by Harold Lamb
"Carrion," grunted Ayub.
"And men," added Demid, "or the kites would not stay aloof."
Rounding the willows they rode along the shore and drew rein simultaneously.
"Well," observed Ayub between his teeth, "here are our pirates."
A half dozen tattered fishermen were working with long poles to push off a raft that had grounded abreast their hamlet. The raft was made of stout planks and beams; in its center was a wooden pillar; from the summit of this projected a nest of cross-pieces. And from each of these, as if from a gallows, hung the body of a man.
The bodies dangled on ropes, turning slowly in the light wind. Hooks inserted under the ribs held them up. The hands of the victims were bound behind their backs. Flies and gnats clouded the flesh of the men, most of whom were dead. Two still moved their limbs.
The fishermen abandoned their poles and stepped back in fear as the Cossacks rode closer. As they did so a faint sound came from the pillar and Demid saw that a small bronze bell was hung over the cross-pieces. Under this was a parchment bearing writing, stuck to the post by a dagger.
"What says the missal?" be asked.
At this a strange figure that had been lurking in the background pushed forward. It was a man no larger than a dwarf, wrapped in a black cloak, yet bearing on his curled locks a high black cap, like a sugar loaf. The toes of his limp shoes were long as his arms. On his back was a light pack.
"Worthy Cossack," he responded, "the parchment bears the seal of the exalted starosta, John of Kudak, lord and governor of the lower Dnieper. Over the seal is written, 'River-thieves, done to death by my command for their crimes.'"
"Who," asked Ayub curiously, "in the name of all the-are you?"
The olive face of the man in black broadened in a smile, and his puckered eyes glimmered shrewdly.
"O sir, I am Hermaphron, the Greek. In my pack are multitudinous blessed relics. Whatever your sins—and, since you are a Cossack, they must be many—two zecchins will buy you salvation in the form of a toenail of the holy Saint Stephen. Or, I will sell you a bit of iron from the brazier that did to death Saint Lawrence. Or—for a paltry three golden sequins of full weight—you may have a fragment of the stone that was cast at—"
Hermaphron broke off in alarm when Demid urged his horse into the water to gaze up closely at the twisted and distorted faces that were barely to be recognized as human. Above the fly-infested bodies the bell clanked, once, mournfully. A pair of red eyes glared down at the young Cossack.
"Water! In the name of the Father and Son—water!"
Kneeling on his saddle, and steadying his horse with a word, Demid climbed to the float and cut down the naked form from which the voice had come. It was a youth, with long yellow hair; dying, Demid judged. The barb of the hook had penetrated his vitals.
"Have a care, Cossack!" Hermaphron cried. "It is the law of the sta-rosta that no aid be given the thieves. These are some of the band that sank the Venetian galley in the last moon. Whenever the float drifts ashore it is to be pushed off—so!"
To this the Dnieper men nodded agreement. Seeing that Demid would pay no attention to their warning, they whispered together and disappeared toward the huts. Not for gold itself would they be seen standing
near when one of the doomed thieves was brought ashore, against the command of the governor.
After placing the dying man under a tree, Demid went to the river and filled his sheepskin cap with water. The sufferer gulped it eagerly, never ceasing the while to moan. When he had his fill Demid dipped his neck cloth in the water and washed the boy's face, and the swollen flesh around the wound.
Hermaphron, meanwhile, capered around, voicing his fear, until the Cossack looked up at him squarely.
"Relic-seller, have you in your pack a talisman that will stop the flow of blood and heal this hurt?"
"Aye, noble sir, that I have. An icon, blessed by the thrice-holy—"
"Then give it this lad."
The Greek stared and fingered his beard.
"Ah, handsome warrior, you jest. By Krivonos, that is it! What could this miscreant pay? Besides, that would be against the command of my lord, the starosta. But surely—" the keen eye of the relic-seller took in the fine mail and the red leather boots of the Cossack—"you, noble knight, must be in need of a talisman. A piece of silk, taken from the robe of a statue in the Moscow church—protection against vampires. An Egyptian powder, made by magicians—put it into a cup of the girl you wish to love you. Eh, eh! Which shall it be—"
Demid, watching the face of the condemned man, held up his hand. The youth, in the grip of fever, was raving.
