A fool covers himself with cloth of gold and laughs; while a wise man sharpens his sword.

Ask a fool what is hidden within the temple wall, and he will answer, “Stone.” But a blind man may see what is hidden. Aye, he will read what is not written by the hand of men.

Muslim proverb

It was on the road to Balkh that the boy was playing in the dirt. And down the road was trampling a herd of frightened buffaloes.

With my eyes, I, Abdul Dost, hereditary follower of Shirzad Mir, saw what came to pass. This was in the year 1608 of the Christian calendar.

The boy was very young and could not walk except when guided by a stronger hand. He was intent upon his play, facing us. His companion was the kwajah* Muhammad Asad, who sat upon a rock beside the road.

Muhammad Asad was blind.

The buffaloes, frightened by something down the road, were coming swiftly. And still the boy kept at his play, moving tiny sticks about in the dust. Muhammad Asad heard the beat of the animals’ hoofs, but he could not see the danger to the child. I saw it, so likewise did Sir Weyand.

Sir Weyand, as I have said, was the Ferang, the Englishman, who had joined me in the hill country of India. He was a man who acted quickly. Some men are readier at making words fly than at drawing a sword, but the Ferang was not such.

* Holy man, or man of wisdom.

In a second he was down from his horse and running toward the child. His stout legs flew through the dust, and as he ran he loosened his brown cloak. The buffaloes were very close.

Sir Weyand did not slacken his pace. It seemed to me as if he sprang among the running animals and snatched up the boy under one arm; with the other be waved the cloak.

It was a goodly sight—the broad Ferang with both feet planted wide, his green cap with the feather on one side of his yellow curls and the cloak waving about his head.

The beasts could not stop, yet they parted in the middle and swept by the Englishman on both sides, bellowing and tossing their horns. The waving cloak had frightened them. In the dust that rose around him I could see the straight figure of the man. Yet why should Sir Weyand have put his life in risk for the sake of a mullah’s child?

The buffaloes forced my horse aside, up the bank of the road. When they had passed I caught Sir Weyand’s mount and reined down to him. The child was frightened and cried. At this, the holy man came toward us, feeling the way with his staff. The feelings of the blind are quickened by the affliction that God has laid upon them, and Muhammad Asad knew that the child had been in peril. He reached forward with his thin hand until he had touched the boy and made certain that no harm had come to him.

“Peace be unto you, Muhammad Asad,” I greeted him, knowing the holy man.

“And unto you be peace.”

He asked what had passed, and when I told him he lifted blind eyes to heaven while Sir Weyand stared curiously at his lean face and venerable beard. “It is a blessing from the Prophet. Yet I have no gift to reward this deed.”

Now I know not if the blessing of the kwajah aided the Ferang, who was an unbeliever. Still, he was a brave man and because of this and the strange events that followed, I think the kwajah’s thanks bore fruit.

That was well, for it was the whim of Sir Weyand that had brought us here, on the way to Balkh, in grave peril. He had be-come wearied of the inactivity at the camp of Shirzad Mir, my master, where the hill tribes were gathered. Sir Weyand had made common cause with us after he was driven from the Mogul’s court by intrigues of Portuguese priests who were foes of the English.

“Idleness will breed defeat for us, Abdul Dost,” he had said to me.

When I asked what else we might do, he laughed and said, “We ride to Balkh.” This was a mad whim, for we were outlaws with the hand of the Mogul against us. The plain of Badakshan was filled with the Uzbeks, our foes, and Balkh itself was a great city of trade with high walls. But his whim would not be denied.

“We saved our lives and that of Shirzad Mir by attacking when we were starved and lost and defeated. Now we will attack again. Shirzad Mir cannot leave his men, but you, Abdul Dost, do you fear to come with me?”

When he said this, I mounted my horse. Who can speak of fear to Abdul Dost, mansabdar of the dead Mogul Akbar— commanding officer of the Mogul army below Amira, and best master of scimitar in northern Ind?

Now Sir Weyand had been thinking as he watched the kwajah, and thought with him led to deeds.

“It has been told me, Muhammad Asad,” he spoke gravely, “that your priesthood have sight into the future. Is it so? Can you read me the future?”

“It is so with one who has fasted until the thread of life between soul and body is thin. What would you know?”

Thus came the prophecy of Muhammad Asad, written in the annals of Badakshan, from which befell the strange event at Balkh.

“A Ferang is within the borders of Badakshan,” answered Sir Weyand, speaking respectfully—for the kwajah was loved of God—and motioning to me to be silent. “What is to be his fate in this moon?”

Muhammad Asad turned sightless eyes to him and to me. Then he took the hand of the boy and walked up the hillside, signing for us to follow. We dismounted and did so. A short distance away was a stream known to travelers along the caravan route to Balkh. By this Muhammad Asad halted. He released the child and felt his way to the water, where he knelt and performed his ablutions, as prescribed in the law.

I did likewise, for it was the hour of noonday prayer. Sir Weyand took the child on his knee and watched.

“By your tread—” Muhammad Asad turned to me when he was finished—“and by your voice it is clear that you are a warrior. Have you arrows?”

