Swords of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  When she turned her head the hood fell back, and her hair gleamed gold.

  "O seafarers," she called, "will you take me down to Gorod town?"

  Some of the Cossacks came to the rail to stare, and one laughed. Here was a lass with a shining face, who asked Stenka Razin to sail her down to Gorod!

  The ataman himself glanced at the girl. "Help her in," he said.

  The Cossacks lifted her over the rail, and stared anew. With the bundle the girl was hugging a goat—a white goat with gilt horns, and a red cross painted on its back.

  Zamourza inspected it curiously. He had never seen a goat marked like that. And the girl, its mistress, showed no fear of the wild Volga men.

  "Girl," demanded Stenka Razin, "what are you?"

  "Are you the master?" Her gray eyes turned to him, and she smiled. "Why, I am Nada, and if you'll take me down to Gorod I'll ask God's blessing on you and this ship."

  Once a Gypsy wench had tried to trick the ataman, and he had crushed her throat in his hands before escaping. He asked suddenly, "Who sent you?"

  "Ekh—no one." She laughed.

  Nada or Gretchen or Zuleika, Zamourza thought it would all be the same to the ataman. For under her white cotton dress was a soft, slim body and surely her eyes did not shun Stenka Razin.

  The ataman was in a mood to play with a woman that evening, and this girl pleased him. "Then, come," he said.

  He led the way aft, to the roofed in cabin, and the goat followed arrogantly as goats do.

  "Precor pro nobis," a drunken voice droned.

  It was Pop Theodore—Chvedor, the lads called him—lying on the deck muttering a Latin prayer. When this renegade priest had been licking the cup, he had a way of chanting that Stenka Razin liked. He was a learned man.

  "Souse the Pop," the ataman roared from the cabin. "Be quick with him."

  Zamourza and another Cossack hurried to the priest, for Stenka Razin did not relish being kept waiting. The Tartar did not know why Stenka Razin went through this form of a wedding with all his girls—even the steppe Gypsies and that Persian slave he brought up from the Caspian. Always the ataman had Pop Theodore marry him. Sometimes when the mood was on him, he demanded lighted candles and a hymn chanted . . . he got rid of them quickly enough after he tired of them.

  Zamourza and the Cossack grappled with the priest, who knew what was coming. They swung him over the side, holding to his hands and ducking him while he choked out curses, until he was sobered and stood shivering on his feet. "May the black she-goat litter on your graves," he mumbled. "There's no woman on this boat."

  "There's one now, little father," said the Cossack. "Come."

  Inside the curtain they stopped abruptly, and even Theodore was silent. Stenka Razin had lighted the candles, and the incense in the jeweled bowl. Soft brocades and cloth-of-silver glimmered upon the walls. But this was familiar enough to the Volga men. They were looking at the girl Nada.

  She sat on the couch, fingering its silk coverlet with delight.

  "'Tis the couch of a prince," she laughed. "I fear me to sleep upon it."

  Her light hand passed over the tray beside her, the tray filled with sugared ginger, cherries and mastic.

  "Nay, master," she chattered, "I think you are no merchant."

  Frowning, Stenka Razin watched her.

  "I think you are a warrior—"

  Stenka Razin passed his hand suddenly before her face.

  "—and so you will safeguard me upon the river."

  And Stenka Razin drew one of the long pistols from his girdle, pointing the muzzle at her. Still she smiled and her eyes did not change.

  Slowly the giant ataman lowered the pistol. "You are blind, girl," he said. For the first time he noticed the three men at the entrance, and growled, "Get out!"

  "Yes," she said quietly, "didn't you know? I thought, master, that all the river knew Nada and her goat, Omelko."

  Omelko, she explained gaily, guided her footsteps by day and night. He had been marked, so that people with eyes could pick him out from other goats if he strayed from her. "Master," she asked, "what is your name?"

  He hesitated. "Cain," he answered.

  "A strange name." She frowned. "What are you like?"

  She leaned toward him, and her hand passed lightly over his shaven head, his shaggy brows, and the scar along one cheekbone. She felt the iron muscles of his throat, the spread of his shoulders. For a second she faltered. "Will you take me safe to Gorod, Master Cain?"

