by Harold Lamb
"How could I tell? Eh, I can judge what lies behind a Turkish veil, as well as you can tell your nag from another. When I was on a raid in Trebizond, the maidens used to nudge me in the streets so hard that my ribs would have given out if I had not worn a mail shirt. And how is my granddaughter?"
"Your granddaughter? What kin have you below the sea?" Michael did not understand the big Cossack.
"Eh, what kin? Why, aforetime, when I raided the Black Sea with Rurik— God break his chains for him—I left sons and daughters in every Turkish port where the women were above ordinary, and by now they have children of their own."
The warriors, clustering restlessly around their leaders, smiled, knowing that Ayub was more afraid of a woman than of a chambul of Tatars. Michael reflected that the veteran must have kept up the spirits of the detachments rarely in the trying time of waiting for orders.
"That is why," added the giant gravely, "the Turkish knights have grown so notable of late."
"Aye, grandfather," Michael grinned, "you were a great man in your time."
"In my time? May the dogs scratch you, Mikhail! You are no bigger than a flea and I could break you on my thumbnail." He breathed heavily a moment, and went on. "But I spoke of my granddaughter Lali. When she bade us farewell to go off to Sidi Ahmad, she wept like a ewe lamb under the shearer, and I kissed her like a grandfather, not otherwise. She is a good witch, and I will salt down the Turk that harms her."
"She is to open the postern door to Demid, and we are to contrive to pass through the nearest gate of Aleppo, to ride around to join him at the fourth hour of darkness."
Michael explained Demid's plan, realizing for the first time the odds against them. It pleased the Cossacks rarely, and they remarked that they would brew a fine beer for Sidi Ahmad to quaff.
"Sidi Ahmad is really Balaban, so strike when you see him."
"Eh, that hedgehog? I warned Demid that we should slice him but the mad fellow would not listen."
Ayub fell moody at this, and became silent as Michael cautioned the warriors to wrap their scabbards and take care to ride without noise as they approached the gate.
"Our scabbards are leather and the boys have hunted Tatars often enough to stalk a gate without making a hubbub," he remarked stiffly, "but as you are taking over the detachment, we are at command and will do as we are ordered."
"At command, little father," repeated the Cossacks readily.
But Michael understood that Ayub was offended.
"Not so, Ayub," he responded, against his better judgment. "You will be ataman as before, and I will guide you to the place."
They decided to leave one man with the spare horses—they had two to a warrior—at the base of the burial hill, a pistol-shot from the gate. A scout sent down toward the Bab el Nasr reported that the revelry within the gate had died down, and Michael reflected that the throngs of Moslems must have gone off to watch the procession at the castle.
The Cossack who had acted as scout said that the guard had just been changed, and this meant the third hour of the night had been reached. They were to meet Demid at the beginning of the fourth hour.
"Time," announced Ayub, prompted by Michael's whisper. "Time to mount and go."
In the dense gloom under the trees the word was passed among the warriors. Here and there a pony stamped and a saddle creaked, then fell silence broken by the snuffling of the horses which were restive after the long idleness. Ayub repeated his instructions in a low voice.
They were to go down in column of threes, the new essaul in advance of the men, within hearing of Ayub and Michael, who took Hassan with them. On approaching the gate the leaders would dismount and go forward with the Arab, and they would contrive to have the portal opened. At the first shout, or rattle of weapons, the essaul—the old warrior, Broad Breeches—was to bring up his men on the gallop and rush the gate regardless of who stood in his path.
As Ayub had said, the men from the Don descended the hill and walked their horses along the highroad without so much as a rattle of a bridle chain or clink of a weapon. Yet Michael knew that by now their sabers were drawn. He wondered what Balaban was doing—Balaban who had sworn that time would bring his revenge—Balaban who had eyes and ears in every secret place, and in whose power Demid now stood.
When the wall loomed up, he whispered to the sergeant to halt his men and dismounted, feeling weariness in every fiber. The blood was pounding in his head and he had a mad desire to rush on the iron portal and shout, to end the suspense.
