Swords From the West

by Harold Lamb

  "And I," said Malcolm quickly, "ask thy pardon, Rawul Singh. I suspected thee. Thou art a brave man-a very brave man." Turning on the thugs, he announced, "Dom Gion will be shot if the castle is not cleared within a moment."

  The thugs were not open fighters. They looked at one another, and went away, hoping for another opportunity to strike at the white man.

  That opportunity never came, for the next day brought Cunningham and his men.

  It was not until after Cunningham and his sepoys had reached Bhir and taken the prisoner, Dom Gion, in charge-pending trial before law for the murders he had caused to be committed-that Tala could be prevailed upon to lead her father and Malcolm to the tank in the jungle where she had been kept captive and where Dom Gion had secreted his riches.

  This hoard, Malcolm assured Cunningham, should be returned to those who proved themselves kin to the victims of the thugs.

  The lease deeds and other concessions they burned. And Malcolm, after convincing himself that all active thugs had left Bhir, deposed the potail on grounds that the man had taken thug money.

  This done, he resigned his office and said good-bye to Cunningham, mounting immediately and riding away to his duties. For the ride out of the village, Malcolm was accompanied by Rawul Singh, who leaped from his horse and saluted the Scot standing, looking long and regretfully after the vanishing form of his superior officer.

  Not until the dust of Malcolm's passage had settled down did Rawul Singh return to his hut and Tala.

  Cunningham had rewarded the Rajput by appointing him potail.

  Peace was established in Bhir. And for awhile Rawul Singh enjoyed his new prestige and the favor of the sahibs. He asked Cunningham frequently about Malcolm, when making his reports, which were always very brief and concerned mainly with the summary punishment of Mussulmans.

  In time, as the district continued law abiding and prosperous, Rawul Singh became very restless, and his reports ceased entirely. He mounted his horse and rode to Agra to seek the Resident in person.

  And in the course of time Captain John Malcolm, then quartered in one of the hill stations of Kashmir, received a letter from the Resident which said among other things:

  It is just as well perhaps for the influence of the Government among the natives, my dear captain, that the Rajpoot, Rawul Singh has re signed his office as potail. I asked him for the reason that inspired his decision and he responded that Bhir was only fit to be administered by a trader or a woman, now that there was no fighting to be had.

  Rawul Singh then asked for your address, and, although I informed him that he is clearly beyond the age limit for our non-commissioned native officers he insisted that he would ride to Kashmeer and that you would have a place for him near you.

  I fancy that almost any day you may see him ride in at your Quarters with his daughter on the horse behind him and his luggage in his saddle-bags. I had not thought that he would leave the grave of his son-you are aware of the persistency of the natives in clinging to such customs-but, upon my word, he seems to have adopted you as his son.

  Y'r Ob't & Resp'tf'I Serv't,

  A. CUNNINGHAM

  CLING-CLANG! The bronze plate hanging in the summit of the watchtower sounded its warning. The two men sitting in the shadows of an inner chamber stirred and listened. They did not speak; they never spoke unless words were necessary. Through the round embrasure the red glow of sunset revealed their faces-one hard and masterful, the other plump and patient.

  Again the plate clanged, and the two listeners climbed the stairs that wound up to the tower's nest. They came out beside the sentry, who saluted them and pointed in silence between the roof posts at the dark line that was the road across the desert. The Nan Lu they called it, the Great South Road, and it ended here at the desert's edge, at the post station in the red clay barrens where a shrunken river crawled through ridged limestone and a haze of dust overhung the pony corrals and the clay barracks.

  It was an important post, this at the end of the Nan Lu, late in the thirteenth century. Behind it a wall of dull brick stretched across the barrens and climbed over distant hills. And behind this wall lay Cathay, the home of Kublai Khan, who was master of half the world.

