Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  She shivered inside the enveloping warmth of the rich cape, not with cold but with dread. How would it go? How receptive and dedicated would the men be? And Banyen, what of the prince? Again she shuddered, remembering the feel of his lean, hard body next to hers. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered how she had responded to his mouth on hers and strained her body next to his. It wasn’t the men Katerina dreaded meeting, it was the prince, she admitted to herself.

  She descended the cold granite steps to the huge arena below the fortress, noting the beads of ice on the rough gray stone walls. Her breath whirled and eddied around her in the crisp, chill air. For one brief moment she wished she were back beneath the soft pedina on her bed, with the fire blazing and her sleep untroubled.

  The moment her foot touched the last step Katerina heard the babble of voices and knew her recruits were finishing breakfast and soon would be ready to start the morning drill. Perhaps they would be relieved that their shackles had been removed and would work diligently. She hoped none of them would give her trouble that required strong measures be taken against them. In her gut she knew it was going to be the prisoners against the prince’s men. Banyen would fight her every step of the way. He would give nothing, and she knew instinctively that he wouldn’t compromise in any way. In the spring would come the day of reckoning. He was a man and she was a woman. Men were entitled to their thoughts about women, just as women were entitled to theirs about men. And men, in her opinion, were good for only one thing: to help women bear children. That was the one thing women couldn’t do alone. Since she had no intention of having a baby, now or later, she had no use for Banyen or any other man. She laughed delightedly at the thought. Somehow she must manage to voice her opinion to the Mongol and see his reaction. He would be livid, she knew, sputtering with rage, his indigo eyes dark and full of murder: hers!

  She thrust open the door to the great arena that ran the entire length of the House of the Kat. Even with the brightly lit sconces, she couldn’t see to the end of the vast underground cavern. The plank tables had been cleared away by Mikhailo, and now all that remained were the prisoners and soldiers stamping their feet and wrapping their arms around their chests in an effort to keep warm. All were clad in heavy fur coats, hats, and high boots.

  A monstrous fireplace with whole tree trunks blazing was the only heat the room offered. Katerina walked over to the blazing fire and stood with her back to the dancing flames. She looked around at the men with clinical interest. She noted that Banyen stood in front of his men, who were off to the side, separated from the prisoners.

  Katerina pierced him with her gaze. “It’s you against me, is that what you’re trying to say? The prisoners are my men and the soldiers are yours. Is it to be a test?” When he didn’t answer, Katerina smiled. “They’re babies.” She smiled again as she looked at the youthful faces. “When a general goes to war, he should have men fighting at his side, not infants that need a wet nurse.” Guffaws of laughter erupted from the prisoners as the soldiers tried to kill her with their eyes. Banyen refused to be baited and remained quiet.

  Katerina dropped the ermine and waited a moment for the shock to register in the men’s eyes. She knew how she looked with the body garment, the one-piece uniform the Don Cossacks were noted for, cleaving to her slim body. Each curve, each limb cried out starkly. If I stood here naked in front of them I doubt I would get more of a reaction, she thought. Katerina heard the indrawn breaths and noticed the looks of approval in the eyes of the prisoners as well as the soldiers. Banyen’s face was a study in nonchalance, appearing impervious to her lithe body. She shrugged as she called Mikhailo to her side.

  “Issue each man a body garment, and see that they move briskly. You too, Prince! We all wear the same attire,” she said coldly. “This attire has always been made expressly for and given to each youth the day he began his training for the Cossack army. This year, because there aren’t any Dons, you men from Sibir will wear them.”

  The agate eyes were darkening at her words. “I refuse to wear that ridiculous clothing,” Banyen said savagely.

  “Either you put it on under your own power or someone will help you,” Katerina said threateningly. “You do what I tell you, not the other way around. Make fast work of it, for we are already behind with our drilling.” Katerina glided to the front of the clustered prisoners. “These are my men, those are yours. Either you do what I tell you or my men will help you. As you can see, you’re greatly outnumbered. Move!”

