Riders of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  "The starosta," observed Demid, who had wakened at the sound of the bugle, "has come, as I looked for."

  "With armed men and attendants," nodded Ayub. "He has posted them well. He was not born yesterday. That is the proper way to approach a basilisk."

  The leaders of the party had been admitted to the palisade after a brief delay. They did not come out again, but several Tatars entered the Cossacks' field of vision, slipping through the outbuildings, and the haystacks, past the sentries. Once clear of the starosta's lines, the fugitives began to run toward the wood, near the knoll.

  "They must be driven by fear, or Tatars would never go an arrow flight without a horse—"

  "Or the stables are under guard."

  With that Demid made his way down from the height, and, followed by the big warrior, intercepted the hunters.

  "What has come upon you," the young Cossack asked in Tatar, "that you flee from Khor?"

  The natives pulled up and looked at him fearfully.

  "Allah preserve your honor," said one, "evil has come upon Khor."

  "What evil, dog-brothers?"

  "It is not known to us—all of it. The thrice dignified khan of the karaul—the chief of the city—has brought up his horde. He has spoken loud words in the kurultai, the council in the hall. He says that money shall be paid him. Our lady has no gold. The chief of the city then said that he will proclaim her a debtor and gather spoil together to pay the debt. All things are ordained, and this also, by Allah. We fled before the slaying should begin."

  "Without horses?"

  "The soldiers are posted at the stables."

  Demid glanced at Ayub.

  "Are you the men of the khanum, or jackals?"

  The hunters thought this over.

  "We are her dogs, your honor. But we are uneasy, and the forest is our place."

  "Then abide here, until one is sent for you. If you flee into the forest Cossacks will find you and strip you of your hides. Do you understand?"

  The Tatars assented, and sat down, unstringing their bows at Ayub's pointed request. They did not know how many more of the Cossacks were in the forest. God had sent many things upon them, of late the taxes of the chief of the city, the death of their young lord, and a ghost. So also the Cossacks had been sent.

  With many mutterings, and stifled misgivings, Ayub followed the bogatyr that night. He could not see any good in visiting Khor again, but as Demid set about doing so, the big warrior went along after impressing upon the Tatar hunters that if harm came to the horses of the Cossacks, left in their care, all the fiends of the Dnieper would be set upon their tracks, and their souls would be flayed out of their bodies.

  It was not difficult for the Cossacks, who were accustomed to scouting in darkness, to make their way through the cow sheds and stables unseen by the outer sentries of the starosta. Nor did the palisade give any trouble to men of their height. They had chosen the second hour of darkness, before the rising of the moon, for their excursion.

  Once within the wall, they listened a while to the sounds from the soldiers' camp outside the gate. Fires were going there, and the wail of a balalaika and the shouting of the buffoons showed that the under-officers had dined well, and that the camp would not be moved that night.

  A yellow square of light, glowing from Ileana's room, indicated that the princess kept to her chamber. From time to time they caught the wailing of a woman-servant in the rambling outbuildings. Demid, keeping close to the logs of the manor house, advanced to the narrow embrasures of the main hall. At one of these he paused, listening to the hum of voices within. With his dagger he cut a piece the size of his hand from the thin horn that served for a window. Pulling the severed strip toward him he peered in.

  Five men were seated at the long table, which bore the remains of a hearty dinner. At the foot of the table Hermaphron was filling a Turkish goblet with red wine, and near him the lieutenant, Varan, hooked his booted heels in the rungs of a Venetian chair of ebony and mother-of-pearl.

  John of Kudak sat at the head of the table, with two strangers on either hand. One was a young officer, in the fur-tipped cloak of a Russian dragoon, his tunic ornamented with loops of silver. His companion appeared to be a merchant—a man with yellow, creased skin and weak eyes, who took snuff at intervals from a jeweled box. The starosta was speaking in his clear, measured voice.

  "Gentlemen, you have inspected the manor house and farm. Even in its rundown state the place is worth more than the two thousand thalers, which are the tithes, unpaid for more than two years."

  "Khor is worth little," spoke up the merchant dryly, "for it is exposed to raids from river-thieves or brigands. As I live, it would take a round sum to put the farm in working order."

