Riders of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Swiftly as grains of dust pelting before a wind the antelope fled and the eagle swooped down behind the herd twice as swiftly. It alighted on the neck of one of the slender creatures and clung fast.

  Maddened by pain—the sharp beak was goring the base of its skull— the antelope swerved and the herd darted away from it. The two Cossacks and the Tatar spurred after it. The antelope stumbled, lurched erect and went off in another direction, blinded by the wings that beat about its head. Kirdy quartered across its course and ran his spear into its flank. The antelope leaped forward and fell prone, while Shamaki dismounted to drag off the screaming eagle.

  "That was well done," acknowledged Goloto. "My horse is not as good as yours, ouchar. Once, while visiting the Circassians in the Caucasus I hunted mountain sheep with the eagles. That was worthwhile."

  Kirdy's eyes glistened as they made off after the herd. He brought down another antelope, held by the eagle, and Goloto roped a third and was well satisfied thereat. A fourth was killed by the bird before they could come up. By then the herd, which had been circling and darting about as if unable to judge where the danger lay, fled too far to be followed and the hunters rode in on tired ponies.

  "The forehead to you, eagle!" cried the Cossacks who had been watching with keen eyes from the tabor. "You have shown us good sport and brought us fresh meat."

  Although there was hardly more than a mouthful to a man, they roasted the antelope steaks that evening, kindling fires with difficulty from dried dung and the few tamarisk bushes that grew about the knoll—for other fuel there was none.

  When they had eaten dinner they gathered to a man about the highest point in the ridge where Demid had flung his saddle on the ground and was sitting on it. A space about him was kept clear and in this space stood the five kuren atamans. Ayub and Kirdy, who had searched the camp in vain for Khlit—even looking through the wagons on the chance that he had crawled into one and had gone to sleep—were in the foremost rank of the warriors. For once no sentries were posted because all the Cossacks had thronged to the council and because in that barren land only the halfmoon, peering through a cloud rift, looked out upon them.

  When they had been in their places some time Demid rose and took his cap in his hand. "The brotherhood has asked the ataman to a council. I am listening. Who speaks?"

  There was an uneasy silence because no one wished to be the first to raise his voice. The Don men were in a black mood, and restless under the monotony of the long march. They were in a mood to tear down leaders and set up new ones; and yet the Falcon was well loved. The man who spoke the wrong word might be slain by the hands of his comrades if anger were aroused.

  "Speak, Ivan Aglau!" said Demid at length, passing over Makshim and picking out the leader of one of the lance squadrons—the gloomy Cossack who seldom raised his voice.

  The tall warrior stepped out from his companions and folded his arms. "Greeting to you, ataman, and to you, noble sirs. It is well known that I can do more with a lance than with my tongue. I only see we are going into a land where no man lives, so I say to the ataman, the Falcon—'Lead us where we can face men and draw our weapons in a good cause.' That is my speech, brothers."

  "Well said, Ivan Aglau!" cried one. "The devil himself couldn't find a Turk here!" echoed another.

  "Speak, Goloto!" Demid turned to the squat, pock-marked squadron leader. The veteran warrior hesitated. He was in a cheerful mood after the hunt, and he had a hearty respect for Demid.

  "I have only this to say, sir brothers. Does the ataman know the road, or is he lost? Because if he knows the road there is nothing more to be said. But if the tabor is crawling like a snake without a head, then 'tis time for the wisest among us to deliberate."

  "That, too, is true, Goloto!" they cried. "Where is the road?"

  In turn Demid called upon the two squadron leaders who had not favored holding the council and they both explained promptly that they were not in the circle of their own will, and had no protest to make.

  "Hedgehogs!" shouted a warrior. "You are trying to ride two horses at once."

  Members of the two kurens in question took up the challenge instantly and hard words passed back and forth until the rising tumult was stilled by Demid's thundering: "Makshim!"

