by Harold Lamb
I saw then that Mahabat Khan had taken his stand in the entrance of the cavern. His sweeping blade barely missed Shamil. But four Pathans were pressing in upon him, Artaban roaring his war shout, the foremost of them.
My eyes searched the cavern for a glimpse of al-Khimar, but in vain. He had vanished. And yet I saw one thing that was most precious. The beam of the lantern, which Shamil had dropped, struck against a cleft in the rock wall at the back of the cavern. I saw that the cleft was wide enough for a man to pass through and that the ground lay upward within it.
Mahabat Khan was engaged too closely with the four hillmen to withdraw. The mouth of the grotto was perhaps seven paces wide, and they were trying to slip past him to take him from the sides. Verily, the Sirdar seemed to be two men, bending from side to side, parrying and slashing with an arm of steel. With a quick thrust and snap of the blade he disarmed one of the Pathans. Nay, he did not cry out his name or make any plea for mercy.
It would have been easier to check a wolf pack by prayers. I made up my mind to join him and fall, if need be, with a weapon in hand, when Artaban began to shout at his companions to stand clear.
"Aside ye dogs! I will make trial of him, and the Veiled One shall see his blood run."
The Pathans to right and left of the one-eyed chieftain gave back, and Artaban sprang at Mahabat Khan alone. Between the faint glow of the outer fires and the radiance of the lantern their figures loomed half seen-tall forms that swayed forward and back while steel grated shrilly. Eh, it lasted no more than a moment.
Artaban slashed fiercely and the Sirdar caught the descending blade upon his hand guard. The steel snapped and flew against the rock. Artaban bent low and drew from his girdle a long pistol. Stepping back swiftly, he pulled at the trigger and the flint snapped down.
Many times have I seen such weapons snap without roaring, yet fortune favored the Yuzufi, for the pistol bellowed. I heard the bullet flatten itself somewhere upon the rock, and Mahabat Khan suffered no hurt at all, while black smoke swirled through all the cavern.
"Back!" I cried to him, seizing this instant of quiet, while the Pathans were peering into the smoke. "Here-"
He turned and ran toward me, and I snatched up the lantern. To light his way-there was no time for talk or hesitation-I ran into the cleft, finding it so narrow that the sides brushed my shoulders.
The ground was firm beneath me, and the lantern showed the marks of many footprints. For perhaps ten lance lengths I went up, the crevice growing wider, until I stood within a second rock chamber.
"Set the light down-there!" Mahabat Khan pointed with his sword tip, and took his stand at one side of the entrance.
Before doing as he commanded I turned the light in all directions. The walls were of the same red stone, ridged and crumbling, as the outer cliffs, yet darker. Space and darkness lay above us, and I saw no end to this place. Near my feet lay several blankets, a water jar and the stained leaves of a Koran. In truth we had come to the nest of al-Khimar-a place of cold and darkness.
"Good!" laughed Mahabat Khan, breathing a little quickly.
When I had listened to the muttering of the Pathans in the outer cavern, I whispered to him that it would be better to go away. Shamil was urging them to follow us, and Artaban and others were grumbling. Verily, their fear of al-Khimar served us well, because the hillmen were reluctant to enter the cleft where the dim light showed. We had vanished in the smoke; they had no love of this maw of the cliff. In a little while Shamil might persuade them to go forward, perhaps by leading them.
"We can hold this corridor," the Sirdar mused.
"And gain what?" I asked. "Nay, without water or food, it would avail us nothing."
He considered and nodded.
"Is there a way out?"
"God alone knows. Let us go and see."
After looking down the passage, he felt in his girdle and drew out a little wooden tube, the same in which Baki had sealed his message. He looked at it and tossed it down the cleft. "A bone for Shamil to gnaw on! Come!"
Picking up the lantern he shook it close to his ear to hear how much oil might be in it. Then he grinned and strode back into the depths of the cavern, I following. It was needful to go quickly or not at all.
