CHAPTER VIII
Not by the robe of honor on his shoulders, not by the sword on his hip, not by the words on his lips is a man to be judged.
When a friend calls for aid—then is the warrior weighed in the balance. And by his deeds, not by his promises, is the bahator judged.
THE next morning the talk of the warders was that Muhammad was approaching Bokhara with his army and there was rejoicing in the bazaars. Carpets were hung out on the balconies overlooking the wide street that led from the Otrar gate through the righistan—the central square on which the great Jumma mosque was situated—past the two palaces of the Shah and Osman, over the bridge that spanned the canal, to the western gate.
All this Robert observed, for his embrasure faced the east and north; but he saw too that while the Bokharians prepared a triumphal entry for the Shah, many caravans came out of the east and passed by the city while none went the other way. He reflected that if the Shah had overthrown his foes merchants would not be bearing away their goods.
While he was watching visitors came to his door, and he beheld bearded faces topped by huge turbans peering in at him. A low-voiced argument between the owners of the turbans and Osman's guards followed, until the door was flung open for the first time since his entry and a stout man with worried, sunken eyes walked in.
“This is the mullah,” announced one of the spearmen, “who has in his keeping the Jumma mosque, and Allah alone knows why he is bearing you hence for a day, O dog of an unbeliever,” he grumbled.
The mullah drew up the skirts of his silk robe as he passed Father Evagrius, and stared for a full moment at Robert.
“Are you verily the infidel bahator who withstood Nasr-ud-deen at Antioch and broached the wall of Damietta?” he asked in scholarly Arabic.
Robert bent his head to conceal his surprize, but the Bokharian guessed his thought.
“We of Khar are conversant with the events of the borderland of Islam, for this is the heart of Islam. The heart would not beat as high if a vein in one finger were opened. Speak, O caphar, for Abdullah sang your praises and made known to us that you are acquainted with our speech.”
“True, O hadji.”
For the mullah wore the green turban cloth that showed he had performed the pilgrimage to Mecca.
With another scornful glance at the impassive blind man the mullah signed for Robert to follow and led the way down the tower stair. In the street they were joined by a half-dozen dignitaries of the town, imams and kadis—hawk-faced Turkomans and stalwart Uzbeks, all looking more than a little troubled and all armed. They took the shortest way—as Robert knew from his study of the streets—to the canal and the wall beyond the bridge.
Once he set foot on the walk that ran on the summit of the wall, Robert strode to the crenellated parapet and stared down. The nobles watched him silently as men might eye a horse that was going through its paces.
“Abdullah,” observed. one presently, “who is a cup-companion of the Shah—upon whom be peace-said in our hearing that the Saracens of Syria set the price of a king's ransom on your head because you were master of the art of siege.”
Robert kept silence, inwardly cheered by the knowledge that the various Moslem races were more often, than not tearing at each other's throats and that the Kharesmians apparently were not allied to the Saracens whom he had fought. So he waited for the speaker to explain himself.
“In the mulberry grove below,” the man went on, “is the mazar of a venerable sheikh who dared to prophesy. Aye, he foretold to Muhammad that a day would come when the walls of Bokhara would be one with the plain, and cattle would graze where its mosques had been.”
The mullah pushed forward to add his word.
“By command of Muhammad, the shadow of God upon earth, this man was cast into the pit of vermin, having first been blinded. Thus his death was slow, yet because of his sanctity the mazar was erected. Muhammad did not act wisely.”
Seeing that they sought something from him, Robert continued to gaze indifferently down at the grove and its shrine.
“How long, O caphar,” demanded the mullah at last impatiently, “could Bokhara withstand a siege?”
“With how many men for garrison?”
“You have seen them, and you have seen the wall.”
Robert shook his head, smiling.
“Will one claw show the size of a tiger—or its teeth?”
After consulting together they led him a league or so around the summit of the wall until they were winded, and the knight waxed exultant with his first hour out in the sun. The guards at each tower and stair looked at him until he was out of sight. The sentries that squatted by each ballista to cast arrow sheaves and each mangonel for the casting of naphtha jars forgot to scratch themselves and salaam to the mullah.
Robert, standing half a head taller than the Bokharians, with his tawny beard uncombed and his yellow hair falling on his square shoulders, strode in the lead, for his interest was aroused; and his gray eyes gleamed as he studied the engines of defense, which differed little from those in Palestine. The murmurs of the warriors gathered around stew-pot and dicing reached his ears, but he gave them little heed—though the kadis were more attentive.
The men were saying to one another that here was another Iskander from the land of the Franks. The mullah knew better, but one of the kadis twitched his sleeve and held up a row of coins that served to ornament his sword-belt. They were old coins, dug out of the cellars of the city, and one bore the head of Alexander.
