by Harold Lamb
“A prisoner. Nadesha likewise.”
The Tatars waited quietly. Even the Khan showed no emotion. Alashan, his son, had left the Horde without permission from his father, and so, in the eyes of the Tatars, both were disgraced accordingly.
Billings pointed to where some armed riders of the Wolf clan were coming along the trail, Norbo among them.
“The Master of the Herds,” he said, “can tell you why Alashan left the Horde and why he is in danger.”
Now old Norbo was a faithful servant of Ubaka Khan; but he had never learned to shape his words like a courtier. He spoke what was in his mind, when he had to do so. And so he did now. Dismounting, he pressed the stirrup of Ubaka Khan to his forehead and, drawing back, raised a scarred hand to his head and lips.
“Speak,” said the Khan.
“Lord, your son saw vultures gathering in the sky. Nadesha, too, had seen. She left me without asking my will and rode to Sonkor. Alashan and this prisoner followed, to learn what was to be found out at the temple of the lamas. He could not go to his father for permission, because he suspected treachery in those about the Khan.”
“Treachery!” Zebek Dortshi laughed aloud, twisting the while the curls of his beard with deft fingers. “Aye, it is in my mind that treachery is afoot. Hear my word, O Khan!”
Knowing his listeners, the Persian Tatar paused, until sure that he would be under stood. He was a skilful orator.
“Hear my word, Ubaka Khan,” he repeated, and he did not give the other the title of Ruler of the Horde. “Is it reason able to think that those suckling brats, Alashan and Nadesha, would have tried to ride to Sonkor? Captain Billings is the sworn enemy of your son. Would they be comrades, all in a day? Not so.”
Smiling, he shook his head.
“Not so. And what word could this giaour bring from Sonkor that is not known to Loosang, the all-wise? Bethink you, Khan, did not Loosang warn you against this stranger from beyond the Volga? Tchu! He did!”
Then Zebek Dortshi frowned as if scornful of such tricks as Billings might play.
“This is what has happened, members of the sarga. The giaour has fought with Alashan, perhaps slain him. Aye, to avert the anger of Ubaka Khan the giaour has tried to flee. He failed. Then he has made lies, so that his crime shall be overlooked. Loosang, the lama, is all-wise. He foretold that evil would come of the stranger. Cut off the fellow’s tongue, pierce his eyes and let us, by the sacred Kandjur, ride on to the water. I have spoken.”
“And well—you have said well,” cried several of the younger chieftains.
“Speak, giaour,” snarled Ubaka Khan.
Billings had been waiting for this chance. “The Khan of the Red Camels lies,” he said bluntly. “And here is the proof that the treachery was not of my doing.”
He pointed behind him, to where the endless stream of riders was moving through the dust toward the gray glimmer that was the Kara-su. “The Horde has been led out of its path in the time that I was not with the clans. There lies the Kara-su, the Black Stream. Beyond you can see the mountains, the foot hills of the Kara-bagh that mark the territory of the Black Kirghiz. Lake Balkash lies back on your left, and it is far—far. Tell me, who guided you hither?”
All eyes turned toward Zebek Dortshi.
But just then was heard the sound of blaring horns and creaking axles. Through the dust came the painted yurt of the priests.
On the trail abreast the gathering of horsemen it paused. Once more the gylongs sounded their horns and waited, in the attitude of heralds.
Loosang appeared in the entrance of his tent house. He wore a purple cassock, and his thin face was ghastly, so that the skin seemed yellow parchment stretched over bones.
“The sleep of nine days has ended,” he proclaimed in his high voice. All of the khans except Ubaka—who ranked with the lama—Norbo, and the chieftain of the Bear clan, dismounted and bent to the girdle.
“My spirit, Tatars, has been in the holy places. It has been in the mountains of the Tsong Kappa. I have a message for the Torguts. It is this. Continue your journey; drink in peace of the water you see in front of you; camp on the farther bank of the river. Have no fear but I will lead you to Balkash and the valley of the Ili.”
A murmur of approval greeted this. The khans stood erect, looked eagerly to ward the gleam of water. Zebek Dortshi, well pleased, took snuff.
