It seemed that I had hardly fallen asleep when a thunderous knocking awakened me. A feeble pre-dawn light came through the shutters. Otaspes had opened the door, in which stood our landlord.
"You must leave this place, fast," said the landlord. "There is trouble in the city. Mobs are killing all foreigners. They will search this place, and if they find you—" The man drew a finger across his throat.
"What has happened?" I demanded.
The landlord explained: "The story is that some worshipers of Vishnu had gathered on the banks of the Sipta for private devotions, and the Buddhist priesthood set upon them with clubs and cruelly beat them all to death."
"That sounds like my party," I muttered to Otaspes, "after the rumor-mongers had been at it."
The landlord continued: "So all the Orthodox have joined to rid Ozenê of heretics." The man smiled one of those nervous, flickering, mirthless little Indian smiles. "I concern myself not with sects and philosophies, sirs. I am only a poor man, striving to make a living. But for you to be caught here would do none of us any good."
"He has a point," I said. I kicked Gnouros awake and helped him to pack up our modest possessions. Whilst we were thus engaged, an outcry from the street outside drew our attention. Otaspes cautiously opened the shutters and peered out. He hissed at me and beckoned.
This inn was one of the few two-story structures in Ozenê, and our window commanded a good view of the South or Mahismati Gate and the avenue leading to it. A dull roaring came to our ears, now near, now far.
Suddenly, a man rounded a corner several crossings away, running hard with the yellow robes of a Buddhist priest fluttering behind him. After him pelted a couple of score of breech-clouted, wild-haired Indians led by a naked holy man covered with cow-dung ash, who rolled his eyes, foamed at the mouth and screamed some phrase I could not catch, over and over.
"What is he saying?" I asked Otaspes.
"Gaso hamara mata hoi—the cow is our mother."
"A strange war cry," I said. "I thought Indians were born normally to human mothers—look!" Almost under our window, the mob caught the running man, who disappeared beneath a tangle of bodies. There was a moment of screaming confusion, and then the mob set up a chant in unison, of "Die, detestable heretic! Die, confuser of colors!"
The severed, shaven head of the priest was jammed down on a sharpened pole and hoisted into the air. Behind this banner, the mob trotted off to other mischief.
"We had better get our elephant," said Otaspes.
I slipped on my mailshirt and strapped on my sword. "here's no point in our all going to the stables with the baggage. I can go thither as safely alone. When I return with Prasada,, you two shall be ready to leave."
They started to argue, but I slipped out without answering. I made the three blocks to the stables without meeting a soul. At the stables, however, I was told that Koka and Prasada had already left. At the first hint of disturbance, the elephant driver had fled the city with his pet.
Back at the inn, I broke the news to my companions. We were trying to form alternative plans when more noises brought us again to the window.
"Great Oramazdes!" breathed Otaspes.
Down the avenue to the South Gate, marching in step to the tune of flutes, strode the three full companies of Bactrio-Greek mercenaries in full battle array, pikes at the ready and kilts aswing. Their women and children scuttled along in the intervals between the companies.
A mob of Indians raced around a corner in front of the troops. The soldiers in the first two ranks lowered their pikes and plowed through the rabble like a ship through water, leaving a score of trampled bodies. Other knots of Indians dashed screaming at the Bactrio-Greeks from the sides and rear, to be likewise repulsed. It was amazing to see the ferocity of these little underfed brown men, usually submissive and timid, could work up when they tried.
Some Indians climbed to the roofs of the houses lining the avenue and hurled stones and tiles down upon the marchers.
I could hear the clang as these missiles struck helmets and body armor. When the companies had passed, a couple of light-skinned figures in bronzen cuirasses and plumed helmets lay in the mud with the stricken Indians.
The Bactrio-Greeks marched on. The gate opened, and out they went, never breaking step. The mob churned about the avenue, screeching and mutilating the bodies of the fallen Bactrio-Greeks. I expected this crowd to disperse, to give us a chance for a dash to the gate. Instead, they hung around, dancing and chanting. When one group wandered off, another appeared. Some of them had caught a Buddhist family and were torturing them to death near the gate.
"Now, how in the name of Mithras the bull-slayer," asked Otaspes, "are we to get through that gang without being torn to pieces? If we were naked holy men, they would not even notice us—"
"You've solved the problem!" I cried, clapping him on the back. "Come with me to the kitchen!"
"What do you mean to do?"
"We shall be naked holy men! Come on!"
"But, Eudoxos, I cannot run around with my private parts flapping in the breeze, like these folk! We Persians have a sense of decency—"
"Never mind what you can and can't do. Come on, or I'll drag you!"
A quarter-hour later, Otaspes and I stepped out of the inn into that deadly street. We were naked save for our money belts, which I hoped nobody would notice. We were smeared from head to foot with a mixture of soot and ashes, so that no one could tell what sort of skins we bore beneath this coating. Our hair and beards were disordered. We rolled our eyes, gnashed our teeth, and screamed:
"Goo hamara mata hail"
Behind us, Gnouros followed, bent double under a big bundle. This consisted of our most important possessions, wrapped in my cloak. We had abandoned much of our gear, including all Otaspes' trade goods—even his prized bolt of silken cloth. But a reasonable man does not worry about such things when his life is at stake.
Down the road we capered, hopping and whirling and making the most idiotic gestures we could think of. As a result, the Indians paid us no attention whatever. We passed the dismembered bodies of the slain Buddhists, lying in huge, scarlet, fly-swarming pools. We danced out the South Gate and into the countryside. A heavy overcast hid the rising sun.
Half a league from Ozenê, we came upon the mountainous carcass of poor old Prasada, dead by the side of the road. Koka lay near him. The elephantarch had been pierced through and through by spear thrusts. From the elephant's side, just aft of his left foreleg, protruded the broken shaft of a long Arjunayana lance.
Those abandoned temple thieves!" I said. "They must have heard that this pair had left the city before the rioting started and assumed that we were on the beast. When they caught up with the elephant, hoping to rob us, either they slew them in a rage at not finding us, or Koka failed to stop on command."
"Perhaps," said Otaspes. "I cannot feel too sorry for him, since after all he deserted us. But what is more important, I do not think it were wise for us to return to Mahismati. King Girixis is an affable monarch, but he might not take kindly the loss of his prize bull elephant."
"Right you are," I said. "I wonder where the Arjunayanas ire now?" I began to don my garments.
"Looting the palace, I should think," said Otaspes, pulling on his Persian trousers. "If we head west across country, we shall come to the headwaters of the Mais. Following this river downstream, we come by a roundabout route to the sea, not far north of Barygaza— Oh, by the bronzen balls of Gou the demon king! Look!"
He pointed along the road to southward, on which a little cloud of dust now danced.
"Couldn't that be the Bactrio-Greeks on their way south?" I asked.