down at her hands. ‘Tell me, stranger,’ she murmured, ‘why don’t you escape now, while you have a chance? If you stay here, you’ll die.’
‘Well, for a start, I’m staying because I don’t like running away from tyrants.’
Why not tell them? We could all be dead before sunset. ‘I’ll never forget my first tyrant. When I was only seven years old, I was sent far from my home to a school in Paris, so that I could improve my French. But I was the only English boy in that school and on the first morning in class, a big boy behind me kept whispering, “
English Pig”.
When I answered back, the schoolmaster hit my hand ten times with a leather belt for talking in class. Every day, the teacher thrashed me for the slightest error.
‘He hurt the smaller boys as well. One day the belt buckle made a boy’s hands bleed, so during lesson break, I told the class, “When the tyrant returns, we must all rise to our feet and hurl our inkpots at his head.” The boys cheered and promised to stand with me.
‘The tyrant’s footsteps approached and I grabbed my inkpot. As soon as he was inside, I threw it, but missed and hit the wall. None of the other boys stood up or threw his.
‘After the lesson, limping from a savage beating, I faced my classmates. “Traitors, cowards! I’ll fight you – one by one or all together.” They fell upon me and I fought until l was struck down from behind and kicked in the head with wooden clogs until I was unconscious.’
He put his fingertips to the side of his head. ‘The scars are still there.’
Khanumi and Hussein stared at him.
‘You see, Hussein, there are some things we must do – or die in here.’ He touched his heart. ‘Like search for Nineveh.’ How strange that Nineveh had brought him by chance to this room. If he had known this was what it meant, would he have wanted it any other way?
Khanumi loosened the knot of her headscarf.
Austen had to avoid looking at her, had to keep talking to Hussein. ‘Oddly enough, I first encountered Nineveh by chance. Ten years ago, I was walking through a dim room in the British Museum and happened to notice a dusty, neglected display. A broken slab of rock was marked with mysterious wedge-shaped writing and the carving of a man with an eagle’s head. Under the glass lid was a note, with faded writing.
Assyrian. Eighth Century BC. Supposed to be from Nineveh. Location of Nineveh unknown.
‘I can’t explain why, but the name
Nineveh
cast a spell on me. Day and night I dreamt of escaping to ancient Assyria. I longed to gallop away into the desert and find this place that haunted my dreams. When I sat in dreary London to study my law books, the pages dissolved into visions of fabulous palaces. I craved freedom, adventures, savagery, beauty.’
Khanumi slipped her headscarf off. ‘But Nineveh is not in our mountains. It is buried somewhere near the Tigris.’
Well, when death was so close, why not confess? ‘Actually, I don’t have much money. Almost none, in fact. I’m here only because my uncle gave me the last of his coins. I can’t afford the bribes for permission to dig, or to pay teams of workers. Because I’m nobody important, I have no papers of permission from the supreme sultan in Constantinople or from the British Embassy. If I dig into the mound of Nimrud, where I think Nineveh is buried, I’ll be thrown out of the country and never let back in. And, you see, that’d be the end of my dream. So, all I can do is wander the land once ruled by Nineveh, search for signs, and hope that –’
Footsteps pounded in the corridor and Au Kerim burst in, his damaged face enraged.
‘What is it?’ Hussein was alarmed.
‘The eunuch refuses to negotiate with our chief. He has demanded we send you, the son.’
Austen knew the eunuch. It was a trap.
Hussein Kuli tried to sit up. ‘If I don’t go?’
There was no need for Au Kerim to answer.
A desperate plan began to form in Austen’s mind.
Chapter 5
Austen
‘Well, for a start, I’m staying because I don’t like running away from tyrants.’
Why not tell them? We could all be dead before sunset. ‘I’ll never forget my first tyrant. When I was only seven years old, I was sent far from my home to a school in Paris, so that I could improve my French. But I was the only English boy in that school and on the first morning in class, a big boy behind me kept whispering, “
English Pig”.
When I answered back, the schoolmaster hit my hand ten times with a leather belt for talking in class. Every day, the teacher thrashed me for the slightest error.
‘He hurt the smaller boys as well. One day the belt buckle made a boy’s hands bleed, so during lesson break, I told the class, “When the tyrant returns, we must all rise to our feet and hurl our inkpots at his head.” The boys cheered and promised to stand with me.
‘The tyrant’s footsteps approached and I grabbed my inkpot. As soon as he was inside, I threw it, but missed and hit the wall. None of the other boys stood up or threw his.
‘After the lesson, limping from a savage beating, I faced my classmates. “Traitors, cowards! I’ll fight you – one by one or all together.” They fell upon me and I fought until l was struck down from behind and kicked in the head with wooden clogs until I was unconscious.’
He put his fingertips to the side of his head. ‘The scars are still there.’
Khanumi and Hussein stared at him.
‘You see, Hussein, there are some things we must do – or die in here.’ He touched his heart. ‘Like search for Nineveh.’ How strange that Nineveh had brought him by chance to this room. If he had known this was what it meant, would he have wanted it any other way?
Khanumi loosened the knot of her headscarf.
Austen had to avoid looking at her, had to keep talking to Hussein. ‘Oddly enough, I first encountered Nineveh by chance. Ten years ago, I was walking through a dim room in the British Museum and happened to notice a dusty, neglected display. A broken slab of rock was marked with mysterious wedge-shaped writing and the carving of a man with an eagle’s head. Under the glass lid was a note, with faded writing.
Assyrian. Eighth Century BC. Supposed to be from Nineveh. Location of Nineveh unknown.
‘I can’t explain why, but the name
Nineveh
cast a spell on me. Day and night I dreamt of escaping to ancient Assyria. I longed to gallop away into the desert and find this place that haunted my dreams. When I sat in dreary London to study my law books, the pages dissolved into visions of fabulous palaces. I craved freedom, adventures, savagery, beauty.’
Khanumi slipped her headscarf off. ‘But Nineveh is not in our mountains. It is buried somewhere near the Tigris.’
Well, when death was so close, why not confess? ‘Actually, I don’t have much money. Almost none, in fact. I’m here only because my uncle gave me the last of his coins. I can’t afford the bribes for permission to dig, or to pay teams of workers. Because I’m nobody important, I have no papers of permission from the supreme sultan in Constantinople or from the British Embassy. If I dig into the mound of Nimrud, where I think Nineveh is buried, I’ll be thrown out of the country and never let back in. And, you see, that’d be the end of my dream. So, all I can do is wander the land once ruled by Nineveh, search for signs, and hope that –’
Footsteps pounded in the corridor and Au Kerim burst in, his damaged face enraged.
‘What is it?’ Hussein was alarmed.
‘The eunuch refuses to negotiate with our chief. He has demanded we send you, the son.’
Austen knew the eunuch. It was a trap.
Hussein Kuli tried to sit up. ‘If I don’t go?’
There was no need for Au Kerim to answer.
A desperate plan began to form in Austen’s mind.
Chapter 5
Austen
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