The Witch of Aleppo/Chapter 11

FTER sunset when the heat began to pass from the baked streets of Aleppo, the light and tumult of the festival arose and swelled through all the quarters of the guilds, even to the gate, el Nasr, formerly the Gate of the Jews but named otherwise by Saladin the Great.

The flickering lamp against the iron fretwork of the portal—the lamp kept lighted since the day of the prophet Elisha—vied with the colored lanterns of a puppet show before which lean Arabs and stout Osmanlis stood gravely, bubbling, however, with inward mirth.

A party of saddlers assembled in the faya, the cleared space just within the gate, sweating under their sugar-loaf hats and tiger skins and the burden of a float manned by several agile buffoons, who cracked jokes with the half-dozen janizaries on guard at the post.

Other lamps appeared on the balconies of the nearest houses, where veiled women sat, and occasionally a shrill voice rose over the monotonous tinkling of a guitar.

Nimble-footed urchins scurried about in the throng, wielding pig bladders inflated and tied to sticks, casting wary glances when a silence fell at the bulk of the Wolf’s Ear, which, apart from the merry-making, showed black as a bat’s wing against the glowing sky over the hills. But Hassan, the Arab was not among them.

Hassan came limping toward the gate in bedraggled garments, snuffling and tearing at his hair. Behind him staggered a slender figure, veiled. The throng gave back as the two neared the gate and the child’s cry could be heard.

“’Way for him who goes to the mercy of Allah! Riwan hath opened the gate of mercy to this one. Ai-a!”

He tugged valiantly at the rope which seemed to drag the figure of the leper along. Shrewdly enough, Hassan, on seeing that the faya was alight and crowded, had abandoned the idea of secrecy and made outcry sufficient for a half-dozen deaths. Moreover be did not make the mistake of asking that the portal be opened. But he edged closer to the janizaries who drew back with oaths.

“Child of misfortune. Cover the fire of disease with the water of solitude.”

“Ai-a! I am his son!”

“A lie escaped thy tongue.” They began to curse the weeping boy and his ill-omened familiar. “You are the son of all stupidity.”

“I know not where to go.”

“Allah!” One of the maskers spoke up feelingly. “Instruct the boy in what he should do. The leper is far gone: let him go out to the burial place of the unclean.”

Here Hassan began to wail the louder, and the crowd began to revile the guards who did not open the gate.

“It is forbidden!” growled the one in command.

“So also is a dying leper forbidden within the city.”

“This may be the Frank on whose capture is the price of ten slave girls.”

“O pack-saddle of an ass! The warrior Frank was tall as a spear; this one is like an ape.”

The janizary hesitated, and for a moment Michael feared that Hassan might betray him; but the boy remembered very well that the cavalier had a simitar under his cloak, and, besides he had heard his real father swear an oath on the Koran. That was binding on Hassan as well.

“He can not speak,” Hassan forestalled the soldier’s intention of questioning the supposed leper. “Lift the veil and you will see how his tongue is rotted away, and the bone sticks through his nose.”

The horrors of the lepers’ well were still vivid in Hassan’s mind, and his voice shook. When Michael took it upon himself to make some uncouth noises the janizary drew back quickly.

“Darisi bashine—the grain may have been reaped by thee! Go, the two of you! Open the gate to them!”

“Where shall we go?” whined Hassan.

“Mashallah! Where but to the burial hill yonder—behold the grove of pistachio trees against the sky-line.”

So the two slender figures passed under the flickering lamp of Elisha, out into the void of darkness, and the hub-bub at the gate resumed its even key. It was a weary climb for the tired Michael, up the path to the shrines and stones of the cemetery, and for some time they stumbled around, feeling their way toward the blotch of the grove.

Here Hassan gave a real yell of alarm and the skin prickled on Michael’s back. From the deeper gloom ahead of them issued the call of animals and they heard the whining of panthers, the grunting of camels and the whirr of wings. Hassan, knowing that no beasts larger than jackals were in the thickets, started to flee and the rope pulled his companion headlong.

Perforce, they both halted, and the boy whimpered when a muffled screech sounded from a tree almost overhead; but Michael remembered the Cossacks’ trick of mimicking animal calls and cried Ayub’s name softly.

Presently the giant Cossack ataman loomed over them and Hassan quivered, believing firmly that now he was about to be carried off by the djinn—for he never thought a man could be as huge as Ayub.

