Swords From the Desert (7 page)

Of this saying Abou Asaid reminded me when I came to his stall the following day to watch for the gray horse and the barbarian girl. He had sold most of his daggers and javelins to Greeks at high prices, and was bundling up his own belongings to fly from the city with the next karwan. He said that most of the Muslimin were leaving, for dread of the Franks, and he besought me earnestly to go with him.

From Abou Asaid I learned the name of the barbarian girl. It was Irene. Every day she had passed through the street of the metalworkers on the gray horse, and her face had become known, being beautiful. She lived alone in the city in a small stone house close to the church of the Greek patriarch.

The barbarian Irene was under the protection of the patriarch, so that the Nazarenes did not molest her. In the stone house with her were also an old woman and a man slave-the one I had seen accompanying her. Abou Asaid did not know where the gray horse was kept.

"On thy head be the folly!" he said in farewell. "At any hour the emperor may give order to close the gates. Come away while ye may!"

"The horse is to my liking."

"Oh Khalil, are there not maids enough in Yamen, that thou should'st cast eyes upon an infidel?"

Then a sudden thought struck him, and he demanded that I go with some of his lads and seize the maiden, and the horse, too, if I willed, and he would send his pack animals and servants by way of the stone house and halt there, under pretense of shifting the loads. Thereupon-so said he-I should bring forth the barbarian captive, veiled, and place her among his family. At once the karwan would move on with a great tumult and pass through the gate. At Tanais or Sarai such a beautiful Frank would fetch three to four hundred gold bezants.

So planned Abou Asaid, promising that a hundred gold pieces should be mine, in addition to the horse. There was great confusion and running about in the city, and all this might easily be done.

Abou Asaid was only a seller of goods, and desired greatly the aid of my sword on the journey.

"And if we be stopped at the gate?" I asked, to try him.

"Have I not eyes and ears, 0 son of Abd 'Ullah? Four days ago I went to the Domastikos of the imperial palace, after paying silver to his officers. To him I gave gold in a purse and when he had weighed the purse he gave me a talsmin. Look!"

Abou Asaid drew from his cloak a little staff, like a mace. Only there was a crown on the head of the staff, a gilded crown, and letters.

"With this token from the high lord I may pass with my goods and family and servants through any gate, save the palace itself. Who, then, would stop us?"

"Many," I made response, "if I rode the gray racer. Surely he is known from Galata to the Seven Towers!"

Abou Asaid combed his beard.

"I will give thee half the price of the girl Irene. Leave, then, the horse."

"Nay," I said, and again, "nay!"

When did a son of my clan soil his honor by taking the payment of a slave dealer? I could not drag the barbarian girl from her house like a pigeon from the toils. And Abou Asaid lacked heart to make the attempt himself.

He lifted his hands, shook his head and hurried forth to berate his boys at the packs. So he ceased to make plots for me, nor did I ever see him again. Yet I remembered the little mace with the writing upon it.

Instead of going with Abou Asaid, I went to look at the stone house where the gray horse was kept. It was on the side of the little river, facing Galata. And it was inside the brick wall of the place called a monastic.

The monastic had a garden of olive trees and poplars, and in a corner of this garden beside a dry canal was the house, a tiny house of veined marble with wooden pillars by the door. The space between the house and the corner of the brick wall was fenced in, and here the gray horse was penned.

When I spoke to him he came forward and permitted me to touch his neck and stroke him behind the ears. Then he pretended to bite at my hand and sprang away.

Eh, it would have been a simple matter to jump on his back-once a bridle was slipped over his head-and make him leap the canal, and rush through the outer gate.

But there was the garden. On this side of the canal it sheltered blind and aged men, Nazarenes who were cared for by the patriarch; and on the other side was the monastir, where monks walked to and fro in garments of brown hair.

They showed no anger at sight of me-I had slung my sword within my cloak. It was a place of peace. Pigeons stalked about in the sun, and by the edge of the canal sat a group of young girls with white cloths on their heads-as fair as lilies.

At the knee of a black-robed priest stood a boy of nine years who read aloud from a parchment roll in his hand. What he read I knew not, but his voice was clear as a flute, and the damosels listened attentively.

Beyond the trees, in the center of the garden, rose the cupola of the patriarch's church, as a shepherd's watchtower, rising from a knoll, guards against the approach of an enemy.

