The Road to Samarcand Read online

  “Relax, Li Han, and turn us out something we can eat. Look, there’s a nice clear fire, and there’s that antelope all ready at hand,” said Derrick, persuasively.

  “Regret am otherwise engaged. Also, certain personal remarks add touch of obnoxious compulsion. Shall remain in vindictive immobility.”

  There was a short silence, in which Olaf came to a slow boil. “Skavensk!” he cried, suddenly throwing down his bowl and leaping to his feet. “Lookit here, you cook-boy, you cook us a meal right now, or Ay ban going to tie you up in a knot like you’ve never seen before.”

  “Steady, Olaf. You can’t beat him up: he’s too small.”

  “Well, is he going to sit there like a heathen image just because he’s small, eh? Too high-hat, he is, see? Besotted ignorance, eh? You heard what he said? Ay sure got a mind to turn him inside out. Maybe he’d look better that way.”

  Derrick whistled softly, and Chang thrust his muzzle against his knee. “Listen, Chang,” he said. “You grab a hold of Li Han and make mincemeat out of him. Seize him, Chang! Break him and tear him then. Bring me his liver and lights, Chang.” Chang rumbled like thunder in his throat, waving his tail.

  Li Han started up. “Physical violence is mark of barbarian mind,” he said apprehensively. “I will dissociate self from distasteful brawlery.”

  “High-hat, eh?” cried Olaf. “You dissociate yourself from that!” Olaf swung the iron pot in a high arc. Li Han dodged, but too late. The mess came down squelch on top of his head and the pot slammed down over his ears. At this moment Chang joined in, leaping delightedly for the seat of Li Han’s trousers and roaring like a bloodhound.

  Li Han sprawled into the fire, sprang out, spinning like a teetotum, and shrieked curses in a high-pitched yell. Derrick tripped him up and sat on his stomach. “You’d better pull the pot off, Olaf,” he said, “it might be hot.”

  “Ay reckon we ought to leave it on for ever,” said Olaf. “That ban a fine high-hat, eh?” Olaf had rarely made a joke of his own, and now he was so pleased with it that he could hardly stand for laughing.

  When he could stop he pulled once or twice at the pot, but it was immovable. Muffled bellows came from Li Han.

  “Crack it, Olaf,” said Derrick.

  “That won’t never crack. It’s iron, see?”

  By now the bellowing from inside had assumed a pleading tone.

  “No. Ay reckon there’s nothing but a winch will ever unship this pot,” said Olaf. “Or maybe a monkey wrench,” he added thoughtfully.

  “I’ll hold him by the shoulders and you pull,” said Derrick. “I think he’s drowning.”

  “Drowning a thousand miles from the nearest creek!” exclaimed Olaf. “Cor stone the crows, that ban funny.” He howled with laughter, but he grasped the pot again and heaved. But suddenly he changed his mind, rapped smartly on the sounding iron and hailed Li Han within, “Ahoy, Li Han. Will you cook if we let you out?”

  “Yes, yes. Me cookee top-chop one-time. Let out, plis,” came the muffled voice, and Olaf heaved again. They pulled, grunting. Li Han shrieked like a stuck pig. Suddenly the pot came off with a loud plop: Olaf fell backwards into the fire, and Chang, charmed with the game, pinned Li Han to the ground, baying wildly.

  Between them they made such an appalling din that they never heard the approaching thunder of the Mongols. The camp was filled with Kokonor tribesmen before Derrick could get up for laughing.

  As they came in Hulagu and his brothers ran from the horse-lines, where they had been doctoring a sick mare. The leading tribesmen leapt from their horses, saluted Hulagu and spoke rapidly for a few moments. Hulagu ran to Sullivan’s yurt: in a minute he was out again, running for his horse, and before the dust of his going had settled down he was out of sight, together with his brother Kubilai and the other tribesmen.

  Chingiz stood staring after them, fingering the dagger at his belt. “What’s the matter?” asked Derrick.

  “The Altai Kazaks have come down from the north,” replied Chingiz, with a savage grin. “They have come for their revenge for the tower of skulls, and they have joined with the Uruchang horde. They are raiding our yurts and killing whatever they can find. They have driven some of our herds into the Takla Makan, and they think they can destroy us, because my father is away. We are going to try to lead some of them into an ambush beyond the Kazak Tomb.”

