Swords From the West

by Harold Lamb

  Running from the bed chamber, he turned into a corridor that led to the front of the tower, and thrust his lantern under his cloak when he came to the first embrasure. It looked out over the moat and a heavy wooden bridge to the main courtyard. And this was full of men.

  They were still coming in through the front gate, carrying smoking torches. The red light gleamed on their gilt armor and the silver trappings of their horses. Negroes on foot, covered with dust, helped them to dismount. Barefoot slaves tugged at the halters of mules-white mules, heavily laden. A stout man in a robe of checkered black and purple leaned panting on a long gilt staff and yelled shrilly at the confusion. He had a face round as a moon and a hat like a sugar loaf with tassels over his ears.

  "Faith, the fairies have come in." Hugh smiled. "Nay, yonder's the god of war i' the flesh."

  A helmeted rider had come into the courtyard-a man as young as himself, magnificent in purple leggings and a crimson cloak of embroidered velvet. His open helmet was plated with gold and his fine face was as colorless and emotionless as a statue. Behind him several women appeared in traveling robes, and then a litter slung by ivory poles between four horses. Slaves lowered the litter to the ground and opened the lattice shutters. The horsemen dismounted, the slaves and negroes prostrated themselves, and the women bowed.

  "So," Hugh thought, "the lord of the Tower of the Ravens hath come home."

  It was time he went back to his Normans, for there were sixty or seventy of the newcomers, and whether he decided to attack them or to draw off, he must warn his men. But he stood rooted at the window.

  The girl who slid out of the litter and stood up, yawning, was more elf than human, it seemed to him. And a tired and drowsy elf-woman. From chin to the toes of her sandals her slim body was encased in stiff gold tissue, sadly mussed. One cheek was flushed dark, as if she had slept upon it. But she held her small head straight under its coronet of silver peacocks with arching plumes.

  "That boar of a Renald sent me to strike at a woman!" the minstrel said under his breath.

  Above the clatter of tongues in the courtyard, he heard her speak for the first time. The clear voice was distinct and angry, and she spoke in Latin-so like his own tongue of the south that he understood well. And he knew that this girl of the purple girdle came from Byzantium-by her dress he fancied that she was the daughter of a princely house. A Norman would have left the tower while the way was still open, but the Provencal wanted to speak with this lady of Byzantium and give her a word of warning. He ran down the stair to the main entry and so appeared, lantern in hand, upon the bridge over the moat.

  Some of the slaves saw him and shouted, and silence fell in the courtyard. Hugh took his helmet upon his arm and bowed to the girl by the litter.

  "Well come art thou to the Tower of the Ravens!"

  In utter astonishment the men from Byzantium stared at this long and lean stranger in the worn cloak and weathered mail, until the youth of the gold helmet strode forward, hand upon sword hilt.

  "0 barbarian," he demanded, "what is this? And where are the servants of the tower?"

  "Only God knows," Hugh responded, his eyes on the silent girl-he could see now that her eyes were gray, and her hair the color of ripe straw-"and surely I do not."

  A murmur went up at this, and the stout wearer of the sugar loaf waddled forward, making signs with his wand that Hugh should kneel to the young noble, and shouting excitedly. Hugh caught the words strategos and "province of Asia" and guessed that the youth held high command in the empire. But he kept his feet, though the strategos frowned.

  "What is thy name?" the Byzantine asked sternly. "And whom servest thou?"

  "I am Hugh of Dol, and no overlord have I, save the Seigneur Christ."

  "Eheu! If thou wilt jest-"

  "In a merry hour I will match jests with thee, but not now. The tower is sacked and there is a smell of evil i' the air, and of that am I here to warn ye."

  The young warrior's frown deepened. He was short and swarthy and proud as the Roman senators who had been his ancestors. At a word from him several swordsmen ranged themselves around Hugh, who surveyed them quizzically while the sugar loaf and his slaves ran into the tower. Presently they reappeared, throwing up their arms and lamenting. Then they fell silent as the girl of the peacocks came forward.

  "0 stranger," she asked of him, "how did this happen?"

