In Love With the Czarina and Other Stories Part 3

All around, as far as eye could range, not a palm, nor a plant, nor a blade of gra.s.s was to be seen. From one end of the horizon to the other, nothing on which the rising sun could cast a shadow! There was only a small hillock in the centre of this desert, and against this a man was resting, spreading out his hands upon the square stone which stood upon it. He had either just risen from sleep or from the recital of prayer, and, kneeling, he greeted the rising sun. His dress was similar to that of an Eastern mendicant, for he was covered with a long woollen cloak, and one could see through his wide-hanging sleeves the wounds on his arms which had been scorched by the sun. He was short, and lame with a crippled foot, and, although his hair and beard were already white, his face, which was ruddy and youthful, belied his age, for on his forehead no wrinkles were to be seen, and his eyes were bright and sparkling. The expression of his face was as grave and gentle as that of a philosopher or a pilgrim.

To the eastern horizon of the desert, along the stony plain of Szivasz, a red pyramid arrested the sun's rays, and appeared through the morning mists like a red shadow, whilst westward, a long black streak of cloud seemed to hover, which the morning breeze was powerless to agitate and the light of dawn could not kindle into colour. Throughout the whole extent of the plains not a human voice was to be heard, but in the melancholy quietude some continuous and dismal sounds attracted the ear, proceeding apparently from the interior of the earth. Far and wide as the waste extended were these heartrending and distressing noises to be heard. It seemed as though the earth were sobbing, or as though one could recognise the sighs and groans ascending from lost souls in purgatory, numbed into faint echoes in their transit from the depths below. Or even as though the air were filled with the loud screams of evil spirits, coming and going one knew not whence or whither. On the face of the lonely wanderer no expression of fear was visible. He did not shrink shudderingly from the phantom of the plain, nor from the desolate picture spread before him. If he could pa.s.s the night alone amidst these ghostly surroundings, was it likely that he would be afraid in the sunlight?

He knelt once again upon the hillock, touching the stone with his forehead, speaking in low murmurs as though into the sand:

"Oh! Wisdom beyond all wisdoms! grant to me to acquire thy knowledge that I may wander throughout the world, and accomplish what Thou hast left unfinished."

Whilst saying this he rose, and, with dignified mien, gazed around the expanse of plain. These plains were the blessed soil of Iran. But yesterday it was the fourth paradise of Asia, while to-day it is a desert.

The little hillock was the sepulchre of Abu Mozlim who killed half a million of people in his fierce and continuous fights.

The philosopher, wanderer, and mendicant who rested upon it was Timur (the man of the iron sword), nicknamed also Timur Lenk (the lame), who in the language of flatterers was called Gurgan (the high and mighty lord), Szabil Kiran (the master of all time), or Djeihangir (the conqueror of the world)--one of the greatest of all conquerors. On his head rested the crowns of twenty-seven countries, and from the Indus to the Volga twenty-seven nationalities groaned under his yoke.

It was he himself, the dreaded Tamerlan. The red pyramid to the east was a pyramid of skulls, which had been piled up from the heads of 90,000 soldiers captured during the war, whilst the immovable cloud towards the west was the smoke rising from Szivasz, which only two days ago was inhabited by 100,000 people and to-day held as many graves!

The hollow murmuring from the centre of the earth was caused by the cries of 4000 Armenians, whom the victorious conqueror had caused to be buried alive in one vast timber-lined grave, so that their screams could be heard for some time. It was their moans which came from beneath the earth, whilst the cripple rested on his club, made from the horn of the buffalo, and gazed with a satisfied air around the desert wastes which, yesterday a paradise, had been battered down by his horses' hoofs into a dismal plain. What he saw and heard was delight to his heart. The air of the desert mourned, and the earth moaned in concert.

CHAPTER II

Timur's camp was always full of learned men, poets, and lute singers.

