From the way the thieves were complaining and gesturing to the door with their inadequate axes, I guessed they were bemoaning their lack of success to an impatient superior-who apparently had little sympathy for their troubles. For, as I lay watching, one of the black-turbaned thieves offered his axe to the newcomer, indicating that he should try the door himself.

The proffered tool hung between them, and for an instant I thought the other would decline, but then a hand reached out and took the axe. The newcomer stepped into view and proceeded to try his hand at the unyielding door. The blade clattered against the wood-once, twice, and again, whereupon he stopped, and handed the axe back to its owner. He turned, and my breath caught in my throat as his face was revealed in the fluttering torchlight: the Templar Renaud de Bracineaux.

De Bracineaux returned the axe to the Arab, and the two stood discussing the matter. My first thought was to call out to him, to let him know that I was here-but the sight of the Templar commander instructing Arab thieves in their own tongue was too strange and, as it seemed to me, sinister. I hesitated, watching silently.

I was still trying to decide what to do when I felt Wazim creep up beside me. Raising a finger to my lips, I cautioned him to silence, and then allowed him to peer around the corner. The instant he put his face to the grate, a strange thing happened: he sniffed once, and again, then froze, his eyes going wide with terror. He backed away at once and retreated down the passage. I went after him, pausing to retrieve the torch he had dropped. By the time I caught up with him at the junction, the pounding had begun again.

Grabbing hold of his elbow as he entered the adjoining corridor, I arrested his flight. 'Who are they?' I demanded. 'The Arabs-you knew them. Who are they?'

'Fida'in!' Wazim gasped.

'Are you certain?'

He nodded, his eyes still wide with fright. 'The smell,' he said. 'Did you not smell it?'

Now that he said it, I did recall a sweet pungency. 'I thought it was from the torches.'

'It is hashish. We must get away from here. If the Fida'in find us, they will kill us.'

Templars and Fida'in together? Were these not the fanatical sect that had caused the death of Yordanus' son, and the reason he had to flee Damascus? Any other time I might have doubted such an unnkely alliance. As extraordinary as it seemed, however, I knew Wazim was right.

What were they after in the caliph's treasure house? Not, I thought, his gold and silver-at least not entirely. The presence of Renaud de Bracineaux put the thought in my head that they, too, sought the Black Rood. The amount of plunder gleaned from the massacre was not great, but de Bracineaux would know that the capture of the Holy Rood was a greater calamity than the destruction of Bohemond and his troops.

The more my thoughts raced along this path, the more convinced I became that de Bracineaux's quest and my own were one and the same. If the Templars found the rood first, I would lose it forever.

'Please, Da'ounk, let us go. All the treasure in the world will do you no good if you are dead.'

'I care nothing for the caliph's gold.' I decided it was time to trust Wazim with the truth. 'Listen to me, my friend, there is something you must know.' I told him about the remnant of the Sacred Cross even now residing in the caliph's treasure house.

'By all that is holy…' breathed Wazim Kadi, lapsing into an astonished silence.

His reaction surprised me. I had not expected the Saracen to hold such reverence for a Christian relic. But there was no time to wonder about it now. 'That is why the Templars are here. They know Bohemond lost it, and they are here to get it back.'

'Then they will surely succeed,' concluded Wazim gloomily. 'We cannot subdue the Templars or the Fida'in, and we cannot fight them together.'

'I do not intend to fight them for it,' I told him. 'Neither will I stand aside and watch them grab it away again.' So saying, I slung the bundle of papyri over my shoulder and started off along the passage again, this time in the opposite direction, and with a heavy heart. I counted de Bracineaux a friend; in any other circumstances I would have hailed him and embraced him as a brother. But cruel fate, aided by Bohemond's folly, had placed us in sharp contention for the prize. If I got hold of the Black Rood first, I would not be giving it back to the Templars, or anyone else. I had made a sacred vow, and it was not in me to betray it.

'Please, can we leave now?' said Wazim, padding dutifully after me.

'Not until we find another way into the treasure house.'

'But there is no other way. It is a treasure house; there is only one way in.'

'That is what you said about the hareem.'

We hurried back to the first junction where the passage divided to the right and left. The left-hand side led back to the cistern, so I took the passage to the right. 'This way.'

Almost immediately, we came to an opening with steps leading up – into the hareem, I supposed. There was an unlit torch in a sconce beside the steps and, taking this, I handed it to Wazim, and continued on. After a few hundred paces, the passage narrowed and began to bend downward. There were two more openings off the main passage, one to the right, and one to the left. The one on the left was half the height of a man, and the one on the right was not much larger.

As we passed the opening on the right, a faint rush of air fluttered the torch flame; the air was warm and I could smell the scent of flowers. I put the torch into the opening, but could see little save a downward angled shaft and another vertical shaft directly above. Leaning into the shaft, I looked up into the connecting vent and saw stars in the square opening above.

There seemed no point in lingering, so we moved quickly on. The downward angle of the slope increased sharply; every few paces a step appeared, and then two, and then three at a time. No more junctions or openings appeared, however; nor did this tunnel of a passageway divide or branch off.

After a while, I lost heart and began to think Wazim was right after all. I came to a long flight of steps, the end of which I could not see in the feeble light of the torch, and there we paused.

'Why are we stopping?' asked Wazim a little breathlessly.

'Listen.'

Down the passageway-some distance ahead, by the sound of it -1 heard the ripple and splash of moving water-an aqueduct, perhaps, supplying water to the palace.

'It sounds like a stream. We have left the palace behind. It might be the Nile.'

'Perhaps,' I allowed, and started off again. The steps led down and down, and soon I could smell the water and feel the cool dampness on my skin.

The last few steps disappeared beneath the surface of the water, dropping away so quickly I was almost in the stream before I caught myself. A rusted iron ring protruded from the step on which I stood, and there was a rope tied to the ring. Bending down, I pulled on the rope, but it was secured to something heavy which remained out of sight beyond the small circle of light. Handing the torch to Wazim, I took the rope in both hands and pulled harder; there was a rippling sound and a boat came gliding into view.

Wazim took one look at the boat and said, 'This is the canal of Khalifa al-Hakim. It leads to the river.'

'You know this?'

He shrugged. 'I have heard of it. The canal was built many years ago -a hundred years or more. Al-Hakim was despised. He built many great things-the palace, the hareem, and the citadel… many things-but he taxed the people hard to pay for all these buildings and there were many riots in those days. They say he built this secret canal so that he could escape if the people ever revolted against him.' Indicating the channel, Wazim added, 'You hear many such things in the palace. Until now, I never believed all these stories.'