Part 15 (1/2)

She shrank just for a second. ”Many men would think it naught,” she said, ”but it is because it means much to thee that thou must think.”

”I will not think,” he cried pa.s.sionately, ”I will not be coerced. I will not be cozened. I, Babar, take the consequence.”

He left her, baffled, yet still determined, to return to the charge in a day or two; and in starvation times a day or two means much. So much, that she spoke sternly with finality.

”Wilt thou kill thy mother by thy pride, Babar? Listen! Long years ago I said I would do aught for thee--”

”And I answered I would never ask aught,” interrupted her brother hotly; but she went on unheeding:

”And now thou deniest me the right to save thee. I who have so few pleasures. Lo! as thou knowest, my heart is dead for love; and this man--this Shaibani--is not all bad--I--I know he is not. Brotherling!

women have borne more for love than I shall have to bear maybe--for the man must be kind in a way--for--for if it ended, Babar--he could take me--without marriage--so grandmother says--”

Babar started up with an oath. ”So she also is against me!”

Yet in his heart of hearts he knew that the old woman spoke truth. It was generous in Shaibani even to offer marriage.

”I will not have it!” he cried. ”I will not yield! I would sooner kill thee, myself.”

”Thou wilt kill--us all,” she said calmly. Then she broke down and clung to him sobbing. ”Let it be, brotherling, for my sake. There is so little I can do--let me do this.”

The quick tears of understanding ran down his cheeks, but he shook his head and left her.

So, after a day or two, yet another proposition came from Shaibani to his brave foe. Babar might go with bare life, taking his womenkind with him if he chose, provided he capitulated utterly and acknowledged he was beaten.

There were parleyings and parleyings and who knows what secret promisings beside, what innocent lies, what heart-broken yielding on Babar's part. At last, protesting vainly that had he had the slightest hope of relief, or had he had another week's stores remaining he would never have listened to either threats or entreaties, he agreed to capitulate for bare life to him and his. His mother, his sister, his grandmother, these three must share his freedom. The others must take their chance of horses, or remain, unharmed. Grandmother Isan-daulet, however, flatly refused to come. She was too old, she said, to be c.o.c.ked up on a horse for days. She was not afraid. Thrice, already, when she was young and good-looking she had fallen into the enemies'

hands and had been unmolested--save once and how that business ended Babar knew. So, being now wrinkled and undesirable she would just remain and mayhap give Shaibani a piece of her mind. So her horse had better go to Mingilek-Gokultash who was perchance over good-looking.

It was ever best not to put temptation in men's way. Besides Dearest-One might like to have her foster-sister with her. It was convenient to have some woman one could trust beside one in dangerous times.

As the old woman spoke, she held her granddaughter by the hand, and her old fingers tightened themselves on the young ones with a grip firm as steel, soft as a caress. And Dearest-One stooped and kissed the old face on the lips.

So by midnight all was ready for the preconcerted escape. The few sorry horses left in the citadel were standing saddled, the enemy's pickets, it is to be presumed, were looking another way. Babar, fierce, miserable, helped his mother to her pad and settled the stirrups for her. He could scarcely see for the hot tears held back so angrily in his eyes. He could scarcely speak for the hard-held breath that seemed to choke him.

Defeated, flying for his life--No! not for his own only; for theirs also!

He gave a glance round at his party. ”Is everyone there? Is everyone ready?”

And from the midst of the little crowd cl.u.s.tering round the fugitives with sobs and tears a voice came clearly:

”Yea! brother! I am ready.”

It was Dearest-One's voice. That must be she leaning from her horse to whisper a word to old Isan-daulet who stood waving farewells.

”Then in G.o.d's name let us begone, and end the business,” he shouted fiercely, leapt to his charger, dug spurs to its flanks and was off careless of disturbance. He had sold himself for the sake of those who loved him, man and woman alike; but the blackness as of death was before his eyes; he could not think; he could do nothing but dig spurs to his horse, and ride on recklessly.

And the night itself was dark as death; he had to rein up amid the great branches of the Soyd Ca.n.a.l, and with difficulty rallied his party to the right road. Yet, still entangled in the intricacies of the irrigated fields, there was time for no other thought save that of getting as far from Samarkand as possible before the dawn. Since though the Usbek leader himself had given order for free pa.s.s, his followers, still less his allies, were not to be trusted.

The sky was grey with coming day before they reached the comparative safety of a wild valley set amid encircling hills. Here Babar called a minute's halt to breathe the horses, and for the first time turned to take stock of those who followed him.