Durandal

by Harold Lamb

  Munching some fresh grapes, the crusader answered idly. “Fool—I rode at the rear of his caravan, to watch for his enemies.”

  The bearded head above him nodded vigorously. “Ai-a, did I not say it? Then thou hast come all the way over the salt desert from Samarkand. Tell me, is it true that the Shah himself is with the Amir Omar, in disguise?”

  Sir Hugh thought of the stout man in the green turban who had hidden himself in the pavilion at the serai and had been offered the first drink from the well. “What words are these?” he demanded.

  “The servants of the palace have told it. They say the world-defying Shah of shahs, the veritable Lion of Islam, hath journeyed secretly from his Eastern cities, and hath dismounted at the palace of Rai, where his foot hath not touched ground before now. Nay, already the imams and begs hasten in to salute him. Surely it is true!”

  His face hidden by the Arab headcloth, Sir Hugh pondered. He had seen the nobles riding in to Rai, and the commotion in the streets. But why did a great prince travel across the desert floor with a small following, in haste and nameless—in such haste that one of his amirs had slain Khalil to gain some fresh horses?

  Through the crowd in the alley he saw Nureddin’s black sugarloaf hat moving toward him, and he got to his feet swiftly.

  “Thou?” cried the astrologer, shrinking back. “Oh—”

  “Still thy tongue,” whispered the knight, “and lead me to thy lodging, where we may talk.”

  “But I am quartered in the palace. Verily—if I am seen talking to an infidel they will cut off my skin.”

  “Then take care thou art not seen,” responded Sir Hugh grimly. “Bethink thee, there is gold if thou shield me.”

  Nureddin clutched his beard and shivered. Then he turned and beckoned the crusader to follow.

  Half an hour later Khutb had been put into a clean stable near the garden of the palace, and the astrologer had escorted his unwelcome guest under the shadows of great plane trees where Kharesmian spearmen slept, up a marble stair to a lofty terrace where his belongings lay piled upon a carpet in one corner. Nureddin explained with some pride that this place had been given him so that he could observe the stars. He had lost no time in attaching himself to the nobles of the caravan.

  Seating himself on the carpet, he breathed a sigh of relief. After all, he might profit by Sir Hugh’s appearance. He might exact money from the Christian warrior and then betray him to the Moslems and sell the horse for a good price. He glanced furtively at the lean dark face of the crusader. The round moon hung over them, and in the garden a watcher called the third hour of the morning.

  “Thy companion,” he observed when Sir Hugh did not speak, “was a hot-headed fool who took no account of omens. He might have had rare jewels for that horse.”

  “Some men think not of money.”

  Nureddin rubbed his chin, remembering the gold piece Khalil had tossed him. “Why hast thou come to this place?” he asked. “Here thy life is forfeit—unless I aid thee. Hast thou found the Archer and the Dragon, who will befriend thee?”

  Sir Hugh shook his head. “Whither rides this Shah?”

  The astrologer gasped and glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “Art mad—what—”

  “The Shah is here,” said Sir Hugh calmly, “but he travels in haste, and I would know whither he draws his reins.”

  He felt certain that the Prince of Kharesmia had come to Rai, and that Nureddin’s curiosity had long since ferreted out what was an open secret in the bazaar.

  “By Allah, I know not. The Amir himself knoweth not!”

  “Then why do they flee like hunted men?”

  Again Nureddin started. “The ghils!” he said after a pause. “They flee from the spirits and the storms of the dry lands, even as I do.”

  “Thou art a father of lies,” Sir Hugh said calmly. “When did a prince of Islam venture into the barren lands when the caravan route lay open to him? The truth! Tell the truth, or—I swear it—the Shah’s men will find a dead star gazer here at sunrise. Thou art thinking to sell me to the Moslems—bethink thee that I may need to silence thy tongue.”

  Sir Hugh was seizing at a slender chance. He knew that, alone, he could never pass undiscovered among the Moslems. It was possible that the Shah was traveling in haste to the north, toward the Sea of the Ravens, and that he might ride unnoticed at the rear of the caravan, as he had done the past day.

