Swords From the Desert

by Harold Lamb

  Without impatience or annoyance he looked at Kushal, who stilled his laughter, and at the Bedouins who had grasped their weapons and risen from their places. For an instant his glance weighed me and passed on.

  "Since when," he reproved the minstrel, "has it been thy wont to mock affliction? "

  Now Kushal's mirth held no guile. He had been amused when the Bedouins took the goblet from him. Yet he had not understood that the shaikh was blind, that the old man had intended no jest. As for the anger of the others, he seemed more than ready to welcome a quarrel. Yet he bandied no words with his companion.

  "Thy pardon, 0 shaikh," he said quickly to the old man. "Verily, by God, a stranger beholding thee and hearing thy speech doth not deem thee afflicted!"

  A little mollified by the compliment, the blind man muttered-

  "Eh, thou wert not born in the tents, songmaker." He turned his head toward the man in the gray turban. "And thou, who art thou in truth?"

  "The son of Ghayur of the northern hills."

  "Then thou art Mahabat Khan." Hastily the blind chieftain rose, calling at his followers impatiently. "0 fools! 0 sons of dogs, ye have blackened my face with dishonor. Ye have eyes and saw not that this lord should be greeted as a guest. Go and kill a sheep and prepare the dish again. Leave the tent!"

  Startled and protesting, the Bedouins laid aside their weapons and went forth to cook another feast. Most of them were children and grandchildren of the gray chieftain, and endured insults from him that would have been cause for a blood feud from the lips of another. The chieftain groped about until he caught the hand of Mahabat Khan, then led him to a seat on the carpet beside him, feeling to make sure that a saddle properly covered with a rug lay ready for the arm of his distinguished guest.

  "I am Abu Ashtar the Blind," he said, "and verily this is a joyful night that brings to me the leader of a hundred thousand swords."

  For Mahabat Khan to have declined his hospitality would have been a great disappointment to Abu Ashtar, who anticipated hours of pleasant talk with a distinguished guest who could speak Arabic fluently. Although he must have been road weary and, as we learned presently, had been involved in a skirmish that afternoon, Mahabat Khan sat by the old chieftain, drinking the tea and coffee brought by the Bedouin youths and sending away his own attendants who came after awhile to seek him.

  Listening to their talk, I came to know that he was a Pathan born, who had sought service with the Mogul as a youth. Abu Ashtar had heard of his deeds, reciting battles unknown to me, and conquests of strange lands. Now in this winter Mahabat Khan desired to see his own people again. He had started off at once, taking only a small following and Kushal.

  And when Abu Ashtar asked it, the minstrel sang to us, low voiced. He also was a Pathan, no more than a youth. The blood on his tunic had not yet turned dark, and his left arm seemed to be injured, for he would not touch the guitar slung upon his shoulder, yet the magic of his voice was such that we listened greedily while he sang of his deeds in one battle and another, and always of the glory of the Pathans.

  He was a youth of fierce pride and heedlessness-a spirit that could no more keep out of trouble than an unleashed hawk out of the air. He boasted often of his skill with the bow and the sword, and yet was master of neither weapon. In battle his recklessness made him dangerous to his foes and himself, for he seldom escaped without a wound. It was a miracle that he still lived-a miracle, indeed, that he liked to sing about. A loyal friend, and an enemy greatly to be feared.

  Hearing from Abu Ashtar that I was a physician, Mahabat Khan requested me to treat a sword cut on the minstrel's arm. Kushal drew back his cloak and showed me a slash running from his elbow joint through the muscles of his forearm-the wound that had soiled his garments.

  After I had drawn off the hastily knotted bandage, I washed it and heated in the embers a broken spearhead that lay in the tent. With this I seared the cut, Kushal smiling at me and praising my skill to show that he heeded not the pain, even while his face blanched. Then I dressed it with oil and bound it up again. With his good hand Kushal slipped a silver chain from his wrist and offered it to me.

  "Nay," I said at once, "we are guests of Abu Ashtar, and shall I take payment for easing thy hurt?"

  "Why not?" he smiled, and added, "perhaps the gift should be gold instead of silver."

