CHAPTER IX
WILL FINDS A BOW
WITH some ten thousand staring at him, the new Ameer of Bokhara issued his first commands and watched without seeming to do so to see if each were acknowledged—Abdullah finding great amusement thereby.
Robert appointed a conference for the chiefs of the various tribes in the courtyard of the Shah's palace two hours hence. He called the several atabegs within view to him, and sent one to take immediate charge at every gate of the city. The imams he requested to draw up lists of the amount of food in the granaries and the total of the weapons stored in the armories.
From the crowd he picked out the Turkoman beg who had talked about killing him, and the man knelt with quivering cheeks, evidently expecting that he would be given over to torture. Instead he was bade to select a hundred riders and set out to the east to establish an advanced post beyond sight of the city. Other detachments were ordered off, to patrol the river and caravan tracks beyond the walls.
His commands were received with the deepest respect and executed at once. Robert, aware of the mullah at his elbow, turned in his saddle.
“O hadji, is it fitting that the leader of your warriors should stretch his cloak in an alley and have the sky for a roof?”
The keeper of the temple started, eyed the knight keenly a moment and nodded gravely.
“True. A house shall be made ready in the garden quarter by the river, and slaves”
“To this house,” Robert suggested to Osman, “the blind priest and the archer can be sent before the hour is ended.”
The wazir bowed in silence.
“And the Nazarene maid.”
Their eyes met, and the minister of the Shah twisted his fingers in the pearls that hung from his throat.
“Yah khawand! What words are these? In this place? To name a woman before listeners is to shame a follower of the Prophet!”
“Yet, O wazir, I am a Nazarene and a man of my word. If the maid is not placed in this dwelling, unharmed, before the sands have run from the hour-glass I shall open your gate with a thousand spears.”
Osman exchanged glances with the mullah and extended both hands open before him.
“Who am I but the slave of him who has honored you? It shall be as you have said.”
Robert watched him out of sight, well aware that he had made at least one bitter enemy. Turning the long ring on his finger, he studied the massive sapphire, cut in the form of a seal, in the gold setting. Then he raised his head and smiled.
“Here is a riddle, and I would know the answer in true words.”
“Command me,” suggested Abdullah promptly, but Robert shook his head.
“Hadji,” he asked of the mullah, “have you in your house a hamman, a bath where the bathmen are discreet? Then may I be your guest for one-half of the hour?”
Surprized, the mullah signed for him to ride to the rear of the mosque, and Abdullah stared after the two thoughtfully. The boy Hassan approached his horse and peered up mockingly.
“Lick thy palm, O teller of tales. The cup-companion is the favorite of a day and then—the dust of the rose petal remains to the seller of perfume.”
Having launched this shaft the boy darted away and overtook Osman's palanquin at the gate of the wazir's palace, harkening with interest to the low-voiced exclamations of his patron.
“O dog of a mongrel pack! O eater of filth! To claim with a loud tongue what was mine! Son of dishonor and father of foulness! To speak of the maid that would have been mine—aye, before a multitude! O fool and madman—Nazarene, prince of unbelievers—thy grave will be dug by jackals, and dogs will tear it loose again. May the bones of thy mother and thy father's father suffer a like fate.”
Perceiving Hassan awaiting him, Osman mastered his rage somewhat and ordered the singer to run to the dwelling that was being prepared for the Frank, and stint not gold among the slaves selected by the imams for his service. Having confidently expected this command, Hassan made off blithely, for here was a matter dear to his heart, and a quarrel out of which a song might be made to quiet his master in another, more fortunate hour.
ROBERT understood the Turkish character well enough to be quite sure that the Shah's ring and the imperial decree would not serve to keep him his command if he failed to enforce his authority by his personality. He did not wish to appear before the chiefs in council until he had learned something about them and the situation in general. To talk with Abdullah would be a mistake, because the Bokharians would conclude that he relied greatly on the minstrel.
Nur-Anim, the mullah, was a man wise beyond his years and a shrewd schemer, with the fire of fanaticism behind his close-set eyes. Robert had reasoned that he was the second most influential leader of the Bokharians; and he wished to question the mullah before Osman could talk with him, knowing well that he would be answered with half-truths and lies, out of which he might put together some guess as to why the sword and the ring had been bestowed upon him.
“Little time have we, Nur-Anim,” he observed, refusing the offer of sweetmeats and fruit and a seat on the mullah's carpet, “to sit on the carpet of counsel. Is it not true that Muhammad was overthrown in the battle at the Takh-i-suleiman and lost half his men? And that his foes the Mongols are pursuing him apace? Nay, they are not fifty leagues behind.”
He had reasoned this out in the bath, judging that no one not harassed by pursuit would appoint a commander in the great city of Bokhara in such haste. Nur-Anim inclined his head.
