Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  “Ah, you English,” he laughed. “So bloody cold, except with your animals.”

  Prince Arik and the rest of his men emerged from the villa carrying all the valuables they had found. They were piled into a two-wheeled cart. Behind them she could see fire beginning to spread through the villa, and she shuddered.

  “Get into the cart, woman,” he commanded.

  “I can walk,” she said, “and with your permission I would like to do so.”

  He nodded curtly. Grasping the mane of a black and white pony, he pulled himself into the saddle.

  “Please, Prince Arik, must the women and children go naked?”

  “Yes,” was the curt reply. Then, kicking his pony, he was off.

  “Why must they be naked?” she demanded of Buri.

  “To instill fear, so they will quickly accept Prince Arik as their new owner and not even consider escape.” He leaped lightly into his own saddle. “Stay by the wagon with old Alghu. I’ll be watching you even if you don’t see me.”

  The large procession began to move away. It was now two hours before midday, and the orderly, well-run farm that had seen a glorious May dawn was now entirely gone. As she walked along, Miranda saw sights she had never expected to see even in nightmares. The prince’s serfs, with the exception of the pretty girls and children, lay slaughtered. Every woman lay on her back with her skirts up, legs spread, throat cut. The men and the old people had all been shot or decapitated. As they passed by the men’s quarters, now a smoldering ruin, the air heavy with the stench of burned flesh, she saw that several of the men had died fighting for their survival, Paulus among them. She did not see Lucas, but knew he was there. She said a silent prayer in memory of the gentle giant whose child was in her womb. Suddenly her eyes widened with fresh horror.

  The Tatars had been doubly cruel. The genitals of the men who had chosen to defend themselves had been cut off and stuffed into their mouths. The Tatars had taken these gallant defenders alive, though wounded. They had performed the terrible mutilation and left the men to die either from blood loss or from choking to death on their own flesh.

  She felt her kidneys empty themselves, her legs grew weak, and she vomited the scant contents of her stomach until she was retching only bitter bile. She fought fiercely to regain self-control, forcing herself to breathe deep, long breaths until she steadied herself. Looking away from the awful sight, she focused her vision straight ahead and moved steadily forward, placing one foot before the other, one foot before the other, one foot before the other. Her body was wet with clammy, cold perspiration, and her head ached terribly, but she moved onward.

  They walked all day long without stopping, crossing over the border into Bessarabia late in the afternoon, long before the Russian authorities in Odessa could possibly know about the raid on the Cherkessky estate. Finally, at dusk, they stopped near a stream, and within a short time the campfires were blazing and the smell of roasting meat permeated the air. Numb, Miranda was sitting alone by the cart when Buri approached and shoved a tin plate into her hand.

  “There’s a slave woman who wants to stay with you. Says she was your maidservant.”

  “Of course,” Miranda replied. Marfa! A friendly face! However, the naked woman with the slightly protruding belly who appeared in Buri’s custody was not Marfa, but a sweet-faced petite blond with corn-colored braids and desperate, begging, light-blue eyes. Although she had never seen her before, Miranda knew instantly who she was. “Mignon, my dear, thank heavens you are safe! Here, sit by me.” She patted her cloak, look to the Tatar, and said, “Would you ask Prince Arik if my servant may stay with me and have her gown back? She will not run away.”

  He grunted and went off.

  “You knew me? How?” asked Mignon in beautiful French.

  “Lucas spoke of you, and of course, Sasha told me your story.”

  “Why do these animals treat you well?” Mignon asked.

  Miranda explained, and Mignon nodded. “You are fortunate,” she sighed.

  “They have no intention of ransoming me,” Miranda said quietly. “Sasha warned me before we were separated, but he told me where the English Embassy is. I plan to escape when we get to Istanbul. Do you want to come with me? We’ll show these barbarians what it is to deal with a free American and a Frenchwoman!”

  Mignon smiled suddenly. “Mon Dieu, yes! I will have a chance to return to France, and believe me, madame, if I ever get there I shall never stir from Paris again!”

  “What of your children?”