  The kuren ataman in the red coat flung up his hand and faced the ring of bearded faces. "Sir brothers! You are hooded falcons. You are dead men wandering without graves! Once you were Cossacks, lords of the steppe, masters of the rivers. The minstrels sang of your deeds, and your sons looked about proudly. Then the Muscovite emperor came down from his forests, a torch in one hand, steel in the other, and your ataman bent the forehead to him, and you became prisoners."

  Once more the murmur of many voices threatened to rise into a roar that would set passion loose. Makshim held up both arms.

  "In Moscow you were to be put to death, it is true. What have you gained from the bargain made by your ataman? Torture! Death here where only the kites will be the gainers."

  Certain now of the attention of the warriors, he folded his arms and spoke deliberately.

  "Ivan Aglau spoke well when he asked to be led against living foes; brave Goloto said as wisely when be pointed out that you were wandering here without a road. What is my message to you, sir brothers? This: in three days only a remnant of food will be left. If we turn back now we can regain the Jaick where we will find water, grazing land and game. In two days or three we cannot turn back.

  "Go, now, and carry fire and steel against Kamushink—revenge yourselves on the Muscovites. They who die will have an honorable end; they who live will be victors."

  A shrewd orator, he ceased with this word, and no answering shouts greeted his oration. The warriors were all staring at Demid, murmuring and shifting restlessly upon their feet; a vague anger was stirring in them, but at what they did not know.

  Demid, who had allowed Makshim to speak after the other kuren atamans so that he would be able to answer at once, now waited until the muttering ceased. When all were quiet he put one hand on his sword hilt, the other on his hip. His splendid head, clear cut in the moonlight, turned slowly as if seeking certain warriors in the dense mass below him.

  "Where are the brothers who went with me on Charnomar? Are any here?"

  A few voices shouted response, although a hundred or more in the gathering had been with Demid on the Black Sea.

  "And where are the brothers who rode to Aleppo and back again with the treasure of a pasha?"

  "Here, ataman—we are here."

  "Are any here who took by surprise the beacon tower of Roum, when the Turks fled without their trousers?"

  A savage laugh greeted this, for the capture of the sultan's lighthouse on the Bosporus had been a notable exploit, and the blind bandura players had made a song of it.

  "Then let these warriors speak," Demid cried. "Let them say whether at such times I was ataman of the Don men, or only headman of the council."

  It was Ivan Aglau who took it upon himself to answer, his harsh features dark in the moonlight. "You were our ataman, our father. Speak to us now, because the Cossacks are troubled; there is a devil in them. Speak wise words, so that our spirits will be refreshed; otherwise only God knows what will become of us in this place."

  The young leader advanced a pace so that all could see him and his voice was quiet, even drawling—Kirdy had heard Mongol khans address the council in such fashion.

  "When the Muscovites marched against the Donskoi the second time and we were scattered in battle I surrendered to their chiefs—I gave you and myself up to them, when we could have fled deeper into the wilderness. But whither? To the Tatars? To the desert! We could not, with the women and children; if we had fled without them the villages would have been sacked by the Muscovites, our daughters dishonored and our sons made slaves.

  "When Khlit, the Wolf, talked with Boris Godunov a choice was given us. The hangman would light our way or we could march upon Urgench armed and mounted, to live or die. I chose
this. If any of the brotherhood would choose otherwise now, they may take their wagons and ponies and journey back to Moscow and give up their arms, saying 'Great Prince, we have come back without redeeming our pledge.'"

  Although the Cossacks stirred uneasily, no one made answer and suddenly Demid flung back his head, his nostrils twitching.

  "Are your spirits uneasy, my children? Nay, my heart burns. It is heavy— heavy. Once the Cossack was master of the Don; now he bows his head. The Muscovites have come forth from their cities; they build forts where the rivers join; they send barks where our boys fished in other days—car-avans along the trails where the maidens used to drive out the cattle to pasture.

  "Our steers are no longer ours. They must be sold to the Muscovites. We must give them horses. O my children, did we not welcome them to our bread and salt when they first appeared in our lands? We treated them not otherwise than as brothers, and drove the Tatar into the desert, the Turk into the sea at the wish of the Tsar Ivan who was a warrior.

