Despite everything, she wanted to be near her father. If anything happened, at least he would be there. But she did not want to be in the same village; nor did she wish to have Milei as a landlord any more.
‘Go to the Black Land, then,’ Milei had told her. ‘There’s Black Land with good soil – chernozem – right next to Russka. The prince is glad to get peasants on his land. You’ll get good terms and you could do very well.’
Hearing this, to her relief Purgas laughed. There was nothing in the world he wanted more.
‘That’s settled then,’ he said.
It was: almost.
‘There is one other thing,’ she began hesitantly, and looked down at her feet.
He waited.
‘Once, a long time ago …’ she paused. ‘When I was just a girl … It was a Tatar, they came to the village.’
He stared at her, not comprehending for a moment. Then he gently drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead.
They left two days later with Milei, who allowed them to follow him in a second sled.
When at last they reached the place on the River Kliasma where the stream led down to Russka, he parted from them.
He had been distant on the journey, as a boyar might be with a pair of almost slaves. But at the moment of parting he called Yanka over to him.
His worldly, clever face was not unkind as, discreetly, he pressed two grivnas into her hand.
‘I’m sorry about the child,’ he murmured.
Then he was gone.
The day after they arrived at Dirty Place, it began to thaw.
1262
Milei the boyar waited.
Across the river, pale columns of dust rose from time to time, swirling across the field that had recently been harvested. The sky was a brilliant blue. There were a few thin, vaporous clouds in the high distance. Away over the forest, on the horizon, was a pinkish haze. It was very dry; there was a scent of wormwood; no discernible wind.
He was waiting for the Tatar.
Things had been tense all that year. At any moment, he had feared an explosion.
And this very morning, here in Russka, it had almost come. If he had not been there himself those two Moslem tax collectors would be dead, he was sure of it. Only when he had threatened the villagers that he would turn them off his land did they quieten down.
‘Not that they love me for it,’ he smiled grimly.
They were all in the big barn now, loading sacks of grain on to the tax collectors’ wagons. He still kept one ear cocked for any further sounds of trouble.
‘It’s certainly a pity these damned tax farmers are Moslem,’ he sighed.
He had been right about the Tatars: right in every respect. Everything had come to pass exactly as he had told those Novgorod merchants it would, a dozen years ago. The Tatars had taken over the north-east. True, the princes had been allowed to continue their rule; but the census and conscription had come; the northern lands were now divided up into myriads, thousands, hundreds and tens, just as the lands of Kiev had been. And there was nothing that anyone could do about it.
Even Novgorod had had to submit to being taxed: Lord Novgorod had been humbled too. Prince Alexander had ridden in with the Tatar tax collectors and helped take the Tatars’ tribute himself. He had crushed the local people when they resisted.
Milei smiled. What a cunning fellow this Alexander was! He had discovered how to get the Tatars on his side; he’d used them to push aside his uncle and his brother until, now, he was the greatest prince in all the Russian lands. He even wore an oriental helmet, given him by the Tatar Khan.
The Russian people might not like him, yet his policy was not only cunning, it was also wise. The Russians alone could not defeat the Tatars. ‘Look what happened to his brother Andrei,’ he would remind people who called Alexander a traitor. ‘He tried to fight the Tatars: so they smashed him and looted half the towns in Suzdalia.’ That had been ten years ago and it was still remembered.
And what if Russians looked for help from outside?
‘Consider, in that case, that fool the Prince of Galicia,’ he would urge. The prince in the south-west, who had been flirting with the Pope, had been even more foolish than Milei had predicted. First, he had received a crown from the primate. Then he had looked for allies. Who should he choose but those pagan Lithuanian tribes of the north, who were expanding into the western Russian lands to avoid the Teutonic Knights? The Lithuanian chief had, for a few years, become a Roman Catholic and together he and the Prince of Galicia had challenged the Tatars.
And the result of it all?
The Tatars thrashed Galicia and made them attack the Lithuanians. Then they made the Prince of Galicia take down all his fortifications. The western Catholic powers, as usual, did nothing; the Lithuanian king went back to being a pagan. And that summer, he had heard, the pagan Lithuanian had attacked Galicia, which was now quite defenceless.
‘Poor Galicia’s finished. If Alexander had tried anything like that,’ he always said, ‘the Tatars would have taken one half of his lands, and the Germans would have taken the other.’
Alexander was wise. But, oh, he was subtle, too!
Tatar policy was never to hurt the Church. And Alexander, who served the Tatars, had made the Metropolitan Cyril a close friend.
‘And bless me, now he’s got every priest and monk in the land on his side. The people hate Alexander, yet every time they go to church, they hear the priests say he’s a national hero. Those priests are even calling him Alexander Nevsky now, as though that skirmish with the Swedes on the River Neva back in his youth had saved all Russia.’
The political astuteness of this propaganda amused the boyar hugely.
Yes, he had been right about the Tatars. They were the masters and only a fool would refuse to work with them. He, Milei, had been working with the Tatars and with Alexander Nevsky for more than a decade.
