The Janissary Tree

[ 87 ]

The stone flight of steps which led up to the inner parapet of the first wall was invisible from the alley. To reach it, Yashim groped his way down an unmarked passage between two wooden houses built against the base of the wall. Reaching the top, he turned back and followed the parapet walk to the Kerkoporta Tower.

At parapet level there was a wooden door set in the masonry. It stood ajar, its hinges rusted, fastened to the jamb with a length of flaking iron chain which almost crumbled at Yashim’s touch. He pushed. The door trembled slightly. He put his shoulder to the planks and heaved, until the hinges screamed and the door swung inwards into the dark.

The floor was littered with dust, fallen mortar, and dried droppings. Lifting his sandalled feet with care, Yashim advanced by the slanting sunlight into the centre of the chamber, and looked around. The ceiling was lost in the shadows. The walls showed signs of having been plastered once, but now revealed layers of Roman brickwork interspersed with courses of stone, while in the farthest corner of the chamber a stone staircase spiralled up from the floor below and disappeared upwards.

He crossed to the staircase and peered down. A slight breeze seemed to be coming up towards him, suggesting that the room below had air and maybe light; it carried odours of damp masonry and straw. He felt for the step and began to descend into darkness, his left hand trailing cobwebs from the rough outer wall of the spiral.

For several steps he was in total darkness, and when he thought of the sun on the square, and the tradesmen sitting outside their shops only a few yards away, he knew that this was as lonely and silent a spot as anywhere in the whole of Istanbul.

Another winding turn of the spiral brought a slight change in the quality of the darkness, and as Yashim went on down, and down, it bled to a grey twilight, until he stepped off the lowest tread into a vaulted room, supplied by a shuttered window on either side; only the shutters were cracked, and set with glowing chips of sunlight.

The walls were dark with greenish damp, but they were still plastered, and peering close Yashim could make out shapes like the cloudy shapes he had seen under the whitewash in the Nasrin tekke that morning. He recognised trees, pavilions, and a river. A long oak table ran down the room, and there were benches pushed up against the walls.

He took a step forwards and ran a fingertip along the table top. It was clean.

Yet the chamber overhead was a mess of dust and rubbish.

He faced the window. The chinks of light made it too bright to see, so he raised a hand to block them out, and saw a door. It was locked from the outside.

He stood with his back to the door and surveyed the room. From here he could see beyond the table.

At the far end stood what looked like a wooden chest, with a flat lid.

Yashim crossed the room and stood beside it. The lid was at waist-height. He eased his fingers under the rim, and tried it gently.

The lid lifted smoothly, and he looked inside.