The Walking Drum (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  “Fool! See Córdoba! See Córdoba and die! One street is ten miles long and lighted from end to end! There is more light there by night than here by day! It has thousands of fountains, scores of magnificent buildings!

  “It has been said there are sixty thousand shops in Córdoba! But before you speak of cities, see Baghdad! See Damascus and Alexandria, and there be those who speak of even greater cities farther away to the east.

  “This…?” he shrugged. “It is well enough, I suppose.”

  Duban indicated a narrow street that turned off to the right, and led the way. The Finnvedens followed us, muttering irritably at their galled behinds and chafed thighs, sore from unaccustomed riding. “Who was the old one you were escorting?” I asked Duban.

  “Abu-Abdallah, a friend to the Caliph.”

  We drew up at a heavy door of oak, bound with straps of iron and iron hinges. On either side was a narrow slit for the use of defenders.

  The door swung open as Duban spoke, and we entered. Immediately, the hot street was left behind. We rode a dozen steps alongside a colonnade bordering a patio. Palm trees grew there, and vines trailed from the garden walls. The air was miraculously cool and pleasant. We dismounted, and a slave took our horses.

  Duban turned to the Finnvedens. “Remain here,” he said, but they began to grumble, so I suggested that I take Eric with me.

  Duban glanced at the ill-smelling pirate and shrugged, then led the way along a shadowed passage. A Nubian slave met us and conducted us to a cool, thickly carpeted room. On the far side sat a plump, bearded man with a round, shrewd face and intensely black eyes.

  He was neither young nor old, and when our eyes met I felt a premonition that this was a man important to me, and not only for the immediate problem.

  He glanced from me to the Finnveden and then came to his feet in one swift, fluid movement. There were muscles beneath that fat.

  “Welcome! Duban, you come too rarely to my miserable house!” He bowed. “May your shadow never grow less!” Eric stood glowering, liking none of this, for with no effort on my part the situation had moved beyond control of the Finnvedens, and I intended it to remain so. That they were suspicious of me I knew, and rightly so, for I meant to have the better of that pack of thieves, and not only for myself but for that courageous village woman whom I had seen dive overboard and swim off toward the shores of Spain.

  “This one has, he says, a message for Hisham ibn-Bashar.” He added with what seemed a warning, “I was escorting Abu Abdallah when we came upon him beside the road. Ibn-Haram was with us.”

  “Ah?”

  Never had I heard so much expression in a word. I stepped forward. The ring of Redwan was upon my hand, the distinctive seal turned inward, and now with a gesture as of greeting I opened my palm toward him. It was a natural movement, and I doubted even Duban noticed its significance. Yet light fell upon it right as Hisham’s gaze touched it.

  “You may speak,” he said, “what concerns me concerns my friend.”

  “It is a matter of ransom, a matter of ten thousand dinars. It is a matter, also, of the daughter of ibn-Sharaz.”

  Duban dropped his hand to his scimitar and moved to face both myself and the Finnveden.

  “I must speak carefully”—I was using the Arabic—“for I am a prisoner also. This man and those outside were sent to guard me, to kill me if I betray them.”

  “A lie!” Duban scoffed.

  “Wait!” Hisham lifted a hand. He asked several questions then, enough to tell him I knew those of whom we spoke. Had I mentioned them in the presence of ibn-Haram?

  “He said nothing,” Duban admitted. “It was most fortunate.”

  Here was some intrigue, and it was obvious they did not want known the captivity of Count Redwan. It was equally obvious that the two were friends to Redwan and enemies to that hawk-faced ibn-Haram, which suited me.

  “What is done,” I suggested, “had best be done quickly. Ibn-Haram was suspicious and might return, discover the ship, and make inquiries.”

  Hisham agreed. “Will your captain honor the ransom? Will he release the captives if paid?”

  “I believe I can impress him that he must. Redwan has worried him by suggesting he would incur the wrath of William of Sicily, but believe me, Your Eminence, Walther is not to be trusted, only frightened.”

