Rusudan/Chapter 11

T WAS high noon before the fate of Rusudan was known. The castellan who lay, as the peasant had said, in the courtyard with his head split open by a sword, could tell nothing, and those within the castle were certain of only one thing: The princess had come to the ramp in Choaspes' sleigh, and had walked through the barbican gate with the strategos and his followers. In the courtyard there had been talk, and suddenly the clatter of steel. In that hour before dawn the place had been in darkness, and the frightened servants had seen lanthorns moving about swiftly, and the horses led from the stables. Some one had shouted for the western gate to be opened.

But Rupen of Kag, who had been listening at his window, knew the truth. Choaspes had insisted that Rusudan go with him beyond Tphilis and seek sanctuary in Trebizond, and she had refused. Then the Greeks had overpowered her few attendants and had led out every good horse from the stables. At the western gate they had met Grigol of Thor, the castellan, who had mustered a few men-at-arms when he heard the clash of weapons. Evidently the Greeks, who were in full mail, had ridden down the Georgians and had escaped from the hill of Tphilis before dawn. They had carried off Rusudan.

The wearied men who mustered around John the Constable took up pursuit, finding horses where they could. Shotha Kupri went off to rouse other bands in the forest.

They came back late that night with sagging shoulders and scowling brows. They had not gained even a sight of the Greeks. Whether he had planned this move beforehand, or had taken measures for his own safety, the strategos had collected relays of fresh horses twenty miles from Tphilis, and would be nearing the gates of Trebizond within the lines of the empire before the hillmen could overtake him. Nevertheless, Shotha Kupri had pushed on with some Gipsies.

The constable and the few surviving chieftains could not leave the castle, because the Mongols might move against him any hour. Scouts from the forest reported that the Horde had gone into camp in the very hamlet where the Georgians had been quartered before the battle. And the remnants of the clans were drifting into Tphilis with their families and what cattle and sheep they were able to drive off.

On the following day Mongol patrols advanced as far as the chapel in the firs and scanned the walls of Tphilis. The constable labored ceaselessly and without sleep, and the Georgians doggedly set to work carrying sheaves of arrows to the walls and making ready the cressets for lighting—if the attack should come at night. Not a man from the Kur to the castle keep who would not have given his life to have Rusudan safe among the clans. They knew that if she could be brought back, Shotha Kupri would manage it.

“Nay,” said the mkhendruli now and again, “the emperor has pledged aid. It can not be that he will permit harm to come to the daughter of the Karthlos.”

“And yet,” some responded, “the Greeks went against Grigol of Thor with edged steel.”

They shook their heads and hastened to new labors. It was the first time that a ruler, or the child of a ruler, of the Khaukesh had left the mountains. The noblewomen of Tphilis prayed hourly in the Malaki, and the chieftains sat with weapons in their hands.

At the end of the week the Mongols had not come, but Shotha Kupri appeared in the hall of the keep where the thawads sat at meat.

One glance at him, and some groaned, others took their heads in their hands.

“The Roumis are beyond the hills,” said Shotha Kupri.

“The Princess?” demanded John the Constable.

“With them, bound to a sleigh. From the strategos, a letter.” Shotha Kupri held out a roll of parchment that the lord of Tphilis opened eagerly. It was in Greek, written on the back of a leaf torn from some priest's manuscript, and he gave it to the old metropolitan to read.

Paul—he of the white hair and the gold-embroidered cope, who was head of the church in Armenia—read the missive through swiftly, because it was Greek written by a skilled hand. But for a moment he fingered his beard, saying nothing.

“'Tis addressed to Ivan,” he explained, “and the message is—secret.”

The constable, who had been striding back and forth behind the patriarch's chair, halted as if pricked by steel.

“Read! I have no secrets.”

Paul inclined his head.

"“Choaspes, Strategos of Anatolia, to John Lord of Tphilis and high Constable of Georgia—greeting. This is a time of trouble, and they who are wise will not lack fortune at the end. Thy name hath been extolled by friends at the court of the Eternal Emperor. Favor will be shown the Keeper of the Gate. The girl Rusudan, last of the Lasha lineage, is more fitted for a camp of vagabonds than a throne. Under the care of the Eternal Emperor she will meet no harm. Meanwhile a strong hand is needed in the Khaukesh. Drive out the barbarians and thou wilt earn a reward greater than that given the conqueror of Mithridates, the Parthian.” "

“In God's name,” cried the constable, “what means this?”

The patriarch sighed and mused a while.

“My son, the message was to thee.”

“A hundred devils! Little skilled am I in statecraft or the writing of missives. To my mind, Choaspes tries to draw a bough over his tracks.”

“More, Ivan. He promises more. He has carried the princess of the royal line from her people. Perhaps he will hold her hostage. Surely we must send emissaries to the monocrator, the emperor.”

