Swords From the Desert

by Harold Lamb

  And he, too ran down the stair, shouting that they had been betrayed by the Greeks.

  "Look!" whispered Irene.

  With half the men running from this stretch of wall, the Venetians were gaining the upper hand. An old shaikh led them now, beckoning with a long straight sword, bareheaded. His hair was white, and his long black cloak whipped about his lean body. I have heard it said that this Shaikh was the chieftain of all the Venetian warriors, by name Dandalo, the Doge.

  Once they gave way, the Greeks broke and fled, and a new banner was hoisted on the nearest tower-a gold banner with the semblance of a lion. As far as we could see along the wall the Venetians were swarming and shouting.

  Eh, it was indeed a miracle, that ships could have carried a city wall. Except Menas had drawn off his men, the matter might have ended otherwise. But it happened as I have said.

  And more than this happened. We could see the array of the Franks drawn up along the distant shore, and the glittering host of the Greeks that emerged from the gates to give battle to them. At first I thought that Menas had taken off his men to join this host. Yet the time did not suffice, and it were folly to yield the wall of a city, to sally from the gate.

  No man knew what Menas was doing, or why. But the standards of the emperor, Murtzuple, were in the center of the Greek host on the shore.

  The mist had cleared away, and the sky was a clear blue. The host of the Greeks was shaped like a horn, with the ends projecting far beyond the line of the Franks. My eyes are good. I saw the archers of the Franks advance-they moved, it seemed, like midgets crawling across a giant stage.

  This was the moment when the wings of the Greek host should have closed on the flanks of the iron men, and buried them under numbers. But the horsemen of the Greeks were all in the center, and the far-stretched wings waited to watch.

  Slowly the knights of the Cross, the iron men, formed in line, mounted, with spears upraised. They meant to charge the Greek center.

  Then a trumpet blast sounded from beneath the glittering standards of Murtzuple.

  Aye, we heard the blast-we upon the wall. There were many trumpets and all the Venetians were standing in silence at gaze. So were the Greeks on the housetops. Then the Greek host began to move, slowly at first.

  It moved back toward the gates, instead of onward toward the Franks. The trumpet call had been a signal to retreat.

  What had happened? The All-Wise knows! Perhaps the Greeks, despite their numbers, had lost heart-perhaps Murtzuple and the grandees had seen the Venetians carry the sea wall and feared for the city. Yet I, Khalil el Khadr, beheld fifty thousand flee before ten thousand, with not an arrow sped, not a sword bared from sheath.

  And now the vulture of misgiving ate at my heart. I had taken under my protection this maiden, clad in the garments of a young grandee. What was to be her fate? I could not leave her, and how could one sword protect her?

  For the vials of wrath and fear had broken upon the city. Greek companies-and they of my lord Menas's command-were hastening tardily to attack the Venetians, who diverted them by setting fire to wooden buildings in the nearest alleys, using the same casting machine and naphtha jars that we had watched. Smoke spread under the sun like a veil of ill omen.

  We were climbing the narrow streets to escape from the wall. And on every hand was heard the wailing of women. From their dark holes the vagabonds of the city rushed out, to tear at rich garments with their claws.

  "Treachery!" A Greek captain lashed his horse through the beggars, and shouted, striving to make his way toward the gates on the far side, where was neither fire nor mob. "The emperor hath betrayed us!"

  His charger stumbled and staggered, and a ragged man slashed a knife across its tendons. The horse screamed and fell, the officer falling among the beggars, who closed over him silently. As rats swarm over a bit of meat, jerking and tearing, so these foul creatures rent the Greek among them, until his voice was no longer to be heard.

  I threw my cloak over Irene and hastened up wooden stairs that led out of the darkness of the alleys. Smoke was thick in the air and others were pushing and thrusting to run past us. So were we borne by the mob, through a throng of Greeks, into a great open space.

  And here was half-silence and the heavy breathing of a multitude, and grating of iron mail and stamping of horses. Armed men were standing in some formation throughout the registan. There were restless Tatars and red-robed spearmen and-in advance of a group of mounted nobles-my lord Menas.

