Read Online Swords From the Desert by Harold Lamb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harold Lamb
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Suspense, Historical, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Short Stories, Adventure fiction, Crusades
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the Genoese mercenaries care.
"My lord Menas hath bought the captain of the Northmen and the Lord of Ships," he added. "He hath rolled out casks of Chian wines, and whole sheep roast in the courtyards. We fare well, and by that same token there is work laid up for us."
So thought the warriors who crowded around the wine casks. Some, when their tongues were loosed, said my lord Menas wished to gather a great array so that when the Franks were driven off he could say that it was his doing. But others-and these were the Genoese who sipped their wine instead of gulping it-whispered that the Domastikos meant to overthrow the emperor suddenly and then seize the crown.
The barbarians from the north of Frankistan said nothing at all, though they drank more than any-dipping their horns into the kegs of mead. They grunted together and sang without mirth-tall men in rusted chain mail who walked with pride, and yet drowsily.
They had been paid to fight for Menas. They were faithful to the gold that bought them.
I wondered what had driven them from their country to serve a Greek. The Tatars yearned for spoil, and the Genoese hated the Venetians. Like dog and wolf was the feud between these twain.
But no man knew the mind of my lord Menas.
The following night it was that I heard the voice of the Frank who was the follower of Richard de Brienne. It was late, and the singing of the Northmen had waked me from sleep. The feel of before-dawn was in the air, and I rose to walk through the corridors. I meant to go to the balcony from which we had seen the ships. I wished to see what the galleys of the Franks were about, because they had withdrawn from sight the night before now. And I went warily through the long corridors and up the marble stair where drowsy slaves stood beside the oil. The armed sentries of my lord Menas were not to be seen, yet. I had heard the corridors were guarded.
Before long I had lost the way and entered a dark chamber. Here I ceased to go forward and paused to listen. Close to my ear a man's voice spoke and another answered clearly.
One was the voice of my lord Menas, the other the strange Frank-hoarse and growling with much argument and wine. They seemed to be in agreement, though their words I understood not.
The chamber was empty, and the voices echoed in its stone walls. I heard another sound and leaped to one side.
Near at hand the air moved, and feet thumped on the hard mosaics. In the light from the passage behind me, I beheld the figure of a man and the gleam of a knife that struck at me, the blade ripping through my cloak. The man groaned loud, and fell. In the same instant that he stabbed, my sword cut him under the ribs and grated against the spine.
Like a slit waterskin he tumbled down and ceased to move. I drew back from the blood on the floor and looked at the wall. Aye, there was a niche, as if made for a statue, and beside it a square of fretwork, bronze by the feel of it. My fingers passed through it and felt the breath of cool air. This was surely a whispering chamber, and at the other end-what? The opening in the wall ran perhaps to the sleeping -place of the Domastikos. By chance, hearing the voices, I had stood before it, and the guardian of the chamber-he may well have been a deaf mute-had sprung out at me from the niche.
Then it was that I had assurance of the truth of this. A wide portal in the mosaic chamber flung open, light streamed in, and two Greek spearmen stood beside me. Two black savages entered, bearing torches, and behind them came my lord Menas with mincing gait.
Verily, from the other end of the gallery, he had heard the leap and the groan of his slave, and now he glanced at me from under lowered lids.
"Thy blade is bloodied, 0 Khalil," he said softly. "Wipe it, and sheath it."
The spears of the Greek warriors were close to me, yet I delayed not to wipe clean the scimitar on the tunic edge of the dead slave, and sheath it, and uprise with folded arms.
"And now,
"My lord Menas hath bought the captain of the Northmen and the Lord of Ships," he added. "He hath rolled out casks of Chian wines, and whole sheep roast in the courtyards. We fare well, and by that same token there is work laid up for us."
So thought the warriors who crowded around the wine casks. Some, when their tongues were loosed, said my lord Menas wished to gather a great array so that when the Franks were driven off he could say that it was his doing. But others-and these were the Genoese who sipped their wine instead of gulping it-whispered that the Domastikos meant to overthrow the emperor suddenly and then seize the crown.
The barbarians from the north of Frankistan said nothing at all, though they drank more than any-dipping their horns into the kegs of mead. They grunted together and sang without mirth-tall men in rusted chain mail who walked with pride, and yet drowsily.
They had been paid to fight for Menas. They were faithful to the gold that bought them.
I wondered what had driven them from their country to serve a Greek. The Tatars yearned for spoil, and the Genoese hated the Venetians. Like dog and wolf was the feud between these twain.
But no man knew the mind of my lord Menas.
The following night it was that I heard the voice of the Frank who was the follower of Richard de Brienne. It was late, and the singing of the Northmen had waked me from sleep. The feel of before-dawn was in the air, and I rose to walk through the corridors. I meant to go to the balcony from which we had seen the ships. I wished to see what the galleys of the Franks were about, because they had withdrawn from sight the night before now. And I went warily through the long corridors and up the marble stair where drowsy slaves stood beside the oil. The armed sentries of my lord Menas were not to be seen, yet. I had heard the corridors were guarded.
Before long I had lost the way and entered a dark chamber. Here I ceased to go forward and paused to listen. Close to my ear a man's voice spoke and another answered clearly.
One was the voice of my lord Menas, the other the strange Frank-hoarse and growling with much argument and wine. They seemed to be in agreement, though their words I understood not.
The chamber was empty, and the voices echoed in its stone walls. I heard another sound and leaped to one side.
Near at hand the air moved, and feet thumped on the hard mosaics. In the light from the passage behind me, I beheld the figure of a man and the gleam of a knife that struck at me, the blade ripping through my cloak. The man groaned loud, and fell. In the same instant that he stabbed, my sword cut him under the ribs and grated against the spine.
Like a slit waterskin he tumbled down and ceased to move. I drew back from the blood on the floor and looked at the wall. Aye, there was a niche, as if made for a statue, and beside it a square of fretwork, bronze by the feel of it. My fingers passed through it and felt the breath of cool air. This was surely a whispering chamber, and at the other end-what? The opening in the wall ran perhaps to the sleeping -place of the Domastikos. By chance, hearing the voices, I had stood before it, and the guardian of the chamber-he may well have been a deaf mute-had sprung out at me from the niche.
Then it was that I had assurance of the truth of this. A wide portal in the mosaic chamber flung open, light streamed in, and two Greek spearmen stood beside me. Two black savages entered, bearing torches, and behind them came my lord Menas with mincing gait.
Verily, from the other end of the gallery, he had heard the leap and the groan of his slave, and now he glanced at me from under lowered lids.
"Thy blade is bloodied, 0 Khalil," he said softly. "Wipe it, and sheath it."
The spears of the Greek warriors were close to me, yet I delayed not to wipe clean the scimitar on the tunic edge of the dead slave, and sheath it, and uprise with folded arms.
"And now,
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