Swords From the Desert (23 page)

"Lay hand on the mare," I said to them, "and more than one man will die-thou, Redbeard, the first."

At this he opened one eye a little, and would have drawn back, but I held his rein. The leader of the Hazaras made as if to pull out the heavy battle mace in his belt, and I stepped to the far side of Shamil's horse. Sher Jan began to bellow imploringly, and it seemed to me that my road would end here. Against ten horsemen with lances I would not have lived more than a moment-long enough to dispatch the man called Shamil and perhaps, if God willed it, another. For I could strike swiftly and surely with the curved blade, and it was not my habit to draw a weapon without striking.

Shamil and the chieftain spoke together, and he of the damask saddlecloth put back his weapon. Strange it was that he should heed the words of the unarmed Shamil. Long afterward I understood why they had no wish to shed blood in this place.

"By God!" cried he of the striped cloak and red beard. "If thou hast silver, 0 Daril, we will take it instead of the mare."

The horsemen crowded around, hearing our dispute, but not understanding what was said. There was nothing to do but to pull the coin bag from my girdle and toss it to Shamil, who caught it deftly enough, for all his sleepy eyes. The Hazara chieftain came over to watch him count the silver dirhams, grumbling because they were so few. But Shamil spoke in his ear, and he seemed satisfied, for he raised his arm, shouting to his men-

"Off!"

They trotted out of the firelight, shouting back mockingly at us until the cliffs overhead gave out the echoes -Ya-hough! Ya-hou-ugh! Sher Jan, bending shamefaced over the dying fire, pretended not to hear the taunts or my step when I strode over to him. Nor did he look up when I asked whether this were his promised immunity against raiders.

"Eh," he said, "I am not rich."

"What has that to do with thy covenant?"

"Listen to me, my lord! If I had wealth, then I could well pay the heavy tithes to the chieftains of the Hazaras and the Yuzufis. But God has not given to me wealth, so they take a little of my goods."

"Fool! How easily thou and I could have slipped through this gorge, if thou hadst not settled here for the night and lighted a grandfather of fires!"

He stirred the embers and shook his head.

"Nay, my lord. Above us are eyes that see in the night. Besides, the next time they would have taken all my goods, and I am a poor man with only eight camels to my hand, and five daughters and three small sons to feed."

Now I was very angry at him, because of the near loss of the dun mare and the vanishing of my silver.

"At least, Sher Jan," I reminded him, "thou wilt have no payment for thy guidance, since thy ten dirhains have gone off with these Hazaras, with my purse."

"God is great," the stubborn fellow answered readily, "because my lord is a shaikh and a man of his word. Also, he is a hakim of reputation; and soon in Kandahar he will have silver to repay his servant."

"Repay! What have Ito repay? May dogs dig up thy father's grave!"

"Nevertheless," said Sher Jan calmly, "I asked my lord Daril to give his money to my keeping, and he chose not so to do. What happened, he brought upon his own head."

When he said this I kicked him into the ashes and sat down by the pot. Truly, it was not fitting for a chieftain of the Nejd, son of a chieftain, to quarrel with a carrier of goods. Convinced by my silence that he would eventually have his ten pieces, Sher Jan waited cheerfully until I had drawn the best morsels of mutton and balls of rice from the pot. He even growled out a song about the fragrant wine of Kandahar and the fine figures of the lulis, the dancing girls.

The next morning, while we climbed out of the gullies, past cliffs of veined limestone, I meditated upon the Valley of Thieves. The raiders had taken only part of the spoil they might have had. In my land, the riders of the clans would strip a stranger's caravan, but leave untouched the goods and animals of a friend. These Hazaras acted otherwise, and I thought that they were only one of many bands serving one leader. Verily, the mountains that rose, snowcapped, to the north of us might have sheltered many armies!

I was at the gate of the Mogul's empire, but what a cold and windy gate it was! Hugging his sheepskins about him, Sher Jan grinned at me.

"Only think, my lord, tonight we will walk in the alleys and look at the dancing girls, who have moon faces and sheep's eyes."

