by Harold Lamb
"Stoy!" Demid's clear voice soared through the tumult. "Halt!"
The warriors, drawing back reluctantly with their dead and wounded, found the Cossacks crowded into the cleared space that extended from the castle to the bazaar, clustered around Demid who was talking swiftly with Shamaki. The old Tatar had come with the warriors into the city and had dogged Demid persistently.
"O my khan," he said eagerly, "there is another way into the kurgan. In former days I was a captive in this place."
"What way?" demanded the ataman.
"Under the earth. It leads from a garden to cellars where honey and grain are stored against a siege."
"A passage? Have you been through it?"
"Aye, my khan, in other years. Perhaps it is no longer used, but the Turkoman khans are foxes with more than one hole to their burrow."
"Father," spoke up one of the Cossacks, "this Tatar is also a fox. Let us go upon the ladders again."
But Demid shook his head, considering the lined face of Shamaki in the moonlight. He ordered half the warriors to stay before the gate and to burn powder in their matchlocks until he returned. Then, followed by a strong band, he strode beside the squat Tatar through deserted alleys, down into covered runways that smelled of hides and unwashed cloth, through an unguarded gate into a grove of plane trees.
Here the moon was obscured, and they could see nothing of their surroundings. The garden was deserted and Shamaki pushed ahead without hesitation until the branches thinned overhead and they paused at the gleaming surface of a pool, where the white pillars of a kiosk reared among the trees.
"Shali-mar el khanum," grunted the Tatar. "The woman's garden. Come!"
He entered the kiosk and disappeared from view, first his body, then his head with its lynx skin cap. Demid, following close on his heels with drawn sword, found that steps led down in one corner of the pleasure house. This stairway turned upon itself until the warriors stood in a dark space, cool and damp from the water of the pool.
"A light!" the ataman ordered, and two Cossacks who had provided themselves with bundles of dry rushes fell to striking steel against flint until the sparks caught in strands of twisted hemp. Then the reeds were kindled and Demid saw that they stood in a stone chamber from which a single passageway opened.
Into this the Cossacks filed, those in the rear grasping the belts of the men in front of them, their silver heels clattering on the stones. The passage led down, then up and as nearly as Demid could judge in the direction of the castle, until further progress was barred by an iron gate.
It was a heavy affair, built by artisans of an older day, because the scrolls were worked into the forms of serpents, twining together, and the uprights were spears, and all was deep with rust. After studying it a moment he called back for Ayub and three others.
Four giants swaggered out of the line and ran forward, and Ayub ranged his companions two abreast, himself in the front, a few paces from the gate. With a shout the four hurled themselves at the barrier—a thousand pounds of bone and muscle meeting iron. The bars bent and the lock snapped and something else cracked.
Ayub's lips twisted savagely, and his left arm swayed limp from the shoulder. The bone in the forearm had been broken.
"Well, you have still your sword hand," muttered his companions as they pressed forward.
The iron gate proved to be the only barrier, for they filed out into an arched chamber filled with heaps of grain and with casks of honey. Sha-maki croaked triumphantly, hearing the distant thudding of muskets, and Demid led them up into a tiled hall where flickering candles sent their shadows dancing up and down the alabaster walls. Here he waited until the last man had come up, while Kirdy and some of the ouchars took possession of the entrances.
In one of the corridors an armed Turkoman appeared, thrusting arrows into the quiver at his girdle. When he saw the detachment of Cossacks his jaw dropped and he flung up lean arms.
" Ma'shallah!"
He fled and when one of the young warriors leveled a pistol at him, Demid struck up the weapon and sprang after the Turkoman as a wolfhound leaps at a stag. They darted up a flight of marble steps to a broad gallery where some forty Moslems were clustered around a closed door.
From out the Turkomans advanced a tall warrior with a silver boss on his shield and a heron's plume in his helmet. He spoke only one swift word to his men, and his eyes changed not at all as he dressed his round shield, crying at the Cossacks—
"Arap Muhammad Khan will take many a head from thee for mine. Is there a dog among ye who will stand against me?"