  Along the Great South Road, out of the desert galloped couriers of the khan with a jangling of bells, dismounting at the station to throw themselves on fresh horses; camel and horse caravans halted for the night at the station; visiting ambassadors with their trains filled the barracks at times. In consequence the post commander was a good officer, a Tatar and a veteran-he who had come up out of his quarters below at the summons of the sentry. He was ming-bashi-commander of a thousand-and his name was Arslan. He had the broad, weather-beaten face of his people, and he wore with pride his armor of lacquered leather with wide iron shoulder pieces, and the open helmet with a crest of red horsehair.

  Looking down the road, into the glare of the setting sun, he saw what the sentry had noticed-tiny dust clouds carried to one side by the wind. He counted twelve riders and two packhorses, and after awhile his keen black eyes identified the horsemen as an officer with a Tatar detachment and-another rider.

  Arslan had seen many strange people come along the Great South Road into Cathay to the court of Kublai Khan; pale Russian princes and swaggering Arabs with horses and girls to sell. Once he had written down in the station report the arrival of a man from the Western world, a merchant, Marco Polo by name, of a city called Venice. And now Arslan had quartered in the pavilion of blue felt a woman of rare beauty. Since she was going direct to the court, Arslan had turned over the pavilion to her because it had been erected for high officers and nobility and stood a little apart from the barracks. Arslan had discovered that women going to the court were a source of trouble, and this one had caused him more anxiety than even a caravan of Badawan Arabs, homeward bound.

  He went down to inspect the newcomers and, like a shadow, his Chinese secretary trailed at his heels, a solemn and wise scribe, bearded and robed in blue silk, a Chinese who could answer all Arslan's questions and write down anything he said.

  In the courtyard under the tower the riders were dismounting, eleven Tatar warriors, one a commander of a hundred. The twelfth horseman puzzled Arslan. He was the biggest man but one that Arslan had ever seen. He sat erect in the saddle of a rangy black charger. He wore no hat, and from chin to toe he was encased in a mesh of steel mail, darkened by exposure to the weather.

  From under level brows the stranger glanced calmly about the station as if he had seen many like it. And his eyes were blue, the clear blue of deep water. Upon the shoulder of a faded mantle a red cross had been sewn. So the big man was a Christian.

  But what drew Arslan's attention was his sword-a four-foot blade in a leather sheath slung upon his back.

  "Whence comes he?" Arslan asked the officer of the detachment. "And how is he named?"

  The Chinese scribe at his side drew a paper tablet from his sleeve and wetted a slender brush upon the ink cake in his girdle, in readiness to write down the answers.

  "He comes from afar, where the sun sets," responded the officer. "More than that I know not. We call him Timur Ere, aye, the Iron Man."

  "Nay," Arslan objected, "he does not wear much iron. The guard corps at Xanadu wear more than that."

  "True," nodded the officer. "We did not name him because of the steel shirt. He cannot talk to us, so we do not know his true name. But in the man himself there is unyielding iron. He does not bend under hardships or give way to a blow. Kai, I have seen him when others tried to take his sword from him, not knowing."

  "Why is a captive allowed to keep his weapon?"

  "It was the order that he should keep his arms and bring them to the court of the great khan."

  The officer pointed to one of the pack animals burdened with a long triangular shield and a light helmet, and he added calmly-"As the order said, I have done."

  Behind them the Chinese murmured persuasively:

  "Hast thou forgotten, 0 Lord
of a Thousand Men? Two years ago the order was given by the great khan-" and he bowed three times, his arms folded in his sleeves. "A merchant from the West, perhaps the Venetian, told the great khan of these iron men, invincible in fighting. So it pleased the emperor to give command that an iron man should be captured and brought to him with weapons."

  "True," Arslan assented.

  "Also," went on the Chinese, "the great khan commanded that a beautiful woman of the Christians in the Western world should be taken and brought to him, for him to see. That also has been done, and for two moons the woman of the Western world has been kept at this station. She is in the imperial pavilion awaiting the arrival of this other Christian so that the two may be sent together to the khan at Xanadu."

  Again the bearded scribe bent his head three times before stepping back to write upon his tablet. The Tatar looked past the tower to where the blue dome of a heavy tent rose apart from the buildings of the post, beyond the horse lines. Then Arslan beckoned to the iron man.

