Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

As the sky darkened, the multitude of bonfires glowed like fireflies on the edge of the grasslands. Guards were posted as the Mongols and Cossacks ate and then bedded down for the night.

  Settling herself beneath the stars, Katerina anxiously waited for sleep to overcome her. Please, she prayed, let nothing happen to him, keep him safe.

  Chapter 23

  With a sharp tug on the reins, Banyen brought his black Arabian to a halt. Moscow stood before him, a little less than a mile off. Never having been in this metropolis before, he wanted to observe it from a distance. Prior to this visit, all his dealings with the boyars had been on a prearranged no-man’s-land or by messenger. Now he needed to know the city and its secrets. A week in Moscow, shown around by the boyars, and he should be able to lead the attack through it without any problems. He knew he had to be careful, because as much as the boyars hated Ivan and constantly undermined him, they were a lot not to be trusted by anyone. What was it the boyar had said? Banyen ran it through his mind again: “Take the main road into Moscow, through the Wooden City, then travel the White City, which will bring you into Kitai Gorod. You will know Kitai Gorod from the other cities by the fence built around it. Once in Kitai Gorod you’ll see an inn, a large log building, and you’ll recognize it by the wine pitcher which hangs over the entrance. We’ll meet at the inn after dark, but before you enter Moscow you must dress yourself in the clothes of a rich merchant.”

  Banyen, dressed in the appropriate attire, spurred the horse in the flanks and headed for the way into Moscow.

  He rode his stallion slowly through the Wooden City, choked with log houses and a maze of streets lined with poor artisans and laborers. Weavers, gardeners, sheep skinners, and coach drivers were busy working at their trades. He trotted on into the White City, where he noticed a difference in the buildings, many made of ivory-colored stone. The filth and wooden buildings in the Wooden City were here, too, but here also stood ornate stone churches and palatial homes. Pungent markets along the main roadway, selling foodstuffs and objects of all descriptions, dotted the sides of the street. He was amazed at the unfamiliar sights and the number of people who milled and thronged the crowded, narrow roads. He knew that the masses of people would pose no problem when it came to the actual attack. To his discerning eye, the streets revealed only women, children, and merchants. Seeing no sentries to alarm him, he rode on, his eyes constantly on the alert.

  Momentarily wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost lost sight of the wall that stood before him as the sun, blotted out by the cover of the archway he passed under, awakened him to the fact that he was now in Kitai Gorod, or Basket Town. As his agate eyes raked the city he knew the boyar had spoken the truth, for in front of him were the kitais filled with earth, piled one on top of the other, reaching as high as the top of the wall. Banyen smiled to himself. The dirt-filled baskets would not deter the attack, only add fuel to the fire when the time came to burn the city. His eyes darkened and were sharp and alert for anything that looked the least suspicious as he continued toward the meeting place.

  Noticing a busy crossroads ahead, he approached, seeing a log building to his right. As his Arabian minced his way closer, he saw the wine pitcher hanging in front of the building. Nudging his horse to the side of the inn, he dismounted. Unsure as to what he should do with the animal, he tied it to a projecting log near the back of the building. Once he had spoken with the boyars and knew his way around, he would stable the animal.

  Entering the inn, Banyen was amazed to see the interior was large and bare. Except for the massive wooden tables and benches scattered about, a counter where the food and drinks were served, and a huge fireplace, nothing else was in the room. The starkness took Banyen by surprise, for Mongols always had drapings, rugs, pillows, and clutter around them. He walked to a simple table and sat down. He leaned back on his rickety chair and knew that he would draw no attention in his gray caftan.

