The Walking Drum

by Louis L'Amour

  "You do not know him. Whatever there is, he wants, and when he gets it he hungers for more."

  "When he discovers this knowledge of mine will take ten years to learn if he is an apt pupil, and fifteen if he is less than apt, his interest will wane.

  "Such knowledge is born from pain, hunger, and discipline of mind and body. The pain and hunger he might stand, but the discipline? Never!"

  "Can you see the future, Kerbouchard?"

  "Who would wish to? Our lives hold a veil between anticipation and horror. Anticipation is the carrot suspended before the jackass to keep him moving forward. Horror is what he would see if he took his eyes off the carrot."

  "You are gloomy." Of course, but it was not my way. Was it some feeling brought by Andronicus? Or Bardas? "He is loved by the people. They wish him to be emperor."

  "The mob always wishes to make its hero the emperor, but no sooner is he emperor than they have another hero they wish in his place.

  "If ever you become a hero to the mob, Phillip, remember this: Every man who cheers you carries in his belt the knife of an assassin."

  45

  ALONE IN THE room Phillip provided, I sat over a bundle of paper to begin earning my living. The purse Andronicus had given was ample, but I put no trust in gifts. The favors of great men or women are like blushes on the cheeks of a courtesan—rare, nice to see, but not to be relied upon.

  My possession of esoteric knowledge placed me in a position that, if handled with discretion, might move me into a position of importance. Andronicus might someday become emperor, and even now his power was second only to that of Manuel.

  At this time I chose to make a copy of The Qabus Nama, a very excellent book by the Prince of Gurgan. No other book taught so much about the practical business of living, and during the long trek across Europe I had read and reread its pages. Yet when I began, I chose one of the later chapters in which the Prince discusses the service of kings.

  Scarcely had I begun when I remembered a thought I immediately wrote down. No doubt my present situation brought it to mind. If at any time your Prince should pretend your position with him is sure, begin from that moment to feel unsure.

  There was a further thought that he who argues with a king dies before his destined time. These were thoughts to remember, and while I knew not the character of Manuel, beyond that he was a man who loved war and the chase, I placed no trust in Andronicus, nor Bardas.

  Throughout the night I copied from memory the pages of the book so often read, but as I had been trained from infancy in total recall, this presented no obstacle. I had only to write a line or a thought from a book, and its contents returned to mind.

  When I had written until my lids were heavy, I went to the window and, throwing it open, looked out upon the night and the city. Over the glistening domes, beyond the dark and reflecting waters of the Golden Horn, I looked toward Asia.

  Hidden in darkness beyond the mouth of the Horn, lay the Bosphorus and my destiny. Not only my father awaited me there, but something more.

  Was it intuition? Was it ancient Druidic awareness? Or some atavistic memory calling me back? We Celts had come, long ago, from Central Asia, or so it was told in the old songs. Was there within me some urge to return along the track of migrating peoples? Was something lost back there? Was I returning even as some fish return to the streams of their birth to spawn?

  And my father? How would he be, that father of mine, the hero of my childhood? Old? Gray? Stooped? Would his fine strength be wasted away? Crippled? Blinded? Might Andronicus open the gates of Alamut for me? Or Manuel? From all I heard no man could do this, but what was one slave? Perhaps ...

  At last I slept.

  Cold dawn awakened me. Birds sang, water bubbled in the interior fountains, and I returned to my table once more. This was the hour when the mind was fresh, the hour of first and greatest clarity. My thoughts flowed easily as water from a spring, and I wrote, wrote, wrote.

  Phillip came, followed by a slave bringing food. "I heard you moving about." He picked up some pages. "May I?"

  He read, nodding a bit. "This is fine stuff," he said then. "Will you ask Andronicus to sponsor it?"

  "Not Andronicus," I said, "Manuel."

  "The Emperor? But how will you see him?"

  "I shall simply ask. Many things are not done simply because they are not attempted."