  Sir John Sheldon, Knight of the Hospital of Jerusalem and special envoy of that high and puissant lord, Edward, King of England, had journeyed far. He had been sent overseas to Jerusalem by his king to make report upon the affairs of the Holy Land. And he had found there only a dismal vista of failure-disheartened crusaders drifting back over the seas, the pilgrim galleys and the hospital in the hands of extortioners and merchants, and the few barons who still held their fiefs in Palestine quarreling among themselves and with the merchants.

  And Sir John had little liking for all this. He was, men said, a man of valor in feats of arms. They said, more, that there was no horse he could not back and no weapon he could not swing with either hand. Nor would he turn aside from any venture upon which he had once set his foot. When he had heard talk of the war between the Saracens and the Tatars who had come out of the East, he had gone forth alone to see what the Tatars were like, and he had not returned.

  A captive, he had fared for eight months over lands unknown to him, among Easterners who knew no word of his speech.

  "Faith," he thought, "this ride is not short, and I am like to see the end of the earth."

  Sir John did not think he would ever return over that long road to make report to his king. He had seen in the distance that evening the great wall stretching athwart the plain and mounting upon still more remote hills, as if guarding what lay beyond. And now the Tatars led him to the blue pavilion, unlike any other of the caravansaries where he had been quartered before. Its ropes were twisted silk, and even before he lifted the entrance flap he was aware of the scent of dried flowers and sandal.

  When he stepped within, a man rose from the ground and barred his way. A man as tall and great of bone as the crusader. Sir John looked past him, where bright embers glowed. Smoke drifted up toward the hole in the center of the dome. The sides of the pavilion were hung with silk, and the earth was carpeted.

  The silence was broken by a woman's voice, a clear young voice, and the giant stepped aside. Sir John saw then that the giant wore a leather tunic and a long cloak of wolfskins, and that his dark head was close clipped, though his curling beard was full upon his chest. When the glow of the fire fell upon the crusader, the woman laughed softly, and the sound was like an elfin chime.

  "Well come art thou, 0 man of the Cross. Long have we waited thee."

  Her speech was the lingua franca overseas, good Norman French and some Arabic, with snatches of Latin. Behind the veil of smoke the crusader saw her sitting with her knees crossed on a carpeted divan, a girl whose dark hair lay heavy upon slender shoulders.

  And then her eyes widened, amazed.

  "Thou art armed! Art thou the captive?"

  "Aye, so," the crusader respond gravely. "And thou, my lady?"

  Many strange things had he seen in the last months, but he wondered a little at this maid among the Tatars, at the slender figure so unlike the women of his people. She wore soft boots of a red leather, and the long sleeves of her white gown were embroidered with tiny crosses; the clasp of her crimson over-robe bore emeralds cut like a shield.

  "They took Sonkor's ax-" she nodded at the bearded giant-"and beat him. He was an axman of Iny guard. The others they slew out of hand. They came upon us when we were hunting a boar." She looked up at him suddenly. "I am Thamar, daughter of Rusudan, Queen the Georgians."

  Sir John had heard of the mountain folk who lived at the threshold of Asia, who were Christians and had always been warriors as stubborn in their faith as their pride. For centuries they had been masters of the Caucasus, between the inland seas.

  "Art thou an ambassador?" she asked eagerly.

  The crusader explained his mission to the Holy Land, and the mischance that had brought him into the midst of a Tatar force at night.

  "They said that an iron man was coming," she answered gravely, "to ride with me to Xanadu, the city of the great khan. And they never harm an ambassador. Hast thou no paper of writing or token of authority?"

  "Nay, Princess Thamar."

  Chin on hand she gazed up at him, frowning a little. The mass of dark hair penned upon her forehead by a silver fillet set with square turquoise brushed her cheeks, half hiding the fresh curve of her lips and the clear depths of her eyes.

  "Then do I fear for thee, my Lord of the Cross, because I know why they have let thee keep thy sword."

  Sir John smiled, and her brow knitted the more.

  "Ohai, thou art a man of might. They chose thee among many. Hast thou no fear?"