  “And if you return, what will happen to you?”

  Briefly, I explained my position aboard the vessel. “I shall have to return aboard, but shall stay no longer than Cádiz.”

  Hisham hesitated momentarily. “Duban and I must talk of this alone. As you may have surmised, this affair has ramifications far beyond a matter of ransom. You and your men will be fed, and we will make a decision.”

  At his handclap a huge Negro appeared and led us to a room far back in the building. Little traveled though I was, the reactions of Eric amused me. At sea he and his brothers were the boldest of that motley crew, but here his boldness was gone, and he stayed close to me, unsure of where even to put his feet. He was a stocky man with small, suspicious eyes and sparse blond hair.

  “They will get the gold,” I told him, “and we shall be returning to the ship tonight.”

  “Ten thousand dinars! It is a great sum.”

  It could do me no harm to remind him. “Walther asked for but three thousand,” I said.

  “Walther is a fool,” Eric said sullenly.

  After we had eaten, we were shown to a chamber where we might rest, and lying awake on the cushions provided, I stared at the ceiling, listened to the sound of the fountain, and wished I could have taken more time to look about. This was the sort of house of which my father had spoken, and magnificent beyond anything I had imagined.

  Now I had thinking to do. First, Aziza must be freed, and Redwan also. Then I must somehow influence Walther to proceed to Cádiz. If he did so, and I knew the crew would be bursting with eagerness to spend their gold where they could get its value, then I would plot to free Red Mark, Selim, and the others.

  To get my money back would not be enough. They had taken months of my life, and for this they would pay. For who is content to get only his capital back from an investment? There must be profit also.

  Cádiz had many advantages. It was one of the oldest ports in the world, called Cades before it was Cádiz, and Phoenician ships had made it a major port before the time of he who is called the Christ.

  If my father, a noted corsair, had been slain off Cyprus there would be some knowledge of it in Cádiz. Long ago my father had taught me to seek information where seamen gathered, for their talk was ever of daring and death, of the far lands and strange seas. There would certainly be talk of Kerbouchard.

  Freedom first, then money. Freedom without money would simply make me a slave of another kind, a slave to a need for food, for shelter.

  It was full dark when the Negro came. “Quickly!” he whispered, “there is no time.”

  Duban awaited us in a small, stone-flagged room. He was dressed in black, and handed each of us a black cloak. He glanced at my sword. “Can you use that?”

  “Well enough,” I said.

  “Ibn-Haram is a man greedy for power, with many followers. He does not wish Count Redwan or Aziza to arrive here, so you may have need of a sword.

  “If Aziza’s marriage is completed, it will unite a powerful family of Córdoba with one equally strong in Sicily, and the plans of ibn-Haram will be ruined. He is desperate.”

  Horses awaited us, and a guard of armed men. Two leather bags were thrown across my saddle, and Durban himself carried two more.

  The alley down which we rode was unpaved, so the hooves of our horses made no sound. A sally port was opened as we approached and closed silently when we had passed through.

  Duban explained as we rode some of the trouble presently existing in Moorish Spain.

>   Aba Ya-cub Yusuf was in power, but many remained loyal to the Almoravids, although they had been deprived of power years ago by the Berber dynasty of the Almohads. Agents of the Almoravids moved among the friends of Yusuf, and no man could be sure who was friend or enemy. Old tribal feuds carried over from Arabia or North Africa still smoldered, for the Arab does not quickly forget.

  The internecine struggles in Spain meant nothing to me, and I wished to keep my head on my shoulders, not lopped off because of some feud that was no concern of mine. My allegiance was to my father, myself, and my future, if any.

  Only our saddles creaked in the night, only the wind stirred. Soon we could smell the sea, a freshness on the wind, a certain lightness in the sky.

  Around me the soldiers loosened their swords in their scabbards, and there was a sitting straighter in the saddle, a readiness for combat.

