Swords From the Desert (13 page)

"Who sent thee?"

"The Sieur de Brienne."

At this he fell silent, and I told him of the maiden Irene, and of the fight in the square.

"Is that all the tale?" He rubbed his long chin and eyed me as if I were the bait of a trap. Verily it was a strange thing that I should have been sent to this man. The gray-haired Greek, thinking this a favorable instant, flung himself on his knees and embraced the sheriff's stirrup, and moaned when he was kicked back upon the ground.

Nay, before then I had seen men of the breed of this Frank-wazirs and khayias-who had been given the staff of authority and had become swollen with the pride of their office.

"Thou liest, Khalil-the dalnosel Irene abides at Edessa. She is poor enough in goods and gear by now-is she fair to look upon? Has she beauty?"

"Aye, Lord."

His eyes searched me, and he felt of chin and lips.

"Well, we shall see this morsel for ourselves. I mind, she was betrothed to me four years ago-to me, Richard, Sieur de Brienne, now constable to Montserrat."

Eh, before then I had ached, but now my soul burned. I led the way back to the Forum of Theodosius with laggard step, followed by the archer, and by the constable, who was Richard of Brienne. And he was followed perforce by the Greek girl, who shook her hair about her cheeks to hide her sorrow.

Presently he bethought him of her, and bade the archer cut her loose. She fled into the shadows and the very vagabonds of the refuse piles gave her their cloaks.

But my lord of Brienne told me that I was dull of ear and wit-that the Frank who had fought with me was the knight Richard d'Alencon, who was such another young fool. So said the constable, and I thought that surely there had been a feud between the twain.

Four years had wrought a change in this Frank. He was handsome still, but his blue eyes were seamed, and his pride had altered into arrogance. He still held his heavy shoulders well, yet he talked with me, a saracin, of the beauties of the young Irene and how he had ceased to think of her since the death of her father, who had been a power in Edessa.

"And the gray colt-Khutb-has she it still?"

"Aye, Lord."

Then it was that utter misery came upon me. This boar of a Frank who wore raking spurs would ride Khutb. This also was to come upon my head.

Fool! Thrice fool, to listen to the talk of a dreaming maid and to think to find her youthful paladin in the flesh as she had pictured him. Surely Richard d'Alencon had seemed to me to be her betrothed, and as for the constable-only sorrow and the death of her dreams would come to her at his hand.

A thought came to me, and I knew at once it was good. It is always good to end suspense, and a man may not journey past the spot where his grave is dug.

Coining close to the mailed knee of the constable, I spoke softly:

"Lord, there is another tale to be told. Nay, this is our way-"

Taking the rein of the charger, I turned aside into the Jews' alley where the smoke was now ruddy-hued afar where flames glowed. The archer kept abreast me, but the squire and the men-at-arms strung out behind, picking their way through the heaps of garbage.

"Lord, I dwelt in the palace of al-comes Menas, the Domastikos. There I saw thy man, thy kapitan."

What had passed between the man of the constable and Menas I did not know, nor do I know now. Nevertheless, beyond all doubt the bargain held treachery in it.

I heard the Sieur de Brienne catch his breath, and felt his hand move on his belt as he leaned lower to peer at me. The sun had set and the glow of fire was like a smoking torch afar.

"It was agreed between thy kapitan and the Lord Menas, for a sum in gold-" I laughed up in his face. "Menas is a captive and he has a woman's tongue for secrets!"

The hand of the constable gripped the short iron mace at his belt and swung it high, high above my head. He cursed and wrenched himself around in the saddle for the blow.

And my hand that had been upon the hilt of my scimitar rose, and my curved blade passed upward and outward beneath his beard. He gave neither cry nor moan, but fell forward against the charger's neck as I drew my sword clear and turned to face the archer.

Eh, that archer must have been heavy with sleep. His back was toward me and he was breathing like a bullock. It was no time for wondering. I thrust the dying constable from the saddle, and leaped into his seat, drawing tight the rein.

The charger reared, and from behind came the shout of the constable's men, who had not seen in that dim light the blow that slew him, but who had heard the clang of his fall, and had seen me mount to the saddle.

But the horse sprang forward, and I guided him aside into another alley. A bolt from a crossbow whipped over me, and the shouting grew until it dwindled and died behind me. The squire and the men-at-arms had stopped, perforce, to attend their lord.

With a sword at my hip and a horse between my thighs I considered what next to do.

Time pressed. I sought the registan, where I had left the young Richard. Looking back over my shoulder I beheld the giant statue of the white woman, with its face rose-hued from the reflection of flames. Aye, and a veil of smoke about its head.

Constantinople was burning. And the voice of the city was as a woman's voice, shrill with the ululation of fear. Vagabonds and grandees, slaves and masters fled from they knew not what. Cursing the fleeing, groups of Venetian sailors with axes struggled to get nearer to the flames, to cut away some of the wooden buildings in its path. I saw a slave stab his master to death, and a soldier of Menas, who had cast aside helmet and red cloak, grapple with the slave for the purse of the dead man.

I saw a few with a pack mounted on an ass, beating the ass in vain to make it go somewhither, and a throng of Frankish men-at-arms mocked him as they cooked supper and tended their hurts.

At the Forum of Theodosius were many men, but neither the knight Richard nor the barbarian girl. A tanner, with a club upon one shoulder and a sack on the other, bade me look for them at the palace of Menas.

"Ho, paynim! There is blood on thy horse. Hail to the new emperorDeath!"

He staggered and laughed and wandered away. There was a howling as of wolves that pull down living meat. Eh, these were two-legged wolves that held the streets this night. No man knew who had gained the upper hand in the city; some said that the Franks had fled and there were two emperors.

