Whitefire (35 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
“In the barn, in the barn!” the Terek squealed in a high, thin voice.
It was Kostya who sprinted to the building, just as the door opened and a giant of a man walked out. Two Cossacks pinned him by the arms, and Kostya dragged him to stand before Katerina as he fought his captors with all his strength.
“Are you the one they call Gregory?” she asked him hatefully, recognizing him instantly. “You! You're the buyer who came to Volin with Yuri Zhuk. Now I understand. You weren't there to purchase horses. You came to spy on us and steal the Cosars, you bastard!”
Gregory was belligerent, a sneer on his mouth. His eyes widened at the sight of the white stallions.
Katerina noticed the surprised look and laughed. “A mare is a mare, right, Terek? Without the stallions a mare is just another horse.” She leaned over and whispered, so that Gregory had to strain to hear her words. “Where are they?”
Gregory shrugged. “What are you talking about?” he blustered.
Katerina remained silent atop Whitefire. The Cossacks closed in, forming a circle around the sweating Terek.
“Since the beginning of spring I've been searching for the mares and haven't found them anywhere. I know they're not in any other Cossack village. Where are they? I won't ask you again! For now, all I seek is the horses, but later you'll pay for what you did to my father and the people of my village. You can't escape me.”
The hackles rose on Gregory's neck, and his stomach turned over at what he knew she meant to do. His mind shrieked for him to lie. Lie to her and she'll let you go. He had a long, rich life ahead of him, with more gold than he could ever spend. “They were stolen from me when the village was asleep.”
“That's very amusing. It's almost as sad a tale as the night Volin was plundered. I don't believe a word of it.” She laughed, the only sound in the quiet night, with the exception of the horses' deep breathing. “Do I have to count again? How much were you paid for the Cosars? Who did you sell them to?”
A sharp jab with Rokal's saber and the man lurched closer to Katerina, who was leaning over, her position relaxed and nonchalant. “Whatever you were paid, you were cheated. I'll kill you if you don't answer me. I want those animals back in their rightful pens by the time the first winds of winter come. Either you tell me now or I'll slice your tongue from your mouth. Then I'll castrate you in front of everyone, and I'll laugh while I'm doing it. The same thing will happen to every man in this village. Your death will be slow and painful, and the road will turn to a river of blood. Now where are my horses?”
She was bluffing, she was a woman, she wouldn't cut out his tongue or . . .
Free of the imprisoning hands, Gregory backed off a step and licked at his dry lips. Faster than the blink of the eye, he had Rokal's saber free of its sheath and in his hand. “Now tell me what you're going to do if I don't answer you,” he sneered. “Yes, I stole your horses and I raided your village. Yuri and I were under orders from Ivan. Crazy Czar Ivan is the buyer. But now I have a weapon, and it makes us evenly matched. I can take a woman in my stride seven days out of the week. I'll fight you, but I want none of your men to interfere.”
Katerina nodded and stepped closer to the sweating Gregory. “I find it strange that you should say what you just did. Every Cossack stands and fights alone. My soldiers will not interfere.”
The men's eyes were glued to Katerina as she advanced a step and then stopped before the fearful Terek. Before Gregory knew what she was about, she had brought up her saber and flexed her knees simultaneously. She slashed out at his weapon, jarring his arm, causing it to jolt backward with the force of her blow. Gregory, stunned for a second, retaliated quickly and thrust his saber at Katerina's midsection. Nimbly, like a dancer, she sidestepped him as her weapon again struck out, this time whacking his shoulder. The sound of his shattering bone was loud in the quiet night.
Katerina laughed at the look of pain on Gregory's face. “With little effort I can do the same to your other shoulder. Tell me where the Cosars are! I can smell your fear from where I stand.”
Gregory spat for an answer, bringing his weapon up clumsily to strike out at the woman in front of him.
“So you pay no heed to my words. Then you shall suffer, and if you die, then it will be your own fault.” She laughed as she feinted to the left, the saber finding its mark across the man's other shoulder.
The crack of the splintering bone brought shouts of approval from the Cossacks. Before Gregory could recover, Katerina danced out of the way and then crouched low in a sprint, lashing out at the Terek's leg. Blood splattered in the dusty road. Gregory looked with disbelieving eyes at his injured leg. The saber dropped from his numb hand.