  Hugh bethought him there was no need to mention his errand, or the men that came with him. He explained that he had been riding up the other side of the ridge in the rear of the castle, when he passed through the open gate of a wall and saw the tower lighted. Finding no one within, he had wandered through it until he heard them enter the courtyard.

  While he spoke the girl's eyes never left him, and it seemed to him that they glowed green in the flickering torchlight, as if she were something untamed-or a fair and slender statue with clear opals set within it for eyes, gleaming in the candlelight of a church.

  "That is not all the truth," she said softly. "What befell the castellan, aye, and the men-at-arms who had this place in charge?"

  "I have come upon no sign of them."

  "We have heard enough of lies, barbarian," exclaimed the young noble. "By thy tale, thou wert upon the path while we climbed the road. Thou hast seen naught of the dogs who ravaged the castle, and surely we have not. But there is no other road to this summit and the thieves were here at the hour of candle lighting."

  Hugh smiled at both of them.

  "And so, I warn ye, there is peril in this tower. If the raiders did not leave, they are still here-"

  "Not so. Mavrozomes-" the fat wand bearer waddled toward them at the word-"and his fellows looked into the vaults, and the outcastle around the moat. By all the gods, will you say that the looters took wing i' the air, leaving the candles burning, and that thou hast lingered to tell me of it?"

  "Nay-" Hugh laughed-"to tell the lady."

  "Dog!" The strategos thrust his chin forward. "Thou art in need of a lesson. Thou art one of the band of accursed crusaders who have plundered the Tower of the Ravens. Thou didst linger too long, and came forth upon us. Now thou thinkest to open a way of escape, by a smooth tongue."

  The minstrel's brown eyes grew bleak.

  "Even a dog will warn a woman of peril-but as for thee, thou art baying like a cur with a pack at thy heels."

  The face of the strategos darkened and his teeth gleamed between his thin lips.

  "This maid in my charge is Irene, daughter of the Comneni. I will teach thee to kneel to her."

  He spoke a word to his men that Hugh did not understand. The one nearest pulled out his short sword suddenly and slashed at the minstrel's leg below the knee. The Provencal turned at the flash of steel. His hand was on his sword hilt and in a single motion he snatched the long blade clear and parried the soldier's cut.

  Another man struck at his left leg and he leaped back until his shoulders met the courtyard wall. The Byzantine soldiers followed him up, and one thrust a long spear at his knee. Hugh lifted his arm and slashed down, and the steel head flew from the shaft. So they meant to bring him down on his bleeding legs!

  But the shining body of the girl Irene pushed between two of the swordsmen and she stepped before the Provencal.

  "Away from me, ye sons of slaves!"

  The soldiers hesitated, and looked to their lord, who held out his hand to the young woman.

  "Eheu, daughter of the Comneni, I wished to cut down this vagabond before thee, but if the sight of blood likes thee not, allow me to bear thee into the castle."

  "The Tower of the Ravens is mine still!" Irene clenched her hands at her sides and her gray eyes blazed. "And I will give the orders, despot."

  The noble raised his brows and glanced at the assemblage, and Irene became more angry at his silence.

  "0, I see well that not a man of mine is here, my lord, captain of the Immortals. Nay, even my waiting woman lies sick at Nicea upon the way. These are thy men and they will obey th
ee, I suppose. But I am not pleased to have this wanderer mauled like a penned wolf within my wall, and so thou wilt command thy weapon men to stand aside and open a way for him."

  "Whither?" The strategos smiled.

  "Into the castle. I will speak with him, alone."

  The strategos bowed, sweeping both hands to his helmet-but he was still smiling.

  "I hear, and by the gods I would obey. Yet this-wanderer-holds a sword and, being a caged wolf-"

  "Nonsense!" said Irene calmly.

  The strategos started, and muttered under his breath something about a mad vixen. But he turned away, speaking to the Byzantines over his shoulder. Hugh waited until they had drawn well apart from the wall before he followed Irene across the moat bridge and into the entry hall of the castle. Nor did he sheathe his sword.

