After a sumptuous supper washed down with excellent Kakheti wine, Iskender-Khan showed Zena and Alex some of his curiosities. He was a connoisseur and collector of antiquities unearthed in the numerous kurgans or tumuli on the great plain north of the Terek. The objects were chiefly of bronze or green glazed earthenware. Zena listened courteously as her grandfather expounded articulately on his favorite topic, the recital punctuated every now and then by a lazy "Very interesting, sir," from Alex. The collection was extremely valuable, and one could see it was a consuming pleasure for Iskender-Khan.
He was a warm and congenial host conversing easily with Bobby as well as Zena and Alex. As the evening became late, he apologized for the long journey to his village and wished Zena and Bobby a pleasant rest as his two grandchildren were escorted to their bedrooms.
"If you can spare a moment, Prince Alexander, before you retire," he inquired gently as Bobby and Zena disappeared down a long passageway.
"Certainly," Alex replied crisply. Only the obligations of good breeding had rendered him agreeable during supper and the evening following. The long forced journey to this remote village was still grating on his nerves despite the pleasant civilities of their host.
Alex was unfamiliar with the quality of submission and totally inured to the need to answer to anyone but himself. His temper, held in check for seven days through the mountains and then throughout the civilized formalities of social intercourse this evening, was now rather close to tinder point.
As Iskender-Khan carefully closed the door into the room and turned to face his guest, Alex's impetuous, hot-blooded temperament overwhelmed the constraints with which he had disciplined it for so many days.
"What the hell is going on?" Alex demanded with typical Kuzan disregard for anyone else's authority.
The imperious, hawk-faced old man faced him, staring haughtily at him, ignoring his challenge. He coldly assessed the angry, dark-haired young man. He looked his visitor through and through with his black piercing eyes. So this was the young pup who had seduced his granddaughter. He certainly didn't have the pale look of a Giaour. There must be mountain blood somewhere in his veins.
The gray-bearded chieftain appeared undaunted by the remark. No affability or deference to a Russian aristocrat here, Alex thought, undeniably an autocratic overlord of thousands of tribesmen. But at the moment prudent considerations of civility were low in Alex's priorities. He was incensed at having been coerced into this village and kept here against his will.
"I am not exactly cheered being forced one hundred fifty miles into this camp. What the hell is going on!" he repeated wrathfully.
"Forgive the impetuous invitation, please," the chieftain spoke softly in a chill murmur. "A whim of mine, alas, to meet the companion of my granddaughter." The words were politely courteous, but his keen, dark eyes were cold as ice.
"Perhaps I wasn't in the mood to meet anyone, damn you. What's the idea of dragging us here without so much as a by-your-leave!"
"We are anxious to talk to you." The old chieftain used the regal pronoun comfortably. The heavy-lidded eyes unemotionally swept Alex from head to foot. "I think it would all go more smoothly if you were less insolent. You will force me into a position where we will have to relinquish our doubtful grip on civility and rather insist."
Alex studied him carefully. "Insist? You intend to insist?"
"We do indeed," came the gelid reply. "But, of course, since you're a guest in my home, we would rather not."
Alex was an experienced, skilled gambler. He knew when a bluff was a bluff and . . . when it wasn't. "What do you want to talk about?" he said.
"It has come to our attention that you and my granddaughter have had, ah ... a significant relationship. It has also come to our notice that she is with child and, alas, despite the fact that you are a Giaour, she has an abiding affection for you. I tried to talk her out of this foolish infatuation, but I fear she is too far from our tribal ways and as independent and headstrong as her mother. May her soul be blessed." His mind went back to the beauty who had been his favorite daughter. A fleeting moment of sorrow distracted him briefly. Then in a tone heavy with regret he continued.
"Since she won't give you up, the only solution is marriage. I promised her the pick of my warriors, but she would have none of them."
"Marriage?" Alex stiffened, the ominous word hanging in the air as threatening as vultures circling overhead.
Iskender-Khan paused, reluctant to continue but obliged to see honor served. "I give my granddaughter to you in marriage," he announced flatly.