“Now tell me, where are my Cosars? If you don't speak, then your tongue will lie in the dirt with your blood.”
Gregory reeled uncontrollably, falling in a puddle of his own blood. He fell face down, the blood and dust settling over his face, making a hideous mask.
Kostya stretched out his foot and forced the Terek to roll over. “Answer the lady when she speaks to you.”
“In Moscow. The Czar has the Cosars,” Gregory gasped. “You're too late. By now they're scattered all over Russia. You'll never get them back,” he said shrilly.
“I'll get them back, no thanks to you. If I could find you, I'll find the Cosars. Where is the gold you were paid for the animals? Make fast work of your answer.”
“He can't hear you,” Kostya said. “He's out of his mind with pain. Ask one of these other . . . puppets.”
Katerina lifted her saber and looked around. She waited, saying nothing.
“In the barn,” came a babble of voices. “In the chests beneath the saddles.”
“Take it all,” Katerina ordered Rokal. “It's yours to divide among the men. When we get to Moscow you can thank Ivan for his generosity personally.”
“What do we do with these . . . this scum?” Kostya questioned.
“Put them in their own stockade. Shackle them together and move the poles in the way the Mongols do.”
“They'll die,” Kostya said softly. “Is that what you want? Do you want men's deaths on your conscience for horses? If so, you'll have to find someone else to obey this particular order. The stockade, yes, but no shackles, and the poles stay where they are.”
“You're right. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. For a moment I was blinded by my own hatred. Place them in the stockade, and when the men are finished in the barn we ride out.”
Katerina and a patrol of five men made camp for the night in Kharkov on the outskirts of Smolensk. Patiently she waited for the rest of her force, traveling in small groups so as not to draw attention to themselves. She was exhausted, more so than she ever remembered being, and now she was faced with a week's wait until it was time for her rendezvous with the Tatars and her uncle, Afstar.
As the men trickled in she was not surprised that those whose loyalty she had once doubted were now steadfast and committed to her cause. She wondered if the loot from Gregory's barn had anything to do with their decision to stay with her. All were now as determined as she to regain the Cosars.
Never one to remain idle, Katerina found the endless days a living torture. As always when she had nothing to do, thoughts of Banyen filtered through her mind. Where was he; what was he doing? Did he think of her? Would he forgive her? When the amber eyes filled with tears, she would get up and have the men practice. When she tired of watching their expertise with their weapons, she had them brush and groom the animals. At sundown they ate their evening meal and sat around the fire, their voices pitched low in serious conversation.
Shortly before sunrise on the sixth day the Khan cantered into her camp. Briskly he ordered his men to dismount and set up tents. Katerina's eyes widened at the sight of the thousands of men who rode with him. All seemed fit and hearty. Banyen did well, she thought.
“You look well, my child,” the Khan said, dismounting. “Tell me, have you any news for me?”
“Everything is well, Uncle, but this waiting is beginning to play on my nerves. How many more days?” Unable to contain herself, she blurted, “Where is Banyen?”
“In Moscow,” Afstar said, watching Katerina carefully.
“Moscow! Why? But I thought . . . I expected . . .”
“He arrives tomorrow,” Afstar said, sparing her the need to ask further questions. “He's been in Moscow for a week. The Tatars are also due to arrive tomorrow, sometime after dusk. Our plan is to camp for one day and go over our plans. However, in order to do that we must wait for Banyen and the information he is bringing us. Our plan is to attack at night, and it was left to Banyen to arrange our entry for us. Does that answer all your questions? The one-day delay is necessary, but any longer would only harm us. By now the peoples of the steppe are no doubt wondering where this massive army is heading. There is bound to be one among them that has sent word to Ivan by now.”
“Are you telling me that Banyen is spying in Moscow?” Katerina asked, her eyes reflecting fright. “It can't be safe, and his life could be in danger.”
“He is the only man who has allies there, and that is why the decision to send him was made. He agreed,” Afstar said gruffly. “No harm will come to Prince Banyen. I'm tired, my young niece, and I wish to bed down for the night,” he said, walking over to join his men, leaving Katerina staring at his retreating back.
As the sky darkened, the multitude of bonfires glowed like fireflies on the edge of the grasslands. Guards were posted as the Mongols and Cossacks ate and then bedded down for the night.
