The Walking Drum (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  “However did you find this place?” We were in the copse, the very place I had studied as a possibility.

  “I’d seen you looking at this place, and I have lived in several castles, not only the one in Palermo. Such places as this were used. What you could not see from where we were is that a part of the copse is right below the wall; you were looking at a place further away. The trees disappear for part of its length, then there’s another patch of them.

  “You were gone so long I was frightened. I started down the steps after you. I called and called, but there was no response, so I went back before I had gone far. I was afraid you would come looking and find me gone. Then on the second morning—”

  “The what?”

  “Oh, Mathurin! Didn’t you know? You have been down there two days and a night!”

  Down there in the darkness, how could one know? How long had I sat on the step in the darkness? Had I slept? How long had I been on the steps, feeling my way down, sometimes with long pauses while my feet or hands explored for resting places?

  My hunger now told me what she said was true, a thing forgotten in my horror at dying there in the darkness as had those others whose bones crunched beneath my feet.

  The Castle of Othman remained as we had left it. The Barb greeted me with a whinny, extending his nose toward me. I rubbed his neck for a minute or so, talking gently to him. Then I went to the fountain, and stripping off my shirt, I bathed away the sweat and dust. Wrapped in my robes once more, I rested while Aziza brought me food, then I slept.

  A long time later I awakened. It was not yet morning, although the sky seemed lighter. I lay still, staring upward and thinking about our situation. Our food was almost gone, and we could remain here no longer.

  The only solution seemed a return to Córdoba or to travel on to some other town such as Seville or perhaps Toledo. By now the men of ibn-Haram would have searched the city and its environs. A return might be in order.

  If careful, we might even return the way we had come, thus escaping the guards at the gates of the city. We might even continue to hide at the home of ibn-Tuwais. Getting to my feet, I went to the window and looked toward Córdoba. It was not yet light, but I could see for a good distance across country. Nothing moved.

  Descending the stair, I went to the garden. What few grapes there had been we had eaten. The apricots, only few in number, were also gone.

  We had no choice. We must ride away from the Castle of Othman.

  15

  WHEN AZIZA AWAKENED I waited until she had left the fountain and returned inside. “We have food for no more than a day,” I told her. “We will have to go.”

  “To Córdoba? We cannot.”

  “We will be safer there. If we start for somewhere else, we may fall in with brigands or soldiers.”

  “Yusuf is trying to make the roads safe.”

  “No doubt…in time. They are not safe yet.”

  She was silent for a moment, and I said, “It is safer for you. It is the last thing they will expect. I have some money.”

  Before noon I led the horses to the copse and picketed them where they were concealed by the trees around a small meadow. We must escape. If necessary, we could use the tower, and with candles and much care we could manage now that I had taken that route. With care we could last out another day and each day was a small victory for us.

  Where else could we go? Her friends could not be trusted, for some were certainly now allied to Yusuf or ibn-Haram. Others were afraid of him. After the storm that must have been raised, any young man traveling with a beautiful girl would draw attention. In Córdoba I could lose myself among the students and find something to do. It was not in me to long remain idle. Even now I was chafing to be learning.

  It was almost dusk when we saw the riders. There were at least a dozen, and they rode in a compact group heading for the Castle of Othman.

  “Quick! We will hide in the passage!”

  Swiftly, we gathered all we had brought and removed what signs there were of our presence. Much had already been done, as we planned to leave. As we closed the door behind us, we could hear the sound of hooves in the courtyard.

  Crouching on the small landing in the darkness, we waited. We had left nothing, of that we were sure, yet there would be trampled grass and evidence that someone had been there. We hoped they would believe it had been brigands.

  A subdued rustling sounded beyond the stone door, large sounds no doubt, but faintly heard from here. Moving back, I brushed against something I had not seen before. Another set of steps led upward. The stairwell was very small, but moving quietly we climbed upward to reach a small room not more than four feet wide but twelve long. There was a stone bench, a rusty halberd.

  Then I saw a narrow crack where the stones should have fitted but which had been purposely left to allow a viewer to watch what transpired in the great hall, and due to the collapse of walls, it also offered a view of a part of the outer court. Snuffing our candle, we peered through.

  A half-dozen men were in view, soldiers all. Outside in the court we could see others, searching all about.

  As I watched, the officer in command turned and I saw his face clearly. It was Duban.

  My mouth had opened to call out when Aziza clapped a hand over it, shaking her head violently.

  “But it is Duban! He will help us!”

  “They would kill you. You have been too long alone with me.”

  “But—!”

  “No matter. They would kill you, anyway.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, “I am a fool.”

  “Whatever you are, I love you.”

  Startled, I looked at her, and she returned my gaze with wide eyes. “I mean it,” she said. “Not that it will matter. They will marry me to whom they wish if it will aid their cause.”

  When they had ridden away we descended the stair and went to the top of the keep. From there we could watch over the entire countryside, and the riders were far away now, riding swiftly toward a high road where dim movement could be seen.

