by Purple Hazel
Tatyana brought out mugs of ale for everyone to drink while Bogdan sat down with “Lyev.” He told about the massive raids that had been going on, and the refugees packing into the city. “This time, it's a full-scale invasion my boy,” said Bogdan as he swigged his ale. “Thousands of them. Never know when they might show up. People are terrified they might attack the city. The Inn has been full every night, and some folks,” he said, “have been reduced to sleeping in tents down by the town marketplace.”
Ludmilla suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She had no idea this had been going on. She knew nothing of the invasion before arriving that day, and had no inkling she was in any danger riding through the countryside earlier. Her blood ran cold worrying about her father. Will he be safe? she wondered. For that matter, was anyone?
However, within a few days, the stories of Tatar raids and villages being ransacked began to die down; and scouts returning to the city soon began reporting the Tatars had apparently moved on. Refugees left the city and returned to their farms. Life began to get back to normal in Belgorod. This was a relief to Ludmilla, and when she thought about it, it seemed unlikely now that her father was in any danger at all. Tatars were looking for villages to raid, not isolated farms—and since there were no crops ready for harvest yet, it was improbable they’d be foraging near the family farm anyway. That’s how everyone in town coming to the tavern often explained it, too. So instead, she turned her focus to the business at hand and got right to work.
She dove right in, plunging into daily repair jobs and a thorough cleaning that the inn was in dire need of. Bogdan was delighted, and so was Tatyana. Even as much as they’d remembered her work ethic, they were still astounded with her diligence and efficiency once she’d returned. They in turn returned to their daily routines. Tatyana continued to take baked bread to market, just as she’d always done, and at the beginning of the evening when customers once again started ambling in, the happy trio were quite efficient working together serving food and ale to thirsty, hungry patrons. The night’s revelry would gradually come to an end, then they’d trudge off to bed for a good night’s sleep. Next day they'd start all over again.
Ludmilla was a flurry of activity during the day. First thing she did was remove all the furniture in the dining hall and give it a good scrubbing. She made repairs, straightened nails, and tightened legs or supports on the tables so they’d stand up better to a long night of drinking and merriment. Tatyana helped, too. She traded at the market for some lacquer; and in no time, the entire dining hall smelled like fresh coats of lacquered wood and clean floors.
But she didn’t stop there. Once the furniture and tables and stools and benches were refinished and repaired, she then set herself to work on the walls! Bogdan thought it was crazy, but Ludmilla eventually persuaded him. Years of fireplace smoke and soot had collected on the interior of the inn, contributing to a smoky darkness that was only barely illuminated by candles and lamps—or even the light of day coming through greasy windows. This just wouldn’t do. Ludmilla wanted the interior to be bright and inviting. It would mean fewer dark areas inside where Tatyana might have run-ins with drunken customers who might take advantage of her. When she explained it like that, Bogdan was all for it—and so was a very proud Tatyana. “Lyev” was turning out to be even more wonderful than they’d hoped!
Ludmilla cleaned and scrubbed—up from the floor all the way to the ceiling—constructing her own scaffolding and fashioning “mop brushes” to use in swabbing the soot off the walls. What a disgusting mess it created! When she was done she even re-plastered sections which had eroded and peeled off over the years. The place looked better and better each day; and customers took immediate notice. Not only did they see there was a new “man” in Bogdan’s employ, but customers also started behaving better in the newer, cleaner dining hall. The floors were no longer a place to simply spit on or discard rubbish. No one dared! One shot of a serious glance from Ludmilla, and the perpetrator would humbly pick up after himself, or immediately cease.
Customers even began discouraging each other from doing so. “Hey, pick that up! We're not pigs here you know?” they’d yell at one another, half-joking at times, but often quite serious on occasion. It made Tatyana giggle every time they did that.
