Swords From the Sea

by Harold Lamb

  My ears strained to catch the sounds of the night. Once more the owl wailed, and my Tatars snored, and the big burlak chanted with a full throat:

  Ekh ma! A moment ago the two rivermen had been standing at the steering sweeps; now they were gone. Everyone else was asleep on our raft. Were they fools to sleep so? Nay, when one has climbed out of the saddle the first time in ten days for more than an hour or so, drowsiness is like a plague.

  I started to crawl toward the burlak who lay still on the logs and just then-thuckk-came a long knife, burying its point deep into the timbers of the lean-to where my head had been. I dropped prone and grunted as the riverman had done. And out of the water a lance length from my eyes a head reared up.

  A man swam silently to the raft, looked around, and thrust an arm over the logs to pull himself up. For the third time the owl hooted softly, yet it was this man who uttered the call. The next moment one of my pistols roared in his beard and he fell back like a stricken water fowl.

  Now the night teemed with sound, although the song of the big burlak had ceased. Oars rattled in rowlocks and a long skiff entered the circle of firelight. My two Tatars and the last of the rivermen scrambled to their feet. The oars were weighed in the skiff and musket barrels gleamed. I had drawn my saber, and when another swimmer came to the edge of the raft I cut down at his head and needed not to look at him again, knowing well by the feel of the impact when a man's skull has been opened up.

  Red fire flashed from the skiff, and a half-dozen muskets roared. One of the horses reared and screamed, and one of the Tatars leaped up and staggered to the edge of the raft, to throw himself into the water, having his death wound. The last burlak began to feel of his belly and presently groaned and fell on his knees.

  Smoke eddied over the raft as John Paul and the Englishman ran out with drawn weapons. The servant must have skulked in the hut, and this did him no good. Because, led by the singer, the three rivermen on the raft that was tied to ours leaped over the gap and pressed on us with cutlasses that must have been hidden somewhere between the logs of their raft. And the skiff, bumping against our logs, disgorged a dozen foemen.

  "Sarina na kitchka!"

  The cry of the Dnieper pirates went up, and my last Tatar began to howl his death song, drawing a knife as he did so. One of the men from the skiff thrust a pistol close to his head and ended his life.

  So we stood in the eddying smoke, three against fifteen.

  The surprise had been cleverly planned. Men who knew that we were upon the raft had put out from shore in the great skiff, and two or three had taken to the water, swimming with throwing knives in their girdles. Probably they were Greeks, who are skillful at casting dirks. They had accounted for our two chaps at the sweeps, and the noise made by the oars of the skiff had been drowned by the loud song of the burlak with the hawk's nose.

  Our foes had uttered the cry of the river pirates, yet I knew that no Dnieper pirates would think it worthwhile to tackle a timber raft. They sought us out and struck without thought of giving quarter. And they paid a heavy price for their boldness.

  The big burlak from the other raft made straight toward John Paul with his great, curly head lowered and the muscles standing out on his bare right arm. But he found me in his path. His cutlass banged against my saber, and I saw that he held a dirk in his left hand.

  At the third pass I twisted his blade aside and chopped short at his skull. He dodged like a Tatar and came at me with the dirk, his teeth gleaming. T-phew-what a fellow! He dropped to the logs with his throat sliced half through. The American's rapier had made a pass over my shoulder, when my guard was down, and well for me that John Paul was quick of hand.

  I think they were Greeks, but the fellow who rushed at me with a pike from the skiff wore a regimental coat of some kind. Backing away to take stand against the lean-to, I glimpsed Edwards standing alone on the raft, his rapier flashing in and out, one arm in the air behind his head. The Moskya with the pike swerved toward the Englishman, and so gave me a chance to cut him down.

  "Bless you for that, Uncle Ivak! The deuce! How things are warming up!,

  Edwards was smiling, when a musket barked from the skiff and his left hand gripped his chest. Then I heard the roar of John Paul's pistol and saw him draw back from the smoke cloud. He tossed the pistol at two men who rushed at him, and plucked out his rapier, they giving back before its point.