Settling herself beneath the stars, Katerina anxiously waited for sleep to overcome her. Please, she prayed, let nothing happen to him, keep him safe.
Chapter 23
W
ith a sharp tug on the reins, Banyen brought his black Arabian to a halt. Moscow stood before him, a little less than a mile off. Never having been in this metropolis before, he wanted to observe it from a distance. Prior to this visit, all his dealings with the boyars had been on a prearranged no-man's-land or by messenger. Now he needed to know the city and its secrets. A week in Moscow, shown around by the boyars, and he should be able to lead the attack through it without any problems. He knew he had to be careful, because as much as the boyars hated Ivan and constantly undermined him, they were a lot not to be trusted by anyone. What was it the boyar had said? Banyen ran it through his mind again: “Take the main road into Moscow, through the Wooden City, then travel the White City, which will bring you into Kitai Gorod. You will know Kitai Gorod from the other cities by the fence built around it. Once in Kitai Gorod you'll see an inn, a large log building, and you'll recognize it by the wine pitcher which hangs over the entrance. We'll meet at the inn after dark, but before you enter Moscow you must dress yourself in the clothes of a rich merchant.”
ith a sharp tug on the reins, Banyen brought his black Arabian to a halt. Moscow stood before him, a little less than a mile off. Never having been in this metropolis before, he wanted to observe it from a distance. Prior to this visit, all his dealings with the boyars had been on a prearranged no-man's-land or by messenger. Now he needed to know the city and its secrets. A week in Moscow, shown around by the boyars, and he should be able to lead the attack through it without any problems. He knew he had to be careful, because as much as the boyars hated Ivan and constantly undermined him, they were a lot not to be trusted by anyone. What was it the boyar had said? Banyen ran it through his mind again: “Take the main road into Moscow, through the Wooden City, then travel the White City, which will bring you into Kitai Gorod. You will know Kitai Gorod from the other cities by the fence built around it. Once in Kitai Gorod you'll see an inn, a large log building, and you'll recognize it by the wine pitcher which hangs over the entrance. We'll meet at the inn after dark, but before you enter Moscow you must dress yourself in the clothes of a rich merchant.”
Banyen, dressed in the appropriate attire, spurred the horse in the flanks and headed for the way into Moscow.
He rode his stallion slowly through the Wooden City, choked with log houses and a maze of streets lined with poor artisans and laborers. Weavers, gardeners, sheep skinners, and coach drivers were busy working at their trades. He trotted on into the White City, where he noticed a difference in the buildings, many made of ivory-colored stone. The filth and wooden buildings in the Wooden City were here, too, but here also stood ornate stone churches and palatial homes. Pungent markets along the main roadway, selling foodstuffs and objects of all descriptions, dotted the sides of the street. He was amazed at the unfamiliar sights and the number of people who milled and thronged the crowded, narrow roads. He knew that the masses of people would pose no problem when it came to the actual attack. To his discerning eye, the streets revealed only women, children, and merchants. Seeing no sentries to alarm him, he rode on, his eyes constantly on the alert.
Momentarily wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost lost sight of the wall that stood before him as the sun, blotted out by the cover of the archway he passed under, awakened him to the fact that he was now in Kitai Gorod, or Basket Town. As his agate eyes raked the city he knew the boyar had spoken the truth, for in front of him were the kitais filled with earth, piled one on top of the other, reaching as high as the top of the wall. Banyen smiled to himself. The dirt-filled baskets would not deter the attack, only add fuel to the fire when the time came to burn the city. His eyes darkened and were sharp and alert for anything that looked the least suspicious as he continued toward the meeting place.
Noticing a busy crossroads ahead, he approached, seeing a log building to his right. As his Arabian minced his way closer, he saw the wine pitcher hanging in front of the building. Nudging his horse to the side of the inn, he dismounted. Unsure as to what he should do with the animal, he tied it to a projecting log near the back of the building. Once he had spoken with the boyars and knew his way around, he would stable the animal.
Entering the inn, Banyen was amazed to see the interior was large and bare. Except for the massive wooden tables and benches scattered about, a counter where the food and drinks were served, and a huge fireplace, nothing else was in the room. The starkness took Banyen by surprise, for Mongols always had drapings, rugs, pillows, and clutter around them. He walked to a simple table and sat down. He leaned back on his rickety chair and knew that he would draw no attention in his gray caftan.
