His eyes fell upon a small scrap of paper on the ground, weighted down with a rock. He growled and ripped it out from under the rock to read.
Forgive me, Isik. I had to go. Do not worry.
I will see you back at the site very shortly.
Alexandre
Isik kicked the rock that had weighted down the note.
‘That damn donkey of a boy!’ he swore in his native tongue. Didier Chevalier will never forgive me, he thought to himself. I am a fool to have trusted his son.
Isik did not bother with breakfast. He jumped onto his horse, took Alexandre’s steed and galloped back to camp as fast as he possibly could. He worried about what the Chevaliers would say to him. Would they hold him responsible?
Thankfully, the boy had the good sense to take Isik’s bag and knife, but the Turk would have beaten anyone else who dared take his knife without asking. He knew he had to get back to camp as quickly as possible, but he dreaded telling them what had happened. He also felt foolish. Luckily he did not have far to travel.
Heads down, eyes narrowed, the horses thundered across the dirt and they thundered across the rock, oblivious to what waited below.
*
The old woman’s story of the demons, although patently fictional, had spooked Alexandre somewhat and if he was to go alone into a dark underground cave, he would feel more reassured if there was daylight outside. He waited until most of the night had passed, preparing to leave before dawn. His plan would go awry if Isik awoke before him.
Alexandre hesitated before borrowing the guard’s knife and leather drawstring bag, but reasoned that Isik would not mind. He would return them soon enough. And if the water damaged them he would replace them.
He tucked the knife securely into his breeches. Then, into the bag he put his own leather boots. In each of these he had placed some provisions. In one: a flask of fresh water, some strips of meat and some pitta bread. In the other: a compass, two candles and some striking matches. He placed a metal cup over the top, hoping the contents would manage to stay dry. He tied the bag across his bare chest and dropped into the cold dark river.
Once Alexandre surfaced in the underground cavern, he tugged at the drawstring to Isik’s heavy wet bag and pulled out his sopping boots. He smiled with relief to see his compass working, his candles and matches still dry. Pulling on his squelching boots, he held out the compass to see which way was west – the way back to camp.
Having clambered back up onto the broken stone, Alexandre peered once again into the unyielding blackness of the tunnel. He stepped inside, struck a match and lit one of the candles. The smell of sulphur burned sharp in his nostrils and the flame illuminated moisture dripping down black-green walls.
Suddenly, a great cloud of squeaking swooshing bats shot out of the darkness and headed straight for him. He dropped the candle and tried to shield himself as they flew into his hair and at his face. He shook himself and shuddered as the last one dived away. They swept on past him, circled the cavern and disappeared into the roof of the cave.
Alexandre picked up the candle with trembling fingers. What else could be hiding down here? He held out the candle and relit it. Then, with his free hand, he fingered the handle of Isik’s knife, ready to unsheathe it at the first sign of danger. The bats had unnerved him and he tried to slow his breathing and calm down before continuing.
The flame cast an eerie glow in the long grey tunnel. Narrow and low-ceilinged, it sloped gradually downwards away from the river. The rock walls were dry down here and the sound of dripping water receded. All Alexandre could hear were his loud breaths and the squelching trudge of his soggy leather boots. Every few feet, recesses had been cut into the wall, maybe to house candles or lanterns of some kind.
After about a ten minute walk, Alexandre reached a crossroads. Each way was clear, so he pulled out his compass and headed into the west-facing tunnel. A few moments later, he found himself standing in a great hall with a high barrel-vaulted ceiling. Frescoes and carvings adorned the walls and thick carved columns ran along both sides of the space. Alexandre shook his head at the sheer scale and craftsmanship.
He held his candle out in front of him to inspect the frescoes more closely. They appeared to be religious pictures, beautifully depicted but the subject matter was quite gruesome with much blood and gore. Alexandre supposed they were biblical scenes of hell or maybe some of the more grisly Old Testament stories. He shivered and turned away, looking instead at his compass which showed west to be in the left hand corner of the cavernous hall.