At his command I handed him a shaft from my quiver. This the kwajah broke into two parts. He felt on the ground and took up a stick. This also he broke. Then he was silent in prayer with the sticks in his hand.

He chanted softly the sacred invocation:

Allah ho Akbar, Allah ho Akbar.

Arsh haddu unlah Illah ha Illahah,

Arsh haddu unnah Mahomeda Razul Allah.

Hyah Allah S’allah,

Allah ho Akbar, Allah ho Akbar.

This was the blessing upon the name of the prophet. Verily, Muhammad Asad was holy and he had fasted long. It is given to few to dwell so near the thoughts of the other world.

He took the four sticks and tossed them into the air. Then he felt them as they lay on the ground.

“I heard it said in the bazaars of Balkh,” he uttered, “that the Ferang is the foe of Jani Beg, the Uzbek.”

Again he laid his hands on the sticks. This time he turned to the Ferang. Sir Weyand waited gravely. He had not meant to make sport of the holy man. If so, I should have drawn sword against him.

“A thought has come to me,” spoke Muhammad Asad. “It is this. Within the moon the Ferang shall be master of Jani Beg’s stronghold.”

That was the prophecy. It seemed to please Sir Weyand. Truly, I took it for a good omen. But he conceived of another thing. Verily, his whim was strong upon him.

“Will you render me a service, Muhammad Asad?” he inquired.

The kwajah bent his head.

“Ask, and I will do what I may. But I have nothing which I may give you for the act which saved the life of this boy that I found playing naked in the bazaar of Balkh.”

Sir Weyand’s cheeks reddened at this.

“It is not a gift,” he said quickly. “You are going east where Jani Beg’s forces lie?”

“Aye.”

“Then go to the camp of the Uzbeks. Tell them of your prophecy. Will you do this?”

“If God wills,” assented the holy man, “it shall be done.” “But do not say that you met with us.”

Again Muhammad Asad agreed. It is the way of such men to be of service. I knew that he would do as he said. So, I think, did Sir Weyand. Yet I could not see how the tale would serve us.

Many things were not given to me to see. I saw not how two men—and outlaws—could make themselves masters of a walled city filled with foes. Never before or since in the annals of the Moguls had this been done.

Sir Weyand was full of his new thought.

“Ho, Adbul Dost!” he cried, setting himself sidewise in his peaked saddle to look at me. “Abdul Dost of the somber countenance and the wary glance! Ho, mansabdar that was, leader of a thousand horsemen in battle, champion of the scimitar, man of the Moguls, sword-bearer of Badakshan—”

“Nay,” I growled, though not ill-pleased, for Sir Weyand was a merry man.

“—Entitled to the rank of triple remount, veteran of fifty onsets—what think you, Abdul Dost, we will do now?”

“God alone knows,” I made reply, for there was no telling what his whim might be. “Perhaps you seek to cut Jani Beg from his men. If so, your grave will soon be dug, for the Uzbeks are skilled soldiers.”

“Nay; if that were so we are riding in the wrong direction. I have seen you play at chess, Abdul Dost, on a carpet by the evening campfire. In the mimic battle of the chessboard, what is it you seek to do?”

“To capture the strong pieces of the enemy.”

“Even so. Now what is the stronghold of Jani Beg?” “Khanjut,” I said bitterly, thinking of the fortress on the rock

at the pass of Shyr that the Uzbeks had wrested from us.

Sir Weyand was thoughtful at this, but he shook his yellow

curls.

“Nay, Abdul Dost. You, who are a soldier, think of a fortress. I, who am a merchant, a servant of my sovereign lady the queen, think otherwise.”

Long after the events which were about to come had passed back into the abyss of time, I heard it said that when the English-man spoke these words, his queen was dead and a new monarch sat the throne of the khanate of England. I know not. But Sir Weyand had been several years in reaching the hills of India and he had not heard from his own country for a long time.

“Think, Abdul Dost,” he said; “what is the precious jewel in the turban of Jani Beg? What is the reservoir from which he draws strength? And do you remember where the caravans pass from Kashgar to Persia, from Samarkand to India?”

“Balkh,” I responded unwillingly, for Khanjut was the real citadel of Badakshan, holding as it did the stores of Jani Beg and controlling the pass into India.

“Balkh!” he cried. “What else? Balkh, the ancient mother of cities. Balkh, the walled town toward which we have turned our horses’ heads. Truly, I have coveted Balkh for the space of a moon.

And now we have met with Muhammad Asad, which is a brave omen.”

“An omen will not give us men or weapons.”

“Nay, but it will uplift our spirits.” He threw back his sturdy head and laughed aloud, as a man will do who is proud of his strength. There was a twinkle in his gray eyes and his firm lips curled with delight. “You and I, Abdul Dost—the mansabdar and the merchant—we will capture Balkh.”

Verily then I looked upon him as one who is light of wit. This was worse than I had thought.

“Nay,” I said clearly, “that may not be.”

Sir Weyand was but a merchant—although master of that long sword of his—while I was a leader of horsemen. How could two men seize a city, walled, and within the walls ten times a thou-sand men, all of whom carried swords? True, they were of every party and race—Sarts, Pathans, Persian merchants, hillmen, desertmen, and Ghils, but we were only two.