"To sword, you dogs—Man the side wall—Nay, I call them accursed traitors!"
His eyes opened wide, and even Hermaphron was silent.
"Water, I say water! Feodor, Ivan! Where are the servants?"
For a moment he stared into the dark eyes of the moody Cossack.
"A stranger—a man from afar. What do you, sir, on this threshold of
--? Stay, bear word from me." His hand gripped Demid's wrist. "To Ile-
ana, I say. Bid her avenge me—"
"What is your name?" asked Demid quickly.
The voice of the sufferer fell into a mumble, and presently the Cossack saw that he was dead. Hermaphron touched his shoulder.
"Look to yourself, Cossack. Yonder on the highway come some men of the starosta. Aye, one of the dogs of fishers is with them, and no doubt has told them of your crime."
The river road that led to Kudak was within arrow shot and a tall man in the livery of the governor spurred his horse down the bank. Two men-at-arms followed, scowling at the Cossacks. The leader peered down at the body of the boy and then examined the raft. Noticing that one of the victims still lived he ordered a soldier to end his life, and watched while the man went out to the float and cut the throat of the last survivor.
"Two days, and still alive!" the officer grumbled. "Satan himself must be in their hides. Well, they won't be taken down by their mates, now. What are you doing, Cossack, so near to Kudak? What do you mean by breaking the command of his serene Excellency, the starosta?"
As Demid occupied himself with filling and lighting his pipe, and Ayub merely grunted, the governor's man went on:
"I am Lieutenant Varan. Stand up, you dogs, and answer for yourselves—"
"In good time, serene, mighty lieutenant," rumbled Ayub, who had held the rank of colonel in the Cossack camps. "Is that sword stuck on your back to frighten away ghosts, or do you use it on your horse?"
Already Demid had noticed that the officer was armed with one of the great German broadswords, hung in a scabbard over his shoulder. From point to pommel it measured a full five feet. The long hilt ended in a silver knob as large as a man's knotted fist; the two-edged blade was straight and the whole must have weighed fifty pounds—a two-handed weapon of the northern soldiery.
The lieutenant straightened in the saddle abruptly. His cheeks went red.
"On your face, jackal! Down on your face! What words, to an officer of the starosta!"
Ayub's brows drew together and he began to snort.
"Ekh—ekh! An end to words! Stand down from your horse and pluck out your skewer."
The man Varan moved quickly. He was out of his saddle and swinging around his head the five-foot blade before one of his men could catch the reins of his horse. At sight of him, Ayub fell into a cold anger; his teeth gritted together and he made his heavy saber sing in the air.
"Cut, slash!" he barked.
He gathered himself together for a spring when he was halted by Demid who had made a trip to the river and back. The young Cossack had filled his cap anew and emptied it over the head of his companion.
"Cease howling, wolf," he said briefly, thrusting Ayub back. "The koshe-voi warned us to keep clear of quarrels and now you would let out the life of the first Muscovite you meet."
Glancing at Ayub critically, he saw that the big warrior was too enraged to hold ba
ck from a fight. Turning to Varan, he said:
"With the flat of the blade—the flat of the blade! We bear letters to the starosta and blood must not fall here."
But Ayub was not satisfied with this. He had been watching the play of the northern broadsword enviously.
"Nay, brother, I will slice his liver for those words. But if you will let me keep his sword, I will not harm him."
The lieutenant stared at the Cossacks curiously. He had all a townsman's distrust of the Cossacks, who were seldom seen in Kudak. He knew their hot temper—the recklessness with which they fought. With the edge of the saber Ayub would be formidable; but with the flat of the blade he would have the advantage. A blow of his two-handed weapon would dislocate his adversary's skull or crush in his ribs.
