News of the victory spread like wildfire. And the Ukraine rose in revolt.
Andrei and Stepan were rich.
They had fought side by side, carving a swathe through the Polish soldiers; where Stepan would plough forward in a blind ecstasy of rage, Andrei had not only fought bravely, but had protected his friend’s back and wisely steered him, so that Bogdan himself had noticed them and remarked: ‘The big one is brave, but the young one’s cunning as well.’
At the end of the battle, when the whole force had erupted into a wild orgy of drinking and dancing, the Hetman himself strode over and, in addition to the loot which every Cossack received, presented each of the two men with six of the finest Polish horses.
‘Another battle like this,’ Andrei remarked to his friend, ‘and you’ll be able to buy your farm.’
The richest rewards, however, went to the Tatar cavalry. They were given all the Polish nobles to ransom. Large parties set off with these captives towards the Crimea.
‘The Tatars always get rich,’ Stepan told Andrei.
‘They fight like devils though,’ the young man replied enthusiastically.
‘Perhaps,’ Stepan said sadly. ‘But I know them better than you: just wait and see.’
For Andrei, it was a thrilling time. He had become a fully fledged Cossack, and he felt it. Not only was this an exciting adventure for him personally, but the larger, political events in which he was playing a part were taking a dramatic turn.
For Bogdan’s revolt could not have happened at a better moment for the Ukrainians. Just after the humiliating victory of Khorsun, news reached the camp that the King of Poland had died. In the Polish capital of Warsaw, until a new king was elected, the Catholic primate and the Chancellor were in charge. Bogdan had caught the Commonwealth at its weakest moment.
The whole of eastern Europe was in diplomatic uproar. Messengers flew from the Polish capital to Moscow and to the Ottoman Turks. The Sultan was urged to recall the Tatars, who were his vassals. The Tsar was asked, if he valued peace with Poland, to send troops to attack the Crimean Khan. The Polish nobility was appealed to, to raise troops from their estates.
Meanwhile, in the days that followed the battle, news came from all over the Ukraine of peasants rising against their Polish landlords; and a stream of men started to arrive at the Cossack camp – some mounted and fully equipped, others with no more than the jawbone of a horse tied to a staff – but all longing to do battle.
And in the midst of all this, Bogdan calmly sent messages of his own to the Poles and to the Tsar of Russia, and prepared to play one off against the other.
‘Now we shall see a change,’ Andrei exclaimed to his friend.
‘Perhaps,’ Stepan replied.
It was in the middle of this period of consolidation that Andrei obtained permission to make a brief visit to Russka. He took Stepan with him.
His reasons for going were twofold: he wanted to see that his parents were safe, and he wanted to leave his loot and his horses at the farm. His father might sell some of the horses and keep the money hidden for him.
But in fact, Hetman Bogdan was glad to let the young man go, for he had an important mission for him.
‘The magnate Vyshnevetsky owns your village, doesn’t he?’ he asked. ‘Well, I hear he’s collecting men to attack us. Take ten men with you; find out all you can and bring me news.’ He gave Andrei an encouraging smile. ‘You went to a seminary, they tell me.’
‘Yes, Hetman’
‘Good. I’ll be watching you next time we fight.’
Andrei knew what that meant. In a year, perhaps, he might even be made an esaul – a Cossack captain. If the rebellion succeeded, the path to fortune might be opening up before him.
The party rode off in high spirits.
How beautiful the country was, as they made their way eastwards over the plain under the warm June sun. Occasionally they encountered stretches of woods and little coppices; sometimes there were willows and pines growing along the banks of the streams. But for the most part they saw only the broad, open steppe, with its delicate, waving feather grass. There was plenty of game, and fish to catch, but they rode steadily, resting at noon, travelling swiftly in the morning and evening.
Although he possessed the fine Polish horses, Andrei preferred to ride his smaller, Cossack steed. Bred for strength and endurance, these sturdy unshod animals could carry a man as much as fifty miles a day across the steppe. By the end of the second day, the party had reached the mighty Dniepr and crossed it by raft. In another day, they would be at Russka.
They came upon the first sign of trouble at mid-morning. It was at one of the tiny wooden forts, smaller than Russka, which served as outposts for the Polish administration. As they approached, the Cossacks saw that the place was deserted, and they would have passed by without stopping if Andrei had not noticed something strange hanging from the open gateway.
