XIII
Where the road ends the warriors dismount, and when all have come up they talk together of the paths each one has followed; but of those who set out in the beginning upon the road, not all have come to the end. Aye, many have followed another path, and of these the warriors talk, saying over the names of those who will not lake to saddle again.
THE sun grew warmer on the Cossack steppe, and the snow dwindled to gray patches; then grass came and the whole steppe was like a swamp, over which no army could move. Spring passed, and crops were sown and still no Moslem banners were seen crossing the frontier.
When the wheat and oats were ripening, minstrels and Gipsies drifted in to the camps of the Zaporoghian Cossacks, where a nucleus of warriors were guarding the frontier. These wanderers from the sea brought word of Demid.
They told how the tower of Sidi Ahmad had been fired, and how the Don Cossacks, or what remained of them, had reached the Armenian mountains and had been conducted by the shrewd hillmen to the east, along hidden valley-trails used by the Armenians. Gipsies told, furthermore, that the Cossacks had been seen off Trebizond, coasting by the shore in two open boats, and that a rabble of Greeks, Syrians and what-not had put out from that port to intercept them, hearing that they had gold.
After that no word came, of Demid and his followers, and the Cossacks of the Siech shook their heads mournfully, and settled down to their watch on the Dnieper. Yet still the Turks hung back from the expected invasion.
There was a reason for this. The burning of the tower of Aleppo and the loss of the treasure had spread suspicion throughout the Turks of Asia Minor. Sidi Ahmad no longer ruled their counsels; some whispered that the Sultan had slain the pasha. The mamelukes, who had not been paid, marched back to Egypt and took their reward in plunder from the cities in their path. Always intriguing, the Shah of Persia held back his forces to use for his own advantage.
Meanwhile Jal-ud-deen met the fate that so long he had feared—an assassin from the court ended his life, and Aleppo,fighting and thieving again quite naturally, the janizaries banded against the townspeople and the Arabs, well content, against both. So Mustapha mustered his army slowly in Europe, hoping for word of the treasure of Sidi Ahmad that had vanished from the ken of men.
It was when the crops were being gathered in on the Cossack steppe, and the favorite time for a Moslem invasion was at hand, that fresh tidings came to the Siech from the imperial city. A new priest took up his abode in the log church of the Siech and gave forth a word that was repeated from the Dnieper to the Don, as far as the forests of the north.
Rurik, the chief of all the Cossacks, was slain.
He had been killed by a quarrelsome Moslem guard, in the last Winter, and the Sultan had kept the news a secret, believing that he could trick the Cossacks out of the ransom money. But Rurik, the greatest of all koshevois, captain of the falcon ship and father of the Zaporoghian brotherhood, had been cut down with a simitar before Demid was fairly on his long journey.
The word passed over the steppe like a grass fire, driven by a high wind. Riders bore it to the far districts of the steppe, and warriors emerged from their villages—veterans of other wars took to horse before sunset and youths came from the horse herds to join them. Bands of black-capped riders began to move south over the steppe, and the balalaikas sounded in the taverns where the men of the lower country were drinking, and talking over their wrongs.
Ten thousand Cossacks, aroused by the death of Rurik, crowded into the Siech and called for a council to be held. The drum was beaten and the warriors thronged from the barracks to the central square where their colonels stood with the priest. The rada—the council of the brotherhood—had not assembled, by the empty hut of the koshevoi, when a message came from the patrol on the river that a new band of Cossacks were swimming their horses across to the island camp.
And these newcomers were from the Tatar side of the river.
“It is that unbridled , Demid, come home to roost at last,” said the essaul of the patrol. “Have you food, noble sirs, for the wanderers? Have you garments? If they come from the east they must be lean and tattered.”
“They have passed over a long road,” responded one of the colonels. “We will have food, for their eating. Garments we lack.”
In fact the Siech was bare of aught but a sprinkling of horses and the weapons each man brought. Nor did he resent the rough words of the essaul, for, until the Siech was at war, there was no rank among the brotherhood.
