by Harold Lamb
“Do you leave courtesy outside when you enter a dwelling, Cossack?” she demanded. “You come unbidden, with dirty boots, and you flourish your curved sword in front of Toctamish who would have killed you because he is crafty as a Kurdish farsang, and feared you. I do not fear you. You have a soiled coat and you carry a foul stick in your mouth.”
Khlit grunted in distaste. He had small liking for women. This one was neither Tatar nor Circassian nor Georgian, yet she spoke fair Tatar.
“Devil take me,” he said, “I had not come had I known you were here, oh loud voiced one. I came for food and a place to sleep.”
“You deserve neither,” she retorted, following her own thoughts. “Is it true that you are Khlit, who fought with the Tatars of Tal Taulai Khan? Toctamish is the man of Kiragai Khan who follows the banners of Tal Taulai Khan and he has seen you before. It seems he does not like you. Yet you have gray hair.” The Cossack was not anxious to stay, yet he did not like to go, with Toctamish at his back. While he hesitated, the girl watched him, her lips curved in mockery.
“Is this the Wolf you told me of?” said she to Toctamish. “I do not think he is the one the Tatar fold fear. See, he blinks like an owl in the light. An old, gray owl.”
Toctamish made no reply, eyeing Khlit sullenly. Khlit was fast recovering from his surprise at the daring of this woman, of a race he had not seen before, and very beautiful, who seemed without fear. The daughter of a chieftain, he meditated; surely she was one brought up among many slaves.
“Aye, daughter,” he responded moodily. “Gray, and therefore forbidden to ride with the free Cossacks, my brothers of the Siech. Wherefore am I alone, and my sword at the service of one who asks it. I am no longer a Cossack of Cossacks but one alone.”
“I have heard tales of you.” The black-eyed woman stared at him boldly, head on one side. “Did you truly enter here in peace, seeking only food?”
“Aye,” said Khlit.
“Wait, then,” said she, “and the nameless one whose house this is will prepare it for you. Meanwhile, sheath the sword you are playing with. I shall not hurt you.”
Motioning Toctamish to her side, the woman of the blue cloak withdrew into a corner of the curtained armorer's shop. The Cossack, who had keen eyes, noted that the Syrian was bending his black-capped head over a bowl of stew which he was stirring in another corner. No others, he decided, were in the shop.
Toctamish seemed to like his companion's words little. He muttered angrily, at which the girl retorted sharply. Khlit could not catch their words, but he guessed that an argument was taking place, at which the Tatar was faring ill. The argument seemed to be about himself. Also, he heard the name Berca repeated.
Although Khlit was not of a curious nature, the identity of the girl puzzled him. With the beauty of a high-priced slave, and the manner of a king's daughter, she went unveiled in a land where women covered their faces from men. Moreover she was young, being scarce eighteen, and of delicate stature.
Khlit bethought him, and it crossed his memory that he had heard of dark-haired and fair-skinned women of unsurpassed beauty whose land was at the far end of the Sea of Khozar, the inland, salt sea. They were Persians, of the province of Rudbar. Yet, fair as they were in the sight of men, none were bought as slaves. Berca, if that were her name, might well be one of these. If that was the case, what was she doing in Astrakhan, alone save for one Tatar, who while he was a man of rank and courage, was not her equal?
II
The Cossack's meditation was interrupted by the girl, who motioned to the Syrian to set his stew before Khlit.
“Eat,” she cried impatiently, pointing to the steaming bowl. “You are hungry, Father of Battles, and I would speak with you. A man speaks ill on an empty belly, although a woman needs not food nor wine to sharpen her wits. Eh, look at me and say, Father of Battles, is it not true I am beautiful, that men would die for me? It is given to few to look at me so closely.”
She stepped near the Cossack, so the edge of her silk garment touched his shaggy face where he crouched over the bowl. Khlit sniffed, and with the odor of lamb stew he smelled, although he knew not its nature, the scent of rose leaves and aloes. He dipped his hand into the bowl and ate.
“Speak, Khlit, Cossack boor,” shrilled the woman, shaking his shoulder impatiently, “and say whether it is in your mind I am beautiful. Other men are not slow to say that Berca of Rudbar and Kuhistan is shapely, and tinted as the rose.”
Khlit's hand paused midway to his mouth.