Moreover, Varan, who matched Ayub in height, was bent on maintaining his reputation before his men. On the river, he was known to be a hard customer. It would be a feather in his cap, to take the sword of an ataman from the Cossack war camp.
"If you disarm me," he said disdainfully, "the broadsword is yours. But I'll strip you of your saber and give it to the girls of Kudak—"
"So be it," nodded Demid. "Begin."
He stepped back and Ayub sprang forward, taking the full sweep of the heavy sword on his saber. For all the Cossack's great strength, the impact of the two-handed weapon crushed down his blade and whirled him aside with a bruised shoulder.
Instead of drawing out the soldier, the Cossack gathered himself together and leaped in again. Varan's teeth gleamed, for this was to his liking. Stepping back a pace, he swung hastily.
But before he could put the full swing of his shoulders into the blow, Ayub, judging distance and speed instinctively, parried the stroke, his long saber clashing full against the straight sword. Varan had to spring back to escape his answering cut.
Demid smiled, and then fell serious. His comrade, rushing in, was met by the massive pommel of the lieutenant's weapon. Varan had thrust his hilt at Ayub's forehead with all his strength. It might well have brained the Cossack, but Ayub's head rolled aside and the end of the handguard merely raked the side of his skull, drawing blood.
The watching soldiers shouted, and Varan, seeing his chance, spat full into Ayub's eye, and leaped clear. As he did so, he swung down on the out-thrust hilt. The long blade rose from behind his shoulders in a wide arc.
Standing close, and half stunned by the blow on his head, Ayub had no chance to step back beyond the sweep of the two-handed weapon. Nor could he parry a down blow with his lighter blade.
He dropped his saber, and his next movement was so quick that only Demid followed it. Ayub turned about, thrusting his shoulders against Varan's chest, gripping as he did so the silver ball of the other's sword hilt in his right hand. The impetus of Varan's full stroke was too great to check, and Ayub pulled down, arching his back as he did so.
Only one result could follow, unless Varan released his grip on his sword. But he held fast, and was sent flying through the air, over Ayub's back. A wrench of the Cossack's forearm and shoulder, and the great blade was twisted from the lieutenant's grasp.
Varan struck earth on his head and shoulder four paces away. When he could sit up and look around, the Cossack was bending over him. Ayub had strapped the two-handed weapon to his back and was holding out his old saber.
"Here is a good blade, Muscovite," he said grimly. "Use it fairly, instead of spitting like a cat."
By way of answer Varan caught the saber and whirled it far into the river. Then without a word he went to his horse and made off, going north along the trail, followed by his men. Demid watched them out of sight. It was too bad that Ayub had lost his temper and made an enemy of one of the officers of the starosta. Varan would undoubtedly go to John of Kudak with his version of the quarrel, and the starosta would take the word of his men against the Cossacks, especially after Demid's defiance of the order against cutting down the condemned pirates.
Demid had no mind to reprove his companion. Instead he went to inspect the body of the criminal. Frowning, he noticed that the hand of death had smoothed away the harsh lines of suffering. Weak and dissipated the face of the boy was, but there was in it something of pride and beauty. The boy had babbled of servants; he had been born of noble parents.
"Cover the body from the kites and wolves," Demid commanded the fisher-folk who had drawn near again to watch the fight. "Hermaphron, show us the shortest path to the gate of Kudak. It is time to go, for those who have the road before them."
"That will I, noble sir," promised the Greek, "for a silver ducat."
The Cossacks noticed that the relic-seller had an excellent horse—a black-and-white Arab—at hand in the bushes. They were off at a round pace, for Demid wished to be heard by the starosta at the same time that Varan told his tale. Meanwhile, he ordered Hermaphron to reveal what he knew of the last exploit of the pirates.
No sooner were the three out of sight than the fishermen left the body of the youth, and began to wade into the water, seeking the sword that had been cast away. Once or twice they looked up in fear, for, down the river, the bell on the float sounded its mournful dirge with each puff of the rising wind.
