Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  The Kurds never knew whether or not we were another party or the first one. They never discovered whether our former post was deserted or not. We never knew how many of them we hit, for after about a dozen had tumbled out of the saddle the remainder galloped for their lives. For minutes afterward we heard them crashing and pounding away in the distance to find their friends.

  Our loot consisted of two wounded prisoners and four good horses, in addition to rifles and cartridges. We let the dead lie where they were for a warning to other scoundrels, and we looked on while our Armenians searched the bodies for anything likely to be of slightest use. They found almost nothing originally Kurdish, but more Armenian trinkets than would have stocked a traveling merchant’s show-case, including necklaces and earrings.

  Fred took the two prisoners aside and in Persian, which every Kurd can understand and speak after a fashion, offered them their choice between telling the whole truth or being handed over to Armenians. And as there isn’t a bloody rascal in the world but suspects his intended victims of worse hankerings than his own, they loosed their tongues and told more than the truth, adding whatever they thought likely to please Fred.

  “They say there were only about fifty of them in this raiding party to begin with, and several came to trouble before they met us. Seems there are Armenians hidden here and there who are able to give an account of themselves. Ten or twelve elected to stay near the castle we were in last night. They’ve burned it, but they have some captured women and propose to enjoy themselves. Shall we ride back and break in on the party?”

  He meant what he said, but it was out of the question. “The party we’ve just trounced will give the alarm,” I objected. “We’d only ride into a trap. Besides, you’ve no proof these prisoners are not lying to you.”

  “They say their raiding party is the only one within thirty miles.

  They rode ahead of the regiments to get first picking.”

  “We’re none of us fit for anything but food and sleep,” said I, and

  Fred had to concede the point.

  Fortunately the food problem was solved for the moment by the Kurds, who had a sort of cheese with them whose awful taste deprived one of further appetite. We ate, and tied our two wounded prisoners on one horse; and as we had nothing to treat their wounds with except water they finished their trip in exquisite discomfort. Surprise that we should attend to their wounds at all, added to their despondency after they had time to consider what it meant. There was only one burden to their lamentation:

  “What are you going to do with us? We will tell what we know! We will name names! We are your slaves! We kiss feet! Ask, and we will answer!”

  They thought they were being kept alive for torture, and we let them keep on thinking it. Fred tied their horse to his own saddle and towed them along, singing at the top of his lungs to keep the rest of us awake; and for all his noise I fell asleep until he reached for his concertina and, the humor of the situation dawning on him, commenced a classic of his own composition, causing the morning to re-echo with irreverence, and making all of us except the prisoners aware of the fact that life is not to be taken seriously, even in Armenia. The prisoners intuitively guessed that the song had reference to ways and means they would rather have forgotten.

  “Ow! My name it is ‘orrible ‘Enery ‘Emms,

  And I ‘ails from a ‘ell of a ‘ole!

  The things I ‘ave thought an’ the deeds I ‘ave did

  Are remarkable lawless an’ better kep’ hid,

  So if Morgan you think of, an’ Sharkey an’ Kidd,

  Forget ’em! To name such beginners as them’s

  An insult, so shivver my soul! Yow!

  In every port o’ the whole seven seas

  I ‘ave two or three wives on the rates,

  For I’m free wi’ my fancy an’ fly wi’ my picks,

  And I’ve promised ’em plenty, an’ given ’em nix,

  But have left ev’ry one in a ‘ell of a fix!

  ‘Ooever said Bluebeard was brother to me’s

  Either jealous or misunderstates!

  “Wow! For awful atrocity, murder an’ theft,

  For battery, arson and hate,

  From breakin’ the Sabbath to coveting cows,

  An’ false affidavits an’ perjurin’ vows,

  I’m adept at whatever the law disallows,

  And the gallowsmen gape at the noose that I left,

  For I flit while the bally fools wait!”

  Fred kept us awake all right. Like most of his original songs, that one had sixty or seventy verses.

