At dawn, Suleyman and his men crisscrossed the valley of the Kidron, slashing through the bushes with pickaxes and striking the rock with the pommels of their swords, while the Bedouins looked on in terror. Shepherds drove their flocks toward the sun-drenched slopes, women vegetable sellers emerged from their shacks to go to market, and ragged children ran after the riders, yelling at the tops of their voices, delighted with this spectacle so early in the morning.
The horses kicked and snorted, sensing the nervousness of their riders, who were whipping them mercilessly. As it galloped, the detachment almost knocked down a beggar who happened to be in their way. Suleyman’s stallion reared, and its hoof sent the poor fellow sprawling. Suleyman followed this up by landing the man an angry lash of the whip. Startled, the beggar stared for a moment as the officer spurred his mount and charged straight ahead. The rest of the patrol followed, bypassing the unfortunate man, not without spitting to their right to protect themselves from the evil eye. As soon as the Mamluks had vanished in a cloud of dust, the beggar laboriously picked himself up. He whistled in the direction of the undergrowth. Three ragged figures appeared and came to meet him. Just like him, they wore filthy headbands rolled around and around like cheches. Even Aisha.
Confident that Brother Paul would make sure the two Frenchmen arrived safe and sound, Rabbi Gamliel decided to leave Jerusalem as soon as possible. The ship on which Federico planned to leave would set sail in a few days, with the precious texts that would make Rome yield. Gamliel would have liked François and Colin to join the expedition. The Brotherhood having decided to meet Guillaume Chartier’s demands, there was nothing more for Louis XI’s two emissaries to do here.
The rabbi walked in the shadow of the gibbets that lined the ramparts of the holy city near the Damascus gate. He walked faster, trying not to look up at the hanged men rotting in the sun. He held his nose. A swarm of flies buzzed around a blackened corpse. Further on, at the foot of a gallows, a widow was waving a straw broom to chase away the crows, which flew off then immediately returned to the attack. Gamliel approached and murmured the prayer for the dead. The woman held out her hand. He favored her with an offering. She was young. Her beloved’s dislocated body swayed at the end of the rope, muscles tense as if he were still struggling. A bright red patch in sharp contrast to the greyness of the walls attracted the rabbi’s attention. The morning light forced him to squint. He found it hard to make out the dead man’s features. Only the red cloth could be distinguished clearly. Gamliel let out a groan of distress when he recognized the gypsy’s scarf.