By contrast, Ludmilla would merely stand upright with hands on her hips until the violator corrected his error. There was indeed a new order to things in Bogdan’s tavern, and the enforcer of this was always present, always everywhere it seemed, watching out for Tatyana as well as cleanliness inside the establishment. She was quite blunt at times, too! She’d admonish them humorously with comments like, “The horse barn is across the street, comrades. Let’s keep this place nice for everyone to enjoy, shall we?” That always caused quite a stir of cackling and chuckles. She was like a strict Russian grandmother at times yes, but most customers thought it to be downright hilarious whenever she’d call out an offender.
Meanwhile, as the rumors of Tatar raids and slave roundups in the countryside faded away, Tatyana and Ludmilla spent day after day working together and spending time falling even more deeply in love. Even when they weren’t together, Ludmilla was working side by side with Bogdan starting the process of producing vodka for customers in the Tavern. That was the fun part for Bogdan. He’d been waiting for months to begin! He loved working with Ludmilla; and her uncanny ability for devising solutions or constructing systems for processes simply fascinated him. He could delegate most anything to her—and when he ran out of ideas, she always seemed to have at least two more to try. What’s more she refused any compensation, pointing out that her eventual payoff would occur once she returned to her farm and harvested her barley. Then they could make enough vodka with their newly learned processes to be able to pay her farm’s rent with her share. Bogdan had no argument with that!
“Besides, I’m not going to drink up our profits…this stuff is too potent for me anyway!” was how Ludmilla put it. Bogdan laughed at her for saying that; but over time it inspired him to adopt the same philosophy. “Lyev’s right,” he’d muse to Tatyana. “Why drink it? Sell it all and make even more money.” Bogdan was thrilled with his young partner’s “head for business,” and he remarked on it constantly to Tatyana. “This boy’s a keeper, my daughter,” he’d often say. Tatyana couldn’t agree more.
* * * *
In May, the allied Crimean and Turkish army finally reached the Serpukhov defense fortifications along the Oka River. There they were able to outflank a small 6,000-man Russian army and clear the path for an assault on the capital. This turned out to be the real turning point in the campaign, in that the Oka River defenses were traditionally the final barrier preventing further incursions north. Truth be told though, the Tatars did receive vital assistance along the way—and from one of the most unlikely of sources. Indeed, a rather fortuitous turn of events changed everything for the invaders.
A defector from the Russian side who’d been captured in an earlier battle tipped off his captors that going straight to Moscow would now be feasible if they were willing to spare his life and give ear to his knowledge of the area. “I know the way,” he claimed. In fact, the traitor offered to lead the horde personally through an unguarded section of the Russian defense line! Stunned at their prisoner’s apparent willingness to betray his own people, the Tatars decided not to cut his throat and instead delivered him straight to the Great Khan himself. But it came with a stern warning.
“Dog! If you turn out to be lying or tricking us,” they berated him, “we’ll roast you alive over a campfire until you scream bloody murder. Don’t try our patience. Understand?” The Russian turncoat nodded in agreement. “You have my word, comrades. I’ll show you a way around our defenses. They’ll never know a thing. I swear it.” And with that the Tatars led the rather well-healed prisoner through the camp to their leader’s tent.
Blindfolded and bound at the wrists the prisoner walked with his captors through a sea of yurts and campfires where greasy fi
ngered warriors roasted goats and sheep captured from local farms. Captured women could be heard screeching in terror from inside nearby tents as the two Tatars and their prisoner walked among the campsites. Hardened men snickered and laughed at the sight of him—a Russian nobleman no less! This they commented about crudely as he passed. They chuckled and mocked him, all the while taunting their cohorts leading him through camp tethered by a strand of rope like some old milk cow.
“Couldn’t find any women today, eh?” one scoffed. “Just cut his throat and we’ll share some of ours with you!” another one yelled. “Yes, we've got plenty to spare, don't we?” yet another one snarled and a woman could be heard near him whimpering then crying out pitifully a few moments later. She’d been stripped of her clothing and was tied to a post next to their campfire. One of the brutes was poking her with a red-hot iron rod which he’d heated in the flames. In response to her agonizing screams the rest of the Tatars around the camp only laughed harder. Meanwhile the traitor tried to ignore the shameful goings-on. He knew there was nothing he could do for her.