“What did Muhammad Asad prophesy?” he asked swiftly.

I had no answer to that, as the kwa jah was a holy man. Nevertheless, I had been thinking. Wise men in the mosques have said that a holy man who fasts can perceive the thoughts of others. Perhaps Muhammad Asad did but echo the thought he had caught from Sir Weyand.

“Be there many Uzbeks in Balkh?” he asked meditatively. “Nay; they are in the field with Jani Beg. The people of Balkh are of every race.

“Then we will seize the city.”

“God writes the future in the book of fate. But it is madness to seek to write therein ourselves.”

Then I told him how Balkh was like a hub, a hub in the wheel of Badakshan. Its people were traders and were very wealthy. They cared little what master they served so long as the caravans came and went. And, like ants, the riders of Jani Beg scurried over the spokes of the wheel of Badakshan. He kept in touch with the

wealthy city, although his forces were pinning Shirzad Mir to the hills in the East.

We were even then in danger of discovery and death, but Sir Weyand would not listen.

“We have had an omen, Abdul Dost. And, as for fate, did not Muhammad Asad make a prophecy?”

II

Thus did the mad whim of Sir Weyand lead us to Badakshan’s great city of Balkh. It was useless to argue with him. He had the stubbornness of a wild ass and the quick wit of a falcon. When I said that Shirzad Mir had ordered me to keep him from danger, he asked if I was growing old, that I feared sharp sword strokes. He cried that with the jewels and lakhs of rupees he had in his saddlebags he would buy me a silk carpet from Isphahan and a soft wife from Persia to comfort my old age.

When I asked how we, who were but two, and marked men, could take a walled city, he made answer in curious fashion.

“In Cathay—” by which he meant the Han Empire of China— “it is said there are dwarfs with two heads, one looking forward and one back. Thus their face will speak one tongue, and their back another. We will make ourselves two-headed and speak with two tongues. In this way we shall be masters of Balkh.”

This was madness, and I made no answer except to say that there would then be four heads instead of two to place on spears at the gates of the city when Jani Beg should hear of our folly. And I paid little heed to his questions about the two great gates of Balkh which are the only entrance through the walls, and the evil bazaars wherein the hillmen find their bhang and opium and women of Persia—also the distance from Balkh to the camp of Jani Beg. It was but a day’s fast ride.

I liked the venture little, although I would have risked much to attack Khanjut, because Balkh was a city of trade; and what would the bazaars and the marble palace avail us, who even then were fugitives from the power of the Mogul?

So I brooded as we rode to Balkh, keeping to the by-paths and riding at night. Sir Weyand still had a grain of sense, for he brought a dirty shepherd’s khalat to put over his strange clothes, and a greasy turban which he bound over his cap with a grimace.

Thus it was at night that we entered the east gate of Balkh. There were no guards, for traders are slack in such matters. Nevertheless, the walls loomed over us like grim things of evil omen. No horse could jump them, and the gates could be closed.

We were like antelope walking into the nets of hunters. On each side of the gate I saw some dried heads hung in cages. Jani Beg was a hard master and he inspired submission by blood. A night-bird flew away at our approach.

At Sir Weyand’s bidding, I led him to the bazaar quarter where are the caravansaries under the eastern wall. Here, there were much light and noise. The curtains over the fronts of the shops were closed, but candlelight shone through them.

The caravansaries were aglow with torches, for many hillmen had brought in sheep and skins to trade—and to steal what they might. The mud-and-thatch taverns were tumultuous with merrymaking and the laughter of light women.

Odors of musk, civet, stale wine and dirt crept into my nostrils. It was like a den of animals. And we had come into the pen.

It did not displease Sir Weyand. I had thought that he would turn back when he saw the numbers that were in Balkh. But he gazed keenly at the figures that slipped past us in the shadows. And he dismounted at a tavern somewhat back from the others—a mere roof of cane, over some carpets on which many men lay drunk with wine of Shiraz cooled by snow brought from the mountains.

I loosened my scimitar and tethered the horses well in back of the place, as I knew it was a den of the hillmen, where a man’s life hangs lightly.

Still, I would not draw back, for his taunts had angered me and I had ceased to point out his folly.

Madder than ever he appeared that night. He stepped over the squatting Afghans and Ghils, heedless of the sharp looks they

cast at us. The light from a few candles was bad, so they did not at first mark him for a Ferang. Nevertheless, they were astir with curiosity and watched while he drank in the corner he had chosen and laughed as he pointed at the harlot that had brought him his wine. Beside her toddled a Khotanese dwarf—one of the wretches that dance in the bazaars to earn the leavings of wine and meat that are tossed to them.

“A second omen, Abdul Dost,” he whispered.

“Nay; it is a misshapen thing. These men have marked us. Tomorrow the word of our coming will be through the bazaars.”

“Know they your face?” he asked sharply. “Are there Uzbeks here? I do not think so.”

“They are not Uzbeks—” I glanced covertly around the place— “but they are masterless men who would cut your throat for a single jewel of those you carry.” As I spoke, I noticed a hillman watching us. “There is one who knows me. Kur Asaf, a low-born Ghil whose name is thievery, who is an evil snake, a toad, who can not frame a word but it is a lie—”

“Good,” he broke in. “Summon him hither.”

