by Harold Lamb
Prince Paul and the officers had gone into the tavern. The rest of the crowd followed Platovsky in. No one said anything to Ayub or offered him a glass. Left to his own devices, he put on his coat, shaking his head.
"A fight doesn't warm them up at all," he thought. "They won't talk or offer brandy."
"Hi," the Cossack Chort called out from the door. "The sir colonel wants to see you in his room."
Chapter II The Colonel
Colonel Duncan Stuart, late of Scotland, and long service in the Thirty Years' War, sat in his shirtsleeves by the open door of his stove and nursed a short clay pipe into cool smoke. There were lines about his eyes and his firm lips, and his skin was darkened by exposure to cold and wet, but he was not more than twenty and eight years old. In that age of almost universal war, lads in their teens were given rank, and Stuart had earned his colonelcy.
He spent many evenings alone, a stranger among men whom he did not understand, serving a foreign king for money, as did many another younger son of a Scottish family. He could not respond to the vivacious talk of the Polish gentlemen over their glasses, and at present Prince Paul was in a petulant mood, thanks to the misfortune of the hussar Plato-vsky. Stuart was in command of the military escort of the ambassadors, but he had discovered that all the hussars of the guard were men of noble birth who did not take kindly to discipline.
With frank curiosity he gazed at Ayub, who could not stand upright because the beams of the ceiling were too low for his height. Except for his head, which was shaved, all but the tuft of hair on the crown, Ayub might have been an old Highlander. Just so the men of the northern clans stood—firm footed, hands on hips, open-eyed.
"Sit," he said, motioning toward a bench near the stove.
A peasant would have been dismayed by such an unexpected request, but the Cossack flung himself down, dropped his kalpak on the floor and spread his booted feet toward the blaze.
"Why did you want to fight the soldier? He nearly put an end to you."
"Well, Sir Colonel, we're always fighting the Poles. They call us devils in stinking sheepskins."
"But his Highness, Prince Paul, is an ambassador, and our men do not seek quarrels." Stuart motioned with his pipe toward the east. "You've been in the steppe. Do you know the roads yonder?"
Ayub grinned under his mustache.
"To Hindustan—or the edge of the world."
"To the south—to the sea?"
"Aye, so."
"As far as the city of the Great Khan?"
The Cossack looked up quickly.
"The khan who is master of the Horde and lord of the Krim? Eh, Sir Colonel, the only Christians who have seen the city of the khan are the captives, and they've never come back. Once I heard a man say he had been there, but he lied."
Colonel Stuart reflected for a moment.
"We are going thither."
"Ekh ma!" Ayub laughed. "How?"
"Prince Paul and his Excellency, the under chancellor, are ambassadors from the court of Poland to the khan."
Light dawned upon Ayub. After all, Chort had not been pulling his leg. Off the edge of the world to Satan's city. That was it.
Since the day when Genghis Khan and his Mongol host came out of the East and overran the steppe, and the riders of Tamerlane followed, the khan of the Horde had been master of a corner of the earth, down on the southern sea. In times past the khan's people had been called the Golden Horde, but now they were called the Krim, and they gave their name to the land.1
And the Krim was truly a corner of the earth, for it stretched into the sea so far that only in one place could it be entered upon land. One road led into it over this neck of land, a league in width. And across this roadway of earth, Ayub had heard, stretched a deep ditch, filled with the water of the sea. Only a small wooden bridge permitted men to cross it. A wall from one arm of the sea to the other defended the sea moat, and a stone gate stood at the end of the bridge—a gate well guarded by the Krim warriors. It was called the Golden Gate. He did not know why.
More than this, Ayub knew that the city of the khan was called Bagche Serai, the Palace of the Garden. No snow covered it in Winter. Horses could graze on the nearby plains in every month of the year. The gardens of Bagche Serai were always warm, and there, the Cossacks said, the khan had gathered the treasures of centuries of raiding and the fairest women of a dozen lands.
He had met the riders of the Horde at times when the khan lifted his standard and invaded the steppe. Like wolves the wild Tartars came up from the sea, and like wolves they struck at drowsy towns, slashed and stowed away their loot and were gone again into the steppe. But no army had followed the khan into his lair, and only the sultan of the Turks ventured to call upon him for aid.
