by Harold Lamb
All the space at one side of the palisade had been dug up. The black earth lay in heaps as high as a man's head and between the mounds were great pits. Ayub thought first that the Muscovites had been making a ditch around the wooden wall, then he wondered if they were burying their dead.
But the bones that littered the ground were dry, and here and there he saw the skull of a horse. The rotting shaft of a spear had been flung aside carelessly and rusted iron arrowheads lay among the stones. The knoll was nothing but a great cemetery, except where the palisade had been built.
"In other days," explained the prince, "a battle was fought in this place. Merchants up the river told me of it, and I have dug out enough gold to line the walls of a palace."
Ayub thought of the goblets and plate he had seen on the boyars' tables, and the chests that had been standing in the corner by Vladimir's bed.
"You twain shall have your share, and you shall not lack thereby—I pledge my word."
Covertly the big Zaporogian reached up and touched the cross on his sword. It was ill doing, to his mind, to meddle with bodies under the earth. Kirdy, who had seen the digging in progress the day before, made no comment, and there fell a silence that was broken by the prince, who still sought to win the warriors to his service.
"What was the fate of the tavern girl—she who fared with you to my gate?"
"Since she is fair of face, my lord," responded Kirdy, "the Tatars would not take her life, but would sell her to the Turks for a slave."
A gesture as of tossing something lightly from his fingers, and Vladimir sighed.
"I would have given a hundred silver crowns for her."
"Sir prince," said the youth earnestly, "I will free her and bring her to this place unharmed."
"Now by all the saints," Vladimir smiled at Durak, "here is a minstrel of deeds as well as words. But surely that is a mad thought. The raiders will be fifty versts away—see, the sun is at the zenith."
"Not with sheep, lord prince," spoke up Ayub. "They were driving cattle, too. When a Tatar raids, it is like this: They ride at night, two horses to each man in the horde. They go far into Christian lands, molesting no village, like ghosts riding to the Devil's summons. At dawn they turn, spreading out on each wing, making a long net that closes around the stanitzas. You have seen what they do to the fold of a village. They put the children in hampers and mount the captives on the led horses. Before you can say a prayer to the Father and Son, they are across the river again."
Pointing through the haze of smoke at the gray ribbon of the Donetz, he added:
"But Gerai Khan knows that you haven't horses, and he will take his time. Only God knows how he got the sheep across—maybe in carts, maybe he just drove them in to drown—still, he's not more than a dozen versts away."
There was bitterness in his voice and harsh accusation in his bleared eyes. Ayub had looked over Vladimir's forces as only an experienced soldier can, and he saw that the prince had a score of arquebusiers with good weapons, thirty pikemen, and as many under Durak, besides the boyars and the servitors—nearly a hundred and fifty in all, with two brass cannon. Enough to have driven the Tatars out of the village, had the prince advanced at once to the aid of his peasants.
"Give me a horse, my lord," put in Kirdy quickly, "and I will bring back the maiden."
For a moment the prince considered, staring into the dark eyes of the wanderer. He would give much to have Galka again
"You will return here, minstrel?"
"Aye. Only remember that we serve the ataman."
Vladimir shrugged. "Serve the devil if you will—but come back. You are young for the embrace of Mother Death."
Some minutes later Kirdy was leading a sorrel pony toward the thicket near the river bank where he had tethered the piebald—his own horse. Here they were out of sight of those who watched from the castle, and they mounted in silence, urging their beasts into the gray flood of the Donetz, kneeling in their saddles to keep dry above the waist.
"That is an ill place," grumbled the Zaporogian. "No good ever came of meddling with graveyards, that's a fact. Only, now, it will be worse for us with the Tatars. You ought to take off those trousers, by the saints. If Gerai Khan gets the upper hand, he'll crucify you and make dog collars out of your hide, and as for me—"
Shaking his head gloomily, Ayub meditated on what the tribesmen might do to him.
"Stratagems are all very well," he went on, "as long as your enemy's at a distance. Trick him all you like as long as your sword point's in between, but don't put your head in the bear's mouth and then kick him in the belly by way of a stratagem."
