Swords of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  "My people," explained to the girl. "They are honest folk, O my falcons."

  Vash doubted this. It would bring bad luck, he thought, to follow this girl of the night. Charny, however, let go the girl and leaped down to the raft.

  "I am Yamalian," a gruff voice greeted him. "What would you, Cossack?"

  "I," Charny answered, "am a masterless man from Zarit with a stolen horse, and this comrade of mine is a fugitive who has kissed just one girl too many. Give us bread and salt."

  A chuckle came out of the darkness.

  "Be welcome."

  The Tsigans—Gypsies—being horse traders and singers, were on good enough terms with the border Cossacks, who liked to hear the tales they brought up and down the river. They knew more, even, than the Yiddish

  traders, although how they got their tidings remained a mystery. They drifted over the steppe with their carts and strings of ponies, their hags and children; some of their girls, like Makara who had guided the Cossacks to the raft, were beautiful and fiery in spirit.

  Yamalian had two of his sons on the raft. While the Cossacks ate hugely of his kasha and bread washed down with Vash's brandy, the old Gypsy explained they were on their way south to Astrakhan where they would sell their logs and spend the Winter months when the Volga was frozen. They had tied up to the bank for the night.

  "Now tell the truth," Charny demanded. "What did you steal from the Muscovites down the shore?"

  From the raft the mound with its blazing fire was in plain sight over the fringe of rushes at the shore. Most of Kolmar's man had disappeared, but the women with their boyars and the priest were still to be seen. The Gypsies had not even a lantern on the raft. The only light came from the moon piercing the branches of the oaks.

  "Eh, from them—nothing." Yamalian sounded sincere enough and Makara laughed a little.

  "How did they come?"

  "By boat, in two saiks. This morning they passed the raft, O my falcon. Now the saiks are hidden in the rushes."

  "As you were are hiding in the shadow—why?"

  "Because I am afraid."

  "When was a Tsigan afraid of darkness? And when did nobles of the north journey with their women in open saiks? What kind of priest gives a blessing like a fisherman? Eh, tell."

  "I'm afraid. The fate of every man is in God's hands."

  "Of what are you afraid?"

  The old Gypsy made no answer, but the girl, Makara, said defiantly—

  "The red cock."

  Charny only shook his head impatiently. Vash, who had been chewing sunflower seeds and spitting them out, leaned forward, startled.

  "Eh, the red cock will crow?"

  "Before the first light," assented the girl.

  "Here?"

  "At the fire."

  "What is this red cock," demanded Charny, "and his crowing?"

  Vash felt for the brandy jug and took a long swallow.

  "River pirates," he whispered. "Red hands. After they have attacked and slain, and taken out what they wish, then they kindle up with fire, and the boat goes burning down the river. They say it is the red cock crowing. Allah, we would have had more than bread in our gullets if we had sat down with them."

  Many things became clear to Charny—the two score armed men waiting on the shore, their boats concealed in the high rushes. He wondered why they should sit by a fire and why some of them wore the dress of noblemen.

  "Red hands down from the north," muttered Vash. "But that Kolmar is a nobleman, devil take me if he isn't. What are the women for?"

  Yamalian chuckled.

  "Are you a Cossack, to ask?"

  "But they're dressed up like peasants, and this Lord Kolmar of Astrakhan has on Tartar rags. Eh, why?"

  Makara, who had been watching Charny, leaned forward impatiently.

  "When the red hands work, keep your tongue between your teeth."

  It did not please the stocky Cossack to be spoken to in this manner by a girl.

  "Well," he snorted, "you were spying on them. What did you find out?"

  But she shook her head. Charny, the one who had run her down and thrown her to the ground—who had stolen a horse fit for a prince—was the one she wished would look at her.

  "What is that?" Charny demanded of Yamalian.

  Far up the river a pin-point of light appeared. Presently it vanished, to reappear again.

  "It's a boat, the Kniaz."

  "May the dogs bite me!" Vash clutched at his head. "How do you know?"

  Yamalian did not see fit to explain how tidings of the ship's approach had crept down the river ahead of it. He knew the talk of the river-men, the whispers that passed up and down the broad river—and Makara had ears like a cat.

