The Tower (35 page)

Selznick realized what was going through his mind and kept talking. ‘I was assigned by your government, during the war, to command the units in charge of executing individuals who had been accused of cowardice before the enemy. Thousands of young men, Jobert, whose only fault was refusing to submit to butchery without a reason, unlike the hundreds of thousands of their companions mown down by machine guns, forced to advance in suicidal attacks by obtuse, incompetent generals. This is the true reason why they’ve been searching for me since I fled the Legion. They want to find me and execute me, and bury this whole story. This is the true reason why you, now, will pull that trigger.’

Jobert lowered his weapon and returned Selznick’s wild stare. ‘You’ll come with me,’ he said, replacing the other man’s handcuffs. ‘Killing you now would only serve to lock the past up for all time.’

He returned to the little cemetery that he had discovered behind the redoubt and dug a grave for the unburied body, then covered the remaining mounds with sand so that his men would not see them at daybreak. When he had finished, he leaned against the wall to reflect on what he would do when the sun came up, evaluating all his possible options. He could not send his men back to Bir Akkar because he wouldn’t be able to justify such a decision, but nor could he take them with him. If they’d become infected, the disease could spread to the entire contingent. He would order those camped inside to remain at the fortress to repair it and act as a garrison there while he proceeded with his mission. If the source of infection was no longer active and they survived, he would join up with them again on his return journey. If they were condemned to death, at least they would have a shelter in which to await their end.

He dozed off shortly before dawn, seeking a little respite for his tormented mind and spirit.

T
HE FLAMES OF THE
little campfire cast the only light in the immense, empty expanse; the voice of the jackal the only sound in the vast silence.

Philip got up and joined his father, who was adjusting his sextant to a precise point in the clear winter sky. ‘What are you looking for in that constellation?’ he asked.

‘How much time we have left.’

‘Can you predict how long we have to live?’

‘No. I’m trying to calculate how much longer our journey will last. I have seen the Stone of the Constellations in the most secret archives of Rome and I’ve read the testament of Baruch bar Lev. I am the last hunter of the man of the seven tombs. The last tomb can be destroyed when the star of Antares mirrors its vermilion light in the spring of Hallaki, when Acrab in Scorpio enters the centre of the firmament over the Tower of Solitude.’

A neighing rang out in the dark and Philip turned to see El Kassem, who had just mounted his horse and was riding towards a little rise north of them in order to scan the horizon. He was waiting for Selznick to reappear, so that the final duel could be fought. His silhouette was clear and still against the basalt hill, and his Arab charger seemed an enchanted Pegasus poised to take flight.

Philip turned towards his father again. ‘You know where the spring of Hallaki is, don’t you? It’s there that we’re going, isn’t it?’

Desmond laid the sextant on the ground. ‘Finding Hallaki was my dream as a young man, my secret Utopia. I pictured it in my mind’s eye for years, as I spent days and nights in my study, and I always refused to consider it a legend. I saw it as the last remnant of a natural world which had ceased to exist, the last memento of an ancient state of bliss. During my expeditions, I would wander for months through the desert at the edge of the south-eastern quadrant, searching for it, but more than once I was prevented from going on by a sandstorm . . .’

‘How did you finally manage to find it?’

‘It was when I understood that the sandstorm was a sort of permanent barrier, a shield that the desert had raised in protection of that last paradise. El Kassem had prepared my way by leaving water supplies along the entire route, the same that we’ve been using on this journey, and I decided I would attempt a crossing. I risked death that day. I forged ahead through that burning wall in a kind of delirium, and even after I had lost my horse I continued to advance for hours and hours with the sand scratching at my face and hands until they were bleeding. The wind was so strong it was stripping off my clothes. All at once, my strength abandoned me and I collapsed to the ground. I covered my head with the edge of my cape and, before I slipped into unconsciousness, I sought the face of your mother, the only woman I ever loved, and I thought of you, Philip. I thought I would never see you again.’

He fell silent for a while, straining to hear in the darkness, lifting his head as if he could pick up his enemy’s scent on the night breeze. El Kassem had vanished, but he soon appeared again, at a different spot, for a moment, in the shadow of a dune.

