Swords From the Desert (35 page)

This, indeed, had a sudden end. A heavy voice cried out within touch of my rein hand-

"In the name of Allah the compassionate, the merciful-are ye women, nightmare ridden, or dogs become mad?"

The voice was Artaban's. The Yuzufi chieftain had heard our clamor over the beat of the rain and had hastened back to silence us. We had come upon the right wing of Mahabat Khan's force. A little more to the right, and we would have pushed into the lash gar of Shah Abbas.

I told the one-eyed chieftain that I must see Mahabat Khan at once. He was a man of deeds, and he took my rein in one hand and Abu Ashtar's in the other and strode off without another word.

It is a strange thing but true that all the other eleven Arabs heard us and gathered docilely behind me, like a disciplined escort, whereas a moment before they had been plunging about anywhere. Nay, the Yuzufis with us chose to slip away to their comrades, without revealing themselves, no doubt dreading their chieftain's tongue.

We splashed among groups of men squatting in the rain, and presently found horsemen about us, dismounted and standing by their beasts. Hillmen such as these do not love night marches or fighting in a storm, and it was a miracle that Mahabat Khan had brought them thus far and formed them after a fashion. He had taken command of the two hundred riders in the center.

By the time we found him the rain had ceased, although the wind still blew with force. The clouds raced overhead, yielding a little light-or rather, the utter darkness seemed less. Mahabat Khan was in the center of a group of Hazaras, telling them of a time when he had marched at night in Bengal during the rains and had missed half his command, at dawn, a hundred miles down the Ganges in boats. I took him apart, dismounting and standing in the mud, and he listened silently to what I had to tell-that Shah Abbas was before him in that lashgar.

He did not reprove me for leaving Baki without a guard. I had expected reproof and anger, and a hurried command to withdraw. But he kept his thoughts to himself and gave no command.

"It is too late to do otherwise," he said quietly. "I could not get word to Dost Muhammad."

After a moment he laughed a little.

"Eh, Daril, one thing is sure; Shah Abbas will be wet this dawn!"

The Pathans around us fell silent and began to gather up their reins. Abu Ashtar lifted his head, and Mahabat Khan left me, springing toward his horse.

Somewhere ahead of us, over the whine of the wind, a roar of hoofs resounded, and a deep shouting. A smashing of brush, shrill neighing of horses-a growing clatter of steel, a bellow of a firelock. Dost Muhammad was in the Persian camp.

With a shout Mahabat Khan swung upon his saddle.

"Hai! Come with me, ye men of the hills!"

And with a roar like the angry rush of the river, the tribesmen followed his voice.

Know now, many years after that battle, that if Mahabat Khan had not led us forward instantly as he did, we would have been worsted at once. Sentries shot arrows at us, and drums rolled in the blackness. We had gone only a little way, when men began to run out in front of the horses.

Here and there lights flared up from torches in the hands of frightened slaves. They only made the darkness thicker elsewhere. We plunged in among the tents, knocking many of them flat, the Pathans halting to slash at the Persians who struggled under the wet cloth.

But Mahabat Khan led his riders on.

"Forward ye men of the hills!"

So we left many Persians behind us, to be dealt with by the Pathans afoot. Arrows sang past my ears, doing little harm to anyone. It was no place for bows. Mahabat Khan had ordered his followers to wield their swords, and those long tulwars did fearful work in the confusion. As to firelocks, I heard only that first shot. The rain and the swift onset made the clumsy muskets of no use at all.

The Arabs and I had followed the mass of Pathan riders, who in turn followed the Sirdar. And presently we all saw lanterns and torches grouped in front of us. Here a hundred or more kurshis, mailed riders, were forming under officers, struggling into the saddles of rearing horses. Eh, few of them had had time to put on their armor.

Mahabat Khan tarried not at all. He spurred over the slippery clay at the Persians. A horseman swung out to meet him, and Mahabat Khan reined in, lifting his sword arm. His horse, checked in this fashion and made frantic by the flaring lights, slipped and slid, all four legs locked.

In this fashion they crashed into the foremost Persian, knocking his horse off balance, so that beast and rider went down beside the Sirdar, who leaned forward and slashed at a second soldier. The man tried to parry, cried out, and reeled with his head split open.

