by Talbot Mundy
Distances were all foreshortened in that atmosphere, and it was mid-afternoon before we came to a halt at last face to face with blank wall. The track seemed to have been blocked by half the mountain sitting down across it. We sat down to rest in the shadow of the shoulder of an overhanging rock, and after half an hour some one looked down on us, and whistled shrilly. Kagig with a rifle across his knees looked down from a height of a hundred and fifty feet, and laughed like a man who sees the bitter humor of the end of shams.
“Welcome!” he shouted between his hands. And his voice came echoing down at us from wall to wall of the gorge. Five minutes later he sent a man to lead us around by a hidden track that led upward, sometimes through other houses, and very often over roofs, across ridiculously tiny yards, and in between walls so closely set together that a mule could only squeeze through by main force.
We stabled the mules in a shed the man showed us, and after that Kagig received us four, and Anna, Gloria’s self-constituted maid, in his own house. It was bare of nearly everything but sheer necessities, and he made no apology, for he had good taste, and perfect manners if you allowed for the grim necessity of being curt and the strain of long responsibility.
A small bench took the place of a table in the main large room. There was a fireplace with a wide stone chimney at one end, and some stools, and also folded skins intended to be sat on, and shiny places on the wall where men in goat-skin coats had leaned their backs.
Two or three of the gipsy women were hanging about outside, and one of the gipsies who had been with him in the room in the khan at Tarsus appeared to be filling the position of servitor. He brought us yoghourt in earthenware bowls — extremely cool and good it was; and after we had done I saw him carry down a huge mess more of it to the house below us, where many of the stragglers we had brought along were quartered by Kagig’s order.
“Where’s Monty?” Fred demanded as soon as we entered the room.
“Presently!” Kagig answered — rather irritably I thought. He seemed to have adopted Monty as his own blood brother, and to resent all other claims on him.
The afternoon was short, for the shadow of the surrounding mountains shut us in. Somebody lighted a fire in the great open chimney-place, and as we sat around that to revel in the warmth that rests tired limbs better than sleep itself, Kagig strode out to attend to a million things — as the expression of his face testified.
Then in came Maga, through a window, with self-betrayal in manner and look of having been watching us ever since we entered. She went up to Will, who was squatted on folded skins by the chimney corner, and stood beside him, claiming him without a word. Her black hair hung down to her waist, and her bare feet, not cut or bruised like most of those that walk the hills unshod, shone golden in the firelight. I looked about for Peter Measel, expecting a scene, but he had taken himself off, perhaps in search of her.
She had eyes for nobody but Gloria, and no smile for any one. Gloria stared back at her, fascinated.
“You married?” she asked; and Gloria shook her head. “You ‘eard me, what I said back below there!”
Gloria nodded.
“You sing?”
“Sometimes.”
“You dance?”
“Oh, yes. I love it.”
“Ah! You shall sing — you shall dance — against me! First you sing — then I sing. Then you dance — then I dance — to-night — you understan’? If I sing better as you sing — an’ if I dance better as you dance — then I throw you over Zeitoon bridge, an’ no one interfere! But if you sing better as I sing — an’ if you dance better as I dance — then you shall make a servant of me; for I know you will be too big fool an’ too chicken ‘earted to keel me, as I would keel you! You understan’?”
It rather looked as if an issue would have to be forced there and then, but at that minute Gregor entered, and drove her out with an oath and terrific gesture, she not seeming particularly afraid of him, but willing to wait for the better chance she foresaw was coming. Gregor made no explanation or apology, but fastened down the leather window-curtain after her and threw more wood on the fire.
Then back came Kagig.
“Where the devil’s Monty?” Fred demanded.
“Come!” was the only answer. And we all got up and followed him out into the chill night air, and down over three roofs to a long shed in which lights were burning. All the houses — on every side of us were ahum with life, and small wonder, for Zeitoon was harboring the refugees from all the district between there and Tarsus, to say nothing of fighting men who came in from the hills behind to lend a hand. But we were bent on seeing Monty at last, and had no patience for other matters.
However, it was only the prisoners he had led us out to see, and nothing more.
“Look, see!” he said, opening the heavy wooden door of the shed as an armed sentry made way for him. (Those armed men of Zeitoon did not salute one another, but preserved a stoic attitude that included recognition of the other fellow’s right to independence, too.) “Look in there, and see, and tell me — do the Turks treat Armenian prisoners that way?”
We entered, and walked down the length of the dim interior, passing between dozens of prisoners lying comfortably enough on skins and blankets. As far as one could judge, they had been fed well, and they did not wear the look of neglect or ill-treatment. At the end, in a little pen all by himself, was the colonel whom Rustum Khan had made a present of to Gloria.
“What’s the straw for?” Fred demanded.
“Ask him!” said Kagig. “He understands! If there should be treachery the straw will be set alight, and he shall know how pigs feel when they are roasted alive! Never fear — there will be no treachery!”
We followed him back to his own house, he urging us to make good note of the prisoners’ condition, and to bear witness before the world to it afterward.
“The world does not know the difference between Armenians and Turks!” he complained again and again.