  Sullivan came quickly out of his tent and passed down the lines, giving his orders quietly and distinctly. An indescribable bustle filled the camp for half an hour, and then, out of the apparent confusion, a well-armed, well-mounted and well-prepared troop rode westward after Hulagu. Chingiz rode on Sullivan’s right hand to show the way, and once again Derrick was impressed by the way in which the Mongol seemed to carry a compass and a chart in his head. He was never at a loss, although the bare steppe seemed always the same, and as they rode fast through the gathering night he said that they were coming near to a single rock that stood out of the plain, and that there they were to stop. Hardly had he spoken when out of the dusk loomed the rock, straight ahead of them: he said that in the light of the dawn they would see broken country beyond, and that was to be their goal for the hour of the rising of the sun.

  They lit no fire, for no light was to be seen, but they sat in a circle as though a fire had been there, and they ate their horse-flesh cold.

  “This is very instructive,” said the Professor, as he wiped his lips. “As I understand it, the tribes beyond the Altai have been pushing the Kazaks to the south, and now the Kazaks in their turn are attacking our friends: it is surely a repetition of those great waves of barbarians who came one after the other to destroy the Roman Empire. And there are many other instances which will occur to you. One sees the evidence of these successive invasions so clearly in the excavation of any archaeological site, but to see the whole thing in present action is to have history brought to life in the most vivid manner—more vivid even than the most pronounced differentiation of the culture strata at, let us say, Beauplan’s classic excavation at Chrysopolis.”

  “I am sure you are right,” said Sullivan, “but speaking as a layman, I must say that for my part it is a demonstration that I could do without. Living history has an awkward way of separating you from your head, and I would rather reach Samarcand all in one piece. For the moment I could wish that history would keep in its proper place—between the covers of a history book.”

  By the time the eastern sky began to lighten they were in the saddle again, making their way towards a region of abrupt rocks and twisted ravines, a great stretch of country that seemed to have been torn apart by an almighty earthquake in the past.

  Li Han took a gloomy view of the whole affair: he was riding behind, between Derrick and Olaf who kept near to him to pick him up when he fell, for although they had now traversed hundreds and hundreds of miles of Northern China, Inner and Outer Mongolia and Sinkiang on horseback, so that even Olaf could navigate his mare efficiently, Li Han had never become more than a most indifferent rider, and he was apt to pitch off on one side or the other whenever they went faster than a walk. “Surely,” he gasped, clutching again at his horse’s mane, “surely peaceful negotiations will suffice? Soothing remarks and well-turned compliments will assuage the barbarians: or if not, a small present, accompanied by promises of more, will turn their wrath.”

  “These guys ban tough eggs,” said Olaf. “They ain’t out for no parlour-conversation. Ay reckon the best kind of present ban one ounce of lead, right between the eyes, see?”

  “But suppose the barbarians should shoot first, with two ounces of lead? Or leap upon us with horrible cries?” Li Han shuddered. “But doubtless,” he added, to comfort himself, “philosophic Professor will dissuade both sides from actual blows at the last moment by honeyed words and sage-like example.”

  “Not at all, Li Han,” cried Professor Ayrton, who had caught these last words, “I am all for blows in this emergency. If these invading Kazaks try to come between me and the Wu Ti jade, I
shall endeavour to deal out the shrewdest and most painful blows that I can manage, with no honeyed words at all. You must remember the precept of Chih Hsü, ‘In a sudden encounter with a tiger, a double-edged sword of proved temper is of a greater material value than the polished manners of Chang-An.’ ” He raised his voice, and speaking to Ross and Sullivan, he said, “I feel quite like the warhorse in Job. Have we much farther to go?”

  “A fair distance yet. Did you say a warhorse, Professor?”

  “Yes. ‘He saith among the trumpets Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.’ I believe you people have corrupted me by your example: why, when I return to the museum, they will call me the Scourge of Bloomsbury.”

  “The Professor says that he feels like a warhorse,” said Derrick to Chingiz.

  “Hum. Well, perhaps his learning will be of some use to us with spells and incantations.”

  “Don’t look now, Professor,” said Ross, quietly, “but I think your principles are slipping.”