  "True," nodded the governor. "But in this hall and the other rooms are sets of weapons and other spoil of the wars. Moreover one score and ten souls go with the farm."

  The officer of dragoons tapped his glass reflectively.

  "What of the Princess Ileana? Why does she stick to this dog-kennel? I have seen her in Kudak. With her eyes and manner, by Saint Nicholas, she could have a career in Kiev—aye, or Moscow."

  "She is of the old gentry, Cornet Boris. Her people stick to her like horseflies and she will not leave them."

  "Shades of-!" The officer's boots clashed on the floor. "Do you mean

  that the young witch chooses to be sold with the farm?"

  John of Kudak was silent a moment.

  "Such is her intention, voiced to me by the majordomo, Feodor. Her own words, gentlemen: 'If Khor is to be sold to another master, the new owner must purchase me.'"

  "Bah!" The merchant scowled. "A wayward wench. How stands the law in this thing?"

  "An insolvent debtor, Master Sigismund, is subject to the pravioz. That is, he must be tied up in a public place. If at the end of a month his debts are not paid, he himself may be sold and his family let out for hire—"

  "Aye, in the case of the low-born. But this woman is a boyar, one of the old nobility. You cannot tie her up like a horse."

  "Ileana of Khor may claim trial before the supreme tribunal of Moscow, but the city is at war, and the courts are empty. I am the starosta of the lower Dnieper, and she is subject to my judgment. I have dealt with her fairly. In view of certain offenses of Khor, known to me—" he hesitated briefly—"I declare the family of the Khor debtors to the government, and I decree that their property be sold into better hands. What the princess chooses to do with herself matters not at all to me. She has wild blood in her."

  "But a face for the gods!" cried the Cornet. "The-fly away with

  your law! Where is the young brother? Prince Michael cut a swathe among

  the students of Kiev, and he'd call out the man that bought his sister, as surely as God has given me life!"

  The governor frowned.

  "Michael, I hear, was slain in the company of the river-thieves."

  Cornet Boris tugged at his mustache, and his red face gleamed in the candlelight. Varan uncoiled his legs, to take the pitcher from Hermaphron.

  "Then," cried the dragoon, "-my soul, but the Khoris forfeit their

  privilege as nobles—"

  "Yet the girl has weapons and men," put in Varan.

  "And I have a heart and half a squadron," responded Boris. "So Ileana of her own will is to be sold with Khor? Gentlemen, these are gladsome days. I give you the health of the princess!"

  Standing, he lifted his goblet and drank the toast, followed by Varan. The sudden movement caused a stir among the falcons perched in the distant corner. Near them an old raven, a pet of Ileana's, croaked harshly.

  "Death!" cried Hermaphron, glancing over his shoulder. "Ah, noble sirs, the omen of the raven is true as the message of the apostles."

  While the five men stared uneasily at the drowsy birds, Varan struck his fist on the table.

  "Michael is dead."

  But Hermaphron had seen an apparition the night before, and his olive skin turned sallow as that of
the moneylender Sigismund. His hand quivered as he reached for his wine glass, and the red fluid was upset on the table. Varan made the sign of the cross. John of Kudak had no thought for omens. Taking a sheet of parchment from his coat, he laid it before him.

  "Gentlemen, here is the title to Khor and its acres, and its plows, cottages and souls. I have placed thereto my seal, only the name of the owner is wanting. Come, who makes the first bid?"

  He glanced at Varan inquiringly, but the lieutenant, staring at the crimson pool on the table, shook his head.

  "Fifteen hundred thalers," offered Sigismund.

  "Two thousand!" cried the Cornet Boris. "What dog would not bid as much to have the fair Ileana for handmaiden? By the five wounds!" he laughed hoarsely. "Summon her out of her room! We must see what we are buying."

  The thin hand of Sigismund passed across his lips, and he dabbed at his weak eyes with a lace handkerchief. The starosta gave the order to his servant, who alone attended them—Feodor having refused to serve the intruders. But when the man left the hall, John of Kudak half rose in his chair and his eyes hardened. Demid and Ayub appeared in the outer door.

  The two Cossacks had entered the house unchallenged, as the Russians had contented themselves with posting guards at the gate of the palisade, preferring not to be overheard in their talk. Demid advanced to the table, while Ayub, leaning on his sheathed broadsword, took station behind Varan.

