The hot white moon came through the latticed windows and lay upon the dark floor in little circles, crescents, stars and lozenges. They glittered as with a pale luminous light of their own, like fireflies. The cool night wind entered also, filled with fresh odor of flowers and fountains. Beyond the locked doors the guards paced. But within, there were silence and rapture.
Azara lay with her head on Temujin’s breast. He held her hands against his heart, and his lips against her hair. They did not speak, even in a whisper. They felt that they lay in a citadel of peace and joy, and utter contentment. There was no tomorrow for them. There was nothing but this night, which stood suspended in time, complete in itself, an eternity of ecstasy, without danger or suffering. Beyond this night the world lay, predatory and threatening, and full of death. They forgot it. They felt only each other.
And then, very slowly, though the moon sank, reality began to enter the thoughts of Temujin. It was as though he had opened the door of his mind, and had allowed men with swords to enter. He must deal with them. Tomorrow stood on the threshold, and must be fled from or attacked.
He stirred. But Azara was asleep. He could see the curve of her cheek, the closed lashes of her eyes. His hand touched her hair. She sighed. Her breast was pearly in the dimly translucent light. Her flesh exhaled warm but intangible perfume.
All at once his heart contracted with a fierce pain. He thought: Mayhap it would be better if I should rise now, and leave her forever. I can bring her nothing but suffering and terror. I have been a black shadow falling across her life. Shall I depart like that shadow, and leave the clear sun to shine again upon her?
But he knew that there would no longer be a clear sun for Azara. She was too young; she had loved too utterly. Had she loved less, she might have recovered. He had put aside himself; the ferocity of the barbarian was held at bay by the angel of self-obliterating love.
Wherever I must go, there she must go, he thought.
Azara moved, sighed, smiled in her sleep, and awoke. She looked up at him. An expression of ineffable delight passed over her beautiful face like a beam. She wound her arms about his neck and lay on his heart. It seemed to him that his heart opened to receive her with passionate tenderness.
“My beloved,” he whispered, “it is almost dawn. I must leave thee. But hearken unto me for a moment. Thou knowest we are in terrible danger. Tonight I will come to thee again. But when I leave at dawn, I shall leave with thee. We shall flee together to the steppes, and my people shall receive thee as their queen.”
She listened, her eyes fixed on his shadowy face with grave earnestness. The beam had left her own face. Then she raised herself and sat on the edge of her couch, gazing down at him with such intense and sorrowful concentration that he was startled. Her pale bright hair fell over her shoulders and her breast.
“My warriors will be ready,” he went on. “We have the fleetest horses in the world. Before the palace is aroused, and thou art missed, we shall be leagues away.”
The sorrow made a whiteness over her face. Then she whispered: “Temujin, we have five nights more. Let us take them.”
He frowned, raised himself on his elbow.
“And then?”
She was silent. Her head dropped on her breast.
He was filled with anger against her. “And then thou wilt become the bride of the Caliph.”
“Nay,” she murmured, “I shall be the bride of no other man but thee.”
“Thou meanest that after five nights thou wilt come with me?”
She lifted her head and smiled at him with mournful passion.
“Remember this, my lord: Whether in death or life, I shall be with thee always.”
She shivered; she drew her thick hair over her naked flesh as though it were a garment. But her smile remained, fixed and sad.
He pondered on her words. For some unknown reason a chill ran over his body. He gazed at her intently, trying to read her thoughts.
She began to speak again, in a low murmur.
“Temujin, I can bring thee only death or torture. My father would not dare to forgive me, for fear of the Caliph. He would hunt me down, no matter where thou didst hide me, and thee, also. I care not for myself. I care only for thee. If thou lovest me, thou wilt go after these five nights, and never return, and try to forget me.”
He listened, and slowly rage turned his face black. He seized her by the wrist.
“Art thou a wanton? Art thou weary of me?”
She did not answer, but only gazed at him with such grief and torment that he was ashamed. But he continued to hold her wrist.
She said, weeping: “If I brought ruin upon thee and thy people, there would be no joy in all the world again for me.”
He said, after some moments: “I cannot leave thee. Either thou dost flee with me to my people, and hope for the best, or I shall remain here. I shall go to thy father and demand thee for my wife, telling him thou art no fit bride for the Caliph.”
She put her slender hands over her face, and the tears ran through her fingers. He rose and put on his garments, watching her gloomily. When he was about to go, she withdrew her hands, and smiled at him through white lips.
“I have told thee, Temujin: where thou dost go I shall go forever.” She held up her arms and he caught her fiercely to him, burying his face in her shoulder. She held him as a mother might hold her son, sorrowfully and with aching tenderness.
“Thou wilt say nothing at all about me to my father, Temujin?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he answered, his lips against her flesh.
“Thou wilt swear it? Swear it by all thou dost reverence, and by all thou dost believe?”
He was startled, even in his passion, by the sharp earnestness of her words.
“I swear it,” he answered. He smiled. “I swear it by myself, for that is all my belief.”
She gazed at him, as though trying to pierce into his spirit, and piercing, willing him to remember.
He picked up a strand of her hair and pressed it against his mouth. She watched him, smiling mournfully.
“Take thou a lock of my hair, Temujin,” she said faintly. “Take it for a talisman and a reminder of me.”
“I can remember thee without a talisman, Azara. But if thou dost wish it, I shall take a lock.”
He cut loose a long length of her hair. It curled about his fingers as though it loved him. It was as warm and soft as silk, and as radiant.
Again she held up her arms to him, and her lips. He held her to him, and it seemed to him that her flesh merged with his and became part of it. He could taste the saltiness of her tears, but she continued to smile.
The eastern sky was pricked with pale pink fire. He must go. He kissed her hands slowly and passionately, and she watched him, hardly seeming to breathe. When he left the room, she gazed at him to the last, as though wishing to remember everything about him.
He was quite jubilant when he reached his own chambers. Chepe Noyon and Kasar were just awakening. They were relieved to see him once more, but said nothing. He lay down, after greeting them jovially, and fell instantly asleep.
“What can we do?” asked the simple Kasar, with despair.
“I know not,” replied Chepe Noyon, shaking his head. “But I believe this: that nothing in heaven or earth can harm Temujin. The gods are his protectors, and he is the instrument in their hands.”
“Dost thou truly believe this?” said the superstitious Kasar, looking furtively at his sleeping brother.
Chepe Noyon smiled. “I believe in no spirits, but there are men born for destiny. Such is our lord.”