  Banyen eyed a Russian serving girl and motioned for her to take his order. The oblique eyes narrowed as he watched her approach, her long chestnut hair billowing out behind her, her heavy breasts bobbing. Her bright, green eyes were bold and speculative as she leaned over to take his order, her breasts touching his shoulder. When she made no effort to change her position, Banyen reached out his hand and gently stroked the outside of her thigh. Still she didn’t move. “Soup, meat, and bread,” he said coolly as he continued to touch her leg. The girl smiled as she straightened and reached down to remove his hand. He matched her bold look and nodded slightly. Later he would investigate her charms. For now, he was impatient, knowing that darkness was fast approaching. And soon the boyars would arrive. He cautioned himself to watch for men who wore gold medallions around their necks. He knew that the attire of the boyars was to be tall black sheepskin hats, black caftans, and black robelike capes decorated with golden tassels.

  When the girl brought his food, he ate heartily. The soup was so thick it was almost a stew; the roast lamb was succulent; the black bread was warm and tasty. Again he motioned to her, ordering a tall glass of kvass. A smile tugged at the corners of Banyen’s mouth as the girl pressed herself to him again, this time more heavily. When she reached over to pick up the kopecks, her gown fell away, revealing large, creamy orbs. Banyen drew in his breath, wanting to reach out and fondle them. He grinned as he watched her eye him languorously. His loins began to ache as he watched her sway back to the kitchen regions. Later, he told himself, there’s always later. For now, he would sip at the kvass and wait for the boyars.

  He was finishing his third glass when the inn became crowded with the supper patrons as twilight gave way to total darkness. Still Banyen waited, enjoying the bold glances the serving girl was bestowing on him. His own gaze became sleepy as he watched her swaying buttocks when she walked around the inn, serving the patrons. The moment the ache in his nether regions became a pain, two men walked through the door, dressed exactly as the boyar had described them. Banyen recognized one of them.

  Banyen watched them closely as their eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on him. Bright gold medallions hung around their necks. The men fingered the medals and slowly maneuvered their way to his side of the crowded room. As they approached the table where he sat, Banyen stood and spoke.

  “I beg your pardon, my boyars, might I have a quiet word with you?”

  Both pairs of eyes took in Banyen’s merchant attire and the oblique eyes. They nodded. “Of course, how can we be of assistance?” they asked, seating themselves at the table.

  Holding up his hand, Banyen ordered kvass for his guests.

  The older of the two boyars spoke first. “This inn is not the place to discuss details. Tomorrow, during the day, we must do the Czar’s bidding, but in the evening we’ll meet in my home in the White City. When we finish our kvass we’ll ride through Moscow so you can become familiar with the sites and the names of the places of which we speak. As we ride, I’ll tell you of the many details you’ll need to know. We’ll also ride past my home so you’ll know where to meet me tomorrow evening. Might I say, Prince Banyen, you look well. It has been many years since I last saw you. Fortune has been good to you. Soon you’ll be able to avenge your family.” His voice was sad and solemn as he stared into Banyen’s eyes. “How long ago it was that we played together as children. I’m happy that I can now be of some help to you.”

  Banyen nodded, saying nothing.

  “I suggest you take a room here at the inn, as it would be the obvious thing for a stranger to do. Most newcomers to Moscow stay at this particular inn. It would be best if you booked your room now. We’ll wait here for your return. Where did you secure your animal?”

  “I tied him to a log at the side of the inn. Is there some place I can stable the animal?” Banyen inquired with concern.

  “There’s a stable in back of the inn. When you secure your lodging tell them you wish your horse to be taken care of, and they will tend to the rest. Just pray your horse is still where you left him, for it isn’t uncomm
on for horses to be stolen.”

  Alarmed that his black stallion could be missing, Banyen first checked his steed. He was relieved when he found the animal still tied. Rushing back into the inn, he took a room and asked that his horse be tended to. The owner called out, and a moment later a stable boy appeared, listened, nodded his head, and was off in the direction of Banyen’s horse.

  “What name did you give?”

  “Ivan Toborschev.”

  “That’s good. What did you say for business?”

  “I said that I was a merchant from Kiev.”

  “Good.”

  Growing impatient with all the chatter, the elder boyar suggested they finish their drinks and leave for their ride around Moscow.

  “How did you gain entry to the city?”

