Swords From the Desert (43 page)

Once upon the bank, they waited for the footsoldiers-turbaned Mahrattas and shouting tribesmen. These were wet to the beards. Behind them came some Turks with matchlocks, and finally the first riders of the light cavalry.

The shouting and clashing of cymbals excited the Rajput chieftains, who grieved at beholding the van of the Mogul lords unharmed at the crossing.

"Let us strike!" They who stood nearest Mahabat Khan pleaded.

He made no answer, and the standards of the light horse came into view over the rise.

"By Siva," cried a raja, the lord of Jesselmir, striking his sword hilt, "it is not good to wait!"

But Mahabat Khan threw back his head and laughed soundlessly.

"Verily, it is good to wait when the foemen hath so foolish a leader as this."

"Yet they advance, more and more."

The khan nodded and, after awhile, to still the grumbling of the chieftains, he related a tale of a lion that lay in wait for a herd of horses. So long as the horses were not aware of their danger the lion kept himself hidden. Not until they scented him did the lion rush out and strike down his prey. For he was wise and knew that he could not slay all the herd, only the horse that came near his hiding place.

Some of the chieftains laughed, seeing the meaning within the tale. Verily, they could not strike the foemen across the river. Still more of the Mogul's bands appeared on the bank, spreading out to the flanks, the elephants advancing in the center. Perhaps four thousand were in sight when Mahabat Khan rose in his stirrups and cried out:

"Raise the banners!"

Eh, it was a goodly sight. The kettledrums rattled, and the lofty banners were lifted from the ground to the stirrup rests. The chieftains in advance of their men put their horses to the trot, down the ridge.

From a trot they spurred to a gallop. And, rushing upon the elephants, the lines of horsemen edged away to the right and left of the beasts. Some of the Turks began to fire from the matchlocks and there was noise and smoke. But some had wet their powder, and the Rajputs came on so swiftly, they had little time to settle their rests.

"Ho-nila ghora ki aswar!" Thus shouted the clans of Malwa and Jesselmir, remembering Man Singh.

They struck the hastily arrayed lines of the Mogul's officers as a torrent in the hills sweeps upon loose sand. Here and there the torrent was flung back-here and there it eddied-but the right of the foe was broken at once, and the Rajputs rode down into the center.

Who can tell all the events of a battle? I had kept behind Mahabat Khan, and I saw him strike two riders from the saddle, slashing one above the head of his own charger. I heard the deep trumpeting of the elephants, and the cries that rose on every hand-despairing shouts as the Mogul's men were pushed back to the edge of the steep clay bank.

They had crossed rashly, had formed without order and had been met by a well-timed charge of splendid cavalry. Hundreds lay upon the crest of the bank, hundreds more were slain by arrows as they struggled back to the ford. Meanwhile the Rajputs surrounded the elephants and slew the mahouts and archers from far off.

Mahabat Khan gave command to lead off the captured beasts, lest they run loose through our ranks, and he reined in his horse to gaze across the river.

"By the ninety and nine holy names, Ibn Athir," he cried, "would that Asaf Khan, the dog-born dog, had come over with those men."

But Asaf Khan, the wily, the covetous, did not show his person. We looked for a long time, trying to make out the leader of the foe. And in the end it was clear to us that somebody in the howdah of a fighting elephant gave commands. The elephant stood at the beginning of the ford, not moving from that place.

The howdah, of silver work, hid the riders, and at that distance we could only see officers coming up to the great beast and riding hence. Whoever it was-and we both, I remembering the three pearls, prayed that it be Asaf Khan-knew little about the maneuvering of men, yet lacked not determination.

Perhaps a hundred thousand of the Mogul's retainers had gathered on the far bank, and one after the other different chieftains led their followers down to the ford and essayed to storm our ground. But the four thousand Rajputs made good their ground.

Only for an hour was there doubt of the issue. Toward sunset the leader on the black elephant advanced into the ford with a multitude of footsoldiers. They plunged through the dark water in disorder, the current foaming about their shoulders. But they shouted with a mighty voice. Some of our clans had gone far to right and left to drive back scattered parties, and the Raja of Jesselmir held the crest of the bank with his veterans.