If I had needed further proof of his folly, here it was. Given a glimpse of the coins and jewels the Ferang carried, and we should not live to be staked on Jani Beg’s spears. Kur Asaf would slit our throats and bury us in the mud behind the bazaars. “Eh,” he grinned as he squatted in front of us, with two yellow teeth showing through his thin mustache.

“Peace be upon the worthy Abdul Dost,” he muttered unctuously—he had never taken off his shoes within a temple. “What brings the mansabdar to Balkh, which is the city of Jani Beg?”

I would have answered sharply, but Sir Weyand pressed my knee with his arm.

“Spoil, Kur Asaf,” he smiled back.

The Ghil—may his ancestors have sorrow from his knavery— drank a bowl of rank wine to hide his surprise at sight of the Ferang. I think he had never seen such a man before.

“There is spoil to be had in Balkh, Kur Asaf,” repeated Sir Weyand.

The hillman was at a loss. He could not guess what lay behind Sir Weyand’s words, nor why I should be with him. His curiosity grew, and the mention of loot was like added brush to a fire.

Then Sir Weyand, before I could prevent, plucked out a double handful of silver coins, with several good diamonds, and showed them to Kur Asaf.

“Here is some,” he said softly, “and we will gain more. I am a merchant and I will not waste my time without profit. Abdul Dost says that you are a shrewd man. Doubtless you have followers in the bazaars.”

Kur Asaf drew a long breath at sight of the money. He peered at Sir Weyand keenly. Truly, he knew not what to think. Nor did I—save that my friend must be mad.

“Ten score,” he said, and lied. Perhaps he had two score. He was a power among the thieves.

“Good.” Sir Weyand leaned close to him, in spite of the smell. “I find you to my liking. Come here after sunset tomorrow night, and we will talk together, you and I. There will be spoil for you.”

The Ghil looked knowing, but he was as much at a loss as I. He could not believe the good fortune that had brought Sir Weyand to his hand for the plucking. I think he suspected we were spies for Shirzad Mir. Yet the thought was strong upon him that we might have betrayed Shirzad Mir and joined Jani Beg.

“Say nothing of our coming to other than your own men,” I cautioned him, thus arousing his curiosity further.

“We are not strangers to Jani Beg,” added Sir Weyand calmly.

Was there ever such a man? It was all I could do to keep from a grunt of surprise. I looked wise, yearning for a chance to speak alone with Sir Weyand.

This mystified the Ghil the more.

“It shall be done,” he said at length.

“Good,” echoed the Ferang, and handed him a large diamond. He put it in a fold of his turban, looking around to be sure he was not observed.

As he left the tavern, Kur Asaf spoke briefly with some of the hillmen. I guessed that he told them to watch us, and not to

harm us until he should order it. Verily, we must have aroused his curiosity.

“Kur Asaf,” Weyand said thoughtfully, “will not lift weapon against us until he knows for certain what master we serve. Like-wise, Abdul Dost, is it not true that he will keep the other thieves from us until then?”

He was a shrewd man, my comrade, but he had the Ferang’s intolerance of robber folk which I did not share, being wise in those matters.

Whereupon he said that he would sleep. Later, he added, I might do so, for I would need my strength presently. He fell into slumber while I meditated upon what had passed. I could not tell head from tail of the matter. Nevertheless, it was clear that Sir Weyand was acting upon a plan. And from this I took some comfort, not knowing at that time the gigantic folly of what was in his mind.

As he had ordered, I slept for some hours after he had wakened at dawn. Being a little wearied by the ride and more by the heat of the place, I did not arouse until after the midday prayers.

We were alone in the tavern, although men came from time to time to look in on us, and I guessed they were friends of Kur Asaf who wished to satisfy their curiosity. Our plight was that of a bullock bound.

“We will take Balkh, you and I,” he said idly.

“How?” I asked.

He had no answer save a jest.

“Have you forgotten your own words? You said, Abdul Dost, that if we had two heads and they were set on the gate-posts, we would face two ways.”

B’illah—he angered me! He would say no more, only cautioning me to help him make Kur Asaf believe we had much wealth to reward the Ghils with. Truly, this mattered little, for the Ghils would cut our throats as readily for a single silver coin as for many.

“Is it your thought,” I asked, “that with the score of thieves we may take Balkh? That may not be. The townsmen, although merchants, are like dogs that lick the sandals of Jani Beg. And they are ten thousand with swords.”

“We will not strike a sword-stroke,” he made reply. Then I knew he must be touched with madness. He threw off his khalat and the greasy turban and washed himself. I did likewise, wishing to perform my lawful ablutions before the angel of death summoned me. Then he slumbered, and I watched until after the evening meal and sunset prayers. I heard the mullahs call the holy words, and the sound was as welcome as a mountain breeze in the filth of the bazaars. With darkness came various painted women and the dwarf. Guitars and tambours struck up around us. Still our tavern was empty of men, which I took for a bad sign.