  He meant that I might have been offended because he offered too little. When I assured him I would take no reward, he laughed.

  "By my head, Daril, thou'lt never go far at the Mogul's court. There the greatest physicians ask the biggest prices."

  He told me how he had the wound. That afternoon Mahabat Khan's cavalcade had been stopped by a band of Hazaras who demanded a road toll.

  "I told him that the roads were God's," the minstrel cried, "and they responded that we should taste of woe if we paid not the toll. Then swords were drawn and many were slashed on our part and theirs, and the man who gave me this was carried off without his arm."

  "Then ye have beaten off one of al-Khimar's bands," I cried, glad that men had been found bold enough to stand against these robbers.

  Mahabat Khan glanced at me questioningly, and I told him what had befallen me in the Valley of Thieves, adding much that I had since heard in Abu Ashtar's tent. The Pathan lord listened intently and said gravely that he had heard of a veiled prophet in the hills.

  "But not a tax-gathering prophet," laughed Kushal.

  Mahabat Khan asked the old Bedouin if the governor of Kandahar had not armed strength enough to put an end to such exactions.

  "His strength is like a camel's," responded Abu Ashtar with a grunt, "good for work in the alleys and the plain, but no good for climbing mountains. Bism'allah! When the governor sends horsemen after the raiders they catch no one; when he sends search parties into the upper gorges they find no one. When he patrols the roads, the men of al-Khimar wait until the merchants go forth or come a second time and then take thrice the toll, so that travelers take pains to pay the price to the Veiled One without delay."

  "And if they pay not?"

  Abu Ashtar shook his head.

  "At first some merchants who did not pay were put to death in their houses in Kandahar. The men of the Veiled One come and go unseen. Since then no one has refused, until thy coming. As to thee, who knows? Thy great name may safeguard thee, and perhaps al-Khimar will content himself with slaying one of thy men."

  "If he does that," swore Kushal, "he will have made a blood enemy of Mahabat Khan and ye will see the Veiled One torn out of his rocks. Mahabat Khan does not suffer a man of his to be slain, unavenged."

  Eh, it was a little matter, the talk of that evening in the tent of the Bedouins-the compassion of the Pathan general upon the blind man who made two feasts in one night for unexpected guests. Yet I had reason to remember the talk.

  In Kushal I gained a friend. When Mahabat Khan withdrew to sleep, the minstrel insisted I should come to his own tent, a comfortable place well strewn with carpets and robes. Thither the next day while Kushal still slept, after the midday meal had been brought us, came one who cried my name loudly.

  "Lord Daril! Fortune awaits thee."

  This was Sher Jan, my camel driver, and I cursed him for making a tumult in the camp of the strangers.

  "Nay, thou'lt bless me when I have told thee the reason for my coming, 0 my lord. The most splendid of reasons. I swear to thee by all the holy names that I have not ceased to labor for thee in the last night. I proclaimed thy skill in the streets and taverns, and this morning a servant sought me with a message. There is no other physician worth his price in Kandahar."

  This was not strange, because Persians skilled in medicine were more apt to attach themselves to some powerful noble or prince of a reigning family than to shut themselves up in a frontier town. And Arab physicians are much sought after.

  "The message is written," continued Sher fan with broad satisfaction, "and I have it in my girdle. The servant wore clean linen and gave me-" he swallowed hard a
nd twisted his words-"directions how to reach the house where there is need of thee. And that is not all."

  He grinned and stooped down to my head.

  "By God, the summons is from a hanim!"

  He meant either a wife of a noble or a daughter, and this pleased me little. For the hardest work of a physician is in visiting the women behind the curtain. In my land, where my name was known, the Arabs let me look upon the faces and, at need, the bodies of their sick daughters. But in Persia I had been forced to judge the health of an ailing woman by feeling the pulse in the arm she thrust through a curtain, and by a few questions.

  I looked at the missive Sher Jan drew forth-a tiny square of scented paper bearing a few words written in a skilled hand.

  Greetings to the Arab hakim. An afflicted woman hath need of thee and reward for thee.

  "Why was not the summons from the lord of the house?" I asked, wondering.