He hurried on the camels, muttering to them of grape leaves and grass that they would feed upon that evening; he shouted out blessings on the horsemen and merchants we met coming down the trail, and he swore that he had brought me safely out of the desert-I, who had been born in the sahra. All fear had left him, and when the valley became shallow and the red rock walls drew far apart, he ran up a ridge and beckoned me.

"Now, my lord, approaches the hour of ease and profit. Look!"

Eh, what my eyes beheld was pleasant as an oasis after the sand glare and dust of the track. We stood at the edge of a wide and lofty plain, set with fruit gardens and water ditches and the yellow walls of villages. Lines of vineyards rose against the nearest hills, and pomegranate bushes with their dark, shining leaves nearly hid the water ditches. We splashed through the ford of a gentle river, and I beheld at the northern edge of the plain the domes and minarets of a city above a gray scum of leafless poplars. And above the roofs of the city towered the foundations and lofty walls of the kasr-the citadel.

I saw distant camel and mule caravans going toward the gates of Kandahar, and I thought that indeed it was a good place, a strong place, one to bring power to its master.

Sher Jan made all haste, but his beasts were weak from lack of food, and the plain was wide. Not until after the hour of evening prayer did we arrive at the nearest gate and find it closed for the night. Sher Jan swore and then besought me to go with him to the Armenian village by the river, outside the walls. It was, he said, the order of the governor that the gates should not be opened after sunset. The governor was a cautious man, and Kandahar a frontier city, perched above the dominion of the Iranis, through which we had come.

W'allahi, our road was ended. No longer did I need the guidance of Sher Jan. I told him that I would go and seek for Arabs, who are to be found on every caravan road, and always outside the walls.

Asking first of one person, then of another, I learned that some Bedouins had their tents out on the road toward Ind, where they could graze their sheep and cattle. There I dismounted and gave the mare into the hands of the youths who came out of the black goatskin tents to greet me. Many times had I fought Bedouin raiders in the sahra; but here in a strange land we were as friends, and the blind chieftain of the band sent out and had a sheep killed in my honor, and his men thronged in to talk with me.

They heaped up the fire and filled the largest copper dish with the feast of mutton and rice, murmuring their pleasure when I ate heartily. We sipped many bowls of coffee. When the great bowl had been sent out to the women and the children and the dogs, we rested at ease on the rug.

The blind chieftain said that every year they journeyed from the hill country of Persia with horses, selling them in Kandahar.

"Dost thou pay road tribute to the tribes?" I asked, thinking of the Valley of Thieves.

"Yea, Daril of Athir. And when we are within Kandahar we again pay road tax to the guards of the Mogul."

"But the guards do not keep the road clear." I told him of my meeting with the Hazaras.

"Will dogs keep off a wolf pack? " He shook his head. "Nay, the Pathans of these hills rob where they will."

"Yet taking only a small part."

"That is their custom, and they obey the order given them."

"By the governor of Kandahar?"

The blind man bared his yellow teeth and drew nearer, until his head touched my shoulder.

"By God, the chieftain in Kandahar is no man for war. The Pathans obey a stronger."

"That must be the shah." I had heard tales of the might of Abbas, Lord of Persia.

"Nay, they obey a voice." The master of the tent mused awhile. "A loud and clear voice, calling to war and plunder. Some of my men have heard it, up yonder." He motioned with his head toward the hills. "That is why we linger here, to learn what the voice of al-Khimar will command."

Indeed, al-Khimar was a name to rouse the desert men-a name with memories of dark hours and great slaying. Al-Khimar, the Veiled One. Once a woman had been called that, and again a prophet in Khorassan-a false prophet.

"He has spoken to the tribes," said a youth, coming to sit by me, "promising many things and foretelling that which has already happened."

Yea, that is the manner of prophets, to promise and foretell, and to rouse a following. Verily, in elder ages there had been some who talked with God, and since then, many who lied and stirred up strife. But these Bedouins were full of mystery.

"Nay, Daril," they cried when I said naught. "This is no common man; he eats not at all, nor does he sleep. Only at times does he appear at his place. At other times nothing living is to be seen there."

"In one thing he hath shown his power," grunted the blind man, "for the tribes, the Hazaras and Baluchis and Yuzufis and all the Pathans, all obey him and do not harm each other."