  “My principles? Oh, yes: I apprehend your meaning. But, my dear sir, do you not appreciate the difference between attack and defence? Here are we, in the middle of our good friends’ country, and we find them being annoyed, harassed and put to serious inconvenience by a pack of invading ruffians. Are we not to show our displeasure? Furthermore, Sullivan assured me that the Kazaks will undoubtedly associate us with the Kokonor horde, and that if they are not discouraged by firm action on our parts, they will certainly molest us, even to the point of taking away our belongings. And thirdly as the Kazaks are Mohammedans, and there is an element of religious fanaticism in their attack, they may, if victorious, go so far as to destroy the Wu Ti jades, many of which, I am glad to say, are graven images, and anathema to these bigots. All these things being considered, therefore—loyalty to our friends, a due regard for our own safety, and the preservation of these artistic treasures—I feel wholly justified in crying ‘Forward, with the greatest convenient speed, and smite them hip and thigh.’ ”

  Chingiz pushed his horse up to Sullivan, and when the Professor had finished, he pointed. “There is the Kazak Tomb,” he said. On a high rock before them there was a low, crumbling mound: once it had reached up in a steep-sided pyramid; the centuries had brought it down, but as they came nearer they could still see that the whole erection had been made of hundreds upon hundreds of skulls.

  “We will add to that before dawn,” said Chingiz, “either with their heads or our own.”

  Beyond the Kazak Tomb the way grew harder. On either hand the broken, weathered rocks leaned over their path: they rode in single file, picking their way with care. From the shadow of a great boulder came a single man, a Kokonor Mongol who was waiting for them. Down through a steep canyon he led them, and there the shadow of the night lingered still: they tethered their horses in a place where there was a thin sprinkling of grass, and began to climb. They came up into the light over a difficult shoulder of moving shale, and as the first red glow of the sunrise appeared they reached the skyline.

  They were at the top of a cliff that overlooked a narrow valley, almost a ravine, with sheer sides: the valley led out into the distant plain, in the open country far beyond; but anyone who tried to pass through the tumbled ridge by this valley would find themselves brought up short by the perpendicular cliff at the hither end of it. The plan was that the Kazaks should be lured up this ravine to its very end, and that there they should be caught by rifle-fire from the heights.

  They strung themselves out along the sides, finding good hiding-places among the boulders. They would have several hours to wait, but as it was impossible to say for certain when Hulagu and his men would lead their pursuers into the trap, they must remain hidden, silent and motionless for the whole of the long wait. When they had been there an hour Chang barked. “Put a strap round that dog’s muzzle,” snapped Sullivan. Some minutes later there came a soft whistle, to which Chingiz replied, and they saw another group of Mongols creeping among the rocks on the other side, taking up places opposite to them.

  The hours passed slowly, very slowly, and the sun crept up the sky. A wind blew up from the farther steppe: it increased in strength, and as it howled and whistled through the rocks and down the narrow gully, it became very difficult to listen for the sounds they hoped to hear.

  Derrick was changing from one cramped position to another when he saw the heads of the three men to his left all whip round at the same moment: they were listening intently down the length of the ravine. He froze motionless, and he heard the crackle of many rifles, far away and whipped from them by the wind.

  Sullivan nodded and winked his eye: at the same instant Derrick became aware of the Professor’s lanky form stretched out behind him and creeping towards Sullivan.

  “Forgive me, Sullivan,” whispered the Professor, “if this is an inopportune moment—I should have thought of it before, but it slipped my mind. What I wished to say was that although I am conversant with the general principles underlying the use of firearms, I have never actually——”

  “Get down,” hissed Ross, pulling the Professor off the skyline. “Here they come.”

  Derrick flung himself flat and rammed home his bolt: he heard the same sharp, metallic sound to his right and his left. From where he lay he had a perfect view of the whole of the gulley, and he saw Kubilai and Hulagu with some twenty of their men coming into sight at the far end. Behind them came the Kazaks. It was difficult to see how many there were, because of the number of spare horses that galloped with them, but they were many; and as they raced nearer Derrick saw among them a white horse whose rider carried a lance with a yak’s tail flying like a pennant.

  “That is the son of the Altai Khan,” murmured Chingiz, staring down his sights.

  “Quiet,” whispered Sullivan. “Wait for it, wait for it.”

