by Purple Hazel
Apparently the evil commander wished to keep Tatyana's virginity intact—at least for the time being.
Chapter 10
The Long March
After several hours Ludmilla finally began to come around. Her head was on fire and her face felt like blood was still seeping and trickling down her cheeks from some gash under her scalp; but that injury had happened hours ago. Actually it was a cold wet compress and someone was apparently holding it on top of her head—she could feel the person’s fingers holding it in place that is. She also felt the back of her neck resting on someone’s thigh. Slowly in her delirium she began piecing it together.
The vicious blow to her head earlier and the resulting concussion eventually put her out of commission, so she’d slept almost all afternoon. Once she had seen or at least perceived that Tatyana was safe from the ravages of that gang of Tatars, Ludmilla could no longer keep it together and she drifted off. She had gotten one last look at a naked, sobbing Tatyana being tossed her dress to put back on, and then things went completely black. She remembered nothing else after that.
Coming awake gradually, head throbbing and pounding, she also noticed her shoulders and arms were still very sore from that rope stretching her to where her toes were barely scraping the ground. Her wrists also burned from the rope she’d been tied up with—but then when she moved around a bit, she realized her hands were still bound together. When the pain shot up her arms from her sore wrists, that’s when she noticed and it hurt to move them. She sighed and blinked her eyes in frustration taking inventory of all her pains and injuries. There was some good news though: there were still a few places she didn’t hurt, and one of them was between her legs! That was at least a welcome relief. Apparently, those fiends had not yet figured out she was a woman and tried violating her.
However she was desperately thirsty, and when she tried to look up at whoever’s leg she was resting on, she realized it was a fully dressed Tatyana looking down upon her. Ludmilla’s eyes brightened. Tatyana was apparently okay! Tatyana smiled down at Ludmilla, but the emotion in her eyes was one of sadness instead of the usual brightness she was accustomed to.
Yes, it had been Tatyana applying the cool wet rag to her head and carefully washing out the wound. It was Tatyana’s leg she was resting her head on too; and by now the late afternoon shadows were giving them at least some relief from the hot summer sun. Ludmilla’s ears began to function efficiently and she could soon hear workers out in her grain field hauling in bundles of barley. She turned her head slightly to get a brief glimpse of the goings-on and it astounded her—there must have been over a hundred prisoners out there working! More than a few of them looked like freedmen and merchants from the town of Belgorod.
Ludmilla couldn’t keep her head cocked to the side for very long before it started to ache and her eyes got glassy once more. But then she looked toward the barn to see where the prisoners were taking the barley. Long lines of them were walking with bundles of grain, tossing it into the wagon bed, and then returning to the field. Ludmilla could see many of them had been abused, with rope burns on their exposed wrists or necks, scars or bruises on their faces, or limping from some recent injury to their legs or back. Now the full brutality of the Tatars was becoming apparent. These poor souls must have been marched from Belgorod back to her farm to harvest her crops!
Returning her focus to Tatyana, Ludmilla looked up and made eye contact. Tatyana brushed her matted hair away from her face so she could see better, and though Tatyana was still smiling warmly her eyes continued to tell another tale. They were red and irritated from crying. Looked like she’d been doing a lot of it that day. Ludmilla asked in a feeble voice, “Are you okay…did they hurt you?” Tatyana only blinked nervously for a moment then shook her head as if to say, “I don’t wanna talk about it.” However, it soon seemed Ludmilla's garbled words were just enough to draw the attention of her captors.
Nearby, the evil commander overheard Ludmilla speaking and turned to walk toward them. He’d been checking in on the young couple periodically throughout the afternoon. Now apparently the young farmer had stirred, so he addressed his prisoner, “Ah, peasant, so you’re awake eh? Good.” He strolled over to them slowly, with his hands behind his back, like older men often do when they’ve been standing a while. Ludmilla finally got a good long look at him as her eyesight cleared up.
