Sword Woman and Other Historical Adventures Read online

  “Scouts have relayed word by signal smokes that Ali bin Sulieman is riding hard for Araby,” said I. “And Muhammad has marched to cut him off. He is keeping well in touch with his foes.”

  “Why does the Persian ride with only a thousand men?” asked Sir Eric. “Two to one are no great odds against men like the Bedouins.”

  “To trap the Arab, speed is necessary,” said I. “The sultan can shift his thousand riders as easily and swiftly as a chess player moves his piece. He has sent riders to harry Ali and herd him toward the route across which lies Muhammad with his thousand hard-bitten slayers. We have seen, far away, all evening, signal smokes hanging like serpents along the sky-line. Wherever the Arabs ride, men send up smoke, and these smokes are seen by other scouts far away, who likewise send up smoke that may be seen by Muhammad’s outriders.”

  Sir Eric had been searching among the tracks with flint, steel and tinder, and now he announced: “Here is the track of Ettaire’s wagon. See – the left hind wheel has been broken at some time and mended with rawhide – the mark in the tracks shows plainly. The stars give light enough to show if a wagon turns off from the rest. Muhammad may keep the girl with him, or he may send her on to his harem at Kizilshehr.”

  So we rode on swiftly, keeping good watch, and no wagon train turned off. From time to time Sir Eric dismounted and sought with flint and steel until he found the mark of the hide-bound wheel again. So we progressed and just before the darkness that precedes dawn, we came to the camp of Muhammad Khan which lay in a wide reach of level desert land at the foot of a jagged tangle of bare, gully torn hills.

  At first I thought the thousand of Muhammad had become a mighty host, for many fires blazed on the plain, straggling in a vast half circle. The warriors were wide awake, many of them, and we could hear them singing and shouting as they feasted and whetted their scimitars and strung their bows. From the darkness that hid us from their eyes, we could make out the bulks of steeds standing nearby in readiness and many riders went to and fro between the fires for no apparent reason.

  “They have Ali bin Sulieman in a trap,” I muttered. “All this show is to fool scouts – a man watching from those hills would swear ten thousand warriors camped here. They fear he might try to break through in the night.”

  “But where are the Arabs?”

  I shook my head in doubt. The hills beyond the plain loomed dark and silent. No single gleam betrayed a fire among them. At that point the hills jutted far out into the plains and none could ride down from them without being seen.

  “It must be that scouts have reported Ali is riding hither, through the night,” said Sir Eric. “And they wait to cut him off. But look! That tent – the only one pitched in camp – is that not Muhammad’s? They have not put up the tents of the emirs because they feared a sudden attack. The warriors keep watch or sleep beneath the wagons. And look – that smaller fire which flickers furthest from the hills, somewhat apart from the rest. A wagon stands beside it, and would not the sultan place Ettaire furthest from the direction in which the enemy comes? Let us see to that wagon.”

  So the first step in the madness was taken. On the western side the plain was broken with many deep ravines. In one of these we left our horses and in the deepening darkness stole forward on foot. Allah willed it that we should not be ridden down by any of the horsemen who constantly patrolled the plain, and presently it came to pass that we lay on our bellies a hundred paces from the wagon, which I now recognized as indeed the one I had passed the night before.

  “Remain here,” I whispered. “I have a plan. Bide here, and if you hear a sudden outcry or see me attacked, flee, for you can do no good by remaining.”

  He cursed me beneath his breath as is the custom of Franks when a sensible course is suggested to them, but when I swiftly whispered my plan, he grudgingly agreed to let me try it.

  So I crawled away for a few yards, then rose and walked boldly to the wagon. One warrior stood on guard, with shield and drawn scimitar, and I hoped it was one of the Seljuks who had brought the girl, since if it were so, he might not know me, or that my life was forfeit in the camp. But when I approached I saw that though indeed a Turk, he was a warrior of the sultan’s own body-guard. But he had already seen me, so I walked boldly up to him, seeking to keep my face turned from the fire.

  “The sultan bids me bring the girl to his tent,” I said gruffly, and the Seljuk glared at me uncertainly.

