Swords of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  Ostalim waited for no more, but strode to the door of the stable which opened into the courtyard. The glazed windows of the cottage lighted up the space, aided by the torches of several maidservants who had come out with Mirovna to draw more wine for the men. Apparently, Vertivitch had seized the opportunity to have a moment alone with the girl, and the two stood within a few paces of the stable door. Owing to the flickering light of the torches, they did not see the smith, who stood in the shadows.

  The Cossack was bending over the girl, his face close to hers, and his words came to the ears of Ostalim. "Your father has said that we are to be married," the dandy was urging, "and it is but right for me to claim a kiss as farewell. Your father-"

  "Has told me that the man who marries me must be of good Cossack blood, and proved at the siech," retorted Mirovna with spirit. "When you come back from war, and the village can hear of how you have borne yourself, then it will be time to talk of marriage."

  Rashov had joined the smith at the door, and now he whispered approvingly: "That's talk for you; she can handle Stepan without-What

  are you doing?"

  Vertivitch had decided to get by force what he could not by argument— a farewell kiss from Mirovna, who was not as docile as the beauties of Kiev. His reward was a stinging blow in the face that made him give back a pace. Then he caught the girl roughly by the shoulders, angered at her display of temper. This earned him another and more formidable adversary, for Ostalim sprang from the stable door and tore his hands from the girl's shoulders.

  Before the dandy was quite aware what was happening, the smith gripped him by arm and leg, lifted him clear of the ground, and threw him, with stunning force, into the center of a patch of mud. So severe was the fall that Vertivitch lay prostrate for some time.

  Meanwhile, Mirovna thought it best to return to the house, to which the maids had fled at the start of the struggle. Seeing that she hesitated in the semidarkness at the mud bed, Ostalim picked her up bodily with a sweep of his heavy arms and bore her across to the threshold of the cottage.

  "Sometimes, lady," he said, setting her down, "dusty boots are useful."

  "But ill-mannered, sir," she returned, freeing herself from his grasp. "You have the insolence of a peasant."

  "If you want manners, lady," said Ostalim, pointing to where Stepan was extricating himself from the mud, "you will find them there."

  When he returned to the stable, Rashov surveyed him with amusement. "Have you done enough mischief for one day, Paul?" he inquired. "First you bandy words with the ataman; then, after throwing the ataman's favorite into the mud, you quarrel with the ataman's daughter. If you are content, we will crawl into our straw blankets."

  Chapter III Across the Steppe

  Rashov proved to be a most useful companion on the journey to the siech the next day. He knew the direction to take across the level sward of the steppe, for there was no road running from the village to the camp, and he told Ostalim tales of the great camp of ten thousand Cossacks, the Ko-shevoi Ataman, or war chief, and the war treasure of gold hidden in the swamps of the Dnieper bank by the Koshevoi Ataman and a few of his trusted captains, which was to be used only in time of war.

  Ostalim listened greedily, and remembered what he was told. He was eager to take the shortest way to the camp, but Rashov cautioned him against it, choosing the lower land by the river instead, remarking that, unlike the sea, the bottom of the land was a safer place to travel than the top.

  So the two friends picked a course bordering on the fields of high rushes that lined the Dnieper bank, keeping on their right the grass of the steppe with its myriad cornflowers winking up at them. Rashov was in high good humor, for he had secured a goodly ration from Mirovna before setting out, and, as he explained, while no Cossack would drink on the march, still there was no ban against eating.

  They made no halt for the midday meal, but took cheese and barley cakes from their capacious pockets and proceeded to make a meal on horseback. It was in the act of biting into a cake that Rashov paused and jerked his head toward the rushes. A peculiar cry, high and quavering, came to Ostalim's ears.

  "A gull," explained the stout Cossack indifferently; "probably its nest is in the reeds."

  "Its nest must be a boat, then," said Ostalim, who was listening intently. "I have heard gulls before, but never of that kind. I'll wager that bird has two arms and legs, as well as a mustache and saber."

  "If the wind lies that way," returned his companion, "we'll have a look at our gull. If he proves to be a Tartar you can trim his wings for him."