"Why does the King of Poland send to the khan?" he asked suddenly.
Colonel Stuart bent forward to take up a glowing coal with the fire tongs. There was an urgent reason why the Poles journeyed to the khan, but this he did not see fit to reveal to the Cossack.
"Our orders are to press on without delay," he responded. "Do you know the road? Is it clear?"
"No road at all, now," Ayub enlightened him. "Only snow trails. When grass comes, it is different; then you could go down the Dnieper to its mouth in boats, or cross the steppe anywhere. Now you will have to feel your way, like a horse crossing a stream."
"Still, the snow is open."
Stuart had been told at court that the khan was the neighbor of Poland, and that once the frontier was crossed he would be in Krim country. He had discovered that there were two or three hundred miles of Winter-bound steppe to be crossed first.
"Aye," said the Cossack dryly, "but it's no Summer garden to pick flowers in. What are your men like, Sir Colonel?"
"Thirty armored hussars of the guard, six Cossacks from the Walla-chian light cavalry with their officer, an essaul, and fifty Tartars of the Dobrudja regiment with their mirza. Then the servants of the ambassadors, a dozen or so."
"Well, you have a little of everything. Only Chort's men aren't Cossacks—they're town Cossacks, used to sleeping in feather beds, who don't stray far from their wives."
The ghost of a smile touched Stuart's thin lips.
"Even so, we are able to beat off marauders."
"Aye, so, in the Polish streets, maybe. Out yonder it's different. The Nogais wander with their tent villages."
"What are they?"
"Tartar clans. At war they follow the khan, but otherwise they do what they like. They're wolves."
"Tribesmen fear the hussars. Besides, would the Nogais attack ambassadors?"
"Will a panther leap from a tree? Only God knows. You have too many sledges. They'll string out like lame cows. Hai, you ought to get rid of half your loads and fill up with barley and chopped hay. Your horses aren't the kind to dig under the snow for grass. But," Ayub added hastily, "don't throw away any of the brandy."
A knock sounded on Stuart's door, and in a moment a magnificent figure appeared, a man in a uniform of sorts. On his arm he carried a white lambskin kalpak; a fur tipped kaftan hung over his broad shoulders and his doublet was laced with bright scarlet; his boots were polished, but he wore no spurs, and from his belt hung a curved Turkish knife instead of a sword. Long black mustaches were brushed upward toward his ears. Ayub had seen his kind before—a heyduke, or servant, dressed like an Asiatic warrior.
"Jackal in a panther's hide," he muttered under his breath.
The heyduke glared, and his mustache moved irresolutely, until he caught Stuart's eye, when he produced a knotted purse and bowed respectfully.
"His Highness," he said loudly, "begs that the lord colonel will accept the twenty silver crowns wagered this evening."
Stuart nodded and tossed the purse on the table. With another bow the heyduke withdrew. As the door closed behind him, Ayub heard a single word vociferated in the passage.
"Animal!"
"Are you in service now?" the colonel demanded suddenly.
"Nay."
"Will you serve me, go with me to Bagche Serai?"
For a moment the seamed brown eyes of the big Cossack gazed steadily into the gray eyes of the Scot. Ayub had taken a fancy to the man called Stuart who had saved him from a hiding at the hands of the Poles. And here was a chance to see the inside of Bagche Serai. What a tale that would be! He could go to the Zaporogians and relate what he had seen. And the chances were that the Poles would get through with a whole skin. They were the ambassadors of a powerful king, and the khan would respect ambassadors.
"Nay, Sir Colonel," he said slowly. "I couldn't ride with the Poles. I'd go along with you, but I don't drink out of the same cup with them."
"No need. I have other duty for you—to ride ahead with a Tartar patrol, mark out the road, select halting places and observe any enemies."
"Tien!" cried Ayub. "That's a tien."
When Stuart lifted his brows, he explained.