He had also used intrigue.
When Alexander’s brother was briefly on the throne of Vladimir, by incredible good luck, a foolish boyar had sent him a letter that seemed to implicate the prince in intrigues against the Tatars. Milei had at once sent it to Alexander. A year later, Alexander had been on the throne in his brother’s place, and word came to Milei that he was in favour with the new ruler and with the Tatars. Since then, many modest favours had come his way.
Recently, it had to be admitted, things had been more difficult.
When Batu Khan had ruled in Sarai, Milei had not found it difficult to cooperate. But at present there was a new Khan in Sarai who had become a Moslem.
It was not that this new Khan oppressed the Russian Church: he did not. But he had decided to allow Moslem merchants to farm the taxes from the Suzdalian lands, and these men had been exploiting their situation ruthlessly. A number of unfortunates who could not meet all the tax demands had been taken into slavery and all over the region, from Vladimir to Murom, came news of revolts.
For once Milei sympathized with the people. The whole affair had been badly handled. But business was business. ‘You will see to it that the estates near Murom pay all that is demanded,’ he instructed his sons. ‘I shall go to keep an eye on Russka.’
Which was what he had been doing that morning.
He had another reason, however, for being in Russka that late July day. For with luck, today, he was to complete the biggest coup of his career. And one that would change the character of Russka for ever. When this crowning deal was done, he would hand over his affairs to his sons. He was getting old.
Anxiously Milei waited for the Tatar.
He rode in towards the evening: a quiet man in early middle age. One could tell at once from his dress and the magnificent horse he rode that he was rich and of some importance; he came alone though, without any escort, and with just a single Mongol bow and a lasso slung on his horse behind him. He was dressed in a kaftan of dark red silk and wore a wide-brimmed Chinese hat. Only one item of his dress was unexpected. Around his neck, on a s
ilver chain, hung a little silver cross.
For Peter the Tatar was a Christian.
In fact, it was not so surprising. The Mongol state had no official religion. In their huge advance from Mongolia and across the Eurasian plain, the Mongols had encountered many powerful religions, from Buddhism in the east to Islam and Catholicism in the west.
One such faith was that of the ancient Christian Church called Nestorian which, cut off by theological disputes from the west, had expanded from its base in Persia six centuries before and set up communities as far away as China. And it was this half-forgotten Nestorian Church which had given rise to the great legend in medieval Europe: that somewhere to the east there lay a fabulous land, ruled by a mighty Christian ruler – a giant of a man.
This was the legend of Prester John.
As a boy, Milei had believed it. But in fact this legendary empire of Prester John was simply an ancient community that was perfectly familiar to the peoples of the orient. Even the son of the great Baru Khan himself had become a Nestorian Christian.
And in Russia, too, a few Tatars had taken the Orthodox Christian faith, just as some others further east had become Moslems. There was a Russian bishop at Sarai, and it was well known that the entire family of the senior Tatar official in the northern city of Rostov to the north were all Christian. Even so, it had been a surprise when, a year before, Milei had encountered the new Tatar official in Murom and found that the Baskak too had converted to orthodoxy a few years before.
The boyar had had some dealings with this Baskak, and had found him a shrewd but quiet fellow.
‘The question is,’ he remarked to his sons, ‘how can we turn this Christian Tatar to our advantage?’
For some months he had assiduously courted Peter. He had discovered quite a lot about him. Peter had taken the Orthodox faith, Milei discovered, at the suggestion of the official in Rostov.
‘Apparently there is a small group of these officials who have converted. They’re mostly below the top grades in the Khan’s service but not without influence; and the Tatar authorities think it is good that some of their people follow the religion of the country where they operate. So I think this fellow could be useful,’ he announced to his family.
The first idea had crystallized in his mind when he discovered that the Tatar had an unmarried daughter.
His own eldest son was married, with two daughters so far. His younger son, David, a handsome boy of nineteen, was not.
‘What about it?’ he asked the boy. ‘I’ve seen the girl. She’s not bad-looking. And this Baskak Peter seems to have a considerable fortune. They say he has some good connections too.’
There had been a few marriages between Russian princes and Tatar princesses already.
‘Our family has married everything from Saxon to Cuman,’ Milei added with a grin. ‘So why not a Tatar this time?’
There was another consideration too. Milei had heard talk of a future Tatar campaign in the Caucasus Mountains in the southeast.
‘They intend to attack the territory of Azerbaidjan down there,’ he told the boy. ‘I know you’re keen to go on a raid like that, and the pickings could be huge. It’s got to help you get a good position if you’re connected with a Tatar.’
The boy had no objection; and to Milei’s surprise, the Tatar Peter was agreeable as well. The marriage had taken place. The Tatar had been generous. Things were looking up.
But nothing, nothing in the world, had prepared Milei for what came next. For two months before, at the start of summer, Peter had approached him and announced: ‘It is my intention to endow a small religious house, a church and some monks. Can you advise me where I could find a good site?’ A monastery! Even he had not realized the Tatar was so rich, nor that he took his religion so seriously.
