Riders of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Firing in this fashion, the smoke clouds did not hide the Turkomans from view—the wind whipped the long coils of white smoke away. And the riders could not come near enough to use their bows, with effect.

  But the Moslems were now in no mood to withdraw, and in spite of empty saddles and plunging ponies, swept in nearer. The arquebuses began to bellow in earnest, and suddenly a roar went up from the mass around the khan.

  "Hour—roumm!"

  With answering cries the bodies of horsemen turned in to the tabor and the Cossacks dropped the empty firelocks for sabers and lances. The clattering of steel blades began here and there, and rose to a din of maddened steel; horses screamed, lances cracked and the hoarse voices of struggling men swelled into a continuous monotone.

  In this tumult, above the bellowing of the uneasy oxen, could be heard the battle cry of the Donskoi—

  "Garda-bei!"

  Here and there Turkomans jumped their horses over the wagon poles, but found no men on foot within the ring of the tabor. All the Cossacks were in the carts, and matchlocks and lances took toll of the riders who had broken the circle. Those on the outside fared even worse. They launched their javelins, and made their ponies rear against the carts, only to be pierced by the long lances, or beaten down by clubbed arquebuses.

  For generations the Cossacks had been bred to the defense of the tabor, and squadron leader fought beside warrior, untiring and unbroken.

  Seeing that the matter had come to hand blows, the Usbeks came down to the aid of their allies, and, fearing that the tabor was being carried and they would have no hand in the plundering, the Black Hats swarmed after.

  Now the ululation of the Moslems drowned the shouts of the Cossacks, and dust swirled up in great gusts that writhed around the motionless wagons and the struggling men. The numbers of horses, moving haphazard about the tabor, handicapped the attackers who would have fared better dismounted. Some indeed jumped from the saddle and crawled under the wagons, only to find that the resourceful Cossacks had established a reserve.

  Wounded men had taken to horse, armed with lance or saber, and patrolled the space within the circle, leaving the wagons clear for their able-bodied companions. These riders made shift to pick off the Moslems who gained the cleared space.

  Arap Muhammad Khan with his six sons led a band against the wagon where Demid stood under the standard of the white falcon. Here they met the pick of the Cossack swordsmen, and the long sabers of Demid and Kirdy and Kobita licked out and down, slitting the leather bucklers and slashing aside the lighter blades of the furious tribesmen. Here the wise and gentle Ivashko died, a javelin buried in his throat, and here the raging Ayub was stunned by a battle hammer.

  Kirdy, ripping the scimitar from his right scabbard, held his ground against the press of Moslems. His lips close clamped, his eyes shining, he parried and cut with his two swords, slashing off now the forearm of a yelling Turkoman, now sending a tulwar or yataghan clashing to the earth.

  In his shirt sleeves, spotted with blood, Demid fought in different but no less deadly fashion. Leaping back, and swaying first to one side then the other, his eyes roved ceaselessly over the pack in front of him, and he used now the point, now the edge of his blade.

  So perfect was his judgment, so flawless his control of the steel blade that be seemed to glide along the rail of the wagon, unhurried and smiling. Not so Kobita. The sweat poured from the sergeant's brow and blood ran from his mustache where the corner of his jaw had been lopped off. An arrow had struck him in the side and he had broken off the projecting end, and he groaned and howled when he moved.

  All at once, he flung back his head with a savage shout:

  "Once my mother bore me. I will die, sir brothers!"

  He climbed to the rail and leaped outward, falling sword in hand on a giant Turkoman who was shield-bearer to Arap Muhammad Khan. The weight and fury of the Cossack bore the tribesman from the saddle and they vanished under the pounding hoofs of the horses.

  Now shouts were to be heard behind the wagon of the standard. Khlit had seen the struggle around the white falcon and had rallied a dozen of the least wounded from within the tabor. Climbing over the side of the cart these bleeding and gaunt warriors fell upon the Turkomans, snarling and roaring their battle cry.

  "Garda-bei!"