It was a strange path, that in the belly of the mountain. Indeed, it seemed to be no path at all, but a goat's track that squeezed through rock walls and ascended from ledge to ledge, and once ran along a bridge of stone over a crevice that had no bottom at all. Here the air rushed up, and the flame of the lantern flickered and died down, so that I breathed not until Mahabat Khan sheltered it in a niche between two boulders.
He said that water had made this passage through the heart of the mountain, and showed me how the surface of the rock was worn, and how the very boulders were round and smooth.
At times we were forced to quest about and choose among many passages. The thought came to me that we might have chosen wrongly, and were lost in this cursed place; but Mahabat Khan was only concerned about the oil in the lantern, lest it fail and leave us in darkness. We were walking swiftly through a long corridor when a thought came to me.
"Bism'allah! The Veiled One must have gone before us."
Mahabat Khan looked at me. "Eh, Daril, I wonder if Shamil is not the prophet? Hast thou seen the two, at the same moment?"
I pondered this and shook my head. Verily the veil might have hidden that red beard. I suspected that al-Khimar really came forth and ate and slept among the Pathans, unknown to them. Other rogues had played that trick before. Among them, al-Khimar would be no more than a hillman, listening to their talk. Then, slipping into the cavern, he would put on his clean garments and the green headcloth and the veil, and come out upon his speaking place. Only at times did he appear thus.
"But the voice," I sad, "the voice was different."
"Even a common singer can do that," he reminded me.
"In the cave, when the light appeared, the voice seemed to come from behind Shamil."
"True," he nodded. "That is a more difficult trick, yet I have known conjurers to throw their voices elsewhere." He thought for a while. "By a gesture or little thing a man is known. What sawest thou of al-Khimar?"
"That he had a light skin and fine eyes-that he is slender in body, and his mind quick to read thoughts."
"And knows our faces," laughed Mahabat Khan. "Except for thee, he had put an end to us."
"If Shamil is not the man," I responded, "he must have gone ahead of us."
"Then God grant we catch him, for I need al-Khimar in my hands. Look!"
He held the light low and pointed. I saw that the ground was damp and that snow lay among the boulders. Surely it did not snow down here in the belly of the mountain. I turned my eyes upward. Stars winked down at me from between the dark sides of a gorge. We had come out into the open air, and Mahabat Khan spent some time in observing landmarks so that he could find the passage again.
A little farther on we stopped again. Here a sprinkle of snow lay upon the gravel and, clearly pressed into it, we saw the mark of slender and small feet, going in the way that we were going. But we did not see al-Khimar. The gorge opened out into a nest of blind ravines. We climbed a height to observe what lay around us.
Eh, thus we beheld many things-the snow-whitened peaks, tinged by the first glow of dawn, the dark mass of Kandahar far down ahead of us, the shadow-filled plain and the great crimson fire of sunrise. It was bitterly cold, and all my body ached; my knees quivered and creaked. When the sun flooded these lofty levels, I sought a sheltered spot and lay down.
"Bism'allah!" I said to the Sirdar. "I did not come with thee to join a Pathan sword dance, nor did I come to frolic in ice and snow. I am tired, and here will I sleep."
So I thrust my arms into my sleeves and slept, Mahabat Khan sitting beside me. When I waked, the shadows had turned, and he was still in the same spot, the lifeless lantern at his feet. He had waited to watch beside me, and I was ashamed of my weariness and ill temper.
"Nay, Daril," he laughed, "I have learned something. Now it is time we went down to Kandahar, or those Bedouins will be back and rouse Baki with their tales."
Those Bedouins were back indeed. They had been routed out of their sleep by a rush of Pathans down the tangi at dawn, and had had to flee without their saddles or blankets. Probably Shamil had remembered the guides who brought us to the hills and had sent a band down to bring them in. The tribesmen being afoot, my Arabs had escaped without hurt, but were gloomy over the loss of the saddles.
When Mahabat Khan and I walked into the courtyard of his house, they were saying that all the forces of the Veiled One had sought to take them, that they had held their ground as long as they could, in spite of the fact that we twain must be captive or slain.
Thus they were protesting. The Rajput followers of the Sirdar were in a cold rage, while Abu Ashtar cursed. When they saw us, all became silent except the blind man.