Banyen eyed a Russian serving girl and motioned for her to take his order. The oblique eyes narrowed as he watched her approach, her long chestnut hair billowing out behind her, her heavy breasts bobbing. Her bright, green eyes were bold and speculative as she leaned over to take his order, her breasts touching his shoulder. When she made no effort to change her position, Banyen reached out his hand and gently stroked the outside of her thigh. Still she didn't move. “Soup, meat, and bread,” he said coolly as he continued to touch her leg. The girl smiled as she straightened and reached down to remove his hand. He matched her bold look and nodded slightly. Later he would investigate her charms. For now, he was impatient, knowing that darkness was fast approaching. And soon the boyars would arrive. He cautioned himself to watch for men who wore gold medallions around their necks. He knew that the attire of the boyars was to be tall black sheepskin hats, black caftans, and black robelike capes decorated with golden tassels.
When the girl brought his food, he ate heartily. The soup was so thick it was almost a stew; the roast lamb was succulent; the black bread was warm and tasty. Again he motioned to her, ordering a tall glass of kvass. A smile tugged at the corners of Banyen's mouth as the girl pressed herself to him again, this time more heavily. When she reached over to pick up the kopecks, her gown fell away, revealing large, creamy orbs. Banyen drew in his breath, wanting to reach out and fondle them. He grinned as he watched her eye him languorously. His loins began to ache as he watched her sway back to the kitchen regions. Later, he told himself, there's always later. For now, he would sip at the kvass and wait for the boyars.
He was finishing his third glass when the inn became crowded with the supper patrons as twilight gave way to total darkness. Still Banyen waited, enjoying the bold glances the serving girl was bestowing on him. His own gaze became sleepy as he watched her swaying buttocks when she walked around the inn, serving the patrons. The moment the ache in his nether regions became a pain, two men walked through the door, dressed exactly as the boyar had described them. Banyen recognized one of them.
Banyen watched them closely as their eyes scanned the room, coming to rest on him. Bright gold medallions hung around their necks. The men fingered the medals and slowly maneuvered their way to his side of the crowded room. As they approached the table where he sat, Banyen stood and spoke.
“I beg your pardon, my boyars, might I have a quiet word with you?”
Both pairs of eyes took in Banyen's merchant attire and the oblique eyes. They nodded. “Of course, how can we be of assistance?” they asked, seating themselves at the table.
Holding up his hand, Banyen ordered kvass for his guests.
The older of the two boyars spoke first. “This inn is not the place to discuss details. Tomorrow, during the day, we must do the Czar's bidding, but in the evening we'll meet in my home in the White City. When we finish our kvass we'll ride through Moscow so you can become familiar with the sites and the names of the places of which we speak. As we ride, I'll tell you of the many details you'll need to know. We'll also ride past my home so you'll know where to meet me tomorrow evening. Might I say, Prince Banyen, you look well. It has been many years since I last saw you. Fortune has been good to you. Soon you'll be able to avenge your family.” His voice was sad and solemn as he stared into Banyen's eyes. “How long ago it was that we played together as children. I'm happy that I can now be of some help to you.”
Banyen nodded, saying nothing.
“I suggest you take a room here at the inn, as it would be the obvious thing for a stranger to do. Most newcomers to Moscow stay at this particular inn. It would be best if you booked your room now. We'll wait here for your return. Where did you secure your animal?”
“I tied him to a log at the side of the inn. Is there some place I can stable the animal?” Banyen inquired with concern.
“There's a stable in back of the inn. When you secure your lodging tell them you wish your horse to be taken care of, and they will tend to the rest. Just pray your horse is still where you left him, for it isn't uncommon for horses to be stolen.”
Alarmed that his black stallion could be missing, Banyen first checked his steed. He was relieved when he found the animal still tied. Rushing back into the inn, he took a room and asked that his horse be tended to. The owner called out, and a moment later a stable boy appeared, listened, nodded his head, and was off in the direction of Banyen's horse.
“What name did you give?”
“Ivan Toborschev.”
“That's good. What did you say for business?”
“I said that I was a merchant from Kiev.”
“Good.”
Growing impatient with all the chatter, the elder boyar suggested they finish their drinks and leave for their ride around Moscow.
“How did you gain entry to the city?”