Once again we arranged ourselves about his open chimney-place, this time with Kagig on a foot-stool in the midst of us. Heat, weariness, and process of digestion were combining to make us drowsily comfortable, and I, for one, would have fallen asleep where I sat. But at last the long-awaited happened, and in came Monty striding like a Norman, dripping with dew, and clean from washing in the icy water of some mountain torrent.
“Oh, hello, Didums!” Fred remarked, as if they had parted about an hour ago. “You long-legged rascal, you look as if you’d been having the time of your life!”
“I have!” said Monty. And after a short swift stare at him Fred looked glum. Those two men understood each other as the clapper understands the bell.
Chapter Sixteen “What care I for my belly, sahib, if you break my heart?”
“IT WAS VERY GOOD”
(Genesis 1:31)
I saw these shambles in my youth, and said
There is no God! No Pitiful presides
Over such obsequies as these. The end
Alike is darkness whether foe or friend,
Beast, man or flower the event abides.
There is no heaven for the hopeful dead —
No better haven than forgetful sod
That smothers limbs and mouth and ears and eyes,
And with those, love and permanence and strife
And vanity and laughter that they thought was life,
Making mere compost of the one who dies.
To whose advantage? Nay, there is no God!
But He, whose other name is Pitiful, was pleased
By melting gentleness whose measures broke
The ramps of ignorance and keeps of lust,
Tumbling alike folly and the fool to dust,
To teach me womanhood until there spoke
Still voices inspiration had released,
And I heard truly. All the voices said:
Out of departed yesterday is grown to-day;
Out of to-day to-morrow surely breaks;
Out of corruption the inspired awakes;
Out of existence earth-clouds roll away
And leave all living, for there are no dead!
After we had made room for Monty before the fire and some one had hung his wet jacket up to dry, we volleyed questions at him faster than he could answer. He sat still and let us finish, with fingers locked together over his crossed knee and, underneath the inevitable good humor, a rather puzzled air of wishing above all things to understand our point of view. Over and over again I have noticed that trait, although he always tried to cover it under an air of polite indifference and easy tolerance that was as opaque to a careful observer as Fred’s attempts at cynicism.
In the end he answered the last question first.
“My agreement with Kagig?”
“Yes, tell them!” put in Kagig. “If I should, they would say I lied!”
“It’s nothing to speak of,” said Monty offhandedly. “It dawned on our friend here that I have had experience in some of the arts of war. I proposed to him that if he would take a force and go to find you, I would help him to the limit without further condition. That’s all.”
“All, you ass? Didums, I warned you at the time when you let them make you privy councilor that you couldn’t ever feel free again to kick over traces! Dammit, man, you can be impeached by parliament!”
“Quite so, Fred. I propose that parliament shall have to do something at last about this state of affairs.”
“You’ll end up in an English jail, and God help you! — social position gone — milked of your last pound to foot the lawyers’ bills — otherwise they’ll hang you!”
“Let ’em hang me after I’m caught! I’ve promised. Remember what Byron did for Greece? I don’t suppose his actual fighting amounted to very much, but he brought the case of Greece to the attention of the public. Public opinion did the rest, badly, I admit, but better badly and late than never. I’m in this scrimmage, Fred, until the last bell rings and they hoist my number.”
“Fine!” exclaimed Gloria, jumping to her feet. “So am I in it to a finish!”
Monty smiled at her with understanding and approval.
“Almost my first duty, Miss Vanderman,” he said kindly, “will be to arrange that you can not possibly come to harm or be prejudiced by any course the rest of us may decide on.”
“Quite so!” Will agreed with a grin, and Fred began chuckling like a schoolboy at a show.
“Nonsense!” she answered hotly. “I’ve come to harm already — see, I’m wounded — I’ve been fighting — I’m already prejudiced as you call it! If you’re an outlaw, so am I!”
She flourished her bandaged wrist and looked like Joan of Arc about to summon men to sacrifice. But the argument ready on her lips was checked suddenly. The night was without wind, yet the outer door burst open exactly as if a sudden hurricane had struck it, and Maga entered with a lantern in her hand. She tried to kick the door shut again, but it closed on Peter Measel who had followed breathlessly, and she turned and banged his head with the bottom of the lantern until the glass shattered to pieces.
“That fool!” she shouted. “Oh, that fool!” Then she let him come in and close the door, giving him the broken lantern to hold, which he did very meekly, rubbing the crown of his head with the other hand; and she stood facing the lot of us with hands on her hips and a fine air of despising every one of us. But I noticed that she kept a cautious eye on Kagig, who in return paid very little attention to her.
“Fight?” she exclaimed, pointing at Gloria. “What does she know about fighting? If she can fight, — let her fight me! I stand ready — I wait for ‘er! Give ‘er a knife, an’ I will fight ‘er with my bare ‘ands!”
Gloria turned pale and Will laid a hand on her shoulder, whispering something that brought the color back again.
“Maga!”
Kagig said that one word in a level voice, but the effect was greater than if he had pointed a pistol. The fire died from her eyes and she nodded at him simply. Then her eyes blazed again, although she looked away from Gloria toward a window. The leather blind was tied down at the corners by strips of twisted hide.