Eventually they arrived at the Great Khan’s tent—a massive yurt that towered above the others and had a large dais constructed at the front for receiving emissaries or other important guests which might be brought before the Khan. As it was evening, the dais was no longer occupied, so they proceeded to the entrance. Dusk had fallen, and the camp around them soon became illuminated by campfire light and torches as the setting sun turned burnt orange. When they got to the entrance, sentries outside the tent crossed their spears over the opening and demanded an explanation.
“Entry is forbidden!” stated one of the guards. “The Great Khan is through receiving guests for today,” the other said. “No one is to disturb him.” But when the Tatars holding the prisoner detailed what their captive was proposing, a well-dressed vizier of diminutive size and advanced age soon poked his head through the flaps of the massive tent to tell them they could enter. Evidently the man had been listening from the other side and liked what he was hearing!
“We’ve captured a Russian nobleman, comrades,” said one of the Tatars, with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. He had no patience for such buffoons. These were no warriors—likely hadn’t seen combat since the beginning of the campaign. Nonetheless he needed to impress upon them the importance of their find. “A turncoat,” he continued. “Says he wishes to change sides. We’ve questioned him. Claims he knows a secret path we can lead our army to. He gave his word that this will enable us to outflank the Russian army. Clear shot to Moscow. We must bring him before the great leader immediately. Now move aside.”
That was all the elder vizier needed to hear. He stepped through the opening and interrupted the conversation. “Yes, they may enter the Khan's tent,” said the vizier, overriding the sentries. “Bring the prisoner inside,” he then commanded. The guards obediently uncrossed their spears and stared out blankly once more. The Tatars then grabbed their prisoner by the arms and led him through, the vizier gesturing for them to come inside. “You will follow me,” he told them.
Entering the enormous yurt, which was the size of a circus tent, the Tatars removed the man’s blindfold and that’s when he finally beheld the interior of Devlet Giray’s stately residence. It was truly amazing…almost like a palace on the inside. He looked around while they untied his hands. Piles of golden plunder and treasure chests stacked several layers high ringed one side of the round walls. The tent was as tall as a large temple in some far off Asian city, with ten or twelve torches lighting the gloomy interior, and a short little man with a thin moustache sitting on a gilded throne planted right in the middle. He'd been enjoying his dinner at the time—and he didn’t seem too pleased with the interruption. This must be the Great Khan Devlet Giray himself! thought the Russian.
Slave girls, dressed in colorful veiled costumes lounged around the feet of the little man on large pillows likely imported from Turkey. An enormous blue, green, and red rug with intricate designs woven into it lay beneath them. The girls were all milky white skinned and adorned with jeweled headgear, bracelets, anklets, and necklaces which descended from their necks across their bare breasts. Some, he could see, had marks and scars on their skin from receiving God knows what form of cruel punishment meted out to them during their captivity. Several had even been branded on the upper arm with some undiscernible symbol indicating they were now slaves. Some of their brands looked fresh, too.
The slave girls stared emotionlessly at the finely dressed Russian standing across the dirt floor of the yurt. There was a sadness about them that struck the man almost immediately. It occurred to him that their spirits had been broken and they'd lost their will to resist. It turned his stomach thinking about such things. He tried not to make further eye contact with them.
Meanwhile a pair of tall African male slaves, stripped to the waist and serving as his attendants, stood by the glowering little man while the vizier quickly scurried over to crouch at the Khan’s feet, touching his head obediently to the dirt floor in deference to his supreme leader. “Oh, Great Khan, we have received a guest who wishes to offer some form of assistance,” the vizier announced, with his face still looking down at the ground below him. The little man sitting on the throne covered in gold said nothing, but motioned subtly with his hand to bring forward this “guest.” The Tatars quickly complied.