  And after a moment he noticed that the stout eunuch, Mavrozomes, came with his wand to stand by the gate, while other men appeared within the shadows of the other door. Only one candle was still burning, at the rim of the fountain in the center of the hall, and here Irene seated herself. She glanced around at the mutilated walls and brushed back the hair from her temples.

  "0 that I had the power to do something! Now, thou must tell me the truth. Who sacked the castle?"

  Hugh met her eyes fairly, though the blood pounded through him. So straight and slim and lovely she was, to be looked upon.

  "Lady Irene," he answered, "I have told what is true. Yet this will I add-I came hither to raid the tower, not knowing it was a woman's hold."

  "Alone?"

  ay.

  Hugh bethought him swiftly of his men. The Byzantines outnumbered them three to one, and he had no mind to let the strategos learn where his Normans waited. There might be peace between the crusaders and Byzantium, but it was a wolf's truce.

  "As to my men, they matter not. I found the tower as I have said."

  For a moment her eyes were intent upon him, as if she could probe the soul within him.

  "What is thy name?"

  "Hugh of Dol."

  "Then I thank thee, Messer Hugh, for the service thou were minded to do me. Meseems there is nothing now to be done. Ivan Michael and twenty and four good men, the warders of the castle, my followers, are wiped out and-" she bit her lip that trembled a little-"here am I. And I cannot even save thee thy life. John the strategos has seen to it that thou wilt leave this place only with a knife in thy back to pay thee for thy words in the courtyard."

  "Then will I even stay here."

  "To do what? Thy time is short."

  Going down upon one knee, the Provencal took the girl's hand in his and raised it to his lips.

  "To thank thee, fair and brave as thou art, to have shielded me in the courtyard. Without that, I would have been shorter by half my legs."

  Withdrawing her hand, Irene gazed down at him curiously.

  "'Tis a strange custom, that-to take a woman's hand. Nay, I wished only to question thee and now I have found thy words true. And so thy death will grieve me."

  She spoke as simply as a child, and by that same token the Provencal knew that she expected him to fall in his blood that night. But Hugh had seen his father and mother die under the swords of raiders when the castle of Dol was burned, and he had been in straits as bad as this before. The danger did not seem past remedy to him, but the girl's plight weighed upon him, for his nature was quick to feel a woman's need. So the girl and the youth mused while the candle flared and burned lower.

  "Thou art not wed to this strategos," he observed presently. "Tell me if thou art here with him of thine own accord."

  "Eheu!" Irene Comnena started. "I have never gone anywhere except by my own will-and never before now save with my own attendants. The strategos was kind. He brought me safely from Byzantium over the desert. Not many would have done that."

  "I will do more than that."

  A veil dropped from her eyes and she smiled down at him.

  "And what, pray?"

  "I will bear thee from this castle with me."

  For an instant she shook her head, amazed.

  "The ravens could not do that. I did not think thee mad, barbarian."

  "I do not relish this strategos-" Hugh followed the trend of his thought-"for his way with thee. Thou art too youthful to have him for a warder."

  "Nay, I am wiser than thee." She smiled. "Always I have been old. I have lived at the court of the emperor, and every day I went in this dress to kiss his knee with the other maidens of the palaces."

  "And now, where is thy guardian-a safe place of refuge?"

  Irene flung out her arms at the shadows of the hall. She had come hither for refuge. No other had she. A year ago her father had been poisoned-it was said by the emperor's will. No one talked to her about it and she did not know. But the daughters of other patrician families no longer came to visit her, and her kindred avoided her. Her brother had died in the wars of Asia and they had buried him with scant honor, because of the shadow of suspicion that lay on the house of Comnenus, because her father had been an enemy of the emperor, so people said. For months she had kept herself in the great rooms of their Byzantium palace until the servants began to leave and the halls filled with dust. Only the strategos of all her suitors came to visit her, and he had suggested that she go to the summer house of the Comneni, in the hills of the Asian province ...

  "So I put on this court dress and did my hair up," she said, "and ordered the horse litter made ready. But the palace slaves would not bear it away, and the strategos had to call his negroes. Now I will stay in the Tower of the Ravens."

