The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 68

Riding over the dusty field to rejoin the men under his command, Daoud yearned for the fighting to begin. His body felt tight, as if it were being pressed inward from all directions, and his heart seemed to swell in his chest, trying to break out of the pressure.

_If I must die today, let me first do a great deed for G.o.d!_

By the time the oncoming Tartars were clearly visible, Daoud was back with the right wing of the Mameluke army, at the head of his own troop.

The Tartars came on at an unhurried trot, spread out in a series of long ranks, one behind the other, and he could see their fur-trimmed helmets, their waving lances, their colored signal flags. He could hear their shrill war cries and the braying of their horns. Above their front rank flew their savage standard, rows of long black tails of animals waving from crossbars mounted on a tall pole.

Drawn up across the plain behind Baibars's yellow banner were dark ranks of Mameluke heavy cavalrymen armed with tall spears and wearing steel chain mail and helmets.

Daoud saw Qutuz's green flag, small and far to the west, dip, heard Baibars's cry, relayed the shout to his men.

In a moment the parched earth of the plain of the Well of Goliath was trembling under the hooves of fifteen thousand Mameluke horses. The kettledrums of Baibars's tablkhana, his camel-mounted band, thundered, and the trumpets blared, sending Daoud's blood racing.

Daoud drew his double-curved bow of horn and sinew out of the case hanging from his saddle and nocked an arrow as the galloping hooves of his horse jolted his body. He let his voice pour out of him in a long scream.

The braying of the Tartars' signal horns floated over the plain. They, too, were galloping, bent over the necks of their ponies. The Tartar horses were short-legged, their barrel-shaped bodies encased in leather armor.

_Ugly little horses_, Daoud thought.

The ponies of the Tartar unit pa.s.sing him all appeared to be white with black spots. The Tartars' tunics were brown, their trousers gray, and their fur-trimmed iron helmets painted red.

Ahead of him Daoud saw Baibars's yellow standard fluttering against a sky gray with dust. Baibars's wing and the Tartars were riding past each other. The emir was leading his men eastward. To Daoud's left, across an empty s.p.a.ce of gra.s.sy plain, the Tartar army was pa.s.sing them, charging to the west. Arrows flew from the Tartars, but singly, not in volleys.

Daoud loosed an arrow of his own at the pa.s.sing horde. It arced over the bare strip between the two armies and fell in the Tartar ma.s.s without result that he could see.

He looked back toward the center of the Mameluke host and saw small figures in white robes striding through the gra.s.s. They were holy men, he knew, dervishes dedicated to death. As they marched on foot and unarmed against the Tartars, they were calling on G.o.d to avenge the martyrs of Islam. Arrows flew at them from the Tartar lines, and in an instant it seemed the dervishes vanished as they crumpled into the tall gra.s.s.

_They are showing all of us how to die_, thought Daoud. By going joyfully to their deaths, the dervishes reminded the Mamelukes that each warrior who died here today would be a mujahid, one who fell in holy war for Islam. Such a one was destined for paradise.

But he also realized uneasily that he had seen a demonstration of Tartar marksmanship.

Signal flags, yellow, green, and red, fluttered among the Tartar hors.e.m.e.n, and horns bellowed. Daoud heard the pounding of a great battery of drums. From twenty thousand Tartar throats at once there rose a long, terrifying scream. Daoud turned in the saddle to see the entire Tartar army, now in a wedge formation, the beast-tail standard at the point of the triangle rushing upon the green banner of Sultan Qutuz.

A blue flag fluttered beside Baibars's yellow one. The signal to halt.

Daoud raised his arm and shouted the order to his troop. The Mameluke right wing rumbled to a stop and turned their horses to face the fighting that had just pa.s.sed them by. Reining up his horse, Daoud put his bow back in its case.

He blinked as bright bursts of light flashed above the distant ranks in the center of the Mameluke army. Swiftly that part of the field was enveloped in thick clouds of brown smoke. A moment later he heard popping sounds like the cracking of innumerable boards. The dim shapes of horses plunged and reared in the smoke.

He heard his men muttering to one another behind him.

_They think it is sorcery._

Daoud, having seen the Tartar army in action when he visited Baghdad disguised as a Christian trader, recognized the fiery noisemakers.

He turned and shouted, "It is not magic. I've seen this before. It is like Greek Fire, but it does not hurt. It just makes noise and smoke."

He saw smiles of relief among those who had heard him. They would pa.s.s the word to the others farther back, and the troops would settle down.