Then Kirdy saw Demid wield a sword for the first time. When the Don men crowded forward eagerly at the challenge of the Turkoman chief, the ataman thrust them back.
"Aside!"
His brows drew down and his gray eyes gleamed. He leaped forward, and his saber whistled down at the Turkoman's shield. In midair it checked and swept sidewise and in—and the Moslem's parry saved his life. In the same instant Demid's blade engaged the other and the hilts locked. The two weapons that had been sweeping circles of silver, now rose quivering above the heads of the warriors—the Turkoman striving to free his blade while Demid lifted it higher.
The men of either party stood back, their eyes glued on the interlocked swords. Suddenly Demid laughed and sprang back, having measured the strength of his foe. In a fury, the Turkoman chief slashed at his head, but the scimitar dropped from his fingers. Demid's saber had bitten through the side of his throat and grated on the chest bones.
The knees of the Moslem bent and his body curled downward slowly, as if making an unwilling salaam, when Demid's saber lashed out and the chief's head, severed from the spine, struck the tiles of the floor before his body.
Then the young ataman hurled himself at the throng of Turkoman warriors and the Cossacks were not slow to follow. Kirdy heard the Moslems chanting—a panting ululation. No one cried out for quarter—they sold their lives dearly, snarling until the last warrior went down with a saber through his throat.
No sooner had the clanging of the steel blades ceased than boots were heard thudding in the lower hall. Some of Demid's warriors had cut their way to the gate in the courtyard wall, and opened it, admitting the arque-busiers who were waiting outside.
The mirza in command of the castle lay headless beneath their feet, already shrill cries of despair were going up from the inner corridors, and the Moslems on the outer wall, taken in front and rear, sprang from the battlements or were cut down in groups.
Silence fell upon the castle, and when Demid and Kirdy made their way to one of the towers their heels echoed through deserted halls and up empty stairs. For a while Demid gazed out into the haze of moonlight, listening to what went on in the town beneath them.
Kirdy, too, strained his ears, trying to judge from the confused sounds what was taking place. The Cossack patrols were no longer trotting; they walked their horses and some of the warriors were singing. Pistols flashed at intervals, and ponies rushed fleeing Moslems to earth in an alley or doorway. In the market square torches blazed where Makshim and his hundred stood at ease.
From time to time could be heard the shouted challenge of the guards holding the gates in the city wall, and the mocking answer of Cossack patrols. If any Turkomans still bore arms in Urgench they were within doors, and the city was in the hands of the Cossacks.
Chapter 7 Light of the World
Demid, leaning his bare arms on the battlement, let the light wind cool the sweat on his forehead, while the boy, rejoicing in the nearness of his leader, did not venture to disturb his thoughts with a word. A spear tip had ripped through the flesh on the side of Kirdy's chest and blood dropped steadily on the stones.
The fever of the fighting was still in Kirdy's veins; he wanted to laugh, to seek his horse and ride through the streets with his hand on his hip, to meet his companion ouchars and listen to their boasts, to go and hunt for horses—he knew the breed of Turkoman stallions that were fleeter of foot than the Cossack poni
es.
He was very thirsty and above all he wanted to empty many cups of wine, to take the fever out of his veins. Finally he dared to speak, in the Tatar that Demid understood.
"There is light in the east, O my khan, but the caller-to-prayer will not cry from these towers."
"In the east there is light," repeated the ataman slowly. "But what light to guide us, O youth?"
Kirdy was surprised that Demid should be moody when the long march across the desert had ended and they were masters of a rich city.
"Once," went on the ataman, "a jackal, being weary and belly-drawn with hunger, entered the den of a tiger. His hunger he satisfied on the bones of a sheep slain by the tiger, and his weariness by sleep. Was he master of the tiger's lair?"
"Nay," responded the boy.
When Demid said nothing more, he pondered the words of his leader and understood that the ataman could have little joy in the taking of Urgench. He had won success; his responsibility was the greater. He was pondering the future, just as he was peering into the silvery haze, to learn what his men must face. And Kirdy, thinking of these things, felt that he would never live to be a leader like Khlit or Demid.
"Father," he said shyly, "it is in my mind that a spy has followed us from Moscow."