  The Mongol’s eyes narrowed till they were mere slits. He looked around, and Kostya’s face was the first thing that came into his line of vision. A sly smile was on Kostya’s mouth. Damn woman, she was right, he was outnumbered, and a good soldier always knew when to retreat. For now, he would do as she said and don the crazy costume she wanted him to wear. Later, he would strangle her with it.

  Katerina suppressed a laugh when Mikhailo led the men back into the cavernous room. All appeared self-conscious and were holding their hands over their male organs. She waited till they were in line before she moved. Lightly, a saber held loosely in her hand, she literally danced in front of the men. “Welcome to the House of Vaschenko, or”—she let her eyes wander down the straggly line of men—“the House of the Kat. That is the name you’ve been whispering among yourselves, isn’t it? Yes,” she said, answering the unspoken question, “I’m the Kat. It would appear that you respect the title but not the person who owns it. You will, in time. From this moment on we will be together for sixteen hours every day for the next six months. We will work with the saber from dawn till noon. From noon till twilight you will work with the horses that will be assigned you. At sundown you will have your evening meal. You may eat as much as you wish at that time, and be advised, after today it is the only time you will be fed. Is that understood? A good Cossack can go days without eating, and if he has food he gives it to his horse first. Remember that. You come second.

  “After your meal we’ll work with the lance and the horse till the moon is high in the sky. Then you will sleep. A good Cossack can go for days without sleep, also. That is another point I want you not to forget.

  “If for some reason your performance is judged poor, you’ll spend your sleeping hours practicing your weakness. I said I would train you to be Cossacks, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to work you till you think you’ll fall in your tracks. Every day for as long as you’re here you will curse me and hate me with a passion you didn’t know existed. You will think and plot my death a thousand times over, and when you believe you have picked the right time and place, I’ll be behind you, not in front of you.

  “There are a few of you who’ll be tempted to escape this fortress. Don’t! I’ll come after you and I’ll find you, and then you’ll force me to make an example of you in front of the others. There is no escape from the House of the Kat. An hour outside and your ears will drop from your head. Your eyeballs will freeze in their sockets. I have no wish to see any of you die,” she said, looking directly at Banyen, “but if you insist on leaving here, be warned—it can’t be done.

  “The only link to the world below the mountains is our trained falcons. We have two birds. One is kept here, and the other is quartered in Kisinev. If help is needed, or someone wants access to the mountains, one of the birds is sent. I’m telling you this so you’ll know if you have any plans to leave here, it can’t be done. No one save a Cossack can survive this weather. At January’s end the blizzards come, and they last till March. You must believe me when I tell you that at such time even a Cossack can’t survive. You’ve been warned, and more than that I can’t do.”

  One of the young soldiers standing near Banyen, little more than a boy, spoke haltingly. “I’m cold and I didn’t get enough to eat, I’m hungry.”

  Katerina laughed, the sound bouncing off the thick stone walls, and raising the hackles on the boy’s neck.

  “In the House of the Kat we don’t complain . . . ever. We don’t whine like ne
wborn puppies. You are a babe; where do you fit into the Khan’s armies? As a matter of fact,” she said loftily as she walked in front of Banyen’s men, “I’ve never seen a larger group of infants in my life.” While she spoke to the young boys, she was looking at Banyen, the amber eyes mocking and scornful.

  “I’m no baby,” the youth said belligerently.

  “Your name,” Katerina said coldly.

  “Igor.”

  “If I say you are, then you are,” Katerina said dangerously. “Mikhailo, hand this . . . child a weapon. Now tell me you aren’t a babe with a sword in your hand. When you make a statement, be prepared to defend it . . . to the death, if necessary. Now tell me, are you a baby or not?”

  “I’m no babe,” the young voice cried defiantly, the blade held awkwardly in his thin hand.

  “And I say you are,” Katerina said, slicing down the front of the heavy fur coat, and with catlike speed she had the sleeve in tatters with her quick, cutting motions. “When are you going to fight for your words?”