  “I have no idea which ones they are,” she said matter-of-factly. “I birthed them, but I never saw them afterward until it was too late to know. I am four months pregnant. I will have to keep the one I carry now.”

  Buri returned and tossed a caftan at Mignon, who looked gratefully at Miranda. “Merci, madame!” she said.

  Miranda nodded and then turned to the Tatar. “What did the prince say?”

  “You may keep your servant with you. He also told me to say that you two are to sleep beneath the cart tonight. Old Alghu will guard you, and the prince has already given orders you are not to be touched. Still, our men are celebrating, and there is no reasoning with a drunken man, so be warned.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.

  Miranda offered to share the haunch of meat on her plate, but Mignon declined saying, “I’ve already eaten, but you eat. It’s baby lamb, and very good.”

  Miranda followed the Frenchwoman’s advice, knowing that she must keep her strength up and her wits sharp. She ate the lamb right down to the bone, even sucking the marrow from the bone’s end. “Do you think we dare get some water from the stream?” she queried Mignon.

  Mignon looked about. “Why not?” she answered. “They’re too busy stuffing themselves and getting drunk to bother us.”

  The two women stood up, and Miranda spoke to Alghu in the local dialect. “We want water.” She pointed to the stream. “Is it permitted?”

  He lumbered to his feet, nodding, and escorted them to the stream, chuckling as they squatted modestly behind the bushes to relieve themselves before drinking. Once back at the cart, they sat on the end of it comparing the events that had brought them to Prince Cherkessky’s farm, and telling of their lives before being kidnaped.

  Mignon had been born the year the Bastille fell. Her father was a duke, her mother a farmer’s daughter. They were not married. Raised by her mother in the Normandy countryside, she and her peasant relatives escaped the worst of the terror accompanying the Revolution. Her father had escaped to England where his title and sexual prowess had gotten him an heiress wife. When Napoleon came to power he returned to France and, by loyal service to the emperor, won back his estates.

  Ten years after Mignon’s birth her mother received a letter from her former lover. The letter was read to her by the disapproving village priest. His bastard daughter, the duke stated, was to be educated. He enclosed money, and Mignon’s mother obediently complied with his request. Each year from then on a letter with money arrived right after the new year. Mignon met her father for the first time when she was fifteen.

  “Why have you educated me?” was her greeting.

  “Because there will be one less peasant to turn on her master next time,” he growled back at her.

  They both laughed. The two became good friends. She was brought to Paris and sent to an excellent convent school, which filled in the gaps in her education and taught her how to be a lady. She had left the convent at eighteen to become a teacher in a fine Paris boarding school. At twenty she obtained an excellent position as governess in the household of Princess Tumanova in St. Petersburg. Miranda knew the rest of her story.

  Miranda outlined her own history and downfall. “Thanks to Sasha, however, I shall escape, and you will come with me, Mignon,” she said confidently.

  “Did you love Lucas?” the Frenchwoman asked suddenly.

  “No,” said Miranda candidly. “He was a good man, but the only man I have ever loved is my husband, Ja
red.”

  “I loved him,” Mignon whispered low, “but until you came I didn’t believe his heart could be touched at all.”

  “He was not like us,” said Miranda. “His life as a slave was better than his early years. It was different for us. Did you ever go hungry? Were you ever cold?” Mignon shook her head. “I thought not,” Miranda continued, “and though you were not your father’s legitimate daughter, he loved you and he saw to your welfare.”

  Miranda shifted her position, for the baby was making her uncomfortable. “I lacked for nothing. But poor Lucas had none of these things, nor did he understand what freedom really was. Neither do the rest of the poor souls captured at the farm. But we do, Mignon. Trust me, we will be free.”

  “You will have your baby soon. It will not be easy, Miranda.”

  “We will succeed!” came the confident reply.

  The two women sat companionably for several more minutes, and then they retired beneath the cart to sleep under the warmth of Miranda’s wide wool cape. They had barely dozed off when a shriek tore into the night. They woke together, and both realized what was happening. The women who were not virgins were being raped by their captors. The two women huddled close together, hands over their ears, attempting to blot out the cries, and as the noise gradually died they dozed nervously until dawn, when Alghu shook them awake. He had brought them mugs of steaming sweet black tea and cold meat.