  "How will Andronicus look upon this?"

  "With doubt. But I am no retainer of his, nor of Manuel's. Andronicus will trust me no less, for he does not trust me now, and he may value me the more."

  "You play with risk."

  "I say what I have said before. I have a fast horse." Smiling, I put my papers together and stacked them under a marble paperweight at one corner of the table. "Come, let us look upon the town."

  It was time to discover two things: the location of Safia's informant and, if possible, what had happened to Suzanne.

  "It is a danger, Phillip, to live always in one city, for undue emphasis is placed upon the importance of those who live there. Often when compared to others, their shadows grow less.

  "I have observed," I added, "that the steps of a man sound heavier when he is alone in the hall."

  The street to which we found our way was a narrow avenue off the great central street, the Mese. It was a street of shops not far from the Baths of Zeuxippus.

  The shop I entered was small, displaying goods from many nations, and the man who came to meet us was a Persian. "Something?" His eyes lingered on me, for Phillip was so obviously what he was.

  "Do you sell the goods of Córdoba? There is a leather of a certain quality. It has been used at the Great Mosque for binding books. The leather was suggested by a lady."

  The leather he displayed was excellent, and Phillip was looking at some cloaks across the room. "A valley"—I spoke softly—"in the Elburz Mountains, and a slave in the Fortress of Alamut."

  "The slave's name?"

  "Kerbouchard ... as mine is."

  He glanced at Phillip, who was out of hearing. "Forget the slave. He tried to escape and by now may be dead."

  "I shall go to the valley."

  "It is your life." The Persian shrugged, then he said, "It has been reported that you are a physician."

  "I am."

  "You are spoken of as a bold and daring man."

  "I have been fortunate."

  "Such men are valuable. Come again when you are alone."

  We turned toward the Baths, and glancing back, I saw a man emerge from the shop and hurry away. Safia I trusted, but what did I know of this Persian?

  Day after day in the quiet of my room or beside the fountain in the garden, I worked at my writing, preparing first a copy of The Qabus Nama, and following it The Art of War, by Sun Tzu.

  Each day we went to an armorer who maintained a room for exercising with weapons, and there I worked myself into condition again, rehearsing the tumbling to recover my old agility and working with weights to make the sword light in my hand. Several of the Emperor's Varangian Guard came there for the same purpose. These were Vikings, hired for the purpose of protecting the Emperor; all were noted for their loyalty and incorruptibility.

  One of these, Odric by name, often practiced with me with swords. He was a stalwart, powerful man, skilled with all manner of weapons, and at first he bested me. But as my strength returned and my old skills came back, I often bested him—yet not as often as I might have done as I needed his help.

  One day, while resting after a hard bout I explained what I was doing, copying the ancient book on the art of war and the lessons it taught. He had many questions, and what I hoped for happened. He mentioned me to Manuel. The Emperor was a fine soldier, extraordinarily strong and active, intrigued by all that concerned war and fighting. He suggested Odric bring me to him.

  We entered by the postern gate, passing into a secluded garden where trees offered shade, where jasmine, rose, and lilies grew. The Emperor was seated on a bench overlooking the harbor.r />
  His hair was gray, but he was a handsome man, his features blunt and less classically handsome than those of Andronicus. He arose quickly and turned to greet me. The laugh lines in his seamed brown face deepened.

  "It is proper," he said, "that I rise in the presence of one who does not kneel to kings, and whom kings do not interrupt."

  "Your Majesty is well informed."

  "It is the necessity of emperors. Tell me, what did you think of Andronicus?"

  "A brilliant, interesting man, even a fascinating one, but utterly unscrupulous and dangerous to the empire as well as to you."

  "Know you not that he is my cousin?"

  "Your Majesty, my ancestors were, as you know, advisers and confidants of kings. One rule we had: We told our kings the truth or what we believed to be true."