"Sorry, I'm not the marrying kind," Prince Alex said through clenched teeth, politely declining the frigid offer from old Iskender-Khan. Damned wild barbarians anyway, Alex fulminated. Good God, he was only twenty-four. Marriage now was out of the question.
"If you'll excuse me," Alex snapped curtly, "I'll see to my people." He turned rudely and strode toward the doorway.
The prince experienced a fleeting premonition, an acute animal instinct of danger, and then something unbelievably painful crashed into his back. He buckled to his knees, momentarily stunned by the excruciating agony tearing through his senses.
He couldn't understand the rude, barbarous tongue, but the denunciatory voice of Iskender-Khan, raw with fury, was definitely hurling curses and thunderous maledictions at him.
The incensed old tartar continued to wreak his vengeance upon his granddaughter's seducer. Alex tried to ward off the blows of the punishing cudgel, but his stupefied brain refused to function rapidly, and much damage was wrought as over and over again the heavy, oaken club met human flesh and bone.
"Think to use my granddaughter and cast her aside, you young whelp!" The Russian was very loud and clear now. Alex marveled dimly at the vigor of the old man. He was scarcely breathing hard. "You'll marry her, hear me, you Giaour cur!" Iskender-Khan stormed. "You'll marry her or die!"
As another vicious stroke lashed downward, an agonized paroxysm twisted across his exposed ribs. Alex's knees crumpled, and as he lay there he wished vaguely that he carried a pistol. He'd kill the bastard before he died. Die? Jesus Christ! he thought urgently. I'm going to die! Father will be furious. Mother will cry for months. Father was always furious when his escapades made his mother cry.
"Enough! Stop! You mad, old fool!" he cried. "I won't be much good to your precious granddaughter in my grave!"
The contempt in his tone stayed the descending arm. With torturous effort Alex rose on one elbow and somehow twisted his head around as unbearable pain burst inside his brain. A dark tide of hatred washed over him. Burning, contemptuous golden eyes met the wrath in the old chieftain's glare. "In accordance with convention," Alex spoke, breathing painfully. Hell and damnation, he silently cursed, broken ribs. Pausing briefly for a shallow breath, he continued coldly, "Allow me . . ." He stumbled a little over the wording, damning the fate that had brought him to this pass and hoping vindictively that every evil of man and God rapidly descend on this old man. "Allow me to request permission to marry your granddaughter." Then he promptly fainted.
Iskender-Khan laid his cudgel aside and lifted one hand negligently in a gesture of behest. Two men materialized from behind the curtain of a doorway. "Carry my future grandson-in-law to his chamber. He will need his rest for the wedding tomorrow."
Very late that night a visitor was ushered into the private apartments of Iskender-Khan. "Nikki!" the old chieftain exclaimed in warm greeting. "Welcome. Welcome, old friend."
"Iskender, it's a pleasure to see you again," Nikki replied cordially, and the two men embraced affectionately.
"Sit down. I'll have some brandy opened. As I remember, it's your favorite."
"Still up to your old pursuits, it appears."
"Oh, we occasionally ambush and plunder a wealthy merchant or raid a village. It gives diversion to one's existence. There hasn't been a full-scale uprising in the mountains or a foreign campaign in three years. I think this brandy is from a fat Armenian's supply. I
t's tolerable, I'm told, although I prefer our local Kakhetian wine."
The bottles were delivered and glasses poured while the two men talked in general terms of the events that had transpired since they had last gone campaigning together against the Turks in 78.
A small silence fell after a time. Iskender-Khan broke the stillness. "You've come from Kislovodsk?"
"Yes," Nikki replied.
"You haven't forgotten our trails, traveling at night too. Your memory is very good, and your horse must be superb to navigate our byways by moonlight."
"One from my stud. A damn fine Stryelet. Let me send you some."
Another brief silence ensued. "I presume you know your son is here," the old chieftain said softly. "I gathered as much."
"I'm sorry. Honor demanded I discharge my duty toward my granddaughter."
Nikki understood the rigid code of ethics observed by the mountain tribesmen. "I know," he quietly replied.
"I wish it had not been your son, old friend."
