Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Shirzad Mir was now master of the field. He called to the boy on the cliff—our foes thought that many more were there—to shoot down the first man of the caravan who moved from his place.

  Then he ordered me to ride my horse slowly back and forth among the remaining women and their attendants, and see that none escaped.

  It was now growing dark, so of my own will I set four of the camelmen to building a great fire at the lower end of the caravan and another by the heap of stones. So it happened that when it grew dark we had our prisoners securely between the two fires and could see all that passed.

  Shirzad Mir had gone straight to the Pathans and talked with them a long time. Presently he came to me and said:

  “They will join my party, being men who sell their swords. For this reason I did not slay them. They were near enough for good shooting. I have cared for those who were hurt. The others are cooking food. In the morning we will give them a sword apiece— perhaps."

  With the other attendants we did not speak. They were men of low breeding and jumped to obey our orders. Shirzad Mir kept Said Afzel ever at his side, in case of treachery.

  One at a time we ate of the food for which we yearned. The boy joined us proudly, and Shirzad Mir set him to collecting the few weapons of the eunuchs. Of these he made a pile and sat on it, feeling greatly the honor we did him.

  Shirzad Mir talked with Said Afzel through the night. There was no chance for me to sleep, but I think Sir Weyand slept a little during his watch over the Pathans. Before dawn I had spoken with the mahout of Most Alast and given him a handful of gold from the treasure bags. He—one master being as good as another— consented to serve us.

  At dawn I had finished my task. The loads were all recovered and placed on the camels and the slaves' backs. All had eaten. The women were put back on their camels, and the eunuchs herded in front.

  At first break of light in the sky we set out, my lord and Said Afzel mounted on the elephant, who was now quiet, the injured in litters borne by the slaves, the Pathans on their own horses, and the sheep-boy on another.

  We struck away from the Shyr Pass into hills. Then, for the first time in two days and nights, I slept a little in the saddle, being weary, but only a little.

  III

  Said I not our star was in the ascendant, so that for a space we were given strength to trick our enemies? Later, evil fortune came upon us again, but not then.

  Three courses were open to my lord. He could slay Said Afzel, to strike terror into the Uzbeks; he could exchange the prince and the women for his own family, and perhaps a strip of Badak-shan; or he could ransom our prisoners for gold with which to pay an army. I urged the first plan, Sir Weyand the second, and the Pathans, who had now cast their fortunes with us, the third.

  Our danger was great, for when news of what had happened in the pass reached Khanjut by way of some escaped bearers, the whole army of Jani Beg was sent to hunt us down. As yet we had no followers other than the four injured Pathans and the sheep-boy, whom Shirzad Mir appointed head of the camelmen and gave a sword, to his great satisfaction. The bearers, the slaves and the camel-drivers were useless to us and would have been glad to fall again into the hands of Jani Beg, who would not drive them through the bypaths of the hills, as we did.

  It is written in the annals of India, the curious thing that my master did in this difficulty.

  “We will keep the prisoners and the treasure," he said, “and we will regain the foothills of Badakshan from Jani Beg; also we will gather together a small army."

  And this thing we did, by the will of God. How was it done? We held a durbar—that is, a crowning ceremony. The people of Badakshan had been told my lord was dead. The durbar showed them he was not.

  Verily, not before or since has such a durbar been held in Hindustan or Badakshan or Turkestan. We traveled with the caravan through the villages of the hills. At each village Shirzad Mir would dismount from Most Alast and spend money—from the bags of Said Afzel—for a feast.

  Wine he bought freely, and food, and scattered silver among the people. So that all might see, he held his durbar. Said Afzel, the opium-eating prince, he forced to do homage in public to him; fat Kasim Kirlas, the professional courtier, Shirzad Mir made pay him extravagant compliments; El Ghias, the buffoon of the caravan, performed his tricks; the musicians of Said Afzel sang— at the sword points of the Pathans—and the dancing girls danced. It was a great feast. Shirzad Mir, looking the proud king he was by birth, sat on cushions under a cloth-of-gold tent which we found in the baggage, and watched idly, saying nothing.