  "It is a rare quality," he said quietly. "It is no wonder you were not interrupted by kings, nor that you sat at the head of the table."

  "We had only our wisdom to offer, Your Majesty, and only our truth."

  "So then, what would you have me do with Andronicus? You believe he would like to be emperor, do you not?"

  "Yes, he would like to be emperor. There is nothing he would not do to be emperor. What should you do with him? As you are doing. Keep him, by all means. He will be the focal point for all your enemies, and while he lives, there is not likely to be another.

  "Keep him, value him, and by watching him you will know by his associates who your enemies are. They will come to him as flies to honey, and to no other so long as he lives."

  Manuel turned to his bodyguard. "You were right, Odric, this is a valuable man."

  He turned back to me. "You have said he was both brilliant and dangerous. Should I not fear that his plotting will destroy me?"

  "No, Your Majesty. You know your enemy well, better than he knows you. Andronicus believes he is much more clever than you, and this will never permit him to guess the truth, that you are using him for a purpose. Also, I suspect Andronicus plots better than he acts."

  Manuel stood with his hands clasped behind his back. "And you have been in Constantinople for only a matter of weeks? I fear how much you would learn if you were here for months!"

  "Perhaps less; before too many factors are involved the vision is often clearer. There was once a man who preferred to visit a city before he learned the language. He believed he could better estimate its quality before hearing the comments of its citizens. He depended on what he could see, hear, and sense."

  He asked about our defeat by the Petchenegs, or Cumans, as he called them. In detail I described their numbers, leadership, and attack. I described our retreat, our defense. Knowing him for a soldier, I gave a clear outline of the strategy and tactics of our defeat.

  "Your Hansgraf was too good a man to lose. Had he come to Byzantium, I should have given him command of an army."

  For more than an hour we talked, of wars and men, of tactics and the means to victory. "There," he said suddenly, "lies the weakness of our city." He pointed across the Golden Horn toward the narrow harbor beyond. "If ships could get inside our great chain, the city might fall." He glanced sharply at me. "When next you see Andronicus will you speak of this visit?"

  "He will know of it, I am sure. Andronicus is one who would have many spies."

  "And what will you say?"

  "That I had a book to give you, in return for which I hoped a favor."

  "The book is in Greek?"

  "It is now." I handed it to him. "It came from a Persian source."

  He opened the pages, glanced at them, became enthralled. The sun lowered; the garden grew cool. Glancing up, he said, "Please seat yourselves. I shall be long." He read on, occasionally turning back a page or two. "You wished a favor? What favor?"

  "I wish to get a slave from the fortress of Alamut, and if I cannot get the slave, I intend to enter the fortress."

  He stared at me as if he believed me bereft of sense, then shook his head.

  "The slave?"

  "My father."

  "It is impossible. The fortress is impregnable. It cannot be taken by assault, nor is any slave allowed to leave it alive. For years I have sought such a slave or someone who might tell me of the fortress and its defenses. There is no one. Nor is anyone allowed to enter who is not of their cult."

  He stood up. "I should be glad to help, but what you ask is impossible. A dozen kings have tried it or planned it. None have succeeded."

  He handed me the book, but I refused it. "The book was written for you, Your Majesty. Please keep it."

  "I am in your debt. The book is a valuable one." He paused. "There is a place for you in my service."

  "I am grateful, but I go to Alamut."

  "You will need money. You will need horses."

  "One horse I have; my others were taken by the Petchenegs, although"—the thought came to me—"if I could get word to Prince Abaka Khan, I might buy them back."

  "Abaka Khan has been to my court."

  The sun was gone, a cool breeze came over the water. "I have affairs to which I must attend. I am grateful, Odric, for bringing this man to me."

  He extended his hand. "Think of another service I can do you. It will be my pleasure."

  When he was gone we left by the postern gate, which closed after us. Lights thrust into the darkness of the waters like golden daggers. A coolness arose from the harbor.