“Nay, he is no Iskander,” they decided. “But the poise of the head, and the brow and the hair—aye, and the chin are the same. He must be of the race of Macedon.”
They seemed to take comfort from this, although the knight could have told them otherwise. In the memory of the councilors, old men had told stories of the rule of the Bactrian-Greek generals who governed Bokhara until a Chinese horde came out of the east—to be driven away in turn by the Arabs, who were succeeded by the Khar dynasty, the emperors before Muhammad.
“How long could the wall be held?” they asked all together when the mullah halted at the Otrar gate, which, being the chief gate of the city, was used as site for exposing the heads of men slain by order of the Shah—being ornamented by wizened shapes of skin, and hovering birds.
“Forever,” answered Robert briefly. “If two things happen not.”
He was amazed at the labor that had gone into the fortification. The blocks of sun-dried brick were hard as stone, and the wall was solid, a full eight spears' lengths in height and three in width. Moreover, except where the river flowed, the country outside was a wind-whipped, sandy waste. A besieging army would need to drag timber for engines and food from a distance. There was plenty of water within the city and ample forces to man the wall. No ordinary stone-casters could make a breach wide enough to do harm.
“What two things?” demanded the Moslems in unison.
“Treachery, or poor leadership.”
The councilors stared at him with hard, covetous eyes and fingered their beards.
“Inshallah! That is a truth. Can not the wall be made stronger?”
Robert nodded.
“Dig a ditch at its foot—a wide ditch. Or the foe would start tunnels to run under and collapse the towers.”
“And what else?”
“Nay,” the knight smiled, “am I also a prophet to tell of what is to be? What I know, I know, and words are easily twisted. I have answered your question.”
They drew apart to talk again; and when they began to argue, he suspected that the Bokharians had no one who could put the city in a condition for defense. The leader of the garrison being dead, and Osman occupied with his own affairs, the forces in the city lacked a head.
“You have told us no more than we understood before!” exclaimed a kadi with a narrow skull and a wisp of a beard. “Surely you have greater knowledge than that, and we have means to make you speak. The vermin-pit is an ill dwelling-place.”
“Lies are easily had,” assented the knight, “and in Bokhara I have heard much lying and little truth.”
“We will make a bargain with you, O Nazarene. If you will advise our captains how to prepare the city for defense we will speak a word on your behalf to the Shah.”
“And if I tell them what to do, who is to see it done?”
After much argument the Moslems offered to let the crusader come to the wall each day, to watch the progress of the work, and to give advice to the various chiefs who would command the slaves who would do the work. Muhammad was expected in three days. Robert stipulated that the mullah and the judges were to give him a signed promise that no harm would come to Father Evagrius during this time.
AT SUNRISE, the next three days, he was on the wall, attended by guards of Osman's household, and the nobles, who at first listened contemptuously to the plans of an infidel, began to stroke their beards and to ask for fresh suggestions. A multitude of slaves were turned loose outside the wall to dig the ditch.
Across the canal at both entrances a chain was stretched, and a bridge of barges set in place inside the chain. Wooden parapets were erected on the barges and detachments of archers told off to practise shooting in triple ranks; the engines were greased with sheep's fat, and new timbers shaped by craftsmen where the old were decayed.
The chiefs of the Kankalis and Turkomans were better skilled in leading their men on forays than in preparing for a siege, and the headmen of the city saw the worth of what Robert advised. The knight himself, glad of something to do at last, went among the soldiers showing them by example what he wanted done. Meanwhile the councilors did not neglect to seize the cattle of the countryside and to fill up the granaries of the city.
By the third evening the slaves had been joined by throngs of merchants and idlers, for it was known at last that the Moslem host under Muhammad had suffered at the hands of the barbarians, and that the Shah was actually in flight before the Mongols. He had with him a formidable army, and with Bokhara prepared for siege and the Shah to lead the defense the Moslems of the city had no fear of the outcome.
That night Robert found a scroll from Abdullah awaiting him on the silver platter that bore his evening meal, in the tower room. The missive ran:
O little son you have done well, and I have not been idle. Gold, in Bokhara, is the key to all gates save that of the treasure, which is hidden. Your warders have pouched gold from my hand. On the morrow demand to be taken to the street, to stand in the crowd when Muhammad passes. Speak boldly when the time comes, for the devil had his paw on a timid man.
With the first streak of sunrise the knight confided to Father Evagrius that Abdullah had appointed a meeting-place, for what purpose he did not know. He had been content to follow the hints given out by the minstrel, who seemed to wish to make known the worth of the man he had brought to Khar.
He found that the three men who were on guard in the corridor were quite prepared to take him down to the street. They wanted to watch the spectacle themselves, and Robert had been allowed to go out before this. But the knight suspected they had been bribed.