  Khlit had picked up a saber from somewhere, and—gray mustaches bristling and eyes smoldering—he struck steel against steel, and those who saw him in the press knew that if his lean old arm lacked strength, his cunning was as great as ever.

  The Turkomans gave ground, and a strident voice cried out.

  "Shaitani—they are devils!"

  Arap Muhammad Khan and his sons and emirs drew back, and they were the last to leave the side of the tabor. The riders of Turan and Iran reined back to the hillsides, licking their wounds, and they left six hundred dead behind them.

  That night the khan held a council, in which voices were raised and black rage unleashed. Yussuf Ghazi Khan, chief of the Usbeks, asked pointedly where was the spoil that the Turkomans had promised him and the Bij'aul of the Black Hats swore by the breath of Allah that the Urusses were both devils and evil spirits. How else could four hundred men have withstood three thousand?

  To all these the shrewd Turkoman made one answer.

  "Wait."

  During the night more tribesmen from the Caspian region came up to the siege of the tabor, and a few Persians from down the Amu River. Under their escort came Nur-ed-din, to throw herself at the feet of Arap Muhammad Khan, and to point out to him five hundred of his own men, survivors of Urgench.

  So that, in the morning, the hillside was covered with Moslems and Arap Muhammad Khan pitched his tent, there to sit and nurse his revenge against the day when arrows and wounds and lack of food should deliver the Cossacks into his hand.

  And, in the morning, the Moslems saw a strange thing. They saw the tabor get up and move away.

  Chapter 11 The Tabor Moves

  Death in the company of friends is like unto a feast.

  Mongol proverb

  What happened was simply this. Without changing the position of the carts, the Cossacks yoked up the oxen, using the spare horses where oxen

  were lacking; then the carts at the north sector of the circle were half turned and the beasts prodded into motion. The east and west portions of the circle merely moved ahead, and the wagons to the south closed in the gap, forming the rear.

  The circle in this fashion became a hollow square that plodded steadily to the north. In front and rear, ten wagons were abreast—and twenty-five on each side. Within the tabor the horses that had not been hitched to the carts were crowded together. The wounded men were placed in the carts, and Cossacks with arquebuses and lighted matches stood beside them.

  At first the Moslems thought that the tabor was changing ground. But by midday it was several miles on its road and they understood that the Urusses were attempting to fight their way in this fashion through the desert to the north.

  Arap Muhammad Khan followed with his horde, and it was the second day before his men had recovered sufficient zeal to attack the moving tabor.

  This onset was led by the Usbeks who had heavier bows than the Turkomans and were perhaps a little ashamed of their consternation of two days ago. They sent their shafts at the exposed oxen and horses and brought down a good many. They suffered, too, from the fire of the Cossack marksmen and the chief gain of their efforts was to delay the wagon train.

  Meanwhile the Kara Kalpaks, who had lingered at the spring by Alexander's pillars of victory to dig up the graves left by the Cossacks and to mutilate the bodies, had rejoined the khan and it was decided that evening to attempt an attack in the hours of darkness.

  They observed that the Cossacks formed the circle of carts again when they halted at sunset, herding the animals within the barrier, and it seemed an easy matter to the tribesmen to crawl up to the carts in the night and break through the line of defenders.

  A thous
and picked warriors made the attack, without sounding the kettledrums or cymbals.

  And they discovered speedily that it was one thing to overrun a camp of tents in the darkness and quite another to break a line of wagons lashed together and manned by desperate fighters who were not to be surprised. It was a clear night and the movements of the attackers were visible to the warriors who crouched behind the bulwark of sacks and bales. The matchlocks roared, and the cry of the Cossacks rose steadily above the confusion.

  "Garda-bei!"

  Moslem tribesmen never relished a night affray very keenly and when the old moon, wan as a silver scimitar, broke through the clouds, they scattered and ran from the tabor and many were the tales they told of fire-breathing demons they had faced and evil spirits that rose up from the ground to seize them by the throats.