  Drawing from his girdle a leather bag, the Don Cossack tossed it down by the governor's elbow.

  "Gold, turquoise and emeralds, to the value of three thousand thalers," he said briefly. "I have a mind to Khor."

  The officers and the merchant stared at the Cossacks in astonishment, but the governor made no response. It was not to his liking to have the manor house in the hands of men from below. Thinking to find fault with Demid's offer, he opened the bag and ran through his fingers the pieces of gold and the jewels. Realizing that their value was unquestionable, he pondered. In asking for bids, to comply with the form of law, he had sought to have only men allied to him in Kudak as buyers.

  "Thirty-two hundred," spoke up the merchant Sigismund. "Half on my bond."

  "What kind of a horse is this?" demanded the dragoon, who, being from the northern cities, had not seen a Cossack before. "These chaps are not Russians, and, my oath for it—they are not boyars."

  "Henchmen of the koshevoi, the chief of the Cossacks below the rapids," explained John of Kudak. "Sent up the river to hunt the pirates."

  He studied Demid curiously.

  "You were for the Wilderness. No good can come of your meddling here. What will your commander say, when it is known that you gave over monies of the Cossacks to pay for a woman and her farm?"

  It was a shrewd thrust, but nevertheless a true one. The funds had been given Demid by his chief, to aid in the recovery of the powder. Ayub knew this and was troubled.

  Yet, when the young Cossack glanced at him inquiringly, he fumbled in his wallet and threw down on the table a handful of coins, a gold cross set with rubies and a turquoise ring. Believing that Demid was acting under a spell cast by the girl of Khor the big warrior could not endure seeing a Cossack worsted in any contest with the Russians.

  "The worth of seven hundred thalers are here," he said bluntly. "So the Jews have sworn to me."

  "Thirty-seven hundred!" breathed the governor.

  "It is too much," snarled the merchant. "They are fools."

  "Four thousand!" cried the dragoon, pulling at his mustache.

  "And another thousand," added Demid, "on my word."

  The officer bit his lip, and Sigismund sniffed.

  "I will pay you the four thousand," said Boris slowly, "in Kudak on the morrow. What avails the word of an adventurer like this, against my payment?"

  "Much," put in Ayub dryly. "The word of a Cossack is not smoke. This youth is a bogatyr. When he swore that he would ransom me, he did it by cutting off the head of a Turk."

  At this John of Kudak smiled.

  "I prefer the surety of the Cornet," he declared. "The manor house and the souls of Khor are sold to the officer, Boris."

  "I offered more," observed Demid slowly.

  "The decision rests with me. I am the viceroy of the Crown!" The governor drew himself up angrily. Just then the Cornet, who thought the matter settled, saw fit to propose a second toast, and to voice a thought that appealed to him more strongly than ever.

  "To Ileana, my slave," he announced, raising a wine glass.

  There was a whistle of air, a flash of steel over the table, a crash of glass, and Boris stared blankly at the stem of the glass in his fingers. So quickly had Demid drawn his scimitar and struck that the officer had not seen the blade meet his glass.

  Demid's face had gone white. All the pent-up passion of his impatient spirit had been loosed by a word from the Russian. A child of the steppe, reared among the Cossacks of the Don who were part Gypsy and Tatar in blood, he was ill at ease in the walls of civilization. So he had moved carefully, feeling his way.

  Obeying the order of the koshevoi, his chief, the Don Cossack had kept a rein on his temper until now. It remained for the Cornet to anger him beyond endurance. But it was Varan who made clear what had roused the passion of the warrior.

  "So the princess has a lover!" the lieutenant cried, pushing back his chair.

  John of Kudak glanced fleetingly at Boris. The Cornet was an officer of the Imperial Guard, formed of the young courtiers of Russia—a

  picked body of cavalry, drilled by German and French veterans. He was a skilled duelist, formidable because he never lost head or temper. Quickly the governor reasoned that if Boris could kill Demid, the other meddler, Ayub, could be disposed of and the whole thing explained as the result of a duel. The Cossacks of the siech would have no grievance against him in that case.

