Quickly Banyen picked up the saber and tossed it across the length of the stable. He saddled his horse, keeping a sharp eye on the door for any further intrusion.
In the cold, bracing air, his mind clear, he realized he couldn’t go to the boyar for help; the Oprichniks would be watching, and he couldn’t expose his friend to danger. He was alone.
Through the rest of the night he and his horse, who walked behind him, moved under the cover of darkness from one place to another. He watched for a shadow, a move or a noise indicating the soldiers were still on his trail. He felt them, smelled them around him, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew they were there. Slowly he made his way toward a doorway in the wall so he could be near an exit. Crouching low, his ears alert, he waited.
As the first rays of dawn lightened the area, exposing the hidden crevices and flushing out all that hid in the night, Banyen made his move and tried the handle of the door nearest him. Slowly he turned the knob and pushed the door with his foot. There before him stood four of Ivan’s soldiers. Quickly he slammed the portal and turned to run, grabbing for the reins of the stallion. As he did so, two Oprichniks seized the animal and led him away. Taking a deep breath at his narrow escape, Banyen raced for cover.
The morning hours passed quickly as Banyen and the Oprichniks played a cat-and-mouse game. He had to be free and ready to ride by the noon hour; he had to do something, and he had to do it now. Slowly he inched his way between some barrels, and was surprised by the four soldiers once again. As they lunged for the kill, one by one, Katerina’s training rose to the fore. He parried a thrust, a lunge. Steel met steel as he leaped and nimbly danced his way among the startled Oprichniks. His face grim, he looked down at the dead bodies and felt no remorse.
Seeing his stallion being led from the city, he climbed onto the wall and slithered along the top on his belly, praying no one would notice his movements. He lay still as two soldiers reached the gateway, leading his horse. Banyen jumped from the wall, his arms outstretched, knocking the Oprichniks to the ground. Like a streak of lightning, he leaped onto the stallion and headed toward the main road, leaving Red Square, Kitai Gorod, and the White City behind him.
Two hours outside of Moscow, he dismounted and concealed himself in some dense brush, watching to see if he was being followed. He saw and heard nothing to alarm him, so he mounted the Arabian with relief. He sighed wearily as he spurred the horse, urging him to a full canter. The closer he rode to the rendezvous, the more erratically he rode the stallion. He knew he couldn’t travel straight toward the waiting armies, for word was out that an attack was imminent. At the last moment he deliberately rode through Smolensk. When he was sure he was not being followed, he continued on to the meeting point. Silently he prayed that the armies were still waiting.
Katerina was beside herself with anger and concern. “Uncle, where is he?” she snapped. “We stand ready to ride and can’t make a move without him.” Suddenly her anger gave way to concern. “Uncle, what if something happened to him? What if he never arrives?”
“Banyen will be here. Where is your faith, your courage? You can’t allow your men to see you in a fit of tears. He will be here,” he said firmly. “Any man who wants to taste Ivan’s blood as badly as he does will not let us down. Compose yourself. Check your men and see if all is in readiness.”
“I’ve checked them five times. I can’t stand this endless waiting. We’ve been waiting for five days and now we must wait again. I don’t know how those Tatars can sit so placidly. Nothing seems to bother them.”
“When you number in the hundreds of thousands, why would you worry? They can overrun anything in their path. I’m happy they’re on our side.” The Khan grinned. “Their leader rides toward us. Perhaps he, too, is becoming concerned.”
A tall, yellow-skinned man rode majestically on a sleek brown horse, the animal strutting its pedigree. The deep, slanted eyes of the rider bored into the Khan. His body looked immense in the quilted vest which covered him to his elbows, knees, and up the back of his neck to the bottom of his hat. The heavy padding would stop the blow of a saber, Katerina knew, just as the heavy sheepskin vests and coats protected her men and herself.
“Where is the man we wait for? Time is growing short, and we have a four-hour ride to the city of Moscow,” his deep voice boomed.
