Read Swords From the Desert Online

Authors: Harold Lamb

Tags: #Crusades, #Historical, #Action & Adventure, #General, #Fantasy, #Suspense, #Adventure Fiction, #Historical Fiction, #Fiction, #Short Stories

Swords From the Desert (37 page)

BOOK: Swords From the Desert
2.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

For his pains, Jami had naught but the remnant of my rice that he had borne off on a leaf to eat in a corner. Since then he had come to sit and stare at me.

"I am thy friend," he said then. "Thy friend, Daril ibn Athir."

At this I smiled, for the youths of my land stand more in dread of the men.

"Nay," he said again, quickly. "I know thou hast not a copper in thy wallet. But tell me, 0 lord of hakims, is it true thou hast skill to cure the sick? The two others were great liars. Is it thy custom to cure with prayers written on paper, or a purge, or by letting blood, or spells?"

"Not by writing on paper or spells."

"If a man be dying, canst restore him to health?"

"The hour of a man's death is written."

Jami considered this and looked at the lanterns that were moving about the tank. One more question he asked-would I sleep in the serai?-and then darted off into the shadows. But he left his pole by my saddle and cloth, and when I had rubbed down the roan pony and had made the evening prayer, the pole was still there. I went to sleep with my head touching the saddle because, though the road might be clear of thieves, that serai was a nest of poverty-ridden men.

As with us during Ramazan, there was little quiet in the night. I smelled camels passing along the highroad and saw that armed riders bearing torches escorted the camel loads. Carts drawn by bullocks creaked past the tank, and men, women, and children too miserable to own a beast of burden filed by, bearing bundles on heads and shoulders. The air was foul with dust and gnats.

Whenever an emir, a nobleman, passed by, the beggars of the roadside would cry out in chorus. And perhaps the rider would reach into his girdle and fling them a coin. But the naked and dirty priests who sat by the highroad did not cry out.

Women passed like djinn wraiths among the tethered animals. And in the third and fourth hours of the night the air did not grow cool as in the desert, the sahra. Always I heard the low voices of men, speaking many tongues. Bare feet pattered near my head, and when I rose to an elbow, Jami squatted down, pulling at my sleeve.

"Awake, my lord! Come with me."

Wallah! The boy had returned to tell me of a sick man whose skin was purple and who was cursing all physicians. Jami had persuaded the family of the sick man to send for me. He swore that this stranger had especially cursed the Hindu priest who came to require money before offering up a prayer to various gods.

"Fool!" I chided him. "If the man gets well the others who have tended him will grasp the credit, and if he dies they will blame me."

"Thou are a bold man, Ibn Athir," he cried, "and, besides, the Rajput hath too strong a voice to be sinking toward the gates of Yama."

In the end I went with Jami, for-if the boy were to be believed-I had been summoned. I saddled the roan, not mindful to find horse and saddle gone from the serai when I returned. This seemed not to trouble Jami, who left his pole and ran, clinging to my stirrup.

He guided me from the highroad into an alley that led to wide gardens and an open gate filled with servants and horses and uproar.

"'Way for the benevolent Arab hakim!" Jami shouted above the tumult, thrusting at the Hindus. "At first he would not come. Send word! Stand back."

It was a small house, the lattices closed. Within, many people stared at me and crowded back to let me pass. In a room no larger than a single tent, twenty men were sitting, while two barefoot slaves stirred the heavy air with palm branches. On a matting lay a man of spare and muscular build, with a curling beard.

He was wrapped up in quilt upon quilt, and the skin of his head, as Jami had said, was nearly purple. I smelled opium and the fumes of burning hemp.

The skin of his corded arm, when I touched it, was hot and dry. Of Jami I asked the tale of his illness, and the boy stood forth, speaking importantly to one and another of the watchers.

"0 hakim," quoth he, "since four days the Rao hath not mounted his horse. His head pained him, and on the second day he could not eat. By command of the other hakim, who is a piece of the liver of a dog, and a liar, being a Persian, he was wrapped up thus to bring forth the sweat. Look serious and shake thy head."

The sick man tossed impatiently under my touch, and it was clearly fever in him, perhaps from bad food. The quilts had only increased his trouble. Indeed, the matter was simple.

"Bring water," I bade the folk in the room, "heated in large jars."

"Ohai!" echoed Jami. "Bring water, or the Rao dies! Make haste, for this is the hakim known to our master, Mahabat Khan."