"The shadow—that's what you mean. We Cossacks send ahead a light chap on a koulanok—the fastest horse of the regiment. He watches the high grass for Tartars and rides back with word to the regiment. Because he's light and the koulanok goes like the winged fiend, he gets away safe. Hai—I'm no shadow."
Stuart eyed his massive visitor reflectively.
"I have a horse that will carry you, at a pace, too. A black stallion I bought in Poland. As for a sword—"
"Sir Colonel, grant me two more Dutch dollars and I'll attend to such things as that. I have a good saddle."
"Then you will serve me?" Stuart's eyes became penetrating. "You are not a servant, but you will obey my orders."
Ayub rose, bent his shaggy head toward the icon stand and crossed himself on breast and forehead.
"Aye, Sir Colonel. May the foul fiend himself take me, if I do not obey."
Stuart motioned with his pipe toward the purse lying on the table.
"Take that, then. Buy yourself weapons and a good coat. Come to me here, an hour after noon tomorrow. And come sober."
Ayub swept up the purse and his kalpak. "Insh’allum bak Allah," he muttered. "God forbid otherwise."
He left the colonel's room with a swagger.
"Eh," he muttered to himself, "he's a Frank, the little father, but why shouldn't I serve him? He put a sword in my hand—he promises a good horse and gives a purse without counting it."
Ayub himself did not look into the purse, but thrust it into his girdle. He had come to Kudak with the Gypsy's whisper in his ears, intending to lift the piebald horse if possible from the Poles. Now this was not possible, because he had sworn service to Stuart. But the journey to the court of the khan appealed to him more, and he was impatient to outfit himself. When he closed the door behind him he remembered the heyduke and the fine white lambskin kalpak and he decided to add this to his outfit the first thing.
Questing around the inn yard for the officer's servants, he heard voices in the kitchen and thrust open the door. A haze of tobacco smoke hung under the low roof and in this haze on the tables were sitting a half dozen heydukes, making up to the women. These, having finished their labor of the evening, were giggling and exclaiming at the talk of the brilliantly uniformed creatures from the great cities. But when they saw the big Cossack with his hands on his hips, they all fell silent.
Ayub looked from face to face until he recognized a pair of scimitarlike black mustaches, brushed up. This was the one who had called him an animal from behind the door.
"Down on thy face!" he roared. "Bend thy forehead to the shadow of his serene great high Mightiness."
The heyduke glanced right and left and fumbled with his dagger. But some of his companions had witnessed the duel of two hours ago, and the others had heard about it. The heyduke thought better of drawing his weapon.
"Only liste, sir—" he began.
Ayub strode over to him and caught the breast of his tunic in a hand that was like a bear's paw. With the other hand he cuffed the heyduke's ear.
"It is for me to speak and for thee to listen, O thou ditch-running whelp of a she jackal! Only listen to this—" and he swung his fist on the servant's ear, then released his grasp of the tunic and put all his weight behind a blow of the other arm.
Ayub weighed very close to two hundred and fifty pounds, and the heyduke spun from his feet, crashed into a bench and lay groaning upon the sand of the floor.
"Hi, little grandmother," cried the Cossack, "the moon is up and I have had no more than a swallow. Fill me a stone jug of the white corn brandy."
Swiftly—for they feared a tumult in the kitchen otherwise—the tavern women hastened to do his bidding. Ayub picked up the heyduke's white lambskin hat, sniffed at it and tried it on. He thrust it to one side of his skull and left it there, tossing away his own worn hat. He took up the jug, quaffed deeply from it and eyed the other heydukes expectantly. But they sat silent and motionless in their laced velvets and fur edged kaftans, while the brandy crept into Ayub's veins.
"And you also listen," he felt moved to say, "to my words. Here you sit making sheeps' eyes at the girls and emptying your masters' cups. But where will you be the next moon? You will be out on the steppe, d'ye understand, my fleece lambs?
"And what will you be in the next moon?" he went on without waiting for an answer. "Well, listen—out there, in the mists under the moon, Tartar magicians will creep up when you are snoring and they will go around you and around. Your blood will change to ice, and there will be chains around your limbs, although you cannot see any chains. And then, only listen—"
He tossed up the jug and drew several gulps from it.