‘Give me two weeks,’ he had said. ‘I may have just the place for you.’ Surely it was a gift from heaven. He calculated swiftly and worked feverishly.
This was just what he needed for Russka.
Over the years, he had done what he could to build the place up, but it had been difficult. There was a simple wooden church there now; the population had doubled. But the troubles with the Tatars in the last ten years had made it harder than ever to find reliable settlers, and he had not been especially successful. The presence of a monastery would bring people to the place and, sooner or later, trade.
He had acquired much of the vast land – the uncultivated forest – in the area and derived some income from the furs and honey in that. His first thought had been to sell Peter some of this.
‘But it won’t do,’ he said to David. ‘He tells me he wants good land, and the only good land at Russka is the chernozem on the east bank.’
It was then that Milei the boyar had his stroke of genius. A messenger was sent hurriedly to Alexander Nevsky himself. The monastery’s needs were explained, so were Milei’s, and a dutiful reminder of past services to Alexander’s cause was added.
The reply came back. His request was granted, though with one proviso. ‘The Grand Prince has other matters to think about. Ask no more,’ the message had added. It was enough.
‘You see,’ Milei told David, ‘for a very favourable price, he’ll sell me a tract of his chernozem land just north of Dirty Place, and that tract is twice the size of what we have at Russka.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘If I can sell the Tatar my land at a good price for his monastery, then I’ll receive enough to buy what the Grand Prince is offering me without spending my own money at all!’
The beauty of the thing made him smile with an almost artistic pleasure.
With what joy, therefore, did he now welcome the Christian Tatar, and lead him to his house.
‘I’ll show you the whole place in the morning,’ he said. ‘I think you’ll be pleased.’
He told him about the trouble with the villagers.
‘Of course they know nothing about our business,’ he joked. ‘So they’re probably terrified to see you.’
Peter nodded slowly but did not smile.
‘There have been serious riots in Suzdal and other towns,’ the Tatar warned. ‘Murom is still quiet, and I’ve left strict instructions with the guards, but I must go back tomorrow in case there’s trouble. The Khan will be furious.’
‘Nevsky will sort it out. The Khan trusts him,’ Milei said confidently.
‘The Khan trusts no one, and no one is safe,’ Peter told him coldly.
His words sent a chill through the evening and made Milei more glad than ever that he had made family alliance with these harsh rulers.
For dinner they had fresh fish from the river, and sweetmeats, and mead. He did what he could to lighten the mood.
The next morning, they went out early and inspected the land. Milei showed him the rich chernozem on the eastern bank with pride. The Tatar walked all round the little village and saw that Milei had, indeed, offered him the best land.
‘It’s a good site for a monastery,’ he agreed. ‘I shall endow a small church and perhaps half a dozen monks to begin with. But it will grow.’
Milei nodded.
‘Does that mean you want to buy it?’ he asked with a smile.
‘Your price?’
Milei named it.
It sounded a little expensive, but not unreasonable. Milei was wise enough not to be obviously greedy.
‘Very well,’ Peter agreed. And to Milei’s delight he produced a bag of gold coins and paid him there and then.
‘Now it is mine,’ the Tatar said.
‘It is yours.’
Peter began to get on his horse.
‘Will you not stay?’
The Tatar shook his head.
‘With these troubles … I want to be back in Murom tomorrow.’
Milei nodded.
‘All the same,’ he said, hardly pausing to think about it, ‘I should draw up a deed for the property.’
It seemed such an obvious thing to say that he was completely taken aback by what came next.
‘A deed? What is that?’
Milei opened his mouth to speak, then kept silent.
The Tatar looked at him curiously.
‘A deed?’
Was it possible that this official did not know that in the land of Rus all property was held by deed?
Suddenly, it dawned on Milei that there was no particular reason why he should.
For the entire Mongol apparatus, thorough, merciless as it was, was also completely self-contained. They took their census – which no Russian ruler had ever done – they divided up the land by tens and hundreds, and they taxed. But there it ended. Their system of government was efficient, but it ran entirely parallel to the continuing pattern of Russian life. This intelligent Tatar, this Christian whose daughter had married a Russian, was still entirely a stranger in this country. He probably had no interest in being anything else. He knew nothing of Russian land transactions and law.
He had just paid for the land – but without a deed, it was not his.
I have to give him the land, Milei thought quickly. And if he ever finds out that I should have given him a deed … Yet, he hesitated. Was there something more to be squeezed from this transaction? He would have to think about it. When in doubt, delay.
‘Go back to Murom,’ he said with a warm smile. ‘We’ll talk business again when I return there.’
Peter started off.
‘Be firm with these damned people,’ Milei called after him, then turned back to the village, with his bag of gold.
In Dirty Place, too, there had nearly been a killing that morning.
Only Yanka had prevented it.
The two Moslem merchants had brought a dozen men and three large carts with them. They were not in the best of tempers when they arrived.
The Mongol administration had allowed them to collect what they could in return for a fixed amount they were to remit to the Khan. They had expected to make a profit but at present they were showing a loss.
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