  "A rich ship," Vash muttered to Charny. "The last one down before the ice closes up north—for Astrakhan at the Volga mouth, with gold and gear, powder and arms and merchants' goods. Hi-hop! The red hands know. They are waiting like wolves." He turned to the Gypsy. "Where's your skiff?"

  In spite of the instant protest of the men on the raft, Vash searched until he found a small skiff tied to the logs.

  "It's devil's work Kolmar and his lads are about," he explained. "There are honest folk on the Kniaz. I'm going to warn them."

  "Nay, Falcon," Yamalian objected. "They have cannon, muskets. What harm to them?"

  "The devil only knows." Vash considered and shook his head. "It's clear those red hands came to wait for them. Now I must go out on the water and tell them to keep away from the fire. Plague take Makara—if it wasn't for her I would not be able to go."

  Charny entered the skiff with him, and a Gypsy took the oars. Yamalian had whispered to him to look out for the skiff. Just as they pushed off the girl jumped in beside Charny.

  "See how she loves you," Vash grumbled. "But it's bad luck having her along on the water."

  The girl, however, showed no inclination to be put back on the raft.

  "Na kdn!" Vash cried. "Make haste."

  They met the Kniaz about a league upriver. First the patch of square sail, half furled, showed in the moonlight and then the blunt bow of the small bark—that was a large ship on the Volga. A great lantern on the break of the afterdeck gave the light that Charny had seen at first. Little air was stirring, and the ship barely had steerage way in the current. A sailor in the bow took soundings steadily, for the shifting channel and submerged islands made the river treacherous.

  "Hai!" Vash stood up to hail. "Who commands here?"

  "Keep off, you swine!" retorted the leadsman.

  Heads began to show along the rail. Light came from the ports of the after castle, and the light wail of a violin ceased. Someone shouted at the skiff in Russian, and a sailor repeated it.

  "Have you a message?"

  "Aye, so. There is danger down by the islands."

  "Come over the side. The serene, mighty lord will speak to you."

  At a word from Vash the Gypsy swung the boat in, and the Cossacks hauled themselves up by a rope to the shrouds.

  They dropped over the rail and stopped, surprised. A seaman held a blazing pine torch close to their heads, and a half dozen soldiers in helmets and breastplates pointed long pistols at them. Behind these guards stood three officers—one the stout Muscovite ship's captain, another a young ensign in a green uniform, and the third a dry little man who held himself stiff as the gold-headed cane he carried.

  "Halt!" he snapped, and put a round piece of glass in his eye to look at them. He said something they did not understand, and the green ensign translated.

  "Tell your names, occupations, your master's name and your business upon the river. But first lay down your swords on the deck. It is forbidden to come over the side with small arms."

  Instead Charny took a step forward.

  "Allah! We have come to warn you."

  The officer of the glass gave a second command, and the ensign explained:

  "I should count four, and if at the count of four you have not laid down your weapons my men will
shoot you. Come now, fear God! One-two-"

  The Cossacks exchanged glances. On land they could ever run for it, but here on the cramped deck with the water behind them they were helpless. With a mutter of anger Vash drew his saber and dropped it, while Charny laid his down silently. The ensign picked up the weapons, and the guards lowered their pistols.

  It seemed to the Cossacks as if the men on the Kniaz were marionettes, bobbing up and down at the pull of invisible strings. First he of the eyeglass snapped out words, then the green ensign sang them out like a parrot, and the seamen ran about or barked orders. Vash peered over the bow and saw that they were approaching the dark blur of the wood where lay the Gypsy raft.

  "Look here, Excellencies," he explained, "the devil himself is squatting down behind that bend. Only listen—"

  Hastily he told of the meeting with Kolmar and his armed band, of the watch fire and the tidings of the Gypsies.

  "May the hangman light my path if they aren't red hands—pirates. If you don't want your hides ripped, keep to the other side of the islands until you are past the fire."

  The dry little man glared behind his glass and snapped out questions as a sap log shoots sparks. He ordered Makara and her brother up from the skiff and questioned them without result, because the Gypsies were afraid of the officers.

