Novel 1984 - The Walking Drum (v5.0)

by Louis L'Amour

Nor would Suzanne.

  Chapter 39

  *

  THE PEOPLE OF the camp saw me coming from a distance, but I came as a visitor comes, and they had respect for visitors.

  My route brought me into their camp at the opposite end from that of Prince Yury, as I intended. Immediately, I asked for the Khan.

  They understood that word and no doubt believed I came as an ambassador or expected guest. They recognized my Arab armor, and there was murmuring among them as they looked at Ayesha.

  Four horsemen fell in around me, and we came to a larger tent. There was Prince Yury, staring at me in blank astonishment, swiftly giving way to triumph.

  “Seize that man! He is from the caravan!”

  Knowing nothing of their tongue, I trusted to Arabic, which many of them would understand. “I have come to your camp of my own will. I have been told of the hospitality of the people of the Black Tents.”

  Their Khan was a square, powerful old man with bowed legs and a grim expression. “Why come you here?” he demanded.

  “In Kiev it was said you were followers of Prince Yury,” I lied cheerfully, to put my enemy on the defense, “but I do not believe the Khan of the Black Tents follows any man.”

  Ayesha stepped about a bit, and when she quieted, I said, “I have come here, trusting to your hospitality as well as your nobility, to challenge Prince Yury to combat.

  “You are noted men of the sword and respect those who fight. I do not ask your friendship, although to be your friend would make me proud; I ask only fair treatment, which I know you will give. The blood upon your swords has never been the blood of cowardice.”

  “You come here, in the camp of his friends, to challenge Prince Yury?” The old Khan’s eyes glinted, and I felt I had won his respect where nothing else would have done so. These were men who loved daring. “Why do you seek him?”

  “Because he tries to get other men to fight his battles, and because he is a knave, a coward, and a mongrel, fit only to be fed the meat of dogs!”

  Prince Yury drew his sword. “By the gods! For this I shall have your blood!”

  “Why fill thy belly on the east wind and give utterance to vain and foolish words?” I said contemptuously. “Will you meet me on foot or horseback?”

  By now hundreds of the Khan’s followers had gathered about, eager for the fight. Yet all that I could think of now were ways to make the fight last. The scouting party I had seen had not yet come in. Could I hold them when they did come? Every minute gained would bring my people closer to the sea, and the boats that should be waiting.

  Suddenly, there were shouts and a band of horsemen charged into camp. Men rushed to them for their report.

  It was the scouting party. I was too late.

  Amid the confusion, Prince Yury stared at me with hatred. He pointed at me. “Kill him! His coming was a ruse to distract your attention.”

  “There speaks a coward,” I sneered, “who would have his killing done by others.”

  “He has challenged you, Prince Yury,” a voice said. “His challenge deserves respect. Do you fear him, that you shrink from battle?”

  That voice! Where had I heard it before?

  “He is our enemy,” Yury replied coldly. “His coming is but to gain time.”

  “How much time do we of the Black Tents require?” The speaker was behind me. “He has come to our camp as a guest, of his own will, and he shall leave it when he wishes.”

  “Who says?” Yury demanded, his voice hard with anger.

  “I say!” He walked forward and stood beside me. “I, Abaka Khan!”

  A moment I stared, then remembrance. “Abaka Khan! The man for whom I bought a drink in Cádiz, so long ago!”

  Prince Yury hesitated, and I could gauge Abaka Khan’s importance by that hesitation. Yury was suddenly uncertain of his ground.

  “Do you speak for this enemy?” Yury demanded.

  “Whose enemy? They have not attacked us. You say they are enemies.”

  “There is loot among them.”

  “And a woman,” I said, “whom he hopes to take.” Deliberately, I thickened my tone with contempt. “This dog cannot seize her for himself. He must have the Black Tents to win his woman!”

  “Is this so?” The old Khan turned to Prince Yury. “You spoke of a woman when you told us of the caravan.”

  “The woman is important. It is a matter of politics.”