Then came Kur Asaf, swaggering, and squatted down on the carpets in front of the Ferang. With him entered a score of men—I counted thirty, and well-armed—who stared at my comrade.

Kur Asaf waited for Sir Weyand to speak the first word. I, likewise, waited, being angry. When he spoke it was not what I thought.

“Have you kettledrums?” he asked sharply. The words had the ring of an order. Kur Asaf growled that the drums might be bought in the bazaars. Sir Weyand tossed one of the Ghils money and the man went out.

The men pressed closer at this, but Sir Weyand did not look up, nor did he move. This impressed them and they fell to talking among themselves. Their curiosity was great. Also, they were afire to learn how they could gain the more spoil—by robbing us here, or robbing others for us and keeping the reward for them-selves. God has sown naught but evil thoughts in the hearts of Ghils, although they are bold men after a fashion.

They stirred and scratched uneasily as the silence grew. They were slender, dark-faced folk, dirty of dress, yet with excellent weapons. Jani Beg had many in his army, as he paid well.

“I have come as I promised,” uttered Kur Asaf when the drums were brought. “And here be my men. What have you to offer us?” “Are you afraid to take a risk?”

“Nay,” replied the Ghil complacently, “we have no fear.”

“Then I will divide among you a lakh of rupees and diamonds —one to each man. Also a handful of pearls to the one that bears my message to Shirzad Mir. You will be paid when our task is finished.”

I pricked up my ears at this. As for the Ghil, he was more mystified than before. First Sir Weyand had spoken the name of Jani Beg. Now he named Shirzad Mir. The men of Balkh—even the hillmen—were little better than driven dogs that fawn upon a master. Aye, that is the curse of India—save for the Rájputs and mayhap the Pathans—that they are born to feel the yoke of a master. Kur Asaf dared not offend an envoy of Jani Beg, lord of ten thousand Uzbek swords, nor did he desire the enmity of Shirzad Mir, who loosened the arrows of vengeance swiftly, and might again be in power as he once had been.

“This is the message,” continued the Ferang before the other could meditate fully upon the matter, “to be delivered by word of mouth. It is that Shirzad Mir should pick twenty-five score good riders and come by night to the ravine just north of the great well of Ghori.”

Now, the three places of Balkh, Khanjut and the camp of Shirzad Mir make a triangle—such as is used by the astrologers— a triangle with the sides equal. And the camp of my master lay to the east of the triangle. Khanjut was to the South, and Balkh to the West.

The ravine north of the well of Ghori was just in the center of the three points. So much I knew.

“Say to Shirzad Mir,” added the Ferang, “that I, Sir Weyand, send the message. He is to be at this place of meeting by the third watch of tomorrow night. He must not fail. By this sign he will know the message is true.”

The Englishman took from his hand a ring Shirzad Mir had given him. It was a fine sapphire. Also, he dropped into the claw of the Ghil three small pearls.

“The rider who carries the word,” he explained, “will have twice this number of pearls when I rejoin him at the well of Ghori.”

The thought came to me that the rider would not take the message to Shirzad Mir, but to the Uzbeks, and claim a greater reward. Sir Weyand’s next words showed that he had reasoned upon this also.

“The rider must go swiftly, for this matter affects Jani Beg.” He lowered his voice, but not so the others could not hear. “Jani Beg’s men will be in Balkh by nightfall on the morrow. There will be a tumult in Balkh, Kur Asaf, and those who are nimble of wit will not lose thereby. Aye, blood will be shed at the gates and spoil taken in the bazaars. Much hangs upon this—even the power of the Mogul.”

By now Kur Asaf was groping for the meaning of this in darkness. How was he to know what we were? The Ferang’s words had hinted we were traitors to Shirzad Mir. Our presence in Balkh seemed to confirm this, yet the message was to Shirzad Mir.

I, also, was puzzled. Perhaps Sir Weyand meant but to deceive the Ghils. Yet why had he appointed a meeting-place with my master?

Kur Asaf whispered to one of his men and gave him two pearls. The other he kept for himself. I have keen ears and I overheard him say to deliver the message as he had heard it if he would keep his hide whole.

The Ghil scented mighty deeds, and his greed was inflamed. Whatever happened, he could slay Sir Weyand and me and take our wealth. At the same time he was sure he was aiding either Shirzad Mir or Jani Beg—he thought the Uzbeks.

Sir Weyand allowed him no time to meditate further.

“Ho, Kur Asaf,” he cried, rising and stretching himself, “are you a man for a daring deed? Do you fear to take plunder from

these fat swine of merchants? Will you join forces with me and Abdul Dost?”

Will a jackal go to the smell of meat? The Ghil’s small eyes gleamed. He would come with us, he said. Verily, he did not want to let us escape from his sight with the lakh of rupees.

“Good!” cried the Ferang with his broad smile. “Then choose a dozen of your men. They must ride a circuit around Balkh with break of day. They must make a chain in the plain without the walls and keep back any that seek to leave the town from dawn until dark.”

This promised well and the Ghil did as he was directed, counting off and dismissing twelve of his rascals. This left sixteen in the tavern.

These Sir Weyand divided into two equal groups.

“What is it you seek to do?” asked Kur Asaf shrewdly.