Pulling himself together, he consulted with Hassan instead. That cool youngster pointed out that the gate was formed of open iron scrollwork, and offered to creep up and try to turn the key in the lock on the inner side.
Michael assented and the three made their way forward cautiously, keeping to the side of the highway where the glow of the lamp over the portal would not fall on them. They heard a half-dozen Moslems talking lazily on the other side, but no one was on watch at the threshold because Aleppo was barred in of nights and people of the countryside never approached the walls.
The boy crept along the base of the wall and stood up to thrust his arm slowly through the fretwork. A low whisper told Michael that the key was not in place.
By mischance one of the guards happened to look toward the gate and made out the shadow of Hassan, cast by the lamp.
"Kubar-dar! Take care! What is there?"
The half-dozen janissaries hurried up on the other side and Michael drew back against the granite blocks of the gate pillar where he could not be seen. Hassan wisely kept his place.
"Allah be praised," the boy cried loudly, "I have come in time. The kazaks are hiding in the burial hill, where I went with the leper my father. I have come with the tidings. Take me to Sidi Ahmad that I may have a reward."
"Who art thou?"
"Hassan, the Arab, who passed out two hours since. Be quick."
"Still thy crying, whelp."
The man laughed and Michael knew him to be the janissary who had smoked with the Arab in the serai. As before the soldier reeked of forbidden liquor, and the key he took from his girdle rattled in the massive lock.
"I will see to the matter of a reward for tidings of those accursed swine, the kazaks—"
"Accursed swine yourself!" boomed Ayub indignantly, out of the darkness.
The big Cossack had been growing restive as a horse and the insult was too much for his patience.
"Open this cage and I'll cut your bristles—"
Michael started and swore under his breath. No help for it—the janissary gave a shout and jerked to free the key. But in the same instant the cavalier passed his scimitar through the ironwork and through the body of the officer.
Pulling it free, he turned the key in the lock with his left hand, and Ayub shoved mightily at the gate. The janissaries pressed it on the other side; swords flashed and Michael turned aside a thrust that would have split his companion's head.
Then he caught Ayub by the arm and flung himself aside with the Cossack as horses raced up and their followers spurred against the gate. It swung open under the weight of the horses, and for a minute there was rapid swordplay.
Several of the Moslems turned to flee but were cut down by the riders and soon there was no other sound than the heavy breathing of the horses within the deep shadow of the wall. The bodies of the guards were pulled out of sight and Michael was satisfied that the fight had been ignored by any who had heard it within the nearby alleys. Brawls among the janissaries were commonplace and this was the night of the zineh. Hassan had betaken himself elsewhere, unharmed.
Posting two of the Cossacks at the wall where they could not be seen, he ordered the essaul to close the gate and guard it until they returned.
Broad Breeches saluted, and drew back reluctantly as they trotted off, keeping to the cleared ground by the wall where no one could see them against the lights of the alleys. They went through the quarter of the Jews, where the houses were shut and barred during the fe
stival and the folk within doors. Once or twice they avoided patrols of janissaries, and fumbled through blind arcades where lights gleamed from cellars and the reek of opium was in the air. Beggars started up out of stairways and stared in bewilderment at the huge bodies of the dark riders, the high black hats and the gleaming sabers.
No Cossacks had penetrated into Islam before and the rumor spread in the alleys that the djinn had come down from the air and were riding winged steeds toward the palace.
But Michael and his men outstripped the rumors, and, guided by the dark bulk of the Wolf's Ear, reached the steep, rock-strewn slope that led to the rear of the palace. Here they halted under some plane trees and Michael ordered five of the ten to dismount and follow him.
Climbing the slope as Demid directed, he moved under the base of the tower to where he could touch the wall. Then, spreading out his followers he searched among the heaped boulders until he came to a hollow in deep shadow, where small rocks were piled on either side the depression. Here the air was colder and, dropping into the depression, he felt the mouth of a narrow passage open before him.
And he heard the clash of weapons from within, and the triumphant shout of Moslems.
"Ekh!" cried Ayub, heedless of caution. "Demid is betrayed!"