  Nureddin crouched beside him, frightened. “Nay, lord of men—by the Ninety and Nine holy names of Allah, I have no thought but to aid thee. Surely the Shah Muhammad, the Lion of Samarkand, has been fleeing from the ghils. They are hard at his heels, and they are more than mortal, because they vanish and take shape at will—their eyes see through the darkness, their horses run over the summits of the high mountains. They are magicians out of Cathay—” Nureddin stabbed a thin finger toward the east—“and until now they have been penned up beyond the Roof of the World, beyond the mountains where the sun rises.”

  It seemed to the crusader that the Persian believed his own words. Long ago the knight had heard of Cathay, whither the hero Roland had wandered, and of the wild horsemen, who guarded the palace of Prester John by the sea of sand. He wondered if these horsemen had come out of the east.

  “Muhammad Shah,” went on Nureddin, “had more power than any prince, a year ago. When it pleased him, he did men to death by putting them under elephants or casting them from towers. And then he cut off the heads of some travelers from Cathay. So the story is told. I am a man of peace, and I know naught of such matters. But the Khan of Cathay moved against the Shah, in his anger. Some call him Genghis Khan, and his people Mongols. Nay, it is certain that they came out of their deserts, and the Shah lifted the standard of war against them. He had multitudes of mailed warriors and elephants and great walled cities. But the horsemen of the Gobi overthrew his armies, and slew his elephants, and tore down his walls. Verily, there was calamity.”

  The astrologer shook his head and sighed. “I was in Samarkand when the Shah passed through. He said he was hastening to raise a new army, but he was fleeing. I also went away, and within two moons the Horde of the desert had entered Samarkand. Then the Shah began to hurry into the West. It was said that Genghis Khan had summoned two divisions of his Horde, and sent them to pursue Muhammad Shah, and not to come back until they had found him.”

  Sir Hugh smiled. “To hunt down a great prince in his own domain?”

  “Ay, so. They are like the ghils of the desert. They ride without halting to eat or sleep. At Nisapur they were no more than three days behind the Shah. Then he hurried into the waste lands, to throw them off his track. Allah shielded him, because now they have not been seen at his heels.”

  Nureddin sighed gratefully. “That is good, because these magicians care naught for human life. Their arrows fly through the air and always strike the mark. The wind carries their messages—”

  “Now thou art lying again,” said Sir Hugh wearily. Whatever the reason for his flight, Muhammad Shah apparently meant to stay in Rai. And the crusader dared not let his face be seen in daylight. He felt very sleepy, but he could not venture to rest here where Nureddin could betray him. He must take out Khutb and find some place to sleep, unseen.

  CHAPTER XI - NUREDDIN’S SIGN

  RISING and stretching his arms, he went to the parapet and glanced down. Some Turkomans were gathering near the garden gate, mounting their horses—men of the guard, he thought.

  “What wilt thou do?” Nureddin asked curiously.

  “Only Allah knows.”

  “Do not go now.” Nureddin seemed suddenly anxious for his safety. “Harken, my lord—the drums are sounding.”

  “It will soon be dawn.”

  But Nureddin came to the parapet uneasily. The high roll of kettledrums came from near at hand, and horses galloped away from the garden. “It is strange—strange. I have not heard drums like these.” Suddenly he cried out, “Look yonder!”

  The moon was setting, and the
re was a gray streak along the eastern skyline. In this half darkness before the dawn he beheld, sitting a motionless horse in the square by the governor’s house, a solitary rider. Faintly gleamed upon the horseman’s head a helmet, and behind his shoulder a lance tip.

  Sir Hugh bent over the parapet, straining eyes and ears. The white bole of a minaret was visible in the murk, and upon its balcony a light gleamed, rising and falling. The sky grew lighter, but no muezzin cried out the sonorous call to prayer.

  Invisible in the maw of the alleys, horses still galloped past the house. The changed aspect of the city, the sounds of an invisible multitude—all this savored of magic.

  “Al—prince of swordsmen, mighty Nazarene! Aid, or I perish!”

  Panting, Nureddin cast himself down by the crusader. Behind him two strange warriors appeared.

  They were little taller than the astrologer. Clad in dark leather and wolfskin cloaks and soft boots that made no sound on the tiles, they darted like ferrets on their prey.