  Aside to those nearest me, I said, “What manner of mouse is this? That he claims politics as an excuse for taking a woman? Is he a man or a eunuch?”

  Prince Yury heard my remark and took a step toward me, and the crowd opened to let him come, eager for the fight.

  “A proper duel? Or do I spank you with my blade upon your bare bottom?”

  “A duel it is,” Abaka Khan said sternly, “and we will see it properly done. Come, Prince Yury? Will it be foot or horse?”

  “Horseback,” Yury said angrily, “and no quarter. A fight to the death!”

  “Agreed.” I spoke carelessly, and drawing my blade, I rode Ayesha fifty yards down the course, walking her slowly, for we needed time, then turning to face Yury.

  How long since Lolyngton and Johannes reached the caravan? How much time had I won? Was it twenty minutes? A half hour? An hour could mean five miles for the caravan, perhaps six at top speed. It was not much, but the sea was not far away. The Hansgraf would know how to use the time.

  What I feared most was that the caravan might be caught crossing the Chickeklaya. Once across the river there would be nothing between them and the sea, less than fifty miles away.

  “Steady girl.” I spoke softly and caressed her neck, knowing she understood. Ayesha had been ridden in many a tilting and many a duel. She pranced eagerly, nostrils dilated, her delicate head bobbing as she tasted the bit.

  The word was given, and we started forward. Despite my talk, which had been for the purpose of forcing a fight, I knew I was in trouble. Prince Yury towered several inches above me in height, and his long arms gave him a reach advantage. He was a powerful man with every appearance of the fighter.

  His sword was ready. Suddenly his horse gathered speed, and of her own volition, Ayesha did as well. Charging, we swept at each other, but when we neared I simply parried his blow and slipped past.

  An angry shout went up at my evasion, but wheeling Ayesha, I lunged at Prince Yury. Yury had turned, but despite the fact she had been ridden all morning, Ayesha was the quicker. My blade swung and was only partly parried, and Yury was off-balance in the saddle. There was a moment when I could have killed him, and it was seen by everyone.

  For an instant there was stark fear in Yury’s eyes, for he was powerless to prevent a thrust, and I was in position. However, the fight would have been over, and it was time I was battling for. Contemptuously, I lowered my blade. “You shall not die so easily,” I said to him, and circled my horse.

  There was a cheer from the crowd, who misunderstood my gesture, and then he was upon me again. We fought desperately, thrusting, parrying, circling. Once, Ayesha almost fell, his heavier horse pushed against her, and I reined her swiftly away. Seeing his advantage, Yury charged me, and only Ayesha’s swift turn prevented our being run down.

  Our blades clashed, and disengaging, I thrust suddenly. I felt my point tear cloth, and then his blade struck me on the skull, and my helmet rang with the force of the blow. Rushing his horse into me, he struck viciously. Off-balance I fell from my horse.

  As my body struck the dust, a tremendous shout went up, and he wheeled his horse to ride me down. However, rolling free, I sprang to my feet, and as he leaned to strike me, I threw myself against the side of the charging horse and under his sword arm.

  It was such a feat as I had practiced many times with the acrobats and bareback riders who would mount and dismount from running horses. Catching the pommel and Yury himself, I swung to his horse’s back behind him. With one arm across his throat, I brought my sword up, but his horse wheeled suddenly, and we
were both thrown to the ground.

  Thanks to my acrobatic training I was instantly up, but badly shaken, and there was blood on my face from somewhere. Yury got up, but he had several steps to recover his sword, and the wild Petchenegs yelled angrily for me to kill him. This time I did not delay because of gallantry or an attempt to prolong the battle, I simply lacked the strength to go after him and needed to catch my wind.

  He caught up his sword and came for me, all the fire and fury gone now. He was cold and deadly, meaning to kill me now with no further nonsense.

  How long had the fight lasted? Only seconds, perhaps, certainly no more than a few minutes, but I no longer dared think of simply delaying. To survive at all, I must fight only to win.

