Riders of the Steppes

by Harold Lamb

  "Hearken, you sons of dogs," continued the big Zaporogian without any ill-feeling. "The devils from over the river won't attack until evening. They'll pass around the village, sending out scouts at the same time to watch you. After they are in back of you, hidden in the grass, they'll charge the village, driving the herds toward the river. If you stand, like cattle, in the square, here, they'll send your souls flying up to heaven like sparks from a dry brush fire."

  In the presence of his hereditary foes, the Tatars, Ayub promptly forgot the baiting of the past hours. Nor did he think of escaping, as Demid and he might have done easily enough, on their fast horses.

  "Have you weapons? Good! Well you'll learn a thing or two about fighting if Gerai Khan is nosing you out! Send a dozen of your young bloods on good horses, to scout the outer pastures, and learn on which side the Tatars are circling us. Let every man of you get him a horse and follow me. If you have pistols, save your powder until you are sure of a hit, and then say a prayer to the Father and Son. Many of you won't pray again. Now, cross yourselves, and make sure that your swords are loosened in the scabbards."

  But the men of Nitek looked at each other, and at the wall of brown bush toward the river, beyond the haystacks and the outer pastures. Somewhere, in the sea of green grass the warriors of Gerai Khan were moving then, unseen—keeping to the hollows.

  The men of Nitek muttered that they could not leave their families; besides, they were not used to fighting on horses—and the soldiers of Count Ivan were, even then, preparing to defend the manor house. They would not go, said the men of Nitek, from the village and its wall and the musketeers.

  In vain Ayub pointed out that if they tried to defend the mud wall, the tribesmen would ride them down; if they took to the houses, the Tatars covered by the darkness would fire the thatched roofs and drive them out.

  Led by the mayor, they were scattering to gather in their cattle near the cabins, and to erect flimsy barricades about the doors, when a new voice spoke up, halting them.

  Demid stepped to the edge of the platform and held up his hand. He had known that the settlers would not follow Ayub's advice.

  "Then one thing must be done, and swiftly," he said. "The Tatars are wary as ravens—they look well before they strike. 'Tis like the raiding party numbers no more than a hundred. Give to Ayub and to me a hundred ponies, saddled. We have still a good hour of light. We will take the horses and bear ourselves as if we were guarding the herd—going to a high place in the outer grass, and moving toward the rear of the village, whither the Tatars are headed."

  He looked squarely at Yaris. "The Tatars will think that we are following a hundred Cossacks, moving before us on foot in the grass. They will not strike the village until they have searched for foes, and in the darkness they will not know for certain that a Zaporogian kuren does not confront them."

  Hearing this, the settlers gave an approving murmur. They knew the healthy respect the tribesmen entertained for the Cossacks, and that Gerai Khan must be aware that a Zaporogian kuren was out after him.

  "The demons from over the river," went on Demid with a smile, "may not flee like wolves, but 'tis odds they will content themselves with driving off some scattered herds, and leave your dwellings unmolested."

  The listeners nodded assent. Demid's plan was worth trying. The level glow of the sunset was still strong on the knolls in the pastures. The Tatars would see the two warriors. That was sure. Of course the two Cossacks would be in peril; but they were accustomed to such things.

  Then was heard the clear voice of Yaris, the black-haired beauty: "Fools! Clowns! Mujiks! Do you not see the trick the Cossacks would play on you?"

  She stamped a slender foot angrily.

  "I see it now. There are no Tatars near us! Demid bespoke the Gypsy brat, so that she and her people feigned fright. Now he would make off with a hundred horses and saddles."

  Demid still smiled and this made Yaris angrier.

  "Lies!" she cried, her voice rising, with the tensing of her nerves. "What man of mine has seen so much as the head of a tribesman? In my house this Cossack tried to make me afraid. It was part of his trick."

  As one man, the assemblage turned to gaze frowningly at the distant fields, the outlying huts, and the surface of the steppe.

  Here and there a ripple of wind stirred the tall grass; there was no other movement.

  Overhead the hawks floated on lazy wings.