  He took a step toward Edwards, and we both saw the Englishman fall prone. Then John Paul glanced up and down the raft, stepping aside from a ruffian and slashing the man across the cheek as he did go.

  "Stuppai, Ivak!" he cried.

  How was I to know what he meant by that word? He slashed the tether of a horse and caught up the rein, swinging himself up to the beast's bare back as the horse obeyed the rein and sprang into the water.

  I could not follow him. Men rushed at me from all sides, and caught my arms, after I had cut one open. Then something whistled in the air and all before my eyes was red. Nay, a chap does not know when he has been hit over the back of the skull. As if from far over the water, I heard Edwards shout:

  "With the admiral, Ivak! To Kherson-or I'll win-wager!"

  Then a faint popping sounded, which must have been men shooting at John Paul. But the red before my eyes had turned to black and I heard nothing more for a space.

  IV

  A Greek to his dagger, a Turk to his gold, and a Cossack to his horse.

  A little is my life owing to my heavy sheepskin kalpak and a little to the desire of the murderers to loot before casting the bodies overboard, but much to the escape of John Paul. The raft had drifted close to the left bank of the Dnieper just before the fight, and the American had only a distance of a musket shot to swim his horse.

  When the shooting failed to bring him down, the skiff was manned in haste, too late to overtake him. The few men left on the raft began to strip the coats, boots, and small gear from the fallen; after this they thrust knives into the bodies of our three rivermen, and the Tatars, and I saw them slay the servant because at that moment I began to see and hear again.

  Knowing that presently they might remember me, and seek among the horses, I made shift to crawl a little, then a little more, and I crawled up the incline of logs that made the roof of the lean-to. The bandits were examining the garments they had plundered, by the glow of the fire on the other raft, and finding them poor enough, so that there was much grumbling and they did not think of me at the time. They had even snatched the clothing off their dead comrades, and were staring enviously at the Englishman's fine coat and buff boots.

  Edwards seemed to be breathing, and his eyes moved. I heard them say that since one of the travelers had escaped it would be best to refrain from killing the Englishman. If the American should cause pursuit to be made, Edwards could be held as a hostage. In the end they waited for the return of the skiff and I waited for strength to come back into my limbs.

  Meanwhile the raft drifted idly, nearing the shore. The moon came out and the half-light forced me to keep my head down, relying on my ears to tell me what was happening below. From the talk of the robbers several things became clear.

  They had a leader, who had gone off in the skiff. And they had attacked the raft with the purpose of wiping us out. The fight we had made angered them, and I heard debate of how much more money they should ask of the leader when he came back; a strange thing, which made me suspect that he was unknown to them, and had hired their services.

  "We could have done better at one of the Cossack slobodas," one remarked.

  "Nay, we'll lighten the purse of the officer before we let him go. The Cossacks have patrols out, along the river, - take me if they haven't. They bite, now, those dogs."

  I wondered what officer they meant, and I would have given a dozen horses to hear the name of the man who was paying them for this night's work. By their talk, they were fugitive Moskya serfs, deserters from the army, Cherkessians and one or two Greeks. Edwards's fix was a bad one,
but I could do nothing to help, and he had bade me follow the admiral, if possible.

  "Where is that coat of that ox of a sotnik?" demanded one suddenly, and my ears pricked up, I assure you.

  Another said that I must have crawled into the water, like the Tatar, and they began to argue again until someone found my saber and they cursed me for the evil I had worked among them.

  "Search the raft for the dog," a voice suggested.

  I heard boots cluttering over the logs, and my skin began to itch as if a thousand ants were crawling over it. Then the sound of oars came over the water, followed by a low-pitched hail.

  The skiff had come near again, and the men on the raft were ordered to head in to shore and land everything from the raft. After that they were to hack loose the fastenings and set the logs adrift, loose in the current.

  As the raft was worked in closer to the shore and the skiff, talk between the men of the band made it clear that John Paul had not been caught. He had reached the highway and headed south, with several in pursuit of him, one of the four being the leader of the band.