“Toctamish has a handsome harlot,” he said and swallowed.
The girl stepped back hastily.
“Clown!” she whispered softly. “Nameless one of a dog's breeding. You shall remember that word. It was in my mind to bid you come with me, and be companion to Toctamish—”
“Am I a man for a Tatar's wench?” Khlit was making rapid inroads into the stew.
“Nay, a boor of the steppe. Remember, your speech is not to be forgotten. I am a chief's daughter, with many horsemen.”
Berca was watching the Cossack half-angrily, half-anxiously. Toctamish moved his bulk to the bowl, regarding the disappearing contents with regret.
“How can one man be courteous, Berca of Rudbar,” he asked gruffly, “when the tribe is without breeding? It were better to cut the throat of this caphar, dog without faith, before he ate of our bread and salt.”
“Nay, eat also of the food, Toctamish,” said Berca, “and let me think.”
The Tatar's brown face wrinkled in distaste.
“Am I to share bread with a caphar?” he snarled. “Truly, I promised to obey you, but not thus. Bid the Cossack be gone and I will eat. Otherwise he will be brother in arms, and his danger shall be my danger.”
Berca stamped her slippered foot impatiently.
“Has Allah given me a donkey to follow me? Eat your share of the stew, Toctamish, and cease your braying. Is it not written in the Koran that the most disagreeable of voices is the voice of asses?”
Toctamish remained sullenly silent. He was very hungry. Likewise, Khlit was an enemy of his blood.
“Eat, Flat-Face,” chuckled Khlit, who was beginning to enjoy himself, “the stew is rarely made. But the bottom of the bowl is not far off.”
The odor of the food tormented the Tatar. And Berca, for reason of her own, allowed him no chance to back away from the bowl.
Finally, in desperation, he squatted opposite Khlit and dipped his hand into the stew.
“Remember the law, Flat-Face,” guffawed Khlit, as the other ate greedily. “We have shared bread and salt together—I would give a hundred ducats for a mouthful of wine.”
“It is not I who will forget, caphar,” retorted Toctamish with dignity. Tugging at his girdle, he held out a small gourd. “Here is arak; drink heartily.”
“Aye,” said Khlit.
He had tasted the heady mare's milk of the Tatars before and he sucked his mustache appreciatively after the draft. Pulling pipe and tobacco from a pouch he proceeded to smoke.
“Observe,” said Toctamish to Berca, to show that he was not softened by what had passed, “that the caphar dog is one who must have two weeds to live. He sucks the top of one and drinks the juice of the other.”
“Still your tongue,” said Berca sharply, “and let me think.” She had seated herself cross-legged by the bowl, and her birdlike glance strayed from Khlit to Toctamish. The Cossack, engrossed in his pipe, ignored her.
“Why did you name me a harlot?” she asked abruptly, a flush deepening the olive of her cheeks.
“Eh, I know not, Sparrow. Devil take it, a blind man would see you are not kin to Toctamish. He is not of your people. And there is no old woman at hand to keep you out of mischief. You have said you were a chief's daughter. If that is not a lie, then the chief is dead.”
The girl's eyes widened, and Toctamish gaped.
“Have you a magician's sight, caphar?” she cried. “It is true that the sheik, my father is dead. But I did not tell you.”<
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“Yet you are alone, Berca, across the Sea of Khozar, without attendants. A wise sheik will keep his girl at home, except when she is sent to be married. Is it not true that another sent you out of Rudbar?”
Berca's dark eyes closed and she rested her chin quietly on her folded hands. One hand she thrust into the folds of her cloak at the throat and drew it out clasped around a small object which hung by a chain from her slender neck. Opening her fingers she disclosed a sapphire of splendid size and brilliancy, set in carved gold. The jewel was of value, and appeared to be from the workshops of skilled jewelers of Tabriz. Khlit eyed it indifferently and waited.
“It is true that another sent me from Rudbar, Khlit,” said Berca softly, “and it was to be married. The one who sent me sent also some slaves and an attendant. He swore that a certain chief, a khan of the Kallmarks, had asked me for his wife, and I went, not desiring to stay in Rudbar after my father died.”
“The Kallmarks?” Khlit frowned. “Why, you are a Persian, and the Kallmark Tatars make war on Persians as did their fathers. A marriage would be strange. Eh, who sent you?”