  “Back!” cried Sir Hugh, lifting his sword.

  “Allah give thee strength,” moaned Nureddin. “Look, here are others.”

  Two warriors came through the curtain—a quick-striding man in breastplate and helmet with a long horsehair plume, and an archer, broad of shoulder and bare of head. The bowman plucked a two-foot shaft from the quiver at his hip and loosed it at the astrologer.

  The bow was as thick as Sir Hugh’s wrist, and the arms that drew it were massive with mighty sinew. Nureddin rolled over, and the arrow passed only through his robe under the armpit, pinning him to the parapet.

  The archer, ten paces distant, fitted a fresh arrow to his bow and glanced at Sir Hugh. Apparently the sight of the tall warrior surprised him, because he exchanged a low word with his companion, who seemed to be an officer, and the man with the crested helmet called out sharply.

  Immediately, Sir Hugh was aware of figures ascending the stair and flooding the terrace. Someone gave an order, and the taut muscles of the bowman’s arm slackened.

  “Cathayans!” cried Nureddin. “Already have I died. My heart is water and I must die again.”

  But the weary and tight-lipped crusader, facing a throng of strange foemen, was looking into the eyes of a man of his own height—a majestic figure robed in blue silk, his bare throat encircled by a chain of pure jade stones, his black nankeen cap surmounted by towering peacock plumes. A thin beard swept his broad chest, and his wide, full eyes were those of a sage and a dreamer.

  “Where is the Shah?” the stranger asked, his deep voice pronouncing the Arabic syllables slowly.

  To Nureddin it seemed quite natural that a wizard from Cathay should speak in tongues, and he hoped with all his heart that the Christian would propitiate the tall lord;

  “I know not,” Sir Hugh made answer.

  The bearded Cathayan swept the roof with an understanding glance.

  “Thy speech is not the speech of the other Tu-kuie. Thou art a barbarian from another land—to the west?”

  His calmness brought inspiration to the despairing Nureddin.

  “O exalted one—O lord of created things—this, my companion, is a foe of the Emperor. Hither came he to give challenge to the Shah. And I am his friend, his brother. I am a traveler and a man of experience, and I will serve thee well and faithfully. His sword hath a sigil writ upon it, and it deals death when it strikes.”

  The bearded noble glanced at Sir Hugh questioningly.

  “I will not yield me to unnamed foes,” said the crusader quietly.

  “Ay,” murmured the Cathayan, “thou art a barbarian, blunt and bold and foolish. The Eagle would wish to see thee and thy weapon. Wipe and sheath it.”

  Sir Hugh made no move to do so, and the stranger seemed to read his thought.

  “I am Ye Lui Kutsai,” he said, “Prince of Shantung, of the Golden Dynasty of Cathay.”

  “Leader of these men?”

  Kutsai shook his head and stretched out a widesleeved arm toward the red glow of the sunrise.

  “Servant—as thou wilt be—of the great Khan, Genghis, who is master of Cathay, and of all the earth from here to there. Keep thy sword. What would it avail thee against us? Come to my yamen when I send for thee.”

  Sir Hugh’s set face relaxed, and when one of the warriors brought him his leather scabbard, he sheathed the blade of Durandal. Then he bent down to free Nureddin from the arrow. But the astrologer was staring open mouthed beyond him.

  “O Nazarene,” he croaked, “it has happened, even as I foretold. Look, here are the signs that were to be revealed to thee! Thy fortune is assured—remember that I foretold it.”

  Puzzled by the earnestness of the little man, the crusader glanced behind him. The warrior who had handed him his scabbard—the same who had loosed the arrow at Nureddin—was now slipping the string from his heavy bow of black wood and ivory.

  “The Archer,” chattered Nureddin. “And on the robe of the magician—”

  The silk tunic of the Cathayan bore, embroidered in gold, the writhing semblance of a dragon.

  CHAPTER XII - BEHIND THE HORDE

  SIR HUGH was roused from deep sleep by a hard grip on his shoulder. The sun was nearly overhead, and the rug upon which he lay outstretched fairly simmered on the hot tiles. The officer of the horsehair crest, having wakened him, motioned for the crusader to descend the stair.