  Stenka Razin moved his head from side to side, like the great horned buffalo scenting the wind.

  "Eh, girl," he said gruffly, "no harm will come to you."

  He brought her water to bathe her face, and he watched while she ate— although he heard Filka giving commands to beach the boats for the night. He listened to the thump of the poles working the boat in, and the scraping of the bow among the rushes. When Nada slept, the incense drifting over the tangle of her golden hair, he put a sable wrap over her body.

  He heard Filka's voice, mellow over the water, singing the familiar Devil's Song:

  From the white island On the Mother Volga,

  Stenka Razin's brothers Sail with a merry song.

  Nada stirred drowsily, and the giant Cossack left the cabin, treading lightly.

  "Stow that song, Filka," he growled, and the growl carried to the boat of Filka Chortyaka, his lieutenant, near by.

  Filka only laughed, thinking that the ataman had been licking the jug.

  Stenka Razin's the captain And the Devil is the admiral—

  Sing a song, Princess,

  For we are merry today!

  Stenka Razin went to the rail. "Still your tongue, you son of a Turkish bathboy," he roared. And this time Filka was silent. He came splashing through the rushes, and hauled himself over the rail.

  "What's biting you, ataman?" he laughed. "Can't a man sing?"

  "Not that song," said Stenka Razin. "Not here." And he strode aft. Filka peered after him curiously.

  "Eh, say, what's come over him?"

  "He has a new woman," grunted a Cossack, stretched out on the deck.

  The priest Theodore had been thinking. "Either a woman," he whispered, "or a witch."

  "How, a witch?" demanded Filka.

  "Well, she came out of the river at sunset. She follows after a goat with gilt horns."

  "Perhaps, little father," suggested a Cossack, "she's a vampire on the hunt—a vurdalak. A hungry vampire, the kind that bites behind the ear and flies away before sunup. I saw—"

  "It's clear," decided Pop Theodore, "she's cast a spell on the ataman."

  Filka had a bold spirit in him—he feared neither man nor devil. But he obeyed Stenka Razin. Now he looked at the red spark of the ataman's pipe, and chewed his lip. "So," he whispered, "he's not as he was."

  Zamourza said nothing. He was thinking of the omens he had seen at sunset.

  "Eh, little Nada," Stenka Razin ventured the next day, "why don't you stay here, on the boat?"

  He was at the tiller of his ship, and the bellying sails of his fleet filled the river. They were making speed down the Volga, to reach Gorod that night.

  "It's better," he added, "than the shore. You don't need eyes on the boat, Nada."

  He didn't know himself why he wanted this girl at his side. It was something in the way her gray eyes looked at him.

  Nada shook her head slowly. "Nay, Master Cain," she said, "I must go to Gorod town."

  "Why?"

  To follow Petr Noga, she explained, Petr Noga, the young tsar's officer of the Moscow guards. He had been sent with his men down to Gorod, to garrison that frontier town against Tartar raids. And he would marry her in Gorod.

  "Hmm," said the ataman. He had heard that Petr Noga was now sta-rosta, governor. A keen soldier, and ambitious.

  And the blood came into Nada's white throat. Even, she whispered, if Petr Noga couldn't marry her, she would be near him in Gorod. She could listen to his voice, and hear men praise him. For
everyone loved Petr Noga.

  "Ay, he told me," she confided, "not to go upon the river until he sent for me. He told me how the river pirates slay and burn. Have you seen them, Cain?"

  "Yes," assented Stenka Razin.

  "But he didn't send. I had no silver to buy passage on a merchant's bark. I was weary with waiting and I took Omelko and came."

  Stenka Razin said nothing more.

  When the shadows lengthened over the river, and Nada went below deck, Pop Theodore staggered aft.

  "Eh, ataman," he whispered, "the brothers are talking. They say this girl is a witch. They say she has cast a spell on you, ataman. Ay, she will bring evil fortune upon us." He wagged his head ominously "Tonight you're going against the Muscovites. Then throw her over the side before night comes on and her power increases."

  When Stenka Razin did not answer he went back to the men gathered about the mast. It was Filka who gave commands at the sunset hour. They all knew what must be done before a raid.

  They headed for the shore, where any soul on the river could see them. They moored the boats in among the rushes.

