Swords From the East (66 page)

A Mirza who rode at my stirrup struck down a foot soldier with his mace. Another sprang aside from us and aimed an arrow at Ibrahim Beg, who balked him by shouting, "Hai-Hai!" and speeding on. But I was almost upon this archer when he let fly the arrow, which hit me under the arm. I had on a Kalmuck mail, and two of its plates were shivered by the shot. Then he fled. I sent an arrow after him. A foot soldier happened to be running along the rampart above, and the shaft pinned his headgear to the parapet. He grasped his turban cloth, twisted it around his arm, and ran off.

A man on horseback came careening down the lane up which Sheikh Bayezid had fled. As he passed I struck him with the point of my sword in the temples; he swerved as if about to fall from his horse, but caught the wall and made off, supporting himself by it.

Having scattered all the horse and foot at the gate, we reined in and took possession of it. There was now no fair chance of success, for they had two or three thousand well-armed men in the citadel, while I had only a hundred in the outer stone fort and at the gate. And, besides, about as long ago as milk takes to boil, Jahangir had been beaten and driven out, taking half my men with him.

Yet such was my inexperience that, posting myself in the gateway, I sent a galloper to Jahangir to bid him join me in another effort.

But, in truth, the business was over.

We hung on at the gate, waiting for the return of the messenger I had sent after the Mirza-Ibrahim complaining, fretfully because of his wound, that his horse was useless. Sulaiman, a servant, gave him his own mount-a fine trait of character in the man. The galloper did come back and told us that Jahangir had ridden off altogether, some time ago.

It was no season for tarrying, and we also set off. Indeed, my halting so long was very unwise. Only twenty or thirty men remained with me, and the moment we moved off a great band of the enemy came smartly after us. We had just cleared the drawbridge as they reached the town end.

Bandar Ali Beg, the son of Kasim Beg, called out to Ibrahim: "You are always boasting and bragging. Stop, and let us exchange a few sword cuts with these chaps."

Ibrahim, who was close to me, answered: "Come on, then. What hinders you?"

Senseless madcaps-to bandy rivalry at such a moment! It was no time for a trial of skill, or any delay whatever. We made off at our best, the enemy at our heels. They brought down man after man as they gained on us.

After a mile or so Ibrahim called out to me for assistance. I looked back and saw him engaged with a home-bred slave of Sheikh Bayezid. I turned my bridle to go when the two nearest men seized my rein and hurried me on, saying: "What hour is this for turning back?"

Within three miles the pursuers unhorsed the greater part of my men. Then for a while we lost them. A river lay before us, and up this we turned, eight in all-Dost Nasir, Mirza Kuli, Jan Kuli, the son of Kasim Beg, and three others. I myself was the eighth. A sort of trail leads upstream through broken ravines far from the beaten road. By this defile we kept on, until, leaving the river on our right, we struck into another narrow track.

It was about afternoon prayers when we emerged from the ravines upon a level plain. Here we saw a black mass far off in the plain. I put my men under cover and crept up a hillock to see what was moving toward us, when a number of riders galloped over the ridge behind us. We could not make out how many there might be, but took to our horses and fled.

The horsemen followed us. They soon appeared to be no more than twenty, and we were eight. Had we known their numbers when they first came up we should have given them warm work. But we thought they were an advance of a stronger party, and kept on. The truth is that the pursued are no match for the pursuers, even though numbers be in their favor.

"We must not go on in this way," Jan Kuli said, "or they will take us all. Do you and my foster-brother take a pair of the best horses apiece and gallop off together, keeping the spare mounts on your bridle. Perhaps you may escape."

The advice was good, but I could not leave my followers in the path of the enemy.

At length my party began to separate and drop behind. My own horse began to flag. Jan Kuli gave me his. I leaped down and mounted his horse, and he sprang into the saddle of mine. Just then the two rearmost of my men were dismounted by the enemy. Jan Kuli also fell behind; but it was no time to try to shield or help him.