The commander of the scout unit was not very tall, but he had a fierce countenance that made any smile that creased his face seem fiendish at best. He wore a light brown rawhide cap with a rim of black fur around it, and a blousy shirt that had likely never been cleaned or even seen a good washing since the last time he'd been caught outside in the rain. The shirt hung down just past his groin to mid-thigh and was decorated with a woven or quilted piping around the edges and cuffs with some very detailed red and gold braiding. Over his chest he wore a thick brown leather vest. He had a small shield slung over his back which strapped across the vest via a thin leather cord. His rather comfortable-looking boots were made of soft fur and rawhide; which made perfect sense given that he was likely in the saddle ten hours out of every day. Leggings were wrapped and tied up the leg to give the man added protection, but otherwise they looked quite flimsy.
Ludmilla also noticed a pair of antlers or horns sticking up from the front center of his furry cap, and it was clear the cap extended down along the sides of his ears to his neck, apparently to add additional protection. At his side was a leather scabbard with a Turkish style sword called a Kilij. This type of sword was especially suited for attacking light infantry or fleeing enemies. Curved at the center and 27 inches long to the tip, it was perfect for slicing off arms or heads while the rider was at full gallop. Each of the man’s wrists had a leather gauntlet wrapped around it and laced up with rawhide straps. This was part of the man’s gear because Tatar warriors also carried a composite bow and no doubt somewhere nearby this same commander had a large leather quiver with around twenty arrows in it for battle. His pants were a thick rawhide that was tanned dark brown and flecked with both mud and other substances Ludmilla probably didn’t want to know about.
The Tatar commander laughed wickedly as he walked up closer to them; seeming to mock the terrible pain Ludmilla must have been in—as if it were nothing to be concerned about. He walked right up to them and when he was only a few paces away, he remarked evilly, “And you’re certainly no liar, peasant. This girl is indeed not your wife. Still a virgin too we found!” He laughed again, now gazing directly at Tatyana who dropped her head to avoid returning his glare. She looked away in disgust.
Ludmilla’s stomach balled up in knots at the very thought of Tatyana being stripped by those heathens and inspected like she was some piece of meat—or a horse they were going to purchase. Ludmilla tried not to picture what she remembered from earlier, with the Tatars pulling her dress up over her head, exposing her naked body, and ripping the material in several places as she squealed in panic and tried to squirm away. Ludmilla winced at the thought, but suppressed her anger. After all, the commander did say: “STILL a virgin.” Did this mean they hadn’t assaulted her? The commander soon filled her in.
“We’ll be leaving soon, heading south,” the commander said in a businesslike tone. “I’ve ordered my men not to touch her, and they won’t. But you, peasant, will serve me well by caring for this girl—do you understand?” He asked this with a raised eyebrow; then he got a very menacing look on his face. “You will make sure she completes the entire journey to Kefe’.” Ludmilla so wanted to reply, but because even nodding her head hurt terribly, she only winced and stuttered out something nonsensical. The commander snickered through his nose. He could tell Ludmilla understood.
What he was ordering her to do was watch out for Tatyana on the long march back to the city of Caffa on the Black Sea. There, the evil man intended to offer Tatyana for sale as a potential concubine for a harem because of her beauty. Ludmilla was to see to it she stayed alive on the long, difficult tri
p; and if she failed…? Well, she’d better not, that was the point.
Caffa (modern-day Feodosiya), was and still is a large city located on the southeastern tip of the Crimean Peninsula. At the time, this “free city” had a population of around 30,000—most of whom were slaves—and the town was notorious for its massive slave market. Ludmilla’s only chance at survival now was to make damn sure Tatyana arrived safe inside that hellish city. Otherwise her throat would be cut very likely by this same awful man who’d saved Tatyana from being ravaged by his own warriors! It also implied that the commander wished specifically to keep Tatyana preserved as well as possible so that he could sell her for an even higher price when they got there. A white virgin? In pristine condition? He’d feed his family for a whole year!
