The great brown wall pricked with holes like an enormous wasp's nest,
the ruined watch-towers, and the soaring, honey-coloured minaret with
its intricate carvings, its marble pillars, its tiles and inset enamels
iridescent as a Brazilian beetle's wing, all gleamed with a splendour
that was an enchantment, in the fire of sunset. The scent of aromatic
herbs, such as Arabs love and use to cure their fevers, was bitter-sweet
in the fall of the dew, and birds cried to each other from hidden nests
among the ruins.
"Mussulmans think that the spirits of their dead fly back to visit their
own graves, or places they have loved, in the form of birds," said
Josette, looking up at the minaret, large marguerites with orange
centres embroidering her black dress, as she stood knee-deep in their
waving gold. "I half believe that these birds among the lovely carvings
of the tower are the priests who used to read the Koran in the mosque,
and could not bear to leave it. The birds in the walls are the soldiers
who defended the city."
As she spoke there was a flight of wings, black against the rose and
mauve of the sunset. "There!" she exclaimed. "Arabs would call that an
omen! To see birds flying at sundown has a special meaning for them. If
a man wanted something, he would know that he could get it only by going
in the direction the birds take."
"Which way are they flying?" asked Stephen.
All four followed the flight of wings with their eyes.
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