  We could no longer remain here. They had found nothing, but they might return. It was obvious someone had been moving about in the courtyard and the garden.

  “You were right,” I admitted, “I should have known what they would think.”

  “I am important to them,” she said. “They want me because I am useful for bargaining. They hope to seal an alliance with me.” She shrugged. “Women such as I know this is what is expected, and sometimes the match is a happy one.”

  “And if it is not?”

  “We manage, somehow. We have known what was expected of us, and some become very clever at politics and intrigue. Some simply find a lover; some sink into whatever life they have with their children, and often they are enough.”

  At nightfall we left the Castle of Othman, walking hand in hand down the slope to the copse where the horses were tethered. The black well had left me uneasy, and I had a premonition I had not seen the last of it, yet now I knew its secrets, or some of them. A thing to be remembered: There among the bones lay the largest part of my fallen candle. Such things can be the price of life or death.

  We rode, keeping to low ground and darkness, to the entrance to ibn-Tuwais’s tunnel. Once inside we heard no sound. We rode to the hidden stable, left our horses with plenty of feed, and reentered the beautiful apartments where we had first hidden.

  No sound came from beyond the wall. We detected no movement in the house. Had ibn-Tuwais been taken away to be tortured or killed?

  There could have been no evidence of my presence left in the house, so the search must have been purely routine unless they had previous knowledge of my presence.

  But how could that have been?

  When for a long time we heard no sound, I pushed on the slab and it pivoted gently. There was a slight scrape of stone o
n stone but no other sound. With drawn sword I went through the door.

  A rustle of garments, and a familiar voice. “Kerbouchard? Come in. You are safe.”

  The voice was that of Mahmoud.

  Stepping into the room, we found him reclining upon a divan, one of the books of ibn-Tuwais in his hand. He arose and came to us, bowing low to Aziza.

  “We feared you had been captured or killed. Ibn-Tuwais got word to us to wait for you here.”

  Why did I not trust him? There was no reason for mistrust, and we desperately needed a friend.

  “When you could not be found they arrested ibn-Tuwais. He has told them nothing.”

  “But how could they know I had lived here?”

  He shrugged. “Someone saw you, I suppose. Spies are everywhere, and as you should know, we Berbers trust no one.”

  He glanced at Aziza. “Ibn-Sharaz is said to be angry over his daughter’s disappearance, and Prince Ahmed—you can imagine how he feels.”

  Mahmoud seated himself and clapped his hands for a slave. The man who came was strange to me, yet I recalled having seen him once. Was it in Mahmoud’s home? The slave began to spread a low table for a meal, and after our poor fare of the past week, my mouth watered.

  “You must remain here for the time,” Mahmoud suggested, “and we will arrange to get you out of the city.”

  Mahmoud was my friend; there was no earthly reason for not trusting him, yet the situation left me uneasy.

  Mahmoud was a Berber, yet I did not believe he had any connection with Yusuf or ibn-Haram. His friends had all belonged to the previous ruling group, the Almoravids.

  I liked it not at all. In effect we were prisoners in the house, trusting to Mahmoud for food as well as information, and I had seen his eyes stray toward Aziza. Was it with envy or jealousy?

  Mahmoud was ambitious, and Aziza was a pawn in a struggle for power, a struggle in which I was merely in the way. Reluctantly, I had to admit she would be better off with Prince Ahmed than with me. At least she would be assured of comfort, food to eat, and freedom from pursuit.

  What had I to offer but love? I was a drifting adventurer, a man living by his wits and his blade. I had neither family, fortune, nor friends.

  When Mahmoud had gone Aziza came at once to me. “Of what are you thinking?”

  “I do not trust him.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “You would be safer with Prince Ahmed.”

  “But happier with you.”

  No doubt she believed what she said, yet I could only think of the city out there, teeming with potential enemies, devoid of friends.

  “The slave is a spy,” she warned. “Be careful of what you say.”

  “We still have the horses.”

  “Yes.”

  Was there reluctance in her tone? She had been brought up to a life of luxury and ease, living in the saddle or in occasional ruins could become old very soon. Our stay at the Castle of Othman had been idyllic only up to a point.

  Restlessly, I paced, filled with uncertainty, always aware of the presence of the slave. He was busy, but close by.

  My bow and arrows had been left on my saddle. My scimitar and dagger were with me. There was little food in the secret room, but I could get more. The question was, when to move?

  The time was now.

  All my instincts as well as my intelligence warned me there was no time to lose. The walls seemed suddenly oppressive, and I wished desperately to be free, to be outside, riding across the tawny plain.

  Turning to Aziza, I said, “You must think, and you must be honest both with me and with yourself. If you escape with me now, you will be tying yourself and your fortunes to me, perhaps for always. You cannot go back.”

  “I do not want to go back, Mathurin. I wish to be with you.”

  “All right. We will go, now.”

  The slave had been gone from the room; now he returned suddenly. I went at once to the storeroom and began packing food.

