The Making of the Morning Star/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
TWO MEN AND A PLAN
THE sun was a brazen ball hanging in a shroud of dust; and even the dogs of Bokhara had got up, panting, and left the alleys when Robert sought the dwelling where Ellen d'Ibelin and the blind priest were quartered. He found the narrow street filled with men who squatted where there was shade, and sweating horses. Pushing through, heedless of the scowls and imprecations that followed, he led his horse into the door of the garden that, behind a high clay wall, separated the house from the street.
It was a rose garden, bordered with jasmine and thyme. A fountain splashed where the shade was coolest, and about the fountain sat Osman and Hassan and several other followers of the wazir. Robert glanced toward the entrance of the house and saw Will Bunsley seated on the threshold with half a dozen weapons—the archer had a way of acquiring whatever dagger or sword struck his fancy without bothering to pay the owner—spread out on the stones beside him. Father Evagrius and the girl were not to be seen.
Osman had entered and brought in his men unknown to the knight, and Robert waited for an explanation of his presence. The wazir rose leisurely and called the crusader by a dozen complimentary names—lord of the planets, perfection of chivalry, a second Iskander.
“I bear thee tidings, O ameer—good tidings. Because the heat in the alley without was a curse upon us, we made bold to enter thy garden.”
His eye quested over the barred embrasures of the dwelling for a glimpse of the girl.
“And Hassan of the ready tongue hath made a song for thy mistress.”
Robert gave his charger to Will to lead back to the stable and walked over to the Kharesmian.
“This house belongs to the damsel,” he said slowly, “and I have not come here save to ask of her welfare. Send your buffoons from the garden and say your say in few words.”
Osman hid his anger behind a smile, and Hassan laughed. When the cup-companions had departed the wazir motioned Robert to the carpet and sat beside him.
“You are not wise to tarnish the mirror of friendship—with me, O Nazarene. Our paths in Bokhara lie together, and we seek the same end of the road”
“Your tidings?”
“Are that the Mongols have food and fodder for their horses sufficient for only three days. At the end of the three days they must enter Bokhara or strike their tents and go elsewhere.”
“How had you this?”
“From my spies, who traffic with the barbarians under guise of shepherds and wood-carriers.”
“No men have come into the city in two days.”
“True. My followers send messages over the wall. They took from Bokhara pigeons that fly back when they are loosed, and the messages are written and bound to the claws of the pigeons.”
He looked amused at the ignorance of the knight who had never heard of carrier pigeons or water clocks or naphtha.
“Lo,” went on Osman agreeably, “the seal of fate is on the foreheads of the accursed Mongols. They can not complete their causeway, and their horses can not leap the wall elsewhere. Your skill will save Bokhara, for the three days will soon be at an end. And then—” he hesitated—“what reward will be yours?”
Robert merely glanced at him inquiringly, carelessly at first, then attentively. Osman's hand shook and the pupils of his eyes were dark; a muscle twitched in his sallow cheek. In Cairo the crusader had seen Moslems who had taken an overdose of bhang or hashish, and they had looked like this.
“I will take,” he observed suddenly, “two thousand pieces of gold.”
“Two thousand! Thy palm would scarce be covered. Ask for more and it shall be thine! But not from the hand of Muhammad.”
“How then?”
“I can show thee the treasure of Khar.”
“Ha!”
Osman chuckled with secretive satisfaction.
“Aye, the throne of gold that an elephant scarce may bear on its back! Miskals of gold piled in caskets and the caskets as many as the stones of this garden. Jade scattered upon the floor, and an ivory table”
“Nay, it is hidden.”
“Beneath a mosque. A hundred men might search every mosque in Bokhara for a twelvemonth and find naught. They could dig until they wearied their loins. Only one way leads to it.”
Osman's thin arms clutched his stomach in uncontrollable excitement.
“Ai-a, there are blue sapphires and chains of rose pearls! Diamonds that could put to shame the light of the sun lie there in darkness—for how long?”
“Have you seen it?”
Robert's lean face was attentive.
“May Allah grant me joy for the pain! Aye, I have seen each thing that was sent down, under the eyes of the priests. And Muhammad the Slave, fears to bring his riches to the light. Were I the Shah I would keep it within my hand.”
His thick lips drew back in a sneer. Taking Robert's silence for a reflection of his own greed, the wazir explained how tribute had been levied on the caliphs of Bagdad to get some of the finest of the jewels, and how Herat and Balkh had been searched to add to the treasure of Khar.
“And now you have a plan,” nodded Robert.
Remembering the heat of the day and the quivering nerves of the man beside him, he wondered how much the drug had affected Osman. Certainly the man was telling the truth.
Osman's plan was a bold one. The wazir dared not draw upon himself the rage of the Moslems by violating a mosque. He offered to tell Robert how to reach the entrance to the treasure vault. With some of the lawless Turkomans the crusader could beat off the priests and hold the mosque above the vault long enough to make away with the jewels and the bulk of the gold. Meanwhile Osman would assemble the Kankalis and would protect the Nazarene and his men from pursuit. Robert could take a part of the gold, leaving the rest with the wazir in his palace.
They would not make the attempt until the Mongols had been driven from the city. Robert could escape to the gates with has portion of the gold; his escort of hillmen would be sufficient to force a way through the pass. The Turkomans would like nothing better than such a venture; Khar was torn by strife, and Osman, with the treasure in hand and the city held by his men, would be able to raise his standard against Muhammad. The victory over the Mongols would heighten his influence
“And if the Turkomans turn against me?”
“That is thy affair and risk. Thou art winning honor among them, O ameer, and they love a bold leader.”
Robert remembered that Osman had said nothing of the maid of Ibelin. Probably the wazir would prove treacherous. Yet—with some of the treasure in his grasp and a horse under him and the road from the city clear—with a few of the wild tribesmen to follow him!
“If thou canst win a victory over the foe, Muhammad will soon put thee in thy shroud,” whispered the Kharesmian. “That is ever his way.”
This was probable. Osman's plan offered a desperate chance, but it stirred Robert's pulse. Nothing could have been said more to his liking. To ride through paynimry into Palestine with an emperor's ransom—to hew out a way of escape at the sword's point for Master Will, and the priest and the maid Ellen!
He looked at Osman. The man was dreaming, his cheeks flushed, his eyes dull. Surely the wazir would lose nothing by making the attempt, and—by a stroke of fortune Robert might find himself at the head of an army, lord of Bokhara in truth. Weighed in the balance, Osman would be found wanting if the ownership of the treasure stirred up fighting.
“Seek me out when the Mongols have been scattered,” Osman whispered. “Our paths lie together—and the end of the road is in sight.”
Robert nodded and rose as a warrior entered the garden.
“Yah khawand,” the newcomer salaamed, “there is brawling between the men of Kutchluk Khan and the merchants of the suk. The Turkomans are riding down the stalls and snatching plunder.”
Osman rolled over on an elbow, secretly pleased at the trouble in store for the crusader, when he should attempt to interfere in the dispute.
“Are the riders clearing the market-place?” Robert asked the messenger.
“Allah—as kites clear bones.”
“Good!” Robert nodded to the surprized wazir. “Go you and adjust the troubles of the merchants. They are in your charge.”
Left alone, he stood by the fountain, his lips set in a harsh line. In his journey from Egypt to Bokhara he had met nothing but treachery and plotting. Even Abdullah had proved to be otherwise than he seemed—and Robert found that he missed Abdullah. Were there no men who kept faith? And why should a man keep faith?