“He will arrive within the hour,” the Khan said reassuringly to the chief.
The Tatar leader was impatient and in no mood for further delays. “My men are ready to ride now. Our slave trade works on arrangements also, and promises have been made to deliver girls to ships that wait on the Black Sea. You see the baskets my men have placed on each side of their horses? Those baskets will each hold a young girl. When we attack Moscow, we steal the girls, and then we ride back to our village by the sea, where the ships wait. It will take us three days of hard riding to get back to Crimea, but my men will ride straight through, stopping only to rest their horses. My arrangements with the captains of the vessels and other slave traders were for the arrival of the girls three days from now. If your man doesn’t arrive within the hour, we’ll ride ahead and storm Moscow alone.” Angrily he jerked the reins of the horse, turned his back on the Khan, and rode to wait at the head of his army.
The Khan’s eyes were furious. Why hadn’t Banyen arrived? Something must have happened to him.
Suddenly a guard shouted from a distance, “Prince Banyen is coming! That cloud of dust you see in the distance is the prince!”
Katerina’s heart raced madly, her anger forgotten. Thank God he was safe! Once again she would see her love. Her eyes never left the speck of dust. She watched, her heart pounding, as the speck grew larger and larger, until Banyen and his black stallion stood before them.
Time was crucial. There wasn’t a moment for anything but the discussion of the plan. Banyen drew a map in the dirt, representing the wall around Kitai Gorod and the Kremlin, as the Khan, the Tatar chief, and Katerina watched and listened. He explained that the boyars would be stationed at the points he circled, ready to open the gates at the first chime of the bells at sunset. He explained about dividing up the army to surround the walled cities and the charge down the main road through the Wooden and White Cities. When he finished, he looked up and smiled at Katerina. With that smile, all was right between them once more. There was no need for words. The Khan and the Tatar chief decided on the disposition of the men who would surround the walls and those who would lead the charge down the main road. Katerina asked if she and her men could join those who would ride through on the main road. The Khan and the Tatar agreed. It was decided that Banyen and a division of the Khan’s men would make up part of the same contingent.
Plans finished, each leader aware of his part, they assumed their places at the head of their armies. All was in readiness. The signal was given, and the earth shook under the thousands of hooves that pounded it, carrying death and destruction toward Moscow, just as the first snowfall of winter began.
The soldier trembled as he reported to Ivan the news of a spy in the city. He waited, a feeling of dread settling over him, hoping, wishing the Czar would dismiss him. Instead, Ivan’s face closed in rage.
“Spy? Spy? Possible attack? What are you talking about? You must be mad! No one can spy on me! No one can attack me! My Oprichniks see to my safety.” He wrung his hands, and his eyes rolled wildly in his head as saliva with bits of chewed food dribbled from his mouth. “Spy! Be gone, soldier, before I have you beheaded before me for such a stupid story. Take him out of here. Get him out!” the Czar shouted insanely. Ivan pounded his gold staff on the floor in a frenzy as the soldier ran for his life.
The boyars and nobles whispered among themselves with the news. Could it be so? Tales of a spy in Moscow were an everyday happening. What could one man do? Their bellies full of breakfast, and in a rush to escape from Ivan, they paid their homage to the Czar and left the room, deciding Moscow and the Kremlin were not in any peril.
Several boyar
s among them smiled knowingly to themselves as they left the room and continued with their affairs of court.
Chapter 24
The population of Moscow’s five cities were relaxing around their evening meal as the sun set in the west. Without warning, thousands of men on horseback stormed through the City of Wood. Everything and anything that stood in the path of this well-honed machine of destruction was slaughtered. The city became a tinderbox blazing across the night skies as the Mongols, Tatars, and Cossacks rode into the White City. Within an hour, it too was leveled, all killed and the buildings set aflame. While the city crumpled, the second segment of the massive army reached Kitai Gorod. The boyars, at their appointed spots, opened the gates for the thousands of Tatars and Mongols who poured into the Kremlin and Red Square. The battle raged as they fought on the streets, on the walls, and in the palace.