  He bestrode the white charger from the imperial stables, and the horse was caparisoned in purple, like an emperor's mount. The baton held in his left hand and resting on his knee was tipped with a gold crown, and he was speaking to the multitude. The warriors in this place were his. And then I remembered Arbogastes' words, that they were to muster in the Forum of Theodosius.

  "-It is an hour of danger, good people"-so the voice of Menas proclaimed from afar off-"yet it will pass. Behold, my companies go to drive the Venetians from the wall! Behold, my power is mustered here!"

  He stretched out his right hand as if offering a gift.

  "The imperial city is unconquerable. The Franks are few and foolhardy. Except for the cowardly flight of your former emperor, Murtzuple, we should have driven the barbarians from the coast. We can still hold the hills-aye, even while I speak, Greek hands are tearing the Lion of Saint Mark from yonder tower."

  The listeners who had climbed upon the pedestals of the statues and the balconies of the houses craned their heads and shouted, some one thing, some another. The truth was that no one could see through the smoke.

  "My Northmen hold the Galata gate!" Menas raised himself in his stirrups, as if his eyes could see all this. "0 my people, these barbarians shall never enter the grounds of the thrice-to-be revered patriarch or set hand upon the holy altar of Saint Sophia. The prince, Alexius, whom they would set over you as lord, is no more than a dupe-your churches, your souls they seek to enslave under the Latin yoke. I have foreseen this."

  Shouts arose anew from the grandees clustered behind him. The Lord of Ships had the biggest voice.

  "Take arms-follow the Domastikos, who remained to save you when the emperor fled!"

  Others began to make outcry:

  "Blessing be upon Menas, the savior! Who is mightier than Menas?"

  Those who stood behind me began to push and strain to get nearer, and someone cried that Menas should be made emperor. When men are frightened they will follow anyone that stands firm, girdled in courage.

  "Menas reigns! God and the Emperor Menas! "

  The nobles about him began to scatter silver and gold coins into the mob, and the shouting became so great that he could no longer be heard. His warriors tossed their spears and the people in the balconies wept and threw down flowers.

  And yet his words were false, and he alone had betrayed the city, hoping in this hour of calamity to win the throne.

  He had withdrawn his men by order from the wall. Surely he had known the fruit of that, because he had been looking forth. Aye, instead of hastening to the side of the emperor, he was buying the mob by coins and words.

  The crush about us was so great that I stooped and lifted the girl Irene by the knees, bidding her climb to the pedestal of the statue against which we had been forced. Others were sitting on the marble block, and she stepped up to the figure itself, sitting upon its knee and swinging her feet, smiling down on the Greeks, who cried out applause-believing her some noble's son trying to gain a clear view of the new emperor. Menas himself glanced toward her, but knew her not.

  The statue was of gilded stone-a powerful man, unclad, sitting with tense muscles, and frowning. It was a pagan god called Hercules, and it seemed as if he were angry at the fickle Greeks.

  And then, as if the ancient gods of the pagans had spoken aloud, the shouting and rejoicing in the registan ceased. From one of the streets uprose the roar that has one meaning, and no other. It was a thunder of hoarse voices, a steady clanging of steel an
d crashing of hoofs upon flagstones.

  It was still a long way off, yet it came nearer. Out of the maw of this street ran a tall man, with the mail hacked from his bleeding shoulder, hel- metless and unarmed. He was a Northman, and the throng made way for him until he could catch the eye of Menas and make his voice heard.

  What he shouted I know not, but no messenger of good tidings came ever thus.

  He pointed behind him, and Irene stood up, her cheeks flushing red.

  "The Franks!" she cried. "Give way, ye Greeks, before the Crosses!"

  In that moment my lord Menas showed himself no leader of warriors. There was need of an instant order, and a clear voice. Yet he turned his head to speak with this noble and that.

  When he should have spurred forward his horse, he let fall his rein. And when that moment had passed, the multitude began to make itself heard again.

  "The Franks! The city burns! "

  Some began to slip away, and blows and cries of pain were heard. By now I could see the iron men.