  “Exactly as you instructed me. I came in on the main road through the Wooden City to Kitai Gorod.”

  The two nobles looked at each other, frowns on their faces. “Perhaps we should take him farther on and show him Red Square and the Kremlin. This will give him a working knowledge of the city and the way the roads are laid out.”

  “A commendable idea,” the other agreed as they walked toward the stable and his waiting coach.

  The men boarded and drove through Red Square and the Kremlin. The two boyars pointed out the palace and surrounding buildings, which were heavily guarded and closed to the public. As the coach turned and headed back to Kitai Gorod, the driver was ordered to go through the other cities.

  “Even in the darkness you’ll be able to see parts of the cities you did not see on your ride in. Tomorrow, during the day, become familiar with as much as you can. If necessary, ride through more than once, and pay attention to the things you think will be important to you. Tomorrow evening, when we make our plans, sites we speak of may be recognizable to you.” Their drive at an end, the two men bade Banyen good night and were off, their coach lumbering down the road.

  Exhausted, Banyen lay down on the soft bed, mulling over the activities of the day. His thoughts turned to the plans for the attack due to take place in less than a week. Satisfied that he hadn’t overlooked anything, he let his thoughts drift, and he remembered the wanton smile and the firm, hard breasts that had pressed against his shoulder. A warm glow swept over him, and Katerina’s face swam before him. He ached for her touch. Warmed by his memories, he fell into a deep sleep.

  Refreshed and rested, Banyen dressed and descended the stairs for breakfast. He was relieved to note that the Russian girl was not in evidence. He knew that if she continued to flaunt herself, desire would take hold of him, and he would bed her like an animal. The girl’s absence and the work at hand drove passion to the back of his mind. He finished his meal and left the inn. Done saddling his horse, he began his ride through the streets of Moscow. As he trotted he made mental notes concerning the various roads, bridges, rivers, and sights which he felt might be of importance to him. At the end of the day he made his way back to the inn, had his supper, freshened up, then walked to the house of the elder boyar.

  The finery of the home impressed Banyen to a degree. The wealth of the noble and his trappings were different from those of a Mongol. The overstuffed chairs with their beautiful carvings and the small highly carved tables which sat around the large rooms, holding ornate lamps and art objects, drew his attention, but seemed utterly useless. A Mongol liked the best of things, but they were things that had a practical purpose, not merely for display. He complimented the boyar on his home, however, as they made their way to his private business chamber, where the others waited.

  Quickly the boyar closed the doors behind him. “These are some of the other men who will aid us. They too would like to see Ivan fall from power. We have been together for many years, and I give you my word that they can be trusted.”

  The nobles and Banyen sat around a big table in a corner of the room as the elder boyar unfolded a map of Moscow and placed it in the center of the group. “Banyen, study this map carefully and pay special attention to the places that are marked in red. The marks represent the weak spots in the chain of Ivan’s defense. There are many entrances into the cities through the main roadways, but when you reach Kitai Gorod, Red Square, and the Kremlin you will see they are surrounded by walls, the highest of which is around the Kremlin. The plan is for you to have your people surround all of Moscow. You will not have any trouble with the Wooden City or the White City, as they are open to raid. Have your main thrust come through the main roads of each city. Push straight on until you see the walls of Kitai Gorod. In the meantime you can have the rest of your army surround the entire outside walls of the Kremlin, Red Square, and Kitai Gorod. My men will be stationed at the unguarded places to open the gates to your men. As your army storms through the main road of Basket Town and keeps Ivan’s soldiers at bay, the rest of your men can pour through the gates. Moscow will be yours! We must now set the exact time of attack, and it must happen at exactly that moment, as seconds may spell the death of my comrades at Ivan’s mad hands!”

  “Understood,” acknowledged Banyen. “The supper hour will be the time. The moment the church bell chimes.”

  “Yes, an excellent idea. It should be dark by then, when most people eat, including the Czar and the soldiers. It will take them at least an hour to get back to the garrison where the main bulk of the weapons and ammunition is kept. Are you all in agreement with the plan and time for the attack?”