  Chapter Twelve “America’s way with a woman is beyond belief!”

  CUI BONO?

  Did caution keep the gates of Greece,

  Ye saints of “safety first!”

  Twixt Thessaly and Locris when

  Leonidas’ thousand men

  Died scornful of the proffered peace

  Of Xerxes the accurst?

  Watch ye have kept, ward ye have kept,

  But watch and ward were vain

  If love and gratitude have slept

  While ye stood guard for gain.

  Or ye, who count the niggard cost

  In time and coin and gear

  Of succoring the under-dog,

  How often have ye seen a hog,

  Establishing his glutton boast,

  Survive a famine year?

  Fast ye have kept, feast ye have made;

  Vain were the deeds and doles

  If it was fear that ye obeyed

  To save your coward souls.

  Ye banish beauty to the stews

  For lack of eyes that see,

  And stifle joy with deadly rote

  As empty as the texts ye quote,

  The while forgiveness ye refuse

  Lest wrath dishonored be.

  Gray are your days, drab are your ways,

  Strong are your fashioned bars,

  But, ye who ask if service pays —

  Who polishes the stars?

  Spring in Armenia is almost as much like heaven as heaven itself could be, if it were not for the unspeakable Turk, but his blight rests on everything. I could have kept awake that morning without Fred’s irreverent music, simply for sake of the scenery, if its freshness had been untainted. But there hung a sickly, faint pall of smoke that robbed the green landscape of all liveliness. One breathed weariness instead of wine.

  We could not possibly have lost the way, because our crawling column had left a swath behind it of trampled grass and trodden crossing-places where the track wound and rewound in a game of hide-and-seek with tinkling streams. But we began to wonder, nevertheless, why we caught up with nobody.

  It was drawing on to ten in the morning, and I had dozed off for about the dozenth time, with my horse in pretty much the same condition, when I heard Will’s voice at last, and looked up. He was standing alone on a ledge overlooking the track, but I could see the ends of rifles sticking up close by. If we had been an enemy, we should have stood small chance against him.

  “Where are the rest of you?” I asked, and he laughed!

  “Women, kids and wounded all swore a pitched battle was raging behind them. Most of them wanted to turn back and lend a hand. I thought you guys mighty cruel to put all that scare into a crowd in their condition — but I see—”

  “Guests, America! My country’s at peace with Turkey! Where shall we stow our guests?”

  “There’s a village below here.”

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. But behind him was the apex of a spur thrust out in midcurve of the mountainside, and one could not see around that. We had emerged out of the straggling outposts of the forest high above the plain, and to our right the whole panorama lay snoozing in haze. The path by which we had turned our backs on Monty and Kagig went winding away and away below, here and there an infinitesimal thin line of slightly lighter color, but more often suggested by the contour of the hills. Our Zeitoonli in their zeal to return to t
heir leader had been evidently cutting corners. If the smudge of smoke to the right front overhung Marash, then we were probably already nearer Zeitoon than when we and Kagig parted company.

  “Come up and see for yourselves,” said Will.

  Fred passed the line that held his prisoners in tow to an Armenian, and we climbed up together on foot. Around the corner of the spur, within fifty feet of where Will stood, was an almost sheer escarpment, and at the foot of that, a thousand feet below us, with ramparts of living rock on all four sides, crouched a little village fondled in the bosom of the mountains.

  “They’ve piled down there and made ‘emselves at home. The place was deserted, prob’ly because it ‘ud be too easy to roll rocks down into it. But I can’t make ’em listen. Ours is a pretty chesty lot, with guts, and our taking part with ’em has stiffened their courage. They claim they’re goin’ to hold this rats’ nest against all the Turks and Kurds in Asia Minor!”

  “That’s where the rest of us are,” said Will

  “Where’s Miss Vanderman?”