  "There is no good in that," he said.

  "Knowest thou what this place is?"

  "A fair hostel after the desert."

  "'Tis the gate of Cathay. Thou hast seen the wall? Beyond it thou wilt be a slave of the great khan-no more than a hunting dog or falcon. Magicians will have their sport of thee, and the pagans will stare at thee and in the end-" she hesitated, looking up at him steadily-"they will take thee before the emperor of all men. They will make thee draw that long sword and strive against them, until the life is cut out of thee. That is why the great khan made thee captive, to see thee fight."

  The ghost of a smile still lingered on the crusader's wide lips, and it seemed strange to the Georgian maid that he was not grieved at her words. Rather, he seemed to be considering her.

  "And thou, my lady?" he asked again, gravely.

  "Even the Tatars will not harm the daughter of a king. But this is thy last night outside the wall and thou art armed. Take a horse from the lines and ride away into the desert, any whither. What fate could be worse than that ahead of thee?"

  While Sir John pondered, for he was a man of measured thought, she added eagerly:

  "If Sonkor had such a weapon he could cut down any who stood in his way. If we were mounted on the racing horses we could outride pursuit, and then, perchance, slay a courier, and take his falcon tablet and gain fresh horses by showing it."

  The crusader shook his head.

  "Better to go forward than to be taken in flight."

  Nor would he change his mind when she pleaded anew-until she fell silent and sent Sonkor from the pavilion to fetch the evening meal from the fires of the station. This meal they shared, the crusader and the axman sitting together by the embers and Thamar perched upon the edge of the divan that filled all the back of the pavilion. Her moodiness had vanished, and often she smiled and sang brief snatches of Gypsy-like song. Sonkor gazed up at her with the wordless adoration of a dog, and indeed the princess of the mountains was lovely beyond the telling.

  "Knowest thou the song?" she asked Sir John. "'Tis the jest of a brave man.

  "What thinkest thou of the Gypsy song?"

  "It boasteth overmuch," commented Sir John, rubbing his chin.

  "Indeed," she said, "they named thee truly, for thou art a man dull and heavy as iron. I like better the steel that sings and flashes and makes a swift end of misery. And wine. Give me the cup, Sonkor!"

  The giant, who seemed to understand their speech, lifted the round bronze go
blet filled with rice wine, and Thamar sipped from it.

  "0 my guest," she said softly, "drink deep, for thou art weary."

  Sir John raised the great vessel in both hands. "Hail!" he cried, and passed it in his turn to Sonkor.

  "The axman sleeps on the earth," she went on, "but it is not fitting that thou, a man of honor, should do so. I will share the couch with thee, with thy sword between us."

  "I thank thee." Sir John bowed.

  It was a privilege sometimes offered when women were journeying in strange lands, and quarters were cramped and night alarms were to be feared. And the drawn sword placed between them was the man's pledge that he would not touch the maid.

  Sonkor let the fire die, and when Sir John stripped off the steel mesh of his mail and made his way through the near darkness of the pavilion to the couch, the girl seemed to be asleep under her cloak. Quietly he drew from its leather sheath the four-foot sword and laid it beside her, the hilt near her head. Then he stretched out, pulled a saddlecloth over him, and lay with his head on his clasped arms watching the swaying of the dim tapestries under the wind's touch.

  He could feel the slight stir of her breathing, and he was aware of the scent of dried flowers that came from her hair, a fragrance that intruded among his thoughts. Tomorrow he would be within the wall. There was no escape. At least he would find his death when he stood weapon in hand before the eyes of this monarch of Cathay. There were worse ends than that. But Thamar? They would be together in the last of the journey, and it would be joyful for him ... in Cathay ... the scent of flowers ...

  Sir John woke without a start, and was wide awake on the instant. The pavilion was dark, the air cold; a breath of wind touched his face. Across from him a triangle of faint light disappeared suddenly.

  The entrance flap had been lifted, admitting the gust of air that had awakened him, and closed again. He listened, and could hear nothing at all. He stretched out his hand, and then swept it across the couch. Thainar was not there, nor was his sword.