“Soon you will see. Remember I do this for one who is greater than I. You and I, Kur Asaf, will take the kettledrums and go to the eastern gate. The other party, under Abdul Dost, will seek the western gate. There are but two. Then we will seize the gates.”

I stared, and the Ghils grunted their surprise. But I was more surprised than they. Seize the gates of Balkh! When we were no better than outlaws! When a day would bring an armed party from the Uzbeks to cut us down—

But Sir Weyand had me by the arm.

“You will act as follows, Abdul Dost,” he said loudly. “When you are at the west gate, close itso only one man can slip through. Station men outside and within. Remain without, yourself. To those who approach Balkh from the plain, say that Shirzad Mir has captured the city. To the townspeople within, say that Jani Beg has closed the gates for two nights and a day.”

His stern face became harder as he spoke.

“Slay any who try to force the gate!” he ordered. Then, sinking his voice as he strode to the door of the tavern: “Take your horse. Keep him near. Send messages by the outer riders to me as long as all is well. By nightfall on the morrow you will hear shots.

Mount at once and ride through the town to me. Cut down any who get in your way.”

His grip on my arm tightened.

“Ho,” he whispered, “we are playing with death this night,

you and I, Abdul Dost. But we shall be masters of Balkh.” “Nay,” I whispered, thinking swiftly of many dangers. “These be orders, Adbul Dost!” he cried roughly. “Go to your

post!”

The Ghils looked at me mockingly, and I went.

III

Is any plight so uneasy as that of a man on outpost who knows not what goes on in his rear? Verily, he is like a blind, led horse which hears the noise of battle but cannot see.

And I, at the west gate of Balkh, heard battle drawing close and smelled blood in the dusty air. Aye, for at dawn people began to approach the gate. The cry of the muezzin had scarce silenced when women appeared in the hamlets without the walls, bearing jars to the wells; burdened donkeys passed here and there; a barking of dogs resounded, and now and then the song of a witless girl.

Aye, I smelled danger and my heart closed upon itself heavily.

We had no trouble in holding the gate. Some travelers came first on camels from the plain. These turned back in alarm when I cried that Shirzad Mir had taken Balkh. They gave the news to the hamlets, so that the women and children and donkeys began to flee away from us.

But within the walls there was more confusion and outcry. Throngs gathered in the roadway when the Ghil, standing just inside the wooden gate where I could hear what passed, said that Jani Beg had ordered the walls of the city closed.

So the high walls of Balkh were closed. The townspeople dared not force an outlet through us, fearing the name of the Uzbeks who held the reins of power in Badakshan. After a while came sundry kwajahs and high merchants who questioned the Ghils.

They responded as I ordered that Jani Beg had done this thing, and they must wait until after nightfall, when a party would come from the Uzbek camp to learn the why of it.

Said I not it was the fate of my people to bend the neck to a master—even to the invading Uzbeks? The Ghils swaggered, and the townspeople did not doubt—at first. In time they did so, but in time many strange things came to pass.

Then came a caravan from Herat. To them we told the same tale. Our outriders must have told Sir Weyand, at the other gate, of the caravan, for the kettledrums—which are a sign of authority— struck up loudly, and there was a great outcry.

The merchants withdrew. I saw several horsemen leave their party and strike off, around the city. I judged that they went to seek Jani Beg. Yet others must have gone before them with the news. Jani Beg would pay well for tidings that Shirzad Mir was in Balkh.

One of the Ghil outriders galloped up and told me that men had left to inform the nearest Uzbeks of what had happened before dawn. He asked if this was what we wished.

“How should it be otherwise?” I responded, putting on a bold face. “A wise man reads the writing of fate.”

The man trotted off to think this over.

Thus it was that we two held the gates of Balkh. It was clear now what Sir Weyand had said about our faces being turned two ways. To the people of Balkh we seemed men of Jani Beg. To those outside we were sentries of Shirzad Mir. To the Ghils we were a mystery.

Aye, the sun climbed high and the herders brought their flocks but did not try to enter the city to the market. And we held the gates of Balkh.

At intervals the kettledrums echoed. It was a feast-day, and the noise within did much to convince those who watched from the plain that a party of Shirzad Mir was in truth in Balkh. Sir Weyand’s orders—so said the Ghils who were watching the streets—had encouraged the celebration of the feast.

Presently one of the Ghils approached me where I sat by my horse and salaamed.

“The Ferang,” he said covertly, “has sent a message to you. He asks what Jani Beg will do when he hears the news.”

This speech smelled strongly of a lie. It was the Ghils, not Sir Weyand, who were waxing curious. I pondered the matter for the space milk takes to boil.

“Tell the Ferang,” I made answer, “that Jani Beg will turn his horse’s head to Balkh with the pick of his followers. Others he will leave to watch the rebel, Shirzad Mir. Still others he will send with his important stores to the citadel of Khanjut. There they will be safe while his army is removed, for Khanjut is impregnable. It is written that while water flows in the rivers of Badakshan, Khanjut will not be taken by siege.”

