"I know the European and Asiatic shores with their forts--Kilid Bahr,
Chimilik, Kum Kale, Dardanos. I know what those Germans have been
about with their barbed wire and mobile mortar batteries. What do we
want of their plans, then----"
"Nothing, Prince Erlik!" said Rue, laughing. "It suffices that you be
appointed adviser in general to his majesty the Czar."
Sengoun laughed with all his might.
"And an excellent thing that would be, Miss Carew. What we need in
Russia," he added with a bow to the Princess, "are, first of all, more
Kazatchkee, then myself to execute any commands with which my
incomparable Princess might deign to honour me."
"Then I command you to go and smoke cigarettes in the music-room and
play some of your Cossack songs on the piano for Mr. Neeland until
Miss Carew and I rejoin you," said the Princess, rising.
At the door there was a moment of ceremony; then Sengoun, passing his
arm through Neeland's with boyish confidence that his quickly given
friendship was welcome, sauntered off to the music-room where
presently he was playing the piano and singing some of the entrancing
songs of his own people in a voice that, cultivated, might have made a
fortune for him:
"We are but horsemen,
And God is great.
We hunt on hill and fen
The fierce Kerait,
Naiman and Eighur,
Tartar and Khiounnou,
Leopard and Tiger
Flee at our view-halloo;
We are but horsemen
Cleansing the hill and fen
Where wild men hide--
Wild beasts abide,
Mongol and Baïaghod,
Turkoman, Taïdjigod,
Each in his den.
The skies are blue,
The plains are wide,
Over the fens the horsemen ride!"
Still echoing the wild air, and playing with both hands in spite of
the lighted cigarette between his fingers, he glanced over his
shoulder at Neeland: "A very old, old song," he explained, "made in the days of the great
invasion when all the world was fighting anybody who would fight back.
I made it into English. It's quite nice, I think."
His naïve pleasure in his own translation amused Neeland immensely,
and he said that he considered it a fine piece of verse.
"Yes," said Sengoun, "but you ought to hear a love song I made out of
odd fragments I picked up here and there. I call it 'Samarcand'; or
rather 'Samarcand Mahfouzeh,' which means, 'Samarcand the Well
Guarded': "'Outside my guarded door
Whose voice repeats my name?'
'The voice thou hast heard before
Under the white moon's flame!
And thy name is my song; and my song is ever the same!' "'How many warriors, dead,
Have sung the song you sing?
Some by an arrow were sped;
Some by a dagger's sting.'
'Like a bird in the night is my song--a bird on the wing!' "'Ahmed and Yucouf bled!
A dead king blocks my door!'
'If thy halls and walls be red,
Shall Samarcand ask more?
Or my song shall cleanse thy house or my heart's blood
foul thy floor!' "'Now hast thou conquered me!
Humbly thy captive, I.
My soul escapes to thee;
My body here must lie;
Ride!--with thy song, and my soul in thy arms; and let me die.'"