Several times during this recitation, I surreptitiously observed Kasimov's reactions to see how he was taking the sight of his dead brother, and maybe find out how much he understood of Garaska's conversation. Kasimov gazed only once at his brother's body, then nodded to the old man beside him. Afterward, he stood in silent contempt for the Cossacks who gathered around to get looks at the young hill tribesman as they discussed the similarities of facial features between him and the corpse. A couple of minutes later, the elder Chechen took off his own Circassian coat and draped it over the dead man's face and upper body.
I felt the tension on both sides and only hoped our undeclared truce would hold long enough for me to settle our business.
"How much is the ransom?” I inquired.
Garaska combed his fingers through his beard and frowned.
"If it was up to me, I'd set you a fair price. But these days, the officers have to be involved with every transaction. I'll have to send for one of them."
He bellowed up to the guard in the tower.
"Yermack, your horse is saddled. Ride to the village and get one of our officers. And stay away from any Russians while you're there."
Garaska turned back to me. “Those Muscovy soldiers don't understand our ways and wouldn't approve of our little business, especially now with one of their own recently dead."
Yermack hurried down the ladder, mounted his horse, and rode up the dirt road headed west.
I turned to the eastern sun and raised my palm, calculating the time of day. It was early yet.
"We'll have some time to waste now, Armenian,” said Garaska at my elbow. “Tell me about your venture into the Wild Country while we wait."
But my curiosity had been aroused about the happenings here.
"My friend, the trip was nothing beyond the simple exchange of trade goods for silver coins or merchandise I could sell elsewhere. Nothing of interest to you. But then, it seems all the excitement was on your end, with the shootings."
Garaska shrugged his massive shoulders.
"Like I said before, I saw the Abrek and I shot him. What's more to tell? Now the lads say I have to stand them to a pail of vodka in celebration of my good fortune."
"Did more of the Chechens cross the river?"
"No more came my way."
"How did the Russian sergeant get killed?"
"As I understand it, Daddy Eroshka took him boar hunting in the morning. When they got tired, the two of them came over to the watchtower. The Russian said there was no use of himself staying around the village because there was nothing to do there that day."
"So he spent the night here at the watchtower?"
"He was talking with the lads about how he wanted to sit in our usual ambush site that night so he could shoot himself a wild Chechen to brag about back at regiment. None of us wanted to sit out all night, so we let him go alone. Looks like the Abreks shot him instead of the other way around."
"Then more raiders had crossed the river?"
Garaska scratched his ear. “I didn't see any more than my swimmer, but later that night, I did hear two shots between me and this watchtower. Mazeppa was the one who saw other Chechens shoot the Russian sergeant in the back of the head. Then Mazeppa fired at the fleeing Abreks with his musket and missed. Those sneaky devils got away from us in the dark. At daybreak, we mounted several patrols on this side of the river but never found them. That's all I know about it."
"Where's the Russian's body?"
"Some of the lads threw his carcass onto the bed of an oxcart and drove him back to the village. We only hope the officers didn't decide to bury him in our cemetery."
With more than a day gone past, there probably wasn't much to see at the scene of the killing, still I had a strong curiosity about circumstances surrounding this death. Something else as yet unseen seemed to be moving in the air about me. Why hadn't the elder Chechen told me about the dead Russian when he engaged my services? Parts of the story were being deliberately left out by one side or the other. Or maybe both.
"Garaska, could you show me where the sergeant waited in ambush?"
"Sure, I was the first one to arrive that night after Mazeppa fired his musket. And I returned there again later in the morning, shortly after they loaded the Russian onto a cart. It's only a short walk from here."
"Good. Wait for me a minute while I speak with the two Chechens, then we'll be on our way."
I walked over to the shade tree where the Abrek's body lay and drew Kasimov and the elder off a short distance where none could overhear us. My questions were directed to the elder, but my eyes were focused on Kasimov.
"This death of the Russian sergeant could cause problems with our negotiations for your brother. The price may become very high. I need to know what happened in this place, so tell me the truth."
The elder translated into Chechen. Kasimov then stared at me for several minutes before he nodded his head in agreement.
I asked my questions.
"How many raiders were on this side of the Terek that night?"
Kasimov held up three fingers.
"Did one of you shoot a man in the dark?"
Kasimov shook his head no. Then he spoke rapidly.
The elder turned to me and said, “He and the two others were returning from a scouting mission a short distance beyond here. They looked for a safe crossing to the east, away from the watchtower. His younger brother volunteered to swim across first. When the Cossack laying in ambush fired his musket, Kasimov and the other brave moved farther down river and crossed without trouble. Later, they heard two more shots during the night, but none were fired by them or at them."
I studied the face of the young Abrek until the silence grew between us. Finally, he muttered words in an angry tone and turned away from me.
"Tsu lyattor,” repeated the old man. “He swears by earth it is so."
I said nothing.
"One more thing,” continued the elder Chechen. “Kasimov has borrowed all the wealth he could for this ransom. If negotiations go badly, he won't be able to take his brother home with him for burial."