He walked across the vast expanse, his footsteps echoing, and saw a flight of steps leading downwards. Another floor! But he could not descend now; he needed to get back to the camp. He shivered, still wet and now quite chilled. Entering another corridor, he broke into a slow run to try and warm himself up, shielding the candle with his hand to stop it going out.
He felt less nervous now and grinned to himself, excited at the thought of telling his parents what he had found. They would be ecstatic.
But suddenly, Alexandre slowed. Up ahead the tunnel ended. Something was blocking his path. Something huge.
*
Whilst Alexandre travelled beneath the ground, his family was back at the site having breakfast with the Swintons. They looked up from their conversation as Isik charged into camp, dust flying out behind him like a swirling serpent.
The Turk dismounted and tried to break the news of Alexandre’s disappearance without anger or worry coming through in his voice. But he could not prevent the reaction that he knew his news would provoke.
‘That boy has always been trouble!’ Didier shouted. ‘What in the name of God was I thinking, letting him go off like that? I should have known the stupid idiot was not to be trusted.’
‘Shhh, Didier,’ Marie-Louise rubbed her hands up and down his upper arms, trying to calm him. ‘I too feel sick with worry but there is no use upsetting yourself like this.’
‘He is wilful, but worse than that, he is selfish,’ Didier fumed. ‘Does he think he is going to come back to a hero’s welcome? Pah!’
‘He is a child, he was excited …’ she began. And then she burst into tears.
‘He is a man and he is an idiot,’ Didier countered and then, as he realised his wife was crying, he stopped talking and put his arms around her to try to offer some comfort. What was to be done?
Everybody was at a loss as to what to do or say next.
‘Well,’ Harold finally said. ‘Victoria and I could return with Isik to the river bank whilst you wait here to see if he returns. I could go down into the cave and try to find him there ...’
‘If anybody is going into the cave, it will be me!’ said Didier. ‘I am the foolish boy’s father. I cannot let anybody else put themselves in danger on his account.’
‘Whatever you decide, Didier,’ Harold said. ‘You ask it and we shall all comply willingly.’
‘You are a good friend, Harold,’ Didier’s tone softened. ‘I am sorry for shouting. It is just that I am so worried. And look at the distress he has caused his mother.’
*
In the tunnel, Alexandre had been forced to stop. And now he saw the reason why. Something huge was blocking his way. It was a giant millstone.
He looked up at the massive cylindrical slice. It reached over head height, maybe eight or nine feet tall. He would have to turn back and find another route. A niggle of worry crept in but he tried to ignore it. He would find another way out. And if the worst came to the worst, he would just have to go back to the river. Alexandre paused, his brain making connections and then it suddenly came to him!
Back at the camp, down in the shaft, that large rock with the hole in it which blocked the entrance - it was a millstone! Excitement replaced worry and Alexandre pushed at the edge of the cylinder to see if it would move. It rocked just a fraction of an inch, so he put his full weight behind it. His heart lightened as it rolled heavily, crashing into a u-shaped stone at the
side which held it in place. A wide opening in the rock wall was revealed.
The tunnel entrance was clear again! He marvelled at the ingenuity of the people who had built this place but he had no time to stop and ponder. He continued on his way, passing more millstones and more sets of staircases descending downwards. He noticed large earthenware pots, huge carved pillars, arches and all manner of things that he would return to explore more thoroughly. But right now, he had to try to ignore this strange and wondrous place and get back to the site.
His route took him through black tunnels and caverns. Every so often, a faint wisp of light shone down from above and he would breathe in slightly fresher air – ventilation shafts. Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain in his fingertips and, without warning, he was in absolute darkness again. After a second or two of panic, he realised his candle had burnt out and he fumbled in his bag to reach the tin which contained the spare candle and matches.
