Swords From the Sea (46 page)

Meanwhile a trench was dug and the dead of the half company were given shallow burial. After a glance at the vultures and wolves thronging to the bodies of the battalion, Pierre abandoned thought of doing anything for them.

Bullet pouches and the rations in the knapsacks of the slain were taken, and Pierre looked grave when he found only three or four jugs of water in the cart. They had powder enough for a lifetime.

After every man had been given one cup of water Pierre signed to them to pile their knapsacks on the load. Then he blew down the muzzle of every musket to see if the touchhole were clear. When the pieces were loaded again, and twenty others, taken from the field, he walked to a ridge to make a survey of the country.

The last of the Bashkirs had disappeared toward the east, and the green sea of the steppe was empty of human life. Pierre signed to the driver to start his horses, and walked to the head of his little column. He did not know how far they were from the sea or what lay in front of them, but he believed that he could steer a course due south as his officer had directed. He would take his bearings by the stars.

"Come along, my heroes," he called out. "Shagom marsh!"

The trace chains rattled, the wagon axles creaked, and the injured groaned in unison, but the sailor rolled along in front of his detachment-"To keep a lookout for'ard," he assured himself-and lifted a mellow voice in song:

Chapter III

The Galley

Kalil, a dun-colored pony between her knees, and two Bashkir swordsmen to attend her, rode like a gray shadow over the green dunes, halting only to rest the horses and to sleep. She had coaxed the warriors from the chief of the raiding party, and when they would have sat down to argue for hours concerning suitable rewards, she silenced them with a word-

"Hassan!"

She could ride as well as they, and from somewhere she had conjured up a veil that covered her breast and face to the eyes. It was she who, when they entered a barren region of clay gullies topped by sage and tamarisk, pointed out the glint of water to the south and east.

But the eyes of the three were drawn to dense columns of smoke that rose from a grove of olive trees beneath them. Here should have been a Cossack village, and, since it was burning, here they would find Turks.

The Bashkirs rode down the hill at a gallop, reckless of rocks and hidden gullies, fearful only of being too late for the looting. They sped over a level patch of tilled land, where the grain had been trampled before their coming. And they swore in their beards when they found a regiment of cavalry dismounted and ransacking the last of the burning huts-a regiment of spahis, the crack cavalry from Constantinople. Where the spahis had looted the tribesmen knew that not so much as a belt or a woman's shirt would be left for latecomers.

With Kalil they were brought before the aga of the regiment, a Turk bearded to the eyes, with a jeweled crest to his turban.

"Ohai," cried the girl, "Hassan hath kindled a torch on this side of the river. Have the Russians fled before his wrath, 0 captain of a thousand-slayer of unbelievers?"

Beneath the flattery was a note of keen anxiety, and she held her breath until the aga made response.

"Nay, daughter of Islam. The dogs sit in their camps yonder and their ships sit at anchor. The time is not yet." Suspicion, lulled by her instant admiration, assailed him. "Who art thou and what are these jackals?"

The Bashkirs snarled but knew better than to make response to a colonel of the Turks. They looked at Kalil uneasily, having no doubt as to what punishment would be theirs if she failed to give satisfactory account of herself.

By way of answer she held out a hand, drawing back the loose sleeve of the cloak. The officer reined his horse nearer, stared at the ring set with sapphires that covered two joints of a slender finger, and salaamed respectfully.

"The signet of Ghazi Hassan, the unconquerable, the chosen of Allah-the ring that sets a seal upon all hearts, unlocks all doors. And yet-why dost thou ride from the direction of the giaours?"

"And yet quoth the dog when the wolf was at hand! "

Kalil laughed, and the Turk tugged at his beard irresolutely, for his men were looking on and had seen a woman laugh in his face.

"Because thou hast burned a village of peasants, hast thou grown to be equal in honor to the lord of Cairo, the conqueror of Syria, the scourge of Allah upon the sea?"

Kalil looked around with some interest, at the bodies that lay strewn in the street-bodies stripped even of socks and shirts, and marked with a crimson cross made by two slashes of a scimitar upon the breast.

"Nay," she added in a whisper, "even Hassan must have eyes to serve him among the giaours, and a tongue to tell him a certain thing he would know. Make haste and set me across the river, then give us fresh horses and an escort, and Hassan himself will thank thee."

The Turk, who had been more than a little doubtful, was won over by boldness. It was not well to detain a messenger of Hassan of Algiers.

Before midnight they had passed through the bivouac of a Turkish army division, and had entered the redoubts of Otchakof. While the tribesmen stared with all their eyes at more cannon than they imagined ever existed, and the lanterns of pickets, at the mounds of earth over powder cellars, and the riding lights of the squadron anchored in the roads, Kalil disappeared.

When they beheld her again they did not know her. She was sitting in an open palanquin, and in the light of the stars and crescent moon they caught the sheen of silk garments. They were aware of fresh perfume, aloes, and attar of rose.

From the city the Moslems who now accompanied Kalil led them down through a line of water batteries to the shore. Here they dismounted and entered a skiff, rowing out to a galley at anchor near the jetties-a long vessel with a high poop and the towering, slanting yards of lateen sails-apart from the other men-of-war.

A voice from the head of the gangway hailed them.

"Who art thou?"

The Berber laughed softly.

"Have I grown to be other than I am, 0 Jaimir? Knowest not Kalil of Fez, the slave of Hassan-the eyes of Hassan?"

"Ma'shallah! The pasha awaits thee with impatience this long time."

Although two officers of his staff, wide awake and armed, sat in his cabin; although Kalil had taken off her slippers and walked lightly as thistle blown over the desert floor, Hassan started up from his quilt, out of a sound sleep. One hand gripped the butt of a pistol in the sash at his waist.