The consequences of failure on my part were clear, but I also knew I would find out no more from these two. I pondered the situation as I rejoined Garaska. Maybe the Cossacks could give me the information I sought. It was only a question of finding the right person ... and maybe having enough time.
After a short walk east along the dirt road, Garaska changed course toward the river. He led me through well-trampled grass and broken bushes to a dead tree that had long ago lost most of its branches. It stood like a giant white scarecrow, with four arms and no head or hands. A large gaping hole in the trunk appeared about where the scarecrow's belly would have been.
"That old dead tree's our landmark for the ambush site. Its smooth white wood shows up easily, even at night."
He pointed off to the left, where I noticed a packed indentation in brown dirt near the edge of the riverbank. An upright screen of woven tan-colored reeds, heavily inset by cut branches with withered leaves, concealed the hiding place from anyone on the south side.
Garaska then indicated a patch of discolored earth near the indentation.
"This is where the Russian fell."
I looked around at the torn-up grass. Many boots had trod this soil, obliterating all individual tracks until there was no telling one man's footsteps from another's. No distinguishing marks were left anywhere to show that Chechens had or had not been here. Or even to prove that any other particular individual had stood on this ground. For now, only those who had already admitted to being here could be placed at the scene. Perhaps this was a good time to speak with the old hunter who had brought the Russian sergeant to the watchtower.
"Where can I find Daddy Eroshka this time of day?"
"He'll be in before noon. We usually give him a little bread and cheese, maybe a bottle of chikhir. He loves his fresh wine. In return, he brings us pheasants or other wild game so we can eat well on duty."
<
br /> Walking back to the watchtower, I balanced in my mind the sworn oath of a young hill tribesman against what I'd heard so far from the Cossacks on watch. Maybe none of them was lying, but it is possible for a person to omit certain facts while still telling the truth. I needed some type of lever to help me probe deeper into this matter.
In our absence, Daddy Eroshka had arrived at the foot of the tower with a brace of pheasants and a cloth bag full of rabbits slung over his shoulder. When he caught sight of me, he dropped the wild game and strode over in three giant steps. Wrapping his muscular arms around my middle, he picked me up off the ground and bellowed, “Kunak, you've come back after all."
I was not one given to the display of open emotions, but I also couldn't help liking this old white-bearded Cossack who called me his comrade. In our past dealings, he had wheedled several bottles of wine and a couple of pails of vodka out of my purse strings. In return, he entertained me with tales of the past, when Cossacks were real men, as he put it. But more importantly, he knew everyone in the village and was always up on local gossip. His information had once helped me solve a mystery involving the murder of a Russian orderly and a stolen Karbadian horse. I had no doubt that if I could lay my hands on a bottle, he'd once again be a source of local knowledge.
"You must stay with me, Armenian,” he said as he put me back on my feet. “We will drink to your health while you tell me about my old friends in the Wild Country."
"I have business that keeps me here at the tower,” was my reply.
"Ah yes, our dead Chechen. That was some excitement."
"Your friends on watch will soon have their own money for vodka,” I said, “but there are also coins in my pocket if you know where a couple of bottles of something are for just us."
"Of course, my friend, give me but one hand's breadth of sun movement across the sky, and I can refresh our souls."
He held out his palm. I tossed him a few small coins and he disappeared. In a matter of minutes, Eroshka returned with a small pail in one hand and a metal cup in the other. I soon found the cup was for me, while he guzzled the majority of the chikhir straight from the pail.
When he paused for breath, I caught him with a question.
"Garaska says you took the Russian sergeant hunting on the day of his death."
"True, although the sergeant wasn't really interested in shooting anything. He just had a sudden desire to get away from our little community."
"He was bored there?"
"Let's say he had a sweetheart in the village to amuse him most of the time, but that day was not a good one for him to stay around."
"Why not?"
Daddy Eroshka chuckled in his deep, gravely voice.
"Because her husband had gotten leave from the cordon and came home for three days. It put a real damper on the Russian's love life, so he asked me to take him elsewhere for some excitement."
I waited while Eroshka took his next draught and finally lowered the pail. He wiped his lips with the back of one grimy hand. Dark red drops of spilled wine stained his long white beard.
"Did the husband know of this?” I asked.
"Our small community keeps few secrets for long, Armenian. I was told later that when the husband heard the rumors going round, he and his wife had quite a row. The whole village listened in, but most of our citizens already knew of the affair, and we were only waiting for the husband to find out."
"Then what?"
"The husband took his musket and horse and returned to the cordon."
I had now been given a possible motive for murder as opposed to an act of war by the enemy. In which case, I also had a potential suspect for murder, if that's what it was.
"Who is the husband?"
By now, Daddy had approached the bottom of the pail. A sly grin crossed his face.
"Mazeppa,” he replied.
"But Mazeppa was the one who saw the Abreks shoot the Russian, and then he shot his musket at the Abreks when they fled."
"So they say,” said Daddy, as his eyelids closed halfway. “So they say."