  "You have a friend," Odric said.

  "I like him."

  "He is a soldier, as strong as any three of my men even today, and he has been emperor more years than I have lived."

  At the end of the street Odric paused. "I return, but be careful. Our streets are unsafe for a man alone."

  "I am not alone," I told him, "I have my sword."

  46

  IT HAS SEEMED to me that each year one should pause to take stock of himself, to ask: Where am I going? What am I becoming? What do I wish to do and become?

  Most people whom I encountered were without purpose, people who had given themselves no goal. The first goal need not be the final one, for a sailing ship sails first by one wind, then another. The point is that it is always going somewhere, proceeding toward a final destination.

  Until now my task had been to find if my father was alive, and if so where, and then how to free him from slavery. These were but temporary goals. What was it I wanted? Where was I going? What had I done to achieve it?

  Mine was the day of the adventurer. Only a few years before, William, so-called the Conqueror, had led a bunch of adventurers and soldiers of fortune from Normandy into England. Possessing little beyond their courage, their judgment, and their swords, they had taken rich lands and turned them to their own use.

  Another Norman family had captured Sicily and built a small empire but a rich one. He who had a sword could carve his way to wealth and power, and the kingdoms of the world were ruled by such men or their descendants.

  Yesterday I arrived hungry and in rags; today I was the confidant of kings; so can a man's fortune change. Yet power, riches, and the friendship of kings are but transitory things. Riches are a claim to distinction for those who have no other right to it. Ancestry is most important to those who have done nothing themselves, and often the ancestor from whom they claim descent is one they would not allow in the house if they met him today.

  Great families were often founded by pirates, freebooters, or energetic peasants who happened to be in the right place at the right time and took advantage of it. The founder would, in most cases, look with disdain on his descendants.

  To me the goal was to learn, to see, to know, to understand. Never could I glimpse a sail on an outbound ship but my heart would stumble and my throat grow tight. Up to a point a man's life is shaped by environment, heredity, and movements and changes in the world about him; then there comes a time when it lies within his grasp to shape the clay of his life into the sort of thing he wishes to be. Only the weak blame parents, their race, their times, lack of good fortune, or the qu
irks of fate. Everyone has it within his power to say, this I am today, that I shall be tomorrow. The wish, however, must be implemented by deeds.

  Within a few weeks my father would be free, or I should be dead.

  Beyond that I had not planned, except there was an urge within me to go further into the East, to seek my destiny in the far lands of Hind or Cathay.

  Women? Ah, women were the stuff of dreams, made to be loved, and he who could say the reality was less than the promise was neither lover nor dreamer.

  Aziza, Sharasa, Valaba, Safia, Suzanne ... had I loved any one the less because I had loved the others? Had not each, in her way, contributed to my education? To my appreciation? Even today did I not love each of them still? A little, anyway.

  Where lay my destiny? Where beyond the Valley of the Assassins?

  To Hind, perhaps? To that far land beyond the deserts? There was much to learn there, and there were dark-eyed girls with soft lips; there were palm trees, white sand beaches, and a soft roll of surf. There were jungle nights with strange scents and sounds, paddles dipping and trade winds stirring the leaves.

  He who would see a far land must carry the far land in his heart. The heat, dust, and struggle are a part of it; these were what made the beauties worth having. In the stillness of many a night I had taken out my maps, those maps I carried ever close to me, safe in their oilskin covering. I studied those maps, but I prepared another.

  I prepared a map of the fortress of Alamut, gathering bits and pieces, a word here, a comment there, but nothing I heard boded well for what lay before me. The villagers for miles around were their friends or members of their sect, each one a spy. To get close without those in the castle being informed was impossible.

  The Emperor Manuel allowed two weeks to go by with no acknowledgment of my gift. I had all but forgotten when Odric came to my door with others of the Varangian Guard, and with them were my lovely Arabs, the stallion and the two other mares given me by Safia.