  Igor’s eyes sought out Banyen’s and pleaded with him to interfere on his behalf. Kat correctly interpreted the look and spoke. “Each man stands alone in the House of the Kat. A Cossack never asks or accepts help from another. A Cossack stands alone except for his horse. His animal is the only friend and ally he has,” she said coldly.

  Tears of rage burned in the youth’s eyes as he lashed out with his sword, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

  “Bah, you’re impossible! Resume your place in line. I have no more time to spend on these childish games. I’ll find a wet nurse for you unless the prince can make a man of you.

  “Mikhailo!” The one word was an iron command. “Lock their furs away.”

  The Kat stifled her laughter as the men continued to hold their hands over their groins. All of Banyen’s men—or youths, as she preferred to call them—wore sullen, angry looks. The prisoners wore puzzled, questioning looks on their broad faces.

  “We’re ready to begin,” the Kat said in a clear, high voice. “Mikhailo, the music, please. You’re going to learn Russian dancing. Form two circles and dance like this,” she said, leaping into the air, twisting her body in a whirling motion, landing gracefully on her feet. “On your toes, and pretend you are holding a basket of eggs on your head. On the count of three.” The Kat turned her head to hide her grin as the men leaped and cavorted through the air, their arms and legs flying every which way. A soldier named Vladimir protested as his feet left the ground and he ended in a heap.

  “I came to be trained as a Cossack, not to learn to dance. Dancing is for women,” he said vehemently.

  “You’re right, you’re no dancer. I assure you, this is necessary. I care nothing at all about what you think. It’s what I think and what I do that’s important! Every Cossack goes through this phase of training. It will limber your muscles and enable you to move quickly and effortlessly. Now try it again.”

  “No!”

  “Very well.” The Kat sighed. “Mikhailo, take him to his quarters. No blanket and no dinner tonight. Perhaps he will develop a craving for the dance by tomorrow. Why are all of you staring?” she asked coldly. “I thought I told you to dance.”

  “But there is no music,” one called Igor complained.

  “If there’s no music and I tell you to dance, what should you do?” the Kat asked coldly.

  “Pretend!” cried a young voice from behind Banyen as he leaped wildly in the air, coming down with a thud. Banyen grimaced at the look on the Kat’s face, and at the looks his men were giving him.

  “Eggs, remember the eggs!” the Kat shouted as she walked among the men, the tip of her saber tapping this one and that one to show he was doing something not to her liking.

  Mikhailo returned, and within minutes his fiddle was active. Katerina leaned against the wall as she watched Banyen leap into the air, his long, muscular legs doing exactly what they should be doing. His performance was almost as good as her own. She felt smug as she watched him help his men. The youths smiled crookedly, their eyes fearfully on the Kat.

  As the noon hour approached Katerina signaled for Mikhailo to stop the music. She motioned for the men to fall into columns and stand at attention. She spoke briskly as she walked up and down among the straggly lines of prisoners and soldiers.

  “Today is not an indication of what is to come. Today I’m judging you on flexibility and coordination. Timing and exact movement are extremely important. You must learn this or you could die. A good Cossack has a seventh sense. When you leave here, it will be honed to a sharp point. Your life will depend, at one time or another, on this new sense you’re going to develop, always remember that. Your dancing leaves much to be desired. In time, with practice, you will improve. Now, cross sabers. Mikhailo will issue each of you a weapon, and you’ll practice with a partner. I’m going to divide you into groups of fifteen men each, and you will have a leader whom you’ll obey. The prince will do the same.” She signaled to Banyen to begin choosing his men.

  Katerina looked over the men she had come to know a little better than the others. Her first choices were Kostya and Rokal, then two others. She debated before she made her fifth, and final, choice, finally deciding on a tall, dark-skinned Russian.

  Katerina’s eyes danced when she saw Banyen’s choice was a youth named Gogol and his second choice the boy Igor.