  “What talk is this?” he growled. “When her caravan arrived at the camp, the sultan took time only to glance at her, for much was afoot, and word had come of the movements of the Arab dogs. Earlier in the night he had her before him, but sent her away, saying her kisses would taste sweeter after the dry fury of battle. Well meseemeth he is sorely smitten with the infidel hussy, but is it likely he would break the sleep he snatches now – ”

  “Would you argue with the royal order?” I asked impatiently. “Do you burn to sit on a stake, or yearn to have your hide flayed from you? Harken and obey!”

  But his suspicions were aroused. Just as I thought him about to step back and wake the girl, like a flash he caught my shoulder and swung me around so that the firelight shone full on my face.

  “Ha!” he barked like a jackal, “Kosru Malik – !”

  His blade was already glittering above my head. I caught his arm with my left hand and his throat with my right, strangling the yell in his gullet. We plunged to earth together, and wrestled and tore like a pair of peasants, and his eyes were starting from his head, when he drove his knee into my groin. The sudden pain made me relax my grip for an instant, and he ripped his sword-arm free and the blade shot for my throat like a gleam of light. But in that instant there was a sound like an axe driven deep into a tree-trunk, the Seljuk’s whole frame jerked convulsively, blood and brains spattered in my face and the scimitar fell harmlessly on my mailed chest. Sir Eric had come up while we fought and seeing my peril, split the warrior’s skull with a single blow of his long straight sword.

  I rose, drawing my scimitar and looked about; the warriors still revelled by the fires a bow-shot away; seemingly no one had heard or seen that short fierce fight in the shadow of the wagon.

  “Swift! The girl, Sir Eric!” I hissed, and stepping quickly to the wagon he drew aside the curtain and said softly: “Ettaire!”

  She had been wakened by the struggle and I heard a low cry of joy and love as two white arms went about Sir Eric’s mailed neck and over his shoulder I saw the face of the girl I had passed on the road to Edessa.

  They whispered swiftly to one another and then he lifted her out and set her gently down. Allah – little more than a child she was, as I could see by the firelight – slim and frail, with deep eyes, grey like Sir Eric’s, but soft instead of cold and steely. Comely enough, though a trifle slight to my way of thinking. When she saw the firelight on my dark face and drawn scimitar she cried out sharply and shrank back against Sir Eric, but he soothed her.

  “Be not afraid, child,” said he. “This is our good friend, Kosru Malik, the Chagatai. Let us go swiftly; any moment sentries may ride past this fire.”

  Her slippers were soft and she but little used to treading the desert. Sir Eric bore her like a child in his mighty arms as we stole back to the ravine where we had left the horses. It was the will of Allah that we reached them without mishap, but even as we rode up out of the ravine, the Frank holding Ettaire before him, we heard the rattle of hoofs hard by.

  “Ride for the hills,” muttered Sir Eric. “There is a large band of riders close at our heels, doubtless reinforcements. If we turn back we will ride into them. Perchance we can reach the hills before dawn breaks, then we can turn back the way we wish to go.”

  So we trotted out on the plain in the last darkness before dawn, made still darker by a thick, clammy fog, with the tramp of hoofs and the jingle of armor and reins close at our heels. I did not think they were reinforcements but a band of scouts, since they did not turn in to the fires but made straight out acr
oss the levels toward the hills, driving us before them, though they knew it not. Surely, I thought, Muhammad knows that hostile eyes are on him, hence this milling to and fro of riders to give an impression of great numbers.

  The hoofs dwindled behind us as the scouts turned aside or rode back to the lines. The plain was alive with small groups of horsemen who rode to and fro like ghosts in the deep darkness. On each side we heard the stamp of their horses and the rattle of their arms. Tenseness gripped us. Already there was a hint of dawn in the sky, though the heavy fog veiled all. In the darkness the riders mistook us for their comrades, so far, but quickly the early light would betray us.

  Once a band of horsemen swung close and hailed us; I answered quickly in Turki and they reined away, satisfied. There were many Seljuks in Muhammad’s army, yet had they come a pace closer they would have made out Sir Eric’s stature and Frankish apparel. As it was the darkness and the mists clumped all objects into shadowy masses, for the stars were dimmed and the sun was not yet.