  “We agree,” said one voice, representing all.

  “Banyen, you will spend three more days in Moscow with my men, a different one each night, showing you the exact gates which will be opened to you. On the fourth night the attack will take place. Are your armies ready and together, waiting for you?”

  “It has been planned. When I ride out on the fourth day, all will be ready,” Banyen said, choosing his words carefully. As much as he trusted these men, he had no intention of giving them the exact location of the rendezvous point of the Mongol army. He did not regret his decision not to divulge exactly how large the force was, or that it would be joined with Crimean Tatars numbering in the hundreds of thousands.

  Motioning to one of the nobles, the boyar spoke, “Tomorrow you’ll go with this man and be shown the locations where my men will be stationed. Do this in the evening. I suggest you make yourself unavailable during the day. This way you will not draw attention to your actions. The hour is late, so let us leave one by one, quickly and quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion. Banyen, if I don’t see you again before you leave, good fortune.”

  “What do you gain by helping me? Is overthrowing Ivan enough? I offered you and your men gold for your help, but you refused. I don’t understand.”

  “If Ivan is overthrown or killed, we can place a man of our own in power and be the guiding force behind him, perhaps even one of our boyars. We’ll have control of the Russian people and want for nothing. If we lose, then it will be all over for us. What good would the money you offered do us then?”

  Banyen held out his hand. “I hope we both succeed. Good fortune to you too, old friend.”

  Following the boyar’s instructions, Banyen rode along the walls of Moscow for the next two nights. During the day be kept to his room except for his meals, which he took in the dining hall. At the end of the second day he waited for the serving girl to lean over him, her smile wanton and her breasts pressing against him each time she served him. Each time he thought of the Russian girl, Katerina would intrude into his mind, forcing the smiling, chestnut-haired girl into the background.

  The third and last day of his stay in Moscow began. Normally he did not stay in bed past dawn, but this day he made himself remain beneath the covers and rest. The forced inactivity drove him into a near frenzy as he dressed and went downstairs for his breakfast. His meal finished, he headed for the stables to make sure his stallion was properly fed and watered. The animal had to take him to Smolensk and back to Moscow, and he prayed the stable boy had followed his instructions.

  Banye
n nodded to the young boy tending the animals and praised his care.

  Carefully, his eyes alert, he walked around Kitai Gorod. A vague feeling of unease seemed to be settling over him. Several times he glanced over his shoulder and thought he saw someone following him. Each time, the street was empty. Still, the feeling persisted as he walked back to the inn. Bolting the door of his room, he lay down on the coarse bedding to think. As always, his thoughts drifted to Katerina and their time in the mountains. Each day was bringing him closer to when he would see her again. Somehow he would make it right with her, convince her he had done nothing wrong, that it was her he loved for all eternity. Tomorrow he would ride to Smolensk, and even that ride would bring him nearer to Katerina.

  He shook his head to clear the thoughts of Katerina from his mind. He had to think of other things. The Russian servant girl—there was something about her that bothered him. Each time she stared at him, her eyes would drift to the kitchen, as if she were working with someone. He admitted that he wanted her, desired her flesh next to his, but not at the expense of his life. Tonight he would take her and see if his theory was right.

  Seating himself at a table in the dining room, he watched through slitted eyes as the girl walked languorously toward him to take his order. As before, she leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his shoulders. She gazed at him with the same bold scrutiny, saying nothing, almost daring him with her sleepy gaze. This time Banyen let his hand trail up the inside of her tunic. She shivered slightly, but made no move to stir from his side. “Come to my room after you finish work tonight.” She nodded, and Banyen was not surprised that she didn’t bother to ask him which room was his. His mouth tightened when he saw her eyes go furtively to the kitchen, where a figure stood outlined in the doorway.

  Banyen ate leisurely, knowing the girl had a full hour of work ahead of her. When he left the table to go to his room he could feel her eyes boring into his back.