  “Asleep — down in the village. The’re all asleep. You guys go down there and sleep, too. I’ll follow, soon as I’ve posted these men on watch. That small square hut next the big one in the middle is ours. She’s in the big one with a crowd of women. Now don’t make a fool row and wake her! Tie your horses in the shade where you see the others standing in line; there’s a little corn for them, and a lot of hay that the owners left behind.”

  So we undertook not to wake the lady, and left Will there carefully choosing places, in which the men fell fast asleep almost the minute his back was turned. Sleep was in the air that morning — not mere weariness of mind and limb that a man could overcome, but inexplicable coma. Whole armies are affected that way on occasion. There was a man once named Sennacherib.

  “Sleepy hollow!” said Fred, and as he spoke his horse pitched forward, almost spilling him; the rope that held the prisoners in tow was all that saved the lot of them from rolling down-hill. Fred dismounted, and drove the horse in front of him with a slap on the rump, but the beast was almost too sleepy to make the effort to descend.

  There was no taint of gas or poison fumes. The air tasted fresh except for the faint smoke, and the birds were all in full song. Yet we all had to dismount, and to let the prisoners walk, too, because the horses were too drowsy to be trusted. The path that zigzagged downward to the village was dangerous enough without added risk, and the eight Armenian riflemen refused point-blank to lead the way unless they might drive the animals ahead of them.

  Even so, neither we nor they were properly awake, when we reached the village. We tied up the horses in a sort of dream — fed them from instinct and habit — and made our way to the hut Will had pointed out like men who walked in sleep.

  Nobody was keeping watch. Nobody noticed our arrival. Men and women were sleeping in the streets and under the eaves of the little houses. Nothing seemed awake but the stray dogs nosing at men’s feet and hunting hopelessly among the bundles.

  The little house Will had reserved for our use contained a stool and a string-cot. On the stool was food — cheese and very dry bread; and because even in that waking dream we were conscious of hunger, we ate a little of it. Then we lay down on the floor and fell asleep — we, and the prisoners, and the eight Armenian riflemen. Within a quarter of an hour Will followed us into the house, but we knew nothing about that. Then he, too, fell asleep, and until two or three hours after dark we were a village of the dead.

  To this day there is no explaining it. Certainly no human watch or ward saved us from destruction at the hands of roving enemies. I was awakened at last by a brilliant light, and the effort made by our two prisoners, still tied together, to crawl across my body. I threw them off me, and sat up, rubbing my eyes and wondering where I was.

  In the door stood Kagig, with a lantern in his right hand thrust forward into the room. His eyes were ablaze with excitement, and between black beard and mustache his teeth showed in a grin mixed of scorn and amusement.

  Next I beard Will’s voice: “Jimminy!” and Will sat up. Then Fred gave tongue:

  “That you, Kagig? Where’s Monty? Where’s Lord Montdidier?”

  Kagig strode into the room, set the lantern on the floor, struck the remnants of the food from off the little stool, and sat down. I could see now that he was deathly tired.

  “He is in Zeitoon,” he answered.

  Noises from outside began then to assert themselves in demonstration that the village was awake at last — also that the population had swollen while we slept. I could hear the restless movement of more than twice the number of horses we had had with us.

  Kagig began to laugh — a sort of dry cackle that included wonder as well as rebuke. He threw both hands outward, palms upward, in a gesture that complemented the motion of shoulders shrugged up to his ears.

  “All around — high hills! From every side from fifty places rocks could have been rolled upon you! So — and so you sleep!”

  “I set guards!” Will exploded.

  “Eleven guards I found — all together in one place — fast asleep!”

  He showed his splendid teeth and the palms of his hands again in actual enjoyment of the situation. For the first time then I saw there was wet blood on his goat-skin coat.

  “Kagig — you’re wounded!”

  He made a gesture of impatience.

  “It is nothing — nothing. My servant has attended to it.”

  So Kagig had a servant. I felt glad of that. It meant a rise from vagabondage to position among his people.

  Of all earthly attainments, the first and most desirable and last to let go of is an honest servant — unless it be a friend. (But the difference is not so distinct as it sounds.)