From the window he saw that the flat house-tops were lined with throngs of watchers and that carpets had been laid in the street through which Muhammad must pass to go to his palace; and before the guard had been changed, he perceived dust rising in a long line out on the plain.
When the first horsemen entered the Otrar gate under the sightless eyes of the heads exposed there by order of the Shah, Robert was taken down to the garden and thence to the street where Osman's followers were jammed against the wall. His guards, anxious for a better view, elbowed their way forward with the knight, claiming that the wazir had ordered Robert to be displayed as his prisoner.
Room was made for him in the outer line, and for hours he watched the passing of bodies of horsemen. These were strange to his sight—dark-skinned warriors, well mounted, who cursed the crowd when the way was obstructed. The ponies were sweat-streaked, and many of the riders bore wounds. Robert noticed that they had no spare mounts and no baggage. They looked like men who had been in the saddle throughout the night.
The tumult in the street was echoed from the housetops when it was seen that the van of the cavalry did not halt at the river. Instead they crossed the bridge and passed out of the southern gate. The Bokharians mocked them for cowards who did not dare make a stand in the city, and the Shah's men answered in kind.
Other riders followed—Persian mailed archers, with high lambskin hats and bronze shields. One of the guards at Robert's elbow shouted a question, which was answered by a blow from a scabbard. But rumors were buzzing in the crowd.
“To Samarkand—the army goes to Samarkand! Nay, to Herat, for I heard—Allah, they lost their tents, and all but— To the mountains, I say—they draw their reins to Khorassan.”
Behind Robert the press grew greater. A gaunt Turkoman beg, smelling of sheepskins, bared yellow teeth and roared in his ear:
“Pillage! The door is open to plunder! Death to the Franks!”
They were thrust forward into the dust-cloud as the slaves of Osman issued from the palace gate and beat a path for their master, who sat in a palanquin. Catching sight of Robert, he signed for the guards to bring the captive after him and ordered his bearers to run toward the righistan.
“Where is Muhammad Shah?” bellowed the Turkoman, running with them. “Where are the ameers?”
Osman lay back on his pillows, closing the curtains against the dust. They passed an array of spearmen mounted on camels and—thanks to the wands of the Nubians—emerged into the great square at the same moment that some score of elephants came swaying up the street on the other side. Before and behind the elephants galloped horsemen, white with dust, drawn simitars in hand. Abreast the pillars of the Jumma mosque the leading elephant—a towering beast painted green and red, with steel blades lashed to its tusks—slowed its ambling gait and threw up its trunk. The lines of Bokharians near Robert cast themselves on their knees, pressing their foreheads to earth. So he was able to see the mullah of the mosque standing on the steps of the edifice.
And, when the elephant came to a halt, the man who sat alone in the glittering howdah stared first at Osman and then at Robert, who remained standing.
“Hail to Muhammad Shah, the mighty, the victorious!” roared the crowd.
Robert saw a face under a turban that glittered with jewels—a puffy face with restless eyes. Osman climbed from his litter and salaamed.
“O monarch of the world, make thine elephant kneel. Thy palace is in readiness.”
He spoke boldly, and under the words was a shadow of mockery. The Shah leaned forward.
“Upon thee the peace, O hadji!” he greeted the mullah first. “Necessity has changed my plans. I ride to Herat, there to gather together the new forces from the south.”
The dark eyes of the wazir glittered, although he did not seem surprized.
“And what of Bokhara? What is thy command?”
“To defend it against the Mongols,” replied the man in the howdah slowly. “In council the ameers of the kingdom have given decision to retire to the walled cities. Against these the foe will spend his strength, while a fresh army gathers under my standard.”
“And is this thy decision also, O king?” asked Osman loudly.
“It is my command.”
The minister bent his head.
“To hear is to obey. Give to thy servants the boon of the Presence, if it be only for one night, that our hearts may be strengthened.”
Muhammad hesitated, and Robert thought then that this man was not of a race of leaders, if he knew not his own mind. Instead of answering he signed for Osman and the mullah to approach closer, and they talked for several moments in low voices. Then deliberately the wazir made a response loud enough for Robert and the nearest horsemen to hear.
“Lord of the age, companion of the warriors of Islam, mirror of the glory of Allah—give to thy poorest servant, Osman, the wazir, thy signet ring and the command of Bokhara's garrison, that his back may be straightened and his courage heightened and thine enemies confounded.”
Again Muhammad hesitated while Osman waited at ease. It occurred to Robert that if Osman was powerful enough to speak insolently to the emperor, a successful defense of the city would strengthen the wazir's hand. Osman already had under his influence an army as great as the Shah's; a considerable victory would win him new followers.
“Nay,” said the man in the howdah, firmly this time, “the care of the treasure is thine—and the mullah's. Is not that enough care?”