In the absolute black of the tunnel his breathing sounded thunderous and he tried to think of things to stop the fear creeping in. He pictured Leonora’s face, the scornful look she reserved just for him, her lustrous hair, her ... He struck the match and the blessed light flickered and wavered in his shaking fingers. He lit the wick and breathed a sigh of relief. It was not a pleasant experience to be alone and underground in complete darkness, especially with tales of demons haunting his mind.
Alexandre was almost certain the deep shaft back at the camp would be easily accessible, for he knew now that it was millstones which blocked the entrances. But this time he would be on the right side to roll them out of the way and ascend the shaft by rope.
Yet again he found his way blocked by another of the massive stones. He wheeled it aside and walked through. His new candle was instantly extinguished by a breath of wind but it did not matter, for a small glimmer of daylight swam around him, filtering down from above. He smiled triumphantly, not quite believing where he was.
He had done it! He was here! The familiar rope hung in front of him and he hauled himself up, hand-over-hand, back into the morning light, to the sweet fresh air and to his waiting parents, who were furious.
*
‘Is everybody talking about me again?’
All heads turned towards the sound of his voice.
‘Alexandre?’ Leonora saw him first. He was bare-chested, dishevelled, wet and grimy, but his smile was so broad it hurt his face.
‘Oh Alexandre!’ his mother cried and ran to throw her arms around him. ‘You scared us all to death,’ she sobbed into his chest.
‘But … But, how did you get back here?’ Isik asked. ‘You left your horse behind with me. Surely you did not come here through the underground caves?’
‘But that is exactly how I came here.’ Alexandre enjoyed looking at their confused faces. ‘I have been to the lost city.’
After making his apologies for worrying everybody, having a much-needed wash and pouring himself a hot cup of coffee, Alexandre sat down with the rest of the camp to tell them of his early morning adventure. He was questioned and cross-examined by his family and friends until he felt dizzy. He was shouted at, cried over, reprimanded, kissed and congratulated.
Eventually, when all was forgiven and the enormity of the discovery had been realised, it was time to get excited and, in gleeful moods, everybody prepared for the exploration of the lost ancient underground city of the legends.
*
Tools and supplies were lowered into the shaft, followed by Alexandre, Papa, Maman, Harold and Victoria. Isik had insisted that he and two of his guards accompany them. This time they all carried lanterns, illuminating everything much more clearly. Alexandre proudly led the way towards the great hall he had encountered earlier.
‘Incredible,’ Papa said as he saw the great millstone that had been rolled aside. ‘I believe the hole in the centre could be a spy hole, or perhaps a rod went in there to roll the stone more easily. Tell us where you saw the steps to the lower level, Alexandre.’
‘There were many places with stairs leading down. I must have seen at least half a dozen sets of stairs. I know there are some in the corner of the great hall.’
‘Look!’ Victoria pointed to a large room off one of the tunnels. ‘Are those stone troughs? Yes, look at those rock-built stalls. I do believe these were stables.’
They crowded into the room. Alexandre was amazed to see rough-hewn stables with columns. Victoria addressed everybody.
‘I have to say, this is the most exciting day of my career. I think we will be here for many, many months to come. It is an absolute treasure trove of history.’
As Alexandre led the others along the low-ceilinged corridors, he revelled in his new-found status of discoverer and leader. Their excited voices bounced off the rock walls, echoing strangely. Whispers were multiplied and exclamations of surprise reverberated in his ears. Here and there, ventilation shafts threw down narrow beams of light. Soon they reached the great hall and they stood in a rare moment of silence, staring around at the vast decorative space.
‘A barrel-vaulted ceiling!’ Harold exclaimed.
‘Frescoes!’ Papa said. ‘Come and look at these. They are depicting some kind of sacrificial scene. Quite incredible.’
‘Quite disturbing,’ added Maman.
‘Disturbing, but beautifully depicted,’ Victoria added. ‘They were artists.’
‘How old would you say this place is?’ Alexandre asked.