When he devastated a country or uprooted a town, there was never a living soul left behind his track--not the sound of a child's cry, the bark of a dog, or the crow of a c.o.c.k--everything was destroyed!

But he spared learned men and poets. On the day of destruction his camp was a place of refuge to them, and they were guarded by his soldiers in order that no evil might befall them; and when he moved onwards he carried with him not only the treasures of the dead--silver, gold, and jewels, but also those of the living--art and science. His camp was swarming with astronomers, magicians, singers, poets, painters, gymnasts, engineers, doctors, conjurers, monkey-trainers, and such like.

Timur caused them to be elegantly dressed and well fed, and paid them handsomely. He carried them about everywhere with him, in order that they might amuse all but himself. Why should he trouble his head with astronomy when he knew no star so sparkling as himself? Why should he learn history, when he was the one to make it; or listen to verses which were sung in praise of love, when he distributed captive maidens to his soldiers as a portion of their pay? If he had scientific men in his camp it was in order that they should exert their power over his people. Let them hear the poet's stories, and the recital of heroic deeds, and let the chroniclers write on their parchment what he dictated. Let comedians amuse the crowd, so long as it was acknowledged that all the amus.e.m.e.nt was owing to him.

It was 830 in the Hedjir year, and the countries of two great conquerors adjoined one another. One was Timur, another was Bajazet, whose surname was Djildirim (the lightning). This latter name is also inscribed in letters of blood in the chronicles of other unfortunate nations, and a people who yet cannot fail to remember his name are still called Magyars. Bajazet was the victorious hero of Nicapol. Where two sword-blades touch there is sure to be fighting, and how could two conquerors of the world find room close to one another? Bajazet conquered three provinces which were in va.s.salage to Timur, and drove away the Khans of Taherten, Szarnchan and Aidin. The last he took captive, together with his wife. Timur, with whom the Khan of Aidin was a favourite, sent envoys to the Sultan, asking him to restore their provinces to his _proteges_, and to set the Khan of Aidin and his wife at liberty. The Sultan was inclined to slay these envoys, but was dissuaded from doing so by his advisers, who said, "Timur, the son of the desert, never causes the envoys sent by his opponents to be killed."

However, he ordered them to be scourged through the streets with camel-hide whips, and thrust them into prison, whilst to Timur he sent word that if he dared to say another word on behalf of the Khan of Aidin he would send him back to him cut into two pieces.

Timur kept silent and prepared for war, and he inspired and humoured his troops by the aid of his dervishes, poets, and acrobats.

One day Shacheddin, Timur's historian, interrupted him whilst plunged in thought, "Master of the world, deign to be gracious! A magician wishes to appear before you."

"For what purpose? If he wants money he can have it without seeing me."

"He does not want money; he only asks to be received into your favour."

"If he does not gain that, then, he will have stolen my time, and time is life; therefore, he will have deprived me of life, and will have to be considered a regicide!"

Such thoughts as those were frequent utterances from Timur's lips, and it is a fact that he often had people killed for a mere trifle, and spared their lives as a sort of good joke.

Shacheddin did not relinquish his request, and a few minutes afterwards Timur's guards hastened to bring the magician before their master. It was a mark of respect that all should enter hurriedly into the presence of this mighty man, and that they should throw themselves upon their faces on the ground. To walk slowly was considered a mark of haughty conduct by him.

The magician was attired in grey robes, and on his head he wore a tall, silk cap. His beard was painted yellow, and his eyebrows blue, whilst on his face were inscribed Tallic words in green and red.

"Magician," said Timur, with mocking condescension, "where have you learnt your art? Amongst the idiots of Almanzor, or in the company of Chinese clowns? Do you understand how to charm people back to this country from another, or _vice versa_? Say, do you understand that?"

"I understand that," answered the magician, bowing down to the ground.