  Sir Weyand cleaned his soiled garments and sat at the right hand of Shirzad Mir, as the ambassador from England. Only I did not attend, for at every feast I was out in the lookout places with certain men of the hills who rallied to our standard, keeping watch. The men of Jani Beg pressed us close. We moved each day, marching in the night to a new village. I kept a good watch and at each new place more of our men came in to see and hear, for rumors of what had happened spread through the hills. Shirzad Mir gave to them gold and weapons from the store we had taken.

  In the plain of Badakshan we could not have avoided being overtaken by the cavalry of the Uzbeks. But in the hills they were at a loss—and the people aided us. It was a mad scheme, yet its very madness protected us.

  Shirzad Mir himself put on the jewels he took from Said Afzel, and—sitting placidly on Most Alast, the black elephant, with the two crimson stripes of the Mogul on his nose—he looked the king he was. The hearts of his old soldiers, who thronged to us from the hills, were uplifted at the sight.

  Always Shirzad Mir directed me to travel in a circle, through Anderab, Ghori, and Bamian, back to where we had started, at the Shyr Pass. In spite of danger he did this, and we all wondered, until one day, we came to the desolate aul of Iskander Khan, as Shirzad Mir had planned.

  When the old Kirghiz chieftain came forth and lifted up his hands at the sight, Shirzad Mir in his gorgeous robes dismounted from Most Alast and embraced Iskander Khan, while we all watched.

  Then my lord pointed to the caravans, the camels, the treasure and the women.

  “Choose," said he to Iskander, “it is all yours for the asking."

  But Iskander Khan would not, saying that he was unworthy of such honor. Whereupon Shirzad Mir called for us all to see. He loaded the horse Iskander Khan had given him in his need—the fine Arab stallion—with pots of gold and gems, and put the bridle in the Kirghiz's hand himself.

  He put a robe of ceremony on Iskander Khan and girded on him the sword from his own waist.

  “This man," he said loudly “shall be always at my left hand until he dies. Those who do homage to me shall bow to him also."

  In this manner did Shirzad Mir pay debt to Iskander Khan. He was a good man. A man among ten thousand. Aye, among ten times ten thousand.

  Prophecy of the Blind

  A fool covers himself with cloth of gold and laughs; while a wise man sharpens his sword.

  Ask a fool what is hidden within the temple wall, and he will answer, “Stone." But a blind man may see what is hidden. Aye, he will read what is not written by the hand of men.

  Muslim proverb

  It was on the road to Balkh that the boy was playing in the dirt. And down the road was trampling a herd of frightened buffaloes.

  With my eyes, I, Abdul Dost, hereditary follower of Shirzad Mir, saw what came to pass. This was in the year 1608 of the Christian calendar.

  The boy was very young and could not walk except when guided by a stronger hand. He was intent upon his play, facing us. His companion was the kwajah1 Muhammad Asad, who sat upon a rock beside the road.

  Muhammad Asad was blind.

  The buffaloes, frightened by something down the road, were coming swiftly. And still the boy kept at his play, moving tiny sticks about in the dust. Muhammad Asad heard the beat of the animals' hoofs, but he could not see the danger to the child. I saw it, so likewise did Sir Weyand.

  Sir Wey
and, as I have said, was the Ferang, the Englishman, who had joined me in the hill country of India. He was a man who acted quickly. Some men are readier at making words fly than at drawing a sword, but the Ferang was not such.

  In a second he was down from his horse and running toward the child. His stout legs flew through the dust, and as he ran he loosened his brown cloak. The buffaloes were very close.

  Sir Weyand did not slacken his pace. It seemed to me as if he sprang among the running animals and snatched up the boy under one arm; with the other be waved the cloak.

  It was a goodly sight—the broad Ferang with both feet planted wide, his green cap with the feather on one side of his yellow curls and the cloak waving about his head.

  The beasts could not stop, yet they parted in the middle and swept by the Englishman on both sides, bellowing and tossing their horns. The waving cloak had frightened them. In the dust that rose around him I could see the straight figure of the man. Yet why should Sir Weyand have put his life in risk for the sake of a mullah's child?