  They were pressing steadily down the street, driving remnants of the northern warriors before them. Their steeds were accoutered in mail, with glistening headpieces. Their long swords flashed up and down, and their faces were hidden behind nasal and vizors.

  With shields-battered and stained-before their bodies, and with deep shouts of triumph, they emerged from the street into the square. Some of the Greek spearmen faced about and dressed weapons, looking first one way, then the other.

  "Ekh, brother," grunted a Tatar at my side, "this hay will be cut by those reapers. There is loot on the other side of the city."

  He made off, and others followed, sparing not the mob in their way. In another moment thousands of men were trying to run out of the square and the flame of fear took hold on their souls.

  "Wo!" cried a soldier, beating about with his sword. "We are surrounded."

  The worst of all fears is that of peril, unseen, at a man's back. The multitude of slaves and common men became a tide, rushing and swirling, seeking its way from the forum. And to escape the clutch of this tide, I leaped to the pedestal of the statue.

  Eh, the scum of the city ebbed away from the man they had acclaimed emperor, disappearing down every alley and stair until only the red-cloaked spearmen and the mounted Greeks stood between Menas and the fury of the Franks. The mailed riders plunged into the confused ranks of Menas's followers as strong men leap through surf, and though they were few, their weight and the terror of their swords opened a way for them. I touched the girl Irene on the knee.

  "We can abide no longer. Come!"

  But, standing on the thigh of Hercules, she was staring eagerly at the combat, and when I urged again she shook her head angrily. Go she would not.

  Nor did I go from the place. Verily it is written that a man's grave is dug in one spot, and in that grave shall he lie at the appointed time. It had come into my mind that I had sworn to my lord Menas to stand at his back and defend him if his life was assailed.

  Though his followers had set upon me, he himself was not proven forsworn. Though a man flee from peril, he may not rid himself of the stain of a broken oath. I climbed down from the stone and made toward him.

  A little while ago there had been two thousand Greeks about Menas. Between them and twice a hundred Franks, the struggle had been doubtful. Now the French and Flemish archers were coming out on the balconies-from the houses they had entered to loot-and had put aside plundering to send their shafts into the close-packed spearmen.

  Nay, they picked out the knights on horses, and emptied saddles swiftly. The Lord of Ships rose high in his stirrups with two arrows through his throat, and the Greeks gave back toward the statue of Hercules. More of the Franks trotted into the forum and charged with their battle shout. I reached the Domastikos and took his rein.

  "My lord," I cried, "there is a way to safety down those stairs. Dismount and take with thee the servants of thy household. Give me fifty chosen men, and I will hold the steps."

  His cheeks were bloodless, and his fingers fumbled with the chain at his throat. He was as if stunned by a blow on the head, without voice or will. Then his eyes lifted and gleamed with purpose.

  My lord Menas had recognized the barbarian girl. And in that moment of calamity he caught at two of his riders, crying out to them to take the Frankish maid and carry her down the steps.

  They went with misgiving and backward glances.

  "My lord," I cried again, "thy men give way. Is this a time to think of women?"

  Yet his eyes were fixed on her, and he was voiceless, a shackled slave. He nodded at me and smiled.

  "Nay, Khalil, thou hast led her to me."

  Then he groaned as if feeling the sting of a wound. His two nobles were near the statue, but before them now was a Frank. And surely the horse this warrior bestrode was Khutb.

  I cursed the Bokharian who had without doubt offered the gray horse to the first knight of the invaders, for protection. This knight rode as one accustomed, with mailed knees gripping tight and a loose rein. Eh, the horse responded to his touch.

  He reined between the two Greek nobles, and took the sword stroke of one upon his long shield, slaying the other with a sweep of his straight blade. Wheeling Khutb in a whirl of dust, he parried the heavy blow of the surviving Greek and swung up his sword. The Greek flinched aside and fled.

  The men who had pressed around me were gone. There was heavy dust and smoke in the air, and a great outcry. I could no longer see Menas.

  Anger gripped me, at loss of the horse, and I ran forward, catching the rein of the Frank as he lowered his sword.