  Cautiously the two pushed into the forest of reeds which closed around them to the height of their heads. The horses were soon trampling in water, as the cry of the gull came nearer to them. When the water was over the horses' fetlocks they emerged into a narrow channel in the rushes. A few yards away a boat was moored, well concealed, and in it a man was bent over the oars.

  Ostalim had never seen a figure like it before, and even Rashov gave a whistle of surprise as he caught sight of the man at the oars in the heavy skiff. The stranger's start of alarm at seeing them changed in an instant to joy, and he stretched out his arms, bound by chains to the seat.

  "Cossacks, brothers!" he cried in a weak voice. "Blessed the day on which I see the faces of men from the siech. Tell me, honorable sirs, did you see a band of Tartars prowling through the rushes? They are my masters, who forced me to row to the Ukraine shore and stay here in the skiff while they explored the higher ground. Undo these chains-"

  "By the devil's scalp lock!" echoed Rashov, pushing forward. "A galley slave and a Cossack once by the look of him. Speak, man, are these precious masters of yours in the vicinity? How came they to the shore of Ukraine?"

  "They are a short way out on the steppe," explained the rower, who Ostalim saw to be a powerful man, his back, burned brown by the sun, bent double, his scarred hands and arms calloused by chains and oars. The only clothing he wore was a loin cloth. "They wished to see whether reinforcements came to the siech from the villages, for the Tartars are moving against the Cossacks by trickery. It is planned to lure the band from the siech across the Dnieper, and when they are-"

  "It would be better, Rashov," suggested Ostalim, "to free this man first and find out what he has to tell us afterward. At any moment the others may return, and he possesses a secret worth more to Cossackdom than the lives of either of us."

  "True, by my faith!" snorted Rashov, leaping from his horse. "I would have gossiped like an old shrew. Paul, you have skill with chains, see what you can do with these trinkets while I lend an ear to the approach of our friends from the steppe."

  Already Ostalim was bending over the rower, examining the irons. Seizing one of the oars, he twisted it through a chain, and, resting the end of the oar on the side of the skiff, heaved sharply on the other. The rower bent his head to still a cry of pain, as the iron bit deep into his flesh, but the staples came out with a rasp, and one chain was dangling free. Another moment and the man was freed from the boat, although the chains still clung to his limbs.

  With a cry of triumph, the crippled Cossack picked up one of the heavy oars and crashed its butt through the bottom of the skiff.

  As he did so, Rashov made a gesture of warning. "The rushes are moving half a verst away," he whispered, "and we had best leave the boat to the Tartars. I'll wager the sight will not be to their liking."

  Finding that the chained Cossack could barely walk, Ostalim swung him into his own saddle and ran beside the horse through the rushes after Rashov, until they had put a safe distance between them and the disabled skiff. The ground was firmer here, and the trio could sit down without fear of discovery on the part of the Tartars. Ostalim insisted on the rower eating some barley cake before hearing his story, and Rashov proffered his pipe.

  "Such food, honorable sirs!" cried the Cossack gratefully. "Indeed it seems from heaven, so good it tastes." Then his brow darkened, and he flung a look over his shoulder in the way they had com
e. "But it is sinful to waste time in eating when the golden treasure of the siech is in danger."

  "Say you so, honorable sir?" asked Ostalim. "Whence comes danger to the war treasure, hidden where none can find it in the swamps of the Dnieper?"

  "The Tartars have keen eyes," returned the other gloomily, "and they must have seen men go to the spot where the treasure is buried with chests and return empty-handed. So long as the Cossacks are encamped in the siech, it would be folly for them to attempt to steal it. But their cursed devil brains have hatched a scheme which bids fair to deceive the wisest of the atamans, even the Koshevoi Ataman himself. Nine years have I been a slave to the vermin, and I know the spider's web that they spin for their victims. Not only is the treasure to be seized, but Ruvno and the nearby villages will be laid waste."

  Rashov would have broken into a string of oaths, but Ostalim checked him and urged the stranger to tell what he knew.