We pushed our horses to their utmost speed, yet they gradually flagged and lost pace. Dost Nasir's horse was done up, and mine now began to stumble. The son of Kasim Beg jumped down and gave me his mount. He took mine and presently dropped behind. Another man turned aside to the heights, and I was alone with Mirza Kuli.

Our horses were too weak to gallop; we went on at a canter, but Kuli's horse began to move slower and slower.

"If I lose you," I said, "whither can I go? Come-be it life or death, we will meet it together."

I kept on turning from time to time to look back at him.

"My horse is altogether blown," he cried at last. "You cannot escape if you burden yourself with me. Push on and shift for yourself-you may still escape."

I was in a singularly unpleasant situation. Mirza Kuli also fell behind, and I was left alone.

Two of the pursuers were in sight. They gained on me as my horse began to flag. There was a hill a couple of miles off, when I came to a heap of stones. My horse was knocked up, I reflected, and the hill yet a long way off. What was to be done? I had still about twenty arrows left in my quiver. Should I dismount at this heap of stones and hold my ground as long as my arrows lasted? But it struck me again that perhaps I might yet be able to gain the hill, and if I did I might stick a few arrows in my belt and succeed in climbing it. I had great faith in my own nimbleness.

So I kept on. My horse was unable to make any speed, and my pursuers got within bowshot of me. I was sparing of my arrows, however, and did not shoot. They too were wary and drew no nearer, but kept on tracking me. About sunset I reached the hill, when they suddenly called out to me: "Where do you think of going, that you fly in this manner? Jahangir Mirza has been taken and brought in; Nasir Mirza has been seized."

These words alarmed me greatly, because if all three*
of us fell into Tambal's hands we had everything to dread. I made no answer, but went on toward the hill.

When we had gone a little way farther, they called out to me again. This time they spoke more graciously, dismounting from their horses to address me. I paid no attention but continued on my way. Entering a gorge, I began to ascend it and kept on until about bedtime prayers, when I reached a large rock about the size of a house. I went behind it and found an ascent of steep ledges where the horse could not keep his footing.

They also dismounted and began to address me still more courteously and respectfully, debating with me, and saying: "What end can it serve to go on in this manner in a dark night, where there is no road? Where can you possibly go?"

Both of them with a solemn oath asserted- "Tambal wishes to place you on the throne."

"I put no trust," I replied, "in anything like that. To join him is impossible for me. If you really wish to do me an important service, you have a chance now that you may not have again. Point out tome a road by which I can rejoin the Khans, and I will show you kindness and favor beyond your utmost desire. If you will not do this, then return the way you came and leave me to fulfill my fate-even that will be no mean service."

"Would to God," they said, "we had never come, but since we have come, how can we desert you in this desolate plight? Since you will not accompany us, we shall follow you and serve you, go where you will."

"Swear then to me by the Holy Book," I asked, "that you are sincere in your offer." And they swore the heavy and awful oath.

The name of one was Baba Sairami, of the other Bander Ali.

The best thing to do, I decided, was to show some trust in them.

"An open road was once pointed out to me," I explained, "near this gorge. Proceed to it."

Though they had sworn to me, I could not manage to confide in them, so I made them go before, and followed them. After a couple of miles we reached a stream.

"This is not the road by the open valley," I pointed out, "the one I spoke

"The road is still quite a way off." They hesitated before answering.

In truth we were on the valley road, and they were deceiving me and concealing that fact. We went on until midnight, when we came to another stream.

"We have not watched the way," they explained, "and have missed the valley road."

"What is to be done?" I asked.

"The road to Ghiva lies a little farther on," they said, "and it will take you the way you want to go."

We rode on accordingly until the end of the third watch of the night, when we reached the river of Karnan which comes down from the village of Ghiva.

"Stop here," Baba Sairami said, "while I go on, and I will come back after reconnoitering the road."

He did return after a short time and remarked-"A good many men are passing along the road; we cannot go this way."

This disturbed me. I was alone in the midst of an enemy's country, the morning was at hand, and I was far from the place to which I wished to go.