"If, indeed, you understand that, then command that in one moment my beloved servant, the Khan of Aidin, shall stand before me; and, if you cannot do this, perhaps you will manage to transplant yourself at least a thousand miles from me, for my hands can reach even to that extent, and may possibly cause your death!"

"It shall be as you command," said the magician. "Will you please to order your slaves to bring a vat of water before me?"

"Shacheddin has tried that," said Timur, with cold irony. "Bring water to the magician!"

A vat filled with water was placed before the magician, and he jumped into it, still wearing his clothes.

Timur gazed upon him with doubting condescension, thinking to himself at the same time what kind of death he should bestow upon this deceitful mortal. All at once the water was divided and in place of the magician a fine, tall young man, with hanging locks, stood before him.

It was the Khan of Aidin himself!

Timur rose hastily from his seat, and flew to him as a lioness who discovers her lost cubs. He embraced the young fellow and carried him in his arms to a panther skin, where he told him to be seated before him.

"How did you get here?"

"As an acrobat," replied the Khan of Aidin, with a smile. "I escaped disguised as a rope-dancer from your enemy's country!"

CHAPTER III

A Prince as an acrobat! Could there be a greater humiliation? Could there be anything in existence calling for more bitter revenge?

"Which way did you come, and what towns did you touch?" asked Timur of the Khan, who was seated at his feet.

"From Smyrna I escaped as a running footman. The people praised my running to such an extent that I felt compelled to prove how far I could go by running away altogether! In Aleppo I was a monkey-trainer! In Bagdad I turned somersaults! In Damascus I climbed by a rope to the Tower of Minarch! At Angora I put sharp swords into my throat; whilst in Szivasz I swallowed burning coals before the son of the Sultan!"

Timur Lenk counted on his fingers the names of the towns as the Khan of Aidin recapitulated them; Smyrna, Aleppo, Damascus, Bagdad, Angora, Szivasz--not one stone of them should remain! And the people who had been so amused by the acrobatic performances of a prince should bitterly deplore this! Little time should be given them to lament!

"And your children?" asked Timur of his _protege_.

The Khan gave a sigh.

"They are kissing the whips of Bajazet's slaves."

"They shall not do so long!"

Timur called Shacheddin before him, and had another letter written to the Sultan, taking care that every time his name was mentioned it should appear in a line with his in quite as large-sized letters, and not in different ink; whilst, in accordance with his usual custom, he signed his name at the top, not the bottom, of the page. The contents of the missive were not couched in angry terms, though they were written in a haughty manner.

"Do you not know that the greater portion of Asia is submissive to my sword and my laws? Do you not know that my army reaches from one sea to another, and that the world's rulers stand humbly at my doors imploring to be heard! What is your boast to me? A victory over the Christians?

You have been victorious over them because the swords of the prophet--blessed be Allah!--were in your hands. But who will defend you against me? Your only protector is the Koran, whose commands I obey as you do. Be wise! Do not despise your opponent because he was once insignificant. When the locust grows up, and its wings become red, it attacks the very birds who wished to consume it before!"

Timur's envoys carried the message to Bajazet as quickly as Arab horses could gallop. In it he once more demanded that the captured towns of the Khan of Aidin should be restored to him in peace and quietness, and that his wife and children should be set at liberty, and he suggested that the joint armies of the Sultan and himself should afterwards start together and branch off in different directions, one east, the other west--one to destroy the Pagans, the other the Christians. Timur's messengers returned to his camp with Bajazet's reply, also as swiftly as Arab horses could gallop. Hardly had he opened the letter when Timur's face became flushed with anger. Bajazet's name was written in a different line to his, and was at least an inch larger, whilst Timur's name was similar in size to the rest of the lettering, and was in black ink! The name of the Sultan was in historic characters ornamented with gold. Nor were the contents of the letter couched in mild form. Timur saw here no flattering terms. He was not styled Gurgan, or Djeihangir, but "the Spoiler of Countries," "the Thief of the Desert," "the Worm,"