  Yaris's mind was quick and clear. She did not intend to let Demid outwit her. And, perceiving her confidence, the men of Nitek who governed their lives by her command were a little reassured. Scouts were sent out toward the river and returned—very quickly—to report nothing amiss.

  Meanwhile Ayub's temper had undergone a change. He went among the settlers, explaining patiently, warning them earnestly. Some listened to him, others sneered. Finally he stood before Yaris, and bowed.

  "Baryshina, is your mind as it was? Is your word unchanged?"

  "Aye, Cossack—I am mistress of Nitek."

  The long twilight of the steppe drew to its end. The pastures became a blur; a scent of warm hay was in the air, already growing chill. Three hours had passed since the first alarm. Men who had been barricading houses came forth, and women who—meaninglessly—had been tying up household treasures in sacks, sat down on the bundles. Cattle and horses trampled about in the alleys, while their owners wrangled. Count Ivan rode over from the manor house to report the house-servants and soldiers posted for defense, and to urge Yaris to go to her rooms.

  Demid had brought up the black stallion and the sorrel, ready saddled, and now sat on the platform of the stocks, smoking beside Ayub. The Cossacks listened to the nearby groups arguing as to whether torches should be lighted or not. Some called for lights, others cried them down.

  "Dog of the-," observed Ayub suddenly, "that's one thing we can

  do. Give me your pipe and I'll touch off the haystacks. That will be a fine torch, comrade. It will be seen for fifty versts—a token that raiders are about."

  Demid surrendered his pipe without comment. He hardly noticed the sudden flaring up of the stacks, one by one, out in the fields. The towering piles of hay roared into flame, swirling high into the air. And excitement grew in the village. No one could see Ayub at his work, because he had ignited the stacks on the side away from Nitek, and had raced his horse off before the fire gained strength.

  The young Cossack had eyes only for Yaris, who was standing over alan-thorn, watching what went on in the square. She was fair, he thought, as the twilight on the river. A woman fit for a warrior to carry to his homeland. And yet—it was as if he stood on the far bank of the Dnieper, whence he would never cross to her.

  Gerai Khan and his horde struck the village of Nitek as the last of the sunset died out. By the glare from the burning stacks the dark masses of driven cattle were seen moving toward the river on the far sides of the fields. Behind the village a dog barked. Then came a soft thudding of hoofs. A woman screamed.

  The score of men still standing by the mud wall in the rear of Nitek went down under the hoofs of the steppe ponies that leaped the wall. A few shots bellowed, and the soft whistle of arrows was like the wind in the reeds of the river bank.

  Count Ivan shouted hoarsely and tried to pull Yaris up to his horse. But between them was the tall figure of Demid. The Cossack caught up the woman in his arms.

  "To the manor house!" cried the Russian. "Ah, what a plight!"

  Waiting for no more, and fearing to be cut off from his men, he put spurs to his horse. Demid, pinning the arms of the slender baryshina, looked about for Ayub. Failing to see him, he made toward his horse. But the sorrel had cantered off with some other beasts.

  Demid walked to the platform whereon stood the stocks. He climbed the steps, and permitted Yaris to stand on her feet. Then, thrusting her head and arms through the holes in the stocks, he pushed into place the upper half of the wooden yoke, and picking up the key locked her in.

  This done, he
threw away the key, and felt about for his long coat. With it he covered the body of the startled woman.

  "Dog!" she cried. "Unfaithful—"

  "Lady-Miss," said Demid slowly, "if you would not be sold as a slave beyond the border, still your tongue."

  Pulling out his neck-cloth, he placed it over her disheveled locks, tying the ends under her chin.

  Then he jumped down to the ground in front of the stocks and drew his sword, picking up his small shield at the same time. The ground around him was deserted. Most of the villagers had fled to the houses; some were visible in the red glare, standing in the alleys.

  On every hand squat Tatars darted, rounding up on their nimble ponies, the scattered beasts of the settlers. Torches flickered past. Demid heard a sudden discharge of matchlocks, from the direction of the manor. Moving a little, he could see Tatars leaping their horses over the low wall of the courtyard of Yaris's dwelling.

  No need for him to see the striking down of the soldiery with arrows. Once the arquebuses had been fired, they were not loaded again. As for the pikes—the scimitars of the Tatars would slice them down.