"By God!" said Ito the Bedouins. "I marvel that you have your shirts-or that you did not leave your breeches in the hands of the hillmen."
I added that their flight had made us walk back; and to this they had nothing to say.
"Shall we beat them?" the captain of the Rajputs asked his lord, very willingly.
"Nay," said Mahabat Khan, "they are not to be blamed."
"But the saddles-and the packs?"
"I swear," put in old Abu Ashtar who had listened intently, "that these worthless and light-minded puppies of mine shall bring you other saddles."
"I ask a harder thing," responded Mahabat Khan gravely. "That they, and you, shall say no word concerning this past night."
"On my head," swore the blind chieftain.
"Aye," assented the Sirdar with a flash of grimness, "for thou shalt be surety for their silence."
Thus chastened, the Bedouins could only stare at me. They yearned to know how we had come back to Kandahar, because they were certain we had not come down the tangi again. I hinted that Mahabat Khan had stood off all the men of the Veiled One with his sword, and made great show of wiping the stains of dampness from my blade with a clean cloth.
Eh, it is written that the boaster digs a pitfall for his feet to tread. After I had mocked the Bedouins and looked to see whether the mare were safe in the Sirdar's stable, I began to be hungry. Mahabat Khan seemed to have forgotten food. I was not minded to beg of his men, so I went forth to find Kushal, who had gone into the bazaar.
Seeking him, I wandered into the shadows of narrow alleys, stooping beneath the woven roofs of stalls. In a dark place among sacks of rice and trays of tea bricks I heard a swift movement behind me.
I turned to look, but it was my kismet that I should see no more in Kandahar that day. A dusty sack was cast over my head and held about my shoulders. A hand reached forth and jerked the sword from my girdle, while a dagger's point pricked the tender skin under my ribs.
"0 Daril," a voice whispered through the sack, "thou art a man of judgment. Walk between us quietly. We have no mind to slay thee-now, and in this place."
"Who art thou?" I said foolishly, for the voice seemed familiar.
"Thy fate!" I heard a laugh. "Come!"
W'allahi, in such a plight a man is less than an ass! With a sack held over my shoulders, all dignity was lost. Hands gripped my arms and led me back into the stall, stumbling over bales and rugs. For a moment sunlight shone on Iny head; then we entered the darkness of another covered place, smelling of hemp and spices and dirt.
Here I heard camels grunting and bubbling, as they do when the loads are put on. My arms were drawn behind my shoulders and bound together skillfully. Then my knees were bound, and my ankles.
I was lifted high by several men and dropped in what seemed to be a basket, but a basket that swayed and creaked under me. Then the ends of the cords from my arms and ankles were drawn taut and knotted-so that by bending my knees up under my chin I could ease the pain of the cords, but could not raise myself in any way.
The sack was lifted and replaced at once by a kerchief, tied loosely under my chin.
"To keep off flies, 0 Daril," whispered the voice.
"May God requite thee for it!" I answered.
"Hearken to this, 0 hakim. Thou art in a camel's howdah, and thou art bound upon a little journey. Men will walk beside thee who care not at all for thy life. They will carry spears. If thy voice is heard after this, for any reason, those long spearheads will be thrust through thy basket. Dost thou understand?"
"Indeed," I responded. "But let the journey be short, for I shall desire water."
"Water thou shalt have and wine."
I thought that the speaker mocked me, and I said no more. As if they had waited only for me, the men began to move about; the camel beneath me rocked and lurched to its feet, and the smell of it came more strongly through the wicker work of the pannier. Then we began to walk.
By the sounds around me, we passed out into narrow alleys, brushing through the stalls of merchants who cursed the ancestors of warriors who would lead he-camels through the market at such an hour. We turned hither and yon, and began to move more swiftly.
By the motion of the camel, I knew that we went downhill, and once I heard a clatter of hoofs and the voices of Rajputs riding past, but I thought of the spears and made no sound. My captors had laid branches in the open top of the basket, and through these and the kerchief I could see no more than tiny sparkles of sunlight and blue sky.