  "By the Ka'aba! " observed Kushal, sitting up on his rug. "Thou art the first man, Daril, to ask that when a fair hanim summons thee."

  Our talk had roused him, and he stretched his good arm out for the paper. When he had read it he laughed.

  "Allah, what more canst thou wish?"

  "Lord Daril," put in Sher fan, gazing at the minstrel approvingly, "the servant said that his mistress was alone, without the men of her family."

  Then, surely, she was a singing girl or public dancer, for otherwise she would be guarded. Still, the servant or Sher Jan or both might be lying.

  "What is the matter with her?" I asked.

  The camel driver lifted his hands and shook his head.

  "0 my lord, what does that matter? Anyway, she is very beautiful and it is certain thou wilt receive many times the ten pieces of silver. Remember-"

  "Be still, brother of a dog!"

  But it was not easy to silence Sher Jan's tongue. The witless man had determined to see me earn the silver that he thought I owed him and had cried my skill through all Kandahar. Probably he had been given some money to find me.

  "Remember, my lord," he whispered loudly, "to reward thy follower. Take care to make the affliction seem to be a great one requiring many visits and bloodletting, and stiffen the price thereby."

  "Wait, I will not delay thee long, Daril," cried Kushal, calling for his servant. "I must change these soiled things for better ones before approaching a hanim."

  "Thou!"

  "No help for it. Mahabat Khan is talking politics with the governor, and I must escort thee."

  While he spoke he helped his man put clean linen on his slender figure, until he stood garbed in rose-pink brocade that heightened the color of the great emerald in his white headgear. Then he put on an embroidered coat with sleeves and collar edged with soft sable, and around his waist he wrapped a green and gold girdle, taking care to leave the coat open at his breast to show the fine brocade beneath. Then he washed his face and hands in water scented with attar of rose and slipped his feet into pearlsewn riding slippers. W'allahi, never had I seen such a splendid youth! I could not help looking down at my dull black headcloth and heavy brown mantle and dust-stiffened sandals, while Sher Jan walked around the minstrel, grunting his amazement and satisfaction at this elegance.

  I told Kushal that I had need of no escort and that he was clad for an audience at court rather than a visit to a sick woman, and that, in any case, he would not be admitted to the presence of the hanim.

  "If she is really beautiful," he smiled, "I will admit myself; if she is ugly I will go off without troubling you."

  Eh, there was no checking him. On a freshly groomed white charger he galloped all the way to Kandahar, putting my fleet-footed mare to her best paces. He offered to buy the mare of me and, when I refused, to cast dice for both horses. At the gate of the mud wall where some Mogul soldiery lounged, he reined in until they scrambled up to salaam to him, thinking him a grandee of Ind.

  Perforce, we had to wait for Sher Jan and his follower, who had done their best to keep up with us, without avail. They were far down the road. This interval of quiet the minstrel spent in gazing at the bare ridges to the north, red bulwarks against the blue of the sky.

  "Those mountains are like sleeping lions, Daril," he said under his breath.

  The tawny masses did have the shape of crouching beasts, and Kandahar itself stretched up toward them along a ridge, as if one of the lions had thrust a paw down into the plain. Outside the gray mud wall were endless orchards and hamlets of many people, Tajiks, Jews, Baluchis-the followers of the caravan track.

  Inside the wall the city rose, tier above tier, crowning the summit of the ridge, to the yellow-stone citadel where the banner of the Mogul rose and fell in the wind gusts.

  Sher Jan came up, beating his nag that he had borrowed or stolen in the night-and led us through the crowds and dust and kneeling camels of the marketplace, crying out to clear a path for us. Then he turned up the street that led toward the citadel. It was so steep that stone steps had been built at places, a dirt path being left for the horses. But Kushal urged his white charger up the stairs, mocking me when I did not follow.

  Not until we were within arrow shot of the gate of the governor's castle did Sher Jan halt and peer at the walls of houses and courtyards that lined the street solidly on either hand. He quested about, and knocked at the wooden gate of a court.

  The portals opened at once, without question or the barking of dogs. Sher Jan drew back, suspicious at this silence, but Kushal swung his horse aside from the steps and paced in.