“By Jove,” thought Billings, “the old conjurer can ride. No wonder Zebek Dortshi was sure of his ground—after he had been speaking with the confounded lama.”
To the Tatars—those who acknowledged the Dalai Lama—the pallor of the chutuktu was ample proof of the long trance to which he had subjected himself.
Norbo, knowing that Billings was a skilled geographer and that Nadesha had set great store by the Englishman’s map, drew forth the chart of the steppe that Billings had made. He showed it to Ubaka, and the map-maker explained their position, pointing out how the Horde had left the route to Balkash.
With a word Loosang dismissed it.
“Here are marks upon paper; there is a river and water.”
The Tatars shouted approval and glared at Billings. But Ubaka, who had been silent, lifted his head with a roar.
“Quiet, dogs! Giaour, have you a token that you have been to Sonkor? For if you have, then this river is verily the Kara-su!”
They snarled, and Zebek Dortshi laid his hand openly on his sword hilt.
“A token?” Billings’ eyes blazed. “By my faith, I have one. It is the message from your boy, Alashan.”
“A boy,” mocked Zebek Dortshi fiercely, “who rides after a girl. Men of the sarga, will you listen to the word of a dishonored Tatar—”
“—who may die at the hand of your enemies for sending this word,” barked Billings. “Alashan warns you that Nuralin Khan and ten thousand Black Kirghiz are in ambush across that river.”
“A lie!”
“Easily proved, my khan. Send patrols into the mountains; and if they come out unhurt I will break my sword and let you cut off my skin, Zebek Dortshi. The Kirghiz were at my heels the last three days.” He swung around to face Ubaka. “They hold your son and Nadesha. The lamas hold them. Loosang has betrayed the Horde to Nuralin Khan.”
Stirred by this, the Tatars mounted instinctively, and each man felt for his weapons. Ubaka’s broad face darkened. His slow brain grappled with the problem while his great hands clenched.
“Proof!” snarled Zebek Dortshi, ignoring the suggestion to explore the land across the river.
“I will give it. Loosang at Sonkor offered the horses and women of the Horde to Nuralin Khan. I heard it, and Alashan too.”
“Mad are you,” said the Khan of the Red Camels, his brow clearing. “For it is known that Loosang has been within that tent—” he pointed at the purple yurt from which the streamers hung, limp and stained—“for nine days.”
“Not so. Alashan stabbed him in the chest when the lama struck Nadesha. Bid Loosang open his cassock and you will see the mark of the wound, fresh and scarce healed.”
Loosang alone had remained calm. To Billings’ surprize the lama slipped the long garment off his shoulders, and opened a heavy, quilted vest as thick as a man’s fist. Over his ribs they could all see the dark red slit in the flesh made by a knife. Billings realized that the quilt had kept the dagger from reaching a vital spot under the ribs. Loosang laid a yellow finger on the seal tranquilly.
“It is true—true—” his high voice broke the silence—” that Alashan stabbed me. True, that the boy was hot with anger because Nadesha, his betrothed, had sought the protection of the gods. Seven days ago, when my body lay in this yurt, the boy and the giaour entered my wagon by force. Many Tatars saw it.”
“True!” echoed the gylongs and more than one chieftain.
“Then Alashan stabbed me and fled. You, Norbo, know of that. You saw him fly from the sacred yurt.”
The old Master of the herds was speechless, confused by the swift wit of the Priest. There was a cry of anger as he f
ailed to deny the charge. Loosang raised his eyes to the sky.
“But my spirit, Tatars, was with the holy ones, at the knees of Bon. So, though my body was cut open, I live. Many times you have seen me cut myself with knives in the rites of Bon, and no harm came to me.”
“Alashan!” A groan broke from the cracked lips of Ubaka. Suddenly his broad face grew purple. “By Natagai—by the shades of our ancient heroes in the sky—by the lights of heaven, you are lying, priest. You are a snake and your tongue poison. I believe the word of my son. Get back from the river, you dogs! Halt the clans! Am I Khan or a worm that lives in dung?”
Zebek Dortshi drew his sword, glancing around him.
“Let the sarga give its decision,” he cried. “Is the council the servant of a mad ox?”