She began to jabber in the gipsy tongue — then changed her mind and spat it out in English for our joint benefit.
“All right. She is nothing to do with me, that woman, and she shall come to a rotten end, I know, an’ that is enough. But there is some one listening! Not a woman — not with spunk enough to be a woman! That dirty horse-pond drinking unshaven black bastard Rustum Khan is outside listening! You think ‘e is busy at the fortifying? Then I tell you, No, ‘e is not! ‘E is outside listening!”
The surprising answer to that assertion was a heavy saber thrust between the window-frame and blind and descending on the thong. Next followed Rustum Khan’s long boot. Then came the man himself with dew all over his upbrushed beard, returning the saber to its scabbard with an accompanying apologetic motion of the head.
“Aye, I was listening!” He spoke as one unashamed. “Umm Kulsum” (that was his fancy name for Maga) “spoke truth for once! I came from the fortifying, where all is finished that can be done to-night. I have been the rounds. I have inspected everything. I report all well. On my way hither I saw Umm Kulsum, with that jackal trotting at her heel — he made a scornful gesture in the direction of Peter Measel, who winced perceptibly, at which Fred Oakes chuckled and nudged me— “and I followed Umm Kulsum, to observe what harm she might intend.”
“Black pig!” remarked Maga, but Rustum Khan merely turned his splendid back a trifle more toward her. His color, allowing for the black beard, was hardly darker than hers.
“Why should I not listen, since my heart is in the matter? Lord sahib — Colonel sahib bahadur! — take back those words before it is too late! Undo the promise made to this Armenian! What is he to thee? Set me instead of thee, sahib! What am I? I have no wives, no lands any longer since the money-lenders closed their clutches on my eldest son, no hope, nor any fellowship with kings to lose! But I can fight, as thou knowest! Give me, sahib, to redeem thy promise, and go thou home to England!”
“Sit down, Rustum Khan!”
“But, sahib—”
“Sit down!” Monty repeated.
“I will not see thee sacrificed for this tribe of ragged people,
Colonel sahib!”
Monty rose to his feet slowly. His face was an enigma. The Rajput stood at attention facing him and they met each other’s eyes — East facing West — in such fashion that manhood seemed to fill the smoky room. Every one was silent. Even Maga held her breath. Monty strode toward Rustum Khan; the Rajput was the first to speak.
“Colonel sahib, I spoke wise words!”
It seemed to me that Monty looked very keenly at him before he answered.
“Have you had supper, Rustum Khan? You look to me feverish from overwork and lack of food.”
“What care I for my belly, sahib, if you break my heart?” the Rajput answered. “Shall I live to see Turks fling thy carcass to the birds? I have offered my own body in place of thine. Am I without honor, that my offer is refused?”
Monty answered that in the Rajput tongue, and it sounded like the bass notes of an organ.
“Brother mine, it is not the custom of my race to send substitutes to keep such promises. That thou knowest, and none has reason to know better. If thy memories and honor urge thee to come the way I take, is there no room for two of us?”
“Aye, sahib!” said the Rajput huskily. “I said before, I am thy man. I come. I obey!”
“Obey, do you?” Monty laid both hands on the Rajput’s shoulders, struck him knee against knee without warning and pressed him down into a squatting posture. “Then obey when I order you to sit!”
The Rajput laughed up at him as suddenly sweet-tempered as a child.
“None other could have done that and not fought me for it!” he said simply. “None other would have had the strength!” he added.
Monty ignored the pleasantry and t
urned to Maga, so surprising that young woman — that she gasped.
“Bring him food at once, please!”
“Me? I? I bring him food? I feed that black—”
“Yes!” snapped Kagig suddenly. “You, Maga!”
Maga’s and Kagig’s eyes met, and again he had his way with her instantly. Peter Measel, standing over by the door, looked wistful and sighed noisily.
“Why should you obey him?” he demanded, but Maga ignored him as she passed out, and Fred nudged me again.
“A miracle!” he whispered. “Did you hear the martyred biped suggest rebellion to her? He’ll be offering to fight Kagig next! Guess what is Kagig’s hold over the girl — can you?”
But a much greater miracle followed. Rather than disobey Monty again; rather than seem to question his authority, or differ from his judgment in the least, Rustum Khan forebore presently from sending for his own stripling servant and actually accepted food from Maga’s hands.
As a Mahammadan, he made in theory no caste distinctions. But as a Rajput be had fixed Hindu notions without knowing it, and almost his chief care was lest his food should be defiled by the touch of outcasts, of whom he reckoned gipsies lowest, vilest and least cleansible. Nevertheless he accepted curds that had been touched by gipsy fingers, and ate greedily, in confirmation of Monty’s diagnosis; and after a few minutes he laid his head on a folded goat-skin in the corner, and fell asleep.
Then Monty sent a servant to his own quarters for some prized possession that he mentioned in a whisper behind his hand. None of us suspected what it might be until the man returned presently with a quart bottle of Scotch whisky. Kagig himself got mugs down from a shelf three inches wide, and Monty poured libations. Kagig, standing with legs apart, drank his share of the strong stuff without waiting; and that brought out the chief surprise of the evening.