A storm, in fact, was rising over the Dnieper. White crests appeared where the wind countered the current. The lines of rushes bent under the breath of chill air, and the sky darkened behind the riders. Hermaphron's tale was jolted out of him, so swift was the pace set by Ayub, but Demid listened to each word.
Ten days ago the Venetian galley had passed Kudak, after paying the usual toll at the fortress. Like the vessel that had carried the powder of the Cossacks, it made a day's run down the river and moored for the night at an island Hermaphron pointed out.
The river-thieves had put out from the bank and had gained the island unseen by the crew of the galley.
The Venetian captain had been shorthanded, what with the troubles in Kiev, and had been assailed from shore and water.
The pirates had killed him, and most of his men; several survivors had tried to win to the mainland by swimming. They had not been heard from
again. But the noise of the affray had reached a courier boat of the starosta
that was patrolling down from Kudak.
The soldiers of the governor had drifted quietly on the current until within pistol shot. Torches in the hands of the river-thieves, to light the plundering, had shown them what was going on. After firing a volley they boarded the merchant galley, drove the pirates to the island, and slew several, taking prisoner the half dozen who had just been executed.
"Then the leader of the band was not taken?" Demid asked.
Hermaphron fingered his beard and glanced warily to right and left before answering.
"Nay, young sir, 'tis said along the river that the many bands have but one leader. He was not among the prisoners."
"Who is he?"
"Ah, why would you know that? He is a werewolf, a howler in the wilderness. He changes shape when pursued. His eyes can see in the dark, and 'tis said he rides to the witches' sabbath."
Hereat Ayub pricked up his ears and slowed the pace of his horse noticeably.
"That is an evil thing," he muttered, crossing himself.
"John of Kudak," said Demid slowly, "has a heavy hand. He must have tortured the captives. Aye, there were scars and lashes on the boy's body. What did they confess?"
"True," smiled the Greek. "The dogs rode the wooden mule, and caressed the thumb-screw and the iron jacket. They said this of their leader: He keeps apart from their lairs, which they change after each venture. When spoil has been taken the thieves scatter and bear it to a place named by their chief. In exchange they receive each one, justly, a sum in gold or jewels. When a venture is toward, the word is passed down the river and they are met by this monarch of darkness, who takes the tiller of the craft they are in. When the fight is over, he stands guard with the best armed on the shore until the others have gone inland with the plunder. Then he joins them at the appointed
place and pays them, as I have said."
"What manner of man is he? What name bears he among the bands?"
Hermaphron grimaced and touched his pack as if for protection against evil.
"By Krivonos, much have I heard in the kitchens of the castle of Kudak, but not that. One says one thing, another the contrary. They call him the Lord of the River. Some swear that he is a renegade noble: others that he has sold himself to the Turks, or the ——, which is the same thing."
Demid leaned over and tapped the bundle that Hermaphron cherished.
"An end to these wives' tales, Greek, or I cast your goods into the Dnieper. What was confessed concerning the fate of the Armenian bark a month ago?"
"As God is my witness, I know not, sir knight."
Hermaphron started again as a mighty hand gripped his off shoulder and Ayub snarled at him.
"Tell what you have heard of the powder that was meant for Cossack hands, or you will fly after your bundle, and Satan will open the door under the river for you, because he loves a Greek."
The eyes of the relic-seller blinked shrewdly, even while he groaned.
"O dies irae—O day of doom! What misery besets an honest man! Worthy champion of the Christians, I heard that the Lord of the River himself took over the bark, because the powder was too weighty to carry afoot. He went down the river."
1
The Moslem salaam brought the hands to the forehead.
2
Green, being the color worn by the hadjis, was forbidden to other Moslems, and on an infidel was always a provocation to attack.
III
Concerning Vampires
They pushed their horses hard, but it was after the hour of sunset when they drew up before the river gate of the fortress of Kudak.
Twice, in the gathering darkness the Greek had wandered off the narrow trail. Over their heads the wind from the steppe howled and twisted, and lashing rain beat down on the high bell tower, the sheer stone wall of the fortress and the clusters of peasants' huts outside.