  The next morning the tabor plodded on, leaving a score of graves on the site of the fight, and Arap Muhammad Khan, who had counted his own slain, looked grim. The Usbeks took to their bows again, and many oxen lay outstretched on the plain. The Cossacks were more sparing of their powder, the khan noticed, and the next day the tabor moved very slowly, like a wounded panther crawling back to its lair.

  But the Blue Sea was only a few hours away. Already they could feel the chill, salty, winds that swept over it.

  The scimitar of the moon was far in the west when Demid called the surviving kuren atamans to the standard. Besides Khlit and Kirdy only two leaders came—Goloto and another.

  "It is time, noble sirs," the young ataman said quietly—"time that we must part and go upon different paths."

  They uncovered their heads and stood in a circle around him, the fever of thirst in their veins. For a day and a night they had had no water; the goatskins had been squeezed to the last drop and many of the warriors had begun to open veins in the horses and to drink blood. And the horses themselves had become almost unmanageable. At first a few oxen and then many had begun to bellow, and the Cossacks knew that the wagons could not be drawn much farther.

  "Listen then, kunaks," said Demid in the same drawling voice, "to the military command. We will divide, it is true, and for this reason. We will form in three squadrons, eighty men in each. I will take one and strike out through the Moslem dogs to the west; you, Goloto, will take your kuren and strike to the north; you, Khlit, will take those who are left from Makshim's squadron and Ivan Aglau's, and you will go with Ostap to the east. Two hundred and forty horses remain to us. You will seek whatever road offers to safety—each for himself."

  When the leaders heard this they sighed and were silent for a long time. Finally old Goloto raised his voice.

  "If the tabor is to be abandoned, why do we not mount and ride in one body upon the dogs of Moslems?"

  "Nay, Goloto. The tribesmen are five thousand strong. If we rode together, some of us might win through, but the Moslems would not be cast off the scent. They would follow, and they have good horses. In the end, none of us would live. That is the truth."

  All realized this and they waited for him to say more.

  "By dividing into three bands we will confuse the Moslems and one band or perhaps two might escape. I will take the standard with me; let the men choose what leader they will follow."

  Some of the Cossacks departed to spread the tidings among the warriors; others went to saddle the horses. But Khlit remained at Demid's side, deep in thought.

  "The treasure of Arap Muhammad Khan," the old Cossack grumbled.

  "Let it stay where it is," said Demid at once. "Who knows what is before us! If the jewels reach the border they must be given to the Muscovite tsar because we pledged it."

  Khlit seated himself on a dead horse, the curved saber that had once been Kaidu's, that he had cherished for many years, across his knees, and this served to steady his knees that quivered at times from weariness and the chill wind. This stiffness of the legs troubled Khlit, on the road, and when he was not in the saddle, he sat or lay near the fire to keep off the night cold; but for three nights there had been no fire. That night Kirdy had insisted on giving back to his grandsire the curved saber, saying that he could not use two blades in the saddle.

  "Old wolf," Demid resumed slowly, "you are wiser than I. Many times have you crossed these gray sands that lead to the roof of the world. I think that if any of the brotherhood win through to the border it will be your squadron. For this reason I have given you good men. Take also the Zaporogian, Ayub. When the road is hard and foes press he is worth a score. Take Kirdy—the youth is a warrior born, out of the loins of chieftains; the day will come when the bandura players will sing his name, and a myriad sabers will follow him."

  "I thank you, ataman, for that word." Khlit stroked down his mustaches and nodded, well pleased at the praise of his grandson. "But it cannot be that way. The order was that all should choose which way they will go—with you, or with Ostap and me, or with brave Goloto. So must Kirdy and Ayub choose."

  "Let it be so."

  They listened for a space to the sounds of preparation, almost drowned by the deep bellowing of the oxen. In the Turkish lines, two musket shots away, the sentries heard only this monotone of the beasts, but the experienced chieftains caught the creaking of saddles, muttered whispers and the slight clink of scabbard against stirrup that showed the Cossacks were mounting and arranging themselves in three groups.