  Miranda took out her brush, and brushed both her own and Mignon’s hair. Then they both rebraided neatly, and washed their faces and hands in the cold stream nearby. The journey began again.

  “Keep your eyes out for early strawberries,” said Mignon. “I suspect they mean to walk us all day again without any real rest or food.”

  “But why?”

  “Tired and beaten prisoners don’t run away. They’ll feed us well at night so we’ll arrive in ’Stanbul in fairly good condition, but they want the journey to wear us down. Look for the strawberries, Miranda. Their sweetness will help keep us going.”

  “I don’t need another day’s trek to be too tired to run away,” replied Miranda wryly. “I’m exhausted. But I told Prince Arik I could keep up, and I will.”

  Their lives took on a monotonous pattern: up at dawn, hot tea and cold meat, walk all day except for a few minutes’ rest around noon when the Tatars watered their ponies, stop for the night, broiled meat to eat and water to drink, exhausted sleep. They supplemented their diet with the strawberries Mignon found, and one day as they marched by the sea Miranda captured several large crabs, which they wrapped in seaweed and cooked that night in the hot coals of Alghu’s little fire. Nothing had ever tasted so good, Miranda thought, as she picked the hot, sweet meat from a claw.

  The warm Black Sea spring weather held for almost two weeks, and then one day they awoke to a steady downpour. The word was passed through the camp that they would rest all day in shallow caves that would protect them from the rain. The slave women were grateful for the rest, for they were all exhausted. They slept while the children played games. Their captors, however, preferred to drink and gamble, and by midafternoon had become unusually surly. Old Alghu had fallen into a drunken sleep. A couple of the Tatars wandered over to the cart where Mignon and Miranda were talking quietly.

  “What a shame the silver blond is so far gone with child,” remarked one of them. “She looks like she could fuck a man into paradise.”

  “Too thin for me, Kuyuk. Now this plump little quail is more to my taste,” the second Tatar said, dragging Mignon onto her feet, and pinioning her against his body with one hand while the other hand fumbled with her breasts.

  “Please,” Miranda cried, struggling to her feet, “my servant is with child. Prince Arik promised me she would not be touched!”

  The men stopped. But when they realized Alghu’s drunken condition, they resumed their abuse. “On your back, slave!” snapped the second man, and Mignon complied without a word.

  “No!” screamed Miranda. “I will report you to Prince Arik!”

  “Gag her!” carne the command, and Miranda found a dirty rag stuffed into her mouth. “She can watch, Kuyuk, and though she is about to whelp, her tits aren’t off limits!”

  “By God, you’re right, Nogai!” He sat down on his haunches and dragged Miranda with him. He placed her firmly on her knees between his spread legs and, sliding his hands around, he grasped her swollen breasts and squeezed. She gasped with pain, but bit her lip. She would not give this Tatar the satisfaction of knowing he had hurt her.

  Miranda could feel the child within her moving restlessly, trying to escape her cramped position, and a sudden great anger welled up within her. Mignon was submitting in order to save her baby possible harm, and also to save Miranda. Furiously she jammed both her elbows into Kuyuk, taking him by surprise and knocking the wind from him. She scrambled clumsily to her feet and ran, tearing away the gag as she went. The Tatar thundered after her.

  “Prince Arik!” she screamed. “Prince Arik! Prince Arik!”

  Kuyuk caught up with her and slapped her several times. Her head reeled, but she shrieked nonetheless. Her cries brought slaves and Tatars running. “Pig of a Tatar! Your mother was born of a pile of dog droppings, and coupled with an ape in order to beget you!”

  He delivered a brutal blow to her belly. “Bitch!” he roared. “Pregnant or not, I am going to take you like a stallion takes a fractious mare! Your belly isn’t going to protect you any longer! On your knees before the whole camp, woman!”

  Waves of pain overcame her, and she vomited. Gathering her last ounce of strength, she shouted, “Prince Arik! Is this how the word of a Tatar is kept? Your word has no value!”