  Then the noises were all behind us, the mists thinned in light that flowed suddenly across the hills in a white tide, stars vanished and the vague shadows about us took the forms of ravines, boulders and cactus. Then it was full dawn but we were among the defiles, out of sight of the plains, which were still veiled in the mists that had forsaken the higher levels.

  Sir Eric tilted up the white face of the girl and kissed her tenderly.

  “Ettaire,” said he, “we are encompassed by foes, but now my heart is light.”

  “And mine, my lord!” she answered, clinging to him. “I knew you would come! Oh, Eric, did the pagan lord speak truth when he said mine own uncle gave me into slavery?”

  “I fear so, little Ettaire,” said he gently. “His heart is blacker than night.”

  “What was Muhammad’s word to you?” I broke in.

  “When I was first taken to him, upon reaching the Moslem camp,” she answered, “there was much confusion and haste, for the infidels were breaking camp and preparing to march. The sultan looked on me and spake kindly to me, bidding me not fear. When I begged to be sent back to my uncle, he told me I was a gift from my uncle. Then he gave orders that I be given tender care and rode on with his generals. I was put back in the wagon and thereafter stayed there, sleeping a little, until early last night when I was again taken to the sultan. He talked with me a space and offered me no indignity, though his talk frightened me. For his eyes glowed fiercely on me, and he swore he would make me his queen – that he would build a pyramid of skulls in my honor and fling the turbans of shahs and caliphs at my feet. But he sent me back to my wagon, saying that when he next came to me, he would bring the head of Ali bin Sulieman for a bridal gift.”

  “I like it not,” said I uneasily. “This is madness – the talk of a Tatar chief rather than that of a civilized Moslem ruler. If Muhammad has been fired with love for you, he will move all Hell to take you.”

  “Nay,” said Sir Eric, “I – ”

  And at that moment a half score of ragged figures leaped from the rocks and seized our reins. Ettaire screamed and I made to draw my scimitar; it is not meet that a dog of the Bedoui seize thus the rein of a son of Turan. But Sir Eric caught my arm. His own sword was in its sheath, but he made no move to draw it, speaking instead in sonorous Arabic, as a man speaks who expects to be obeyed: “We are well met, children of the tents; lead us therefore, to Ali bin Sulieman whom we seek.”

  At this the Arabs were taken somewhat aback and they gazed at each other.

  “Cut them down,” growled one. “They are Muhammad’s spies.”

  “Aye,” gibed Sir Eric, “spies ever carry their women-folk with them. Fools! We have ridden hard to find Ali bin Sulieman. If you hinder us, your hides will answer. Lead us to your chief.”

  “Aye,” snarled one they called Yurzed, who seemed to be a sort of beg or lesser chief among them, “Ali bin Sulieman knows how to deal with spies. We will take you to him, as sheep are taken to the butcher. Give up thy swords, sons of evil!”

  Sir Eric nodded to my glance, drawing his own long blade and delivering it hilt first.

  “Even this was to come to pass,” said I bitterly. “Lo, I eat dust – take my hilt, dog – would it was the point I was passing through thy ribs.”

  Yurzed grinned like a wolf. “Be at ease, Turk – time thy steel learnt the feel of a man’s hand.”

  “Handle it carefully,” I snarled. “I swear, when it comes back into my hands I will bathe it in swine’s blood to cleanse it of the pollution of thy filthy fingers.”

  I thought the veins in his forehead would burst with fury, but with a howl of rage, he turned his back on us, and we perforce followed him, with his ragged wolves holding tight to our reins.

  I saw Sir Eric’s plan, though we dared not speak to each other. There was no doubt but that the hills swarmed with Bedouins. To seek to hack our way through them were madness. If we joined forces with them, we had a chance to live, scant though it was. If not – well, these dogs love a Turk little and a Frank none.

  On all sides we caught glimpses of hairy men in dirty garments, watching us from behind rocks or from among ravines, with hard, hawk-like eyes; and presently we came to a sort of natural basin where some five hundred splendid Arab steeds sought the scanty grass that straggled there. My very mouth watered. By Allah, these Bedoui be dogs and sons of dogs, but they breed good horse flesh!