"I too wish I had known the identity of your granddaughter sooner. Perhaps I could have seen justice done myself. I'm sorry, the boy is young and headstrong. He leads quite an independent life, and I was under a miscomprehension about Zena's heritage. I feel the blame deeply."
"Whose daughter is Zena?" Nikki asked, familiar with Iskender-Khan's family, since he had lived in Iskender-Khan's village on many occasions. He had first made the mountain chieftain's acquaintance when he came south as a brash young lieutenant of eighteen. The mountain warrior had been a virile, dashing knight of thirty then, reckless, foolhardy, and a superb soldier and leader. He and Nikki had become friends that summer campaigning in the mountains during Shamyl's last uprising in '59. Intermittently over the next twenty years he and Iskender-Khan had often found themselves riding together against Turkish border tribes.
"Shouanete's daughter," Iskender-Khan answered.
"Shouanete's daughter?" Nikki paused in thoughtful deliberation. "How old is Zena?"
"Eighteen years," the gray-bearded warrior replied.
Nikki swiftly calculated the years in his mind and breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Smiling benignly, Iskender-Khan calmly said, "No fear of incest in this marriage, my friend. The girl was born to Shouanete three years after you left our valley. Wolf is fine, by the way. I sent him south to harass the Turks. He's too much like you, Nikki; it's causing trouble with the husbands in camp. All the women want him, and he cares for none of them enough to marry."
"If Zaide hadn't died giving birth to Wolf," Nikki murmured pensively, "I might have stayed in the mountains with you, Iskender. It was very tempting.
"I've wanted Wolf to come to St. Petersburg anytime in these past thirty-four years."
"I know," the old man said, "but the cities corrupt, Nikki. I wanted him to look and behave as if he had grown up in the mountains. The good qualities of the soul are formed in the mountains and only cleverness in the West."
"You're right, Iskender. Do you suppose I could persuade him to return with me now? When I saw him last in 78, he was just at an age to join the knighthood. He wouldn't hear of coming north. Has he used the yearly stipend I send to him for any purpose?"
"Like his father before him, in gifts for the ladies."
Nikki grinned. "Well, it's not wasted, then. Will he be back before I leave?"
"I'll send a message tonight before I retire. He can be back in two days if he travels hard."
"Good. I'd be pleased to see Wolf again. Perhaps this time I can persuade him to return with me for a visit. It would give all the jealous husbands an opportunity to cool off." Nikki smiled faintly. "Need I say I'm relieved Zena isn't my child. The consequences could have been unhappy. I've always felt guilty about Shouanete," Nikki confessed. "I invariably excused myself because of the wounds, telling myself the fever brought on by the infection made me temporarily irrational. She was too beautiful a nursemaid, Iskender, damned if she wasn't."
"No need to apologize, Nikki. She was smitten by you with a young girl's fancy. Her infatuation was as youthfully transient as a butterfly's flight. You need feel no guilt. She was very happy with the white-haired Giaour she married. I wonder, though," he teased, "if you gave her a taste for white flesh. She could have had her choice from our knights when she came of age, but she spurned them all. When the white-haired Giaour came riding into our camp two summers later, the first glimpse of him determined her mind. I will have that one, she whispered to me as we watched his approach, and she did. Shouanete was my favorite daughter. I deeply grieved her death." Tears shone in Iskender-Khan's dark eyes. "I must see to her child's welfare. You understand, my friend?"
"Of course," Nikki said softly.
The old man was lost in reverie for a moment recalling the laughing, teasing, exquisitely beautiful daughter of so many years ago.
With a visible effort he returned to his guest. He exhaled gently. "The wedding takes place tomorrow."
"Tomorrow. Very well," Nikki replied.
In the morning Alex woke to find his father seated by his bed.
"You're a long way from St. Petersburg," Alex quipped.
"I'm on a commission for your Maman. She worries about your affairs, and I must needs chase after you to assure her of your safety."
"I can only wish Maman would have become alarmed for my safety a trifle sooner. I could have used you last night." Alex grinned as every bone and muscle in his body screamed it's discontent. "Better late than never, though. Can you get me out of this?"