  A huge fear suddenly seized Fred Oakes.

  “You said Monty is in Zeitoon — alive or dead? Quick, man! Answer!”

  “Should I leave Zeitoon,” Kagig answered slowly, unless I left a better man in charge behind me? He is alive in Zeitoon — alive — alive! He is my brother! He and I love one purpose with a strong love that shall conquer! You speak to me of Lord what-is-it? Hah! To me forever he is Monty, my brother — my—”

  “Where’s Miss Vanderman?” I interrupted.

  “Here!” she said quietly, and I turned my head to discover her sitting beside Will in the shadow cast by Kagig’s lantern. She must have entered ahead of Kagig or close behind him, unseen because of his bulk and the tricky light that he swung in his right hand.

  Kagig went on as if he had not heard me.

  “There is a castle — I think I told you? — perched on a crag in the forest beside Zeitoon. My men have cut a passage to it through the trees, for it had stood forgotten for God knows how long. Later you shall understand. There came Arabaiji, riding a mule to death, saying you and this lady are in danger of life at the hands of my nation. I did not believe that, but Monty — he believed it.”

  “And I’ll wager you found him a hot handful!” laughed Fred. “Not so hot. Not so hot. But very determined. Later you shall understand. He and I drove a bargain.”

  “Dammit!” Fred rose to his feet. “D’you mean you used our predicament as a club to drive him with?”

  Kagig laughed dryly.

  “Do you know your friend so little, and think so ill of me? He named terms, and I agreed to them. I took a hundred mounted men to find you and bring you to Zeitoon, spreading them out like a fan, to scour the country. Some fell in with a thing the Turks call a hamidieh regiment; that is a rabble of Kurds under the command of Tenekelis.”

  “What are they?”

  “Tenekelis? The word means ‘tin-plate men.’ We call them that because of the tin badges given them to wear in their head-dress. In no other way do they resemble officers. They are brigands favored by official recognition, that is all. Their purpose is to pillage Armenians. While you slept in this village, and your watchmen slept up above there, that whole rabble of bandits with their tin-plate officers passe
d within half a mile, following along the track by which you came! If you had been awake — and cooking — or singing — or making any sort of noise they must have heard you! Instead, they turned down toward the plain a little short distance too soon — and my men met them — and there was a skirmish — and I rallied my other men, and attacked them suddenly. We accounted for two of the tin-plate men, and so many of the thing they call a regiment that the others took to flight. Jannam! (My soul!) But you are paragons of sleepers!”

  “Do you never sleep?” I asked him.

  “Shall a man keep watch over a nation, and sleep?” he answered.

  “Aye — here a little, there a little, I snatch sleep when I can.

  My heart burns in me. I shall sleep on my horse on the way back

  to Zeitoon, but the burning within will waken me by fits and starts.”

  He got up and stood very politely in front of Gloria Vanderman, removing his cossack kalpak for the first time and holding it with a peculiar suggestion of humility.

  “You shall be put to no indignity at the hands of my people,” he said. “They are not bad people, but they have suffered, and some have been made afraid. They would have kept you safe. But now you shall have twenty men if you wish, and they shall deliver you safely into Tarsus. If you wish it, I will send one of these gentlemen with you to keep you in countenance before my men; they are foreigners to you, and no one could blame you for fearing them. The gentleman would not wish to go, but I would send him!”

  She shook her head, pretty merrily for a girl in her predicament.

  “I was curious to meet you, Mr. Kagig, but that’s nothing to the attraction that draws me now. I must meet the other man — is it Monty you all call him — or never know a moment’s peace!”

  “You mean you will not go to Tarsus?”

  “Of course I won’t!”

  “Of course!” laughed Fred. “Any young woman—”

  “Of course?” Kagig repeated the extravagant gesture of shrugged shoulders and up-turned palms. “Ah, well. You are American. I will not argue. What would be the use?”