  The buffaloes forced my horse aside, up the bank of the road. When they had passed I caught Sir Weyand's mount and reined down to him. The child was frightened and cried. At this, the holy man came toward us, feeling the way with his staff. The feelings of the blind are quickened by the affliction that God has laid upon them, and Muhammad Asad knew that the child had been in peril. He reached forward with his thin hand until he had touched the boy and made certain that no harm had come to him.

  “Peace be unto you, Muhammad Asad," I greeted him, knowing the holy man.

  “And unto you be peace."

  He asked what had passed, and when I told him he lifted blind eyes to heaven while Sir Weyand stared curiously at his lean face and venerable beard. “It is a blessing from the Prophet. Yet I have no gift to reward this deed."

  Now I know not if the blessing of the kwajah aided the Ferang, who was an unbeliever. Still, he was a brave man and because of this and the strange events that followed, I think the kwajah's thanks bore fruit.

  That was well, for it was the whim of Sir Weyand that had brought us here, on the way to Balkh, in grave peril. He had become wearied of the inactivity at the camp of Shirzad Mir, my master, where the hill tribes were gathered. Sir Weyand had made common cause with us after he was driven from the Mogul's court by intrigues of Portuguese priests who were foes of the English.

  “Idleness will breed defeat for us, Abdul Dost," he had said to me.

  When I asked what else we might do, he laughed and said, “We ride to Balkh." This was a mad whim, for we were outlaws with the hand of the Mogul against us. The plain of Badakshan was filled with the Uzbeks, our foes, and Balkh itself was a great city of trade with high walls. But his whim would not be denied.

  “We saved our lives and that of Shirzad Mir by attacking when we were starved and lost and defeated. Now we will attack again. Shirzad Mir cannot leave his men, but you, Abdul Dost, do you fear to come with me?"

  When he said this, I mounted my horse. Who can speak of fear to Abdul Dost, mansabdar of the dead Mogul Akbar— commanding officer of the Mogul army below Amira, and best master of scimitar in northern Ind?

  Now Sir Weyand had been thinking as he watched the kwajah, and thought with him led to deeds.

  “It has been told me, Muhammad Asad," he spoke gravely, “that your priesthood have sight into the future. Is it so? Can you read me the future?"

  “It is so with one who has fasted until the thread of life between soul and body is thin. What would you know?"

  Thus came the prophecy of Muhammad Asad, written in the annals of Badakshan, from which befell the strange event at Balkh.

  “A Ferang is within the borders of Badakshan," answered Sir Weyand, speaking respectfully—for the kwajah was loved of God—and motioning to me to be silent. “What is to be his fate in this moon?"

  Muhammad Asad turned sightless eyes to him and to me. Then he took the hand of the boy and walked up the hillside, signing for us to follow. We dismounted and did so. A short distance away was a stream known to travelers along the caravan route to Balkh. By this Muhammad Asad halted. He released the child and felt his way to the water, where he knelt and performed his ablutions, as prescribed in the law.

  I did likewise, for it was the hour of noonday prayer. Sir Weyand took the child on his knee and watched.

  “By your tread—" Muhammad Asad turned to me when he was finished—“and by your voice it is clear that you are a warrior. Have you arrows?"

  At his command I handed him a shaft from my quiver. This the kwajah broke into two parts. He felt on the ground and took up a stick. This also he broke. Then he was silent in prayer with the sticks in his hand.

  He chanted softly the sacred invocation:

  Allah ho Akbar, Allah ho Akbar.

  Arsh haddu unlah Illah ha Illahah,

  Arsh haddu unnah Mahomeda Razul Allah.

  Hyah Allah S’allah,

  Allah ho Akbar, Allah ho Akbar.

  This was the blessing upon the name of the prophet. Verily, Muhammad Asad was holy and he had fasted long. It is given to few to dwell so near the thoughts of the other world.

  He took the four sticks and tossed them into the air. Then he felt them as they lay on the ground.

  “I heard it said in the bazaars of Balkh," he uttered, “that the Ferang is the foe of Jani Beg, the Uzbek."

  Again he laid his hands on the sticks. This time he turned to the Ferang. Sir Weyand waited gravely. He had not meant to make sport of the holy man. If so, I should have drawn sword against him.

  “A thought has come to me," spoke Muhammad Asad. “It is this. Within the moon the Ferang shall be master of Jani Beg's stronghold."