Above the turbaned heads of the oncoming warriors the black elephant loomed, feeling its way and flapping its ears restlessly. The level rays of the last sunlight struck full upon the glittering howdah, and Mahabat Khan and I cried out at once.

Under the tasseled hood we beheld the slender figure of the Light of the Palace. She, the empress, sat tranquil, a child on her knees. And it was said to me thereafter that this child was her youngest born.

We heard her voice, urging on the soldiery, and Mahabat Khan swore in his beard, looking this way and that like a man who knows not what path to take.

"May God shield her," he said under his breath.

But the lord of Jesselmir was weary of shooting arrows, and the Rajputs had no love for the matchlocks. He may have recognized Nur-Mahal; more likely, he could not hold back at such an opportunity.

Verily, he did well! He had been charged with the defense of the road and the bank; the assailants were too numerous to permit them to form on the top. So, before Mahabat Khan could send a galloper to him, he mustered his riders and charged down the winding road, slippery with blood and loose clay, and littered with the dead. He struck the head of the advance while the first hundred were crossing the sands.

Other Rajput clans rode up to take a hand, and the arrows began to fly about the elephants, some glancing from the silver work of the howdah.

The sun had left the surface of the river, though it still blazed in our eyes, and Mahabat Khan cried out to me-

"They will slay her, unknowing!"

Eh, this was what he himself had decided must be done, and surely it would put an end to the battle. But his eyes were dark with suspense and grief.

"If God wills it," I made response. "Nay, the issue will soon be decided."

Then Mahabat Khan remembered his leadership. Five hundred of his cavalry were fighting hand to hand down in the shadows, in the muddied and blood-stained water and the treacherous sands. He spurred off to lead up reinforcements. When a thousand had mounted and formed under his quick commands, he led them down the road, to rescue the chieftain of Jesselmir.

Wah! It was like the oft-told battle of the camel, when the woman Ayesha seated in the litter of a white camel cried on the avengers of Othman, and seventy of the clan Koreish died at the camel's bridle. Indeed, the spirit of a woman at such a time may put men to shame.

In the growing darkness there was heard only the screaming of the mortally stricken, the whir of steel, the shrilling of wounded horses and the trumpeting of the elephant.

I no longer saw Mahabat Khan. Swept away among the Rajputs, I was drawn out upon one of the sand spits. The elephant's mahout had been hurt by arrows and pulled from his seat. Masterless, the great beast swayed this way and that, and finally plunged out upon the sandbar.

With a loud shout the Rajputs around me made toward him, slashing down the spearmen and slaves who tried to hold us off. Once the elephant smote a rider with his trunk, and the man and horse went down. Others cut at the sinews of his legs which were protected by the leather armor.

"Bow and horse!" shouted a shieldless warrior behind me.

"Climb!" cried another, thrusting at me to get closer.

We splashed into water, and the horses reared. The great beast turned this way and that, infuriated with pain, and for an instant I beheld the face of Nur-Mahal.

The sky was still bright overhead, and her features were distinct, as she bent forward, no longer crying at the battle. The child on her knee seemed to be bleeding, and with cloth torn from her sleeve, the Light of the Palace was binding up its hurts.

By then the last of the Mogul's guards had been driven from the elephant by the Rajputs. But the black beast had had enough of pain.

Turning around, he made off through the welter and almost at once plunged into a deep pool.

The current tugged at him, and he struggled for footing, sinking and rising and drawing farther into the center of the river.

This was the omen of defeat for the Mogul's forces. Those in the ford, yet living, drew back, wet and dispirited. And fifty thousand eyes followed the laboring beast that carried Nur-Mahal.

We saw the silver howdah sway like a bush in a great wind. We saw the glistening head of the elephant move slowly toward the other shore.

Why make many words of our waiting? In the end the elephant reached shallow water and moved out to safety, far down the river. It had been written thus, and how was it to be otherwise?

Chapter VIII Peace

After the battle, the sun of fortune shone upon us. Mahabat Khan had prevailed over the favorite, Nur-Mahal. And the chieftains who had held aloof until now hastened to ride into our lashgar with gifts and words of praise.

Venerable men blessed the Pathan when he passed by. And Jahangir, hearing of these things, announced that he had no friend so faithful as the khan. He proclaimed that the will of Mahabat Khan was his will. So the lords of the Panjab waited upon the khan with immense throngs of followers.