Demid turned so that he could look into the boy's eyes but asked no question.
"It is Shamaki, the Tatar," went on Kirdy. "He says that he was once a slave of the Turkoman khans, yet he is a Moslem and they do not hold
their fellows as slaves. He says he is a slave of the Muscovite khan, but he handles an eagle like a chief. And when you were giving orders to attack the gate he crept close to hear what was said."
"Did Khlit call Shamaki a spy?"
"Nay, father. That is no more than my thought."
"Then do not speak it. It was Khlit who brought Shamaki from the tabor to Urgench."
Bending his head in assent, the boy wondered why Khlit had spoken so often with the Tatar, and why, if Shamaki were the Wolf's friend, Demid trusted the Tatar—for no other reason than that.
The gray eyes of the ataman seemed to read his thoughts. "Many times," observed he, "you will make friends who will stand at your side when weapons are drawn; and some who will dismount and put you upon their saddles if you are wounded in battle. But there are few who can read men's souls. When they speak men listen with bowed heads. Khlit is such a one."
"How?"
A smile touched Demid's wide, thin lips. "How? That is hard to say, little brother. Perhaps, looking into a warrior's eyes he can see treachery or faith. He praises no one—his words are hard; yet it is well known that he has never broken faith, nor turned aside from peril. I have seen men go to sit by him when he slept."
Kirdy lifted his head with an answering smile, because the ataman had called him little brother and not fledgling. He was proud that Demid should speak to him as to an older warrior, and if at that moment the chieftain had asked Kirdy to leap from the tower to the stones of the courtyard a hundred feet below he would have done so.
"Put cobwebs on that cut in your side," Demid added, "and put powder in a cup of spirits—quaff it off and the wound will not trouble you. Come, the brothers are knocking at that door."
They found a score of Cossacks led by Ivashko and Dog-Face, at work with sledge hammers and iron bars on the heavy door before which the Moslem mirza had been cut down. The warriors had ransacked all the castle and had piled heaps of shimmering silk and fine ivory and some gold plate in the gallery; but they had not been able to find any other entrance into the chambers behind the portal.
When Demid came up the work went on briskly and the massive teak soon splintered. They kicked it apart and strode inside. A light gate of carved sandalwood that stood midway down the hall was smashed in by the sledges and someone cried out—
"The women's quarters!"
Guided by flaring torches—for the corridors were still dark—they entered a wide room opening through arched window niches upon a balcony facing the east. Here a fountain cooled the air with its spray, and great cushions rested upon the rugs by the walls.
In one corner knelt a group of shivering eunuchs in high, black velvet hats and long robes. Paying no attention to these, the Cossacks stared at the mistress of the harem.
She was veiled—an almost transparent white cloth hung from pearl clasps over her ears—but brown eyes were eloquent of anger. A band of emeralds, cut square, sparkled on her forehead. A breath of air, coming through the arches, stirred the black silk cloak she had drawn close to her shoulders, and Kirdy was aware of an elusive scent, resembling crushed rose leaves.
Her black hair, escaping from the ceinture of emeralds, fell down her back in long waves. Although she was straight as a willow on tiny slippered feet, the curve of arm and cheek was a thing to marvel at. Quite evidently she was unafraid and angry.
"Alacha—slayers—dogs—offspring of the devil! Nay, ye are ghosts— living dead men. When Arap Muhammad Khan learns that his threshold has been crossed, ye will beg to die."
The swift words in Turkish were understood by Demid. "And thou, O khanum—what is thy name?"
"Nur-ed-din, O captain of thieves."
Stepping forward he pulled the veil from its clasps, and Kirdy who had never seen a Moslem woman unveiled, was astonished at the transparent skin, the tiny, crimson mouth and the wide, kohl darkened eves.
"Art thou slave or wife, Nur-ed-din?"
"Slave, as thou wilt be!"
"Nay," the young ataman laughed. "Does he cherish thee so little that he leaves thee to beguile the castle guards?"
The eyes of Nur-ed-din sparkled dangerously and for once she did not answer.
"Or art thou the treasure of Urgench, so greatly to be cherished that Arap Muhammad Khan cages thee in his castle when he rides afield with his horde?"
