Part 3 (1/2)
Babar frowned and turned away. ”'Twas a good horse, poor beast,” he murmured. And afterwards, he went over to the women's quarters, and, as his wont was, retailed the story to those three, Isan-daulet, his mother and Dearest-One. The grim old Turkhoman lady was sympathetic about the horses, as a daughter of the Steppes must needs be, but stern over the necessities of war. His mother, more soft-hearted than ever by reason of her mourning, wept silently. But Dearest-One, was, as ever, a joy.
”I would bastinado the farrier,” she said vindictively. ”The poor brute; and then think of cousin Baisanghar. He loved the horse!”
Her beautiful eyes flashed and yet were melting, her long brown fingers gripped her embroidery closer yet more caressingly. Her brother sate and looked at her admiringly, yet with a certain diffidence. Sometimes Dearest-One went beyond him; she seemed to unfold wings and skim away into another world. And when he asked her whither she went, she would smile mysteriously and say:
”Thou wilt unfold thy wings also, some day, O little-big-one, and find a new world for thyself.”
There was little leisure now, however, for aught but watch and ward.
Any moment of the day or night might bring a.s.sault; but the days pa.s.sed and none came. And then one morning broke and showed a smaller camp than had been on the low lying river bank the night before; there was a bustle, too, about the still-standing tent pegs, and with the first glint of sunlight one Dervish Mahomed Turkhau rode over the narrow bridge and demanded, on the part of his master, an audience with Hussan. Old Kasim looked daggers, but there was no objecting. By virtue of his position as Prime-minister Hussan was the man to go, and he went. So out in the Place-of-Festivals beyond the gates, they met and parleyed: thus patching up a sort of peace, as Babar reported contemptuously to his faithful three. He was intensely disgusted and disappointed, while Kasim looked sorrowfully at his piles of stones.
”They will do for next time,” he said finally, cheering himself up with the remembrance that there were many other claimants to the throne of Ferghana to be reckoned with besides Sultan Ahmed. And by evening most of the garrison had found solace for their disappointment in overeating themselves, after the disciplined rations which Kasim-Beg, mindful of the possibility of a long siege, had already ordained; but Babar and his foster-brother Nevian were out all day on their little Turkhoman horses, chasing the white deer and shooting with their bows and arrows at a c.o.c.k pheasant or two.
They brought home one in the evening which, as the boy boasted, was so fat, that four men could have dined on the stew of it!
”'Twill do for our dinner anyhow,” said Babar's mother, and thereinafter she and Isan-daulet bullied cooks and scullions and gently quarrelled with each other for a good two hours over the proper family recipe for making ”_ishkanah_.”
And afterwards they sat together in an arched sort of balcony vestibule between the women's apartments and the men's rooms and talked happily, yet soberly of the future. Old Isan-daulet indeed, waxed prophetic. ”See you, my sons-in-law will come to harm, not good.
Ahmed has had to renounce his evil desires. Mahmud will have to do the same; and let them pray G.o.d He send not punishment also.” And she pursed up her thin lips and looked as if she knew something.
But the Khanum, Babar's mother, said little; her heart was still sad and she crept away early to her bed, followed after awhile by Isan-daulet, leaving stern injunctions on Dearest-One not to sit up over-long.
So brother and sister were left alone, and she went and sat beside him as he dangled his legs over the parapet of the balcony; for he dearly loved looking down from a height. It was to be a dark night so he could see little even of the roofs below, or the slabs of stone let into the wall at intervals to form a sort of ladder by which a bold man could climb from one to the other. And beyond, all was shadow, darker in some places than others. Besprinkled too with stars: the moving star or two of a lantern in the earth-shadow, but in the sky those changeless, changeful beacons, those twinkling tireless stars, motionless in their constellations, yet ever moving on and on ...
Round what?...
”Look!” he cried suddenly, ”the scimitar of the Warrior is sheathed in the hills--my hills!”--
And it was so. Orion shone to the north, setting slowly behind the mighty rampart of shadowed mountains in which the starry sword was already hidden.
They sat silent for a little while, hand in hand, like the children that they were. And then suddenly a noise below them, made Babar swing his legs to the ground and stand firm before his sister.
”Who goes?” he asked and his voice rang through the darkness; but no answer came.
”'Twas a falling stone, methinks,” said his sister carelessly; yet even as she spoke she also sprang to her feet, every atom of her, soul and body alert for something, she scarce knew what.
She knew, however, in a second, for a darker shadow showed vaguely at the end of the balcony, vaulted lightly over the parapet, and a pleasant voice said gaily--
”Mirza Baisanghar of the House of Timur, cousin to the King of Ferghana, at your service.”
”Baisanghar!” echoed Babar. ”How camest thou?--” then, even in his confusion remembering, as he generally did, _les convenances_ for others he added: ”Thou hadst best retire, my sister, after making thy appropriate salutation.”
So, for one second the girl's eyes straining through the starlight could see her cousin. A charming figure truly! Not dressed, like her brother, in country clothes, but in the silks and satins of the town.
A dainty figure too, of middle height and slender make, yet manly withal. The round face, unlike the faces of his cousins, showing Turkhoman descent unmistakably, yet with such indescribable attractiveness.
”May the Peace of the Most High be upon you, my cousin,” she said softly and her voice fluttered.
”And may His Peace remain with you, fair lady,” he replied gravely, with the finest of Court salutes. That was all; then she withdrew and the shadows hid her going.