  "What is the name of the leader of this band?" He demanded finally.

  "Kolmar, lord lieutenant of Astrakhan." Vash made answer.

  The green ensign scowled.

  "That is a lie. Here stands his High Well-Born Excellency, Franz, Count of Fugenwald, who has been appointed Lord Lieutenant of Astrakhan by his Imperial Majesty, the tsar of all the Russians."

  And he pointed to the erect little German, listening respectfully as Fu-genwald rattled forth more long words.

  "Moreover, His Excellency says to you that he entertains suspicion aroused by your coming. His Excellency has been warned against the outlaws of the Volga, and he has taken steps to resist them. These four car-ronades—" the ensign pointed to two pairs of twelve-pounders in position in the waist of the ship—"are charged with chain shot and iron. My twelve men of the Moscow strelsui are armed with pikes and pistols, and the twenty members of the crew have swords and axes."

  "But for God's sake, go outside the islands. Look!"

  Vash pointed at the tree-covered islets dead ahead of the Kniaz. But when the ship's captain turned inquiringly to Fugenwald, the German ordered him to keep to the inner channel, to pass close to the fire on the mound. Two seamen swung the long tiller over, and the Kniaz turned sluggishly toward the land. Fugenwald and the captain went aft to join a young Russian woman who appeared, wrapped in her cape, at the break of the poop.

  "A lady!" muttered Vash. "Give us our swords and let us go."

  The ensign shook his head.

  "Nay. You two mangy dogs won't sneak off until we find out what your game is. If anything happens here, you'll be hung up on the hooks as a warning to all lawless men." He went to the rail to stare at the fire. "Eh, there are people signaling."

  "What will they do?" Charny whispered.

  It was the first time he had ventured on the deck of the ship and he did not like it.

  "God knows." Vash spat out his sunflower seeds morosely. "These guards are militia—captain's a Russian—commander's a German, and the lady's his wife."

  He looked around into the unfriendly faces of the pikemen, several of whom still stood by the Cossacks with drawn pistols. No love was ever lost between the Cossacks and the Muscovite militia. Unseen by the men, Makara slipped away along the rail and vanished into the darkness of the cabin passage.

  By now the Kniaz was almost abreast of the fire and drawing in toward shore. Fugenwald was holding a spyglass to his eye. Charny climbed up on the spars amidship to see better.

  In the firelight on the bank the two women, the priest and the boyars waved and shouted at the ship. One of the men ran down the mound, as if to throw himself into the water. And the cries of the women became distinct.

  "Aid! Aid for the lost! Take us in, good people!"

  The Countess Fugenwald was urging her husband to send ashore for these castaways who looked like nobles.

  "In God's name!" The voice of the priest came over the water. "We were seized and robbed by lawless men. We have nothing left."

  Shading his eyes from the lantern light, Charny studied the shore. The chests had vanished, and there was no sign of Kolmar or his men. Nor could he see any trace of the long boats. He glanced around for Makara, but she had disappeared.

  Then came a rumble and splash from the bow of the Kniaz. The anchor was down, and the bark turned slowly in the channel, until the sail flapped lazily and it brought up, opposite the fire.

  "What now?" Charny demanded.

  "They've tied the vessel. They're going to send a small boat to the shore to talk to her friends. Hi—wait!"

  But the tall Cossack was down from the spars and up the afterdeck ladder with long strides. Grasping the burly ship's master by the arm, he swung him around.

  "Eh, haven't you a nose to smell a trap? Loose the boat. Take a whip to her."

  Removing his clay pipe from his bearded lips, the Moscow captain pointed with it toward the rail. Seamen stood by the two port carronades with lighted matches in their hands. The pikemen, fully armed, manned the rail, where torches smoked and flared.

  "Where's the trap?" The captain growled. "You've been licking the pig this night, my man."

  "He wished to turn us aside from rescuing these poor souls," echoed the Russian lady. Pearls glimmered softly on the collar that bound her throat.

  Charny went to the rail and stared down. With two sailors, the young ensign was entering Makara's skiff to go to the shore to bring off the priest and the nobles. The ensign stood up, as the skiff pushed into the forest of rushes as high as a man's head along the shore.