Kirdy, humming a saddle song under his breath, let the piebald out on the level plain of grass, and Ayub, still grumbling, hastened after him.
V
When the sun is high the lion roars unheeded: when night covers the earth men harken to the howling of a wolf.
Tatar proverb
Gerai Khan could not count above a hundred, and when, after some calculation, he decided that he was the richer by half a hundred captives and a good many more than a hundred cows, he was not altogether satisfied. He could not get a good price for the peasants from the Turkish slave traders and he did not want them himself. Not so much as a fistful of gold or silver had come out of the raid, and he began to think he had ridden away from Sirog too quickly. His spies had told him that Muscovite warriors were camped near at hand—and the Tatar always kept his distance from the ruined castle.
While his men made ready to feast on the sheep they had slaughtered and carried along in the peasants' carts, Gerai Khan sat on a horse skin in a grassy valley by a stream and meditated.
He had a round head, a stub of a nose and eyes that were like black beads. They gleamed angrily when he looked at the groups of Christians who sat wearily in the sun, their hands hanging over their knees. Mounted Tatars paced around them—short-legged riders in polished mail—holding long lances with tufts of painted hair under the steel points.
Gerai Khan had put aside his armor, and his thick body was resplendent in an orange khalat with sleeves too long for his stumpy arms. But either arm could wield with fury and skill the scimitar that lay across his knees. His men feared his anger, his enemies his craftiness. For the Nogai chieftain had lived long on the border, and the sparse red hairs under his chin that did duty for a beard were turning gray.
While the mutton was cooking in the pots he ate sunflower seeds, taking them from the hand of a warrior kneeling beside him—and counted over the prisoners again.
His slant eyes rested momentarily on Galka, who had covered her face and huddled up against gaunt Kukubenko. Then, at the tread of approaching horses, he looked up and resumed his chewing. Six Nogais were bringing in two Cossacks—one as big as an ox, the other slender, a born horseman. The weapons of the Cossacks were in the hands of the Nogais, but Gerai Khan saw at once there had been no struggle.
"Exalted of Allah, lord of lances, lord of the plain and the river, bearer of the sword of Islam—" one of the Tatar riders began the usual salutation.
"Who are these sons of dogs?" exclaimed the khan.
"They are envoys, they say."
"From the Muscovite pigs?"
"Nay," put in Kirdy, who had understood the remarks, "we come from a Koshevoi Ataman of the Cossacks, from the one called Khlit, of the Curved Saber."
Gerai Khan stopped chewing and the red hairs on his chin bristled. His memory was good and not so long ago this same Khlit had brought fire and sword against the Nogais. "How many men has he? From what quarter does he ride?"
Kirdy seated himself by the fire and stared into it while the tribesmen watched his face attentively.
"He will come, Gerai Khan, to your kibitka when the shadows grow long. And he will come alone. He has no weapon but there are words that must pass between you twain. You can see we are not mounted for war, otherwise we would not have given up our arms."
Outwardly impassive, Ayub held his breath until his lung
s burned in his chest, while he waited to see what the khan would do. Their lives hung in the balance, and he was afraid that Kirdy might grow anxious and urge again that they were envoys and so, according to the custom of the steppe, inviolate from harm.
"What message do you bring?"
"The ataman demands that you do not ill-treat the captives, for they are to be freed."
When the Nogai said nothing more, Ayub sighed with relief and stared about him with interest. Never before had he been in the camp of Tatars and his experienced eye took in the horse lines, the orderly groups around the fires—the riders who came as near as they dared to the chieftain to inspect the Cossacks. After a while the khan gave an order and warriors trotted out of the ravine—to double the guards, Ayub reflected, because none came in again. Also, the men at the fires did not eat their fill, but sat or walked about with bows strung and lances in hand.
Nevertheless, Khlit came in without being seen by the guards. He walked his horse down the bed of the stream, and Ayub knew it was he because he wore no sword and because he was older than any Cossack in the siech.