  A hundred or so warriors watched the horses – tall, lean men, hard as the desert that bred them, with steel caps, round bucklers, mail shirts, long sabers and lances. No sign of fire was seen and the men looked worn and evil as with hunger and hard riding. Little loot had they of that raid! Somewhat apart from them on a sort of knoll sat a group of older warriors and there our captors led us.

  Ali bin Sulieman we knew at once; like all his race he was tall and wide shouldered, tall as Sir Eric but lacking the Frank’s massiveness, built with the savage economy of a desert wolf. His eyes were piercing and menacing, his face lean and cruel. Sir Eric did not wait for him to speak: “Ali bin Sulieman,” said the Frank, “we have brought you two good swords.”

  Ali bin Sulieman snarled as if Sir Eric had suggested cutting his throat.

  “What is this?” he snapped, and Yurzed spake, saying: “These Franks and this dog of a Turk we found in the fringe of the hills, just at the lifting of dawn. They came from toward the Persian camp. Be on your guard, Ali bin Sulieman; Franks are crafty in speech, and this Turk is no Seljuk, meseemeth, but some devil from the East.”

  “Aye,” Ali grinned ferociously, “we have notables among us! The Turk is Kosru Malik the Chagatai, whose trail the ravens follow. And unless I am mad, that shield is the shield of Sir Eric de Cogan.”

  “Trust them not,” urged Yurzed. “Let us throw their heads to the Persian dogs.”

  Sir Eric laughed and his eyes grew cold and hard as is the manner of Franks when they stare into the naked face of Doom.

  “Many shall die first, though our swords be taken from us,” quoth he. “And, chief of the desert, ye have no men to waste. Soon ye will need all the swords ye have and they may not suffice. You are in a trap.”

  Ali tugged at his beard and his eyes were evil and fearful.

  “If ye be a true man, tell me whose host is that upon the plain.”

  “That is the army of Muhammad Khan, sultan of Kizilshehr.”

  Those about Ali cried out mockingly and angrily and Ali cursed.

  “You lie! Muhammad’s wolves have harried us for a day and a night. They have hung at our flanks like jackals dogging a wounded stag. At dusk we turned on them and scattered them; then when we rode into the hills, lo, on the other side we saw a great host encamped. How can that be Muhammad?”

  “Those who harried you were no more than outriders,” replied Sir Eric, “light cavalry sent by Muhammad to hang on your flanks and herd you into his trap like so many cattle. The country is up behind you; you cannot turn back. Nay, the only way is through the Persian rank
s.”

  “Aye, so,” said Ali with bitter irony. “Now I know you speak like a friend; shall five hundred men cut their way through ten thousand?”

  Sir Eric laughed. “The mists of morning still veil yon plain. Let them rise and you will see no more than a thousand men.”

  “He lies,” broke in Yurzed, for whom I was beginning to cherish a hearty dislike. “All night the plain was full of the tramp of horsemen and we saw the blaze of a hundred fires.”

  “To trick you,” said Sir Eric, “to make you believe you looked on a great army. The horsemen rode the plain, partly to create the impression of vast numbers, partly to prevent scouts from slipping too close to the fires. You have to deal with a master at stratagems. When did you come into these hills?”

  “Somewhat after dark, last night,” said Ali.

  “And Muhammad arrived at dusk. Did you not see the signal smokes behind and about you as you rode? They were lighted by scouts to reveal to Muhammad your movements. He timed his march perfectly and arrived in time to build his fires and catch you in his trap. You might have ridden through them last night, and many escaped. Now you must fight by daylight and I have no doubt but that more Persians are riding this way. See, the mist clears; come with me to yon eminence and I will show you I speak truth.”

  The mist indeed had cleared from the plain, and Ali cursed as he looked down on the wide flung camp of the Persians, who were beginning to tighten cinch and armor strap, and see to their weapons, judging from the turmoil in camp.

  “Trapped and tricked,” he cursed. “And my own men growl behind my back. There is no water nor much grass in these hills. So close those cursed Kurds pressed us, that we, who thought them the vanguard of Muhammad’s army, have had no time to rest or eat for a day and a night. We have not even built fires for lack of aught to cook. What of the five hundred outriders we scattered at dusk, Sir Eric? They fled at the first charge, the crafty dogs.”