‘When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in the greenest, most lovely meadow that you can imagine. I was stretched out on the grass, bathed in the light of a golden sunset. The bleating of sheep and the songs of birds filled my ears. Brightly coloured creatures soared over my head in a violet sky.

‘When I saw that place, I swore I would never leave. Your mother was already gone and you were practically a man. I thought I had found the mythical land of the Lotus Eaters, where Ulysses’ companions sought rest after their endless journey and found oblivion instead. I would live in that inaccessible refuge and serenely await my last hour. I deluded myself into thinking that a man can flee from his past, from the people he has loved and those he has hated. I wanted to believe that there was a place in the world where a man could utterly forget himself.

‘Until I discovered that that gorgeous hideaway was a citadel at war. I realized that a terrible threat loomed over those gardens and orchards, that that enchanted oasis was the last outpost, beyond which the undisputed reign of a mystery darker than any nightmare was to be found – a mystery that I myself had tried in vain to flee many a time. Hallaki is the metaphor of our human destiny, my son. We’ll never stop searching on this earth for the paradise that we have lost, but each time we think we’ve found it we discover ourselves before an ocean of darkness. There is no day without night, no heat without cold. There is no reign of love that does not share a border with the empire of hatred.’

‘But then why struggle at all?’ asked Philip. ‘Why face risk and hardship and pain to take on an impossible challenge? When you’ve destroyed the last tomb, if you ever manage to do so, will you have tricked destiny? Will you have halted the fist of God that looms over us? You’re chasing after some magic ritual that will satisfy your thirst for adventure, your curiosity about the unknown.’

‘Perhaps. But it’s a war we can’t avoid, a fight without quarter. The battlefield is everywhere. There’s nowhere for deserters to seek shelter. The only possible course of action is choosing sides. And since you’re here with me, it means that you have decided what side you’re on. That’s the answer to your question.’

Philip looked up towards the starry vault and the movement of his eyes gave him the sensation for a moment that the stars were falling down, were being sucked into a vortex.

‘But . . . mightn’t the power of suggestion have something to do with it? This wouldn’t have happened back in Paris . . .’

‘No. There are things that happen only in those places where the work of creation has not been interfered with. Have you ever crossed a forest on your own at night? You can call upon all your rationality but you’ll always be spooked, you’ll always feel that something is after you. The ancients believed that the boundless solitude of the desert, the forests and swamps, the never-melting ice fields, were the exclusive domain of the gods. They were right. Avile Vipinas truly saw what he described; he could not have lied on the brink of death. He took up his pen with his heart pounding and his breath being sucked from his throat . . .’

‘Tell me what your ultimate objective is. Where will we have to fight this battle?’

‘Reading the words of the Etruscan haruspex convinced me. What the inhabitants of Kalaat Hallaki call the Tower of Solitude must be the last resting place of the man of the seven tombs. If I’m right, we have to look for an object that resembles a cylinder topped by a hemispherical cap, the
petasus
that Avile Vipinas speaks of.’

Philip sat on the still-tepid sand, watching the flames of the campfire as they blazed, creating a small island of light in the dominion of night. He searched for El Kassem among the uncertain shapes of the landscape.

‘What do those words you told me mean?’ he asked his father all at once. ‘What did you mean when you said, “When the star of Antares mirrors its vermilion light in the spring of Hallaki, when Acrab in Scorpio enters the centre of the firmament over the Tower of Solitude”?’

‘I think that those words allude to a particular astral configuration. The tower can be destroyed when Antares is at its zenith directly above Kalaat Hallaki—’

‘But don’t you see? The second part of the phrase doesn’t make sense. If Antares is at its zenith directly above Kalaat Hallaki, how can Acrab, which is very close to Antares in the Scorpio constellation, be at the centre of the firmament?’

Desmond shook his head. ‘I’ve thought it over at length,’ he said, ‘and I’ve never managed to find a plausible explanation. It may be an error of some sort, or a mistaken interpretation. You’re right, the phrase just doesn’t make sense as it is. All we can do is reach Kalaat Hallaki and then look for an answer in the sky.’

The luminous halo at the centre of the little valley shrank little by little until it was no more than a glimmer and the sky, glowing with millions of stars, appeared even vaster and deeper. Man’s solitude seemed limitless, making Philip feel giddy, as if he were poised to topple into a chasm.