The citizenry died by the thousands in a vain effort to flee the horde. Many sought safety near the Kremlin, hoping to take refuge behind the gates, not knowing they had been opened to the enemy.
As the battle waned, the Tatars began their search for slaves. Moscow burned like a torch in the night. The Moscow River became so choked with the bodies of people that the course of the river was diverted, the waters crimson for miles downstream.
Katerina worked her way through the city, searching for Banyen and Khan Afstar. She galloped in the direction of Red Square, still without any sight of the two men. As she approached St. Basil’s, she looked up. There, for all to see, was her uncle on the execution block where Ivan performed his mass murders and tortures, his body sliced and cut to pieces. She turned away, fighting back the tears, hoping with all her heart that she would find Banyen alive. She rode Whitefire into the Kremlin, looking, searching, weaving the animal between broken, lifeless bodies. She found Banyen sprawled on the steps of the Terem Palace. When she saw how motionless he was, she panicked and screamed. “ Banyen!” tore from her mouth, from her heart, as she slid from the horse and ran to him. “Let him live! He can’t be dead!” she cried out.
Bending over the still body, she turned him over, searching for a wound. There was a deep gash across the left side of his head, oozing blood. She put her head to his chest and listened. He was alive but unconscious. Quickly she removed her outer garments and ripped off a sleeve from her shirt. Wrapping it around his head, she covered the wound. She donned her outer garments once again as the snow began to cover the bloodstained streets. Before it got too cold, she knew, she would have to move Banyen. Slipping one arm beneath his back, she lifted him to a sitting position. The weight of his body proved too much for her. Gently she lowered him to the steps and called for help.
A low moan escaped Banyen as he tried to move his head, his eyes glazed and full of pain.
“You’re injured, Banyen, you must lie still. You must remain quiet until help comes. I’m with you now. It’s over, Banyen, it’s finished.”
“What happened? Ivan, where is he? I must keep my promise and put my saber through his heart,” he said, trying to struggle to his feet. “Katerina, where is Ivan, you must tell me, it can’t all have been for nothing. Where is he? Is he alive?”
“If you lie still, I’ll tell you. You’re still weak from your head wound, and the gash on your leg needs tending. You must forget the Czar.”
Before she could utter another word, Banyen shouted, “Katerina, where is Ivan? Will you tell me or must I seek him out myself?”
“He’s gone, Banyen.”
“Gone! What do you mean, gone? Gone where?” he demanded harshly.
“When we captured the Terem Palace, the boyars and nobles were trapped inside. They were the ones that told us Ivan and his family escaped with the Kremlin treasury. The boyars informed us that the Czar headed toward the north of Russia. Your saber will not draw Ivan’s blood this day, Banyen. The Czar is a tormented, insane man. What pleasure would you gain in killing a madman? Tell me I’m right, Banyen. There would be no revenge in killing a diseased dog, so why persist in your desire? There has been enough death. The Khan . . . he’s . . . he’s dead.”
Banyen’s eyes closed. What she said was true. It was over.
“As usual, you’re right,” Banyen said, trying to force a smile. “It no longer seems important to me. If I set out after him, I would be as insane as he is. One day he will reap his just rewards. Tell me of Afstar.”
“My uncle . . . the Khan . . . your friend . . . The Russians strung him up on Ivan’s torture rack in Red Square. I couldn’t take him down. I had to look for you.”
“Katerina, where is my stallion?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“My black is never far from me.” He whistled two short bursts, and the stallion appeared. Banyen grinned. “See, he’s never far from his master. Horses, horses, I almost forgot—have you found the Cosars?”
“No, not yet. My men have been searching, but when I could no longer see you or my uncle after the battle, I came looking for you both.”
