Swords From the Desert (33 page)

It is ill to rouse sleeping dogs. The Pathans in the prophet's gorge were sleeping wolves!

Standing in the deep shadow of the outer cavern, we could see all of that great pit of the hills. It looked different by day than by night. The sun struck against the lofty cliff of dark red limestone, filling the bed of the pit with a ruddy half light. The gleam of dazzling snow on sentinel peaks far overhead filled our eyes.

Perhaps six hundred tribesmen sat and slept and gossiped and ate, scattered in clan groups among their horses. Some were testing sword edges, or binding feathers upon fresh arrows. Others overhauled the flints and priming holes of a few firelocks. The women and boys were making ready to bundle up their belongings on pack animals, to follow down behind the warriors, in the raid of the coming night.

Upon the opposite ridge, where we had first seen the sangar, stood a solitary sentry, wrapped in sheepskins. I saw the one-eyed Artaban chewing the last meat off a sheep's bone and then wiping his fingers on a passing dog. At his side squatted the red-bearded Shamil, casting anxious glances at times toward the cavern, as if he expected al-Khimar to appear.

Eh, they were like drowsy wolves, wary of the unknown, more than ready to quest, to prey when roused, a pack that awaited its leader. And in full sight of them Mahabat Khan stepped out upon the boulder with the Rajput officer at his side.

"0 ye men of the hills!" he cried his greeting, in their speech.

At first the nearest children bobbed up to stare and run from him. Warriors turned on their elbows and grasped for their weapons when they saw the glittering garments of the two strangers. Men rose to their feet and gradually the murmur of the camp died into silence. In truth, they were too amazed to understand what was before them.

"I come from al-Khimar," Mahabat Khan cried in his deep voice.

This loosed the shackles of their amazement. Shamil sidled in, peering up at the boulder from his slits of eyes. Artaban grunted and pushed his way toward us, and presently a mass of them elbowed and swayed before the boulder.

"Who art thou?" demanded one.

"The son of Ghuyar, Chief of the Lodi people, Sirdar of Ind, under authority of the emperor!"

There was silence anew, while they pondered this, and then a great outcry of amazement. Mahabat Khan addressed them in their own Pushtu, and many were found to tell me later the words he spoke. Not a man or child of them but had heard of the battles won and the honors gained by the soldier of the hills. Only there were no Lodi clansmen in that throng, and these men who had gathered at al-Khimar's summons were resentful of authority and suspicious of new developments. They had the feeling of being tricked or trapped, and mutters of anger rose and swelled, until Mahabat Khan flung up his arm.

"Are ye wolves or men? Where are your leaders? Set forward the leaders, for I have come to speak at a jirhgar and not with wolves!"

A jirhgar is a council of elders and chieftains, with all the tribes listening. And because they were curious to hear what message Mahabat Khan might have for them, they began to call for their chief men to come forth. Artaban and half a dozen others ranged themselves under the boulder, and Shamil joined the group, peering up under his shaggy brows.

Mahabat Khan would not go down until they were seated, all six hundred of them, and then he went leisurely and sat upon a large rock, his hands clasped over his knee. As the hillmen were squatted on the ground, this set him a little over them, as if he spoke from a throne, and increased his dignity.

The straightforward manner of the man had calmed them. They saw that he had only one or two followers. I lingered in the shadow of the cavern. Their curiosity grew mighty indeed. Mahabat Khan had stepped out of the cave where al-Khimar was supposed to dwell; he had said that he came from the prophet. I think only Shamil recognized him as the Pathan who had ventured hither the night before last, and Shamil, with Baki absent, hesitated to cry out his knowledge. The others, seeing him clad in this new fashion, in daylight, thought not at all of the shaggy Mahabat Khan who had come among them by firelight.

"Al-Khimar," the Sirdar said at once, "hath given me his place among ye. I have come to lead ye to a battle this night, to the spoil that al-Khimar truly foresaw."

W'allahi! When a blunt man speaks thus, who does not believe? A schemer might have argued, and a prophet have exhorted in vain. But the Pathans, drawing a long breath, became attentive. Probably al-Khimar had kept them waiting overlong.

"I shall remain among ye," he said again, "I alone, until the end of things."

They did not believe this at first; but, as he spoke on, they began to consider and to believe.