“Exactly as you instructed me. I came in on the main road through the Wooden City to Kitai Gorod.”
The two nobles looked at each other, frowns on their faces. “Perhaps we should take him farther on and show him Red Square and the Kremlin. This will give him a working knowledge of the city and the way the roads are laid out.”
“A commendable idea,” the other agreed as they walked toward the stable and his waiting coach.
The men boarded and drove through Red Square and the Kremlin. The two boyars pointed out the palace and surrounding buildings, which were heavily guarded and closed to the public. As the coach turned and headed back to Kitai Gorod, the driver was ordered to go through the other cities.
“Even in the darkness you'll be able to see parts of the cities you did not see on your ride in. Tomorrow, during the day, become familiar with as much as you can. If necessary, ride through more than once, and pay attention to the things you think will be important to you. Tomorrow evening, when we make our plans, sites we speak of may be recognizable to you.” Their drive at an end, the two men bade Banyen good night and were off, their coach lumbering down the road.
Exhausted, Banyen lay down on the soft bed, mulling over the activities of the day. His thoughts turned to the plans for the attack due to take place in less than a week. Satisfied that he hadn't overlooked anything, he let his thoughts drift, and he remembered the wanton smile and the firm, hard breasts that had pressed against his shoulder. A warm glow swept over him, and Katerina's face swam before him. He ached for her touch. Warmed by his memories, he fell into a deep sleep.
Refreshed and rested, Banyen dressed and descended the stairs for breakfast. He was relieved to note that the Russian girl was not in evidence. He knew that if she continued to flaunt herself, desire would take hold of him, and he would bed her like an animal. The girl's absence and the work at hand drove passion to the back of his mind. He finished his meal and left the inn. Done saddling his horse, he began his ride through the streets of Moscow. As he trotted he made mental notes concerning the various roads, bridges, rivers, and sights which he felt might be of importance to him. At the end of the day he made his way back to the inn, had his supper, freshened up, then walked to the house of the elder boyar.
The finery of the home impressed Banyen to a degree. The wealth of the noble and his trappings were different from those of a Mongol. The overstuffed chairs with their beautiful carvings and the small highly carved tables which sat around the large rooms, holding ornate lamps and art objects, drew his attention, but seemed utterly useless. A Mongol liked the best of things, but they were things that had a practical purpose, not merely for display. He complimented the boyar on his home, however, as they made their way to his private business chamber, where the others waited.
Quickly the boyar closed the doors behind him. “These are some of the other men who will aid us. They too would like to see Ivan fall from power. We have been together for many years, and I give you my word that they can be trusted.”
The nobles and Banyen sat around a big table in a corner of the room as the elder boyar unfolded a map of Moscow and placed it in the center of the group. “Banyen, study this map carefully and pay special attention to the places that are marked in red. The marks represent the weak spots in the chain of Ivan's defense. There are many entrances into the cities through the main roadways, but when you reach Kitai Gorod, Red Square, and the Kremlin you will see they are surrounded by walls, the highest of which is around the Kremlin. The plan is for you to have your people surround all of Moscow. You will not have any trouble with the Wooden City or the White City, as they are open to raid. Have your main thrust come through the main roads of each city. Push straight on until you see the walls of Kitai Gorod. In the meantime you can have the rest of your army surround the entire outside walls of the Kremlin, Red Square, and Kitai Gorod. My men will be stationed at the unguarded places to open the gates to your men. As your army storms through the main road of Basket Town and keeps Ivan's soldiers at bay, the rest of your men can pour through the gates. Moscow will be yours! We must now set the exact time of attack, and it must happen at exactly that moment, as seconds may spell the death of my comrades at Ivan's mad hands!”
“Understood,” acknowledged Banyen. “The supper hour will be the time. The moment the church bell chimes.”
“Yes, an excellent idea. It should be dark by then, when most people eat, including the Czar and the soldiers. It will take them at least an hour to get back to the garrison where the main bulk of the weapons and ammunition is kept. Are you all in agreement with the plan and time for the attack?”
Other books
Ghost Song by Rayne, Sarah
The Last Season by Roy MacGregor
The August 5 by Jenna Helland
Hungry Moon by Ramsey Campbell
Sultana's Legacy by Lisa J. Yarde
The Luminist by David Rocklin
Jackie Robinson by Arnold Rampersad
Nice Couples Do by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