Sleep seemed the only refuge.

Philip lay down near the campfire, but before he closed his eyes he heard the distant, muffled pounding of a horse’s hooves. El Kassem was passing like a ghost in the darkness, mounting guard on the borders of infinity.

T
HE LONG CARAVAN
descended from the hillside and wound its way over the plain like a snake, delineating the features of the terrain with sinuous grace. The warriors on horseback led the column behind Amir, who was preceded by the purple standard. Arad rode at his side, carrying a staff topped by the rearing gazelle of Meroe. Behind them was a long line of camels, laden with wineskins and big clay jars tied to their saddles with strong rope. More warriors on horseback brought up the rear of the column. Others were scattered at a distance on both sides of the column as guards.

‘No one has ever crossed the wall of sand with such a large caravan,’ said Arad. ‘If we lose the animals, all our efforts will have been in vain.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it since we left,’ replied Amir. ‘There’s a point in the wall of sand where the wind abates at night. We’ll proceed until we come within sight of the barrier, then stop and allow the men and the animals to rest for a while. From there we’ll find the crossing point, which is slightly to the east of the direction we are travelling in. We will wait for night to fall and for the wind to drop, and then we will descend into the wadi, which will provide us with shelter. Before day breaks we’ll see the stars twinkling over the bastions of Kalaat Hallaki. You will enter under the banner of the gazelle of Kush, and embrace your father and your mother once again.’ Amir’s eyes shone as he spoke. He never took his eyes off her unless it was to scan the horizon before him.

They crossed another chain of low, wind-worn hills and then descended into the valley below. Suddenly a strip of what looked like fog came into view at about one hour’s march from where they were – a barrier that extended across the plain as far as the eye could see.

‘The wall of sand,’ said Amir. ‘Beyond it we’ll find grass and water, fruit on the trees and birds singing in the sky.’

‘Beyond it there’s the madness of my mother . . .’ said Arad. Her eyes were fixed on the swirling dust.

‘Not for long,’ insisted Amir. ‘Before the full moon rises again, your mother will have regained her sanity. I swear it.’

They stopped when the sun began to sink, its light drowning in the thick dust carried by the wind. Amir gave orders for the animals to be allowed what was left of the water and for the men to descend from their horses and rest as they could. Upon his word, they would blindfold the horses and camels and tie them one to the other so that they could not stray from the caravan. Then they would begin the crossing. They waited for the sky to darken completely and for the evening star to appear, shining in the deep blue like a diamond on Damascus velvet. It was time. The wind was dropping.

He turned towards Arad, who was waiting on her own, at some distance from the others. ‘I feel ice in my bones when I gaze into your eyes, Arad. Why won’t you look at me?’

Arad did not answer.

‘Not very long ago, you promised that you would welcome me into your bed if I succeeded in leading our warriors through the Sand of Ghosts.’

‘I will,’ said Arad. ‘Wipe out the Blemmyae, spill their infected blood onto the earth, and I will hold true to my word.’

Amir’s eyes were full of sadness. ‘I don’t want your word, Arad. I want your love,’ he said. He jumped onto his horse and galloped away.

He rode up to a slightly elevated ridge, covered his face with his
barrakan
and raised his arm as a signal. The warriors mounted their horses and the caravan drivers goaded on the camels, who set off with their slow, swaying gait and filled the air with mournful grunts. The column plunged into the fog that swallowed up shapes and sounds, the voices of the men and the animals. They all vanished into the milky mist.

But the long column that snaked through the desert, raising a white cloud in their wake, had not passed unnoticed. Perched on the saddle of his horse, Colonel Jobert was watching as the long line of horsemen and camels was slowly engulfed in the curtain of dust. ‘Those people know of a passage through the sandstorm,’ he said. ‘All we have to do is follow them. They’ll take us to Kalaat Hallaki.’ He turned towards Father Hogan. ‘I promised you that we’d get there in time and now this unexpected stroke of luck will certainly shorten our journey. Be prepared. We’ll attempt the crossing immediately, as soon as the last of those horsemen has disappeared into the cloud.’