  The smell of fight was in my nostrils also, for I was young, and youth expects to live forever. Youth has not yet discovered that death recognizes no age limits. Death had brushed my shoulders many times in the past months, but it remained something that happened to others.

  “Ride to the shore,” Duban whispered. “Two of my men will remain with the horses. We—”

  They came suddenly from the darkness, a rushing wall of mounted men. We had only a flash of warning before they were upon us, the pound of hooves, the sound of tearing earth, a clash of swords.

  4

  SCARCELY HAD MY feet touched ground before they were upon us, knocking me backward into the brush. As I scrambled from the brush, sword in hand, I was attacked by a huge bearded fellow in a coat of mail, who swung a wicked blow at my head. More from the impetus of my rush than skill, I went to one knee and thrust blindly upward, my point taking him in the armpit below his uplifted blade.

  He screamed, and his falling ax but narrowly missed my skull. He screamed again and jerked free, reaching for the knife he carried, but my following slash laid open his throat from side to side, and he staggered off, clutching it with both hands.

  Someone sprang upon me from behind, and tripping over a body, I fell, throwing the man from me. My outstretched hand dropped upon a sack of gold, and with rare presence of mind, I grasped it, rolling over into the brush. My attacker’s descending blow with a battle-ax caught in the limbs above me, and my thrust entered his belly.

  The unexpected onslaught had found me fighting blindly and without skill, with no thought but to survive. Around me all was a confusion of plunging horses and fighting men, clanging steel and the cries of the wounded.

  The sack of gold brought me to my senses, for this was no fight of mine. Swiftly, I searched about for the other sacks and found them. They were of leather, strongly made to carry gold, and I gathered them to me.

  The fighting had moved off some thirty or forty yards where Duban and his men had gathered. Of the Finnvedens I saw nothing and cared less.

  Grasping around for the last sack of gold, I found it, but along with it were a face and another reaching hand. In the next moment the man was up and striking at me, but I butted him in the face, feeling his nose crunch, and then I struck him with my fist as the old Greeks were wont to do. He fell, and groping for my sword, I recovered it and crawled into the brush, taking the gold with me.

  The battle waged furiously for several minutes while I fought to catch my breath, then the fighting broke off, and there was a rattle of retreating hooves.

  I remained still. Nearby a man moaned, but I made no move. In this group I was a man without friends. I was alone. Also, I was thinking, unless this gold reached the ship, there would be no freedom for Redwan and Aziza.

  My clothing, which I had worn with pride, was smeared with dirt, blood, and leaves, but I seemed unhurt, a fact due more to luck than skill.

  An hour passed. Soon it would be growing light. How many others might be lying about waiting for the light, I could not know.

  Considering the gold, I thought how easily it might be concealed, and after the confusion when all had left the scene I might find an abandoned horse and ride away with ten thousand dinars. It was a princely sum to one in my condition, but there was a matter of self-respect. And of course, there was Aziza.

  Honor can be a troublesome thing, but if one has it one does not lightly yield it.

  Now, without the aid of Duban, I must negotiate the release of Aziza and Redwan.

  One of the sacks had been slashed by a sword, and I bound it together as best I could, and retrieving the few coins from the leaves, I stowed them in my pockets. Then, with utmost care, I eased myself through the brush and down the slope. Several minutes later I found myself at the edge of the sand.

  Beyond the sand the sea curled its foaming lips upon the shore. Nearby I heard movement, somebody who stumbled and almost fell. Hastily, I buried the sacks of gold, then I emerged, sword in hand.

  The walker was Eric, and with him one of his brothers.

  His nose was broken and one of his eyes swollen shut. So he must have been the one I had butted in the darkness! Taking hold of his wounded brother, we three staggered to the beach and hallooed the ship.

  After some hesitation while the Finnvedens sat upon the sand, a boat shoved off from the ship. Walther was in it. He did not look pleased, just sweating and evil. It was gold he wanted, and not us. “The dinars? Where are they?”