  A dozen armed men, who might have been Gypsies or Baluchis, stared steadily at his magnificent figure. They were lying around a fire, shivering under leafless poplars, even in the sun, for the winds of Kandahar came out of snow-filled gorges. Kushal greeted them, and one stepped forward to hold his horse. The one door of the white house behind the poplars opened and a bearded Persian came and stared in his turn from the minstrel to me. Seeing Sher Jan, his face cleared and he hastened to my stirrup, bidding me dismount and enter. But he would not allow Kushal to accompany me, and the minstrel kept his saddle.

  I followed the bearded keeper of the door through a corridor and up a winding stair that ended in a curtain. Here, as if she had been listening for our steps, a young slave appeared out of a niche.

  "The hakim-the hakim of Arabistan," explained he of the beard, and the veiled girl giggled when she salaamed, slipping through the curtain and beckoning me to follow.

  The Persian folded his arms and took his stand at the head of the stair, as if to show me that he would stay there until I left.

  I parted the curtain and went forward, feeling beneath my toes the richness of a fine carpet. Into my nostrils crept the scent of rose leaves and of the incense that smoldered within a copper jar before me.

  The only light came from a round, heavily latticed window by the far corner, and the sun's rays, coming through the lattice, pierced dimly the hanging wreaths of smoke. Near at hand I heard the fluttering of birds, the whirr of wings and tiny scrape of claws.

  "The carpet will not harm thee, 0 Shaikh! Sit, and fear not."

  The voice was young and amused and so low that I barely heard the words above the stir of the hidden birds and splashing of a fountain.

  "Nay, not there; here in the sun," it said.

  So I seated myself under the window, drawing my mantle about me, and the speaker seemed to find more food for amusement in that.

  "What is this? An old gray eagle! I thought thee a physician. Nay, thy manners smack of the tents, and thy sword is an omen of blood, and thy face is that of a father of battles."

  "Can the eye of youth," I asked, "discern the wisdom of age? Judge thou whether I have a physician's skill or no."

  By now I could see a couch under the round aperture, and upon the couch the outstretched form of a girl whose slender feet within touch of my hand were white as jasmine, whose ankles were bound with bracelets of flashing sapphires. Her head, unveiled, was no more than a shadow, beneath the smoke-clo
uded sunbeams. And yet the shadow seemed to be tipped with gold.

  "But all physicians," she cried, "act in a manner that is not thine. Nay, they bow to earth and come forward with ready compliments and rare promises."

  "No doubt they were Persians," I said and she laughed a little, for she spoke in the Persian manner, and boldly, as if she were a woman who knew how to command men.

  "Wilt thou cure me by burning or by letting blood or by purging?" she asked.

  "What troubles thee?"

  She mused a space and said gravely that sleep would not come to her, and sometimes her eyes pained her.

  "Stretch forth thy hand," I bade her.

  I pressed my fingers upon the artery in her slender wrist. In leaning forward her head came more into the light, and I saw that her hair was yellow as sunburned wheat. And the touch of her skin was cool and moist, the beat of the pulse as true and mild as the drip of the fountain. I withdrew my hand.

  "Thine eyes," I asked, "let me see them."

  "The light pains them," she murmured, keeping in her shadow, and beginning all at once to chatter like a parrot aroused.

  She questioned me as to my travels, and the road to Kandahar, and whether I had been robbed. To this I made answer that I had been captive to the Persians, and she clapped her hands, summoning the slave girl who brought sherbet, cold and sweet, and dates, full-flavored and good, like the dates of my land. I thought of Kushal, sitting impatient below, and smiled.

  "Hanim," I said before tasting her offering. "I can do naught for thee. Thy health is good, and to my thinking all that ails thee is curiosity."

  Once or twice before I had been summoned by women who had grown weary of confinement behind curtain and veil-who could go forth only to the mosque and the bath, and wished to hear talk of the world. In the shadow under the incense smoke her eyes dwelt upon me, whether amused or angry I could not know. I was ill pleased to be summoned thus at the whim of a girl, and the insistence of a camel driver; and yet, shameless though she must be, because unveiled, there was charm in the music of her voice.