  He came at me, feinted and lunged. Springing away, I moved in again quickly and went for his face, narrowly missing. We circled, our blades touching, almost caressing, then mine leaped past his thrust hard. The point took him in the chest but at the end of my lunge. I felt his chain mail give before that lovely Toledo steel, and recovering, I saw a spot of blood on his chest only inches to the right of his heart.

  We circled, and then he drove at me fiercely, demanding all my skill to ward off his attack. My blade lowered, and he drew his blade back for one tremendous swing, and there flashed into my mind how my father had once saved his life in a battle aboard ship. Dropping to one knee, as his weight came forward over his right leg and his blade started down, I thrust upward into his throat.

  At the last it was more his doing than mine, for his descending blade and the force of his swing were enough to send my blade through his throat and into his skull.

  He gave a choking scream, and his sword fell, banging on my helm. His body twisted as he fell, pulling the blade from my grip, but springing up, and with a tremendous jerk, I wrenched it free.

  The old Khan rode out to me as I stood gasping for breath, holding my bloody sword.

  “It was well fought.”

  “I owe him an apology,” I said. “He was a brave fighter and a strong man. I but spoke to gain time.”

  “You are honest.”

  “You gave me opportunity; I give you truth.”

  Abaka Khan had ridden up beside the old warrior. “This is my son,” the Khan said. “He was long from my side.”

  “A strong son makes a father proud.”

  There was a wineskin on the saddle of Abaka Khan. I indicated it.

  “Abaka Khan, I once gave you a drink. I would have one now.”

  He took the wineskin from his saddle, and I held it high, before drinking. “Yol bolsun!” I shouted. “May there be a road!”

  “Yol bolsun!” The shout went up from a thousand throats, and holding the wineskin high, I squirted the wine into my throat, parched from battle.

  Handing the skin back to him, I said, “It was a good drink. Remind me that I owe you one.”

  The old Khan pointed. “There is your horse. Ride to your company and tell them we come with the rising sun, and what they have we will take.”

  Stepping into the saddle, I faced them, the short, powerful old man and his tall, slender son.

  “I shall tell them, and we shall meet you, but many of your men will die.”

  “Where there is gold”—he shrugged his heavy shoulders—“there is blood.”

  Turning my horse, I lifted my blade in salute, for they were good men and strong, but before this hour came again many would lie with their throats choked on the dryness of death.

  “Yol bolsun!” I shouted, and the hills rang with their reply.

  “Yol bolsun!”

  Chapter 40

  *

  THE LOW SHORE that is the north shore of the Black Sea between the mouths of the Dnieper and the Dniester is cut far inland by a number of drowned valleys that form inlets in the flood plains of the coast. There are no forests there, only clumps of willow, black poplar, and European alder with some mixture of filbert, maple, pear, and apple. Wild grape vines climb into the highest branches of the trees.

  The drowned valleys form long narrow bays or estuaries into which the rivers empty. Into one of these emptied the Bug, the river that had been our companion on our trek to the sea.

  Between two of these estuaries we prepared to meet the attack of the Petchenegs, forerunners of the great Mongol tribes that even now were stirring restlessly on the far-off steppes of Asia.

  Behind us were the waters of the Black Sea, on either side of us a fork of an estuary. The Hansgraf directed preparations for defense, and each of us knew it would be a fight to the death. There could be no retreat, and no escape unless the boats arrived. The forces arrayed against us outnumbered us by ten to one, at least.

  On our right, beginning close along the shore of the inlet was a dense thicket of brush, its millions of branches tightly interwoven and overgrown by grape vines. This barrier, which the Hansgraf immediately elected to use, was several hundred yards in width and extended almost a quarter of a mile across the neck of land we had chosen to defend.

  For horsemen this was an impenetrable barrier and a trap for all who might attempt it. There was a narrow stretch of sandy beach between the thicket and the water, and there we piled driftwood to make a barrier. Beyond this we sowed some hundreds of caltrops. These were made of metal or hardened wood so devised that one of their four points always stood up, a deadly defense against cavalry charges.