Of all things he told them the truth-that twelve hundred Persians had been sent by the shah to take Kandahar by a trick; that this force was too great for the hillmen to attack alone; that, besides, the Persians were now camped in the plain out beyond Kandahar.

He described the camp, as his scouts had seen it. Then he talked about the great shah of Persia, revealing his trickery and cruelty, his way of venturing where he was not known and putting to death all who offended him. Yea, the Sirdar showed them that with the Persians quartered in Kandahar, the men of the hills would be hunted and driven from their sangar.

"My brother-in-arms, the songmaker, is captive in that camp," he said suddenly, "and at the next dawn the Persians will begin flaying him alive, unless I yield myself also to them. And I mean to be in that camp before sunrise."

They could understand now his need of making war upon the Persians. This was well, because otherwise they would have suspected a trick.

"If ye will," he cried very loud, "ye can take me and sell me to the men of the shah."

This was what they had been considering, but they denied it loudly at his challenge.

"Nay, Mahabat Khan," declared Artaban, "we are not traitors. But we are too few to go against twelve hundred."

Then the Sirdar revealed the plan he had made. He knew the Persians would not move out until dawn, because they would wait that long to see if he would give himself up. He meant to have the Moguls of the garrison sally out in the last hours of darkness and make an onset upon the lashgar.

Upon the heels of this charge he would lead the Pathans to attack the tents, thus taking the Persians by surprise at two points.

Eh, he knew these hillmen. The plan warmed their hearts. They would not have advanced alone against regular soldiery; but to dash in on the flank of the Moguls-to slash and loot among the tents!

"Hai-a! " they murmured, beginning to be eager.

Then it was that Shamil acted. He had waited until he saw the issue going against him, had waited vainly for al-Khimar to appear. Now he sprang up and pointed at the Sirdar.

"Fools! This is the governor's spy who tried to seize al-Khiinar."

He had waited too long. Artaban was thinking now, not of the Veiled One, but of the coming raid.

"Nay," they cried, "this is the Sirdar of Ind."

Mahabat Khan took matters in his own hand.

"Choose, ye men of the hills, will ye go against the Persians, as Pathans should? Or lurk here like the thieves of al-Khimar?"

The chieftain of the Yuzufi was the first to spring up.

"By God, I will go with thee!"

"And I!" cried others, not willing to be thought lacking in courage. Many said nothing, but Mahabat Khan gave them no chance to quarrel about it.

"Will ye have me for leader, or him?" And he pointed at the enraged Shamil.

Now it is a strange thing but true that men are ever willing to pull down an old leader for a new one, and these Pathans loved both daring and dignity. A moment ago they might have slashed Mahabat Khan to pieces, but now they rallied to him.

"With thee will we go!"

"Then I shall be obeyed, from now-from this instant!"

His dark eyes swept over them confidently. And Shamil, struggling with his anger, learned the truth of the saying that a man who cannot master himself may not lead others.

"Wait!" He tried a new course, changing his words. "Wait for the coming of the Veiled One and hear his command! "

"Then would ye wait long," smiled the Sirdar, "for al-Khimar is sitting with Baki the governor in the tower of Kandahar. As for thee-" he turned swiftly upon Shamil-"may God judge thee, for thou hast slain a man of mine, taking him unaware. For thee there is but one choice. Wilt thou draw thy sword against me, or Dost Muhammad?"

The captain of the Rajputs stirred and came forward.

"Is this the one who struck down Rai Singh?"

"In the bazaar," assented the Sirdar. "I saw his face, and there are not two such beards in these mountains."

When Shamil appealed to the Pathans, they jeered at him. In truth, they had not known of the killing in Kandahar. They cared not at all about the life of Rai Singh, but they knew the law of the punishment of blood. Any relative or companion-in-arms of the dead man was privileged to draw his sword against Shamil, and the redheard must look to his own life.

The law of the hills is inexorable-that no man may shrink from his quarrel. Even Shamil saw the uselessness of appeal, and his face grew hard. He looked once toward the cavern; his eyes no longer drooped, but glared hatred. No doubt he thought al-Khimar had betrayed him.

In the end he chose to fight Dost Muhammad. Mahabat Khan seated himself on his stone. True, the Rajput seemed both lank and old, and his small sword was lighter than Shamil's long tulwar. But Dost Muhammad grinned at the choice, motioning back the hilimen who thronged about him.

