Swords From the Desert (16 page)

"He will suffer no other to tend the Rawul," she said. "When thou drewest the blood from the arm of my father, he swore an oath that he would cut thee down if the Rawul died."

A strange servant, whose pride was the pride of his master. He covered the tamarisk boughs with ragged and torn saddlecloths and stood at the entrance of the rude tent as if he were inner sentry to the lord of a host.

I looked here and there, but could not see that the wanderers had any food to ease the early morning hunger. So I soaked and heated rice enough for three, and bade the girl take her portion.

"0 hakim!" she stormed at once. "Have I asked for alms? Have I held out a beggar's bowl?"

"And am I, Daril of the Nejd, so poor a being that guests should scorn me?"

Her brown eyes flashed and she pressed her hands to her cheeks. In the clear level light of sunrise she looked more lovely than by firelight, for her skin was delicate, and her dark hair tumbling from the circlet gleamed freshly.

"It is my misfortune," I said again, "that guests should come when I have no more to offer them than rice and dates."

At this she tossed back the long hair from her shoulders and smiled at me. Nay, though I could see white teeth under the silk veil, and her eyes half closed, smiling.

"Ai-a, my lord, thou art a man of birth and knowledge of what to do rightly." At once, having decided, she sat by me and ate eagerly. "I saw thy fire from far off. Hast thou no fear of thieves?"

"It is our custom to keep up the fire." And I told her how we made camp nightly in the Nejd.

"Aye," she nodded. "So did we once keep open the gate at Kukri." Then she was silent until I had wiped clean the bowl and taken it to the servant, the man she called Subbul.

The deep sleep of Sidri Singh rejoiced her who had borne the dread of sickness and the ache of hunger until now. She made merry in her way, smiling often, and asking many questions. I did not think she was older than fifteen years. Her name was Radha, and her father was a chieftain of the Rajputs. They lived on the border of Rajputana, nine days' ride to the east.

They had lost their dwellings and goods in a war, and Sidri Singh had planned to take her to the stronghold of a cousin, here in the barren plain of Iran, where she would be safe while he rode back and took his part again in this war of Ind. But when the fever had come upon Sidri Singh, she and the servant decided to turn aside to Bandar Abbasi, where the sick man could be put under a roof.

"The gods led us to thy fire, Uncle Daril," she cried again.

And she sent Subbul to see whether the horses had found grazing near the stream. Then she caught up a water jar and went herself to fill it at the stream and offer it to me. Truly, I thought that this was not wonted in Radha, for she carried the jar clumsily, yet offered it with grace, saying:

"Thou hast seen many years, Uncle Daril. Is there none to attend thee?"

"W'allahi, for many seasons have I wandered, companied by the ra fik, the brothers of the road-yea, and the enemies."

"And war?"

Eh, when she smiled again, I did not refrain from boasting, telling her of forays against the Turkomans of the mountains and the Turks who were masters of Bail al-Makkudas.*
To these idle tales of an old man she listened courteously, and it seemed to me that she herself had seen greater battles.

"And thy home?" she asked.

"Man's home is where his camel's saddle is," I made response, and she shook her head, saying that for her there was no abode but the battlements of Kukri.

Thus we talked, the man Subbul asleep at last-having eaten-under the tamarisk, and the cool morning wind stirring the white salt under our fingers. Perhaps it was the change from suffering and uncertainty to hope, or perhaps it was no more than the food, but Radha's spirits soared, and the wine of her laughter warmed even the thin veins of an old man.

"What men are these?" she asked suddenly, springing up to stare into the sun that was no more than spear-high over the plain. I turned and looked, shading my eyes.

Some twenty horsemen were cantering over the low ridges, and several of the leaders bore hawks on their wrists. One, in the center of the troop, carried a hooded leopard on the crupper of his saddle.

Even as we watched, a falcon was loosed at a heron that winged slowly over our heads, and Radha clapped her hands. The man Subbul awoke and joined us, and the twain stared at the circling bird of prey and the gaunt, clumsy heron. Farther and farther flew the heron, over the river, seeking refuge in the brush. But the rider with the leopard reined in and shouted suddenly. He had seen us. And in that moment I knew him to be Mirakhon Pasha.