"He told them to look for the coming of the great caravan bringing cotton and indigo and silver, and in the next moon it came," put in another.

"And many muleloads of silver did the tribes take from that caravan," added a third Bedouin, twisting his nose with his fingers, while the men of the tent sighed. It was clear to me that they envied the people of these mountains, who were guided to plunder by a truthful prophet.

"Why do they call this man al-Khimar?" I asked, not wishing to mock them.

"Because he is veiled. From eyes to shoulders he wears a veil of thin white silk."

"Then ye have seen him?"

The Bedouins exchanged glances. They knew me for a wayfarer and an Arab, still they hesitated to say what they had seen of al-Khimar. One at last admitted that he had been visiting the tribes in the hills above the town, when al-Khimar had appeared among them. It seemed that this prophet kept himself in a certain gorge or valley to which there was only one entrance. Hither went the people seeking him, sometimes finding him among his rocks, sometimes not. Yet no one had ever seen him leave the gorge. The Bedouins swore by the triple oath that no food was taken him, nor had he been known to eat. They who had beheld him said that he had a clear voice-far carrying as a muezzin's cry.

"His eyes!" cried one, "oh, his eyes! They burn with dark fire."

"What is hidden," assented the youth eagerly, "his eyes see. How else would he have known of the coming of that great caravan bearing silver? "

"All this is strange," grumbled the blind chieftain, who was old and irritable. "Is not a prophet a man? How can a man live up yonder with the eagles, without a fire, in such cold? Surely he eats."

"Nay," his followers cried at him, "it is a barren place, and he will accept no offerings of fruit or grain or any food. We have seen."

"What thinkest thou, Lord Daril?" growled the chieftain. "These boys of mine are foolish as foals not yet licked dry. They go from me and come back with tales."

Indeed the Bedouins are wild folk, inclined to run after whatever takes their fancy. Instead of going back with the money they had gained from the sale of the horses, they lingered here among a strange people, filling their ears with the talk of a veiled prophet.

"In what language does al-Khimar speak?" I asked, unwilling to show open doubt.

"In the speech of the Pathans."

"As one born to it, or as one who has accustomed himself to it?" I asked again.

"Verily, as one born."

Almost I laughed at them, for the harsh speech of the Pathans, bearded men shouting among their rocks, was little known to the Arabs, and how could they judge of it? Their zeal inflamed their minds, and to argue with them would only rouse them to anger.

"0 men of the tent," I assured them, "I grant thy prophet is no coinmon man. Still, a Pathan is as full of tricks as a dog of fleas."

"Al-Khimar hath no need of trickery," muttered the youth who wore the cloak and girdle of a warrior. His beadlike eyes peered at me from between twisted plaits of dark hair. "Fortunate indeed, Lord Daril, art thou, that thou drewest not the sword against the followers of al-Khimar. For those who pay not the tribute he slays swiftly."

In this manner we were gossiping, lying at ease, until the blind man should dismiss his followers and allow me to sleep. Being blind, he hun gered for more talk, and the night hours passed until a herd boy rode up, calling out that riders were coming up the road toward Kandahar.

A Bedouin drew back the entrance curtain of the tent, and we saw lanterns moving among the trees and heard a man singing. The voice carried far in the cold air, and I knew it to be a trained voice, a minstrel's. When we saw mules laden with packs, and servants walking beside them, the Bedouins who had grasped their spears and bows lay back at ease again. Travelers with lights and luggage could not be raiders, looking for cattle to lift or tents to ride down and plunder.

"By my head!" swore the youth of the raids. "These are men of the Mogul."

When the first riders came abreast of our tent they halted, and the singer ceased his chant. A black stallion, reined in by a strong hand, stalked up to the embers of our fire, and a cloaked figure scanned us.

"Peace be upon ye," a deep voice greeted us.

"And upon thee be the peace," responded the blind man.

"How far to the gate of Kandahar?"

"An hour of slow riding." The old Bedouin began to be curious, because the stranger, though not an Arab, had spoken in full-voiced Arabic. "0 my lord, there is no good in going forward, because all the gates are closed at sunset and they would not open to the Mogul himself."

The stranger mused a moment.

"Is that done by order of the governor?"

"Yea, by his order."