  "Dog of a Nazarene," I cried, "the horse is mine, and if there is aught of honor in thy soul, thou wilt dismount and let the sword be judge between us."

  Now in my haste, I had spoken in my own tongue. Half his face was hidden by his vizor, but I saw his lips smile.

  "The steed is mine," he made reply in Arabic, "and I will prove it upon thy body, 0 son of Yamen."

  And he cast himself from the saddle. Striding toward me, he let slip his shield, seeing that I had none. So I knew him for a brave man-aye, and soon I knew him for a swordsman.

  His blade was lighter than most Frankish weapons, and his long arm lashed out so swiftly, I gave ground. Once I parried, and he beat down my arm.

  For a space we struck without ceasing, I striving to slash within the other's arm, yet there was no evading his sweeping stroke. The mail links on my shoulder were hewn through and I could feel the blood running against my ribs.

  Again I gave ground and as he strode forward I leaped, striking at his neck. My blade met steel that was not yielding. And I, Khalil, stood weaponless, my scimitar clattering on the stones. The Frank had struck it from my hand with his sword.

  "Yield thee, youth!" he said, and again his lips smiled.

  I had been too sure of my swiftness, too certain of my strength. Eh, I made the head bow of submission, saying-

  "This also was to come upon my head."

  And then Khutb, who had been standing near, walked up to me and thrust his nose against my hand. The Frank threw up his steel vizor and loosed the coif at his throat.

  I looked into his eyes and behold, he was of my height, and his skin was dark as a desert man's. His eyes were blue, and clear, and surely his age was no greater than mine. Moreover the damp hair at his brow was black. On his sun-stained surcoat there was no device, but upon the shield he had thrown down was a red cross, greatly scarred and stained.

  Still I looked at him. He had been riding Khutb, and a thought came to me.

  "Art thou the Lord Ricard, from Palestine?" I asked.

  "Aye so," he assented, "I am Richard from Palestine. Who art thou, to cry my name?"

  "Thy prisoner, Khalil el Khadr, chief of a thousand blades. Nor will I cry aman to thee, so slay if thou wilt."

  He glanced around and sheathed his long sword, then folded his arms, planting his feet wide, to consider me, smiling.

  "Was
the horse thine, 0 Khalil?"

  "He was. I stole him from the mock-emperor, and that jackal of a Bokharian gave him up to thee."

  "Aye so."

  "And now have I a word for thee. The Frankish maid who waits thy coming is yet unharmed and unscathed. But it is a task of tasks to shield her, and-go thou and speak to her."

  He followed my eyes to the statue, where the barbarian girl was standing, half hidden by the smoke.

  "That is the daughter of the castellan of Edessa to whom thou didst give the gray kohlani as a betrothal gift." I judged that he was surprised beholding her in youth's garments, for he looked again at me, narrowly, and again at Khutb.

  "Come!" he said. The Lord Richard was a man sparing of words. Striding toward the statue, he came to stand beneath it and that elfin Irene smiled down at him. Though she wore cloak and vest, tunic and pantaloons, her beauty was none the less for that.

  The cold blue eyes of my lord Richard glowed, and he caught his breath. His two hands he held up to her, and she leaped down. Gently he placed her upon her feet, nor did he take his hands swiftly from her waist.

  It seemed that she, who had been glib of tongue with me, was stricken with his silence, for she lowered her eyes and answered hardly at all, though he questioned her. What passed between them was in the Frankish speech, and to this day I know naught of it.

  My lord Richard paid no heed to what went on, to right or left. His lean, dark cheeks were flushed, and when he turned upon me there was a mask of anger or sorrow on his face. He beckoned up an archer who had been loitering near, and spoke with him.

  "0 Khalil," he said, "who is that al-comes?"

  I looked where he pointed, and beheld Menas, no longer Domastikos, no longer emperor, but captive on his white horse, with a hundred other Greeks-all surrounded by staring and jesting Frank men-at-arms. And all of them bore a red cross on their shields. For this reason I judged them to be the followers of my lord Richard, and verily this was the case.

  "He," I made response, "was emperor for an hour-between the flight of the Greek host and thy coming. Before that he was Menas the Domastikos."