With his men he galloped over to us, leaving a single rider to follow and fetch the hawk. Sidri Singh still slept, and how could Radha hide from the eyes of the pasha and his men? She faced them, without alarm, and the milk-brother of the shah did not rein in until he was beside her, when he pulled the dun mare back on her haunches, and looked about the camp.

"What man is that?" he exclaimed, bending to peer into the ragged shelter where the Rajput still slept heavily.

And Subbul, who had posted himself beside Radha, strode forward without salutation.

"Silence!" he cried softly. "This is Sidri Singh, Rawul of Kukri, brother of the lord of Bikanir, defender of Anavalli, whose right is the right of beating drums to the gateway of Bikanir."*
Thus he cried out the titles of his master, with the utmost boldness, as if Sidri Singh were the equal of the pasha. "My lord is stricken with fever," he said again. "Bid thy men withdraw, lest they wake him." But the dark eyes of Mirakhon Pasha lingered upon the veiled face of Radha.

"And thou, hanim?" he asked.

She bent her head, without coming forward.

"I pray thee, my lord of Iran, accept thy welcome from me, and ask not that Sidri Singh come to thee, for indeed he is ill."

So she spoke in her clear young voice, as if she stood among a thousand retainers, while the man Subbul dressed his shield and held high his head. But Mirakhon Pasha had eyes for no one but Radha. Indeed, as he sat the saddle of the restive mare-a horse among a thousand-he made a fine figure, in soft, green leather riding boots, and flowing khalat, bound by a cloth-of-gold girdle. The sword hilt at his hip gleamed with the fires of many precious stones. The leopard at his back shifted uneasily upon its pad, thrusting its head against him and rattling its chain.

It was clear to me then that Mirakhon Pasha, who had left Bandar Abbasi only an hour behind me, had come forth from his camp to hunt in the cool of the morning. He was attended by the captain of the sipahis, by young nobles and falconers.

"Eh, hanim," he smiled. "Thy welcome pleases me, and, by the breath of Ali, I would not disturb the slumbers of yonder Rajput."

To the nearest officer, he added:

"What is thine opinion, Farash Agha? Is not this better quarry than the heron?"

Farash Agha, the leader of the sipahis, reined forward and touched henna-stained fingers to the glittering gold embroidery of his turban.

"Indeed, my pasha! I marvel that thou didst see the beauty of the quarry from such a distance."

"Then dismount and offer her a stirrup."

At once the young officer swung down and led his charger toward Radha. Subbul stepped between them with a muttered question. The men of the pasha's following were smiling and sitting idly in their saddles as if they had watched such happenings before.

"Mirakhon Pasha," explained the sipahi, "begs the hanim to accept the hospitality of his tents and the protection of his power. Indeed, she hath pleased him rarely."

"Aye," exclaimed another. "The journey begins well. A happy omen, this."

"My lord," said Radha gravely, "I go to Bandar Abbasi."

"But not now," responded the pasha. "Such a voice and such eyes would be wasted in Bandar Abbasi."

"Come," Farash Agha urged the Rajput maiden. "My lord is impatient of delay. He hath summoned thee to his tents."

Verily, when first Mirakhon Pasha had seen Radha he had been struck with her beauty. His eyes could judge a face behind the veil, and the slender form of the girl, only half hidden by the wind-whipped linen garments. He had claimed her, as swiftly as a hawk stoops from high in the air and clutches its quarry. Why not? This daughter of Sidri Singh had no following. And the milk-brother of the shah could go far. Mirakhon Pasha was no man to waste words or change his whim. If Radha had been the wife of an emir, with a hundred swords to serve her, he would have carried her off.

"Let not the price to be paid trouble thee," smiled Farash Agha. "My lord is generous. Is Sidri Singh thy father or husband? The price will be greater in that case."

Radha looked from him to the silent pasha, understanding now the meaning of their words. Though the blood did not rise into her forehead, shadows appeared under her eyes, and the hands, held so stiffly at her side, closed and unclosed. What she would have said then, or what Farash Agha would have done, I know not. Because Subbul's gaunt face darkened, and he drew his sword, rushing forward as if he would have struck the pasha.

He did not take three strides before a horse, swerving under knee and rein, shouldered him aside and, before he could gain his balance, Farash Agha was upon him with the scimitar. In one stroke the sipahi slashed open the Rajput servant's light leather shield.

