Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  His grip on my arm tightened.

  “Ho," he whispered, “we are playing with death this night, you and I, Abdul Dost. But we shall be masters of Balkh."

  “Nay," I whispered, thinking swiftly of many dangers.

  “These be orders, Adbul Dost!" he cried roughly. “Go to your post!"

  The Ghils looked at me mockingly, and I went.

  III

  Is any plight so uneasy as that of a man on outpost who knows not what goes on in his rear? Verily, he is like a blind, led horse which hears the noise of battle but cannot see.

  And I, at the west gate of Balkh, heard battle drawing close and smelled blood in the dusty air. Aye, for at dawn people began to approach the gate. The cry of the muezzin had scarce silenced when women appeared in the hamlets without the walls, bearing jars to the wells; burdened donkeys passed here and there; a barking of dogs resounded, and now and then the song of a witless girl.

  Aye, I smelled danger and my heart closed upon itself heavily.

  We had no trouble in holding the gate. Some travelers came first on camels from the plain. These turned back in alarm when I cried that Shirzad Mir had taken Balkh. They gave the news to the hamlets, so that the women and children and donkeys began to flee away from us.

  But within the walls there was more confusion and outcry. Throngs gathered in the roadway when the Ghil, standing just inside the wooden gate where I could hear what passed, said that Jani Beg had ordered the walls of the city closed.

  So the high walls of Balkh were closed. The townspeople dared not force an outlet through us, fearing the name of the Uzbeks who held the reins of power in Badakshan. After a while came sundry kwajahs and high merchants who questioned the Ghils.

  They responded as I ordered that Jani Beg had done this thing, and they must wait until after nightfall, when a party would come from the Uzbek camp to learn the why of it.

  Said I not it was the fate of my people to bend the neck to a master—even to the invading Uzbeks? The Ghils swaggered, and the townspeople did not doubt—at first. In time they did so, but in time many strange things came to pass.

  Then came a caravan from Herat. To them we told the same tale. Our outriders must have told Sir Weyand, at the other gate, of the caravan, for the kettledrums—which are a sign of authority— struck up loudly, and there was a great outcry.

  The merchants withdrew. I saw several horsemen leave their party and strike off, around the city. I judged that they went to seek Jani Beg. Yet others must have gone before them with the news. Jani Beg would pay well for tidings that Shirzad Mir was in Balkh.

  One of the Ghil outriders galloped up and told me that men had left to inform the nearest Uzbeks of what had happened before dawn. He asked if this was what we wished.

  “How should it be otherwise?" I responded, putting on a bold face. “A wise man reads the writing of fate."

  The man trotted off to think this over.

  Thus it was that we two held the gates of Balkh. It was clear now what Sir Weyand had said about our faces being turned two ways. To the people of Balkh we seemed men of Jani Beg. To those outside we were sentries of Shirzad Mir. To the Ghils we were a mystery.

  Aye, the sun climbed high and the herders brought their flocks but did not try to enter the city to the market. And we held the gates of Balkh.

  At intervals the kettledrums echoed. It was a feast-day, and the noise within did much to convince those who watched from the plain that a party of Shirzad Mir was in truth in Balkh. Sir Weyand's orders—so said the Ghils who were watching the streets—had encouraged the celebration of the feast.

  Presently one of the Ghils approached me where I sat by my horse and salaamed.

  “The Ferang," he said covertly, “has sent a message to you. He asks what Jani Beg will do when he hears the news."

  This speech smelled strongly of a lie. It was the Ghils, not Sir Weyand, who were waxing curious. I pondered the matter for the space milk takes to boil.

  “Tell the Ferang," I made answer, “that Jani Beg will turn his horse's head to Balkh with the pick of his followers. Others he will leave to watch the rebel, Shirzad Mir. Still others he will send with his important stores to the citadel of Khanjut. There they will be safe while his army is removed, for Khanjut is impregnable. It is written that while water flows in the rivers of Badakshan, Khanjut will not be taken by siege."