"Ha! "

A glance at the girl and he dismissed his companions, and Kalil salaamed. Detaching the veil, she tossed back the mass of her dark hair with both hands, knowing that the pasha ever took pleasure in contemplation of her beauty. Knowing, too, that she had served him well, as had happened many times in the past.

Before coming to him she had touched her eyelids with kohl and her lips and fingertips with dark red henna.

"What word do you bring, daughter of Mokador?"

"The way is open for thee to strike."

"The praise to Allah! "

In Hassan's full cheeks the muscles tightened, and his black eyes gleamed.

Years ago Hassan, too, had been a slave. A boatman, then a corsair, he had risen by his strength, his dominant will, and shrewdness to be pasha of Algiers. He had served the sultan by sea-his men were fond of relating how he had put his ship beside the flagship of Orioff, yardarm to yardarm until both had blown up. Scarred and undaunted, he had rallied the scum of Constantinople to follow him to victory on the island of Lemnos.

They called him Ghazi, the Conqueror, when for fifteen years he fought the Christians in the Levant and Egypt. They said of him that he had never met defeat. In this jehad, this holy war, against the Russians, Hassan's name was a rallying note for the fanatical.

And his eyes were coldly shrewd.

"Who is he-this new admiral of the giaours on the Black Sea?"

"0 lion-heart of Islam, harken to my tale, which is of the weakness of thy foes. I have seen the first blow struck."

"Bah-the village was taken as sport for my men, to blood them a trifle."

"Nay, before that the Bashkir tribesmen set upon a full battalion of the Russians and slew all but a score. A wagon train was taken."

Hassan considered her, fingers twined in his beard.

"What lie is this? Hast thou proof?"

"Two of the tribesmen wait upon the upper deck. They will tell thee that the Bashkirs of the plain and that Tatars of the Krim*
are in arms and will move against the Russians."

"By the head of Othman, by the veil of the Ka'aba, does a woman make plans for me? I know that well enough. When the panther brings down the stag, the jackals will rush in. Thy tale?"

Kalil hastened to remedy her mistake, and the pasha weighed every word.

"Know then, 0 favored of Allah, that I went to Tsargrad!
There, in accordance with thy wish, I went from one place to another, singing and making sport for the officers, who sometimes talked of their plans, not knowing that I understood. The Russian soldiers are like sheep-they will follow where they are led, but without a leader they can do nothing. They call their pasha One Eye, and he is a great lord, ambitious and covetous, but knowing naught of warfare and caring naught for his men."

Again Hassan nodded. He had heard similar reports of Prince Potemkin, who was blind in one eye.

"But what of the fleet?"

Kalil wriggled with delight.

"In the journey out of the snow country to the steppe, I sang to the officers, heard other things. The fleet is now under command of two men-a Greek, who is a coward, whose name is Alexiano, and a Prussian, Prince Nassau-Siegen. The Greek is the very father of deceit, and the other is little better."

"Words! I sent you to Kherson to discover what kind of man comes from the Russian cities to take command over these two."

"True, and yet this pair, the Greek and the Prussian, will not readily yield their command. Even jackals will snarl when a dog comes to their kill. So, Allah bath made ill blood between the giaours." Her delicate lips curved in a smile. "The new admiral is an American."

"A what?"

"A man from over the great ocean where the sun sets."

Hassan puzzled over this impatiently until his brow cleared. Understanding came to him and he swept both muscular hands down his beard with an exclamation of triumph.

An American, he reasoned, would be a man from the United States-the new nation that had cast itself off from England's protection. All Hassan knew of these people was that American merchantmen had been taken at will by the corsairs of Algiers and Tunis. Until tribute had been paid, and Tripoli, eager to have a hand in the game, declared war on the United States, and the Mediterranean was scoured for shipping under the American flag.

No men-of-war bearing the new flag had been seen by Hassan, and he had the contempt of a good Moslem for a people that paid tribute to avoid battle. It struck him as the greatest of good fortune that the vice-admiral who was to take command of the Christian fleet in the Black Sea-who would be pitted against Hassan of Algiers-was an officer of this nation of merchants and weaklings.

"Ha!" As suddenly as a panther strikes, his hand closed over the girl's throat and he tensed with sudden suspicion. "That is a lie. My men have heard that this new admiral is a bahadur-a very father of battles. So he must be English."

Kalil made no move to free herself. Her eyes shone with adoration for this man who could have crushed her throat by tightening his fingers. When he drew back at last she seized his hand and pressed her lips upon it.

"Lord of my life, have not my words been truth before this? The empress summoned this officer to serve her from Paris."

"But why-why did he come?"

All of her twenty years had been passed in the bazaars where the rumors of the world are bruited and tasted and passed on. She had the rare gift of picking out the grain of truth from a whole harvest of falsehoods.

"He is a man who is like to a chained hawk, when on land. He is restless until he stands on the deck of a ship. Besides, he wishes to draw his sword against the Turks, with whom his people have some quarrel."

Hassan nodded. This was possible. "What is his name?"

Kalil essayed it. "The Russians call him Pavel-Paul. The French, Monsieur le Chevalier jean-Paul-jean. The English officers swear that he is a pirate."

Bowing his head, Hassan made no effort to conceal his pleasure.

"All things are possible with Allah! But when does he take command?"

"In Moscow it was said that he would start from Tsargrad within a month. He must be here now."

"Inshallah! As God wills. When the wind serves, coming from the sea, I will hoist the sails and give battle to the infidels. I will send fireships against them."

"To hear is to obey." She threw her arms around the pasha's knees and rested her dark head against them. "0 my master, it is thus that I joy to see thee, a conqueror, protector of the faithful-" she murmured praises, calling him another Othman, a second Dragut, the wrath of the seas.