“Are the men safe?” whispered Michael.

Ayub ran a hard hand over the cavalier’s face, and grunted with pleasure.

“ fly away with me if it isn’t the little Frank behind a woman’s veil. Have you wine—meat? Is it a feast day in the city? Then lead us to the frolic.”

Other Cossacks crowded up, to salute Michael and stroke his shoulders in high glee at seeing him safe again.

“As I live,” rumbled Ayub, shaking his head sadly, “we have played at ghosts until our own skins crept each cock-crow—not a single pretty woman came to pray at the graves in all the three days. Not a lass.”

“How could you tell, father?” asked one of the younger warriors. “They were all wrapped up.”

“How could I tell? Eh, I can judge what lies behind a Turkish veil, as well as you can tell your nag from another. When I was on a raid in Trebizond, the maidens used to nudge me in the streets so hard that my ribs would have given out if I had not worn a mail shirt. And how is my grand-daughter?”

“Your grand-daughter? What kin have you below the sea?” Michael did not understand the big Cossack.

“Eh, what kin? Why, aforetime, when I raided the Black Sea with Rurik—God break his chains for him—I left sons and daughters in every Turkish port where the women were above ordinary, and by now they have children of their own.”

The warriors, clustering restlessly around their leaders, smiled, knowing that Ayub was more afraid of a woman than of a chambul of Tatars. Michael reflected that the veteran must have kept up the spirits of the detachments rarely in the trying time of waiting for orders.

“That is why,” added the giant gravely, “the Turkish knights have grown so notable of late.”

“Aye, grandfather,” Michael grinned, “you were a great man in your time.”

“In my time? May the dogs scratch you, Mikhail! You are no bigger than a flea and I could break you on my thumbnail.” He breathed heavily a moment, and went on. “But I spoke of my grand-daughter Lali. When she bade us farewell to go off to Sidi Ahmad, she wept like a ewe lamb under the shearer, and I kissed her like a grandfather, not otherwise. She is a good witch, and I will salt down the Turk that harms her.”

“She is to open the postern door to Demid, and we are to contrive to pass through the nearest gate of Aleppo, to ride around to join him at the fourth hour of darkness.”

Michael explained Demid’s plan, realizing for the first time the odds against them. It pleased the Cossacks rarely, and they remarked that they would brew a fine beer for Sidi Ahmad to quaff.

“Sidi Ahmad is really Balaban, so strike when you see him.”

“Eh, that hedgehog? I warned Demid that we should slice him but the mad fellow would not listen.”

Ayub fell moody at this, and became silent as Michael cautioned the warriors to wrap their scabbards and take care to ride without noise as they approached the gate.

“Our scabbards are leather and the boys have hunted Tatars often enough to stalk a gate without making a hub-bub,” he remarked stiffly, “but as you are taking over the detachment, we are at command and will do as we are ordered.”

“At command, little father,” repeated the Cossacks readily.

But Michael understood that Ayub was offended.

“Not so, Ayub,” he responded, against his better judgment. “You will be ataman as before, and I will guide you to the place.”

They decided to leave one man with the spare horses—they had two to a warrior—at the base of the burial hill, a pistol-shot from the gate. A scout sent down toward the Bab el Nasr reported that the revelry within the gate had died down, and Michael reflected that the throngs of Moslem must have gone off to watch the procession at the castle.

The Cossack who had acted as scout said that the guard had just been changed, and this meant the third hour of the night had been reached. They were to meet Demid at the beginning of the fourth hour.

“Time,” announced Ayub, prompted by Michael’s whisper. “Time to mount and go.”

In the dense gloom under the trees the word was passed among the warriors. Here and there a pony stamped and a saddle creaked, then fell silence broken by the snuffling of the horses which were restive after the long idleness. Ayub repeated his instructions in a low voice.

They were to go down in column of threes, the new essaul in advance of the men, within hearing of Ayub and Michael who took Hassan with them. On approaching the gate the leaders would dismount and go forward with the Arab, and they would contrive to have the portal opened. At the first shout, or rattle of weapons, the essaul—the old warrior, Broad Breeches was to bring up his men on the gallop and rush the gate regardless of who stood in his path.

As Ayub had said, the men from the Don descended the hill and walked their horses along the highroad without so much as a rattle of a bridle chain or clink of a weapon. Yet Michael knew that by now their sabers were drawn. He wondered what Balaban was doing—Balaban who had sworn that time would bring his revenge—Balaban who had eyes and ears in every secret place, and in whose power Demid now stood.