  Thus I put in his ear a small grain of truth that left him none the wiser. Yet as it proved, my judgment was true. I spoke bitterly, for the man's words had made clear that the Ghils were becoming doubtful of us. And by now the Uzbeks must be on the march toward Balkh. The Uzbeks are good fighters and ride swiftly. They would not be long in coming. And what was to become of us when they arrived?

  I knew not. I sat by my horse and waited while the hours passed. Smoke appeared in the sky overhead. Looking through the opening in the gate, I saw the Khotan dwarf running about among the legs of the watching townspeople and heard him cry that the Ghils had set fire to the bazaar.

  By now the outriders on the west of the town had assembled and drawn in to the gate. They talked with those of my party and looked at me.

  “The Uzbeks—many hundreds of armored riders—have been sighted nearing Balkh," they said to me, and waited.

  “Said I not they would come?"

  But the Ghils were not content. They had had time to think. By now they had satisfied themselves that we—Sir Weyand, and I— were not of the Uzbek party. And they were growing frightened lest Jani Beg should cut their heads from their shoulders.

  I read their thoughts as clearly as a black stone shows through shallow water. They had assembled outside the gate to prevent me from escaping. They planned doubtless to slay us and take the Ferang's money. Or perhaps to bind us prisoners and deliver us to Jani Beg for torture. I think if Kur Asaf had been at the west gate, swords would have been drawn by now. Yet Sir Weyand s wisdom had kept the leader of the Ghils with him, and without a leader they were slow to act against such a swordsman as I.

  Still was my heart sick as the long shadows began to fall across the brown plain of Balkh.

  My back was itching to be up and join Sir Weyand. It would not be long before both of us would stand before the dark angel of death, for Sir Weyand still did not give the signal, and each moment was closing the toils of the hunters about him, taking him between the oncoming Uzbeks and the Ghils. As for me, I had my orders, and never have I broken my word in order to turn my back upon peril.

  I bade the Ghils fetch me clean water, and I made my ablutions. They gathered around me like vultures sitting beside a dying horse. They dared to laugh at me, sitting beside my mount. Some of the townspeople stared from the walls.

  The men of Balkh had recognized the Ferang by now, from the walls, and I think if it had not been for the conflagration in the bazaar they would have slain us.

  No man likes to look full into the pathway of death, as it opens before him. Few would have sat still as I did and waited while the shadows came closer to the walls, and twilight drew a veil over the plain.

  “The Uzbeks have been sighted from the east wall, Abdul Dost," said one of the Ghils mockingly.

  “Jani Beg will be well pleased to see you," added another, fingering his sword.

  “There will be new heads in the cages," spoke up a third.

  They edged closer, looking one at the other like curs ready to spring—if one would make the first move.

  I said nothing, watching them while the glow from the fire began to light the sky overhead. My ears were pricked for sound of the shot Sir Weyand had promised, but it did not come.

  “The Mogul loves not traitors," gibed one. “Is he the master you named?"

  I heard a stir on the wall above the gate. The Ghils looked up uneasily, and then a shot sounded.

  It is no easy feat to spring from a seat on the ground to the back of a horse; yet this is what I did that same instant.

  The Ghils snatched at their swords and spread around
me so that I could not ride through to the plain. This was a mistake. I wheeled my mount on two legs round to the gate and spurred through it.

  Two there were who struck at me as I passed. They did not strike twice. I am not an ill master of the scimitar.

  The gate was wide enough to win through. Surprise at my sudden move had kept the Ghils back, but now they were after me with loud cries.

  Nevertheless, I had a start of half a bowshot, and my horse was a good one. The people in the streets drew back hastily, and I kept well ahead of the Ghils, past the palace of Balkh, past the registan and the marketplace, to the farther side of the town.

  It was good to be in saddle again with a sword in my hand. I rose in my stirrups and cried loudly, and the men of Balkh gave way to stare and curse. In the dusk they could not see my face.

  The glow from the fire grew stronger, showing me dark packs of thieves who were looting the bazaar where the flames had not yet come. The painted women were running about in fright. More than one body was in the alleys.

  By this light I saw Sir Weyand as I neared the gate.

  He was standing with his back to it, his long sword bare in his hand. He was fronting the Ghils who ringed him about.