  "It is this way," began the Cossack. "So long as the ten thousand fighting men remain in the siech the treasure is safe. The Tartars plan to divide into two parties. One is to approach the shore of the Dnieper opposite the camp, burning the villages there, until the Cossacks rise in anger and sally across the river after them. Then by a crafty retreat the devils will entice our men several days' march from the river. Meanwhile the other part of their forces will emerge from hiding and gain the swamp where the treasure is hid. Once the gold hoard of the siech, which is our sinews of war, is in their hands, they will turn north and ravage the villages as long as the absence of the men from the siech will permit them. When forced to do so, they will flee back across the Dnieper with their booty."

  "A plot of the devil!" snarled Rashov, fingering his sword. "How came it to your ears?"

  "Once I was sleeping," explained the other, "and they thought that I had died of the blows they had given me, so they talked freely. Their spies are everywhere on this shore, and there is talk of traitors in the siech who have been won over with gold."

  "That is not to be believed!" exclaimed Ostalim. "How comes it that you know the Tartars have really discovered the hiding place of the gold hoard?"

  The Cossack's eyes flashed, and he raised his hand proudly. "Nine years ago," he said, "I was an ataman in the ranks of the siech, and the secret of the place was told me. The Tartars could not make me reveal it by tortures when they tore loose the flesh of my arms and cracked the bones of my back. Yet they know the secret now, for I have heard them describe the place in my hearing."

  "Then there is no time to be lost," said Ostalim. "And this is what we will do. You, Rashov, go with the ataman to the place where the gold is hidden—not to the spot, but near it—and hide in the rushes to keep watch. Meanwhile I will ride to the siech and put the tale of what we have heard in the ears of the Koshevoi Ataman, together with the account of the spies we met on this shore."

  "The plan is good, Cossack," approved the old ataman, a gleam in his faded eyes. "Would I could ride with you and swing a sword with the strength of your lusty arm."

  "Yours is the gray head that plans, honorable sir," replied Ostalim respectfully. "And that is worth a hundred blades of the keenest steel. My father was such a man, and something of his cunning I have learned while a boy."

  "You will be a man in short order, Paul," observed Rashov jestingly, "when you enter the Zaporogian Siech with such tidings. By my faith you told us what to do as coolly as if you were an ataman and we the striplings. I spoke truth when I said there would be fighting if I came with you-"

  He broke off, for Ostalim had wheeled his horse, settled himself firmly in the seat, and whirled off through the reeds in the direction where Rashov had told him the siech lay. Although there was care on his brow, his heart was alight, for was he not bringing to the waiting ten thousand such tidings as had not come in a generation, which would bring him the honor that was due him by birth?

  Chapter IV Lack of Foresight

  The siech was awake and stirring. After months of idleness the Cossack warriors heard the whisper of war in the wind that came to them across the Dnieper. Some who had been guzzling beer for weeks took their swords to the armorer to be sharpened; others examined their horses and trappings to see if all were in order for a march. Throughout the entire encampment there was a buzz of preparation as the various kurens assembled their quota of men under the atamans.

  In the center square of the siech, loaded wagons rumbled down to the river bank, bearing all the supplies, powder, and weapons of the Cossacks; in the square also stood the tall figure of the Koshevoi Ataman, or war chief, in whose hands rested the authority of life and death over the Cos-sacks—a gray-mustached veteran of a hundred battles.

  Above the turmoil of blacksmiths' hammers, the creaking of wagons, and the commands of the atamans rang the excited shouts of the young Cossacks who were going into war for the first time, and who could hardly keep themselves from springing into the river on their horses at the first sight of the Tartar bands. It needed all the wisdom of the older men to restrain the striplings until night, when the last of the reinforcements from villages like Ruvno would be in and darkness would cover the crossing of the river.

  But the Cossacks under Ataman Cherevaty were late in coming, and the Koshevoi Ataman was still at his post in the square late in the afternoon when a dusty rider trotted in through the kurens and dismounted before him. Ostalim had lost no time in arriving at the encampment, as his tired horse and the dust on his garments showed.

