Timur was not an ordinarily cruel man--satisfied to be able to bathe
himself in the blood and break the limbs of his opponents. He was a
veritable poet and artist in mercilessness! He required poisoned arrows
by which to strike his foes. He did not want to kill Bajazet, but he
wanted to drive him mad. After this attempt at escape he had a cage
made for him out of iron rods, wherein he caused him to be imprisoned,
and he placed the cage on a car and had it drawn about the camp. A crier
preceded this, pointing out with his pike this spectacle to the curious
multitude.
"Here is a captive Sultan; a celebrated wild animal whose name is
Bajazet, the King of Kings, the Padishah, the Master of the Seas and
Earth, a crowned king who has got four hundred thousand soldiers, foot
and horsemen. Look at the conqueror of the Round World! who is the only
Master from East to West! He is in the cage!"
Ha! ha! ha! laughed the armed crowd gathered together. Bajazet sat mute
and motionless inside the iron bars as though nothing could hurt his
feelings. The crowd threw jibes and curses after him, and the youth
threw oranges and walnuts into his cage as it is customary to do to
monkeys. But Bajazet's face did not change. The crier now formed the
idea of playing on the drum and cornet an air which evidently amused
him, and which ended in the refrain "Do not let Szivasz fall, or your
son be lost!" If anything could fill the captive's heart with bitter
sorrow it was this song! Oh, had he only listened in time to this! Oh,
if he had not in the days of his pride forbidden it to be blown by the
shepherds of Izmid! Had he but only hastened in time to the rescue of
his son Ertogrul, he would not then have had to listen to it from the
cornet of this bear-dancer and buffoon, who now paraded a King in place
of strange animals!
The fellow carried him away in his cage up to the hills where the heads
of his heroes were piled up. On the summit of these piles were placed
here and there the heads of leaders, whose turbans fluttered in the
wind! Bajazet knew these faces too well! They were the heads of his most
trusted veterans. He had frequently distinguished them for their
services, and kissed their faces after victorious battles! Now they
stared at him with glassy eyes from the top of these piles raised from
the heads of his troops! After this buffoon had carried the Sovereign
captive about the camp, he returned with him to Tamerlan. The Khan, his
sons, and the vassal princes, the Khan's wives, and the slaves of the
Court were taking part in a _fête_, and at the height of its amusement
the gilded iron cage arrived with its sad captive. A vanquished Sultan
brought thus before drunken slaves!
Mockery and shouts of laughter greeted the appearance of the conquered
lion from his intoxicated victors, and still Bajazet's face remained
unchanged! Timur Lenk himself was drunk. Wine, victory, and
revenge--this triple inebriety filled his veins.
"This glass I raise to the health of the master of half of this world,"
exclaimed the conqueror, and threw the contents upon his opponent's face
in the cage.
Yet Bajazet's face remained unchanged!
"Bring fresh wine--more women slaves," said Timur Lenk, thumping with
his hand, and Bajazet saw the figure of an elegant slender woman walking
totteringly forward. On her head rested a floral wreath. Her hair hung
loosely and carelessly around her. Her silken mantle was rent from top
to bottom in accordance with Tartar fashion. This woman tottered, for
she was herself intoxicated. She went forward to fill the Khan's glass,
and in her Bajazet recognised Maria! This was the final blow to the
captive Sultan when he saw his wife so humbled and tottering towards the
Khan's footstool. Then he sprang up from his seat and grasped the iron
bars of the cage, and burst out ravingly, "Oh, you demoniacal beast,
Timur! You crippled dog, who have buried your soul's better part in your
useless foot, and remain here living in this world, half of you a demon!
You are no vanquisher of men! You have never wholly been a man. You can
only revenge yourself on women. You grave-worm, who chew treacherously
what a greater hero than you has let fall! Detestation rest upon your
filthy name! Every woman will execrate you as a coward, and will throw
your image on the ground to be played with and broken by her children.
Disgrace be upon you and ignominy rest upon your belongings--you, who
were hatched by a slave and will be buried by the executioner! You were
born to drive camels, you wretch, and your father, who died on a
dust-heap, was a better man than you! Faugh! I spit upon you! This will
be the best spot in your filthy glory! Curses be upon you and upon your
offshoots! Your soul to hell, and your bones to the dogs! Your name to
derision! I shall await you, where both of us are to meet!"
With these words he struck his head with such force against the iron
railings that he fell down dead.
Tamerlan could no longer joy in his opponent's impotent fury.