  It was a grim tale, this, of the girl in the dress of gold-preyed upon by an emperor's suspicion. Hugh did not think she had ever wept, and yet he could see no hope for her in this place. In the dim light of the candle she glittered against the spray of the fountain like a statue in an aged temple. Around her, shadows and watchful eyes. Like himself, she was solitary.

  "And the strategos," he mused aloud "is he a favorite of thine emperor?"

  "Aye, so, commander of the Immortals, the imperial guard."

  "Then meseems he will be the master of the Tower of the Ravens."

  "Nay," she whispered, and caught her breath angrily. "I see well that thou art a barbarian-"

  "Like this strategos, who has thee in his power."

  Her lips quivered, although her eyes were scornful.

  "And thou, Messer Hugh, by token of the cross upon thy shoulder, art a very righteous pilgrim faring to Jerusalem."

  "Not so," he said gravely. "I am a man who loves thee and who will lose his life if he may not gain thee. Like the strategos," he added.

  "Then go, for I will not hear thy words-nay, they will set upon thee in the dark." She pressed her hands against her eyes and shivered. "Do not go."

  Hugh, who had taken up his sword, returned to the fountain, and she looked up at him with quiet dignity.

  "I have taken thee under my protection and-I may not send a man to the hazard of a knife."

  "Mavrozomes hath left his listening post," the Provencal said under his breath, "and for no good; hark to that."

  She sprang up, catching at his arm. A man's scream echoed through the corridors. Then a swift uproar of voices. Hoofs clashed on flagstone and steel rasped and clanged.

  "What is it?" she cried.

  A figure rushed across the hall and out the entrance. The tumult came from the courtyard, increasing every instant, and above it swelled an exultant cry.

  "Allah-hai! Allah-hai!"

  Drawing her with him to the entrance, Hugh stared at the courtyard in silence. Moslems were swarming into the outer gate that had been left unguarded. They were dropping from the wall, their scimitars in their teeth. And from the gloom-shrouded summit of the wall bows snapped and arrows flew.

  "Ahai! Allah 11 allahu!"

  Their ululation was the battle shout of Turkish warriors. Into the outer gate swept a group of horsemen crouching behind round shields, tattered cloaks swirling above the ba
re brown arms and the shining arcs of steel.

  The Byzantines had been caught by surprise. They had been unloading the mules and taking the saddles from the horses. Already they were dropping with arrows in them. The negroes ran along the moat, groaning with terror, while the women servants shrieked. Mavrozomes turned this way and that like a bewildered cow and started running toward the bridge that led to the tower. He was fairly on the bridge when an arrow thudded into him and he stumbled. His heavy body crashed down on the boards and lay there clawing with his fat fingers at the planks. Two Byzantine soldiers who had followed him turned back uncertainly, but a fearmaddened slave, torch in hand, leaped the body of the eunuch and rushed at the gate where Hugh and Irene stood.

  The Provencal stepped forward and jerked the torch from the negro's hand, thrusting him away from the girl. The man vanished into the darkness, his bare feet slapping through the corridors.

  "May the Seigneur Christ aid us!" Irene cried.

  The first tumult had subsided, and the men-at-arms of the strategos were fighting stubbornly. Many of them had discarded their armor, and others had not been able to get to their shields. They gathered in small groups, those with shields on the outside, their heavy swords beating down the lighter weapons of the Moslems-but the arrows from the wall thinned them. Before the uproar began again, Hugh shouted from the bridge.

  "To the tower! Rally here, at the bridge!"

  Some of the men heard and moved toward him. The Turks had come through the far gate and few were near the moat. The strategos heard, because he rose in his stirrups and looked directly at Irene. He had got to his horse near the courtyard wall, with a score of his men, and these few had held their own so far. The rearing horses and long swords held back the desert men, and Hugh saw that the strategos could gain the bridge.

  And the young captain of the Immortals shouted to his men, putting spurs to his horse. The other riders closed in about him and, with flailing swords and upraised shields, they crashed through the Moslem horsemen and swerved suddenly, to gallop through the outer gate. Some of the mounted Turks made after them, like wolves on the flanks of stag. Then the hoofbeats dwindled down the mountainside and Irene cried out-