  Now Hulagu and his men put on a great burst of speed: as they passed the silent watchers, Hulagu took the reins in his teeth, turned in his saddle and fired back. He scanned the rocks anxiously, and raced by.

  The Kazak lances swept nearer and nearer, and above the wind came the thundering of their horses’ hooves. “Just a little closer,” whispered Sullivan, cuddling the stock into his shoulder, “and you’re for it.”

  A shot rang out behind them. The bullet spat rock six inches from Derrick’s heels, and the Professor said, “Dear me, it went off.”

  The Kazaks pulled up in a cloud of dust. Ross and Chingiz fired together and two men fell. There was confusion in the ravine, some pushing on and some turning back. Sullivan waited a moment and then fired six shots so fast that it sounded like a burst of machine-gun fire. On the other side the Mongols opened up, and Hulagu’s men from the foot of the cliff kept up a rapid fire.

  “One,” said Olaf, calmly reloading. Li Han aimed at the white horse and fired at last: he struck an escaping man fifty yards in the rear.

  In the van of the Kazaks the yak’s tail banner tossed and waved. There was a piercing shout from below and the banner rushed forward, with fifty men behind it, charging for the dismounted men at the foot of the cliff. In a moment they had swept by the withering fire from the heights, and they were engaged in a battle at hand to hand, so close that the men above could not fire without hitting their own friends.

  The Kokonor men were outnumbered more than two to one: the sheer cliff was behind them, and they could not fly.

  “Professor, stay here with Derrick and Chingiz. Pick off the Kazaks down the valley,” said Sullivan, as he lowered himself over the side. Ross was already going down before him, and Olaf followed fast. On the far side the Kokonor Mongols were also climbing down. One fell, and rolled the whole length of the steep slope to a Kazak lance.

  Ross was the first down, but Sullivan out-paced him to the fight. Two horsemen came at him, and running he missed his shot, but he leapt aside from the nearer lance and sprang for the horse’s head. He wrenched horse and rider to the ground, and the second man came down in
the threshing legs. The Kazaks bounded free and came for him again, but before they could strike he hurled his rifle at them. He was within their guard, and in each hand he held a Kazak by the neck. With a crack like a rifle-shot he smashed their heads together: the helmets rang and fell, and the Tartars dropped senseless from his hands.

  Sullivan gave a bellow like an angry bull and dashed into the fight. A horseman, wheeling, cut the shoulder off his coat: as the horse reared Sullivan gripped the rider by the leg and jerked him down. The Kazak fought like a wild-cat: Sullivan raised him, hurled him down on the rocks and then flung his body into the knot of swordsmen surrounding Hulagu. He followed right behind the hurled body, roaring and striking right and left.

  The battle was more even now. Ross, using his rifle as a club, was over on the right, taking the Tartars from behind: Olaf was by his side, with a boulder in each great hand that converted his fists into two deadly maces. A rush of horsemen from the farther end was checked by the men above: the Professor had the hang of his weapon now, and now even Li Han could hardly miss. Only four men got through.

  In the middle of a ring of Kazaks Sullivan fought like a man possessed. He had no weapons, but he held a man by his feet, and whirling him round he drove the Kazaks before him. They scattered, and he threw the body with all his force, knocking three of them down. From one of the fallen men he snatched a sword, and for a moment he stood alone. It was a long blade, heavy and straight: he shifted it in his hand. It was a brave man who came against him, Attay Bogra, the son of the Altai Khan. The blades leapt in the sunlight, hissing against each other, hissing and clashing so that the noise was like the noise in a smithy when two men hammer on the iron. They went to and fro, and men fell back from either side of them. The red wound from a half-parried blow sprang open on Sullivan’s forearm, and the blood flowed fast. He gave back a step, but as he stepped the Tartar lunged, slipped in a pool of blood and almost fell. He straightened, saw Sullivan’s sword whip up in both hands to the height above him, and flung up his sword against the blow, but in vain: the sword flashed down, a blinding arc of light, and through helmet, skull and bone the sword bit to the ground. The Tartar fell, clean cut in two. There was a great cry, and a moment of sudden panic among the Kazaks. At this instant the Kokonor Mongols from the farther cliff reached the bottom—they had had a longer and a steeper climb, but now they flew into the fight.