The sight inflamed the charging Pathans, who might have hung back and broken if they had not seen Mahabat Khan go through the Persian array like that.

"Allah, il-'lah!" they shouted from straining throats, and the clatter of steel and creaking saddles resounded around me.

After that all order was lost. My Bedouins scattered like dogs in a field of running hares, and many of the torches went down in the mud.

In truth I knew not what was happening. Men told me afterward that the main force of the Persians had rallied around the shah, to make stand against the Moguls who had not cut their way in as far as we.

I reined in under some trees and looked around. Artaban galloped past, waving a torch in one hand and a sword in the other, his dark face frenzied. He was alone.

I saw one of the Bedouins ride down and kill with his scimitar a fleeing Persian. Then he dismounted with a shout of triumph to rob the body, which was richly clad. It was folly to dismount at such a time. A bearded kurshi saw, and wheeled and galloped down upon the Bedouin, sticking him through the body with a lance.

I had drawn toward them, and the Persian saw me, dropped his lance and made at me with the sword. I gathered the mare under me and half turned, to take him on his left hand. He saw, rose in his stirrups and slashed down at me across his horse's head. I wished vainly then for a shield, knowing that such a stroke is hard to parry. At such a moment the mind races and the arm moves slowly.

The kurshi towered over me, blood dripping from a slash in his cheek, his teeth gleaming through his matted beard. He leaned forward and down as he struck.

I thrust up my sword, catching his blade against my hand guard. The force of the blow knocked the sword from his hand, and he drew back, reaching for a knife hilt. I slashed at his throat and felt the blade strike into flesh.

He staggered, and urged his horse on past me. Looking back, I saw him slip from the saddle.

"Daril!"

Mahabat Khan was calling me, and I made toward him, finding him escorted by no more than two Hazaras, one holding a torch gingerly-more than ready to drop it, if the Persians beset him. Mahabat Khan was breathing heavily, his fine tunic darkened with mud and blood. He bade me take the Hazaras and find the tent where Kushal had been held. Then he trotted off to seek Dost Muhammad.

As soon as the Sirdar had turned his back, the Hazara cast down the torch. I remembered that Kushal had been on the far side of the camp. When we galloped thither, we found little fighting going on. A light gleamed within the pavilion of blue silk.

The entrance was closed, and I dismounted, bidding the tribesmen hold my horse. I lifted the hanging and stepped inside. No living thing was here, but upon the couch, outstretched in death, lay a woman.

I went to her side, looking down at the familiar yellow tresses, the slender throat, and the blue-lidded eyes. It was Nisa.

Her lips curved a little, as if smiling, and her splendid head rested on one side against a cushion, as if she had settled herself to sleep. There was still a flush in her cheeks and warmth in her hand, when I touched it. She had been slain within the hour-slain by many stabs. Nay, the one who did it must have been angered indeed, thus to mutilate so fair a body.

The candle flames rose and sank as gusts of air came through the pavilion, and the changing light made Nisa's eyes and lips seem to move. I closed her eyelids and drew her shawl across her breast. At that moment I remembered only the time when she had pressed my hand against her heart.

I am an old man, and many times have I seen death, sudden and fearful, but for a girl to die thus alone and in the midst of maddened men was pitiful.

The entrance curtain was flungback, and I turned, sword in hand, seeing Kushal enter. His pugri was gone; his wet, dark hair hung about his bloodshot eyes. He staggered like a man badly wounded or utterly weary.

"Ha, Daril!" he cried at me, and flung his sword down upon the carpet.

"Hast thou done this?" I asked, pointing at the couch.

"I?" He planted his back against the tent pole and laughed with bloodless lips. "I loved her. Knowest thou what she has done?"

The tumbling words seemed to give his spirit relief, and he talked on:

"Daril, we twain were here in the hour before this dawn. She had waited for the coming of Mahabat Khan, and I taunted her, saying that he would never come at her summons. I hoped he would not come. I knew she had betrayed me to these dogs of the shah. In the hour before dawn she despaired of the Sirdar, and talked with the guards of the tent. Then she summoned that fellow of thine, the camelman, Sher Jan."

He sighed, holding himself more erect.

"She bade me go with Sher Jan, before the first light, saying that it had all been a trick. I went at once, and Sher Jan guided me past the outer guards unseen. Then I met Dost Muhammad's cavalry and heard of the attack to be made upon the lash gar."