Thus I put in his ear a small grain of truth that left him none the wiser. Yet as it proved, my judgment was true. I spoke bitterly, for the man’s words had made clear that the Ghils were becoming doubtful of us. And by now the Uzbeks must be on the march toward Balkh. The Uzbeks are good fighters and ride swiftly. They would not be long in coming. And what was to become of us when they arrived?

I knew not. I sat by my horse and waited while the hours passed. Smoke appeared in the sky overhead. Looking through the opening in the gate, I saw the Khotan dwarf running about among the legs of the watching townspeople and heard him cry that the Ghils had set fire to the bazaar.

By now the outriders on the west of the town had assembled and drawn in to the gate. They talked with those of my party and looked at me.

“The Uzbeks—many hundreds of armored riders—have been sighted nearing Balkh,” they said to me, and waited.

“Said I not they would come?”

But the Ghils were not content. They had had time to think. By now they had satisfied themselves that we—Sir Weyand, and I—

were not of the Uzbek party. And they were growing frightened lest Jani Beg should cut their heads from their shoulders.

I read their thoughts as clearly as a black stone shows through shallow water. They had assembled outside the gate to prevent me from escaping. They planned doubtless to slay us and take the Ferang’s money. Or perhaps to bind us prisoners and deliver us to Jani Beg for torture. I think if Kur Asaf had been at the west gate, swords would have been drawn by now. Yet Sir Weyand’s wisdom had kept the leader of the Ghils with him, and without a leader they were slow to act against such a swordsman as I.

Still was my heart sick as the long shadows began to fall across the brown plain of Balkh.

My back was itching to be up and join Sir Weyand. It would not be long before both of us would stand before the dark angel of death, for Sir Weyand still did not give the signal, and each moment was closing the toils of the hunters about him, taking him between the oncoming Uzbeks and the Ghils. As for me, I had my orders, and never have I broken my word in order to turn my back upon peril.

I bade the Ghils fetch me clean water, and I made my ablutions. They gathered around me like vultures sitting beside a dying horse. They dared to laugh at me, sitting beside my mount. Some of the townspeople stared from the walls.

The men of Balkh had recognized the Ferang by now, from the walls, and I think if it had not been for the conflagration in the bazaar they would have slain us.

No man likes to look full into the pathway of death, as it opens before him. Few would have sat still as I did and waited while the shadows came closer to the walls, and twilight drew a veil over the plain.

“The Uzbeks have been sighted from the east wall, Abdul Dost,” said one of the Ghils mockingly.

“Jani Beg will be well pleased to see you,” added another, fingering his sword.

“There will be new heads in the cages,” spoke up a third.

They edged closer, looking one at the other like curs ready to spring—if one would make the first move.

I said nothing, watching them while the glow from the fire began to light the sky overhead. My ears were pricked for sound of the shot Sir Weyand had promised, but it did not come.

“The Mogul loves not traitors,” gibed one. “Is he the master you named?”

I heard a stir on the wall above the gate. The Ghils looked up uneasily, and then a shot sounded.

It is no easy feat to spring from a seat on the ground to the back of a horse; yet this is what I did that same instant.

The Ghils snatched at their swords and spread around me so that I could not ride through to the plain. This was a mistake. I wheeled my mount on two legs round to the gate and spurred through it.

Two there were who struck at me as I passed. They did not strike twice. I am not an ill master of the scimitar.

The gate was wide enough to win through. Surprise at my sudden move had kept the Ghils back, but now they were after me with loud cries.

Nevertheless, I had a start of half a bowshot, and my horse was a good one. The people in the streets drew back hastily, and I kept well ahead of the Ghils, past the palace of Balkh, past the registan and the marketplace, to the farther side of the town.

It was good to be in saddle again with a sword in my hand. I rose in my stirrups and cried loudly, and the men of Balkh gave way to stare and curse. In the dusk they could not see my face.

The glow from the fire grew stronger, showing me dark packs of thieves who were looting the bazaar where the flames had not yet come. The painted women were running about in fright. More than one body was in the alleys.

By this light I saw Sir Weyand as I neared the gate.

He was standing with his back to it, his long sword bare in his hand. He was fronting the Ghils who ringed him about.

One lay on the earth—one that I judged to be Kur Asaf. But the Ghils had Sir Weyand’s horse. The sweat was shining on his face, and he was smiling as he fenced with two of the rascals, who were not overanxious to try the taste of his long sword.

Yet he had an eye for what went on around him.

“Ho, Abdul Dost,” he cried angrily, as his blade made play, “you are late—almost—” the Ghils drew back at the sound of horses’ hoof s—“too late.”

Uncertainty in a battle is a two-edged sword. The Ghils did not know who was on the horses they heard. When they saw me and others behind me they sprang back warily. Men of that breed are ever mindful of their own skins.

“To me, Abdul Dost!” cried the Ferang impatiently.

I spurred forward, while he pulled at the gate to open it. An angry shout came from the pursuers behind me, and the Ghils plucked up heart. A pistol echoed from near at hand—then an-other.

My horse quivered under me and stumbled. He had been hit and sorely hurt. I sprang from the saddle, lest he fall upon me, and he ran to one side, neighing and plunging blindly as he went. It was a stroke of bad luck.