IT WAS quite a while before the men on the outskirts of the assembly sighted the new arrivals. (It turned out afterward that Ayub had halted the band to dress up a bit.)
First came the young warrior who had once asked where the sea was. Now he rode in the essaul’s position, one hand on hip, his hat tilted at a rakish angle. His old boots had been discarded for a new pair of red morocco, with blue heels. His leather belt was replaced by a green velvet scarf, and in it, carefully -displayed, was a long Turkish pistol with gold-inlaid hilt.
Four out of the Don men, decked out in all the finery they could lay hand on, trotted in line after the young sergeant, showing Off the steps of the blooded Kabarda mounts. When the staring Zaporoghians pressed too close they thrust out with their stirrups, and bade the onlookers yield place to the Donskoi who had been on a visit to Aleppo.
“Eh, they are tricked out like pashas, the dogs!” muttered the colonel who had spoken of garments.
Four more of the riders escorted a bullock cart laden with heavy leather sacks. But ten thousand pairs of eyes passed over the cart to focus with astonished admiration on Ayub.
The giant ataman had robed himself that morning for the Siech. His kalpack was white ermine, bordered with gold braid; a purple cloak of damask embroidered with peacock-feathers hung from his broad shoulders; instead of the long Cassack coat he had on a Turkish robe of honor, of the sheerest silvered cloth, studded with pearls. Diamonds gleamed from the armlets that held in place his wide sleeves.
“His trousers!” cried a stranger to the Siech. “Only look at his pantaloons!”
Ayub stroked his mustache, delighted with the attention given him. Instead of the usual Cossack attire, he wore a pair of silk bag-trousers, as wide as sails, and the purest yellow in hue.
Behind the cart Demid and Michael rode into the ring of the rada almost unnoticed. Only eleven had come back, of the thirty-four that had set out. The new priest saluted Ayub gravely, taking him for the leader of the band.
“You have come from a hard road, my son—surely the bandura players and the minstrels will sing of your deeds this night.”
He did not know the man he addressed.
“Why do you talk to me of minstrels, batko? As the saints are dear to me, I have as good a tongue as their’s, and I do not need any fiddles or lutes to give it tone. Come, brothers, a cup of vodka, now—I tasted the pasha’s sherbet in Aleppo, but he had no vodka.”
Some one gave him a cup and he poured it down his throat deftly.
“Not bad!”
He rose in his stirrups and lifted his voice.
“Noble sirs, it is not modest in a man to relate all his deeds, so I will only touch on a few. When you wish to know how to capture the Sultan's navy, I can put a word or two in your ears, where at present there are only fleas. And as for capturing such cities as Aleppo with walls as high as the tallest pines—why I and Demid and the little cockerel of a Frank do not bother our heads about such trifles any more.”
The throng pressed nearer and Ayub’s old comrades began to grin and nudge each other.
“I could tell you how it feels to fight night vampires and ghosts in a Turkish burial ground, or to change the heart of a witch”
“Enough!” broke in Demid coldly.
“—or to row in an open skiff across the Black Sea, when the waves were like the slopes of the Caucasus; but you, sir brothers, only want to scratch the backs of your heads that itch from too much lying down.”
“May the dogs bite you!” howled an angry warrior. “How did you get away from the Greeks, off Trebizond?”
“How did we do that? Easily—it was nothing at all. When dusk fell the little Frank bade us light two-score slow matches that we still had with us for the arquebuses. As I live, we had no fire-locks any more, but the Greeks, counted the burning matches and sheered off, thinking we were in force. After that we landed, and it is the truth that we passed under the mountain where the blessed ark landed when God flooded the world.[1] Aye, we climbed mountains—such mountains! The fiend himself could not have flown over them. Then we mauled the Tatars a bit on their steppe and cut down a hundred or so, because we wanted their horses. But as to that, every one in the world knows except you, dog brothers, who are swimming in fat because you have eaten in kitchens so long. I will say only that I—and Demid and Ser Mikhail—-have here a million sequins as ransom for the koshevoi Rurik.”