Other officials now approached the elephant, and there was a brief conference. Osman dissembled his disappointment and listened attentively. Presently Robert recognized Abdullah's voice and saw the minstrel close to the howdah, laughing as at some excellent jest.
Muhammad glanced at the mullah.
“Is it true, O hadji, that the imams have asked for a new leader?”
“Protector of the Faith, it is true.”
“Then I name the ameer of the Franks, the conqueror of the Saracens, commander of the garrison of Bokhara.”
A murmur went up at this, and men pushed closer to study the face of Muhammad. Until the Shah signed to him Robert did not realize that he was the man in question. Osman for once looked utterly astonished, but the mullah seemed satisfied. When he stood under the elephant Robert saw that the lines of fatigue and worry were strongly marked in Muhammad's broad face, and that he was too restless to keep still for long.
“Will you swear, O Nazarene,” the mullah asked, “to serve the Shah in this thing and to give your utmost to the defense of the city?”
The knight looked up silently at the man in the howdah, who turned impatiently on the officers below.
“What is this? We have escorted this warrior from Syria, and you have failed to give him sword or armor or horse. A robe of honor for his shoulders, and do you choose a horse from the best.”
Several of the imams hurried off to obey, and Robert saw Abdullah smile. Osman was chewing at a strand of his mustache, his brow unruffled but his eyes dark with anger that heightened when Muhammad loosened the signet ring on his finger and tossed it down to one of the mounted ameers, who pressed it to his forehead and extended it to the knight.
“Do you swear allegiance, Nazarene?” cried the mullah again.
“Tell me first,” Robert answered slowly, “what authority goes with the ring?”
The keeper of the mosque opened wide his eyes; and Muhammad, listening, started as if he had set his hand on a scorpion.
“Power of life and death! Bokhara is in the hands of its garrison, and you are the leader of the garrison. My favor is accorded you.”
The knight faced Muhammad, and perhaps he was the calmest man of them all because he was skeptical.
“O king, I have heard. What then of Osman? Can there be two moons in the same night? Is my word to be obeyed over his?”
“Boldly have you spoken, O ameer.”
Muhammad did not seem displeased this time, and he gave the knight the Moslem title.
“Yah khawand, the men of the garrison will obey your commands; a firman, a decree, shall be written for their leaders to see. The good wazir has authority in matters of the treasury.”
He glanced restlessly at the tall crusader.
“It has been dinned into my ears by my councilors that you are the one man who can defend the wall of Bokhara. Give me your pledge that you will do so!”
“Speak, fool,” whispered Abdullah, reining his horse nearer Robert.
“First,” observed the knight, “do you pledge me safety from harm for three persons.”
“Allah, what are they?”
“The Nazarene damsel carried from Palestine by Inalzig Khan and her companion the archer, and—” Robert turned to the mullah—“the priest Evagrius.”
“They are yours.”
Robert bent his head.
“O king, there be many witnesses to that promise. And to mine. I swear that I will do my utmost to hold Bokhara for you against your foes.”
“You have my leave to withdraw.”
The man in the howdah turned to speak to the mullah, when a rider passed forward from the rear and rose in his stirrups to exchange a quick word with Muhammad—a word of warning, Robert thought. The Shah uttered a sharp command, the mahout tugged at the elephant's neck with his hook and the great beast swayed into a walk, then broke into a long shamble, followed by the others.
The Bokharians were forced to scramble aside, out of the way, and a disorderly horde of infantry flooded the square, pushing after the elephants. The throng on the housetops and about the mosque knew by now—for tidings travel swiftly in a Moslem crowd—that the Shah was minded to leave the city with the troops that attended his person, and that he had appointed a captive, an infidel, to take command of the garrison. Even now the crowd, fatalists without the power of acting on their own initiative, made no protest at the departure of their Shah. As the glittering elephant swept by, the throngs prostrated themselves; and something like silence settled on the square, where a dozen officers stood about Robert, who was staring at the ring in his palm.
Osman was the first to move forward.
“Salaam, yah khawand. We have heard the word of the lord of Khar, and there is naught but obedience in our hearts. Command, and my men obey.”
The mullah came next, followed by the nobles, who bore a shirt of silvered chain mail, a crested helmet and a cloak of black silk. They took off Robert's old khalat and fitted on the mail, slipping the cloak over it and winding his waist with a girdle of cloth of gold. A simitar of blue steel with a hilt set with glittering gems was offered to the knight, and he took it. Still doubtful of the reality of the honor, he gathered up the reins of a white Arab pony with the mane and head of a king's charger. When he swung into the saddle he flushed with sheer pleasure.
“Salaam, bahator,” his companions saluted him.
Robert raised his sword and took up his rein. Abdullah came to his side.
“A slave's greetings to Iskander,” he cried. “May the road of your namesake be open before you.”