Warriors of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  He heard no more from Krishna Taya; Khanjut was as if it never had been; he could hope for no word from England.

  Then one day he returned to the caravansary from his lookout with a new light in his eyes.

  Udai Singh was polishing his weapons; two others slept under their thatched shelter; no one looked up.

  “Tomorrow,” he said to Udai Singh, “we will turn our horses' heads to Kabul.”

  “It is time,” yawned the Rajput.

  “After nightfall I will pay a visit to the town.”

  Udai Singh scowled.

  “Nay, the Portuguese will lay hands on you.”

  “Not so.”

  A new alertness in his gruff voice made the Rajput look up from the sword on his lap.

  “Think not, Ferang,” he responded grimly, “I would risk losing you. There are many of the fat merchants in Surat who would be glad to have you in their grasp. And I have whetted my temper for our meeting at swords' points in Kabul.”

  “I will not fail you. But, look you, Rajput, I will be in Surat this night and furthermore upon the deck of yonder ship.”

  The others stared.

  “The heat has bewitched your brain,” muttered Udai Singh. “Krishna Taya,” smiled the Englishman “bade you go wherever I went. You also will come to the ship.”

  “I will have you bound and set upon your horse's back.” “Nay; was it not the order of Krishna Taya that I should be free of bonds? If you seek to do such thing, Udai Singh, we shall have our bout here and now and one or the other of us will remain at Surat.”

  The Rajput hesitated, plainly at a loss. Seeing this, Sir Ralph drew Krishna Taya's bracelet from his girdle.

  “Have you forgotten this, Udai Singh?” he demanded. “Will you keep the pledge made by a woman of your clan?”

  “By Siva and Vishnu—aye!”

  “Then you will do this one thing that I ask. You will go to the bazaars before sundown and buy extra horses. I will give you gold. And bring back with you two of the Portuguese traders.” “Nay; how may that be done?”

  Sir Ralph pointed significantly to the other's sword. By now the remaining Rajputs had become interested and clustered around the two.

  “I have no quarrel with the traders of Goa,” observed Udai Singh after some thought, “although I love them not. The Mogul might be angered.”

  “Have you a fear? Nay, I shall take the blame. Ho, men of the Marwar clan, do you draw back when swords are pulled from sheath and there is a fight afoot? Then you are not like to Raja Man Singh's men.”

  “Nay, we be also from Marwar!”

  “Then you will come with me this night.”

  Sir Ralph laughed at the mingled feelings expressed in Udai Singh's dark countenance. The Rajput was doubtful of the new venture, yet secretly pleased with the prospect of action and unwilling to be thought lacking in courage.

  For a long time Sir Ralph talked with them, outlining what had come into his mind when he was watching on the hill. His bearded face was aglow with eagerness. The force of his conviction won a grudging assent from the Rajputs.

  “The heat has eaten under his skull,” they said one to the other, “but we must go with him or he will never return. Likewise, it will be excellent sport.”

  When the Mohammedan traders of Surat were at evening prayers and the bazaars were closing for the day, two things came to pass.

  One was the seizure of a Portuguese chirurgeon on his way to the house of his Excellency, the Portuguese governor of Surat. The chirurgeon was a stout man who loved his comfort and enjoyed the rest after the long voyage from Europe. For this reason he was traveling from the waterside to the governor's residence in a palanquin borne by native coolies.

  This worthy individual was passing through the bazaar quarter meditating upon the rival merits of stuffed fowl and seasoned fish washed down with spiced wine when he received a startling jolt. The bearers let the palanquin fall to earth.

  Several mounted men had spurred up. A cloak was promptly dropped over the head of the worthy doctor. He heard harsh commands issued to the coolies, who took up the staffs of the palanquin again and set off at a frightened trot in a new direction.

  Suspecting something decidedly amiss, the chirurgeon emitted a series of bellows, reinforced by the jolting of his vehicle. Whereupon the front of the cloak was lifted and the naked blade of a sword caressed his beard. At this pantomime the Portuguese fell silent save for a string of muttered blasphemies.