In those seven days I attended Jahangir daily, and it became clear to me that he was using drugs and spirits without cessation, buying them, I think, from the slaves.

"Nay," he said to me, "soon I will be able to mount my horse and review my followers."

Day followed day without his doing so. He did not like to have the emirs and mansabdars come to greet him; perhaps because he was a captive, and his nobles knew that the real power lay with Mahabat Khan.

Omar, the tentmaker, hath said, "Man is a magic lantern with a light within." And I thought that Jahangir was no more than a dull lantern, and Nur-Mahal the flame that had animated him and made him, at least, the figure of a king.

In those seven days I beheld a change in Mahabat Khan. He was victorious, bepraised, and besought. But he waxed moody; his eyes became dull, and the talk of government wearied him.

On the seventh night Jami appeared in my tent. At first I did not know him.

His tunic glittered with gold thread, and his trousers were bound at the ankles with strings of small pearls; his hair had been combed and oiled, and he smelled of mingled civet and musk!

"Wai, Jami!" I cried. "What is this?"

He grinned down at me where I sat, and thrust forward the hilt of a light saber-a hilt set with turquoise. Then he squatted and dipped into the bowl of rice that I was eating.

"I crossed the river, 0 my master," he laughed, "and I have had fowl and jellies and sugared fruits. I followed the Light of the Palace and hid in the fishing boat that took her over to the lashgar. She gave the boatmen five gold mohurs. I wanted to listen and learn what would happen and bring word of it to Mahabat Khan."

The graceless rogue glanced critically at the plain carpet and worn quilts of my tent.

"Has fortune not prospered thee, my master?"

"Only a thief prospers after a battle," I said severely, because conceit made Jami over-glib.

"I took no part in the battle," he remonstrated gravely. "Nay, I sat on a cart tail and watched. What a night!" He laughed and hugged his shoulders. "Ibn Athir, never was there such a running about. Baggage was cast from the carts and saddles tossed from horses. I slept in the tent pavilion of a Persian emir. By dawn the lashgar had dwindled to half-so many had fled the standards."

He reflected a moment, fingering his newly acquired sword.

"I wanted to hurry back with the tidings, but not until tonight could I find a boat and men who would cross."

"Is Asaf Khan planning to advance again?"

Jami shook his head idly.

"Nay, when he is not watching the men who guard the imperial treasure, he is quarreling with the nobles who still adhere to him. He has no stomach for more fighting. It was the Light of the Palace who went to the emirs and made them ashamed that they had not attempted to cross the river. She gave commands."

"And now?"

"Eh, my master, we will see what we will do."

Jami cocked his head and looked at me curiously. Near at hand we both heard the strumming of a rebec and the clink-clink of women's anklets. Someone was singing a song.

"What?" asked the boy, licking his fingers.

"Do not go near that place. It is Jahangir's, and the guards are wakeful."

It was an old custom of the Mogul court every week for the dancing girls, or a troupe of them, to come into the presence and bow down, to receive some gift. Jahangir had formed the habit of keeping some three or four to divert him.

"I will sleep." Jami picked out the quilt that lay nearest the entrance. "Hast thou aught of sugar, Ibn Athir?"

"Nor thou, of caste!"

Jami chuckled and lay down, making much ado of taking off his sword and girdle.

"Ohai, my master, dost remember the evening when we first met by the blue mosque on the Lahore road? Thou wert then a wanderer without friends, and I a boy." His bright eyes considered me and he nodded. "Hearken, Ibn Athir, bear thou my message to the khan, and accept of the reward."

Indeed, he knew very well that he would not be admitted to speak with Mahabat Khan, if he were not bound and held to be questioned.

"As to the reward," he added, "it is time and more than time thou hadst a servant and a few horses. Mahabat Khan is verily thy friend."

"Peace!" I assured him. "What profit is to be taken from friendship?"

Yet it seemed good to me to go to the Pathan with the boy's story, and I left Jami curled up asleep. It was no more than a bowshot to the tent of the khan, and I went slowly, deep in thought. Even at that hour the sun's heat lingered in the dry grass. Against the stars rose the thin-leafed stalks of bamboo. A dim gleam from the sickle of the new moon showed me the guards by the wall of the garden in which the Pathan's tent had been pitched.