Swords From the West (4 page)

"Aye," asserted Sir Bruce, "when they are angered."

"But the meaning of the red cock-"

"Fire."

The merchant glanced fleetingly at the soldier. "You know something of these accursed Tatars?"

"I have seen them in battle."

"Then you know the peril in which we stand. Out yonder"-Messer Andrea motioned toward the dark line of hills behind the citadel-"they are riding to the south, God knows why, but"-he smiled bleakly-"I am no lover of ill chance. I shall send out tribute enough to satisfy them."

"By the souls of the saints," Theodore muttered, "it will need a mighty ransom."

"My agents have visited the horde," responded the Counter, "and they say that Subai Ghazi rides in haste. He does not wish to linger here. 'Tis said of him that he is a man of his word, for good or ill."

He turned to the Scot and spread out his hands. "Will you venture beyond the walls with a woman?"

"Aye, so," said Sir Bruce slowly. "Peril there may be, but the Seigneur Christ will guard a maid among pagan swords."

The Greek prince threw himself back on his cushions. "Fool!"

But the faded eyes of the Counter-eyes quick and shrewd to weigh men and their moods-gleamed approvingly. "Swear," he whispered. "Swear that you will safeguard the girl with your life."

Sir Bruce smiled. "Faith, I passed my word to her father."

Messer Andrea nodded swiftly as if closing a bargain. "Good! And now hear me, young sir. There is a path from Tana to the northern caravan road that should be clear of the pagan horsemen. It follows the coast. I am sending thither some men of mine, and they shall guide you. They will be horsed and armed after matins on the morrow."

"Then, by your leave, missire, I will sleep." The Scot rose, stretching his long arms and turned on his heel.

"A good night to you," Messer Andrea called softly, motioning one of his link-men to attend the knight. He listened until the firm tread of the mailed feet dwindled down the corridor; then he sent a slave for candles, a luxury he seldom allowed himself.

"Nay," he observed to Theodore, "that is no fool, but a simple soul that will hold to his given word-like Subai Ghazi." Suddenly he laughed, stroking his cheek with thin fingers.

"Body of Judas!" the Greek prince cried. "You have given the maid to him!"

"Content thee-content thee! By this hour on the morrow night he will lie in his own blood. A cup, Theodore-the white spirits in the stone jar."

The Greek drank deep, frowning as he watched the Counter clean a sheet of parchment and sharpen the pen of a quill. The candles were placed on the table, and the pen began to move over the parchment; but Theodore, peering across his companion's shoulder, beheld only meaningless curlicues-Arabic.

"'Tis a missive to the Tatar!" Prince Theodore exclaimed.

"True-the matter of the tribute."

Theodore bent over the table. "Will you send gold?"

"Gold! A mule's load would only whet the Tatars' greed. Subai Ghazi would give it to his bathmen."

"Jewels?"

Messer Andrea shrugged. "Will your Illustriousness contribute the precious stones?"

"I have not-" Theodore's dark eyes widened. "Ah, you are sending forth Marie de Rohan to the Tatar."

"A little wine sharpens wit," Messer Andrea muttered. "Drink, your Illustriousness."

"Are there no other women in the market?"

Messer Andrea finished writing, yet did not sign the missive. "Ehu-I am not so foolish as to send a slave to one who has had his choice of the women of the Circassians and the Golden Horde. And you forget the honest soldier who is surety of our-gift. This is his authority. Another cup, my lord?"

Theodore seized his silver goblet feverishly. His head rolled on his shoulders, and Messer Andrea rose, pushing forward the chair to him. "Life is sweet, my lord. It is needful to write thy name on this paper." He placed the quill in the Greek's quivering fingers.

"What evil is this?" Theodore peered at it drowsily.

"Has your Illustriousness forgotten? It is the death of the swordsman." Again Theodore found his cup filled and from habit he drank. With the Counter guiding his hand, he scrawled his name. And Messer Andrea, tucking back his long sleeves, bestirred himself to melt red wax upon the parchment and press into it the signet ring of the almost unconscious prince. Then Theodore laid his head upon the table and slept.

Messer Andrea blew out the candles and slipped away into the darkness to attend to other matters.

It was late in the afternoon of the next day before Sir Bruce's guides came to fresh water-four leagues from Tana. Here the trail wound upward, among gray clay buttes overhanging the sea's edge. The servitors, resplendent in the crimson and white livery of Prince Theodore, placed the pavilion pole in a sheltered spot, and hung upon it the striped silk covering under which Marie, the maid of Rohan, was to sleep that night.