Then Farash Agha parried a cut, and beat down the Rajput's guard, and passed his blade through the servant's body, under the ribs. He could use his weapon, the sipahi.

"Shabash!" cried the pasha. "Well done. By the breath of Ali, we have roused the sleeping lion."

Indeed, the clash of steel had brought Sidri Singh out of his slumber and out of his shelter. He came on hands and knees, because of his weakness, and only by grasping a boulder did he draw himself erect.

"Radha!" he called. "What is this?"

I think the fever had left him, and his brain was clear. But the strong sunlight dazed him and he turned his head slowly like a blind man, trying to understand. When he could see a little, he drew his sword and stepped forward, his beard jutting out, his eyes flaming.

"Do not slay him!" The Rajput girl cried out suddenly, and grasped the sword arm of Farash Agha. "Do not slay!"

But Sidri Singh still advanced, and I saw Mirakhon Pasha reach behind him. A servant thrust a javelin into his hand and he bent forward swiftly in the saddle; his right arm whipped down, and the javelin flashed in the air. Sidri Singh was not five paces distant, and the weapon struck beneath his brow, passing through his eye, the point coming out through his skull.

The force of the blow knocked the old man to the ground, and when I went to his side he was dead. Two others reached him before me-Mira- khon Pasha, who kneed his mare forward to see the result of his cast, and Radha, who knelt beside the body of Sidri Singh. No sound came from the Raj put, but the girl moaned, swaying upon her knees.

The other riders came up to praise the pasha's skill and swiftness. But he glanced at the sun and ordered the hunt to start again, saying that the first of the caravan would be up presently, and would spoil the sport.

Radha, rising to her feet, spoke to him. Her limbs did not tremble and her voice rang out clearly.

"Mirakhon Pasha, hast thou reckoned the price to be paid for this?"

"In gold coin or in jewels or perfumes?" he asked.

"The price will be beyond thy reckoning and it will be paid into the hand of a Rajput, though thy life be long and the day distant."

"Nay," laughed the pasha. "Is the Dark Angel then a Rajput? Sidri Singh was an unbeliever and he will look for me in vain through all the seven hells."

Then Radha covered her face with a fold of her mantle so that these men should not see her grieve. Farash Agha lifted her to the saddle of his charger and took himself the mount of a servant.

As for the pasha, he watched a slave pull the javelin clear from the head of the dead man, and then he spoke to me.

"0 Arab, is it thy fate to appear before me in the company of such dogs?"

He was thinking of the other time in Bandar Abbasi, and seemed of two minds what to do with me. In that moment, indeed, my fate was in his hands. And so I answered him boldly.

"My lord, say rather it was my fate thus to encounter thee. For I had bled Sidri Singh, and now thou hast undone my work."

He looked down at me and smiled, brushing his red fingertips across his beard. But he did not give me leave to go.

"A bold tongue hast thou, Arab. We follow the same road. Put thyself under my protection, and ride in my caravan. By the head of Hussein, I swear thou wilt not lack patients!"

In this manner I joined the following of the Master of the Horse, for his request was indeed a command. Perhaps he really had need of a physician to attend his men, or perhaps he had a whim. He had slain Sidri Singh wantonly and had made Radha a captive, and it pleased him to make sport of me.

For many days I did not see Radha. Mirakhon Pasha gave orders that she should travel in a pannier on the same white camel he had bought at the gate of Bandar Abbasi, and that two black slaves should attend her. And word went through the caravan that she was kourrouk-forbidden to eye or ear. No one went near the white camel, and, when a halt was made, the black slaves put up a cloth barrier about her tent. So Mirakhon Pasha made it clear that she was his slave woman.

The pasha himself did not go near her at first. It pleased him to act as if he had forgotten her, and besides, many things happened.

The caravan came to the edge of the dry lands-a sunken plain without road or village. Here the south wind sweeps the plain daily with its fiery breath. The wells are deep, the water poor, and the wells lie a long march apart.

Though it was the season of the first rains, the sky remained clear and the watercourses empty of all save rocks and thorns. This meant that we must go from one well to the next before halting. A few men on fast camels could have done this without hurrying, but the pasha's caravan was like a moving village.