  By the time the raft grounded in a shallow cove, the moon was low. Most of the men busied themselves in carrying Edwards ashore and he cursed them heartily when they jerked him, so I knew that he could not be very badly hurt. One or two of them had poked about a bit for me, but had not thought to look on the top of the hut.

  The nearest searcher went to untie the remaining horse-one had been slain by a bullet-and I heard him say:

  "His Excellency will be well content with this affair of ours if we bag the American. If our officer fails to run him down, bless us, we'll be flayed alive."

  The threat sounded somewhat familiar to me, but just then I was sliding down the incline of the log roof. My boots struck squarely on the back of the man who was edging the horse past the lean-to, and he shot into the water so swiftly that I failed to grasp his saber. The horse reared, but being uncertain of the footing did not run.

  "What are you about, Pietr?" voices demanded from the shore.

  "It was the dog of a sotnik," I responded, growling, and waiting for the flood of pain caused by the shock to ebb out of my skull, while I gripped the rein of the horse.

  "Have you his coat-had he any money? Hola, Pietr! What-"

  The one called Pietr began to bellow from the water into which he had fallen and I climbed to the back of the horse, then reined it around the hut. It jumped to the shore quickly enough, and by the time the robbers, who were scattered all around, had gripped their weapons we were trotting away through the trees. They ran after for a space and several pistols barked. The balls whistled wide through the branches overhead and stirred up the pony to a smart gallop.

  No one gave chase because there was no other horse on the raft.

  In this fashion did I win free of the Dnieper outlaws, though Edwards remained a prisoner in their hands.

  In the black murk that comes before dawn, I drew up at the first post station on the highway not far to the south of where the raft had landed. Here I changed horses and I wet my gullet with some vodka, taking likewise a saber from the keeper, who swore that no other riders had stopped at the zamora during the last half of the night. He said he thought horses had passed by, not far away, but had fancied them wild horses, out on the steppe.

  This surprised me, until as the nag settled down to steady gallop, I remembered that John Paul was in a strange country, knowing no word of the language. How was he to explain matters to a clown of a zamora keeper, even if he had not been closely pressed?

  Likewise the outlaws had not cared to delay to try to steal fresh mounts from the station. True, John Paul might have headed out into the steppe and avoided pursuit in the dark. I should have done so. But he did not know friend from foe, and doubtless chose to take his chances in a straightaway race along the road, aware that he was within day's ride of the Russian lines.

  Behind me a line of red light spread along the horizon and a wind began to breathe over the plain. Birds chirped and the sea of grass changed from gray to red-and-gold, then to brown. It glittered with the dew as if decked out in jewels. My head pained me, but such a dawn warmed my veins more than the vodka. take it all, there's no country like the steppe!

  My head began to buzz all of a sudden and weakness came upon me so that I, Ivak the jighit, the outrider, the Tatar-chaser, the sotnik, gripped the saddle horn to keep from falling. Such a shame!

  By and by the buzzing stopped and I looked around, seeing the sun peering over the horizon, and a black-browed Cossack lass staring at me from the back of a cow.

  She was taking cattle to pasture, and by a line of great stones shaped like skulls along the highway I knew that one of the villages of my people lay half a verst away. My horse, a big black Turani that knew a thing or two, had slowed to a walk and its ears were pricked back as if asking why in the fiend's name I was rocking the saddle like a cradle.

  The maid was round-eyed as if I were a ghost out of one of the old burial mounds that lie on the steppe under those great stones. God knows what people sleep in those mounds, but it is quite true that of nights they rise up and slip about-ghosts sure enough. To mend my dignity I called to her smartly and bade her be off to the village to round up a band of the galliards, the bravest fellows and the jighits, and send them after my tracks.

  "Aye, Uncle," she responded, "but your scalp lock is running blood-"

  "Little sparrow," I grunted, "what are a few drops of blood to a chap who rode from Petersburg in ten days? Nothing at all! I'll fetch you a bag of candy from Kherson if you stir your legs. Hold! Did an officer ride past in a blue coat on a roan with one white foreleg?"