“Let us go to Red Square so the men can take Afstar back to Sibir and give him a chief’s burial. Then I’ll help you find the herd.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Katerina asked, not convinced he was ready to ride.
“My head throbs and I’m a little weak, not just from the cut but from last night’s escape, this morning’s battle, and the ride from Moscow and back again. I need rest and food, but first the Cosars. Katerina,” he whispered huskily, “there is so much I want to say.”
“Later, later we’ll talk,” she said, kissing him lightly on the mouth.
Together they rode into Red Square to the rack where her uncle was tied. They cut the ropes and gently lifted his battered body. Banyen tied the lifeless Khan to his horse and mounted behind Afstar.
“Now for the Cosars, Katerina.”
Their progress was slow, as the streets were strewn with the bodies of men, women, and children. “It’s a sad sight to see, but innocent people are always the victims of war,” Banyen said sadly. As they proceeded around the cities, soldiers and Mongols still skirmished here and there. A Russian, hidden away, would try to make his escape and chase would be given.
“I think we’ll find the horses somewhere around the palace. We’ll ride in that direction,” Banyen said with assurance.
They rode toward Terem Palace, inside the Kremlin. Searching on foot and on horseback, they found nothing. Kostya, with a small patrol, also reported no success in finding the Cosars.
Angry and frustrated, Katerina lashed out. “The raid on the Tereks placed the horses in Moscow. Gregory sold them to Ivan. What did he do with them? Did he sell them off before we stormed Moscow?” She turned to Banyen. “Do you think the Czar sold them to someone else?”
“No. If Ivan bought them, he wanted them for himself and his bodyguards, the Oprichniks. Ivan would never sell something that was one of a kind. Has anyone checked outside the wall behind the palace?”
Kostya’s men looked at each other and shook their heads.
“It’s possible Ivan had them taken out of the city when he heard it was being attacked. If he fled with the Kremlin’s treasury, he wouldn’t waste time on the Cosars. They must be somewhere outside the walls of the city.” Calling two of the Mongols to him, he ordered them to remove the Khan’s body from the stallion. “Secure a litter to the back of a horse with a stout rope and pull his body home,” he ordered gruffly.
Beyond the Kremlin walls, a quarter mile away, a hill rose up out of the flatness. Narrowing his oblique gaze, Banyen was aware that the attack now came from the west. The outlying section was remote, and he was sure no man was near. As they rode closer, noises could be heard coming from behind the hill. When they reached the top, there stood the mighty herd of Cosars, in the middle of snow-covered brush and dense fir trees. Katerina was beside herself with happiness. She leaped from Whitefire, and was about to run into the herd of horses when Banyen shouted for her to stop.
“Why should I?”
; Without warning, a small band of the Oprichniks emerged from within the herd. They had hidden themselves among the horses, hoping to escape with a Cosar or two. As they charged toward Katerina, Banyen, Kostya, and the patrol swooped down, killing them in the first rush.
“The next time wait until your men are sure there aren’t any Russians lurking about,” Banyen said harshly.
“Yes, my master.” Katerina grinned as she ran into the herd and seemingly smothered herself in them. Now, she had everything. Now, she had avenged her village, its people, and her father. She had fulfilled the promise she made to herself and Mikhailo: the Cosars once again, and forever this time, belonged to the Don Cossacks. The secret and the horses were still theirs. At last she could rest. It was finished.
The Mongols avenged the raids on Kazan and Astrakhan, but had lost their leader. But now Prince Banyen could lead them, and he would have a Khanate to rule. She had her Cosars, and the old men would soon have a hut or two ready in Volin. By now there would be a compound fenced in for the horses which she would bring back. Lastly, the Tatars had their baskets filled with young women for their slave trade. Everyone had been successful, save Banyen. He would have to settle for victory without the blood of Ivan on his sword. But his people and the village of Kazan were avenged, so it should be enough. Katerina prayed it would be enough.
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