Ubaka rose in his stirrups with a bellow, but Norbo and the chieftain of the Bear clan grasped the reins of his horse. It was too late for sword strokes. Loosang had turned the scales in favor of the Persian. Zebek Dortshi had wheeled his horse and called for the chieftains to follow him to the river.
Sight of the green fields and the shade under the dense forest across the Kara-su were too much for the thirst-tormented Torguts. First one then another put spurs to his horse. The dust rose in clouds.
Riders, who had been awaiting the end of the council, made off full pelt along the clay gullies. Shouts rose and were repeated along the columns of tired Torguts.
“To the river!”
But the yurt of Loosang did not move. A twisted, evil face was thrust close to Billings.
“Nadesha and Alashan,” whispered Loosang, “are in the hands of a band of my followers, who will let them see the slaying of the Horde. Then my trumpets will sound and the head of the boy will be cut off. But you will be taken again to Bon—again to the arms of the god, to Bon, the Destroyer. I wait for that hour.”
With that the priest was gone into his wagon.
A mass of cattle—the last survivors of the herds—came plunging along, joining in the general rush toward water. Billings, the Khan, Norbo and two others who had remained, were forced to mingle with the throng.
* * * *
The clay gullies ended about a quarter of a mile from the edge of the flooded Kara-su. Here the ground sloped down evenly to the river. But on the other side there was a scant two hundred yards of lush grass before the forest set in.
Billings scanned the thick screen of alders that merged into the hemlocks, dense overhead yet clear around the trunks, good cover for an ambush. The hills, as if designed for this event, were rolling, a score of valleys opening into the strip of grass-land by the river.
Almost as soon as it began on the farther bank, the trail vanished under the thickets. He could see no sign of men or weapons in the forest—nothing more than the crows that circled overhead erratically.
Norbo, too, noticed the birds.
“My time has come. This dawn when I looked into the sky I felt that I would be called.”
Ubaka rode with his head sunk on his bare chest. He seemed not to hear.
“The Horde,” he said between his teeth, “that was my grandfather’s and his father’s, even to the great Genghis—the Horde has no longer a Khan.”
The thought that his son had deserted him took all the strength from his body. But the mind of the map-maker was alert. When they reached the top of the slope leading to the water he saw the muskets of the Bear clan, slung over the men’s shoulders, like a thicket. The heavy cavalry had kept together, even in the confusion.
“By Jove,” he muttered, “I’ll make Loosang wait a good while.”
The sight of the orderly muskets of the Bear clansmen had roused him and set his wits to work. There was yet time, and something must be done. Only half of the Red Camel riders had crossed the ford. But others were spreading along the bank of the flooded river, looking for places to cross. Every moment brought more Tatars down from the steppe.
Billings could act only by forcing Ubaka Khan to act. And the chieftain had sunk into a kind of stupor. So Billings set his teeth and stooped down to pick up two fistfuls of gravel. The Khan and the men with him had dismounted.
Without warning Billings threw the dirt into the face of Ubaka. It was perhaps the worst insult he could have hit upon. The Khan started and raised his knotted hands quivering above his head.
His eyes grew red. The next instant, however, his head sank again and the clenched fists beat his bare chest instead of striking down the map-maker.
“Aye,” he muttered, “it is fitting that that dirt should be cast upon my beard.”
Throwing his sheepskin cap on the ground, Ubaka Khan tore at the long scalplock that fell over his shoulders.
“The sarga has turned its back upon me. When I spoke men laughed. It is the end.”
The face of old Norbo writhed in silent anguish at this display of emotion. A Tatar never, of his own will, reveals pain. Billings was amazed by the result of his effort. It shocked him to see passing Tatars laugh at the old man. To them the dirt upon Ubaka’s beard and the hair of his chest was only a proof that Zebek Dortshi was now the leader of the Horde.
Then Billings was filled with a cold rage. It was monstrous to watch a whole army, women and children too, ride to death. His own fortunes he had ceased to think of. Fatigue and the exhaustion of the last ride from Sonkor eclipsed everything but the one idea—to rouse Ubaka Khan.