Ludmilla and Tatyana eventually had to stand up and leave after the last of the barley was loaded by the now-exhausted captive peasants and townspeople. However, because of Ludmilla’s condition, the commander ordered her to ride in the back of the wagon instead of marching in the prisoner column. Tatyana was also ordered to ride with Ludmilla and “make sure he does not fall out!” But the reality was much clearer: that enterprising commander wanted to keep a lovely prize like Tatyana right where he could find her that night when they got back to the main horde. He knew it would take hours to link up with the main column heading south from Belgorod; and by then it would be dark. Bad things could happen to a pretty girl—late at night in a Tatar warrior camp in the dark. Often, bad things did.
Ludmilla and Tatyana rode in the back of the wagon filled with bundles of freshly-cut barley, and after a while began to talk with each other in low voices. The Tatars rode along on either side of the column of tired captives which extended behind the wagon for a hundred yards or so. All were bound together in a long line spaced out a few feet apart, their hands tied behind their backs with rawhide straps. A rope was tied around each of their necks and connected to wooden poles that kept the prisoners moving in a single line. A few straggling horsemen –maybe seven or so—followed the wagon from behind, but after a while they weren’t paying much attention. They chatted with each other in their sing-song sounding native tongue. At times it sounded like they actually were singing! It was a perfect opportunity for Ludmilla to finally talk to Tatyana. Ludmilla tried looking across the horizon to the right side of the wagon but her head burned and ached from trying to turn. She winced and turned back toward her lover instead.
“Tatyana, can you see Belgorod? Is it burning?” asked Ludmilla in a low voice.
Tatyana whispered, “I don’t know” and continued to look out anxiously at the Tatars following them.
By this time however, Ludmilla was ignoring them entirely. They seemed to be singing some old warrior song and laughing at whatever the words to the song meant. Seemed they’d gotten into some of their own private stock of fermented mare's milk (Kumis is what the Tatars called it). They certainly seemed to be in high spirits. Hopefully the other Tatars would be the same way when they linked up with the main column later. Certainly not TOO high-spirited, though…for if they tried getting at Tatyana, Ludmilla was not sure how she’d handle it with her gashed head and flaming headache.
Yet she had nothing to fear. Tatars typically didn’t trifle with their captured slaves while still on the march…not while inside enemy territory. The idea was to drive the captives in one long column, broken up into groups of several dozen or even several hundred, until they got safely across the borderlands into Tatar-held territory. There of course the captives would be divvied up among the brethren, taking great care to make sure everyone got a fair share of the spoils. In this way, no one came away from the campaign disappointed. Ironically enough, the ruthless invaders were also well known for “sharing their spoils” with other fellow Tatars. That included female slaves. It was a time-honored custom among them.
After a while, though, Ludmilla noticed on the horizon an orange glow and a plume of smoke reaching up to the sky from the direction of Belgorod. “Oh, God, they sacked the city,” thought Ludmilla. But she didn’t intimate this observation to Tatyana. Best that Tatyana not know of her father’s fate. For that matter, Ludmilla didn’t want to think the worst either. She rationalized that Bogdan had made it into the castle; and in so doing survived the battle. The Tatars likely burned the town around it, pillaging the city, but then left in a hurry with all their plunder, setting fire to the remainder as they were leaving. That might explain why the captives that day had showed up to do the harvesting. They’d been brought from the town. She wondered if Tatyana might have recognized one or two of them.
Nevertheless, she didn’t ask. So many thoughts swirled through her mind already—about the torture she’d endured, the death of her father, the humiliation of Tatyana, and of course the potential fate of her lover if they made it all the way to Caffa alive. Ludmilla had no idea how to protect her, but the mission was very clear: She’d have to keep Tatyana safe and sound no matter what occurred until they got there. After that, she had no idea what she’d do. Better to not think about it.
Instead she said to Tatyana, “Darling, I don’t know whether I’ll get a chance to say this later; and I don’t have any idea what’s going to become of us, so I’m going to tell you now…tell you something you need to know.” Tatyana continued to stare blankly at the singing, laughing Tatars riding behind them, swerving and meandering mirthfully back and forth across the trail. It was now evening, and the sky was darkening already. The barley was all they could smell now, and Tatyana tried blocking out the images from her mind of those stinking beasts stripping her and examining her—touching her and poking about with greasy hands like she was a plucked chicken they were about to cook for dinner.