We halted for many moments in a place where horses were gathered. Men walked about on all sides. From the talk I suspected that we were among soldiers of the Mogul. When we went on again, a deep shadow passed over my head, and sounds echoed hollowly. We were moving under an arch, probably the outer wall of Kandahar.
After this had been left behind us, things were quieter. The camels settled to a swifter stride, when I heard faintly a voice close to my head. It whispered gain, a little louder.
"Ho, Daril-how is it with thee?"
Eh, it was the voice of Kushal, the songmaker, and I answered as softly.
"Where art thou?"
He laughed a little then.
"In the other basket."
A spear or sword blade slapped angrily the side of my pannier, and I said no more. I had wished to ask him whither we were bound, but what mattered it? We were going whither we were going. It seemed to me then-I had wondered at first if the Bedouins had not come after me to make me captive on some whim-as if we were bound for the hills.
Al-Khimar's men might have entered Kandahar in force, after the Bedouins, and seen me stalking like a witless gazelle through the bazaar. In truth, I did not dream of what lay before me!
After hearing Kushal, I knew that I had a companion of misfortune. It was warm in the pannier and, in spite of cords and the ache of hunger, I began to doze. Presently all sounds and smells drifted away and I slept.
The camel waked me by kneeling. It must have been late in the afternoon, for the sun was no longer overhead. I was lifted from my basket and carried under shelter, placed upon a carpet; all the cords were severed with a sword. Only a little at first did I stretch my limbs; they ached as if all the nerves had been pierced. At this moment Kushal cried out beside me.
"Thou!"
"Thy kismet," murmured the soft voice of a woman.
I pulled the cloth from my head and saw that I was under a tent, or rather, a pavilion of blue silk, set with a splendid carpet. The air had a scent of rose leaves. Kushal sat beside me, a kerchief in his hand, his bloodshot eyes flaming and his pugri and white damask garments clean and in order, in spite of his trussing. The severed ends of cords lay about him.
Beyond the tent pole, on a cushioned divan, knelt Nisa. She nodded at me.
"Hai-thou art not an eagle this evening but a frowsy old owl, Daril."
I knew now that her voice had warned and advised me after my capture. Verily, it seemed to change with her mood. But Kushal was gripped by the heedless anger of youth. His hands shook and his voice trembled.<
br />
"God be my witness!" he cried. "I shall never honor word of thine again. In the bazaar one came tome saying that Nisa had need of my aid. I followed, and was caught like-"
"A caged parrot," she giggled. "Oh, I watched thy struggles."
Suddenly and strangely Kushal mastered himself, became utterly calm; only, his cheeks paled and his eyes darkened.
"It pleases thee to mock me," he said.
Aware of this new mood, she glanced at him from the corners of her eyes.
"To repay thee for the copper coin," she murmured.
He shrugged his slender shoulders and turned to me.
"I heard thee say thou thirsted, Daril. Only a man without honor or a woman-" his eyes ran over Nisa, dwelling upon every part of her body, as a slave buyer might look at a new purchase-"without shame would deny water to a captive."
Nisa seemed to draw back before his glance. It was true that she went unveiled, and might not be trusted, as we had both learned, but the songmaker's new mood hurt her, and she too turned to me.
"Wilt thou have sherbet or red wine, Daril?"
"Water," I grumbled, for sherbet increases thirst, and wine was not for my tasting.
She clapped her hands, and that same maid tripped in, to return presently with a tray of fruit and china bows of clear water. I drank, and began to eat of the dates, but Kushal waved away the woman. This was foolish in him, for hunger and thirst are no allies in a moment of need, and it is more profitable to prod a panther than to anger a young woman.
"What seekest thou?" he asked Nisa. "Money?"
"Nay, the emerald in thy turban cloth."
Without a word Kushal reached up and undid the clasp that held the precious stone in place. He tossed it upon the divan at the knees of the singing girl.
"And what of Daril?" jeered the young Pathan.
But Nisa rose and went to the entrance, passing without answer. At once-they must have been standing on guard-two of her warriors came and took stand within the entrance, grinning at us. When I finished all the dates, I tried to get Kushal to talk, asking him in Arabic what all this meant and what might be in store for us.