If the other physician had been a liar, Jami was no less! There was dispute when the steaming water appeared, but I bade them strip and bathe the man they called the Rao, and when they had done so, I gave him a draft to quiet him from the packets that still remained in Iny girdle.

"Far better to bleed him," the young juggler whispered. "Then the cure will be a greater cure. What was in the drink?"

A few herbs and rhubarb, no more. Still, I saw no need of telling Jami this, and no doubt he made a tale of the dose, for the watchers looked troubled and when I bade them rise and leave the sick man, they demanded that I stay in the house until the following day should reveal the efficacy of the draft.

Chapter II Chief tains' Fees

Verily, if the Rao, whose name was Man Singh, had died, misfortune would have come upon my head. For, while I abode under his roof, during the next two days the Persian and the European physician came to attend him. When they learned of my presence, the European went away without saying anything; but the Persian swore by Ali and all the Companions that I had done ill to give the sick man the hot bath, and that the Rao assuredly would die.

But the Rao, who was nearly free of fever, gave command to his servants to beat the Persian on the buttocks and shoulders and send him forth without payment.

In fever or in health Man Singh had a short temper and a shorter purse. The food in his house was no more than fruit and boiled millet flour; yet the sword that hung by his matting was inlaid with gold upon the hilt, with sapphires and turquoise upon the handguard. Truly, like many of the nobles of Ind-and of my land-his wealth was all in his horseflesh and weapons. He did not lack for pride. When I came to bid him farewell upon the third day he praised me, and no word concerning payment was spoken.

I had returned to the serai with my roan, when Jami, who had been off on business of his own the last days, appeared with two servants of the Rao I had healed.

The servants brought silver from their lord, in an embroidered silk purse. When I poured the coins from the purse into one hand, I counted them and found them eight silver rupees-little enough for the service I had rendered.

And this insolent Jami could not contain himself at the sight, crying shame upon the two men for the niggardliness of their lord and whispering to me to toss them back the silver, since it was not sufficient.

For a moment I pondered. I had no dislike of Man Singh, yet I was in sore need of money, being alone in a land of thieves, priests, and exacting lords.

"Peace!" I reproved Jami. "It is sufficient." Then to the servants of the Rajput I added, "Indeed it is evident from this that thy master is not yet recovered. If the Rao were not feverish in his mind, he would have sent a greater reward. And I, who have attended greater lords, will accept no reward until the cure is complete."

So I dropped the coins into the purse and tossed it to them, while they stared, between anger and astonishment. Jami, for once, held his peace and squatted by me when they had gone.

"Ai!" he said. "There is wisdom in thee, Daril ibn Athir." After awhile he added shrewdly, "Still, I do not think the Rao will send anymore silver."

Jami had known that I would give him a coin, or perhaps two. He had been waiting for reward. Yet he had been wise enough to keep away from my side in the house of Man Singh, lest I lose honor by the association of a beggar, and he had been willing to sacrifice his little gain because he thought me underpaid. After awhile he could contain his impatience no longer, but must scamper away to learn what was happening at the Rajput's house.

Lo, it happened as I had foreseen. Before evening prayer, two other servants of the Rao entered the serai and brought me a good Tatar horse with a saddle horn ornamented with ivory, and also a robe of honor of brocade embroidered with silk.

I thanked them, and barely were they departed before Jami crept out from behind the cactus and stared at the fine robe with shining eyes.

"Well done, Daril ibn Athir! " he cried. "Oh, what an hour I have spent. Mahahat Khan himself was at the house of the Rao, and the khan laughed until his thighs cracked over the answer thou gayest the men of Man Singh. Eh, the Rao is a favorite officer of the khan, and this horse and robe are from the hand of Mahabat Khan himself, who wished to reward thee for healing his follower."

Now the servants had said naught of this, and I thought that they had not been willing to admit that their master was too poor to send such gifts.

"Now, imp of devildom," I asked sternly, "wilt tell me who this khan is?"

Jami had lost all suspicion of me. Indeed, he had attached himself to me as a stray dog follows a newcomer in the street.

"Mahabat Khan," he said at once, "is the finest sword from Malabar to the hills. He hath led the imperial standards to victory in all the provinces. Now he returns from whipping the Bengalis."

