove them to a duel?’
‘I don’t know if you could call it a duel exactly,’ replied the Arab warrior evasively.
‘Well, what happened then?’ insisted Philip. He found that El Kassem had become rather reticent of late.
‘Your father trusted Selznick at first,’ El Kassem added after a little while. ‘He had hired him himself. The man had an extensive knowledge of the terrain and sidi Desmond put him in charge of security for the expedition. At a certain point, your father discovered the entrance to an underground passage at the oasis of Siwa, a kind of labyrinth where it was very easy to lose one’s bearings. I never understood what he was looking for down there. There was no gold, no treasure of any sort. I believe he was fascinated by the stones, old stones carved with figures of demons, etched with writing that no one could read any more. No one but him, maybe. But he was enthusiastic about his discovery. So excited that he had me travel to the coast, to send a telegram to his wife. Your mother. He wanted her to come.’
‘I remember,’ said Philip, ‘and you can’t imagine how I suffered because my father hadn’t sent for me. I knew him well. If he hadn’t mentioned me by name it meant that he didn’t want me. I would have given anything to be with him in the desert . . . anything.’
‘Your mother was very beautiful,’ continued El Kassem, and his eyes shone with a strange light in the shadows of the tavern. ‘Selznick had set his eyes upon her.’
The expression sounded familiar to Philip. It was the same phrase used in the Bible when David gazed upon Bathsheba’s naked body.
‘That was the cause, then,’ mused Philip.
El Kassem dropped his eyes.
‘Tell me the truth, please, I must know!’
El Kassem turned his gaze towards the window, at the rain streaming down the glass.
‘One day your father and I returned to camp,’ he started again, ‘unexpectedly, and he saw them together. Your mother was leaning against the trunk of a palm tree and he was very close. Your father thought he saw them exchange a glance . . . Do you understand what I mean?’
‘Yes,’ said Philip. ‘Go on.’ But his voice cracked with emotion.
‘Your father was thunderstruck by that vision, by what he thought he read in their eyes.’
‘He thought?’
‘Yes. He suddenly realized that he had left her alone too often and for too long. I know your father. I know the nightmares that cross his mind, by day and by night. The next day he asked me to take her home. I took an escort of my men, along with a couple of women to serve her, and I accompanied her back to the coast. She did not speak my language and I did not speak hers. It was a journey of endless silence but I could see the pain in her eyes and the weight of her despair burdened my heart.
‘When I returned, I tried again and again to make him understand that he was wrong, but he would not listen. He wouldn’t consider sending Selznick away either. He was too proud to admit that he thought him a rival.
‘But your father had changed. Something had broken in him and he lost all interest in his research. One day he closed up the site, embraced me and said goodbye. He was heading north, towards the coast, but he never said where he was going.’
Philip remembered that his father had returned, first to Rome and then to Naples, never even coming home to visit his mother. And then she had fallen ill. And her illness had taken her away. He covered his face with his hands.
El Kassem fell silent, letting Philip collect his thoughts and his memories, and then continued with his story.
‘Years later, after the Great War had ended, he came back. He seemed to have regained all the energy and drive of his best days, and yet there was no joy left in him. In the evening I’d often f
ind him alone, at the edge of the camp, watching the sun set over the dunes in silence.
‘At the end of the summer, we organized a new expedition. It was then that the Legion sent one of its officers, purportedly to collaborate with us, but perhaps in reality to keep an eye on what your father was doing.
‘Your father couldn’t believe his eyes when that man turned out to be Selznick. He was the liaison officer between Legion command and our expedition. At first, I thought your father would abandon the expedition completely, but then he seemed to adapt to the strange situation. The relationship between them was tense but civil, and your father continued his explorations until one day the two of them – your father and Selznick – went underground. It was obvious that he’d wanted to go down alone, but Selznick’s orders from the Legion permitted him to follow your father practically everywhere. I stayed outside on guard.
‘Only your father came out. He was wounded, his clothing was ripped, he was dripping with sweat and his eyes were bloodshot. He was holding one of those stones, holding it against his chest like it was a precious treasure. In his other hand he held a blade of a style and a metal I’d never seen. It was bloody.
‘“What happened?” I asked him. “Where’s Selznick?”
‘ “Selznick’s dead,” he answered me. I imagined that there had been some accident, a cave-in, a fall.
‘ “I killed him,” he said. He told me that Selznick had tried to rob him of the stone he still gripped so tightly and to bury him in that underground chamber. “But I found a weapon,” he added, and dropped the blade he had in his hand.
‘But Selznick was not dead. The wound that your father inflicted that day has never healed, and it just makes him fiercer and fiercer with every passing day. None of us will be safe until we’ve found him and killed him.’
The Tower Page 11