  “Now is the sa’at, the hour of commencement of happenings,” observed Nureddin, who had come to heel faithfully. “Will they torture us? Ai, it is not good to be in the hands of wizards!”

  Sir Hugh noticed that the rent in the astrologer’s black robe had been neatly sewn up.

  “Did the arrow wound thee, little man?”

  At this Nureddin seemed confused.

  “Nay, Lord—it glanced from a—a purse that was slung beneath my shoulder.”

  He inspected his robe carefully, glancing up timidly as a bird that sees a stranger approaching its nest.

  “No more than a few worthless trinkets,” he added, although his companion only smiled.

  They were escorted into a wide hall, where the bodies of Persian spearmen lay thrust into a corner. In the hall sat Kutsai behind a sandalwood table, his arms folded in his sleeves. At either end of the table two slender Cathayans wrote with tiny brushes upon rolls of rice paper.

  Before the prince stood harassed Muhammadans, acting as interpreters while captives were brought to the table and questioned. Sir Hugh inspected the warriors on guard at the door, with a soldier’s eye for detail of bearing and equipment.

  Stalwart men, he thought, road weary—horsemen beyond doubt. All carried two bows in a wooden or leather case slung at one hip; their broad, curved scabbards hung between their shoulder blades on a strap passed around the neck and secured over the chest armor—boiled leather coated with lacquer.

  Except for the leather drop, studded with iron rings, that protected the nape of the neck, they wore no armor on the back. Nor were they supplied with shields. But the broad, sun-browned faces, the muscular throats and hands, bespoke endurance and the bows were certainly heavy.

  “They are Mongols,” Nureddin whispered in answer to his question. “Genghis Khan is the chief of the Mongols. He conquered Cathay, and these magicians are conquering all the other lands for him. Look, they make spells with birds and tablets of brass and writings. Ay, the Mongols came out of their desert, but now they have made themselves masters of Cathay, and the twain are as one. The Horde is one—and greatly to be feared.”

  The birds were pigeons, dozens of them, penned in little bamboo cages. Kutsai gave an order, and a servant took one of the pigeons from its cage, first reading carefully an inscription painted on the bamboo.

  Swiftly the Cathayan prince took a tiny square of rice paper from a secretary, read it over and rolled it up, thrusting the scroll into a silver tube clamped to the bird’s claw. Then he nodded to the servant, who went to the door and cast the pigeon up into the air, watching for a moment before retur
ning to his duties.

  “It flew east,” Sir Hugh commented. “Ay, a messenger pigeon.”

  No witchcraft in that! But the circular brass sheet puzzled him. A Cathayan hovered over it, steel-tipped stylus in hand. At intervals he carried it to Kutsai who, after cross-questioning the most intelligent of his captives, the imams and mullahs of the city, pointed out a spot on the brass, and he of the stylus made a mark and inscription.

  More than half the sheet, Sir Hugh noticed, was covered with these marks—wavering lines and squares that looked like houses, and triangles that might be tents. Finally he understood.

  Long ago, when he had struggled with his letters under the tuition of a priest, he had been shown a parchment bearing such lines. These were rivers, the squares were cities, the rows of triangles mountains and the brass sheet was a map—a map that grew under the Cathayan’s direction.

  “No magic this,” he said, “but the arts of priests and scribes.”

  “Ay, but yonder are strange devices, I think, for judging the position of the stars.”

  Nureddin nudged his companion and pointed to a small and highly polished bronze globe ruled off in parallel circles. Beside this was a jade slab with a silver arm pointing up from it at right angles. Before the arm a square inset of some size was filled with water.6

  “As to that I know not,” Sir Hugh admitted.

  Weapons and men who used them, and horses he could judge with an experienced eye. But these instruments were things undreamed of by the savants and astrologers of Europe. Nureddin, however, drew comfort from them, perceiving that they were devices for measuring the changing of the seasons by the sun’s shadow.

  “These Cathayans,” he whispered, “be astronomers, who calculate the position of the sun and moon. Knowing that, they measure off the hours and the size of the earth’s surface—they keep a calendar. I can do more than that, I foretell events, as thou hast—”