In the words of older men-for he was swift to pick up a phrase, and know the nature of the speaker-Jami explained that Mahabat Khan was of Pathan descent, and was well liked by the Rajput chieftains, who commanded the best of the Mogul's cavalry. And Jami dreamed of the day when he should possess a sword and ride in the following of his hero.

"Go thou," he urged me, "to the camp of the khan and greet him, and thank him for the horse. He will remember thee and may take thee into his service."

I smiled, because Jami, too, would then be in the camp of this warrior of Ind. But it seemed to me unwise to seek favor by making public the poverty of Man Singh. Besides, I wished to go to the court of the king.

When I told Jami this, he wriggled his fingers with excitement.

"To the padishah?"

"God willing."

Now this Jami was the most impertinent of mortals; even when he begged, he mocked men. But when I said this, he clutched his shoulders and shivered, looking around as if he meant to run away. For the time that milk takes to boil, he did not speak.

"Evil will surely come of that," he said at last. "Still, I will not leave thee, my hakim. We will go together to the Mogul."

And his sharp little eyes, lined and furtive, glowed in the dusk like the eyes of a cat. Wallah! At the time I thought he was angry at turning his back on the camp of Mahabat Khan. In the days that followed I learned otherwise. The wisdom of the bazaar children is not altogether good; but their friendship is a thing not to be despised.

Chapter III Two Scimitars

Though a man choose his own path from the serai of a morning, how may he know what road the night will bring?

We were of good heart-Jami and I-that hot noon. We were near the end of that long highway leading north into the hills. It ran by a river, and the plumed grass and bamboo of the bank screened us from the sun.

Before leaving the dust of Lahore, I had given the roan's saddle to its owner-six days since-and now I rode the Tatar steed, having placed a light pack on the pony. Jami trudged at my bridle, his pole on his shoulder.

He was watching the kingfishers dart through the long leaves of the bamboo and out over the water, when he sighted a throng in the highway. Cartmen and wandering soldiers, village women and dogs were gathered around a single rider.

"Ohai," laughed Jami. "This is surely a punishment."

The rider was seated without a saddle, face to tail on a pony that was fit crows' meat. His wrists were tied behind his back and his ankles tied under the bony belly of the horse. Blood dripped from his feet into the dust, and flies swarmed about his bare head.

A woman held up a bowl of water, and he sucked it in through his lips without a word. The horse was plodding toward us, and we could not see the man's face, but Jami pointed out the tamgha, the brand on the animal's flank, saying that it was the mark of the Mogul, and this stranger must be an offender condemned to ride thus along the highway, it being forbidden to cut him loose until he died or met friends who dared the displeasure of the padishah.

Bidding Jami hold my horse, I dismounted, to see why the victim's feet were bleeding. I brushed away the flies and felt beneath one, and knew that it had been flayed upon the sole until the flesh was raw.

At once I drew my knife and cut the cords that held fast his wrists, paying no attention to the warning shouts of the onlookers.

"Kabardar!" cried Jami, pulling at my sleeve. "Take care, 0 my master! This is forbidden, and we are within a day of the Mogul's camp."

"Is it forbidden a physician to attend one who is suffering?" I asked.

"But it will be known, and thou wilt taste shame at the court."

I cut the cords around the man's ankles and lifted him down, being aided by a pair of soldiers-so I thought that all men were not content with the punishment. Placing the victim in the shade, I cleansed the flesh of his feet as well as I might, and put ointment on before binding up the wounds. Then I bathed the man's head. Jami had become voiceless. He had seen what I had known from the first glance, that this was the Rao called Man Singh.

By God's will there was no fever in him, though the veins stood out in his forehead and his seared eyes blazed like coals. The flesh had fallen in upon his bones, and it was no wonder Jami had not known him at first.

I had seen him last at Lahore, calling for his horse and his followers, to ride after the khan. Now he was alone, more dead than alive, and shunned by everyone on the highway.

"What now?" whispered Jami.

The voices around me had died away, but the soldiers still watched idly while they ate their rice in the shade.

BOOK: Swords From the Desert
2.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

A Very Menage Christmas by Jennifer Kacey
Deadshifted by Cassie Alexander
The Lovely Reckless by Kami Garcia
Play the Game by Nova Weetman
CountMeIn by Paige Thomas
Liberation Movements by Olen Steinhauer
Hush: Family Secrets by Blue Saffire
The Age of Chivalry by Hywel Williams