“The Mongols are horsemen and ride swiftly,” went on Robert, who had remembered what his guards gossiped, but chose to let Nur-Anim think he was well informed. “And they number full as many as the warriors within Bokhara.”
“Nay, the sum of their strength—may Allah not prosper it—is somewhat greater than one hundred thousand.”
The mullah considered.
“We have twenty thousand more under your orders, and the slaves besides.”
“Who are the most experienced atabegs?”
“Kutchluk Khan, the Uzbek.”
The mullah pronounced the name with distaste.
“Leader of the horsemen of Turan—a one-eyed wolf who can scent plunder farther than a vulture can see a dead horse. And next to him Jahan Khan, chief of the Kankalis, who can cut a sheep in halves with a simitar stroke. Sixty thousand follow them, and their pay takes the revenues of one-tenth Bokhara's trade.”
There were others—the captain of the Persian mailed archers, and only one a noble of Khar. Robert began to see light. These leaders of the tribes were hired retainers. Gold was the tie that bound them—for the most part—to Muhammad, who had much gold. Their homes were elsewhere, and they lost little chance to quarrel and plot against each other.
If Muhammad had chosen one of them for ameer the jealousy of the others would have flared up, and the leader would have had his hands full with the pack. Whereas, led by a stranger, they might fight well; at least until the fighting around Bokhara was at an end, and Robert was glad to learn that he had such men among the garrison.
When he asked about the Mongols and the Manslayer, Nur-Anim could say only that the foes of Khar were wild tribesmen, infidels, who had emerged from the Himalayas, coming down from the Roof of the World like a black storm. Ignorant of the strength of Bokhara, and lacking siege engines, they would be crippled under the wall and cut up by Muhammad when the Shah raised a fresh army in the south.
“Where does Osman keep the treasure of the throne?” Robert asked suddenly.
He knew that the treasure was in the city, and that the Shah had not taken it away.
Nur-Anim started and suppressed a smile.
“Would Muhammad entrust the treasure of Khar to a wazir whose palace was surrounded by wolves like Kutchluk Khan?”
“Yet Osman knows the place of its hiding—as you do!”
“Am I a servant of the Shah—that I should keep the keys? Nay, I serve the mosque.”
He glanced contemptuously at the Nazarene who could be foolish enough to ask such questions.
“What if the Mongols take the city? The wealth of Khar would fall into their hands.”
“They would not find it. Not if they tore down the dungeons and let the water out of the tanks.”
This explained somewhat the readiness with which Muhammad left his personal hoard of riches behind. And Robert fancied that if he had tried to bear off the treasure the atabegs and the garrison would have made trouble. Pretending disbelief, he asked if a guard should not be set about the place where the treasure was kept.
Nur-Anim turned aside to take up some sugared fruit.
“There be watchers that stand over the Throne of Gold. For a hundred moons they have watched, and not Osman himself would dare draw sword against them.”
“With Allah are the keys of—the unseen.”
Robert took his leave and went out, the mullah staring after him a long time and wondering whether the new ameer was really as simple as he seemed, for Nur-Anim was shrewder than others. The knight circled the precincts of the mosque, within which he was forbidden to set foot. He found an escort of a score of Kankalis and as many lean Turkomans awaiting him.
“Yah khawand,” greeted a Kankali beg in a sleeved cloak of red satin, “by order of Jahan Khan do we, thy slaves, attend thee.”
“O ameer!” growled a bearded Turani. “We also be here! Command us!”
They held his stirrup, then raced to their horses, and Robert rode off musing upon the power of an emperor that could raise an unknown warrior to such dignity. From his talk with the mullah he suspected that Nur-Anim was well acquainted with the hiding-place of the treasure—if he was not actually its keeper.
If Muhammad remained away from Bokhara and the city should be besieged for a long time, the possession of the treasure would mean power to the holder. Robert did not intend to let Osman put his hand on it. One thing puzzled him; if Osman knew where it was hidden, what had kept the wazir from seizing the treasure? And who was the Manslayer, that men who had never set eyes upon him should fear him?
This question was answered for him sooner than he expected.
It was sunset before he left the atabegs after issuing his orders and finding out that they knew less than he did about the Mongols. In the courtyard a familiar voice hailed him.
“Now by the shank-bone of the blessed St. Dunstan, here be Master Robert!”
Will Bunsley sprang forward and grasped the knight's hand in both fists, grinning hugely. His hood and hose were somewhat the worse for wear, but he looked fat and hale; in fact a strong odor of wine of Shiraz hung about him.
“Praise be to St. Bacchus—who was a fair trencherman if he lacked of sainthood—that I ha' found thee. Abdullah brought me hither with tidings”
“How left you Ellen and the blind priest?”
“Safe as an arrow in quiver, and chattering like magpies, God wot! Has Gabriel sounded his trump, lordling, or is the day of miracles at hand again?”