  That was the prophecy. It seemed to please Sir Weyand. Truly, I took it for a good omen. But he conceived of another thing. Verily, his whim was strong upon him.

  “Will you render me a service, Muhammad Asad?" he inquired.

  The kwajah bent his head.

  “Ask, and I will do what I may. But I have nothing which I may give you for the act which saved the life of this boy that I found playing naked in the bazaar of Balkh."

  Sir Weyand's cheeks reddened at this.

  “It is not a gift," he said quickly. “You are going east where Jani Beg's forces lie?"

  “Aye."

  “Then go to the camp of the Uzbeks. Tell them of your prophecy. Will you do this?"

  “If God wills," assented the holy man, “it shall be done."

  “But do not say that you met with us."

  Again Muhammad Asad agreed. It is the way of such men to be of service. I knew that he would do as he said. So, I think, did Sir Weyand. Yet I could not see how the tale would serve us.

  Many things were not given to me to see. I saw not how two men—and outlaws—could make themselves masters of a walled city filled with foes. Never before or since in the annals of the Moguls had this been done.

  Sir Weyand was full of his new thought.

  “Ho, Adbul Dost!" he cried, setting himself sidewise in his peaked saddle to look at me. “Abdul Dost of the somber countenance and the wary glance! Ho, mansabdar that was, leader of a thousand horsemen in battle, champion of the scimitar, man of the Moguls, sword-bearer of Badakshan—"

  “Nay," I growled, though not ill-pleased, for Sir Weyand was a merry man.

  “—Entitled to the rank of triple remount, veteran of fifty onsets—what think you, Abdul Dost, we will do now?"

  “God alone knows," I made reply, for there was no telling what his whim might be. “Perhaps you seek to cut Jani Beg from his men. If so, your grave will soon be dug, for the Uzbeks are skilled soldiers."

  “Nay; if that were so we are riding in the wrong direction. I have seen you play at chess, Abdul Dost, on a carpet by the evening campfire. In the mimic battle of the chessboard, what is it you seek to do?"

  “To capture the strong pieces of the enemy."

  “Even so. Now what is the stronghold of Jani Beg?"


  “Khanjut," I said bitterly, thinking of the fortress on the rock at the pass of Shyr that the Uzbeks had wrested from us.

  Sir Weyand was thoughtful at this, but he shook his yellow curls.

  “Nay, Abdul Dost. You, who are a soldier, think of a fortress. I, who am a merchant, a servant of my sovereign lady the queen, think otherwise."

  Long after the events which were about to come had passed back into the abyss of time, I heard it said that when the Englishman spoke these words, his queen was dead and a new monarch sat the throne of the khanate of England. I know not. But Sir Weyand had been several years in reaching the hills of India and he had not heard from his own country for a long time.

  “Think, Abdul Dost," he said; “what is the precious jewel in the turban of Jani Beg? What is the reservoir from which he draws strength? And do you remember where the caravans pass from Kashgar to Persia, from Samarkand to India?"

  “Balkh," I responded unwillingly, for Khanjut was the real citadel of Badakshan, holding as it did the stores of Jani Beg and controlling the pass into India.

  “Balkh!" he cried. “What else? Balkh, the ancient mother of cities. Balkh, the walled town toward which we have turned our horses' heads. Truly, I have coveted Balkh for the space of a moon.

  And now we have met with Muhammad Asad, which is a brave omen."

  “An omen will not give us men or weapons."

  “Nay, but it will uplift our spirits." He threw back his sturdy head and laughed aloud, as a man will do who is proud of his strength. There was a twinkle in his gray eyes and his firm lips curled with delight. “You and I, Abdul Dost—the mansabdar and the merchant—we will capture Balkh."

  Verily then I looked upon him as one who is light of wit. This was worse than I had thought.

  “Nay," I said clearly, “that may not be."

  Sir Weyand was but a merchant—although master of that long sword of his—while I was a leader of horsemen. How could two men seize a city, walled, and within the walls ten times a thousand men, all of whom carried swords? True, they were of every party and race—Sarts, Pathans, Persian merchants, hillmen, de-sertmen, and Ghils, but we were only two.