"Show me then," I said, "some spot where we can lie concealed during the day. When it is night we can get some feed for the horses and pass the river."

"Near here," they answered, "there is a hillock in which we may hide." And Bander Ali, who was the headman of Karnan, added, "Neither we nor the horses can hold out longer unless we get something to eat. I will go to Karnan and bring out whatever I can lay hand on."

So we passed on and took the path toward Karnan, stopping about two miles from the village whither Bander Ali went, and stayed a long time. The morning had dawned and there was no sign of our man. I began to be alarmed.

Just as it was full day, Bander Ali came cantering back bringing three loaves but no grain for the horses. Each of us taking a loaf under his arm, we went off without delay, reached the hillock where we wished to remain in hiding, and, having tied our horses in the low and marshy ground, we all mounted the knoll and sat keeping watch in different directions, and on each other.

Near midday we sighted Ahmed the Falconer riding with four horsemen from Ghiva to Akhsi. I thought of attracting the Falconer's attention and getting horses from him by fair words and promises. Our beasts were quite done, having been on the go for a day and a night without a grain of feed. But my heart misgave me, and I doubted whether I could trust the newcomers.

I talked it over with my two companions and came to an understanding that, as the Falconer and his men were likely to stay the night at Karnan, we should enter the town, carry off the five horses, and so make our escape to some place of safety.

Then at noon, as far off as a man could see, we noticed something that glittered on a horse. For some time we could not make out who it was. As he drew abreast our hillock I recognized him as a chieftain who had been in the last day's fighting. He had been at my side in Akhsi and, in the general scattering from the town, had headed in this direction. Now he seemed to be wandering and trying to conceal himself. Again I thought of calling out, when Bander All and Baba Sairami came and stood close to me.

"For the last two days," they said to me, "our horses have had neither grain nor fodder. Let us go down to the ravine behind the hillock and suffer them to graze."

To this I consented and we mounted, descending into the depression and letting the beasts crop what they could find.

About the time of afternoon prayers we observed a single horseman passing along the very height where we had been hiding. I knew him to be Kadir Berdi, the headman of Ghiva village.

"Let us call Kadir Berdi," I said to my companions.

We hailed him and he came down to us.

After greeting the headman, I asked him some questions and spoke him fair, trying to dispose him favorably toward me. I asked him to bring us a rope, grass hook, an ax, with other gear for crossing a river-also provender for the horses and ourselves, and, if possible, a fresh horse. We made an appointment to meet him at this spot, at bedtime prayers.

But evening prayers were no sooner over than a horseman appeared in the twilight, moving from Karnan toward Ghiva. We challenged him-all three of us.

He answered something we could not make out, and turned aside at once. In truth, this was the same chieftain we had sighted that noon. During the day he had moved from the place where he had been concealed to another lurking place, and in answering he had so changed his voice that I did not recognize it, though he had lived beside me for years. Had I only known him and kept him with me, it had been well for me.

The worst of it was that his passing made me uneasy. It looked as if he had been spying on us, and I dared not wait in the gully to keep the rendezvous we had made with Kadir Berdi.

"There are many isolated gardens," Bander Ali said, "among the suburbs of Karnan, where no one will think of looking for us. Let us go thither and send back someone to lead Kadir Berdi to us."

We mounted and rode slowly to the outskirts of Karnan. It was winter and excessively cold. My guardians brought me an old mantle of yearling lambskin, with wool on the inside and coarse woven cloth without, and this I put on. They also foraged and fetched me a dish of pottage of boiled millet flour, which I ate and found wonderfully good.

"Have you sent anybody to Kadir Berdi?" I asked Bander Ali.

"Yes, I have," he responded at once.

These misbegotten, treacherous clowns had actually met Kadir Berdi when one of them was off getting the pottage. Instead of bringing him to me, they had sent him to my enemy Tambal at Akhsi with word of my hiding place. Entering a house with stone walls, and kindling a fire, I closed Iny eyes for a moment in sleep. These crafty fellows pretended a vast anxiety to serve me.