There was no enemy within the brick wall, though any manner of man might enter-for the patriarch and his flock, being servants of the Roumi's god, were above molestation. And there was a man sitting on the edge of the canal who preened himself like a peacock.

He was as bright as a peacock, a bearded Persian with plumes in his turban clasp, and a purple cloak, and a round shield slung on his shoulder, and an array of daggers in his girdle. His scimitar was too heavy to handle well-though he was a big man.

When I looked at him, he glanced at the pigeons and the Roumi maids and the sky, and at everything but me. Then it came to me that I had seen him leaning against one of the gates of the Place of Horses the evening before. I went and stood beside him.

"What seekest thou?" I asked.

He pretended surprise.

"I watch."

"Thou were sent?"

Out of the corner of an eye he looked at me shrewdly.

"I came. No one is forbidden this garden, 0 my lord."

"Or Al-Maidan. Yet a certain questing is forbidden."

And I opened my cloak to let him see the scimitar slung from my shoulders. And he rolled over on his haunches to stare and assert innocence.

"Nay, 0 Badawan, I know thee not. I swear by the breath of Ali I seek thee not. I was sent to watch-"

The words left his lips, and I heard a light step behind us. The barbarian girl named Irene was coming down the path from the church, an old woman trudging behind her. The footbridge across the canal was near my Persian, and so she approached us with only a glance of amusement for me. But she stopped and frowned at the warrior, who had turned his head and was making clumsy pretense of throwing crumbs to the fluttering pigeons.

Presently, when she did not move away, he rose up and swaggered toward the gate. She watched him with blazing eyes. When he was beyond hearing she turned to me.

"The city gates are closed, Khalil, and thou hast tarried too long."

"Look then to the charger."

I saluted her and went forth, yielding the path to the grave-faced men of the monastir. I have heard it said that the damosels who listened to the young boy reading were daughters of Nazarene lords, even of kings, and I wondered whether the barbarian were such. But she wore her hair gleaming upon her shoulders and they had their faces hidden behind white cloths. The closing of the gates seemed to bring her joy, as if it heralded the coming of one she loved.

I hastened to overtake the Persian, and saw him step from the flagstones of the court into the maw of an alley. And before I reached the turning there arose a din as of dogs and wolves.

There was mud in the alley and gloom between smoke-blackened walls, and in the gloom I beheld my Persian, roaring and laying about him savagely with his clumsy blade. A few thieves and scoundrels were circling him, plucking at his garments and trying to drive a knife into him.

It was no quarrel of mine. For all his slashing and outcry, the Persian was getting the worst of it. And it came into my mind that he would he of use to me.

With the flat of my scimitar I struck the faces of the low-born nearest me, and when they fell the others ran. They had not a bit of bravery in them, and the flash of steel was enough to send them off. But the Persian was beside himself, still dealing lusty blows into the air.

"Dogs! Dung-bred slaves! Oho-ye flee from Arbogastes. Tamen shud! It is finished."

He charged after the wretches, then galloped back to slash at the two who had fallen. But these had taken to their heels, and he came and peered at me, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

"Dogs of Satan-curs they be, a score of them. Oho, they tucked up their skirts and fled like hyenas when they heard my shout. Thou didst see it? Come then! My throat is dry with shouting the war shout. We shall taste Cyprian wine."

It had been my coming that routed the wretches, yet this bull-Persian saw fit to think otherwise. He scurried around looking for chance spoil, and finding none, wiped his bloodless sword in a fold of his cloak. Then he rearranged his daggers, adjusted his turban, and set off with his arm linked in mine.

Ever and anon he glanced over his shoulder, and he looked up and down the next street before diving into a Roumi wine shop filled with Bok- harians and Genoese men of the sea. Here my graceless rogue took cup in hand and cried out for all to hear that he had done two thieves to death. Such affairs were common enough in the alleys of this quarter, near the docks, and little heed was paid Arbogastes.

"Take water, as thou wilt, 0 Badawan!" he grunted, seeing that I would have no wine. "Eh, what is the harm, among unbelievers? There is no harm! Of a truth, a single drop of wine is forbidden all believers, yet-behold, thou-I pour out the drop, and empty the cup myself. The law sayeth not, concerning cups. After all, the juice of the grape is trodden by the feet of fair maidens, and thou hast an eye for such."