Gerai Khan put one stumpy hand on the hilt of his scimitar, and the other on the leather sheath, and his black eyes were no longer beads, but pinpoints of fire. His voice rumbled in his chest.
"What word have you, who have not an hour to live, to speak to me, O Kazak?"
Khlit dismounted and loosened the girth on his pony before coming to the fire and squatting down a spear's length from the Tatar, apparently not noticing that a warrior led his horse away and others crowded in behind him.
"You have mare's milk, Gerai Khan," he said. "Give me some."
The unblinking gaze of the Tatar was fixed on his old foe. He decided at once that Khlit was unarmed. No knife was in the black girdle around the Cossack's lean waist, and no pistol sagged the pockets of the sheepskin coat that was thrown loosely over his bowed shoulders. Age had thinned the once massive body of the veteran ataman, hollowing the flesh under the cheekbones.
Gerai Khan grunted with satisfaction. Not for the best pony in his herds would he have exchanged this Cossack who had come, afflicted perhaps with the madness that besets the very old, under his hand, to be tortured or slain as he saw fit.
He bent forward to scrutinize his guest, and grunted again. Khlit's attire had changed—under the sheepskin he wore no more than a red shirt, once brilliant but now faded by the sun. He had no tall Cossack kalpak. But the gray mustaches that fell to his bare chest, and the somber eyes that peered out under grizzled brows were the same.
With a quick movement of the wrist Gerai Khan unsheathed his scimitar.
"Many Winters have covered the steppe since we have spoken together,
O Kazak, and is this the only word you have for me?"
Khlit nodded, and Ayub, who could already feel in imagination the lances of the Tatars between his ribs, glanced at Kirdy. The young warrior was apparently not listening at all—he lay on his side, drawing lines and circles in the sandy soil with a stick. Outside the ring of tribesmen, the village Cossacks, who had started up hopefully at sight of the Zapor-ogian, returned to their seats by the stream.
"Then hear my word!" The lips of the Nogai drew back from his white teeth. "Your grave will be dug here. Infidel—dog—I will drive my horses over you, and jackals will litter over your bones."
"Eh, I'll have better burial than your fathers."
Blood darkened the Nogai's forehead and his hand quivered on the sword.
"I have seen their graves dug up, Gerai Khan. Their bodies are no longer covered—nay, their bodies are kicked about."
"Bak Allah!" cried the Nogai involuntarily. "God forbid! But that is surely a lie."
When Khlit remained silent, curiosity began to temper his rage. "What grave have you seen?"
"At Sirog the Muscovites have uncovered the burial-place."
Gerai Khan took time to consider this. In reality, the Nogai tribesmen knew little of Sirog. But tradition persisted among them that their ancestors had been masters of the steppe and that the dead in the mound by the river were of their race. In any event the act of the Muscovites was an everlasting insult to a devout Mohammedan, and he considered this also, drawing a conclusion from it that brought small comfort to Ayub.
"Insh'allah—as God wills. Then I will crucify the three of you, setting the posts where the unbelieving swine, your kindred, can see them."
Khlit glanced at him fleetingly and his mustaches twitched into a smile.
"Do you want the women of the Nogai to point their fingers at you, and the children to shout after you?"
The Tatar was becoming more and more surprised, and he thought again that the ataman must have lost his senses. "What words are these words?"
"Truth, Gerai Khan. The women would mock you, saying that when the bodies of Sirog were uncovered, you turned your back and fled like a wolf, because the Muscovites had cannon."
Meanwhile Kirdy, who had been weighing the moods of the chieftain, spoke quickly:
"Many a gold goblet and an ivory sword hilt—many a chain of silver did the Muscovites take from the mound of Sirog."
"How much gold?"
"One horse could not carry the load of it—two horses could not carry the silver."
Gerai Khan began to calculate on his fingers and this took him some time. When he had finished his eyes were open and he no longer clutched the sword.
"It is clear to me, O caphar," he said reflectively, "that you would like to set a trap for me. You are trying to lead me back across the river."