Nikki shook his head soberly. "It doesn't look like it. You should have told me she wasn't a streetwalker," Nikki admonished quietly.
"I have a marked dislike of having my hand forced. I resented the interference and the family inquisition into my liaisons," Alex explained wearily.
"Iskender-Khan is an old and dear friend of mine. I'm afraid you'll have to marry Zena. You understand?"
"I've a couple of broken ribs to nudge my comprehension," Alex grumbled ruefully.
"You must care about her a little," Nikki maintained. "She's lasted quite some time, plus this lengthy and, shall we say, costly (Nikki raised his eyebrows) expedition in pursuit of her."
Lord, the père always knew everything, Alex thought. How did he do it? Of course, emptying out half his stud at Podolsk may have given him a clue.
"Prior to Zena," Nikki continued urbanely, disregarding the look of surprise that crossed his son's face, "you were moving from bed to bed pretty rapidly. The fact that you've been with the same woman for three months and are apparently not tired of her must indicate some affection."
Alex held his father's eyes briefly and then shrugged. He didn't know, he really didn't know. He enjoyed being with Zena, enjoyed her in bed (no question there), enjoyed her constant presence, but was that enough? Was that love?
"It's not that I'm opposed to the chit," Alex explained. "I'm just opposed to the notion of marriage. So damnably final," he muttered uncomfortably.
"I'm afraid you've no choice. It's your misfortune to have seduced a young girl of impeccable background.
Now, if she hadn't had a mountain heritage on her mother's side, if she had been exclusively of Russian or European aristocracy, I could have bought your way out of this, but the ethics and moral code of the mountains require satisfaction for a dishonor, and money means nothing to them. I'm sorry. The marriage may prosper, who knows; treat her kindly and take care of the child. Make the best of a difficult and awkward situation."
Alex quirked one eyebrow sardonically. "Good advice, I'm sure," he replied dryly.
9
At breakfast Zena and Bobby were seated next to their grandfather. Zena kept her eyes on her plate, embarrassed by what she had heard from the servants about the events of the preceding night. Her grandfather had just informed her she would be married that afternoon to Alex.
Nikki was introduced, and she lifted her eyes briefly to acknowledge the introduction. During breakfast Nikki and Iskender-Khan wer
e the only ones conversing. Alex sat stonily in silence, while Zena avoided looking at anyone, merely toying with her food. Bobby was preoccupied with arranging straight paths of raisins through his rice pudding and for the moment was unusually quiet.
"We'll dispense with kalym ['bride money']," Iskender-Khan said to Nikki. "I understand your son has already paid quite liberally for the company of my granddaughter, and I need no money. The festivities begin this afternoon; the entire village will participate in the celebration."
At three o'clock Alex stood waiting in the festal chamber. Zena was fetched by armed warriors, as was the custom, and entered the chamber heavily veiled. Zena and Alex were separated by a thin curtain hanging from the ceiling, their little fingers linked together while the holy man asked the required questions. Will Alex care for her, will Zena obey her husband, will they succor each other in sickness and in health? The last question to Alex in the marriage ceremony was: Are you capable of being the hus-
band of a woman? Iskender-Khan raised his eyebrows to Nikki at the superfluous query. After Alex's response of "yes," one of the old women murmured an incantation against evil spirits. This was directed against the man's enemies, because it was thought that if in the instant in which the man says "yes" somebody draws his dagger halfway from the sheath and whispers, "It is a lie, he cannot," then the bridegroom will be impotent for one year. Injury to virility was a popular form of revenge in the mountains.
Immediately after the abbreviated ceremony Zena and Alex were parted. The women took Zena away to the room next to Alex's apartment. Now custom required that Alex encounter difficulty reaching his wife and, so at every door a veiled figure awaited him and blocked his way. He was to press gold into their hands in order to continue. Having been supplied with a bag of gold by his father, Alex impatiently passed through the gauntlet. Upon reaching his bedroom, more quaint surprises greeted him; a dozen chickens and an old crone graced his rooms. He paid off the old lady, as was required, and churlishly threw the chickens out the window. After all these disturbers of the peace had been ejected, the bride entered the chamber.