  The remaining area we must defend was protected in part by a thick wood, a tangle of willow, poplar, and grape vines, along with some thorny brush whose name I did not know. Branches were cut from trees and wedged between other trees to make a continuous fence. Inside of this and outside as well were set up sharp-pointed sticks of all sizes, their ends thrust into the ground on an angle that faced a charge.

  In the opening that existed somewhat east of center across the neck of land we built a hasty wall, and before this we scattered more caltrops.

  Upon receipt of warning from Lolyngton and Johannes, the Hansgraf acted swiftly. Disembarking his people from the carts and loading all upon pack animals, he sent the carts on along the river while he scattered his riders and pack animals in fifty directions to meet at a definite point.

  What he hoped, and what did in fact happen as planned, was for the Petchenegs to follow after the empty carts only to find them empty and abandoned except for rocks placed in them for added weight. By the time the Petchenegs discovered their mistake and scouted the many trails the company had reassembled, chosen its position, and was well along with fortification.

  The men and women unable to work otherwise because of wounds or other disabilities were put to making more caltrops, a supply of which was always carried in the wagons, as the attacks most feared by the merchants were those from horsemen.

  Many caltrops were carried out some distance into the grass to break the force of any charge against the defenses. When that position seemed relatively secure, the Hansgraf drew back a hundred yards or so and proceeded to build several islands of defense, small forts behind earthworks and brush that could break the force of any mass attack, divide the enemy, and subject them to cross fire. Into one of these secondary forts the women were taken, and such of the wounded that required care. Food supplies were divided among the forts. Within the one where the women and wounded would be, there was a spring.

  The labor to prepare this defense was done with incredible swiftness. This was due to a well-thought-out plan by the Hansgraf, who had long since worked out a series of defenses covering almost every situation a caravan might encounter.

  In the main our defense was against horsemen, and this was true wherever we might be attacked. Our bowmen were of the best, but we also had many who were adept with the sling, and a part of the shore near us was a pebbled beach, providing the best of ammunition.

  By the time I reached the point of rendezvous these preparations were far advanced.

  The Hansgraf knew it was the custom of steppe horsemen to charge a wall or hedge, and leap their horses over it,
but the sharp stakes driven into the ground and pointed in the direction from which any charge must come, as well as the caltrops, rendered such a charge impossible. Many of the caltrops were invisible in the knee-high grass.

  Sometime since, he had sent a messenger to Constantinople to hasten the boats that were to meet us and transport our cargo, but it was doubtful if they would arrive in time.

  By daylight on the third day after my return, they found us. It had taken them that time to catch up as well as to work out the maze of trails we left.

  Several thousand of the Petchenegs started for our fort at a fast trot only to pull up or turn sharply away when they saw the plain before our wall. Knowing the skill of their horsemen, I knew that some of them, weaving between the clusters of sticks and caltrops, would get through.

  From a distance I could recognize the Khan sitting his horse and occasionally standing in his stirrups to study our defenses. How long would it be before he realized we were vulnerable to attack from the sea or the estuaries? A fact in our favor was that the Petchenegs, a steppe people, rarely knew how to swim and feared the water.

  Suzanne awaited me at the outer wall of one of the islands of defense. Her face was pale. “Mathurin? How will it be?”

  What reply could I make to such a question? Our defenses could be no better, considering the time we had and the situation, yet I was sorely afraid. Nor need she ask, for her experience was no doubt as great as mine in such cases. Her Castle of Saône had often been attacked when she was younger.

  Yet it was I who had looked into the Khan’s grim old eyes, only I who had seen his men up close, those savage, ill-smelling tigers of the steppe. They lived for war, knew little else.

  Nor was I one to shield a woman from truth. Women are neither weaklings nor fools, and they, too, must plan for what is to come. He who does not prepare his woman for disaster is a fool.

  “We may win, Suzanne, and we may not. If you are taken, demand to see Abaka Khan. He is a prince, a son of the Khan, and we know each other. Ask to see him; tell him your story. But if you can, escape. I shall try to prepare a way for you.”