"Glad am I," cried the girl, "to be again in the sun."

Sir Bruce, staring through narrowed eyes at the glitter upon the sea below them, was troubled by her beauty.

It was a miracle to Sir Bruce that he, who had not seen a woman of his race for years, now had in his charge this maid. Because he had given a promise to John of Rohan, he had wandered and searched and fought his way by land along the course the Counter's galleys had taken by water. And when he had first seen Marie the blood had throbbed in his veins. Now he was proud and exultant. Yet the grim purpose in him ever kept him silent, and she looked sidewise at him curiously.

"Oh, this is a barren land," she said, "but Messer Andrea has given me a great store of comfort. At first I did not like him, but he was generous."

Sir Bruce drew his hand across his chin. He wore this day his mail, a linked habergeon, with coif and thigh pieces. He stood beside the gray Arab that he had not yet unsaddled.

"Nay," he responded bluntly, "he is no man of faith."

"He sent his knaves to serve us."

"Aye so." Sir Bruce knew that these men, though they wore livery, were masterless fellows, and he expected no good of them. Yet Messer Andrea had given the girl a swift-paced mare and caparisons of cloth of gold.

"He took thought for me. See, he instructed to me a safe conduct to Constantinople."

"To you? I must see it."

Obediently she sought in her saddle bags until she drew forth a roll of parchment, tied and sealed with red wax. Sir Bruce took it silently and broke the string at once. He frowned over the missive, written in Arabic, and Prince Theodore's signature. After a moment's thought he went to the fire the guides were kindling and thrust the parchment into the flames.

"That was mine!" Marie cried. "Why did you burn it?"

"It had a name upon it, a royal name emblazoned." Sir Bruce swept his long arm around the encampment. "Here no seal of wax will avail you, my lady."

The girl lifted her head proudly. "I have no fear. You are a harsh man, Sir Bruce, and my father said of you long since that you would turn aside neither for weapon of man nor spite of the devil."

In the flaming tamarisk the parchment crumbled, and from it ran a thin stream of crimson, so like blood that Marie was startled and caught at the warrior's arm. "Look-"

"Be quiet!" he bade her sternly.

His head bent forward, the lines in his dark face deepened. Then all at once she heard the thrumming of hoofs, and from the ravine at the upper end of the valley trotted a dark mass of riders-men in dull chain mail with long cloaks and sheepskin kaftans. At sight of the pavilion they shouted and lashed their horses to a gallop.

"Mount!" Sir Bruce's voice sounded in her ear.

She turned, and when she fumbled with the stirrup he caught her by the waist and lifted her into the saddle of her mare. For an instant he glanced at the approaching horsemen. Then he reached up and pulled the hood over her head, drawing it close to hide her face.

"Tatars!" shouted one of the guides.

Some of the servitors began to run away, casting down the spears that they had caught up at first; others cried out in fright, and when Sir Bruce mounted his gray Arab and took Marie's rein, leading her mare toward the pavilion slowly, they clustered around him in fear.

The tide of riders swept toward the pavilion and divided into groups that galloped around the camp. Here and there a curved steel blade was drawn and flourished, flashing in the level sunlight. Lances were tossed up and caught again, and the drumming of hoofs grew to a roar, while dust eddied about the pavilion and the Christians in the center of the wild horsemen. The Greeks who had fled were headed off and herded back again like stray cattle.

Sir Bruce had drawn his sword, but made no other move. "'Tis part of Tamerlane's horde," he said to the girl. "Faith, they greet us well, after their manner."

The Tatars had not fallen upon the pavilion to plunder, nor had they snatched the weapons from the trembling Greeks.

"They are on the march," Marie whispered, with a sigh of relief; "they will do us no harm."

But Sir Bruce knew by the actions of the first riders that the Tatars had expected to find people at this spot, and that command had been given them not to seize what they found. Still the dark tide, brightened by crimson shields, moved past. A burst of plaintive music came from it-the shrilling of pipes and clash of brass plates and the roar of kettledrums.

Nodding heads of laden camels came into view about the horses, but before the camel train moved a standard, a pole bearing a gold crescent and swinging horsetails. And with the standard came a cavalcade of Tatar princes helmed or turbaned, with gilded armor and reins and saddles gleaming with silver. One who carried in his hand an ivory staff galloped forward, and thrust down his baton.