  “Saber tips in place,” she called loudly. “I have no wish to see the lot of you bleed to death, not today. Tomorrow you will remove them and slice at each other to your hearts’ content. If your skill as a dancer improves, you’ll be able to make your feet do what your mind tells them to do. Tomorrow,” she shouted to Banyen, “your man who has been sent to his quarters will cross sabers without the tips. Is that clear? If he bleeds to death for some clumsy movement, it is on your head, not mine.”

  Lithely Katerina danced out to the middle of the arena and motioned for Mikhailo to join her. “A brief demonstration,” she said, removing the saber tips. Deftly she backed off and flexed her legs, her slim body a study of perfection in the brightly lit center of the room. She brought up the saber and touched the tip of his weapon and shouted, “Begin!” Metal clanked against metal as she danced and reached, always finding her mark. Her movements were well practiced as she fluidly moved out of Mikhailo’s reach. Twice the point found its target, Mikhailo’s heart. The Cossack laughed as he moved clumsily, trying to get out of her way. She would advance, bring up her weapon, and slice up and down, her wrists barely moving.

  Banyen watched, mesmerized as she leaped and thrust. He told himself her slim body had something to do with it. No woman could handle a weapon as she did. He understood her theory of dancing and crossed sabers. Grudgingly he admitted she was right. A body in good condition could handle anything—he was the living proof. Now all he had to do was convince these babes, as she called them, that he approved of what she was doing, without losing their respect. Damn, why couldn’t the Khan have assigned him men instead of these raw recruits?

  Her exhibition at an end, the Kat told the men to pair off according to their leader’s instructions. She sat down near the blazing fire next to Mikhailo and watched as the men struck out with their heavy weapons. “What do you think, Mikhailo, is there any hope?” she asked softly, her eyes on Banyen as he lunged out at one of his men. His movements were sure and flexible, his weapon finding its mark each time. Not so the boy he was fighting with, who thought the weapon was something to hold across his chest for protection.

  * * *

  “In time they’ll be all right, Katerina. Miracles do not happen overnight, nor in a week. The prisoners seem agreeable. I’ve heard no grumbling from any of them. They take orders well, but I expect trouble in the next few days.”

  “It is sure to come. For now, the lot of them are biding their time, waiting to see what’s going to happen. Wait till they get one meal a day and then have to give up their sleeping hours to practice mastering their imperfections.”

&n
bsp; “The one called Kostya, I see the way he looks at you. He also seems to be the spokesman for the others. I’ve noticed the way they listen to him and look to him for some sign that they should do what he wants. I saw him give a slight nod of his head when you told them all to dance. He approved, and that’s why there was no grumbling among the others. I noticed this, and so did the Mongol prince. His eyes hold cold murder, but for whom I don’t know.”

  “For me, Mikhailo. If there is murder to be done, it will be me that commits the act. And it will be his body that falls to the ground, not mine!”

  At the end of the second hour Katerina called a halt to the saber drill, and Mikhailo gathered the weapons and stockpiled them in the dim recesses of the cavernous room.

  While Mikhailo tended to his duties, the Kat informed the men that their leaders were to follow Mikhailo to the underground stables, where they would select the horses and bring them back to the arena. “The rest of you may now take a rest period.”

  Deliberately, the Kat waited till the men filed behind Mikhailo, and found herself walking next to Kostya. She sensed the stiffening of his shoulders as she brushed against him going out the wide stone archway. She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at him. His bright blue gaze pierced her, but his stride never faltered as he continued to hold her eyes with his own. She searched for an expression, some sort of indication of what he was feeling, but his features remained blank, unlike Banyen, whose face and eyes were an open book. She felt puzzled but said nothing. She liked the feeling being near him gave her. There was hidden strength in his strong, sinewy arms, and his broad chest looked just right for a woman to be cradled against. She blinked. Now why had she thought of something like that? She wanted to say something just to hear his voice, but she remained quiet, some instinct warning her that this was not the time to speak with the Russian. She made a mental note to find a spare minute as soon as the men were on a strict schedule. Yes, she would make the time and use it to her best advantage.