At this Khlit chuckled, deep in his throat.
"I have known the time, Gerai Khan, when you did not fear a cham-bul of the Moskyas."
"By the ninety-and-nine holy names, I do not fear them. O Khlit, you have seen me drive the folk of the villages like sheep—even Cossacks."
Ayub stirred uneasily, but seeing that his companions were silent, suppressed a hot retort. It was true that Gerai Khan was a daring raider, wily and experienced, and the Cossacks of the siech respected him for these qualities.
"But," the Tatar added, "there are more than a hundred Moskyas and
I have not a hundred. Hei-a, they are behind walls with cannon. I would break my teeth on that place. I grow old, Khlit, and it is more pleasant to sit in the smoke of my yurt fire than to carry a torch."
"No need," said Khlit bluntly. "Take back these captives, and exchange them with the khan of the Moskyas for gold and silver. Gerai Khan, you would redeem the lives of your men with gold—is the Moskya prince less than you? The way is open, without pitfalls. I have spoken."
As if dismissing the others from his mind, he dug a short clay pipe from the pouch at his girdle, and fished in the fire for a glowing ember.
For a long time Gerai Khan considered matters, and it became apparent to him that he was master of the situation. Riders had come in from scouring the steppe and reported that the three Cossacks had traveled without companions to his kibitka. He knew that Vladimir and the footsoldiers could never catch his Tatars, and the Cossacks were unarmed—hostages. The prisoners were in his hands, and he could make his own terms with the Muscovites.
He thought of slaying the three warriors before going back to Sirog. When in doubt Gerai Khan always took up the sword, and for this reason he was still alive on the steppe where few of his race lived to count their grandchildren on the fingers of both hands. But years had taught him caution. True, he could not understand why the three Cossacks had given themselves up, unless it was to set free the village Cossacks who were their kindred in a way. Without them he could not speak with the Muscovite prince, and if he did not strike a bargain with Vladimir, how could he claim the gold?
"The gold belongs to the Nogai!" he muttered, fingering the strands of his thin beard.
Not for the treasure of the Golden Horde, not for the standard of Genghis Khan, his ancestor, would he have uncovered the bodies of Sirog. Now that the Muscovites had dug up the gold that had been buried with the b
odies, Gerai Khan saw no reason why he should not take it. This done, he could cover the bodies again, so that the spirits of the slain warriors would not ride upon the steppe, a thing of terror.
"God is one," he said finally. "I will go back to Sirog with the captives. Remember, O youth, the bogatyr, your grandsire, has sworn that the prisoners will be paid for with gold."
"He has sworn it," assented Kirdy.
"If matters fall out otherwise," said Gerai Khan grimly, "you will bow your head to this."
And he touched the scimitar on his knees.
Kirdy laughed.
"Aforetime, O lord of lances, my grandsire was the White Khan of the Golden Horde. Alone among men he stood within the tomb of Genghis by the shores of the Kerulon in the land of the Five Rivers. His word is not smoke."
"Then let him keep it," responded the chieftain impassively, but with something like wonder in his tiny eyes as he looked at Khlit. The old Cossack's pipe had gone out, and his head was sunk on his chest. Sleep smoothed the hard lines from his brow and lips, and Gerai Khan thought that here was a man like himself, desiring peace rather than the path of war, and the cup by the fire more than the back of a horse.
Not without reason was Vladimir called the Fortunate. He had been in many scrapes, but a quick wit and a ready sword had brought him out unharmed. Even his disgrace at court was little more than a shadow, and he knew it to be thus. He had slain in a duel a noble whose wife was a woman comely beyond others. When he returned to the emperor's presence he would be pardoned because his sword and the slaves of his many estates were needed in the wars.
His failings were two—pride of person and birth, and superstition.
These qualities among the Muscovite boyars were common enough, yet in Vladimir they wrought strange fancies. He had gilded the doors of a great church in memory of the noble who had fallen to his sword, and to the woman who had caused the quarrel he sent a pilgrim's staff upon his departure into exile.