"Choupek gasaur!" he growled. "Down, infidel dogs."

The Greeks flung themselves on their faces, but Sir Bruce and Marie sat as they were, erect in the saddle. The mirza of the baton reined close to them and snarled, "Bend the forehead to Subai Ghazi, Emir of emirs."

A deeper voice resounded harshly, and the mirza drew aside. A white horse paced forward slowly. From thigh to chin its rider was wrapped in pliant Persian mail, a khalat of red satin thrown over his shoulders, massive as a bear's. He rode with short stirrup leathers, so that he seemed to crouch in the saddle. One hand, veined and scarred, rested on the worn hilt of a heavy, curved saber-a hand that could move as swiftly as a leopard's paw, that had earned for Subai Ghazi the surname of Sword Slayer.

"Ahai!" he exclaimed, seeing the slight form of the girl. His green eyes gleamed under a jutting brow and shifted to the tall figure of the knight. He waited for Sir Bruce to dismount or to salaam before him, and the Scot did neither. "Eh," grunted Subai Ghazi, "there is a stubborn devil in this one. Bid him uncover the face of the khanim."

Khanim meant "princess" in the Turco-Tatar dialect, and Sir Bruce, who had heard this speech for years, understood the words. He raised his left hand weaponless, and shook his head slowly. "Yok! Nay, it is not permitted."

Subai Ghazi's broad shoulders lifted in sheer astonishment-that he should have been answered and answered thus. The Tatars attending him reined their horses close about the warrior and the girl. The officer with the baton was the first to speak:

"Subai Ghazi, the Emir of emirs gave the command. Is his word smoke, 0 dog of a Nazarene?"

Again Sir Bruce shook his head, while his thoughts raced. Surely the Tatars had expected to find a woman here-Subai Ghazi had expected it. No one had touched them or questioned them until his coming. He had called Marie a princess and himself a Nazarene-Christian. The riders of the advance had moved on, but the main body was preparing to camp by the well. The camels of the baggage train were kneeling.

To refuse Subai Ghazi would be to anger him, and to allow him to look once upon the face of the girl would make him eager to possess her. Swiftly-there was need of swift thought-Sir Bruce fashioned in his mind a frail defense of words.

"Koudsarma," he responded gravely-"Lord, thy power is great indeed. There is a command about thine, unutterably great. It is written that the face of a woman must be veiled. Are ye kin to her, to lift the veil?"

The Tatar struck his fist upon his mailed thigh. "What words are these words? By Allah, will thou say she is thine-thy woman?"

Sir Bruce, striving for time in which to think and to divert the attention of the Tatars, had invoked one of the oldest laws in Islam. He looked at the slender figure, so bravely erect, that had drawn close to his side.

"Aye so," he said, and his voice rang true and certain. He knew, in that instant when death was so close, that he loved Marie of Rohan.

He stretched out his hand and placed it upon her shoulder, and when he did this the thing that he most dreaded happened. At his touch Marie turned quickly to meet his eyes, and her hands-that had clasped the edges of the hood about her throat-slipped down to his fingers and gripped them. The velvet hood fell back.

Subai Ghazi leaned forward with an exclamation of triumph.

"What is it?" she whispered, for she had understood no word of their talk.

The flicker of a smile passed over his set face. "Cover your eyes, my lady. I would not have you look upon weapon play."

The deep voice of the Tatar chieftain broke in upon his words:

"Thou hast lied, dog of a Nazarene. Allah, thou hast lied! Of the Nazarenes in Tana I asked this-that they bring forth to me a gift. This day, at the hour when the shadows turn, a warrior with a red beard came to my tent from Tana, saying that the Prince of Tana would send forth to me a maiden, his sister, to this well."

He looked about him calmly and nodded. "Surely here is the well and the tent with the banner, as the Nazarene prince promised. Besides, the maiden was to be protected by a man of valor until she came under my hand. What other art thou? And where is the letter?"

Sir Bruce glanced at the embers of the fire, where the red wax had long since disappeared. So Messer Andrea had sent Piculph out to the Tatars at midnight! And Messer Andrea had yielded Marie to him, knowing that the Tatars would never believe that a fair woman could make even the journey of a day without an armed guardian. Indeed, the Counter had bought his own safety cheaply-at the price of a girl and a few ribalds, some horses and a pavilion.