  "Now they say to us 'The land is not yours but ours' and 'Your ataman is not a chief but a colonel of a regiment to serve us.'"

  He gripped his head in both hands and passion, so long held in iron restraint, set his body quivering. Kirdy had never seen Demid aroused before and he knew that the wrath of this man was terrible.

  "How can I, your ataman, give comfort to your spirits? In the darkness the eyes of the dead atamans, the heroes, glare at me like wolves. Lordly Schah and Skal Osup gaze at me from the star world and shake their gray heads in reproach. In their day the whole world trembled when the Cossacks mounted into the saddle, and even a sultan did not sleep soundly of nights. In my day the hands of Muscovite merchants reach out to our daughters, and hired soldiers hold weapons at the heads of our sons. Darkness is before us, and how can life itself he endured?"

  The warriors were breathing deeply, their heads hanging on their breasts, their hands gripped in girdle and belt.

  "You have asked me to show you the road!" Demid's laugh was more like a bark, deep in his throat. "I know no road but one to Urgench. Have ye no eyes? The tsar seeks to make slaves or subjects of the Don people. And this is what I say to you, O my brothers, 'If the Donskoi yield to a master, you will have a new ataman, for Demid will not be among the living.' And I say one thing more, 'Ride on to Urgench, bear off the spoil that is sought by the Muscovites—aye, ye few who will live—and you will be free men.'

  "That is the Cossack's road. No other can follow it. To live by the sword and die not otherwise, to endure torture, to make new paths into the wilderness. What is the reward? The minstrels will sing our names, the grandfathers in the villages will speak of our deeds, and children yet unborn will gather quietly to listen to the hero-tales. And that, my brothers, is Cossack glory!"

  For several moments after he ceased no one spoke, and then the oldest of the warriors who had sailed with him on Charnomar and had reined their horses into the mosques of the Turks began to nod their heads and stroke down their mustaches. Others, eyes bent on the ground, felt shame at their own murmuring, and no one opened his lips until Ivan Aglau the silent lifted his head.

  "Aye, father, you have spoken the word for which we were waiting. By it our spirits are comforted, our hearts no longer burn."

  But the near-madness of that gathering of weary men, relieved in a measure by the passion of their leader, sought another outlet.

  "Makshim is a traitor. Death to him!"

  "Tie him to horses! Tear him"

  Only the kuren of Makshim refrained from the outburst of anger, and the squadron leader became pale, although he did not move from his place or touch a weapon.

  "Dogs! Men without faith! To your places!" Demid's thundering command checked the ring in its rush forward. "What is Makshim's crime? That he spoke boldly? That he advised otherwise than I?"

  "Father," growled Goloto, "he called the council, and now we are ashamed, for we wish no other ataman than you."

  "Because you are ashamed, you would cut down Makshim!" Demid gibed at him, thin lips smiling. "He is a brave man, and what was in his mind he has said freely. Is his fate in your hands or mine?"

  "In yours!" Goloto cried, starting.

  "I have no blame for him. Nay, tomorrow let him take his kuren and go in advance to point out the way to us."

  "I thank you, ataman," Makshim responded slowly. "I will do what I may. But my mind is still the same. I think we are lost in this desert."

  Demid glanced at him, sunken-eyed as if just awakening from sleep, and was aware of a commotion in the ring of warriors. The nearest man stepped aside and Khlit appeared beside the squadron commanders. He looked tousled and sleepy, but Demid noticed that his sheepskins were wet with sweat.

  "What is the matter, noble sirs?" he growled. "I have been dozing, out where the horses are."

  Laughter greeted this, while Ayub stared at Khlit in deep perplexity. He and Kirdy had ransacked the tabor for the old warrior without result.

  "The matter is—we have lost the road," explained Makshim stubbornly.

  "Nay, how could that be? I know the way. Before sunset tomorrow you will come to a village and from there you can see the Blue Sea."

  Exclamations greeted this and the Cossacks flung their caps into the air. The kurens moved off, and before long the wailing of a fiddle was heard. Forgetting their hardships, and heedless once more of what the future would bring, the warriors settled down, some to sing, others to throw dice by the embers of the fire and others to sleep, stretched out as they were in the sand.