"Thou shalt taste what is stored up for thee," he said to the redbeard.

I wondered what Mahabat Khan would do if Shamil vanquished the Rajput, but he seemed not at all concerned. The hillmen thought the more of him because he had been willing to take Rai Singh's death as his own quarrel.

"Al-Khimar hath set thee upon me," Shamil muttered, and seemed willing to say more, but Artaban mocked him; and presently, the space before the rock being cleared, Shamil fell to watching the Rajput who had drawn his sword and stood in readiness.

The light blade of Dost Muhammad was a khanda, double edged and finely balanced, of blue steel. The tulwar of Shamil was longer and much heavier at the head-a weapon made for a wide slash. As to strength, I could not judge. Dost Muhammad stood almost rigid, balanced on his thin feet, while Shamil moved about restlessly as a chained bear, his jaw outthrust, his heavy shoulders moving under his tunic.

"Inshallah!" cried Artaban. "As God wills it, let the end come!"

The two swordsmen watched each other as keenly as hawks. Being afoot and with curved blades, the struggle would be decided swiftly. Shrewdly, each waited for the other to leap in, while the tribes breathed heavily and jostled, not to lose a single glimpse of the two men.

Suddenly Dost Muhammad paced forward, his curved blade held at his hip. This spurred on Shamil, who cried out and ran in, his mantle flying, his tulwar flashing out and down. The Rajput thrust out his long arm and parried, letting the long blade slide off his khanda.

"Hai!" cried Artaban. "The stork wards off the hawk!"

Shamil pretended then to rush in, twice, without being able to draw Dost Muhammad into a false guard. Then he slashed at the head and changed direction in midair, to strike the Rajput's slender hips. Again Dost Muhammad parried; and now the two blades sang and clashed so swiftly that I could not follow thrust and cut.

I saw that the tall Rajput walked forward slowly, and that by degrees he forced Shamil to guard himself. The tulwar man scowled, springing back again and again to escape those light cuts of the khanda. Then he saw the folly of falling upon the defense, and leaped forward, his long blade singing in the air.

Dost Muhammad sprang this time to meet him. The swords clashed and parted, and clashed anew. Shamil cried out, and swung up his tulwar to put all of his strength in one slash.

Instead of drawing back, the Rajput stepped in, his blade flicking sidewise across his enemy's breast. Shamil made his slash indeed, but the tulwar slowed in the air and fell from his hands. The front of his tunic under the ribs suddenly became red. The khanda had touched him and passed half through his body.

Dost Muhammad laughed and stood to one side, lowering his point. Shamil, dying upon his feet, gripped his breast, his knees sinking under him. His red beard stood out strangely, as his face became bloodless.

I looked at the Rajput. He was breathing evenly, wiping clean his blade with a cloth he had picked up from the ground.

"By God!" cried the one-eyed Artaban. "This man has held a sword before now!"

The slaying of Shamil silenced any who might have sided against Mahabat Khan. When the Sirdar told them that he sought for true men who would not turn away from weapons, and that men of another mind need not come with him, the Pathans all cried that they would follow him.

So he drew apart while they made ready, and Dost Muhammad refreshed himself with wine. He took me aside with him and told me the secret of Baki.

Baki the Wise was a man of a single craving. He coveted wealth-gold pieces and silver. He stinted himself to gather in money.

And when he had found that the revenues of Kandahar yielded little more than the emperor's tithe, he had bethought him of the hill tribes. Shamil, a merchant of Kandahar, had told the governor of this valley, of their favorite camping place and of the passage through the mountain that led to it. Shamil alone knew of this passage. They knew the superstition of the hills, and planned between them for Baki to appear in the valley, veiled, so that he would not be recognized. Baki had once been a reader of the Koran and knew its verses by heart.

He found that the tribes were afraid of him, and he gained real influence over them by foretelling the coming of certain caravans-a thing well known to him in Kandahar. He gathered tribute from the tribes, while he held them in leash by promising to lead them to war. Shamil, abiding with them, watched their moods.

Baki could come and go unseen from his tower, by the little door. So much he had confessed to Mahabat Khan when he was caught in the caverns. As to the bag of money, he had said he meant to give it to the Pathans, but more probably he had been taking it from the tower to a safer hiding place. It was not all his money.