Devlet Giray was unimpressed when his warriors led the prisoner to him. At first glance, the tall Russian didn’t seem to be worth his time. Nevertheless he allowed the intrusion; out of morbid curiosity more than anything else. “You are wishing to help us, my brave foe?” snarled the little man with a leering glare. Through his slanted eyes there was an intensity that shown through; and the Russian felt a lump in his throat while he tried to form words, “Y-y-yes, Great Khan,” he stammered.
Sensing the nobleman knew nothing of Tatar custom, the soldiers next to him then kicked at the back of his knees to make him kneel before their leader. The prisoner knelt and bowed his head awkwardly to the ground, in the way he'd seen the vizier doing. Devlet snickered softly as he observed the lanky fellow attempting to appear so courtly.
Having learned throughout this campaign from both prisoners and deserters alike about the political disarray going on inside Russia at the time, Devlet was certainly not surprised at receiving a willing traitor into his court. Ivan the Terrible had been brutally suppressing Boyar influence within his government. Devlet had heard of these things months before and hoped this instability within the monarchy might make things at least slightly easier for his warriors. However, when he met this man, a Boyar-son by the name of Kudeyar Tishenkov, only then did the full picture become clear: Tsar Ivan had been conducting a reign of terror upon the ancient nobility of Russia for some time. He queried the young man about this that night in his massive tent.
“So, my noble guest, perhaps you would be good enough to tell me how it is that you, a Russian, have come to help us. Are we not your enemy?” asked the Great Khan in a low provocative voice. Kudeyar remained bowed before him, and replied, “No, Great Lord, I am no longer your enemy today. The enemy of my people and the enemy of my family is the Tsar of Russia. I serve him no longer.”
There was a long pause, as Devlet studied the kneeling man. “Hmmm, and yet you have sworn fealty to the Tsar of Russia have you not?” asked Devlet in a rising ominous tone. The Russian didn’t answer immediately so Devlet continued “And why is it I should trust a man who would betray his own king?” Devlet stood up from his golden chair and folded his arms inside the sleeves of his ornately decorated robe which was sky blue with yellow-gold braiding and piping. He wore a shimmering gold and dark blue conical hat that poked straight up from his head nearly two feet to the tip. “Who are you?” Devlet then asked him. The Russian explained who he was, and why he'd defected.
“Great Khan…my name is Kudeyar Tishenkov. I am a Boyar, and son of the noble Tishenkov family. My father is dead, murdered by the Oprichniki, and I am the last of m
y brothers not executed or imprisoned already by Tsar Ivan.”
Devlet had heard all about the Oprichnina. It was an official policy mandated by the tsar to weed out traitors to his throne. Begun in 1565, it served as a means of wiping out members of the aristocracy who regularly challenged Ivan IV's authority or defied his edicts. It all began when a very paranoid Ivan the Terrible left Moscow on pilgrimage in December 1564, and in his absence the government fell under the control of the Boyar Council. By modern standards, this was effectively a coup d’état; and in response to what he deemed a threat to his own authority, Ivan returned to Moscow and demanded the creation of an organization to investigate and expose other such “traitors” to his throne.
The whole sordid affair served mainly to reduce the power and influence of the centuries-old Russian aristocracy; and within only a few years, Ivan had successfully solidified his power. Yet he’d done so at the expense of thousands of deaths: murders, assassinations, and unjust persecutions. Princely clans were all but wiped out in many regions of the land, with nobles being rounded up, tortured, executed, or having their lands confiscated. In one region, twelve thousand Boyars were killed or simply expelled from Russia and forced to try and escape from their own country. Peasants aiding their former lords in their attempted escapes from the Oprichniki (secret police) were also rounded up and either hanged or beheaded.
The sheer madness of it reached a fever pitch, when open air mass executions of accused traitors were conducted in Pagan Square in Moscow. Desperate for wealth to fund his extensive campaign against the Livonian Confederacy, Ivan IV and the Oprichniki eventually turned to looting the clergy and its churches! And at the height of his madness, Ivan the Terrible even ordered the Russian city of Novgorod looted and burned. Not surprisingly, the tsar had many enemies within his own kingdom.