"Then, while you lie like ghosts in the snow, the riders of the Horde will come, in the mists. You will hear their war shout—'Ghar-ghar-ghar!'— and you will see their lances with the hair tufts under the points so as to catch running blood. You will see their lances sticking into your comrades, and all the white snow will be red as your own pantaloons, my poor heydukes. Then the women of the Horde will come riding up and they will take off your little earrings and your kaftans and cut off your heads and pile them for the vultures to come and dine upon. And then the grass will grow, next thaw, between your ribs. And after that nothing at all will matter, my heyduke lambs, because—" his voice sank to a whisper—"you will be dead."
Even the man who had been cuffed ceased groaning to listen, but when the Cossack ended his prophecy a simultaneous groan burst from their lips. Well satisfied, Ayub corked his jug and went off swaggering across the moonlit snow, on his way to haggle with the Gypsies whom he suspected of stealing his sword. The evening had begun auspiciously, and he lifted his voice in song:
When your bread is warm in the oven, my girls,
When your bread is warm in the oven,
Be quick.
Don’t burn your fingers,
With fire!
His dark figure merged into the haze of mist, and the sentry who had taken Platovsky's post heard his voice grow fainter in the distance:
When a kiss is warm on your lips, my girls,
When a kiss is warm on your lips,
Take care!
Don’t burn your hearts,
For a man!
Chapter III The Ambassadors
A week later Ayub dismounted and thrust his hands into his girdle. Slowly he took stock of his surroundings—on one side a straggling growth of dwarf pines; on the other several log cabins and sheds. The hamlet was deserted and the surface of the snow unbroken.
"The end of the road, eh, brothers?"
"Allah birdui," one of the Tartars murmured. "God gives!"
For a week they had followed a fairly good snow road, running through the fishing villages and the outlying settlements and past the herds of some friendly tribes. Ayub and his four Dobrudja Tartars had had little to do except ask what lay ahead of them, and to select whatever shelter might be had for the ambassadors.
The Tartars followed Ayub obediently, even with respect. He could talk in their own dialect, and when one of them had disappeared fo
r a day— probably to ride back and loot some house—the Cossack had forced him to walk all the following day tied to the tail of his own pony. After that they kept together. And Ayub was now a figure to command their respect.
The Cossack's old coat had been replaced with a long svitza that swung down to his knees. His girdle was a Persian pearl-sewn shawl, and from this girdle hung a long yataghan in a gilded leather sheath, two Turkish pistols, a powder pouch, a knife and a wallet for his pipe and tobacco. How he had achieved all this with twenty silver marks, Ayub did not choose to explain.
"Two of you ride around the woods," he ordered. "Thou, Toghrul, take the horses, and thou, Ahmak, gather up the best wood before the nobles come." The three whose work lay with the horses looked silently at Ah-mak, who had to find wood—a woman's task. Ahmak had been the deserter of a day.
Ayub stared thoughtfully out beyond the cabins at the rolling ridges of ruddy white that stretched to the sky. It was late afternoon, near sunset, and the breath of the open steppe grew colder. Beyond this hamlet the road ended. After this the Cossack would have to ransack his memory for the trails that led south—and cross long stretches of open plain, choosing a route that the sledges could follow. As a forest dweller finds his way through overgrown land by crossing clearings and questing along animal and cattle paths, the Cossack of the plains would have to pick his way by memory over land hidden under three feet of snow.
"These Polish Tartars don't know where to turn their reins," he thought. "The devil! A blind Nogai on a lame horse could take us through."
He trudged over to look at the best cabin. The door stood open, wedged so by a mound of drifted snow. The small horn windows were shut, as always. Ayub entered the single gloomy room and inspected the cold stove. A broken caldron lay on the floor, and the heavy frames of massive beds had been drawn close to the stove. But the quilts and sheet were gone and he could not find any cooking gear.
Nor any clothing. And the rafters overhead were bare. No hams or onions or dried sheaves of corn hung from them. The few furnishings seemed to be untouched, and the holy pictures were on the wall, in their stand above some candles. Ayub took off his hat, crossed himself and went to look at the next log house.