Tatyana asked softly, “What Lyev…what is it?” She continued to eye the inebriated Tatars behind them, but also tried taking in the gorgeous scenery of the lovely Russian countryside. It gave her a chance to wonder if she’d ever see Russia again! Maybe this was an opportunity to get one last look at her homeland. She certainly didn’t think she’d ever see her father again, that was for sure. Ludmilla continued, “I want you to know, Tatyana, I will come look for you. I will find you…if they separate us.”
Tatyana winced and gasped, “Oh, Lyev,” and she began crying at the thought of losing her lover and being made into some awful man’s slave —or maybe something far worse that she couldn't yet imagine! She’d heard so many stories over the years from the ladies in the market and others in town…about what happens to pretty girls who got captured by the Tatars. Their stories were so frightening; back when Tatyana was a young girl listening to them talking and chattering like a paddling of ducks. One lady would always try and top the other with an even more graphic or terrifying tale of women taken from their farms by those “jackals” of the southern steppe, then forced into a life of subservience. Tatyana hung her head and began sobbing again.
Ludmilla calmed her with a gentle “Sssssh, don’t cry, dear.” Tatyana leaned over to put her head on Ludmilla’s shoulder. And though it hurt a little —Ludmilla sucked in a deep breath and finished with, “I want you to be brave now. Listen to me and believe in me. Whatever happens to us—whatever happens to you I mean—just stay alive. Do whatever it takes to survive and someday, somehow I’ll come find you. I promise.” Tatyana wept openly. Blubbering and sobbing, she grasped Ludmilla’s arm and ground the side of her face into Ludmilla’s sore shoulder. Ludmilla, now accustomed to the pain, reached over with her other hand and patted Tatyana’s leg. “I promise, Darling,” she reiterated, “I’ll find you, no matter what happens. Stay alive and I’ll come for you. I swear it.”
After another hour or so the small band of warriors and slaves reconnected with the Tatar main column; and that’s when Ludmilla and Tatyana could finally see the full scope of what had happened to their country. Oh, the incredible sea of humanity! Crossing over a hill top and entering a large valley, the young couple could see tens of thousands of people and thousands of campfires lit with
people sitting or lying around them. As they got closer though the pattern of fires seemed to be more calculated than at first glance. Ludmilla noticed that they tended to be placed along the edges of masses of people huddled together. The prisoners were clearly cordoned off inside a gauntlet of Tatar campsites. And as they got even closer, Ludmilla could see people were still tied together in large clumps of bodies, so they had little hope of escaping in the night.
Riding into the camp area, Ludmilla and Tatyana could see even more detail: terrified prisoners huddled together, usually in a large circle facing outward and sometimes numbering in the hundreds. Tossed scraps of food to share among them, they held out hands and reached desperately despite their bindings for chunks of charred horsemeat, plundered chunks of stale bread, or rotting vegetables. The Tatars chuckled and laughed with little compassion for the starving and forlorn captives. It clearly mattered very little to them. More money for them later if they lived; but frankly they weren’t terribly concerned. Their brutal captors merely wished to feed them just enough calories to keep them going.
True, they’d give preferential treatment to those prisoners they deemed most valuable; but still thousands would likely die along the way from exhaustion or disease. It was a cold, hard fact, one which the invaders callously accepted. Priority was to keep the column moving regardless.
Ludmilla looked out over the valley. It was a shocking sight to see so many suffering, heartbroken people! So many captives. So many thousands of poor helpless people having been taken from their homes or towns, only to have to endure this horrifying experience of walking with wrists bound and necks tied with rope, all the way from Russia down into the Crimea. And even if they survived the ordeal, what then? It would only mean a dismal and dreary life of slavery and abuse, as the property of some cruel master somewhere deep within the Ottoman Empire.