XII
A woman’s wit is sharp as the dagger of a Rifi thief; a woman’s soul is like a covered mirror wherein no man can behold truth with his eyes until the veil is drawn.
Jal-ud-deen, the treasurer of Sidi Ahmad, was taking a reading of the stars in the cupola of the tower when the third hour of the night drew toward its close. His vulture-like skull gleamed under a red lamp as it bent over a Persian zodiac, and a table of the movements of the planets.
Glancing up from time to time, he peered from an open square in the dome at the pinpoints of fire in the heavens that were stars. Old was Jal-ud-deen, old and shrewd and cautious. Skilled in astrology, he was about to take the reading of Sidi Ahmad's birth star.
"Fortune has served me," murmured the pasha. "Aye, time brings its fulfillment and the day when my standard will be raised in Islam."
Lying full length on a sofa, only his eyes moved as he watched the labor of the man who had taken his name and place until this time should come, so that Sidi Ahmad should be alive to reap the fruits of his efforts.
"O lord of the planets—mirror of the glory of Allah," murmured the savant, "that which is written will come to pass."
"And what is written?"
"The message of the stars is not clear. A portent lies under my hand, and within the hour—"
"Nay, I will name the portent for you." Sidi Ahmad smiled, well content. "It is good. The Shah of Persia, with whom thou hast been negotiating, hath poured water on his sword. He will aid me. So will the mamelukes of Egypt and the beys of Tripoli."
The wazir, marking down his observations on a sheet of parchment, inclined his head.
"Within the vault below the tower, O favored of Allah, thou hast a hundred thousand swords."
Sidi Ahmad started, and then smiled approval.
"Aye, wealth to buy them. And the confidence of the Sultan Mustapha to use them. At the imperial city they say that he who controls the janissaries of the court rules Islam. For a time I feared the king of kings, who made gifts of a dagger's point to other pashas of Aleppo, but to me he sent a damsel who is like the moon."
The astrologer frowned.
"Why did the dog of a kazak burden himself with the maiden?"
"She was the surety of his mission—it would have put the shadow of doubt on his tale had he appeared in Aleppo without the woman."
Sidi Ahmad fingered the scar on his check thoughtfully.
"Before the night is past my men will have thrust a spear into every comer of Aleppo, and the dog will be brought to me. He has not escaped the walls."
"But the other?"
"Is a fool. Behold, I have here the safe conduct given him by the sultan. Allah deliver us from such safe conducts, for it calls for a life! I shall earn another coin of goodwill from my master by sending the Frank's head with this paper to Mustapha."
The wazir smiled.
"Then should we have the head washed in rose water, and the beard combed and scented. What has my lord done with the maiden?"
"I have sent for her. The slaves are long in finding the wench. I have a mind to look upon her unveiled."
"Beware of trickery, my lord. The singing girl prays not with the faithful, and I do not think she is a Moslem at heart."
"What matter, O reader of the stars? Hath a singing girl a heart?" Sidi Ahmad yawned and sat up abruptly.
"O lord of lords, king of kings, commander of the faithful!" Lali's voice from the open door of the tower room startled the two men because she saluted Sidi Ahmad as a sultan. He sprang up, brows furrowed, and snatched the veil from under her eyes.
"Allah! What man told you—"
"Pardon your servant, O Pasha." Lali bent her dark head, the trace of a smile trembling on her lips. "Am I blind not to know who gives orders in Aleppo? Are you not Sidi Ahmad, the Lion of Islam, the far-seeing, the great in heart?"
The narrow eyes of the tall Moslem sparkled as he realized the beauty of the girl. She met his gaze without flinching, her cheeks pale against the dark flood of hair.
"Verily Riwan hath opened the gates of paradise," murmured the pasha, "and let out this damsel for my delight."
But even as he spoke with a satisfied smile, his hand went out and he unclasped the earrings that fell to her shoulders. A black pearl was set in each, and Sidi Ahmad felt keener pleasure in the touch of them than in the soft skin of the girl.