  When he tried to lift the cloak to peep out from under it, he received a blow on the head which made his ears sing. By its nature he judged it to be delivered by the flat of a sword.

  “Santa Maria!” he muttered, and changed from oaths to prayers, occasionally mingling the two.

  In time the jarring ceased. The cloak was snatched off, and he beheld his four bearers panting like dogs upon the ground. The horsemen conducted him by methods not soothing to his dignity to a walled space in which a tawny-bearded, gaunt white man in native garments confronted him.

  “Santa Maria!” he said again.

  Whereupon the man fell to questioning him fiercely in very broken Portuguese and the worthy chirurgeon received another shock. The man was English.

  The questions were about the town of Surat, the habits of the Portuguese, the goods left on the vessels, the envoys and the guard that remained on the ships at night. The captive was allowed no time to adjust either his rumpled finery—he was a lover of good dress—or his wits.

  When he had answered to the satisfaction of the Englishman, he was again seized, bound, gagged and laid none too gently under a thatch shelter. Whereupon the men left him.

  The second event of importance—and this excited more alarm in Surat—was the fire that started shortly after nightfall in the bazaar quarter near the storehouse of the Portuguese.

  Building materials were scarce in Surat, so the structures were of cane, straw and dried mud, all of which burned readily on a night like the present, when there was a brisk wind and no rain.

  So aroused was his Excellency and his servants and guests that the dinner was abandoned at its midway point—to the irretrievable damage of certain well-cooked dishes. The small force of soldiery were mustered out to move the trade goods from the menaced storehouses. Even the sailors in the town were summoned, with the two left as a guard for the great boat that had brought the envoys ashore.

  These last two could not be found and were deemed probably drunk. The fire raged strongly in the thatch huts and required the attention of all able hands until near midnight, when other matters engaged their attention.

  The Portuguese wronged the two sailors, who had been only slumbering by the boat at the waterfront. Their dreams were disturbed by certain white-robed assailants who stunned them without compunction and had them conveyed to a nearby fisherman's hut. When they were discovered the next day they united in saying that devils had descended from the heavens and darted brimstone upon their heads.

  Sir Ralph and his Rajputs were not devils, but they worked fiercely and without regard to the feelings of those they encountered. Once the venture was afoot the men of Udai Singh carried it on with a will. Hereditary dislike of the merchant class rendered their task agreeable.

  Sir Ralph took the short oars of the great-boat, for his companions were no sailors. The harbor was dark, except for the lanterns high on the sterns of the moored vessels. From the deck of the craft that the chirurgeon had pointed out as the flagship came the sound of a chantey that bore evidence of a wine-butt opened in the absence of the officials.

  The five Rajputs—two had been left ashore for pertinent rea-sons—eyed the looming vessel with curiosity. They had never seen a ship of the Ferangs before.

  When the great-boat rocked on the slight swell, they gripped its sides uncomfortably. They had little liking for their present position, but as Sir Ralph was smilingly confident they were unwilling to show anxiety.

  On the poop of the vessel a petty officer—the purser—le
aned on the carved railing and cursed the ill luck that had left him in charge of the ship and its valuable cargo for the night. In the waist, a half-dozen of the hybrid crew discussed the merits of their wine by lantern light.

  Below decks a swabber slept heavily beside a huddled group of African slaves destined as a present for the Mogul.

  The purser ceased his maledictions to stare at a suspicious glow that had appeared in the town near the storehouse. A muffled tumult came to his ears. So it happened that he did not see a skiff drift toward the ship in the darkness under gentle impulse of a pair of oars skillfully wielded.

  The tumult in the bazaar quarter grew to a clamor and he could see native figures outlined against the red glow of flames. A slight scraping overside on the quarter away from shore did not stir his interest.

  Some of the men had risen to look at the fire. Then a man by the wine-butt looked up and swore aloud.

  “Por Dios!”

  Several white figures had climbed over the rail by the shrouds and dropped to the deck.

  Those who sat at wine started up with oaths in mingled tongues. They felt for their cutlasses. No natives were allowed aboard the vessels, and these had appeared with an eerie quiet.