The old hunter would soon be snoring on a bed of fallen leaves. I hurried to ask one last question.
"Where is Mazeppa now?"
"After all the excitement was over, he returned to the village to finish his leave."
I thought about all I'd learned so far. Yes, Mazeppa made a good suspect, but how to prove he'd committed murder? Muscovy soldiers quartered in the village were not well liked by the Cossacks, so I doubted that any of the village men would point a finger directly at their friend Mazeppa and accuse him of any killing of a Russian sergeant. Besides, there was the mention of two gun-shots that still needed to be clarified.
Garaska was engaged in conversation with Yermack near the watchtower when I left Daddy Eroshka to his nap on the ground. The two Cossacks finished talking as I walked over. Yermack quickly climbed back up the ladder to resume his guard duties.
"The officer will be coming soon,” said Garaska, “then we can conclude our business with the Chechens, and they can be on their way."
"Fine,” I replied, “but let me ask you something in the meantime."
Garaska shook his lion-mane head of gray hair.
"You need to slow down, Armenian, and enjoy life as it's meant to be lived. Drink to your heart's content, dance until exhaustion, and love a beautiful woman. Death catches up with all of us soon enough. Forget all these useless questions you ask."
"This one may be important,” I said.
He laughed.
"How close together,” I inquired, “were the two shots you heard?"
Garaska held up his hand and looked at his splayed fingers.
"There was the first one, and then the second came within the count of five, if a person happened to be counting on his fingers. At least, that's how I remember it."
"Enough time for a man to reload his musket and fire a second shot?"
"No."
"Then he had a second gun."
"Mazeppa? No, he had only his usual musket in hand when I got there. Besides, why would he...?” Garaska paused.
You already know the answer to that question, I thought.
"What did the two of you do after you arrived at the usual ambush site?"
"We stayed with the corpse until daybreak, then Mazeppa and I went together to the tower. Our officer sent a couple of other fellows to guard the body, while the rest of us went out on patrol. By the time Mazeppa and I got back from retrieving my Abrek off the sandbar in the river, the lads had already carted off the Russian. Nobody found an extra gun."
That left me with two main questions and no answer. Had my late-night visitors from the Wild Country misled me for some reason of their own? Or had Mazeppa found himself a good hiding place for a second firearm? He could have thrown it in the river, but the river would have ruined or even carried away the weapon, and weapons were valuable in this troubled land. If Mazeppa had been the one to shoot the Russian, then I needed to look for a second gun. And I thought I knew of one more place to search.
"Garaska, take a walk with me."
He frowned.
"I need to be at the watchtower when the officer arrives. You should be here too, Armenian. You're the negotiator."
"We'll return in time. I promise."
Once I got Garaska onto the east road, I increased my pace to give him less time to worry about his officer. When we came to the well-used trail leading down to the river, I turned off the road.
"You could have found this place on your own,” said Garaska. “Why do you need me along?"
"You'll see soon enough,” was my reply.
In a couple more minutes, I stopped in front of the old dead tree used as a landmark for the Cossacks’ ambush site. It was a clear shot from here to where the Russian sergeant had been killed.
Garaska stepped up beside me. “Now what?"
"You're taller than I, and your arms are longer.” I indicated the large hole in the trunk of the hollow tree. “R
each inside and feel around. Tell me what you find."
He did as he was told, and I could tell by the changing expression on his face the exact moment when his fingers touched the object I was searching for in this place.
"It's something of metal,” he exclaimed.
"Pull it out,” I ordered.
As Garaska withdrew his arm and then his hand, the long barrel of an ancient Cossack musket appeared. We'd found the missing gun.
"Do you recognize it?” I asked.
He spoke slowly, as if reluctant. “It looks like the old one Mazeppa kept above the door inside his hut. He inherited it from his father.” Then Garaska grew silent before giving me a second and third answer. “Well, maybe I recognize it. I'm not sure. This musket could belong to anybody ... or to nobody."
I believed his first answer. For any utterances after that, he was merely trying to protect his fellow villager against all consequences. No doubt, Garaska had suspected Mazeppa from the first and maybe even considered it to be Mazeppa's right to avenge the honor of his marriage. So be it. That was not my concern. Now it was time to get back to the watchtower.
A grim-faced officer greeted our return. He berated Garaska for his absence until I threw the musket on the ground between them. Several Cossacks stopped what they were doing and moved closer to see what would happen next.
"We found the gun that shot the Russian sergeant,” I said.
The officer glanced at Garaska, who nodded and dropped his gaze to the ground. From murmurings of the gathered Cossacks, I could tell that others also recognized this ancient musket and knew its owner.
"No matter who killed the Russian,” said the officer, “our ransom price remains high. These damn Abreks must pay for raiding on our side of the Terek."
As we began to haggle over the amount of blood money required, I observed one of the Cossacks mount his horse and slip quietly away in the direction of the village. The officer ignored the man's departure, but I was sure that Mazeppa would soon be warned of our discovery.
AHMM, November 2006 Page 15