  In fact he saw fur-clad forms run into the manor—saw the glint of flames within.

  "They are combing out your nest," he said to the face that peered down from the shadows.

  Horror had whitened the ruddy cheeks of the woman and she was voiceless.

  "They work fast," went on Demid thoughtfully, "so they must be uneasy. Ha—your village of Nitek is gay with light and sound this eventide, Lady-Miss. Behold—"

  A pistol flashed from a group of Russians who were edging into the tavern. A raider swerved in his course, shouted shrilly and flung his torch upon the thatched roof of the tavern. He passed on, driving a cow before him. One of his comrades appeared out of an alley, running down a child. Stooping in the saddle the raider caught up the boy, and thrust him into a pannier attached to his saddle.

  Demid's eyes were alight, and his long arm swung back and forth by his knees restlessly.

  "Aye, 'tis Gerai Khan, Lady Yaris," he whispered, pointing to where a small cavalcade emerged from the street of the manor. "This sword I carry I took from his brother, after I slew him. The khan is a rare fighter—"

  The affray had broken Demid's habitual silence. But now, seeing the leader of the band glance toward them, he whispered urgently to Yaris to keep silence. For a long moment the Tatars halted, sitting their quivering ponies like small, uneasy animals. Their broad heads all turned toward the single Cossack, who stood before the cloaked figure in the stocks.

  Demid made no move, and Gerai Khan had gathered up his reins in readiness to pass on when the suspense proved too great for Yaris. She screamed.

  At once the khan headed toward them, with half a dozen followers. Demid leaped back on the platform, his sword clashing against the scimitars that struck at him. Covering his knees with his shield he held his ground. The Tatars did not want to dismount. Gerai Khan, a lean man with long hair and mere slits for eyes, grunted suddenly.

  "Kai! It is the warrior who rode from the Don."

  Recognizing the sword in Demid's hand, he snarled.

  "Arrows—strike him down."

  Seeing the outermost riders reach toward their quivers, Demid flung himself down at Gerai Khan, striking the chieftain full in the chest.

  Again Yaris screamed as the two men rolled off the plunging pony. One of the Tatars climbed to the platform and whisked the cloth from her head. The others circled their horses about the two swordsmen, who were now intent only on their struggle for life.

  His back to the stocks, Demid warded off the furious onset of the Tatar chief. Then, sensing peril behind him, he changed ground, cutting at Gerai khan as he did so. A pony's shoulder struck him in the back, but his blade kept touch with his foe's.

  For a moment the watching tribesmen hung back, so swiftly did the two adversaries shift ground—fearing to injure the khan. For a moment the scimitars flashed up and down, and parted. Then Demid's blade thudded against flesh and bone.

  Gerai Khan's eyes opened wide. He took a step toward his horse, and slumped down on the earth. His followers caught him up, shouting with rage as they saw his chest cut open through the lungs. Thrusting him into the saddle of his horse, they were turning on Demid when a great voice shouted.

  "U-ha! A Cossack fights!"

  Ayub had not been idle during the fight in the village. He had come into contact with the Tatars in the hayfields, and had quartered back toward the manor. Remembering that the Brandenburgers were drawn up at the front gate, and not desiring to draw a discharge from the arquebuses in the semidarkness, he circled the wall to the stables. Entering the rear of the house unmolested, he searched in vain for Demid and Yaris.

  Seeing the rout of the hired soldiery, he made for his horse, only to run into Count Ivan, who was fleeing the building with more agility than his long and languid body seemed to possess. The mayor, too, was there, but being slower in pace, what with his fatness, his back and thighs were carrying along several short arrows. From the Count Ayub learned that Demid had been seen last near the stocks.

  Not without using his sword did the big Cossack gain the open space in the village. Shouting encouragement to Demid, whom he saw struggling with a tribesman on the platform of the stocks, Ayub gained the wooden stand. He saw his comrade cut down the Tatar and take his place in front of the figure in the stocks.

  "Eh-eh," he muttered, climbing on the platform, sword in hand, "what a fellow! Doesn't he know the Tatars will fill him full of arrows if he stands there?"