  And then with a splash a length of the rushes fell down. Orange flashes lighted the faces of the ensign and the two sailors as firearms roared and smoke swirled. A man screamed, and two portions of the rushes began to move toward the side of the Kniaz, a stone's throw away. Down in the gloom between the fire on the shore and the torches on the ship the two dark shapes drew nearer with oars swinging at their sides, and men tearing apart the screen of rushes that had hidden the two longboats. But the bodies of the ensign and the two seamen were visible, sprawled in the skiff.

  "Sarin na kitchka!" voices roared from below. "Death to the white hands!"

  Then the pirates were alongside the bark, throwing grapnels over the rail, clutching at the shrouds. Pistols blazed up from the side, and powder wreaths dimmed the torches.

  "O Mary, Mother!" cried the Russian woman.

  The captain let fall his pipe, shouting hoarsely. No one had fired the cannon, which could not have damaged the boats beneath them. Fugen-wald, with an oath, clutched at his sword. But his commands, in German, went unheeded.

  Something cold and hard was thrust against Charny's hand, and he gripped the hilt of his saber. Makara had brought it to him, her dark eyes aflame with excitement.

  "Strike, Cossack!"

  It passed through Charny's brain that even the Gypsies could not fly from the ship. They were all in it together.

  "Down with the torches! Shoulder to shoulder. Strike, lads!"

  His voice cut through the tumult, as a sailor with a torch staggered and dropped, his face smashed in with an ax. The remaining torches were hurled down into the saiks, leaving only the great lantern in the moonlight.

  "Back from the rail, you dog-brothers," Vash roared. "Behind the spars with you, bull-tails!"

  The Muscovites pikemen, after discharging their pistols into the gloom— their eyes had been dazzled by torchlight—were struggling clumsily at the rail, their long-shafted weapons of little use against the short pikes and knives of the Volga outlaws. Some of the sure-footed sailors were making good play with axes, but the pirates were coming over the rail with a rush.

&n
bsp; Kolmar appeared in the shrouds, pistol in one hand, sword in the other.

  "Slash the white hands, lads," he laughed. "Ho, women and gold for a frolic!" And, throwing back his head, he howled like a wolf.

  Charny had been snorting and stamping with growing eagerness. This fighting at hands' strokes was to his liking.

  "Make way for a Cossack!" He called, vaulting the poop rail. "U-ha!"

  With both knees and the hilt of his sword he struck a Volga man, knocking him to the boards and slashing his body open below the ribs as he rose, dodging the thrust of a pike. The shaggy burlak raised the short pike to throw it, but the Cossack's saber whizzed, and the curved blade took off the man's hand.

  "U-ha!" Charny's war shout. "Come down wolf, and you will howl—"

  Kolmar had seen his two men fall, men of the Kniaz rallied to Char-ny's leadership. He hurled the pistol that he had just fired and jumped down into the clear space between the end of the spars and the afterdeck. Snarling, he made at Charny, swinging a heavy cutlass.

  Twice he cut at the Cossack's head, and twice he was parried. They were under the lantern, their backs guarded by their men on either side.

  When Kolmar felt the weight of the Cossack's blade, he crouched warily.

  "Fool," he called softly. "There's gold and gear under your hand. Come over to us. To the fish with the white hands!"

  But Charny's saber flashed above his head, dripping blood.

  "Your head will go first to the fish," he retorted, laughing.

  The voice of Kolmar was the voice of the nobleman, and Charny was not minded to trust a voice any longer. He leaned back as the cutlass swept inside his blade, the point tearing across his chest. Instantly the leader of the outlaws cut down at his knees, and Charny jumped.

  "Ho, the Cossack dances!" Kolmar shouted, pressing him.

  A pistol roared near Charny, and he had the stench of powder in his throat. He parried a cut, and twisted his blade along about Kolmar's cutlass, locking the hilts and thrusting up. For a moment the two men strained, shoulder to shoulder, steam rising from Kolmar's yellow head. His utmost strength could not force down the Cossack's arm. But his free hand felt at his belt and rose with a knife.