Ismail Kadare - The Siege

Meanwhile the crowd began to stir, despite the crushing heat of the sun. There was talking, shuffling, standing on tiptoes. Then all of a sudden a shout of, “A horse! A white horse!” could be heard from all quarters. “Why is it white?” someone asked. He was told it was a holy steed. For a few moments the word “holy,” as it went from mouth to mouth, drowned out the word “horse”.

At that point a staccato neigh that sounded more like a sob confirmed in the minds of those who had not yet seen the beast that what was about to happen did indeed have something to do with a horse. Then everyone, or almost, saw the animal dart out on its own, beyond the fence, into no-man’s-land. It had no rider. No one was running after it. The horse galloped around for a bit, then stopped, snorted, and, as if it was looking for something invisible in the air, rushed off towards the river.

“She’s looking for water!”

“She’s dying of thirst. That’s obvious.”

“She’s been kept from drinking for days on end.”

“They must have given her salted oats to eat.”

The horse neighed a second time. A plaintive, majestic sound that wafted through the air. A voice said: “Have you seen how she’s foaming at the mouth? Some people are saying she’ll find the aqueduct!”

When it got to the fence, the horse reared up on its hind legs. Everyone noticed that on that side — the river side — the fence was higher and better made. Then the animal galloped around the entire length of the fence, visibly looking for a way out. As there was none, the horse turned on its tail and began to canter across no-man’s-land again.

“The poor animal! Will she find the channel?”

“She surely will. Horses aren’t as short-sighted as we are. They notice things that pass us by. For example, they can see the dead under the ground as easily as I can see you. Haven’t you ever wondered why horses never step on a piece of ground where a man has been buried? Well, it’s because they can see the corpse! A layer of earth doesn’t stop a horse from seeing. So that’s how she’ll find the aqueduct, however well hidden it is.”

“Yes, you must be right.”

The beast stopped at one or two places, snorted, shook itself, and then began running again, this time towards the ramparts.

From the back, the Pasha issued a command:

“Make a precise note of every place where the animal stops.”

The horse went up to the foot of the ramparts, lowered its head to sniff the ground, and then ran all the way round the wall.

Tavxha broke the silence to say to the Pasha: “Some people claim snakes are more alert to the presence of water. At Hapsan-Kala we tried to use one, but we weren’t able to keep it to the area we were interested in, and we were also afraid it would slither away down a hole. So we gave up.”

The Pasha’s eyes were glued to the horse and he watched every movement the beast made. He seemed fascinated by it. In his tired gaze the horse seemed whiter and whiter, more and more ethereal. He was so tense that after a while, he could feel his own forelegs and neck muscles aching with fatigue, as if he was the one who was galloping round the ramparts and putting his head down now and then to sniff for a spot of damp in the scorched earth. At one point he even imagined he was foaming at the mouth, and he put up his hand to wipe his jaw clean.

Meanwhile defenders appeared on the parapet.

The horse ran around ever more wildly. For the fourth time, it came up to the moat, and turned tail.

The thousands of men surging against the fence had now almost all understood why the animal was behaving like that. Every one of them saw it as related to the outcome of the war, and consequently to what lay in store for them individually. The tenseness of the situation had moderated the noise of the crowd. Its tumult had sunk to a rumble, but it was still loud, since it was made by tens of thousands of voices. Against this thunderous background din — now more like a muffled last groan, now like a rasping breath — the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves made a lonely sound.

Sirri Selim beckoned the chronicler to come over to him.

“The ancient Greeks seized Troy by using a wooden horse,” he said, as he leaned his head towards Çelebi’s ear. “Looks like we’re going to seize this fortress by means of a horse of flesh and blood! It’s true times have changed. Except that poets are still blind. By the way, where is your friend?”

The chronicler shrugged his shoulders to say he had no idea.

“Will the horse do it?” someone asked for the tenth time.

“I doubt it.”

“The beast’s worn out. I really think it’s going to collapse.”

“Look, look up there! There are girls on the parapet!”

“Girls? Where?”

“Up there! To the right of the second tower. There are several of them. And two more a bit further on.”

“Well, well, so there are! I can see them now.”

“Odd!”

“How dare they show themselves unveiled in front of thousands of men?”

Several young women had indeed come to watch from the crenellations. In any other circumstance their appearance would have attracted everyone’s attention, but all were so absorbed by the progress of the horse that very few of them raised their eyes, and then only for a second.

“The horse looks like it’s on its last legs!”

The beast was running round the main wall as if possessed by the devil. Three times over, it stopped dead in its tracks, pawed the ground furiously, then set off again. All around the fence there was now such a silence that you could not only hear the horse’s hooves quite clearly, but even its snorting breath. Once more it stopped dead a few paces from the wall, stamped hard on the ground with its forelegs and raised a cloud of dust, then galloped off again with its nostrils to the wind. It was running by the foot of the third tower when a defender drew his bow and took aim. The arrow whistled through the air and into the horse, and when the animal made a desperate leap to dislodge it, thousands of voices uttered a moan and a cry of anxiety. Many had already reached for their yatagans.

The high officials surrounding the Pasha turned towards him with a quizzical look.

“No matter,” the Pasha said, though he felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. “The wound will only heighten its thirst.”

The horse whinnied pitifully. Everyone had their eyes on the third tower, expecting a second arrow to come whizzing out of it. But there was no second shot.

“They could kill the horse. If they are sparing the beast, then it must be to make us think there is no aqueduct,” a voice whispered from behind the Pasha’s back.

“So why did they let off the arrow?”

“An accident. Someone must have lost his self-control.”

The horse ran on, ever more frantically. The arrow fell out of its flesh at the second or third pace. The wound in its shoulder and the diagonal trickle of blood across its shank could be seen from afar.

“At Hapsan-Kala they killed three of our horses, one after the other,” Tavxha said. “We had to put heavy armour on the fourth one, the one that actually found the water.”

The horse started neighing again. Its mane stood magnificently erect. It was shaking its withers and stamping on the ground more and more often. From the top of the castle wall the defenders watched in silence (at least, that was the impression that their unmoving heads produced) while thousands of soldiers pressing up to the fence held their breath. Some cried out wishes: “Let’s hope she does find it!” Others gave encouragement in beseeching and desperate tones: “O sacred horse, go on and find it!” Dozens of hoxhas and dervishes had kneeled on the ground to pray, holding the palms of their hands one against the other.