  Nevertheless, Ayub stepped beside Demid panting and grumbling at the weakness that gripped him after the fever. The Tatars squinted up, fingering their weapons, waiting for a chance to use their bows.

  Then was heard, from the direction of the river, the long-drawn cry of a waterfowl. To the ears of the Cossacks, it was the cry of a human voice, and evidently a signal; for the remaining Tatars picked up their reins, loosed their bows hastily at their foes and galloped off, holding the body that had been Gerai Khan on the saddle of the chieftain's horse.

  Few souls, indeed, had been slain that first evening of the harvest festival in Nitek; but the villagers mourned the loss of most of their cattle and horses—a grievous loss in a border settlement. They continued to lament until they observed that by degrees their beasts were wandering back.

  The ponies came first, and they were wet to their backs. Then lines of cattle appeared, grazing along the pastures. But the men of Nitek had no desire to go down to the river to investigate the riddle of the beasts released by the Tatars, who were accustomed to keep what they won.

  The thing explained itself when a dust covered Cossack ataman rode into the village square on an exhausted horse, followed by half a dozen warriors. He called for Ayub, who, interrupted in the act of pulling a barbed arrow out of his thigh, limped forward.

  "We saw the beacons burning," said the old Cossack briefly, "when we were on the trail of Gerai Khan. We pushed our horses and met the tribesmen crossing back over the ford. They got away, of course, but the cattle they were driving down escaped them."

  He had one good eye, the ataman, and it roved over the village.

  "What in the devil's name were the signals you burned? Where are the hundred horses?"

  But Ayub's mustache bristled.

  "Hay," he said. "Hay it was, Father. And not for my eating, by all the saints! As to the ponies, send your men to gather them together."

  He glanced questioningly at Yaris, who, attended by Ivan, stood near, listening.

  The mistress of Nitek made no sign of assent or refusal. Since her release from the stocks, her mind had dwelt not upon the loss of the herds. She had felt fear for the first time in her life.

  Pointing to Demid, who had just come up with his pony for which he had been searching, she spoke to the Cossacks.

  "Captain, this youth slew Gerai Khan, among his followers. He fought him with his sword and killed him."

  She
shivered. "Do not think of following the tribesmen, good sir, but rest your men in Nitek, where mead and fine corn brandy awaits you."

  "Hide of the-!"

  The ataman considered Demid in surprise, and Ayub chuckled.

  "So he cut down Gerai Khan? Well, the rest of the pack must not escape." He rubbed his chin reflectively. "Young sir, if you have heart for a ride this night with the Zaporogians, come with us."

  But while the Cossacks were cutting out enough horses to mount the kuren that waited by the river, Yaris went to Demid and touched his stirrup. She handed back the coat that she still wore.

  "I dealt harshly with you Demid," the baryshina whispered. "What did you say to the Gypsy girl?"

  "What I said to you, Lady-Miss—that hawks were in the air over the river."

  Her face, shadowed by the long black locks, drew closer to him, and her eyelids quivered.

  "Demid—I could love you. Aye, Nitek needs a master such as you. Do not leave me."

  The young Cossack looked down at her gravely.

  "I am going beyond the border, Lady-Miss."

  The slim hand of Yaris closed over his wrist with a kind of frantic strength, and she shook her head, finding, for once, no words to say what was in her heart.

  "Demid—nay, Demid—"

  "I could not sit at your table, in the manor house." Demid glanced at the old ataman and Ayub impatiently awaiting him. "Health to you, baryshina."

  He tightened his reins and put spurs to the pony. The old Cossacks divided to let him come between them, and the three trotted off into the darkness.

  With a sigh of relief Count Ivan took snuff, and sniffed, as he observed Yaris. It was like a woman to cry, he reflected, when everything was ended.

  1

  Literally, "Men from below the rapids"; five Cossacks of proved skill who were admitted to the war encampment south of the Dnieper Cataracts.

  The King Dies

  The roar of the cataracts drowned all other sounds. It was a mighty voice, that of Father Dnieper—the river that ran through the vast steppe of the Cossacks to the shores of the Black Sea, the borderland of the Turk.