  Then, after lanterns were lighted, they hung the lights on wooden poles stuck into the mud; silently they lowered the tall masts, and with their swords cut bundles of rushes, which they fastened to the rails of the boats.

  "Push off," Filka called, "for a warm night, lads. We'll kindle up Gorod."

  The Cossacks poled out into the current, leaving the lights behind them. Keeping close to the bank, they drifted downstream, drawing the boats together and roping them. So that even a Tartar watching from the bank would see no more than an island of rushes moving down.

  When the town came in sight around the bend, Stenka Razin's voice was heard. "Tie up to the poles, here."

  The long poles were driven into the muddy bottom, and ropes passed around them. And the boat leaders climbed from rail to rail, to Stenka Razin's deck.

  Silently, they massed around the giant ataman.

  "Why do we wait?" jeered Filka. "Yonder's Gorod with its gate wide and the Muscovites snoring."

  "We'll bide here."

  "Kiss a bear's snout, ataman," grinned Filka, "but don't hang back in a raid."

  A Cossack laughed softly. "We'll fire it, and fry the boyars in it."

  "Nay," growled Stenka Razin.

  They pressed closer.

  "And why?" murmured Filka. The Cossacks thought it was strange that their ataman hung back.

  "I'm going over," Stenka Razin told them. "Wait here for me."

  He went to the cabin, and led out Nada by the hand. He lifted her into the canoe at the stern, and dropped the goat in after her. Then he followed.

  "I'll cut the skin off any fool," he called back, "who follows me."

  Filka peered after the canoe until it vanished into the haze. He licked his lips and moved his fingers softly together. Bewitched or not, Stenka Razin was losing his grip on his men. And Filka was no man to hang back when his chance came. He looked about him until he found Zamourza.

  "Hey, animal," whispered the lieutenant, "I'll fill your hands with gold this night."

  The Tartar merely grunted.

  "The ataman's lost," Filka breathed. "The witch holds him in her hand. By Allah, you saw. Now go after him, and if he ventures into Gorod— there's five thousand silver ducats will be paid for his head—for one word to the Muscovites. And I'll fill your hands with gold. You can go back to your people; you can have a white tent and many wives, many horses. You hear?"

  "Ay, lord." Zamourza rose, and stepped into the next boat. Filka watched until he saw the shadow of a canoe drift away with a man in it. Then he went back to the Cossacks.

  "Eh, brothers," he said, "listen to Filka Chortyaka. That was not Stenka Razin, our ataman. The young witch has sucked his blood. That is another man, a shadow whining in the night—"

  By the far bank, Stenka Razin was drawing close to the log wall of Gorod. He could make out the square watchtowers against the stars . . .

  With the goat leading, they plodded into the muddy street of Gorod, where only a tavern door or a passing torch showed light, Stenka Razin turned once, sharply, feeling that a shadow passed behind him; but neither he nor the guards saw Zamourza slip by.

  "Where will you go now, girl?" Stenka Razin asked.

  "To Petr Noga," she cried.

  Stenka Razin had sensed a shadow behind him, and instinct urged him to turn back. But the street was dark, and the Muscovites dumb as cattle. He asked the way to the starosta's house of a passing priest.

  "Is it a small house or a great one?" Nada asked. He could feel her quivering against his arm. For now the fear of the blind had come upon her, the dread of unfamiliar things.

  They did not reach the house. Petr Noga came out of it, with a torch-bearer going before him, and a sedan chair borne by Tartar slaves at his side. Behind him followed a half dozen guards.

  When Nada heard his voice she ran forward.

  "Petr!" she cried. "Blessed be Saint Nikolka—I've found you."

  She was reaching out her arms to him. And Petr Noga's face flushed. He had a small, clipped beard, and he wore the blue coat of the Moscow strel-sui, and he stared at Nada as if seeing a spirit come out of the night.

  "Why, girl—how did you come?"

  Nada's face was straining up, her eyes closed. She felt the coldness of his words, and the helplessness of her blindness.

  Stenka Razin, watching from the shadows, saw the door of the sedan open. A woman's head emerged, with the plaited hair and painted cheeks of the Muscovites.