When the wall loomed up, he whispered to the sergeant to halt his men, and dismounted, feeling weariness in every fiber. The blood was pounding in his head and he had a mad desire to rush on the iron portal and shout, to end the suspense.

Pulling himself together, he consulted with Hassan instead. That cool youngster pointed out that the gate was formed of open iron scroll-work, and offered to creep up and try to turn the key in the lock on the inner side.

Michael assented and the three made their way forward cautiously, keeping to the side of the highway where the glow of the lamp over the portal would not fall on them. They heard a half-dozen Moslems talking lazily on the other side, but no one was on watch at the threshold because Aleppo was barred in of nights and people of the countryside never approached the walls.

The boy crept along the base of the wall and stood up, to thrust his arm slowly through the fretwork. A low whisper told Michael that the key was not in place.

By mischance one of the guards happened to look toward the gate, and made out the shadow of Hassan, cast by the lamp.

“Kubar-dar! Take care! What is there?”

The half-dozen janizaries hurried up on the other side and Michael drew back against the granite blocks of the gate pillar where he could not be seen. Hassan wisely kept his place.

“Allah be praised,” the boy cried loudly, “I have come in time. The kazaks are hiding in the burial hill, where I went with the leper my father. I have come with the tidings. Take me to Sidi Ahmad that I may have a reward.”

“Who art thou?”

“Hassan, the Arab, who passed out two hours since. Be quick.”

“Still thy crying, whelp.”

The man laughed and Michael knew him to be the janizary who had smoked with the Arab in the serai. As before the soldier reeked of forbidden liquor, and the key he took from his girdle rattled in the massive lock.

“I will see to the matter of a reward for tidings of those accursed swine, the kazaks”

“Accursed swine yourself!” boomed Ayub indignantly, out of the darkness.

The big Cossack had been growing restive as a horse and the insult was too much for his patience.

“Open this cage and I’ll cut your bristles”

Michael started and swore under his breath. No help for it—the janizary gave a shout and jerked to free the key. But in the same instant the cavalier passed his simitar through the iron-work and through the body of the officer.

Pulling it free, he turned the key in the lock with his left hand, and Ayub shoved mightily at the gate. The janizaries pressed it on the other side; swords flashed and Michael turned aside a thrust that would have split his companion’s head.

Then he caught Ayub by the arm and flung himself aside with the Cossack as horses raced up and their followers spurred against the gate. It swung open under the weight of the horses, and for a minute there was rapid sword play.

Several of the Moslems turned to flee but were cut down by the riders and soon there was no other sound than the heavy breathing of the horses within the deep shadow bf the wall. The bodies of the guards were pulled out of sight and Michael was satisfied that the fight had been ignored by any who had heard it within the near-by alleys. Brawls among the jazinaries were commonplace and this was the night of the zineh. Hassan had betaken himself elsewhere, unharmed.

Posting two of the Cossacks at the wall where they could not be seen, he ordered the essaul to close the gate and guard it until they returned.

Broad Breeches saluted, and drew back reluctantly as they trotted off keeping to the cleared ground by the wall where no one could see them against the lights of the alleys. They went through the quarter of the Jews, where the houses were shut and barred during the festival and the folk within doors. Once or twice they avoided patrols of janizaries, and fumbled through blind arcades where lights gleamed from cellars and the reek of opium was in the air. Beggars started up out of stairways and stared in bewilderment at the huge bodies of the dark riders, the high black hats and the gleaming sabers.

No Cossacks had penetrated into Islam before and the rumor spread in the alleys that the djinn had come down from the air and were riding winged steeds toward the palace.

But Michael and his men outstripped the rumors, and, guided by the dark bulk of the Wolf’s Ear, reached the steep, rock-strewn slope that led to the rear of the palace. Here they halted under some plane trees and Michael ordered five of the ten to dismount and follow him.

Climbing the slope as Demid directed, he moved under the base of the tower, to where he could touch the wall. Then, spreading out his followers he searched among the heaped boulders until he came to a hollow in deep shadow, where small rocks were piled on either side the depression. Here the air was colder and, dropping into the depression, he felt the mouth of a narrow passage, open before him.

And he heard the clash of weapons from within, and the triumphant shout of Moslems.

“Ekh!” cried Ayub, heedless of caution. “Demid is betrayed!”