“So,” he said bitterly in Russian, “you are a woman. You tear your hair and let men spit upon you. Truly they call you an ox. You let a butcher rip out your throat, and you have not courage enough to draw back. Pah!”
The red eyes of the chieftain were dazed.
“Alashan had my honor in his hand. I trusted him. I would have made him a man.”
Norbo laid his hand on Billings’ shoulder.
“Forebear, giaour.”
“Let be, you old dog.” The maker of maps shook off the hand. “Do you want Loosang to make Nadesha a temple harlot?”
Seeing Norbo start, Billings pointed to the heavy cavalry.
“Those men will help you hold back the Kirghiz. The Khan is as good as dead, but you and I are still on our feet.”
“We can give no command without Ubaka Khan.”
“Watch me.”
Billings turned to Ubaka and asked bluntly for the signet ring that was the Khan’s seal of office. Ubaka shook his head, but allowed the Master of the Herds to draw it off.
“Norbo, this is what we must do within an hour. The riders of the Bear clan are here. Keep them in position. Order the women and children of your own clan to the rear and the men here. What are these two others that kept with us?”
“The chief of the Leopard clan and the master of artillery. We have no artillery.”
“Nuralin Khan has.”
Billings thought a moment. He noticed for the first time that the ground upon which the Tatars were deploying formed a kind of half-moon, where the Kara-su curved in its course. They were, in fact, on the highest point of a promontory, faced on three sides by the forest and the hills across the river. All of this ground could be raked by cannon from the other bank.
It was a good ambush, that of Nuralin Khan.
“——,” muttered Billings. “Norbo, send the chief of the Leopard clan to bring up his armed fighters to the top of this slope. Send the women and children and baggage back along the trail. Order the master of your guns to ride far back along your line of march. When he has reached the clans that have not seen the river and do not know what is happening here, tell him to instruct the khans to muster their able bodied men and ride forward with them alone.”
Norbo moved away stolidly with the ring, and presently Billings saw the two Tatars mount and ride off. From a servant who still attended Ubaka, Billings took a telescope and studied the ant-like figures of the Red Camel Tatars. That clan had crossed the river and the men were moving up slowly into the thickets. Fires were being lit here and there. Saddles were taken from the horses, which were grazing eag
erly. Some women were singing.
Boys were gathering brush from the edge of the alders and piling it on the fires. Below him the herd of cattle had reached the riverbank and were churning the water into mud. A hot sun blazed down on the grass—still fresh with the moisture of early Summer. Crickets kept up a chorus that was dwarfed by the stamping of horses, the creak of leather and the cries of children.
Norbo, who had been urging the mounted Tatars to charge their muskets and string their bows, returned and wiped the sweat from his eyes.
“Who can stem the course of a torrent?” he grunted. “The Horde will not hold back from the river.”
The numbers of soldiers around them had increased; but as Norbo said, the momentum of the mass was too great to be easily halted. More came up from the rear, with only one thought—to gain the shade on the farther bank.
“Hark to the crows,” muttered Norbo. “They do not lie—I know, I know. And there goes Zebek Dortshi’s red coat into the pines.”
“The Red Camel clan is lost,” nodded Billings. “There is nothing more we can do.”
Then Norbo raised his hand, and the Tatars looked up. From the forest across the river came the blast of a great horn. It echoed down the valley like a brazen gong. Under the screen of the pines a pistol barked. A second time, faintly, the horn sounded.
“The trumpet of the lamas!” cried Norbo. “Ai-a—men are in those hills.”
All noises had ceased in the Tatar throng. Children looked up at the sky, expecting the sound to be repeated. Men paused in the act of unloading the pack-animals.
In the silence Billings could hear the distant hoa-hoa of drivers coming up with camels from the desert trails. But Norbo and his men heard other sounds, drowned until then by the clamor of people around them. Horses neighed over in the hills; brush crackled faintly here and there.
“Men are in those hills,” repeated Norbo earnestly, nodding his gray poll. “They are coming this way.”
By now Billings could see that the men of the Red Camel clan were gathering into groups. Other clans who had been about to cross the river held back. The lines of riders coming over the steppe were at a standstill. The bronzed faces of the Tatars were intent; they seemed to be trying to smell the air.