  On the morrow with a dozen men Makshim struck ahead of the tabor and by noon came up to a cluster of clay huts. They were deserted, and the reason was apparent. The skeletons of men and women lay within and without. Except for a few water jars and iron pots the huts contained nothing. Near the skeletons lay arrows, broken for the most part, and some of the skulls had been crushed in.

  "These are Turkoman shafts," announced Makshim, who had examined one. "And it seems to me that the riders from Urgench have been here before us. They have not left much."

  Even the clothing was gone from the bodies, because what had not been carried off by the raiders had been destroyed by the crawling things that followed after the wolves and the kites. Makshim turned his attention to the trail of a horse that he had followed into the village. The tracks wound in and out among the huts and went off again to the northwest.

  "That is a fresh trail," the kuren ataman said "It was not made more than a day ago. The pony was shod like ours."

  "Perhaps a Turkoman has spied upon us, father," suggested a young warrior.

  "Fool. Would one have lingered a year in this place? Nay, the rider came from the tabor and went back to it again." Suddenly he struck his thigh and swore blackly. "By the Horned One! That was Khlit. The old son of a dog did not know what lay ahead after all. He was lost like the rest of us, and he rode a horse into the ground to scout ahead. He came upon this place."

  "But he said he had been asleep."

  "Very likely. He can sleep in the saddle, and the pony would have headed back to the tabor." Makshim threw back his dark head and laughed. "Eh, we ghosts—we living dead—shall not want for a grave. Yonder is the gleam of water on the skyline."

  At first Makshim thought of riding back to the tabor and telling the warriors that Khlit, like themselves, was guessing at the route over the desert—that he had gone ahead to spy out a landmark and had returned to describe it to them. But his own men looked at him askance, and if Demid had not taken his part he would have been torn to pieces at the council. He resolved to say nothing more against the ataman or Khlit. Because they had come out at last on the Blue Sea that Makshim had not thought to see.

  "On, to the water!" he cried.

  The following day the wagon train halted at the edge of the Blue Sea and the oxen bellowed piteously, smelling the water that was unfit to drink because it was salt. Even the streams that trickled down over the rock ridges and the gullies were salty, and
the earth was no more than white crystals. Upon this expanse of vivid blue water and white sand the sun beat down relentlessly.

  And now Demid gave the word to push ahead at the utmost speed. To escape the greatest heat he traveled by night, halting at dawn. Sick oxen were cut out of the tabor, and useless ponies were turned loose, to wander after the herd, neighing, until they fell and the lines of vultures that hovered behind the Cossacks settled down anew.

  Emaciated shadows, they rode over a gray land under the moon's eye, and above the singing of the warriors could be heard the groaning of the maddened oxen.

  "It is fitting," laughed Makshim, "that ghosts should ride at night."

  Chapter 6 The Vision of the Plains

  The astrologer sits on his carpet in the sun and between his knees is the sign of the zodiac. Looking upon the stars and the sign he says “This will be! ”

  The wise man listens to all things and looks in the faces of the chieftains, saying, “Whoknows what will be?”

  It was Kirdy who discovered the gateway by the spring of fresh water in a limestone formation, after the tabor had passed to the south of the Blue Sea. He told Demid of his find and several Cossacks went with the ataman to look at it and discuss what it might be. For once the oxen had drunk their fill and the horses were searching out a little grass.

  The Cossacks found two pillars standing in a ravine whose walls were sheer rock. One of the pillars had fallen and they saw that the pieces were marble and the head of the column was ornamented with two short swords, crossed beneath a wreath of ivy—all carved in the marble.

  "Camels have passed and repassed this ravine," Demid pointed out, "and this must be one of the caravan routes that go from the west to the east, to Cathay. Pagans live in this land, since they have built pillars in honor of their gods."

  "Those swords are not of much account," Ayub objected. "They are shorter than a Circassian's knife—a scimitar could over-reach them easily."