“Honored Sitt,” Ramses began.

Her hand shot out and caught hold of his chin, forcing his head up so that one of the lamps shone full on his face.

“You are no beggar,” she said. “Who are you? And why are you being hunted by the Turks?”

AS WE STARTED UP the hill Nefret asked, “Do you intend to leave here without discovering what has become of Mr. Plato?”

Her tone was critical and her look severe.

“I don’t give a curse what has become of him,” Emerson growled. “Stop worrying about him, Nefret. He has done this before and always manages to find his way back to board and lodging. Particularly board.”

However, when we reached the foot of the great wall and the gate called the Dung Gate, whom should we behold but the reverend himself, seated on a boulder and surveying the scene with his usual vague smile.

“There you are,” he said. “I thought you would come this way, so I waited for you.”

“What happened to you?” Nefret asked. “That is a nasty bruise. Did you fall?”

Plato raised his hand to his jaw. “I was met with resistance from the heathen when I preached to them.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Emerson exclaimed. “Who is he now, John the Baptist or one of the Apostles, or…Take him by the collar and drag him along.”

So we did, metaphorically speaking. Plato came without demur. In fact he seemed livelier than usual; every now and then a pleased little smile quirked his mouth. The rising bruise, which his beard did not wholly conceal, looked to my expert eye as if it had been caused by a fist striking his jaw.

In order to make ensuing events clear to the Reader, I should explain that the city is divided into quarters, Christian, Jewish, Moslem, and Armenian. There are no barriers between these sections, and people pass freely from one to another-not always in harmony but seldom in actual conflict. The famous Wailing Wall, where devout Jews gather to mourn the downfall of the Holy City, is on the eastern side of the Jewish Quarter; the huge stone blocks are, in fact, part of the enormous platform on which the Haram stands. The style of masonry and other archaeological evidence prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the entire platform was built in Herodian, i.e., Roman, times, to serve as the foundation for Herod’s temple. Nothing remains, alas, of the temple itself. The entire circumference of the walls is only about two and a half miles; devout pilgrims follow the entire route on foot or on donkeyback, taking in such sights as the supposed tomb of Saint John and the Pillar of Absalom. Even I was willing to abjure this pleasure. Access to the city is provided by seven gates that pierce the great walls. The route we followed led from Siloam to the nearest gate, whose unattractive name I have already reported, and into the Jewish Quarter.

There is not much difference in appearance between this area and the other quarters-narrow winding streets, dilapidated dwellings, feral dogs foraging for scraps of food. The city’s synagogues are in this section, as Christian churches tend to congregate in that part of the city. Two of the largest and most recent of the former were used respectively by the Sephardim and Ashkenazim sects. The latter’s conspicuous dome was visible from the upper floors of our hotel. I meant to pay a courtesy call there one day-without Emerson.

We were on David Street when it happened. The sky had clouded over and I felt as if I were walking at the bottom of a narrow passageway, walled in by buildings of several stories, and arched over, at intervals, by extensions of dwelling places on one side or another. It was impossible to stay together as a group in the jostling, hurrying throng. Emerson had taken me firmly by the arm and Daoud was looking after Nefret. Should we become separated, I felt sure everyone knew his or her way back to the hotel; we had come that same way earlier. I was not aware of trouble until a penetrating shriek rose over the polyglot babble and the importunities of merchants.

“Stop, Emerson,” I cried, attempting to free my arm. “Someone is in need of help.”

However, Daoud was the first to respond, since he and Nefret were closest to the cause of the disturbance. Plunging into a tangle of bodies, he lifted from its midst a familiar face framed in floating hair.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

This was obviously a case in which physical coercion wouldn’t work, even supposing he could bring himself to throttle four women. Try to throttle, rather; the proprietress, for all her bulk, had a grip as strong as a man’s, and after a long night on the run Ramses was beginning to tire.

“What makes you think we-I-am being hunted?”

She caught the slip. A gleam of amusement brightened her eyes, but she did not refer to it at once. “They have spread out all over the city searching for you. The two fools you saw leave this house were among the searchers. They were-distracted. And too stupid to see through your clumsy disguise. Are you hungry?”

“I-I do not understand,” Ramses stammered.

A snap of her fingers dismissed the girls. They filed out through a curtained doorway behind the divan, without so much as a backward look.

“Sit down,” the woman said. “You are weary. I will bring your friend to you if you wish.”

Ramses had given up hope of directing the conversation. She was far ahead of him. “Yes,” he said. “Please. Where is he?”

She let out a high-pitched, girlish giggle. “Just outside. Trying to make himself invisible.” She raised her voice. “Come in, you there, or make way for others.”

David pushed through the curtains. His eyes went at once to Ramses. “Are you all right?”

In his relief he spoke English. Ramses replied in Arabic. “Aywa. Thanks to this noble lady.”

The florid compliment failed to move her. “So you are the Inglizi,” she breathed. “I would not have thought it. They said you attacked a lady who was a guest in the house, and that you fled when she cried out for help.”

“It is a lie,” David said vehemently.

“I believe you.” Her eyes narrowed with laughter. “I think neither of you would have to force himself on a woman. Now come with me, to a more private place.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ramses asked.

She answered with a familiar proverb. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Come.”

They followed her along a passageway lined with curtained doors, to a small closet next to the kitchen. Shelves along one wall held a supply of food stuffs-bags of flour and meal, lentils and dried fruit. There was barely room on the floor for both of them to stretch out, and no light, but it had the advantage of a solid wooden door. Their hostess handed in a jar of water and a bowl of cold mush, presumably the remains of last night’s supper.

“Rest while you can,” she said. “My name is Majida. No, I do not want to know yours. Make no sound. I will return later.”

The door closed, leaving them in darkness except for a few thin rays of light from cracks in and around the door. “She’s locked us in,” David breathed, hearing the unmistakable drop of a bar into its socket. “Perhaps they’re offering a reward, and she wants to collect it.”

“If so, there’s not a damned thing we can do about it.” Ramses was suddenly so tired his knees bent of their own accord. He sank down to a sitting position.

The wretched food revived them, and they used the empty bowl for a drinking vessel.

“I think we can trust her,” Ramses said, after they had stretched out, heads close together. The floor was hard and dirty, but at that point he could have slept on a rock. “The Turks are hated everywhere in the territories, and for good reason.”

His only answer was a faint snore.

THEY LEFT THE HOUSE at dawn the following morning, wearing homespun robes over cotton shirts and loose trousers, and the caps wound round with cloth that were the local headgear of choice. David’s valise had been exchanged for a pair of bags with long straps that could be slung over the shoulders. Majida gave them a last inspection as they stood by the door that led out into a narrow rubbish-strewn back street.