He peered anxiously into the chaos of smoke and dust and horses and men, trying to see the Tartar standard, with its long black tails, and Qutuz's green banner. They had been close together when he last saw them. Now he could not find them.

A movement near the western horizon caught his eye. He saw a bit of green waving just below the blue Galilee hills that separated this plain of Esdraelon from the coast. Qutuz's banner, smaller, farther away.

Despair clutched at Daoud. But Qutuz could be feigning a retreat to lure the Tartars into spreading themselves too thin. Then he saw the black Tartar standard, much closer, in the midst of a furious melee of fighting men and falling horses half obscured by dust. Qutuz would not leave part of the center behind to fight the Tartars unless he were running away. Daoud remembered the tightness he had seen in Qutuz's face before the battle, the hopelessness in the sultan's voice.

_He is fleeing in terror. We are all dead men. Islam is lost._

Daoud looked to the east and saw that Baibars was still sitting motionless, a small figure at this distance on his fawn half-blood, the bearer with the yellow standard sitting behind him.

Daoud turned in the saddle and swept his gaze over the long line of his own troop. Their red turbans bobbed up and down as their horses danced.

The wind was from the north, and their scarlet cloaks fluttered behind them. The bearded faces in the front rank were grave, but there was no fear. There was no murmuring now, no questioning. Their mounts, brown, white, and black, the finest steeds in al-Islam, stood with necks stretched and ears laid back, eager for the charge.

An orange pennant beside Baibars's standard summoned the commanders to confer with their leader.

"I go to the emir for orders," Daoud said loudly, so they would not think he was fleeing the field.

By the time he reached Baibars, a half circle of five emirs and ten bashis had formed around their commander. Daoud could hear Baibars muttering to himself in his boyhood Kipchaq tongue. Curses, no doubt.

Far to the north Daoud saw hors.e.m.e.n riding westward, away from the battlefield. The left wing, under Kalawun. The Tartars had come nowhere near them. They must have given way to fear when they saw the center fall back.

Daoud saw no fear in Baibars's brown face. His wide mouth with its thin lips was formed in a half smile. The expression around his eyes, the blue one that saw so deeply and the opaque white, was calm and confident. He pulled on his reins to turn his half-blood so that his back was to the field of battle.

"Most of our army has fled." His voice was deep and so full of confidence Daoud almost thought he heard laughter in it. "The Tartars think they have won. Now, therefore, let us ride against them."

The commanders looked at one another in wonderment.

Buoyed up by Baibars's calm strength, Daoud felt himself despising the officers under his and Baibars's command.

_They think Baibars is mad. To the devil with them. Even if he is mad, I will follow him and die with him._

The thought occurred to him that if Baibars should fall--G.o.d forbid!--then he would have to lead these fifteen thousand men. For a moment he was seized by fear, whether of his lord's death or of having to lead alone, he was not sure.

Baibars saw the disbelief of his officers. "You do not deserve to ride with me," he said, and now there was scorn in his tone. "Have you not always risked death in battle? Can the Tartars do more to you than kill you? I tell you, if we are defeated, better to die here than live as fugitives. Now go to your troops. In a moment you will see my standard move against them. Do as you will, follow or run away as you choose, and G.o.d will reward you accordingly. If I must, I will ride alone."

Daoud felt the blood rush to his head in dizzy excitement.

"You will not ride alone, Lord," said Daoud fiercely.

"No, Bunduqdari, no," said another emir, Bektout, a Kipchaq like Baibars. "Let us offer our lives to G.o.d and ride out with light hearts."

The other officers shouted their eagerness to die for Islam. Daoud felt full of grat.i.tude. Baibars had put the spirit of war back into them. He had done what Qutuz could never do.

After the other emirs had ridden back to their troops, Baibars said quietly to Daoud, "I truly believe I will win. Until the instant that they kill me, I will know that I am winning."

Back at the head of his own troop, Daoud watched Baibars and waited. For a moment a silence fell over this part of the field. The drumming of hooves, the clash of steel, and the screams of men carried clearly from far to the west.

Baibars on horseback sat a short distance in front of the long dark ranks of Mamelukes. He turned and beckoned to his standard bearer, who trotted forward bearing the yellow silk banner inscribed with the words of the Koran in black letters, "For the safety of the faith, slay the enemies of Islam."

Baibars took the banner in his right hand and held it high, then lowered it till its end rested in a leather socket beside his foot. In his left hand, his sword hand, his long, curved saif, inlaid with gold, flashed in the sunlight. His fawn half-blood pawed the air with her front hooves.

"Oh, G.o.d, give us victory!" he shouted. "Yah l'Allah!"