The Ghils were running toward us now, mounted and afoot, taking courage from the fact that we were but two and unhorsed. I could hear Sir Weyand’s heavy breathing. The scene was bright with the flames at one side of the gate, but on the outer side of the wall darkness reigned.

“The Uzbeks are within bowshot of the gate,” the Ferang called to me, and I thought that our fate had come upon us.

But he wasted no time in thought. Plucking the pistol from my girdle, he discharged it at the nearest Ghil, who coughed and dropped to his knees.

“Shirzad el kadr!” Sir Weyand cried our battle-shout, and I echoed it, turning with bared weapon to face the Ghils. A third shout came from the Uzbeks at some distance on the farther side of the wall.

Verily, it was a tight place. The Ghils were coming forward slowly, being wary lest we have another pistol. I felt a tug at my arm. Without turning, I stepped back one pace and then another.

I felt my shoulders scrape through what seemed to be beams of wood. Then the light and the Ghils were blotted out in darkness.

Sir Weyand had opened the wooden gate enough to slip through and had pulled me after him. Then he had closed the gate. He was a strong man.

Said I not it was dark without the wall? We were in its shadow. But the glow from the flaming bazaar lit up the countryside faintly.

I saw a body of horsemen coming along the road at a walk. And behind them the light glittered on hundreds of spears and swords. Among the leaders I thought I saw the broad figure of Jani Beg.

They could not see us, for we were in the blackness of the wall. All they had seen was that two men on foot had appeared for an instant in the crack of the door, and they had other things to think about. They thought that Shirzad Mir and his men were in Balkh.

Aye, they came forward slowly. They were no cowards, but within the wall where a tumult echoed might be the army of Shirzad Mir. Meanwhile Sir Weyand and I were running to one side, keeping in the gloom of the wall.

My lungs were near to bursting with the effort, when Sir Weyand checked me. The gate of Balkh was opening slowly. We could not see it pulled back, but we saw the light grow as it opened.

Slowly, slowly the square of the gate became light. I had no great fear that the Ghils would rush out. They could not wish to face the angry Jani Beg.

But the leading Uzbeks halted their horses, and I heard a mutter spread through their ranks. And the skin grew cold along my spine.

In the red light of the fire a figure appeared in the gate of Balkh. It strutted and cried and gibbered. It laughed wildly and fell to dancing.

There in the roadway was the dwarf of Khotan, inspired by the madness of what was happening. The red flames flickered on his grotesque figure as he flung his arms about in the dance.

We did not linger to watch. When we had gained the bushes where the conflagration no longer lighted us we ran toward one of the hamlets near the wall.

I knew the place, by the will of God. And before an hour had passed I had found two good horses which we paid for with jewels.

By now there was a cry raised after us from within Balkh, and the Uzbek riders were out seeking us.

But it was not our fate that we should die that night. The stars were bright overhead and we left Balkh behind us, feeling the fresh night air in our faces.

“Ride to the well of Ghori!” said Sir Weyand harshly. “We are late. Shirzad Mir is waiting for us. As I thought, the prophecy of Muhammad Asad and the news from Balkh has brought Jani Beg and his army hither, but ride! Eh, Abdul Dost, we must be in Ghori by midnight!”

By sheep-paths and cuts through the plain I took him to Ghori and past that village to the well. Was this not my own country? At places we were seen. Yet the villagers had love for Shirzad Mir in their hearts, and they speeded us on.

It did not seem fitting that we should kill two horses in need-less haste, yet when I said this to Sir Weyand—now that our skins were safe—he stormed at me. Aye, so I fell silent, and rode in the dark without regard to beast or man.

Once we gained a remount at a friendly village. By this, and the hand of God, we passed the well of Ghori at midnight. We passed the well and drew up at a sharp challenge beyond.

The challenge had come in our own tongue, and I answered gladly. A rider came out of the shadows and led us on our quivering horses to where Shirzad Mir and his ameers and mansabdars sat their horses at a crossroad. Along the road the men of Shirzad Mir, to the number of more than a thousand, sat by their mounts, ready and waiting.

My master had kept the time and place of the meeting. Like-wise he held prisoner the Ghil we had sent.

And then I saw that I had been blind. Aye, for Sir Weyand and Shirzad Mir talked together the space of a moment and the whole of our men were set in motion. With Sir Weyand at our head we went forward at a fast trot, which is the most swiftly a body of men can move in the night.

What we did that night is written in the annals of Badakshan. We rode until the morning mists were turning gray with dawn and we could see one another’s eyes. We rode away from Balkh while the army of Jani Beg held that city. We rode to Khanjut.

Aye, we entered the citadel of Badakshan, the stronghold of our country, at dawn. The gates were open for the scattered parties of Uzbeks who were bringing in the stores, the bulkier treasure and the women of Jani Beg. At Khanjut none suspected we were anywhere save at Balkh.

In the mists we entered Khanjut, the citadel on the rock that has never been taken by storm. This was what Sir Weyand had planned.

And then a thought came to me. I spoke of the thought to Shirzad Mir, who gave praise to the mercy of God; and I spoke likewise to Sir Weyand, who laughed after his fashion, and said nothing.

My thought was that the prophecy of Muhammad Asad had come true.