  Suddenly the crowd surrounding them parted, and the Tatar chief was there. His blazing eyes flicked from the disheveled Kuyuk to Miranda, now on her knees clutching her belly. The prince knelt, and with surprisingly gentle hands brushed the hair from her face. A sharp command brought a flask, and he forced a potent fiery liquid between her lips. She gagged, but managed to keep it down. “Take deep breaths,” he commanded her, and when the color returned to her face he commanded quietly, “Explain!”

  “Two of your men, this one and his friend, Nogai, came to where Mignon and I were resting. They have raped Mignon despite her pregnancy. I have been subjected to their abuse as well. I think,” here Miranda’s voice caught and tears rolled down her cheeks, “I think they have killed her.”

  “Where was Alghu?”

  “Drunk,” she answered.

  Prince Arik turned to Buri. “Find out!”

  For several minutes they all waited in deathly silence. The crowd of Tatar warriors and their captives stood quietly, and then Buri returned with both Alghu and Nogai. “She’s right,” he said. “The Frenchwoman’s dead, and her baby with her. What a waste!”

  The Tatar prince stood very still and looked around at his warriors. “I put this woman and her servant off limits to you all,” he said. “You have not only violated my word, but you have wantonly murdered two expensive slaves, the woman and her unborn child. The punishment is death. As for you, Alghu, you seem to love wine more than you love your duty. You are no longer fit to be called a Tatar warrior. You will lose your sword hand, and if you don’t bleed to death, you may follow us to Istanbul, but you are exiled from Tatar life forever. Temur!”

  A young warrior leaped forward. “Temur, I am placing this woman in your keeping. I know you will do your duty better than Alghu did his.” He looked to the captives. “I want another house servant,” he said, and Marfa quickly stepped forward. “See to the lady, girl, until you are told otherwise.”

  “Yes, master!” Marfa leaned down and helped her mistress rise. Miranda swayed dangerously. Temur picked her up and carried her back to the cart, Marfa hurrying behind. Temur set Miranda gently down. Hurrying off, he returned a few moments later with a huge armful of fresh-cut pine boughs, which he placed near the fire. Rummaging in the treasure cart, he pulled out a sheepskin rug and tossed it o
ver the pile of pine boughs. Over this he placed a simple woven wool hanging that Miranda recognized as having come from the dining room of the villa.

  Picking her up again, he set her gently on this comfortable bed and covered her with a cape. “We are not all beasts,” he said. “I am ashamed for Kuyuk and Nogai, and I am sorry about your friend. Rest now. No harm will come to you while I guard you.” He fumbled in a pouch of his belt. “Here, girl, make your mistress some tea,” and he handed her a small packet of leaves.

  Miranda lay very still, gazing at the place where Mignon had lain. The body had been removed, and a dark patch of her blood was all that remained of the horrible death Mignon had known. Miranda wept softly. Perhaps now she was with Lucas and their child, but she would never see her beloved Paris again.

  “Tea, Miranda Tomasova. Drink.” Marfa helped her sit up, and put the mug of boiling sweet liquid to her lips. Miranda sipped at it, and soon she became very sleepy. The child was quiet now too, and the pain in her belly was gone. She fell asleep, a sleep so sound that she did not hear Alghu’s cry of anguish when his sword hand was severed, and the stump stuck in boiling pitch to prevent his bleeding to death. Nor did she hear the hissing “Ahhhhh” of the spectators at the swift executions of Kuyuk and Nogai.

  The rain grew worse during the night, and in the morning Prince Arik made the decision to remain camped in the caves. After the previous day’s tragedy, the mood of the camp was deeply subdued.

  Miranda awoke to a terrible, wracking pain that tore from her back through her belly. She was in labor. It was too soon. The baby wasn’t due for three or four weeks, but it was coming now. She gritted her teeth and groaned. The young Tatar was immediately by her side, his eyes sympathetic.

  “My baby is coming,” she whispered hoarsely. “There are midwives among the slave women. Get me one!”

  “I’ll go!” volunteered Marfa. “You’ll want Tasha. She is the best,” and she ran off.

  “I’m here,” the Tatar soothed Miranda, then stated proudly, “and I can help if necessary. I’ve helped my ponies foal many times.”