He brushed out the two corners of his curled and oiled beard, and filled his cup again from the skin on the rack.

"From this day thou and I be brothers," he proclaimed. "How do men call thee, my lord?"

Long ago my people of Al-Yamen, the Ibna of Al-Yamen, had descent from the Persian warriors, in the dawn of happenings. In that day and time the Persian swordsmen were men of pride. Now they have become boasters without shame, and this Arbogastes was no doubt compounded of Greek and Turkish fathers. Nevertheless, because he saw by the braids of hair and eye and ear that I was of Al-Yamen, he claimed fellowship.

"Khalil, el Khadr,*
am I."

"A chieftain's son. Wah-this day is fortunate. Ask of me what thou wilt, only ask! By , Arbogastes is a man of courage also."

He puffed out his round cheeks, and his dark eyes glimmered shrewdly. Arbogastes, in the dramshop, was a braver figure than Arbogastes beset in the alley. I think he knew that I had saved his skin, and wished to reward me in this way. The long purse at his girdle clinked heavily when he moved, and he moved his belly often. A captain of guards, I thought him, in the service of some lord from whom he had learned insolence. And another thought came to me.

"Surely I have heard of Arbogastes," I made answer, as if greatly pleased, "and of his master, who is not less renowned than the emperor."

Arbogastes was strangely affected by these words. He glanced about him swiftly, emptied his cup, choked, and leaned close to my ear to whisper with the sigh of a bull.

"The time is not yet for such speech. My master, the Maga Domastikos, the very high chamberlain, has his finger on events, and gathers men through his gates."

He blinked like an owl, to show that he knew more than he would say. His words had opened up the path I meant to follow.

"I will speak with the Domastikos. Take me to him."

"Thou? Well, why not? But why?"

"There will be a siege. The gates are closed. A panther maddens itself by striking often. After the Roumis*
have stood an onset or two from the Franks, they may massacre the Muslimin within the gates."

Arbogastes nodded. He had thought of that, it seemed.

"So," I explained, "by taking my place in the suite of a lord who is the equal of Murtzuple, almost-" Arbogastes nodded again, with a smirk-"I may escape the massacre and perchance render some service to the lord. As for thee-"

"What?" The Persian jangled his purse and looked inquisitive.

"Thou wert sent to watch the barbarian maid, Irene." I judged this to be so, nor did his face belie it. "The Domastikos, then, has an interest in her-"

"By Ali, and all the Companions, he longs for the girl as though she were a jewel of great price! At the church of the Greek Patriarch, he saw
her and desired her at once. So, when he fared forth, he summoned me to follow her. It was no great task. I sought my lord and told him that she was nobly born, but her father, who was a Frankish a1-comes,"
was dead, and no men of her family were in the city. She was as a dove in a cage, without guardian-"

I thought of the warrior named Richard who had given her the gray courser, saying naught of this to Arbogastes, whose tongue wagged on.

"-may my days be ended, Lord Khalil, but this maid doth not fill mine eye. Too young, lacking wisdom, and too lean i' the shanks. Yet my lord Menas, the Domastikos, burns with fever at thought of her. For the present he desires not to be seen at her gate, or to risk the anger of the patriarch by snatching this dove from the garden. But there will come a time when he, my master, will be able to go to the cage and take from it this dove. Then he will give me many pieces of gold and I shall have another matter to attend to."

The whisper ceased and Arbogastes waited for me to promise him more gold. But that is an evil promise to make, with his breed. It is better to let them expect.

"Wai, Arbogastes," I said, "a reward awaits thee at my hand, if thou art faithful. By the weight of thy deeds shall this reward be weighed."

The palace of Count Menas, the Greek, was within sight of the church. As we passed the guards in red livery, we heard the bells of the church sounding below us. For the palace was on the summit of a hill, overlooking the hovels of Galata and the sea. I listened to the voice of the surf as we passed through the courtyard, where slaves loitered by empty litters and restless horses. By the time we made our way into an outer hall of columns-each the likeness of a woman in marble-Arbogastes had painted himself the victor over fifty lawless soldiers, and sworn by the Greek gods and the breath of Ali that he had slain six, and I two. Some of the nobles who waited in the hall smiled, but no one laughed at the Persian, and I thought that he was a favorite of the Domastikos.