Shotha Kupri, who had been standing in silence, lifted his hand.

“Long have we served the Cæsars of Constantinople. We have bowed to them and sent our sons to man the legions. We have held the Gate. The emperor sent the Genoese, and we guarded their caravans. What was our reward? The Iberian and Circassian girls were taken not seldom and sold as slaves, not only to Greeks but to dog-believing Muhammadans. Now the Greeks have taken Rusudan. It will not avail to appeal to the emperor. I say, 'Go with naked swords.'”

“Aye!” cried the brother of Grigol.

“Shotha Kupri hath said well,” echoed others, nodding eagerly.

But John the Constable smote the head of the ax in his belt.

“Then tell me—who is to go? Where are the chieftains who will journey to the Chersonese with swords, and leave the hamlets and the women to the pagans?”

There was silence at this, and a muttering of rage at their helplessness.

“The Greeks would have made you king,” cried the eldest of the Orphelians.

“Choaspes has tricked us with words,” responded John the Constable, his brow darkening. “Eh, he is wiser than we. Did he not bid us to move down against the Horde?”

“And you added your word, John of Tphilis. Now the wolves of the Kur are coming down from the timber to gorge themselves on the bodies of the mkhendruli. They will lack graves, our brothers.”

At this they glared, one at another, remembering old feuds. The missive sent by Choaspes had been a brand that kindled suspicion and resentment among these men who had seen their kindred slain not many days since. Choaspes might have thought that the constable could be tempted, or perhaps he could not refrain from mocking the chieftains.

The patriarch lifted both hands to quiet them, but John of Tphilis stretched out his bare right arm on which were wounds still unhealed and undressed.

“Is that the hand of a traitor, my brothers?”

Shotha Kupri stepped to the table, broad and surly as a scarred boar with broken tusks.

“By the cross of Ani, you have held the standard with a firm hand! Traitor you are not, nor can the written words of Choaspes make you otherwise. Because the Greek dared not stand before us and say with his lips what he hath written down. Did he take his weapon in hand in the snows of the Kur? He did not, and that is the truth. Now let one who is wise say how we are to rescue Rusudan!”

They all looked at the patriarch, but he shook his head moodily, his veined fingers rubbing uncertainly at a spot on his mantya.

“We can not leave the walls,” muttered one of the Orphelians.

“If we could,” added the constable grimly, “what then? There are two roads to the cities of the Greeks—one from Trebizond and the ships of the Great Sea. But the ships are manned by Greeks and Genoese. The other, by the northern passes through the steppes of the Alans and the Kumanians—”

“They are foster brothers of the Mongols,” growled Shotha Kupri. “Aye, and kin to all the devils.”

“We can not open a road, that is clear,” nodded the Orphelian. “We must trust in cunning, like a fox.”

And they turned again hopefully to the patriarch, who sighed and clasped his hands.

“There is no gift but from the Almighty. Pray ye to Him who is greater than the emperor.”

“For the ages of ages,” muttered Shotha Kupri. “Yet, as for cunning, a lamb will suckle a lioness before a Georgian will overmatch a Greek in cunning.”

And John the Constable gripped the parchment between his fingers, tearing it into fragments and casting them into the fire.

Though they talked until the most weary let their heads fall in slumber on the table, they could not think of a way to reach Rusudan. Calamity had come upon the Khaukesh—first the Mongols, then the loss of their princess. Unwonted things were happening, and they were troubled.

They were utterly astonished when Avak the shepherd ran into the hall the next day with word that the Horde was moving. But not upon Tphilis. He had watched from the forest across the Kur, and the riders of the Horde had been crossing on the ice, driving the herds of cattle and captured horses.

He had waited until he saw the first detachments enter the foothills. The Mongols were heading toward the north and the unknown steppes.

It was several days before the Georgians would venture out of Tphilis. Having been tricked once by a feigned retreat, they feared the empty valley as much as the camp of the Horde.

HAT day Hugh came before the council of the princes. He wore full mail, and some of the chieftains noticed that the falcon tablet was hung around his throat. They looked at him with attention and more than a little respect.

Shotha Kupri had taken his part, and they had heard that he had brought Rusudan safely from the battlefield of the Kur. If Rupen, who had been crippled by the crusader's ax, had no blame for the wanderer, they bore him no ill-will.

Rabban Simeon had been talking to the Armenian merchants, and it was rumored that the emperor of the Greeks had offered five thousand pieces of gold for the head of the Frank. Since the flight of the strategos feeling had been bitter against the Greeks.

“He came to us from the pagans,” Shotha Kupri declared, “and he bore himself boldly. He warned us of calamity, and it happened as he had said. It is clear that he is no spy, but a man who has seen more than one battle. He knows his own road. Let him go and come as he chooses.”