Berca lowered her voice further and glanced at the Persian armorer who was snoring in his corner.
“One it was who is better not named,” she whispered. “He is neither sheik nor khan. Listen, Cossack. This is a jewel of rare value. It has no mate this side of Damascus. Would you like to own it?”
“Aye,” said Khlit indifferently, “at what price?”
“Service.”
“Do you want another Toctamish? Buy him in the streets of Astrakhan. Is a free Cossack to be bought?”
“Nay, Khlit,” whispered Berca leaning close to him until her loose curls touched his eyes, “the service is for one who can use his sword. We heard in Tatary how you escaped from Tal Taulai Khan and his myriad horsemen. Men say that you are truly the father of battles. I have work for such a one. Listen! I was sent from Rudbar to Kiragai Khan, up the Sea of Khozar, and across the Jaick River, with one attendant and a box which the attendant said held jewels and gold bars for my dowry. I came to the court of Kiragai Khan—”
“Bah, Sparrow,” Khlit yawned sleepily, “you are tiresome. I want sleep, not words. In the morning—”
“We will be gone from Astrakhan.” Berca held up the sapphire. “You must listen, Cossack. I told Kiragai Khan my mission, for there were no others to speak, and opened the box in the hands of the attendant. The jewels were poor pearls and no gold was in the box. Then Kiragai Khan, before whom I had unveiled my face, laughed and said that he had not sent for me. At first it came to my mind that it was because the jewels were worthless. But it was the truth.”
“Aye,” said Toctamish suddenly, “it was the truth.”
“I went quickly from the country of Kiragai Khan, aided by Toctamish, who pitied me when others tried to sell me as a slave—of a race that are not slaves. At Astrakhan we learned the whole truth, for here word came to us that the one who sent me in marriage had killed my father. I was sent to be out of the way, for it would not do to sell one of my blood as slave. Such is not the law. He who killed my father heeds no law, yet he is crafty.”
“Then,” inquired Khlit, “you would slay him? Give Toctamish a dagger and a dark night and it is done.”
Berca shook her head scornfully.
“No dagger could come near this man,” she said bitterly. “And he is beyond our reach. He has many thousand hidden daggers at his call. His empire is from Samarkand to Aleppo, and from Tatary to the Indian Sea. He is more feared than Tal Taulai Khan, of the Horde.”
“Then he must be a great sheik,” yawned Khlit.
“He is not a sheik,” protested Berca, and her eyes widened. “And his stronghold is under the ground, not on it. Men say his power lies in his will to break all laws, for he has made his followers free from all law. What he wants, he takes from others. And he is glad when blood is shed. Do you know of him?” “Aye,” said Khlit, grinning, “the steppe fox.”
“They call you the Wolf,” pleaded Berca, “and I need your counsel and wisdom. This man I am seeking has a name no one makes a jest of—twice. He is called by some the arch prophet, by others the Old Man of the Mountain, and by others the Shadna of the Refik folk. He is the head of an empire that lays tribute on every city in Persia, Kurdistan, Khorassan, Syria, and Anatolia. If Allah decreed that I should be his death I should be content.” “More likely dead,” responded Khlit. “Truly, if these are not lies, your Old Man of the Mountain must be a good fighter and I would cross swords with him. Can you show him to me?”
“Aye, Khlit,” said Berca eagerly, “if you come with me. There is the sapphire if you will come to Rudbar with me.”
Khlit stretched his tall bulk lazily.
“One way is as good as the other to me, if there is fighting,” he muttered sleepily. “Only talk not of rewards, for a Cossack takes his pay from the bodies of enemies. I will kill this Master of the Mountain for you. Let me sleep now, for your voice is shrill.” When Toctamish and Berca had left the shop of the armorer, the former to seek a shed outside, and the Persian girl to sleep in her recess, Khlit's snores matched those of the Syrian shopkeeper in volume. For a while only. Then it happened that the snores of the Syrian ceased.
Without disturbing Khlit who was stretched full length on the floor, the Syrian silently pushed past the hangings over the door. Once outside he broke into a trot, his slippers pad-padding the dark street. Nor did he soon slacken his pace.
III
Khlit and Toctamish did not make the best of bedfellows. Berca, however, was careful to see that no serious quarrel broke out between the two. In a bark that went from Astrakhan, the day after their meeting, to the south shore of the Sea of Khozar, the two warriors of different races occupied a small cupboard which adjoined the cabin of the sheik's daughter.