‘It is too early to tell,’ his father replied. ‘But my best guess, at this stage, is that we’re looking at over one thousand years old ... perhaps eighth century or maybe even older.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Alexandre said.
‘My only concern is the state of the place,’ his father continued.
‘Why?’ Alexandre asked. ‘It looks to be in a good state of repair, considering its age. I mean it is dirty and dusty, but not too bad at all.’
‘But that is exactly my point. It is in excellent repair and it should not be so.’
‘Come and look at this,’ Maman called from the other end of the hall. ‘I believe this is a stone altar.’ She ran her hands along the rectangular rock as they walked across to join her.
‘Of course,’ Harold said. ‘This is a church!’
‘It is a strange church that would have these types of paintings on the walls,’ Isik said. ‘I personally do not like this place at all. It does not feel good. It does not feel good at all.’
Chapter Thirteen
*
Madison heard the far-away sounds of metal banging on metal. Morris must be doing some manual work in the grounds. She picked a bit more of the crumbling mortar away from the brick wall. It felt sticky. Maddy looked at her fingers and tentatively sniffed them … alcohol. The mortar in between the bricks must have been dislodged during the party when those idiots smashed their bottles down here. She shone the torch on the floor and, sure enough, a few triangular fragments of glass glittered at her.
Maddy slid her slim fingers into the gap in the brickwork and the tips of her fingers stroked smooth shiny metal. But she couldn’t reach far enough in, to determine what it actually was. She tried to slip her fingers behind the brick to prise it out of the wall, but she couldn’t get enough leverage and it wouldn’t budge. She’d have to dislodge some more of the mortar. How annoying. She just wanted to get a sledgehammer and knock the whole thing down ... Yes! That could work.
She ran up the stairs, out of the back door and across to Morris’ shed where she scanned inside until her eyes rested on what she wanted – a large sledgehammer. A pick axe lay next to it; she’d take that too. She also grabbed a hammer and a chisel. The tools were deceptively heavy and Maddy half carried, half dragged them outside and back down into the cellar.
She heaved up the sledgehammer first and it took all her strength to hit the wall where the mortar had dislodged. The first hit didn’t seem to have any effect, so she tried again. It wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. She t
ried the pick axe and aimed it at the gap. It lodged itself in the small space, splintering more of the mortar away and she angled it downwards and pulled hard. The brick scraped out and thunked down onto the stone floor.
Maddy dropped the pick axe and wiped her cheek on her shoulder. She shone the torch into the hole and saw the metal object. She reached her hand into the darkness and touched it. It was cold metal, round with raised ridges on it. Curved, like a ball … like a … like a door knob. It was a door knob! There was a door behind the wall.
Maddy heaved the sledge hammer up again and whacked the bricks above the gap. After about eight or nine hits, a large section of wall collapsed backwards. Dust flew everywhere. Madison coughed and choked. Her eyes itched and her arm and shoulder muscles burned, but she didn’t stop. After about five or six minutes of relentless bashing, she had cleared a door-space hole in the wall.
She stood for a few seconds to get her breath and wait for the dust to clear. When she held the torch up, she saw an intricately carved brass door knob which gleamed like new, apart from a light sprinkling of brick dust. The door knob belonged to a small, solid-looking metal door.
She twisted the door knob … locked. There was a keyhole. Maybe the key she needed hung on the bunch in the utility room.
She raced up the stone steps, two at a time, poured herself a large glass of water and gulped it down. She grabbed the keys off the brass hook and ran back down the steps. The door had a black metal lock with quite a large keyhole. She tried all the appropriate keys in turn but none of them came close to opening it. Damn! What could be behind that door? Something so secret it was locked away and then bricked up? And where on earth was the key?
She picked up the sledgehammer and heaved it against the edge of the door. A loud metallic clang reverberated around the cellar, but the door wasn’t even dented. Maddy’s body juddered from the impact. She threw the hammer down in disgust and plodded upstairs into the kitchen.
‘State of you,’ Esther said, looking at her dust-covered employer.