Now Hugh greeted them, and asked leave of the constable to go from Tphilis.

“Whither?” the chieftains demanded.

“To the Chersonese.”

Bethinking them of the five thousand pieces of gold, they mused awhile. If the Frank wished to put himself within reach of the executioner of the emperor, that was his affair, not theirs.

“It was said in the castle,” remarked the constable, “that you have sworn an oath of fellowship with the lords of Cathay. Is that true?”

“True.”

“And you will go to the court of Theodore Lascaris the emperor as an envoy?”

“Nay.”

“Well, you are free.” John of Tphilis nodded and pulled at his mustache. “Eh, Sir Hugh, we would well that you abide with us. Here you will not lack for bread and meat and wine.”

“For your courtesy, my Lord,” Hugh made answer, “I thank you. But I have far to go.”

That day he rode from the western gate of the citadel, Shotha Kupri escorting him as far as the edge of the forest before turning back.

“Go with God, Sir Hugh. Remember that the merchant Trevisani may be in Trebizond, and he is no friend to you.”

Hugh smiled, looking down the narrow track that ran through the forest mesh.

“Nay, I have few friends, Lord Prince. But I have the sword Durandal, and that will serve me well.”

Shotha Kupri watched the crusader until he was lost to sight around a turn in the trail; then he sought Rupen and found the ax-man sitting by the door of Rusudan's vacant chambers.

“Eh,” said the master of Kag slowly, “the Frank came many times to share a cup with me. It is clear to me why he fares forth to the Chersonese.”

Shotha Kupri considered this in silence.

“The Father and Son know,” went on Rupen, “that I held Rusudan dearer than life. Messer Antonio tricked me with words so that I challenged the Frank, and he struck me down. Choaspes sought her, hiding his desire from all eyes, because he was clever and wary as a fox.”

“May the fiends tear him!”

“Satan will not fail to greet him, if the Frank comes within sword's reach of him.”

“Choaspes has power from Satan himself.”

“That may be, but the Frank would dare twist the devil's tail. Much is clear to me that is dark to you. From the hour that his eyes beheld her the Frank loved Rusudan.”

Shotha Kupri looked up in surprize.

“Eh—he gave no sign.”

“Because it was a torture to him that he was bound to serve the Horde.”

“And now?”

“Since Choaspes carried off Rusudan, the Frank hath spoken no word. He walked the battlement between the towers and of nights he paced his chamber. At first he tried swinging the long sword to test his strength; then he would exercise the stallion down by the river. Wisely he waited until he was fit for the khoda—to take the trail. When that day came, he went. He will rescue Rusudan or—take vengeance.”

This thought filled both the hillmen with grim satisfaction that lasted until Avak who had been watching in the heights sought Shotha Kupri and told a strange tale.

Avak had sallied forth with his dog and had taken the road chosen by Sir Hugh. He had followed the knight's tracks to the place where Shotha Kupri had turned back. A league or so beyond, the tracks of the stallion left the trail and entered the forest.

This had puzzled the shepherd because the road was too plain to lose and there were no signs of wolves. The tracks wound through the timber and dropped into a gorge that led north. Avak followed the trail and found himself ascending toward the distant summit of Kasbek.

Here other tracks joined the prints of the stallion's hoofs—a half dozen ponies, evidently with riders. The shepherd made a circle and picked up the trail of the riders, tracing it up to a camp in a stand of firs overlooking Tphilis.

He was certain that the six horsemen were Mongols because there were broken arrows and kumis sacks around the ashes of the fire. So he went back to the place where the Mongols had intercepted the crusader. He found where they had halted the first night, and it seemed to him that the stallion had been tethered with the other horses.

A few leagues to the north the tracks of the seven riders entered the broad trail of the Horde, where in the multitude of marks of cattle, men and carts Avak had lost all trace of the seven riders.

“Beyond doubt,” he insisted, “they followed the Horde.”

It seemed to Rupen and Shotha Kupri that the crusader had lied to them, because he had turned from the Trebizond road to go after the Mongols. A patrol left behind to watch the Georgians had picked him up by agreement or by chance. They remembered that strange lights had been seen in that portion of the hills after darkness, and Shotha Kupri thought of the lanterns used as signals by the Mongols in the battle of the Kur.

But more than this they did not learn, because the Gate was closed and the paths of the Khaukesh were impassable to men for a time. The spring thaw was setting in. The ice began to go out of the rivers and a rush of muddy waters filled the valleys. The streams fed by melting snow during the hours of day roared and swirled down from the heights.

Only at night could these streams be crossed, and even then the soft snow afforded treacherous footing. Except for the hunters and the abreks who went out, like Avak, to look for stray cattle, the Georgians remained shut up in their hamlets, and no word reached them from the outer world.