He looked wearily at the weapon he had thrown away.

"Daril, I begged a sword and a horse, and fought my way hither. There were Persian lords at the tent, and lights. They had come for me and had revenged themselves on her."

Upon this I meditated, understanding that Nisa, the singing girl, had made Kushal captive, to serve her lord the shah. Then, when the hour came for Kushal's torture she had freed him, and waited in his place.

Why had she not gone with him? Was her pride too great for this? Did she hope at the last to outwit the Persians? I knew not. The heart of such a singing girl, wayward and passionate and full of longing-who knows it?

Kushal had gone to the divan and thrown himself down, pressing his forehead against her feet, in the very place where she had sat a day and a night ago, fanning the flies from him. He would not let me look at his wounds; he bade me go and keep the entrance and let no others in. Nay, he thought no more of the battle.

My two tribesmen said that now the fighting was all in one place, and this meant that the shah must be surrounded by the Pathans and Moguls. The mist had turned gray and was drifting through the trees, and somewhere the sun was rising. The wet pavilions and the dark holes of trees were clearly visible.

The sound of the fighting changed, and my Hazaras gathered up their reins. Horses galloped toward us. I mounted into my saddle. No sooner had I done so, than riders swept out of the trees and past the blue pavil ion. Others followed in a dense mass, rushing like fiends out of the veil of mist. They were Persian cavalry, with nobles riding haphazard among troopers and mounted slaves.

In the midst of the throng rode a man of short stature and wide shoulders clad in cloth-of-gold. He was in the saddle of a tall black horse with gilded reins. I caught a glimpse of his broad face, dark with anger, as he lashed on his charger.

It was thus that I saw Abbas the Great flee from Kandahar, and he went as if Satan followed behind him.

But it was Mahabat Khan who pursued the Persians, bareheaded, with Dost Muhammad at his side and two hundred Moguls at his heels. They crashed through the camp and vanished into the mist. I stayed at the blue pavilion, where Nisa's candles burned fainter, and Kushal mourned.

After victory, after the last blow is struck, and men begin to feel the ache of wounds, the spirit flags and the body is heavy. Then a man cannot sleep and desires not food.

I watched the Pathans exulting as they looted the tents, dragging out carpets, piling up weapons and leading off the horses they had taken. My Bedouins rode by, clad after their custom in the gilded mail and the silk turbans of the shah's men. They carried new shields and had gleaned the best of the horses, and were singing about it all. I smiled when blind old Abu Ashtar rode past, singing with the rest, his arms full of plunder. By God's mercy he had suffered no harm in all that fighting.

But later in the day I came upon the body of Artaban. In spite of his charm, or perhaps because he trusted too much in his charm, he had been slain by a lance that passed clear through his throat. Too often had he boasted that steel could not pierce him.

Shah Abbas escaped by the speed of his horse, taking refuge across the border, where other Persians awaited him. I did not see this pursuit of an emperor, because I remembered Baki and galloped back to Kandahar to take charge of him again. Thus I was the first to enter the gates and shout the tidings of the battle.

I hastened to the tower chamber and found it empty. The cords with which we had bound Baki lay upon the stone floor beside the cloth that had served for a gag. The rug and the cushions were torn from the divan, revealing a wooden chest as empty as the room. Baki had been able to free himself from his bonds and to flee from the citadel, taking with him a great weight of gold.

Nay, I knew before the end of that day that he had taken the gold.

He had placed it in sacks upon a horse and had gone through the gate unseen. He had turned his horse toward the river. It was Mahabat Khan who summoned me and took me to Baki.

The Veiled One lay curled up like a bird that had dropped from the sky. He lay in the mud by the river, crushed and beaten down by weapons and the hoofs of horses. Only by his tattered garment and the shreds of his veil did we know him. And all around him Pathans searched eagerly, picking out of the mud the gold coins that had fallen from the burst sacks.

"Eh, Daril," said Mahabat Khan, leaning on his saddle horn, "that is Persian gold. The atabegs of the shah, who are my prisoners, have told me the tale. Baki offered to open one of the gates of Kandahar to the shah if Abbas would come secretly with a strong body of men, as if to capture the city. Baki asked a price of ten thousand pieces of gold for Kandahar, and the shah agreed."