This time he was answered. The eyes of the Moslem slave closed and opened again and the glare was gone from their tawny depths. Softly they gleamed, and words dripped like honey from her supple lips. "Ai-a! Wisdom is thine, O Commander of Swords, O Lion of the Desert." She swayed nearer and laid a tiny hand on his forearm. "Am I not Nur-ed-din, Light of the World? Send thy men from the room, O mirza. It is the law of Islam that a woman's face shall not be seen by other eyes than her master's."
The Cossacks who understood the slave looked expectantly at their leader, to learn whether Demid wanted them to go away so that he could play with this beautiful Persian, or whether he would end the matter by striking her down with the sword.
"Then," Demid said thoughtfully, "Arap Muhammad Khan hath taken hence the treasure of Urgench—the emeralds?"
"Save for these!" She stripped the bracelets from her arms and the circlet from her forehead and laid them on the carpet at his feet. With a sharp cry she clapped her hands and women attendants came out of corners and niches, to disappear into an inner room and return with inlaid sandalwood boxes. Submissively Nur-ed-din placed these before Demid, opening each one to reveal its contents of jade bangles, ropes of pearls, and ornaments of coral and silver.
Demid signed for Ivashko to take them up, and Nur-ed-din straightened, standing before him as obediently as a girl who has had her whipping.
"These were thine, Light of the World," observed the ataman. "Is there no more?"
"Nay, by Allah and the Ninety-and-Nine holy names! By my mother's grave, there is no more."
Dog-Face and some of the other Cossacks muttered at this, for they had heard the tale of the treasure guarded in the castle of Urgench.
"B’ilmaida," cried Demid, his gray eyes bleak. "Brothers, seize the eunuchs. Burn the soles of their feet in braziers. Before their feet are black they will tell where Arap Muhammad Khan keeps his plunder."
The creatures in the long robes who huddled in the corner threw themselves on the tiles, wailing. But not one of them begged for mercy.
Demid, however, had been watching Nur-ed-din, and had seen her lips twist in helpless rage for a fleeting second. "Stop!
" he commanded the Cossacks who were advancing gleefully on the attendants. "Those yonder would lie to you. But the face of this slave woman does not lie. There is more to be found, and to my thinking within these rooms."
Nor did he look again at the woman who watched silently while the warriors went about their work of destruction, guided now by the first flame of day in the east. With hammer, ax and iron bar they smashed the tiles on the floors, the fretted stonework of the walls, and—going through the corridors—even the columns that held up the roof.
It was Ivashko who sank the head of a bar through the dried clay of the wall above Nur-ed-din's couch, and his shout brought up warriors with hammers who laid bare a compartment in the wall. They pulled out ivory caskets and blocks of carved jade, milky-green in color or white with red veins—jade that held the eyes like crystal, and was soft as wax to the touch of fingers—jade that would have fetched a prince's ransom for each piece in the markets of Cathay.
Among the precious stones that the caskets yielded up were matched emeralds of a size that made the Cossacks stare and shake their heads. Two of them were as large as a man's thumb, doubled.
"Nay, whoever saw the like!" muttered Dog-Face. "Here are the eyes of Arap Muhammad. Only look at the wench!"
And they who turned at his word saw that the eyes of Nur-ed-din glowed with a tawny light that was not gold or green but like the gleam of a panther's eyes when danger is at hand.
1
The Ural River. The Cossacks must have crossed only two or three days' ride north of the Caspian Sea, where the Ural range sinks into the plain. They were already below sea level.
2
The Black Sea
3
Turkey.
Chapter 8 The Pigeon
Light of the World did not fasten the veil again above her ears although it was broad day. Moving quietly amid the wreckage of her chambers, she seemed to be stunned by misfortune and heedless of what befell.
No muezzin dared to cry the summons to prayer. From the arches of the gallery she looked down on bodies lying in courtyard and alley—hud-dles of striped cloth, heaps from which bare legs and disordered turbans emerged. Hundreds of Turkomans had been slain in the streets during the night and the Cossacks had tossed their weapons into piles.