  One lay on the earth—one that I judged to be Kur Asaf. But the Ghils had Sir Weyand s horse. The sweat was shining on his face, and he was smiling as he fenced with two of the rascals, who were not overanxious to try the taste of his long sword.

  Yet he had an eye for what went on around him.

  “Ho, Abdul Dost," he cried angrily, as his blade made play, “you are late—almost—" the Ghils drew back at the sound of horses ’ hoofs—“too late."

  Uncertainty in a battle is a two-edged sword. The Ghils did not know who was on the horses they heard. When they saw me and others behind me they sprang back warily. Men of that breed are ever mindful of their own skins.

  “To me, Abdul Dost!" cried the Ferang impatiently.

  I spurred forward, while he pulled at the gate to open it. An angry shout came from the pursuers behind me, and the Ghils plucked up heart. A pistol echoed from near at hand—then another.

  My horse quivered under me and stumbled. He had been hit and sorely hurt. I sprang from the saddle, lest he fall upon me, and he ran to one side, neighing and plunging blindly as he went. It was a stroke of bad luck.

  The Ghils were running toward us now, mounted and afoot, taking courage from the fact that we were but two and unhorsed. I could hear Sir Weyand’s heavy breathing. The scene was bright with the flames at one side of the gate, but on the outer side of the wall darkness reigned.

  “The Uzbeks are within bowshot of the gate," the Ferang called to me, and I thought that our fate had come upon us.

  But he wasted no time in thought. Plucking the pistol from my girdle, he discharged it at the nearest Ghil, who coughed and dropped to his knees.

  “Shirzad el kadr!" Sir Weyand cried our battle-shout, and I echoed it, turning with bared weapon to face the Ghils. A third shout came from the Uzbeks at some distance on the farther side of the wall.

  Verily, it was a tight place. The Ghils were coming forward slowly, being wary lest we have another pistol. I felt a tug at my arm. Without turning, I stepped back one pace and then another.

  I felt my shoulders scrape through what seemed to be beams of wood. Then the light and the Ghils were blotted out in darkness.

  Sir Weyand had opened the wooden gate enough to slip through and had pulled me after him. Then he had closed the gate. He was a strong man.

  Said I not it was dark without the wall? We were in its shadow. But the glow from the flaming bazaar lit up the countryside faintly.

  I saw a body of horsemen coming along the road at a walk. And behind them the light glittered on hundreds of spears and swords. Among the leaders I thought I saw the broad figure of Jani Beg.

  They could not see us, for we were in the blackness of the wall. All they had seen was that two men on foot had appeared for an instant in the crack of the door, and they had other things to think about. They thought that Shirzad Mir and his men were in Balkh.

  Aye, they came forward slowly. They were no cowards, but within the wall where a tumult echoed might be the army of Shirzad Mir. Meanwhile Sir Weyand and I were running to one side, keeping in the gloom of the wall.

  My lungs were near to bursting with the effort, when Sir Weyand checked me. The gate of Balkh was opening slowly. We could not see it pulled back, but we saw the light grow as it opened.

  Slowly, slowly the square of the gate became light. I had no great fear that the Ghils would rush out. They could not wish to face the angry Jani Beg.

  But the leading Uzbeks halted their horses, and I heard a mutter spread through their ranks. And the skin grew cold along my spine.

  In the red light of the fire a figure appeared in the gate of Balkh. It strutted and cried and gibbered. It laughed wildly and fell to dancing.

  There in the roadway was the dwarf of Khotan, inspired by the madness of what was happening. The red flames flickered on his grotesque figure as he flung his arms about in the dance.

  We did not linger to watch. When we had gained the bushes where the conflagration no longer lighted us we ran toward one of the hamlets near the wall.

  I knew the place, by the will of God. And before an hour had passed I had found two good horses which we paid for with jewels.

  By now there was a cry raised after us from within Balkh, and the Uzbek riders were out seeking us.

  But it was not our fate that we should die that night. The stars were bright overhead and we left Balkh behind us, feeling the fresh night air in our faces.