  "Aye, Uncle. Two gentlemen, they were, riding a musket shot apart. One was a foreigner, the other a Russian with a wig and a red face, taller than I am."

  She sped away toward the village, her white legs flashing under her tunic, and I spurred up the Turani, cursing my broken head. By the girl's words I recognized the officer who had been riding before us all the way. Now he was behind John Paul, and we knew what sort of cock he was. The leader of the outlaws, the officer who had bribed the zamora keeper and hired the pirates. That's what!

  We sped over the level trail like a hawk and presently two riders showed up, above the grass ahead. They pulled in when they heard the Turani and faced about.

  Drawing their blades they took stand, stirrup to stirrup, closing the narrow way, and their horses were nearly blown. By their bearing they were outlaws of the band, and their jaws dropped when they saw my face. Afterward I remembered that they must have thought me dead, and when the big black rushed on them in the eye of the rising sun they believed a bloody specter had come up out of Father Dnieper to settle their hash.

  I spurred on the Turani instead of pulling him in, and stood up in the saddle just as we came upon the two. By feinting a slash at one I made him throw up his saber to guard his head. Then, leaning down as the three ponies came together, I cut at the other's neck, getting home over his blade. His mount reared and shelled him out of the saddle like a pea out of a pod.

  His mate had raked my shoulder blades with a slash that was too late to cut deep. Twisting the big black around, I crowded the outlaw as he was turning. He warded desperately with his sticker, leaning back to do so when he should have spurred his nag clear.

  The shoulder of the Turani struck his pony and the man lost his stirrups, falling to earth like a clown. Such riders! I had not a moment to lose, and so kept the black dancing around the outlaw.

  "Speak up, you dog!" I cried at him. "Where is your officer and the American?"

  "Only a little span ahead, noble sir! Truly, it is all our officer's doing! He came to us with papers from the government, promising many things if we would rub out-Ai-a, spare a poor chap, noble lord!"

  I hastened on, wasting no more time on the outlaw. And in no time at all I heard the music of steel kissing steel. Eh, a great fear came upon me that John Paul was being sliced by the leader of the dog co
mpany.

  But when I rode up to them, only two men were to be seen where the trail dipped through a hollow. Two ponies were standing riderless, with heaving flanks and spraddled legs, foundered. And in a spot where the grass was short John Paul made play with his rapier, and his antagonist was Strelsky the ensign.

  Swift hope flashed into Strelsky's red face as I trotted up, until he saw out of the corner of his eye that Ivak had come instead of his two murderers. John Paul motioned me away with his free hand and I drew rein to watch.

  Strelslcy was the prettier sword of the two by odds. But the American had an arm like a wrestler and an eye like a wolf. He did not seem tired in the least. His brow was placid though his black eyes darted fire. Until I looked him over I had felt that it was folly to let him risk a stab when the Turani could have ridden Strelsky down.

  By then the Russian knew that his men would not come up, and his face showed strain; moreover he kept trying to watch me, trusting in his greater skill to keep John Paul's blade in play. So it happened that the point of the American's rapier pricked his cheek and drew blood. It angered the ensign and he began to attack, making many feints that pulled John Paul's guard aside, but failing to get home. A second time his cheek was raked, a piece of flesh falling out.

  Then Strelsky lunged fiercely at the throat and John Paul parried just in time, making a swift ripost that caught the Russian's blade under his. The American stiffened his wrist and Strelsky tried desperately to disengage, but suffered a deep cut over the eyes. Blood ran down into his eyes and he stood helpless.

  John Paul stepped back and lowered his point, while the Russian cursed and gripped his sword, expecting to be spitted at once. His face was scarred for life, if he lived. This pleased me because Strelsky was not a fellow to love. He wore the uniform of the Empress, but he had given me an order that held treachery in it.

  The American was a foreigner, yet, after the fight on the raft, my heart warmed to him. He could stand his ground and take blows, and he kept his hand up even though the Russians for some reason had schemed to take his life on the journey, though this he did not know as yet.