“Rurik is no longer koshevoi,” observed one of the Cossacks.
“How, no longer?”
“Because the Turks have cut his head open and sliced his heart and salted him down, so that he is no longer alive.”
Ayub’s brown face became grim and Demid spurred up to the speaker.
“When did that happen?” he asked.
“Last Candlemas, ataman.”
“And you stand here, like midwives at a borning!”
The eyes of the young warrior flashed around the circle of lifted faces, and he raised his clenched hand over his head. Seven months of achievement in spite of nerve-trying obstacles—his whole journey into Islam had been wasted.
The nearest Cossacks hung their heads, and avoided his gaze.
“The forehead to you, ataman,” spoke up the colonel who had greeted Demid. “We are not cowards that you should use words like a whip, and we lacked powder, cannon and horseflesh. If the Turks had come up at us we would have pounded them, but we had no leader to go against them.”
“Rurik dead!”
Demid turned to Ayub, who for once was speechless. Then he spoke to Michael, evenly:
“This treasure, then, is ours. Your share is a large one, and I will put it aside”
“Not so,” answered the cavalier promptly. “It was a rare-voyage—and my share of Sidi Ahmad’s loot goes with yours.”
“And you, Michael?”
“I shall venture with you henceforth.”
“Eh, the wild goose has chosen its flock.” Demid’s white teeth flashed in a smile. “Good.”
Once more he surveyed the watching brotherhood, who were ill at ease.
“Now, noble sirs—” he leaned over to jerk a bag from the cart and toss it to the priest—“here is a new church for the batko, aye and new images of gold and silver.”
Pulling out the other sacks he slashed them open with his sword, releasing upon the ground a flood of shining gold, amber and ivory—and a torrent of the finest jewels.
“It is not fitting for one Cossack to have more than his brothers. So set your hands in this trash and drink it up, or lay it out in garments or horses, just as you will. Guzzle and gorge and then go back to hug your wives and tend your cattle.”
Taking up his reins he turned away, his face dark with disappointment.
For a while the elders of the council were angry, then they scratched their heads, and began to pull at their mustaches moodily. A buzz of talk drifted in from the groups of the warriors, and yet no man put hand to the wealth that lay on the earth.
“He spoke well. That’s a fact.”
“Aye, he has a horned soul in him. There is no milk in his blood. Did you hear him call the officers old women?”
“Well, his sword will back up his words, right enough. No getting around that”
“He flew down on Aleppo”
“But we are not old women. Let us buy powder and bullets and carriage guns and pound the Turk.”
The murmur grew to a shout and the colonels asked what the will of the assembly was.
“Our will is that Demid should be koskevoi—chief of all the Cossacks!”
“Aye,” roared Ayub, who had lingered to hear what was to follow, “that was well said. He was Rurik’s chum.”
The head men put their heads together, and admitted that Demid had shown wisdom; he had outwitted the Turks, and only the was cleverer than the Turks.
“Demid!” howled the throng of warriors. “Give him the baton, you ox-tails, or we will pound you!”
The colonels held up their hands and gave their assent and a voice somewhere took up a song:
“Glorious fame will arise.
Among the Cossacks,
Among the heroes,
Till the end of time.”
AND that Winter when the bandura players sat by the fireside in the cottages on the steppe, they had a new song. Bending their aged limbs toward the blaze and nodding their lean heads, they told how Demid the Falcon, rallied the strength of the Cossacks along the border and went against the Sultan.
They sang, these bandura players, who were blind minstrels, of the deeds they had not seen, of a slender Frank who was made colonel of a regiment, and of the storm that was brewed by the giant Ayub who rode his horse within sight of the imperial city. They told how the Sultan tore his beard, and the streets of Islam ran red until all the world knew how the Cossacks had come to a reckoning with the Turks for the death of Rurik.
- ↑ Probably Ayub stretched matters here, but Ararat is vissible from a long distance to the north.