"Worth twenty sequins, the pair," he muttered, and stripped a gold bracelet from her arm. "And this almost as much. Why did you linger, at my summons?"
"Lord," spoke up one of the armed slaves who conducted her, "we found this woman fumbling at the door that leads to the tomb below the tower— a thing forbidden by your command."
Sidi Ahmad ceased smiling, and his lips set cruelly.
"Ah, so you have light fingers."
Lali tossed her head, watching the pasha from under lowered lids.
"Favored of Allah, there was talk that you had in the tower a store of Persian silks and rolls of cloth-of-gold, sewn with pearls—"
"What talk is this?" The man's cunning was written in every line of his thin face. "Nay, what have you seen? You had no key—"
He read confusion in the girl's flushed cheeks and lowered eyes, and nodded thoughtfully. His vanity prompted him to show to Lali greater riches than she had seen at the court, and suspicion impelled him to examine the door at the stairhead. Lali seemed to hang back, and he fancied that she was troubled.
"Come," he said.
"O my lord!" Jal-ud-deen started up from his calculations. "The portent of the stars is dark indeed. I fear—"
"Bah!"
Sidi Ahmad had eyes only for the singing girl as he strode through the door. The guard was changing, and he took eight swordsmen with him into his chambers on the floor below, leaving the same number posted without—for the guard was doubled that night.
The astrologer, having made his salaam, drew back to study his chart again. From the opening in the dome he stared down upon the lighted terraces where cordons of janissaries stood between the throngs of revelers and the palace. Tall minarets rose against the stars like so many spears upraised. A gong sounded the hour from the courtyard below and the heavy tread of soldiery answered it.
Jal-ud-deen reflected that it was well the pasha's anger had fallen upon the girl rather than on himself.
With a key taken from his girdle Sidi Ahmad unlocked the door in his sleeping chamber and signed for the men to conduct Lali after him. One with a cresset torch went ahead, down a narrow stair that wound upon itself steeply, being built in a corner of the tower. At the landing opposite the dungeon Sidi Ahmad halted his followers and bade them await his coming or his call.
Lighting an oil lamp that stood in a rec
ess of the wall, he signed for Lali to descend with him. At the foot of the last flight of steps he drew back a heavy curtain, and entered a vaulted chamber where the air was chill and heavy.
Here he set down the lamp upon what bad been once an altar of black marble. Drawing Lali with him he stepped to a row of teak caskets placed upon bales of silk. One of the boxes he opened, disclosing to the gaze of the Armenian a mass of loose pearls.
With the careful fingers of a miser he opened other caskets, showing rubies and sapphires and turquoise—gold ornaments, and rare, carved ivory. At the far end of the wall were heavy bags and Sidi Ahmad explained that they contained coins. He tossed Lali's trinkets into one of the boxes and turned upon her suddenly.
"So you were minded to escape from the tower and go hence to join the kazak! Nay, I read in your eyes upon the galley that you loved him, and my memory is long. Is it not true?"
"Verily," said the singing girl, lifting her head, "it is true."
And there was pride in her voice. Sidi Ahmad shrugged, studying her as he might muse over a wayward hunting leopard.
"Eh, then I must buy you. What is your price?"
Lali looked at him and instead of answering, pointed to a black cross set in the white marble of the flooring—
"What gold can buy that?"
"By the wrath of Allah!" The Moslem frowned. "Here are strange words for a singing girl. Some bones of the accursed Emir George lie hereabouts and his crypt hath served me well."
"Have you no fear of the wrath you have stored up against you, by entering here?"
The eyes of the girl traveled ceaselessly over the walls of the tomb, searching for the outline of a door. But nothing was to be seen. Solid rows of bricks of dried mud stood on every hand, gray and crumbling with age. Cracks and gaps between the bricks showed only the dark clay behind. Lali had made the round of the chamber, and she dared not tap the wall to seek for the door, if one existed.
With the guards within call on the stair she would not cry out, in the hope that Demid would hear, if he should be near at hand. If, indeed, the Cossack should appear in the tomb now he would walk into a mare's nest.