  "Petr," Nada whispered, "have I made you angry?"

  He patted her hand, glancing at the sedan. "Who brought you hither, girl? 'Tis no place, this, for one who is blind."

  "Cain," explained Nada, turning, her hand feeling beside her. "He was here."

  Impatiently Petr Noga glanced at the man beyond the torchlight.

  "Cain?" he laughed.

  The woman spoke from the sedan: "Hurry, Excellency—it is so cold."

  "He is the master of many ships," Nada explained quickly, "and he brought me here himself. Please, Petr, tell me—"

  But the officer had looked again at Stenka Razin, and his eyes narrowed. He took the torch from his servant's hand and walked over to the Volga pirate. Suddenly he drew his sword and shouted to his men, "Take him!"

  Stenka Razin lifted his steel-tipped pike and backed to place himself against a wall. The guards were lumbering forward with sword and halberd. Nada had picked Omelko up in her arms.

  "Ataman," a voice whispered behind Stenka Razin, "come this way— run."

  He knew Zamourza's voice, and he turned. The Tartar was running down an alley, and Stenka Razin followed, while the Muscovites charged after him.

  Zamourza saw a glow of light in an open door—the door of a log tower— he turned in there, calling over his shoulder, "Here, ataman—"

  Stenka Razin brushed past him, ducking into the low portal. And they swung shut the heavy log door. Stenka Razin set his back against it, and jammed his heels into the dirt floor, as the first Muscovites flung themselves against it, outside. He grunted as he braced himself. Zamourza quested about, snatching up a heavy hand-ax.

  "There's a table," said Stenka Razin. "Shore up this door."

  "Yield yourself," they heard Petr Noga's voice "Stenka Razin, the tsar's justice."

  "Come and take me," roared the Cossack. Then he laughed. He had looked around for another door, but had seen only kegs and sacks stacked against the log walls—evidently the tower served as storehouse. By the fragrance in the air he knew there was good drink here.

  "Come and drink a cup with me, you dogs," he called to them.

  They were beating with their halberd butts against the logs of the door without effect. Stenka Razin listened a moment, then went over to smell the kegs. He selected one, found a pewter bowl, and drew white liquor from the wooden cock. "Gorilka," he muttered.

  He drained the bowl of corn brandy, and started
to fill it again, when Zamourza tugged at his arm.

  "Ataman," he begged, "don't drink."

  Stenka Razin paused, frowning. "What brought you here, Zam-ourza?"

  The Tartar was silent.

  "You followed me."

  Zamourza murmured assent. "Ai, ataman," he said plaintively, "why did you come among the Muscovites?"

  Stenka Razin looked into the bowl, and drank. "Because of the eyes of a wench," he snarled, "An elf of a girl—a child I could break in my hands. Because she was blind."

  He listened for the Muscovites at the door, and heard nothing. Either they had gone for axes or more soldiers, or they meant to wait until morning before breaking into his stronghold.

  "Here, you wolf," he grunted, "drink this, before they cut the life out of your body."

  Sipping at the bowl, Zamourza shook his head. "Ataman," he observed, "it is written that a great one will die tonight. I am only a slave. But who is the great one?"

  And he told about the omens he had seen on the Volga. Did they point to Stenka Razin, or the young khan of the Russians, or to Filka? Surely it would be one of the three.

  "We'll find out," Razin laughed.

  "Listen," said Zamourza suddenly.

  Not far away a bell was sounding, tolling fast.

  "By Allah," Stenka Razin grinned, "they're ringing the alarm in the church for me."

  He could hear men running. He heard a muffled roar, then another.

  "Cannon," he laughed.

  Then came a burst of sharper reports, and the shouting increased. Zamourza listened intently, his ear to a crack. Then he ran up the ladder that led to the floor above.

  "Come up, ataman," he called after a moment. Stenka Razin glanced at the barricaded door. It stood unharmed and quiet as before.

  He swung himself up the ladder, which creaked under his weight.

  Their tower overlooked the wall and the dark plain beyond. But the wall was not dark. Torches flared and smoked, where matchlock-men trained their clumsy weapons over the parapet, out at the darkness. Other figures were ramming powder and ball into a brass cannon.

  "Ghar-ghar-ghar!"