  The purser turned at the clash of steel in the waist. He was in time to see two men tumbled to deck with bleeding scalps and others run to the tiny door of the forecastle.

  It had taken the bewildered and befuddled crew a scant moment to find that the newcomers were not thieving river pirates but expert swordsmen who thoroughly relished a clash of weapons.

  The worthy purser snatched a pistol from his belt, only to have it struck up by a long sword in the hand of a tall man who sprang up the after ladder with the skill of long practice.

  “Let fall the weapons,” hissed a voice in hearty English. “Kneel upon the deck. Kneel, dog!”

  Menaced by a steady sword point, the purser had no choice but to obey. The newcomer took up the pistol and deftly wound a turn of rope about the prisoner's wrists, pinioning his arms behind his back. His legs received like treatment, secured by knots caught sailor fashion.

  Then the temporary master of the Portuguese flagship was laid on his fat belly on the deck.

  “Struggle or shout, my friend,” advised the Englishman, “and yonder murderous natives will grant ye short shrift.”

  Whereupon the purser heard his assailant run to the waist. He lay where he had been placed, listening with distended ears to occasional groans from the crew.

  Once the men were safely secured by his own hand, Sir Ralph went to the ladder leading down to the gun deck. Here he could make out a black mass, which he identified as the slaves, and their sleeping guardian. Stationing one of the Rajputs at this point, he inspected the door of the aftercastle.

  It was locked, but an ax commandeered from the forecastle, whence the fugitives had been routed, soon splintered the oak panels. Sir Ralph led his party within. He glanced curiously at the carved beams overhead and the Flemish tapestries.

  These he tore down and adjusted over the square ports as a precaution against discovery from the shore.

  In the cabin of the Portuguese officials stood several stout chests. It took some time to force the lids with the ax. Once this was accomplished a variety of articles was disclosed—good broadcloth garments, velvets, elegant ruffles, plumed hats.

  Here also were the gifts destined for the Mogul—firearms, clocks from Brandenburg, inlaid comfit-boxes of gold, silver statues of the saints, a volume of illuminations, among other things.

  Sir Ralph sought and found the papers of the embassy. He knew enough Portuguese to make certain they were what he wanted. There was no mistaking the ornate seal of Portugal.

  The Rajputs would fain have examined the treasure at leisure, being curious, but the Englishman set them to work carrying the spoil to the waist of the ship.

  Cautioning Udai Singh to watch the prisoners, he descended to the great-boat and stowed away the objects his companions passed down. Then he took up the oars and with a single Rajput in the skiff struck out for the dark shore.

  He landed at a spot outside the limits of the town and left the warrior to guard his plunder. By the time he regained the ship the tumult on shore was at its height and small boats were passing to Surat from the other vessels of the fleet anchored some distance away.

  Sir Ralph worked swiftly, for he knew there was danger of a boat from the other ships coming to his prize. Once he heard a hail in the darkness and rested on his oars. But the cry was not repeated, and he safely rejoined Udai Singh.

  The Rajputs had assembled the remainder of the spoil on deck. Not content with this, however, Sir Ralph stripped the cabin of an oil painting of Philip the Second, of sundry brass candlesticks and gilt pikes.

  “These we will need Udai Singh,” he observed thoughtfully. “Nay, we must have more.”

  His glance ran along the deck, which was dark except for a solitary lantern.

  “Eh—we will take a cannon; nay, a brace of cannon.”

  Udai Singh grunted.

  “What if we are seen by the Ferangs in the other sea-castles?”

  “The rail protects us from observation,” Sir Ralph made answer readily. “Come, I will need your help.”

  He collected various loose ropes and attached them to two brass demi-culverins—light pieces with the coat of arms of Portugal carved on their breeches. Under his directions the Rajputs lowered the two cannon overside into the boat.

  The skiff was now dangerously loaded. But Sir Ralph had seen a cock-boat perched on the poop. This he lowered into the water by the ropes detached from the cannon.

  “Death's blood!” he cried. “Almost I had forgotten our hostage.”