  “If you will but tell me what to do, Master, I will do it.”

  “Just stay where you are and be still. I will do it myself.”

  He turned to leave the room, and I stepped before him, my hand on my scimitar. “Sit down!” I commanded.

  His lips tightened, and he grew suddenly wary.

  “Try to leave,” I promised, “and you shall choke on your own blood.”

  He backed away and seated himself on a cask. Swiftly, I finished my packing and went out of the door, locking it behind me.

  Aziza was waiting. “Hurry, Mathurin! They—”

  The outer door opened, and I heard footsteps and the clank of arms.

  Wheeling in my tracks, I pushed to open the door into the secret room. The stone door swung inward.

  Four men faced me with drawn swords.

  16

  WHEN I OPENED my eyes my cell was unchanged, and I lay upon the filthy straw that for three months had been my bed.

  For a long time I lay still, remembering the expression on the face of Mahmoud as he stood behind the four swordsmen.

  “I am sorry, my friend,” he said smugly. “You were in the way.”

  Aziza had cried when they took her from me, her lovely features contorted with weeping.

  One other face that I was to remember, a tall, handsome man with a smartly trimmed beard. He looked at me coldly as if I were some sort of insect, then looked away.

  Prince Ahmed!

  “Throw him into prison,” he said, “and when he has suffered enough, kill him.”

  He could not forgive the days at the Castle of Othman with Aziza. That I had even looked at the bride of Ahmed without her veil was an insult.

  Three months in this vile place? When and how would they kill me? Or had I been forgotten?

  My Berber guards were savage, bitter men, yet they were fighting men, and for this I admired them.

  They left me my books. When taken from the house of ibn-Tuwais, I had been allowed to bring the books he had given me, and from time to time, mysteriously, I had received others.

  Was Mahmoud to be thanked for this? Or had Aziza contrived some means of having them smuggled to me?

  One thing I had done. Before being taken away, I cleared ibn-Tuwais of any complicity in my activities; aiding in this was proof that I had paid him for my quarters. As no Arab would accept money from a friend in such a case, they had believed my story, and he was freed.

  During those three long months, I had studied the geography of al-Idrisi, far superior to anything of the kind available in Christian Europe.

  Eratosthenes, a scholar of 194 B.C. in Alexandria, had devised a method for calculating the diameter of the earth, and al-Mamun in 829 had figured its diameter to be 7,850 miles. Also during these three months, I had read the translations of Hippocrates and Galen by Hunayn ibn-Ishaq.

  There was only straw upon the floor of my cell and one small window to offer light. When the wind blew rain into the cell, I had to crowd under the window itself to keep dry, and it was always cold, damp, and unpleasant. One day a guard came to my door and handed me a package in which was wrapped the work on surgery by Albucasis.

  There was little to do but read, although each day I exercised to keep my body fit. The food was bad, but it was no worse than aboard the galley.

  My mind was forever occupied with thoughts of escape, yet I now knew the passage outside my cell to be impossible. There were four Berber guards in that passage, and at the end of it a guardroom in which a dozen more were wont to gather to talk and to gamble. My small window opened upon a sheer cliff that fell away for hundreds of feet.

  Al-Idrisi I loved. The great Moslem geographer had much information about the far corners of the earth not obtainable elsewhere. The Arabs, because of the pilgrims who came to Mecca from all parts of the world, were
in an excellent position to gather geographical knowledge.

  My restlessness increased. Prince Ahmed would not permit me to live. His pride would not allow it. Sooner or later the order would come through.

  When my guard was not around, I often grasped the lower sill of my window and chinned myself, pulling myself up until I could peer through the bars. All I could see was blue sky and an occasional drifting cloud. Yet one by one I tested the three bars.

  They were set in the stone window frame closer to the outer edge than the inner, and the castle was very old, dating back to earliest Visigothic times. The wall itself was exposed to driving rains, and over the years the stone on the outer edge might have eroded away.

  Testing them, I found one was very slightly loose in its socket, so it became a part of my exercise, my daily routine, to work at the bar. Twisting it, I found I could occasionally loosen fragments, a fine sand that could itself be used as an abrasive.

  Occasionally, I would pour a few drops of my water into the hole, and as I was a man of more than usual strength, it seemed possible to push the bar free at the bottom, breaking away the thin edge of stone that remained.

  The other bars were seated solidly, yet the edge of another hole was thin, and if I could work the first bar loose and use it as a lever…?

  My guard on this day was a slender, knifelike man with a lean face and high cheekbones. He was a warrior and looked it.

  Several times I made efforts to engage him in conversation, to no avail until I commented that I hoped my horse was being cared for.

  “The dappled Barb? Maybe after you are killed they will give him to me.”

  “You are a man who would understand such a horse,” I agreed.

  There was a change in his manner. He seemed inclined to be friendly. Our talk was of horses, then it switched to camels. The Berber was a desert man and seemed pleased when I showed some interest in camels. Of them I had learned a little from Hassan, the servant of John of Seville.