  The glance of the war chief swept quickly over the plain attire of the new arrival, and he frowned slightly. This was no ordinary Cossack. "Speak," he said sharply, "and tell your business; minutes are not to be wasted when the Zaporogian Siech prepares for war."

  "That is the truth, honorable sir," returned Ostalim. "Wherefore, will you give order to beat the drum that shall summon the rada council of the siech? I have news of the movements of the Tartar folk that will open wide the eyes of the Cossacks. A trap has been set for you, honorable sir."

  "You have important news?" The war chief measured glances with Ostalim. "Then the rada drums shall beat that the siech may hear your tidings."

  He spoke a word to a Cossack who stood behind him, and the roll of the kettledrums began to echo through the encampment. At once the Koshe-voi Ataman picked up the mace that was his symbol of office; the judge of the army emerged from a kuren carrying his heavy seal and accompanied by the scribe. From all quarters the Cossacks flocked round the square, wondering at the summoning of the council on the eve of departure.

  Every head was bared as the war chief stepped forward with Ostalim at his side and lifted his hand for silence.

  In accordance with custom, the war chief addressed the assembly slowly, with his eyes on the ground to show that he weighed his words carefully. "A messenger has come to us, honorable sirs," he said, "who has tidings of such importance that he asked for the calling of the council. Let us hear what he has to say, for it concerns the Tartar folk."

  A murmur went through the gathering at this, and there was much craning of necks to see the unknown messenger, and a greater murmur when it was seen that the newcomer was clad in none of the Cossack trappings except a sword.

  "These are my tidings, honorable sirs," began Ostalim steadily, although his heart was fluttering under the gaze of the ten thousand. "On the bank of the Dnieper, coming from Ruvno with the Cossack Rashov, I learned from an escaped galley slave that the Tartars were in truth assembled on the other bank of the river. They are divided into two parts, and their purpose is for one part to draw you across and far into their territory, when the second half of them will steal our war treasure."

  "That is impossible, Cossack," cried the Koshevoi Ataman sternly, "for none save my lieutenants know where it is hidden."

  "The Cossack who escaped from them knows the hiding place, and he learned that they found it out. That is not all our enemies plan, for they will sweep up the river bank and lay waste the village of Ruvno with others as long as they ma
y do so with safety."

  The Koshevoi Ataman shook his head. It was true that he had heard reports of Tartar detachments seen on this side of the Dnieper, but the main body of the enemy were in full view on the other side of the river, where the smoke of burning hamlets was rising to the sky and there were appeals for assistance. How was he to test the truth of the words of the unknown Cossack?

  "Have you proof?" he demanded.

  "None other than that you may find the galley slave with the Cossack Rashov by the war treasure when you send Cossacks to protect it."

  "Are you known to any here?"

  Ostalim scanned the faces before him, and found that all were strangers. In his haste to bring the tidings to the siech he had not thought of how they would be received, and he had no proof to offer.

  "I am known to the Ataman Cherevaty, honorable sir," he said after a moment's thought. "He will be here with the men from Ruvno presently."

  At this point there was a commotion in the gathering. A group of elegantly clothed Cossacks who came from the Polish frontier and wore gold braid in their coats were murmuring against the interruption by the strange rider in the dusty clothes. Those around them took up the whisper, and it became a loud muttering. The Cossacks of the siech were not men to dally with. Few would pause to heed the words of Ostalim; they were eager to be off after the foe across the river.

  Only the Koshevoi Ataman seemed willing to consider the message Ostalim brought. "What is your name?" he asked.

  "My father-" Ostalim's eyes flashed proudly as he began his reply,

  when a shout went up from the throng. The assembled Cossacks parted on both sides of a lane, down which spurred at full speed a rider on a foam-flecked horse.

  Without a pause the daring Cossack swept up to the group around the Koshevoi Ataman and flung himself from his horse. Ostalim saw that his sword was naked in his hand and that he wore no hat.

  "Honorable sir," cried the newcomer, "how is it that the siech stands idle when Cossack blood flows on this side of the Dnieper? Have the Za-poroghi taken to beer brewing that such things should be allowed to go unpunished?"