  "A pretty stroke," muttered Boris. "It will earn you a beating from my sergeants. I will have your back flayed, Cossack, and make a dog collar out of your skin. If you were an officer, I'd call you out, but a vagabond—"

  Demid was beyond words. He acted promptly enough, slapping Boris on each cheek with the flat of his scimitar. Unseen by the men about the table the girl Ileana and the Tatar servant, summoned by the orderly, had come to the door leading from the sleeping rooms. Hearing the quarrel, they stood there, half hidden in the shadows.

  Matters were going to the liking of John of Kudak, who knew the Cornet's skill with a weapon.

  "Gentlemen," he said gravely, "if you must meet in my presence, let it be in order. Lieutenant Varan will act as second, to the Cornet Boris. The Cossack clown will second his comrade—"

  "Health to you, Excellency," contradicted Ayub, who was not alarmed for Demid, "but I stand where I can see you all." And he drew the broadsword, resting his arms on the wide handguard.

  Without further parley, Demid had thrown off his coat. He stood in a white silk shirt, wide and long of sleeve, that accentuated his slender build and the light blade in his hand.

  Two spots of color glowed in the cheeks of the officer, who permitted Varan to relieve him of cloak and tunic. He rolled up the sleeve from a knotted arm and stepped away from the table, moving to place the light from the candles in Demid's eyes. As he left him, Varan whispered a word of advice, to stir the Cossack into blind anger, when he would lose his head and be an easy victim.

  Boris nodded. He knew how to do that. Moreover his cavalry saber out-reached Demid's curved scimitar by the length of a hand. He was sure of himself.

  "After you have fallen to my sword, my hand will deal with the maiden of Khor," he observed, smiling.

  Saluting with his blade he stepped forward.

  The Cossack kept the tip of his weapon on the floor.

  "To one of us life, to the other, death," he repeated the salutation of his race.

  Boris, who had never faced a Cossack, was a little surprised. But he lunged at once with the point. Demid struck the saber aside, and engaged.

  The two
blades flashed up, slithered together, and ringed the heads of the fighters with the clang and grind of cut and parry. Boris pressed the attack, hoping to make his adversary give ground.

  Demid, however, stood in his tracks, his eyes steady. Only his wrist and forearm moved. So it happened that the watchers saw the Cornet grow red in the face, while the Cossack, under the stimulus of the fight, seemed to be gripped by sheer, savage joy. His white face was composed, his narrowed eyes utterly expressionless.

  "Boris is playing with him," whispered the governor to Varan.

  The taciturn lieutenant shook his head slightly.

  "The light scimitar prevails at close work. Heavy slashes will do the trick for the Cornet. Ha!"

  Shifting his ground, Boris darted in, cutting wide at the Cossack's head, and changing swiftly to the point, to try for the throat. Still Demid parried, scarcely moving his feet. The blades clanged more loudly, and Ayub began to breathe heavily, knowing that the long saber must strike home, by sheer weight, unless Demid shifted ground.

  Aware of this, Boris leaped forward, slashing down as he did so. Demid had been watching his eyes, and as his arm went up the Cossack's scimitar was tossed from the right to the left hand. Before Boris could turn his blade, the Cossack had drawn the edge of his weapon across the other's lower ribs, as a man might stroke a cushion with a light wand.

  But the razor edge of the scimitar bit deep into the Russian's flesh, and as Boris cried out, Demid slashed again with all the power of his left arm, splitting the skull beside the eyes.

  The dragoon was dead before his body struck the floor, and only his fingers twitched as he lay in a spreading pool of blood. So abruptly had the ringing of the sabers ceased that the starosta and his men stood in their tracks, staring with wide eyes. Ayub moved up impatiently.

  "Well, he was no coward. Pick him up, some of you, and carry him to his tent. Why don't you send for a priest? Here—" he made the sign of the cross over the body with the great broadsword—"in the name of the Father and the Son."

  Varan, his teeth gleaming, dropped the dragoon's cloak and felt for his saber, but John of Kudak shook his head. Sigismund and Hermaphron shrank from touching the remains of their friend, and the governor ordered his servant to help Varan carry out the body. This done, he handed the title deed to Khor to Demid, and tapped his snuffbox meditatively.