He seemed to have confidence in Mahommed ben Hamza's ability to protect me, if necessary, on the roof.
The roof and ramparts appeared deserted.

They were in the ruinous state to which the Turks reduce everything by sheer neglect, and in which Arabs, blaming the Turks, seemed quite disposed to leave things.

The Ichwan led the way to the southwest corner, peering about him to make sure no guards were in hiding, or asleep behind projecting buttresses.

Overhead the kites were wheeling against a pure blue sky.

The Dead Sea lay and smiled below us, with the gorgeous, treeless Judean Hills beyond.