  “Ride to the well of Ghori!" said Sir Weyand harshly. “We are late. Shirzad Mir is waiting for us. As I thought, the prophecy of Muhammad Asad and the news from Balkh has brought Jani Beg and his army hither, but ride! Eh, Abdul Dost, we must be in Ghori by midnight!"

  By sheep-paths and cuts through the plain I took him to Ghori and past that village to the well. Was this not my own country? At places we were seen. Yet the villagers had love for Shirzad Mir in their hearts, and they speeded us on.

  It did not seem fitting that we should kill two horses in needless haste, yet when I said this to Sir Weyand—now that our skins were safe—he stormed at me. Aye, so I fell silent, and rode in the dark without regard to beast or man.

  Once we gained a remount at a friendly village. By this, and the hand of God, we passed the well of Ghori at midnight. We passed the well and drew up at a sharp challenge beyond.

  The challenge had come in our own tongue, and I answered gladly. A rider came out of the shadows and led us on our quivering horses to where Shirzad Mir and his ameers and mansabdars sat their horses at a crossroad. Along the road the men of Shirzad Mir, to the number of more than a thousand, sat by their mounts, ready and waiting.

  My master had kept the time and place of the meeting. Likewise he held prisoner the Ghil we had sent.

  And then I saw that I had been blind. Aye, for Sir Weyand and Shirzad Mir talked together the space of a moment and the whole of our men were set in motion. With Sir Weyand at our head we went forward at a fast trot, which is the most swiftly a body of men can move in the night.

  What we did that night is written in the annals of Badakshan. We rode until the morning mists were turning gray with dawn and we could see one another s eyes. We rode away from Balkh while the army of Jani Beg held that city. We rode to Khanjut.

  Aye, we entered the citadel of Badakshan, the stronghold of our country, at dawn. The gates were open for the scattered parties of Uzbeks who were bringing in the stores, the bulkier treasure and the women of Jani Beg. At Khanjut none suspected we were anywhere save at Balkh.

  In the mists we entered Khanjut, the citadel on the rock that has never been taken by storm. This was what Sir Weyand had planned.

  And then a thought came to me. I spoke of the thought to Shirzad Mir, who gave praise to the mercy of God; and I spoke likewise to Sir Weyand, who lau
ghed after his fashion, and said nothing.

  My thought was that the prophecy of Muhammad Asad had come true.

  1

  Holy man, or man of wisdom.

  Rose Face

  Where is the man who knows what is hidden in the heart of a woman?

  Muslim proverb

  My master and Jani Beg, the Uzbek, had been at drawn swords. Jani Beg had built a tower of the skulls of my master s retainers that he had slain. On the other hand, Shirzad Mir, who was my master, had taken prisoner the son of Jani Beg, who was called Said Afzel, the dreamer and eater of opium and bhang.

  Verily, it is written that the clashing of bright swords delights the soul of a brave man. Yet in this year—early in the seventeenth century of the Christian calendar—Jani Beg put aside the sword. He took up another weapon. He called upon Krishna Taya, a girl of the Rajputs.

  This was because we, the hillmen of Badakshan, led by Shirzad Mir and the English merchant, Sir Weyand, had taken the citadel of Badakshan. It was by a trick, but nevertheless we sat securely behind the high stone walls of Khanjut and ate of the stores Jani Beg had gathered there for himself, and we were content. He could not take Khanjut by storm. No man has done that since the citadel was built under the white peaks of Kohi-Baba at the mouth of the pass that leads to Hindustan.

  So Jani Beg, who was a man of guile, thought that he, also, would play a trick. And for this he chose Krishna Taya. He whispered an evil thing in the tiny ear of the girl, and she listened. Since the memory of our fathers, woman has played the part of treachery and her beauty has made blind the eyes of warriors.

  Aye, it is so. I, Abdul Dost, the mansabdar, have seen it. And I watched the coming of Krishna Taya and harkened to her soft words, which were as artless as those of a child. Too late I saw what was in her heart.

  She was the one Sir Weyand named “Rose Face." She was no taller than the armpit of my mail shirt and no bigger around than two small shields joined together. She was not a common courtesan, for she was of the Rajputs, who hold honor higher than life. Nevertheless, what is written is true—the face of a fair woman holds a spell.