But in the courtyard of the Domastikos I saw hundreds of horses feeding quietly, tended by men-at-arms, and other Franks grouped around the pots and the fires that were barely cold from the morning meal of the dead Northmen.

I dismounted and let loose the charger in the courtyard. My mind was made up. True is it written, "Not an arrow is sped but its destination is marked upon it." The constable of the Franks had found his grave in the dark alley, and I-it seemed to me the hour of my fate was at hand. What availed a jackal's flight?

The inner court of the palace was deserted, except by the marble women whose hands upheld the roof; only two archers stood at the door beyond the whispering gallery. The niches upon the stairs were empty, the curtains pulled down.

But in the gallery of the fountain the young Richard stood, his hands thrust through his belt, his helm unlaced and put aside. A boy squire held his shield in readiness to his hand.

I looked for Irene and beheld her not. It was written that I should not set eyes on her again. In a chair by the ebony table sat my lord Menas, the henna-red standing forth on his pallid skin, his fingers groping at his throat. And apart from him swaggered a great figure in muddied surcoat and rusted mail.

And this was the captain of the dead Richard of Brienne.

"Where is the constable?" the young Richard cried. "Came he with thee?"

I made the salaam of greeting and answered thus:

"He came not, nor will he ever come. He lies dead in the alleys behind the tanneries."

Menas and the other looked upon me as if a djinn had risen from the fountain and confronted them, and the Montserrat captain cried out angrily. The youth listened to him and turned to me.

"The Sieur de Brienne was not in the assault. He had command of the Montserrat and Bavarian companies that held our camp. No one among them has been wounded."

"Wai," I said, "I saw him fall with a sword through his throat. His fate was at hand and no man may increase the number of his days."

Suspicion flamed in the bearded face of the Montserrat captain, and he shook his head savagely. He glowered at Menas, and his hand jerked to his sword. The young knight laughed and stepped between them.

"Nay, Barthelemi-I summoned thee to meet thy master. Go, now, and bury him. And-mark me, Barthelemi-I know you came hither to plot with this Greek prince. That was a traitor's mission. For the fair name and honor of thy master, seal thy lips. And go!"

The man called Barthelemi looked long upon the youth, then turned on his heel and left as if indeed his lips had been sealed. At once the knight spoke to Menas, and the Greek started up from his seat.

"Domastikos, my men have come to me with tidings. The Montserrat companies and the Bavarians hold the center of the city. They should have kept to their post, our camp in the plain. Thy men also were drawn up and waiting, yet not for my onset. I know the man Barthelemi came to thee and there was an agreement made-and now I say to thee this." He stepped to the side of the gallery and drew back with his own hand the curtain that had shut out the red glare of flames, the tumult of the streets and the gleaming lights of the Venetian galleys along the sea wall. "It is the hour, Menas, when the dregs of treachery are bitter. What passed between thee and our allies, I know not. But the hour is past when your Greeks and the Italians of Montserrat could have seized the city."

Menas half smiled, as if the words of the young Frank had no meaning in his ears.

"Bethink thee, my lord," went on the knight, "whether it is not better to play the part of an honest foe, who has yielded to greater power, than to make public thy compact with the constable of Montserrat who is dead?"

Still Menas kept silence, outwardly amiable.

"If I had not withdrawn my men from the wall, the Venetians would never have carried a tower," he said at last.

Richard looked at him steadily.

"As to that, I know not. The Sieur de Brienne often spoke to the commanders of our host, describing the great treasures in this city. He had a thirst for gold, and authority, and more than that I will not say, save this-" he paused in his long stride in front of the Greek, and waited until Menas met his eyes. "The Sieur de Brienne lived as he lived, and no man may call despite upon his name, now that his spirit has passed."

For an instant his fingers touched the mail gauntlet in his belt, and Menas bowed assent. At a sign from the knight, the shield bearer escorted the Greek from the chamber.

Verily, Menas had spoken truly. These men of the Cross were gallant fools. A handful of them had stormed Constantinople and hoped to launch a new crusade in this city of old intrigues and age-old treachery.

"Khalil!" cried young Richard. "How did the Lord of Brienne die?"

"He was slain by a captive that he abused."

He brushed his hand across his forehead.

"It was like him. There was no faith in him. But I shall say to the damosel Irene that he fell in the street fighting."

"Aye, be it so."

Foolish youth, who loved the barbarian maid from the instant he had first seen her-who knew that she awaited the coming of the Sieur de Brienne. And who would suffer no evil word to be said of the man who was his enemy.

How can two youths seek the same maiden to wife and not draw the sword of hatred?

"Why hast thou come back, Khalil? Alone!"

"I am thy captive, Ricard."

He held out his hand to me, laughing.

"Nay, and again nay. I have heard from the darosel Irene how thou hast shielded her. No prisoner, thou! Go, or abide as my guest, as thou wilt."

Now, I had seen what I had seen. The eyes of a maiden hold few secrets from the glance of wisdom. The thought had come to me that the barbarian girl would love this youth. He, too, was a barbarian, yet there was in him the bright steel of honor.

And he had overcome me with the sword. I longed to stand against him again and strive with the steel blades, for he was worthy, even of the girl who had warmed my heart-aye, she had stirred the heart of Khalil.

"May thy way be open to thee!" I made the salaam of leave-taking, and he took my hand in his. "Thou art a bold youth-even a brother to Khalil. I go."

And in the second watch of that night, with the flames at our heels, we rode through the portal of Constantinople the Great-Khutb and I. Nay, I lifted the gray horse out of the line under the eyes of all the Franks.

Once-no more than once-have I seen a man dig his own grave. Though his eyes were keen, in that hour he was blind. Though he was favored and fortunate and a conqueror, it availed him not at all in that hour.

Concerning this man, some say-

"It was written, and what is written may not be altered."