  They hauled the stout purser from his abiding-place.

  “The cock-boat will hold you and your men,” Sir Ralph informed Udai Singh, “and this stout rascal must needs be towed. Well, a wetting will do him no great harm and it will still his tongue.”

  It was a strange procession that wended its way from the flagship to the dark shore shortly before midnight that eventful evening. In the van the Englishman rowed the heavily laden skiff. A rope attached to the stern guided the Rajputs in the cock-boat, who splashed clumsily with their oars and breathed dark curses upon seacraft, large and small.

  Another rope led from the cock-boat to the struggling purser, who had been informed that if he made outcry he would be beheaded.

  “Surely we must strike off the heads of the others,” Udai Singh had objected.

  It was peculiar to the Rajput chivalry that their splendid fairness to foes did not extend to commoners.

  “Nay; they will be safe, trussed in the forecastle,” laughed his leader. “They saw little of what passed, and we do not wish to slay men needlessly.”

  So it happened that when the admiral and his companions returned to the flagship later in the night they found the crew bound and clamorous in the foredeck, the slaves excited and fearful, and the purser nowhere at all.

  The seamen when released protested that demoniacal river pirates had stormed the ship. Both the chirurgeon and the purser were missing. Natives of Surat said the next morning that they had seen the palanquin of the former conveyed to a caravansary up the hillside.

  But no chirurgeon was to be found at the caravansary. Numerous horse tracks led into the interior from here, and under threat of torture natives disclosed that certain Rajputs had been seen in the vicinity.

  This however did not aid the Portuguese to recover their missing papers and treasure. A hastily formed search party returned in two days without news of the daring invaders.

  The Rajputs and their spoil had vanished into the jungle.

  Sir Ralph and Udai Singh were for the moment in accord. Both wished to make speed to Kabul. The horses were pressed to their limit, and camels were procured when they reached the province of Marwar, and their friends.

  Here a rider joined them with word from Krishna Taya:

  “Haste to th
e court. Raja Man Singh has need of you and those you bring.”

  This was the message, and it accorded with the wishes of Udai Singh, who was secretly pleased at the new importance of his cavalcade.

  Sir Ralph found food for thought in wondering if Krishna Taya had learned of their looting of the Portuguese fleet. The woman had an uncanny knowledge of all that passed in the Mogul's land.

  But he was now able to face the issue with confidence. He had a game of his own to play, daring and difficult, yet one that was to his liking.

  He had abandoned his horse for a camel, and his native garments for the finest velvet suit in the purloined wardrobe of the envoys. A plumed hat sat his yellow curls jauntily; a silver chain supported a jeweled cross at his throat; his beard had been trimmed and scented by the involuntary aid of the sulky chirur-geon; his cloak was of finest purple plush.

  “Ho, Udai Singh!”

  He waved his gloved hand at the laden caravan and his two captive Portuguese.

  “Behold the Portuguese embassy, bound for Kabul!”

  “And at Kabul—”

  Udai Singh touched the hilt of his scimitar meaningly.

  “'Tis well.” Sir Ralph offered his recently acquired snuff box to the Rajput, who took a pinch with the courtesy that custom prescribed for his rank and caste.

  “Tomorrow we be enemies, and today we be—friends.”

  Udai Singh glanced at him curiously. The new splendor of his companion was not lost on him.

  “You have put your hand on the knees of the many-armed gods, Ferang,” he said.

  V

  In his red tent Jani Beg sat at chess with Shah Abbas. The Uzbek bent his massive shoulders over the ivory board and scowled. The Persian, his dark eyes mellow with hashish, moved the tiny gold warriors with consummate skill.

  “I take your rukh, my friend,” he smiled, removing a miniature castle from its square.

  Jani Beg muttered an oath and reached for his wine cup. It was empty, and Shah Abbas motioned for one of his girl slaves to refill it.

  “You must taste my wine of Shiraz,” he urged politely.

  Then, as the other hesitated, he signed to the girl to fill his own bowl first. He glanced as he did so with lazy admiration at the smooth form of the half-nude slave.