Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (полная версия книги .TXT) 📗
The bay was crowded with shipping, but the tall masts of the Gull of Moray dominated all others. The Earl of Cumbrae's ship had come in during the night, and now Schreuder heard his voice raised in argument within the silken tent. His lips twitched in a smile that lacked humour, and he adjusted the hang of the golden sword at his side before he strode to the flap of the tent. A tall subahdar bowed to him. All the troops of Islam had come to know him well. in the short time he had served with them, Schreuder's feats of daring had become legend in the Mogul's army. The officer ushered him into the royal presence.
The interior of the tent was commodious and sumptuously furnished.
The entire floor was thickly covered with gorgeously coloured silk carpets and silken draperies formed a double skin that kept out the sun's heat. The low tables were of ivory and rare wood, and the vessels upon them were of solid gold.
The Great Mogul's brother, the Maharajah Sadiq Khan Jahan, sat in the centre on a pile of silk cushions. He wore a tunic of padded yellow silk and striped pantaloons of red and gold. The slippers on his feet were scarlet with long, curling toes and buckles of gold. His turban was yellow and secured above his brow by an emerald the size of a walnut. He was close-shaven, with only a kohl line of fine moustache upon his petulant upper lip. Across his lap was a scimitar in a scabbard so richly encrusted with jewels that the sparkle of them pricked the eye. On one gloved hand he held a falcon, a magnificent Saker of the desert. He lifted the bird and kissed its beak as tenderly as if it had been a beautiful woman or rather, Schreuder thought bleakly, as if it were one of his pretty dancing boys.
A little behind him, on another pile of cushions, sat Ahmed El Grang, the Left Hand of Allah. He was so wide-shouldered as to seem deformed, and his neck was thick and corded with muscle. He wore a steel war helmet and his beard was dyed with henna, red as that of the Prophet. His massive chest was covered with a steel cuirass, and there were bracelets of steel upon his wrists. His brows beetled and his eyes were as cold and implacable as those of an eagle.
Behind this ill-matched pair sat a host of courtiers and officers, all richly dressed. Before the Prince knelt a translator who, his forehead pressed to the ground, was trying to keep up with the Buzzard's flood of invective.
The Buzzard stood before the Prince with his fists bunched on his hips. On his head was his beribboned bonnet, and his beard was more bushy and fiery than the dyed, barbered curls that covered El Grang's chin. He wore half armour above his plaid. He turned with relief when Schreuder entered the tent and made deep and respectful obeisance, first to the Prince and then to El Grang.
"Jesus love you, Colonel. I need you now to talk some sense into these two lovely laddies. This ape." " Curnbrae spurned the grovelling translator with his boot. "This ape is blethering away, and making a nonsense of what I'm telling them." He knew that Schreuder had spent many years in the Orient, and that Arabic was one of the languages in which he was fluent.
"Tell them that I came here to take prizes, not to match my Gull against a ship of equal force and have her shot away beneath my feed" the Buzzard instructed him. "They want me to do battle with the Golden Bough."
"Explain the matter to me more fully," Schreuder invited. "That way I may be able to assist you."
"The Golden Bough has arrived in these waters we must presume under the command of young Courtney," the Buzzard told him.
Schreuder's face darkened at the name. "Will we never be rid of him?"
"It seems not." Cumbrae chuckled. "In any event, he is flying the white cross of the Empire, and whaling into El Grang's transports with a vengeance. He has sunk and captured twenty-three sail in the last week, and no Mussulman captains will put out to sea while he is in the offing. Single-handed he is blockading the entire coast of Ethiopia." He shook his head in reluctant admiration. "From the Cliffs above Tenwera, I watched him fall upon a flotilla of El Grang's war dhows. He cut them to pieces. By Jesus, he handles his ship as well as Franky ever could. He sailed circles around those Mussulmen and shot them out of the water. The entire fleet of Allah the All Merciful is all bottled up in port, and El Grang is starved of reinforcements and stores. The Mussulmen call young Courtney El Tam, the Barracuda, and not one will go out to face him."
Then his grin faded and he looked lugubrious. "The Golden Bough is bright and clean of weed. My Gulf has been at sea for nigh on three years. Her timbers are riddled with shipworm. I would guess that, even on my best point of sailing, the Golden Bough has at least three knots of speed on me."
"What do you want me "to tell his highness!" Schreuder asked scornfully. "That you are afraid to meet young Courtney?" , "I am afraid of no man living or dead, for that matter. But there is no profit in it for me. Hal Courtney has nothing I want, but if it comes to a single-ship fight, he could do me and my Gull fearful damage. If they want me to fight him they will have to sweeten my cup a little."
Schreuder turned back to the Prince and explained this to him in carefully chosen diplomatic terms. Sadiq Khan Jahan stroked his falcon as he listened expressionlessly, and the bird ruffled out its feathers and hooded its yellow eyes. When Schreuder had finished, the Prince turned to El Grang. "What did you say they called this red-bearded braggart?"
"They call him the Buzzard, your highness," El Grang replied hoarsely.
"A name well chosen, for it seems he prefers to pick out the eyes of the weak and the dying and scavenge the leavings of fiercer creatures rather than to kill for himself. He is no falcon."
El Grang nodded agreement, and the Prince turned back to Schreuder. "Ask this noble bird of prey what payment he demands for fighting El Tazar."
"Tell the pretty boy I want a lakh of rupees in gold coin, and I want it in my hands before I leave port," Cumbrae replied, and even Schreuder gasped at the audacity. One lakh was a hundred thousand rupees. The Buzzard went on amiably, "You see, I have got the Prince with his bum in the air and his pantaloons round his ankles. I intend to tup him full length, but not the way he likes it."