Khlit had embarked not altogether willingly. When the fumes of arak had cleared from his head the next morning, he had halfrepented of his bargain. Curiosity to see the other side of the salt tea, which he had known as the Caspian, rather than the pleadings of Berca, finally brought him aboard the bark with his horse from which he refused to be separated.
The girl had bought their passage with the last of her pearls and some gold of Toctamish's, and had remained in her cabin since, to which Toctamish brought food. The Cossack, after a survey of the small vessel which disclosed his fellow-voyagers as some few Syrian silk merchants, with the Tatar crew, took possession of a nook in the high poop deck, and kept a keen lookout for the islands and other vessels they passed, and for Bab-al-abuab, the lofty gate of gates, as the ship made its way southward. Toc-tamish, who had not set foot on a ship before, was very ill, to Khlit's silent satisfaction.
One day, when the wind was too high for comfort on deck, the Cossack sought Toctamish in the cupboard where the latter lay, ill at ease on some skins.
“Hey, Flat-Face,” Khlit greeted him, sitting opposite against the side of the dark recess, “you look as if the devil himself was chewing at your entrails. Can you speak as well as you grunt? I have a word for you. Where is the little Berca?”
“In her cabin, oh dog without breeding,” snarled the Tatar, who was less disposed to speak, even, than usual, “looking at silks of a Syrian robber. This sickness of the sea is a great sickness, for I am not accustomed.”
“You will not die.” Khlit stroked his saber thoughtfully across his boots. “Toctamish, gully-jackal, and dog of an unbelieving race, you have been a fool. Perhaps a greater one than I. How did it happen that you became the follower of the little Berca? Has she bewitched you with her smooth skin and dark eyes?”
“Nay, that is not so,” Toctamish growled. “She has told you her story. It is true that Kiragai Khan, my master, did not know of her coming. Her attendant and slaves ran away and she felt great shame. Yet she did not lose courage. When her shame was the greatest she begged me to take her to Astrakhan, saying that I should be head of her army. She did not say her army was beyond the Sal
t Sea. Then she made me promise to take her to her people. As you know, her tongue is golden.”
“Aye,” said Khlit. “Then you are even a greater fool than I had thought. Have you heard of this emperor she is taking us to?” Toctamish rolled his eyes, and shook his head vaguely.
“His name is not known in our countries. Mongol Tatars say that their great-grandfathers who followed the banners of Hulagu Khan made war on one calling himself the Old Man of the Mountain and slew many thousands with much booty, beside burning the citadel of Alamut, which was his stronghold. They gave me a dagger which came from Alamut. It is a strange shape.”
“If the power of the Old Man of the Mountain was broken in the time of Hulagu Khan,” said Khlit idly, “how can it exist now? Have you the dagger?”
The Tatar motioned to his belt with a groan, and Khlit drew from it a long blade with heavy handle. The dagger was of tempered steel, curved like a tongue of fire. On it were inscribed some characters which were meaningless to Khlit. He balanced it curiously in his bony hand.
“I have seen the like, Flat-Face,” he meditated idly. “It could strike a good blow. Hey, I remember where I have seen others like it. In the shop of the Syrian armorer, at Astrakhan. Who brought you to the shop?”
“We came, dog of a Cossack. The Syrian bade us stay, charging nothing for our beds, only for food.”
“Does he understand Tatar language?”
“Nay, Berca spoke with him in her own tongue.”
“Aye. Did she speak with you of this Old Man of the Mountain?”
“Once. She said that her people had come under the power of the Old Man of the Mountain. Also that her home was near to Alamut.” Toctamish hesitated. “One thing more she said.”
“Well, God has given you a tongue to speak.”
“She said that your curved sword was useless against him who is called the Old Man of the Mountain.”
With this the Tatar rolled over in his skins and kept silence. Wearying of questioning him, Khlit rose and went to the door of Berca's cabin. Toctamish, he meditated, was not one who could invent answers to questions out of his own wit. Either he spoke the truth, or he had been carefully taught what to say. Khlit was half-satisfied that the girl's and the Tatar's story was true in all its details, strange as it seemed. Yet he was wise, with the wisdom of years, and certain things troubled him.