“Yah khawand,” spoke up Abdullah impatiently, “the Mongols are within the gate.”
“How?” The knight's eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“Ah envoy came to the Otrar gate to have speech with the ruler of the city.”
“Ha—and no word from our outposts?”
The minstrel snapped his fingers significantly and pointed to where in the gathering darkness red glows were visible in the distance—the reflection of fire upon rising columns of smoke. Bunsley followed his gesture with an appraising eye and explained cheerily.
“Abdullah doth fret because the light horsemen sent out from this citadel be somewhat heavy this night. Methinks they are, in a manner of speaking, dead, my lord, and divers paynim villages aflare on the horizon; by which token are we beset, and the goodly walls of this town invested, and I lack a bow, Master Robert. A fair long bow, seest thou, is a goodly thing when a siege is toward, and I pray thee”
But the knight waited not to hear how Bunsley had managed to gather his tidings. Putting his horse to a gallop, followed by his escort and the minstrel and archer, he made for the eastern gate. Riding with loose rein, he glanced about him and saw that in the bazaar the merchants were hurrying to gather the goods from their stalls and that men ran about shouting aimlessly. As when the Shah passed through, crowds of slaves and women lined the housetops to stare at the fires on the skyline. Torches were lighted by the Otrar gate, and here a body of Kankalis stood beyond spear-throw of three men.
At first sight of the three Robert thought that Abullah and Will had jested.
They were mounted on shaggy ponies not much larger than donkeys. They were clad in coarse wool and leather, loosened over their bare chests for coolness in the windless evening. Only one, the most powerful of the three, wore mail of sorts—a haburgeon of iron plates knotted together with leather thongs.
The face of this rider was dark as burnished bronze and clean-cut as iron. His bare right arm was heavy with corded sinews, and the sword at his thigh was broad as an English battle-ax. He spoke in explosive gutturals, barely moving his lips, and one of the Moslems interpreted.
“The Mongol says he is Chatagai, a commander of a hundred. He says Genghis Khan offers the people of the city their lives.”
The envoy glanced once at the crusader and his horse and spoke again.
“You are to bring the people from the walls to the plain,” explained the Kankali, “with food and forage for a hundred thousand men and double that number of horses. He has gifts—a bow and an arrow. Look upon them; such bows are strong, such arrows shoot far.”
Robert took the weapons in his hand and found the bow to be massive indeed, as heavy as a spear and as long as the English bows. The arrow was of cloth-yard length, its solid silver head pierced with holes.
“He says you can not cope with such weapons. If the gates are opened to Genghis Khan he will slay no man; if the gates are shut no man will live.”
Curiously Robert studied the Mongol, the first of that race he had seen. The warrior was strongly built, and horse and man remained as tranquil as if the rider had never known any other seat than the saddle. Chatagai stared for a long time at a dried and wrinkled head stuck upon a spear by the gate, seeming to take especial interest in this one grim remnant among the many skulls about the gate.
“Can you bend this bow?” Robert asked the archer.
“That can I,” assented Will, who had been circling around the weapon like a dog that had sighted a side of venison.
He dismounted, examined the double stringing of twisted gut, and, exerting his strength in knee and arm, strung it swiftly.
“The bow is an honest longbow, but the arrow hath a lewd hammer head. Natheless if yonder churl can loose it, loose it I will”
Planting his feet he gripped the feathered tip between fore and middle finger upon the string and drew it to his ear. The arrow flashed up into the night with a shrill, tuneful whistling that dwindled and passed beyond hearing. Chatagai grunted in approval.
“Now that is a pretty conceit!” observed the archer in surprize. “The holes i' the silver made a fair flute—sa ha! Master Robert, grant me the bow for mine own, an it please thee.”
The knight nodded, wishing that he could find a weapon to fit his own hand as easily, and turned to the Mongol.
“Tell him we can handle his weapons. Bid him say to his king that I hold Bokhara for Muhammad Shah, and the gates are closed to him.”
Chatagai pointed at the head on the spear and spoke vehemently.
“Yah khawand,” explained the Kankali, “this barbarian reminds you that the man whose head stands there was an envoy sent by Genghis Khan to Otrar. He dares to utter the warning that the person of an envoy was sacred before the time of Muhammad the Slave; he says God alone knows what will be the issue of this. Ai-a, shall we cut him down?”
“He goes free!” growled Robert.
The Mongol glanced briefly at the tall crusader and at Abdullah. Then, lifting his hand to his forehead and lips, he jerked the pony about in its tracks and swept through the gate with his men after him. In an instant they had vanished into the dust and the night.
“That was ill done, my Frank,” quoth the minstrel. “Until now you have walked forward through peril with a sure step, but now you have stumbled. Would you know the reason? Then dismiss your men beyond earshot, and we will talk—you and I alone—of the fate of an empire and the souls of a million men.”