  And the minds of the two warriors dwelt upon other camps, where the mighty array of Cossackdom had held the border against the hordes of Moslems; their mind's eye beheld the horned standards carried from village to village and the laughing throngs of youths and maidens that crowded to see the gathering of the warriors. They saw great herds of horses grazing on the open steppe and the smoke of chimneys, hidden in the hollows by watercourses, rising into the air.

  In this hour of quiet they wished to speak only of matters that had brought honor to the brotherhood, because they did not know when they would speak together again.

  "With Schah," muttered Khlit, stretching first one leg and then the other, "I went against the Golden Horde, and the Tatars cast the saddles from their ponies to flee the faster. That was the day the last of the Tatars withdrew from Christendom. Dog of the devil, is it not still a feast day in the churches? I have been in Cathay, and at the court of the Moghul of Ind—"

  Demid glanced at him keenly for this was the first time that Khlit had been inclined to say so many words all at once, and he bent his head to listen attentively.

  "In other lands," resumed Khlit after a moment of thought, "you meet with men who are bold and not lacking in love or daring. They are shaped like ourselves; they have children that they cherish and it cannot be said that they lack for wars. But in one respect they are different. They have no brotherhood. Gold, and the embraces of young and white-breasted women are the things their hearts covet. You speak to them but they give you no word of heartfelt fellowship."

  He glanced up at the stars, listened for a while to the quiet movements of the warriors and went on:

  "Nay, only men such as these"—he nodded at the shadows that passed and repassed the standard—"can enter into a fellowship where all is given and nothing is sought. Nothing is sought save the honor of the brotherhood.

  Is it not so? Ataman, it is so. I, who have lived two lifetimes beyond the border, have seen it. I have had other comrades, but none like these."

  Thoughtfully he shook his head, not sorrowfully, but gravely, as a man who weighs all things. And Demid listened attentively, because the speaker was one who had been through the ceaseless toil of war, who had endured all suffering, and had gleaned the wisdom of hard years.

  "And it has not failed them," the low voice of the old warrior went on, "the Cossack spirit. Not their minds, not ambition or the love of praise, sustain them—only the Cossack spirit is within them."

  Demid lifted his hand. "I have failed them."

  Again Khlit shook his head. "Ataman, not yours is the fault. The fault is the emperor's—who would sacrifice brotherhood to a
mbition. You have buffeted the Moslems, your strength has not failed; you have availed yourself of every expedient. And I, who rode at their side, say this: if the ancient atamans, Rurik and Schah and Skal Osup, could shout down to us now, they would put down their drinking cups up yonder at the table of the White Christ, and say 'Well done, ataman! Cossack honor has not suffered at your hands.'"

  "I thank you, Koshevoi Ataman, for that word!" Demid cried, and when Khlit stood up stiffly they put their hands on each other's shoulders. Their talk had ended, and Ayub and Kirdy loomed up, already mounted.

  "May the dogs bite me, Demid," grumbled the big Zaporogian. "What are the kunaks saying? I will ride hence with no one but you."

  He swore under his breath because thirst always tormented him more than wounds, and he was ready to pick a quarrel at once. But Demid, having said that the Cossacks were all free to choose their party, said nothing.

  "And Kirdy," grunted Khlit, "will go with the standard."

  Demid would have objected instantly to taking the youth from his grandfather, but the old warrior turned away impatiently. Khlit had suspected for some time that the best Cossacks were drawing up around Demid's standard and it was clear to him that Kirdy would have more chance to reach the border with the ataman.

  "Enough said," he growled. "Go with God!"

  "With God!" The others repeated the farewell, and sought their horses. For a while these whispered words of leave-taking passed between the shadowy groups, and then the standard was lifted by a powerful Cossack. Sabers were drawn silently, the leaders took their places, and without any spoken command, reined their horses through the gaps that had been opened in the wagon ring.

  Chapter 12 The Sword Slayers

  Kirdy had taken his place on the left hand and slightly behind the young ataman, and the standard with its guard of a dozen warriors was so near that the stirrup of the standard-bearer struck against the flank of the piebald pony. Behind them some ninety warriors rode in a close mass without thought of formation.