  Keeping a sword’s length from him, I made no move to sheathe my weapon. “The girl? Where is she? And Redwan?”

  “They are well,” he said impatiently, “but where is the gold? Is that what you bring back to me? Naught but blood and trouble?”

  “I have the gold. Bring them to the beach.”

  He stared at me, his eyes mean with feeling. “Who do you serve? Me or them?”

  “I serve myself,” I replied coolly, “but it was the bargain. They must be freed.”

  “You speak of gold, but what proof have I?”

  Reaching into the pocket behind my sash, I showed him several coins. “There is a sample of it, but you must be quick, for soldiers are coming!”

  “Bring the gold to the ship, and we will free the prisoners.”

  I was very young, but not that young. I smiled mockingly. “When the prisoners are ashore you shall have the gold.”

  He did not like my words, and he liked me less. Nor was he pleased by this new independence of mine. He stared a moment, sullen with anger, then he went to the boat, taking the Finnvedens with him. I remained alone upon the shore.

  They seemed to take a long time. The sun arose behind somber clouds, and finally the boat came with Redwan and Aziza in it. The giant Cervon was there, as well as a dozen others, armed and ready.

  As we moved back from the beach, I explained what had happened. “You are not safe,” I warned Redwan. “When they have the gold they will try to kill you and take back Aziza.”

  Cervon was coming toward us, and two others were closing in. It was she they wanted, of course. They would kill Redwan, and me also, and tumble her there upon the beach.

  My plan had been to have Duban there with a line of fighting men. Instead, I was alone. Yet I had a memory.

  A memory of a broken box upon the sand and men scrambling for gold.

  “Wait here,” I said to Redwan, “I will get the gold.”

  They started after me, but they stopped when I began to climb the steep slope. Up there an arrow or a stone from a sling would bring me down, and they were a lazy lot.

  “I shall be quick,” I said, “but you must be ready.” I did not look at Redwan, but my speech was for him. “The men who fought last night will return in force.”

  Digging out the sacks, I took them to the steep edge, then returned for the rest. I threw two sacks down the hill, but the third I deliberately threw against a sharp rock. The sack split, scattering the bright, bright gold.

  Men cried out and r
ushed forward, scrambling for the gold coins. Redwan caught Aziza by the hand and fled.

  Sword in hand, I started down the hill, but suddenly Cervon saw the girl fleeing, and with a shout he started after her, others following.

  Walther shouted and followed after them. One man let fly an arrow that struck Redwan’s helmet. He fell.

  He staggered up, shouting at Aziza to keep going, but Cervon was rapidly overtaking her until I cut through the trees. He caught at her dress, and the flimsy material tore in his hand.

  Catching his arm, I flung it aside. He grabbed at his sword, but I was having none of that and ran him through the body. He fell, the great bloody mass of him, and Aziza paused.

  “Run!” I gasped hoarsely. “Into the trees!”

  Redwan caught up Cervon’s sword. “Into the trees!” I repeated. “Hurry!”

  They started, but then there was a great rush of feet from down the slope, and something struck me hard behind the ear. I grasped my sword and turned to face them, but then a wave of darkness swept over me and I fell.

  * * *

  —

  WHEN I AWAKENED it was to movement. The earth was moving, or I was in a litter. My skull throbbed heavily. The surface upon which I lay rose and fell.

  The sea. I was at sea again.

  It was late dusk, the sky overcast. I was lying on the afterdeck and could hear the slow, measured beat of the oars. A toe prodded me. “Get up!”

  Walther…he was alive, then.

  Staggering to my feet, I lurched against the bulwark. My eyes opened…Aziza?

  My head throbbed like an enormous drum. Walther was staring at me. “She got away! It was your doing!”

  Our Breton gods had not given me a quick brain for no reason. I had the sense to act amazed. “I got the gold for you! Was not that the bargain?”