It was a Polish official – one could see that at once from his fine clothes. He had been hanged. But the Ukrainian peasants had not been content until they had been cruel; and so they had first killed his wife and children in front of him and then hung their heads, on a rope, round his neck. It was a miserable ending that many Poles were to suffer that summer.
An hour later they came to a Cossack farmstead, not unlike his father’s. This had been burned to the ground and thoroughly looted. But when Andrei began to curse the Poles, Stepan stopped him.
‘Look.’ He picked up an arrow from the ground. ‘It wasn’t the Poles. It was the Tatars on their way back.’
Andrei looked and nodded.
‘We gave them all the Polish nobles,’ he remarked sadly. ‘Wasn’t that enough?’
‘Nothing’s ever enough for the Tatars,’ Stepan replied.
‘Let’s move on,’ Andrei said. He wondered what they would find at Russka.
They rode, for the most part, in silence. The others had sensed Andrei’s anxiety and the whole group pressed ahead as fast as it could.
Only one tiny incident provoked a conversation. This was when a wildcat darted across the path in front of them and disappeared into the long grasses. Andrei would not have thought about it at all, if he had not heard Stepan mutter a curse beside him.
‘What’s the matter, my Ox?’
‘Nothing,’ the huge fellow gruffly replied, but he didn’t sound very convincing.
‘Come on, what is it?’
‘That wildcat: did it look at us?’
Andrei considered.
‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘Nothing. Perhaps it didn’t.’
Anxious as he was, Andrei could not help smiling. In a superstitious age, in a superstitious land, he had never met anyone like Stepan. Time and again on the campaign, he had seen the big fellow gaze at trees, rocks, the flight of birds, any number of everyday things which had some special, magical significance for him.
‘So what does it mean, where you come from, if a wildcat looks at you?’ he asked with a laugh.
But Stepan would not tell him.
At last, late in the afternoon, they drew close to Russka. Anxiously Andrei looked from side to side, searching for signs of Tatars, but saw nothing.
And then, just before they reached the marshes below Russka, they met a peasant from the forest; and when he told them what he knew, Andrei saw what he must do.
‘Prepare yourselves for a battle,’ he told his men. ‘This will need careful timing,’ he added.
The little fort of Russka was closed tight. Inside, a garrison of twenty Polish soldiers, sent there from Pereiaslav in the general confusion, awaited further instructions.
The fortress also contained Yankel the liquor concessionaire, three Jewish craftsmen and two other Jewish merchants, all with their families. Since the Poles did not trust them, the local Cossacks and peasants had all been left outside, to defend themselves if the Tatars came as best they could.
When they left Pereiaslav, they had been told that the magnate Vyshn
evetsky was raising a large force, but since then they had heard nothing of this force’s movements. They had been waiting for news for two days.
The sun was already getting low when, at the edge of the woods, on the Pereiaslav side, they saw the detachment approaching. Shielding their eyes against the sun, it was with huge relief that they saw, from the detachment’s shining uniforms and their splendid mounts, that they were Poles.
From his position behind some bushes, just a hundred yards below the fortress gate, Stepan also watched the Poles approach.
As they came close, the men on the walls called down: ‘Where are you from? What news?’
‘We’re Vyshnevetsky’s men,’ came the welcome Polish reply. ‘His main force is just behind us. Come down and open the gates.’
From behind his bush, the intrepid Stepan grunted: ‘Good. Very good. We’ll kill them all.’
The men from the walls came down and, as their brother Poles reached the gates, opened them.
Then something very strange occurred. Unseen by the defenders, as they opened the gates to the Poles, the huge figure of Stepan, together with about twenty villagers, rushed from their hiding places to swarm into the fort behind the horsemen. Only as they reached the gate itself did the garrison see them, but as they cried out in alarm, the Polish horsemen, instead of turning on the insurgents, jammed the gates open.
And then, too late, the Polish garrison realized they had been duped.
As he cut down an astonished Pole, Andrei laughed to himself. The splendid horses he and Stepan had been given, and the various Polish uniforms, swords and finery that his companions had looted in the big battles, had come in very useful in this little deception.
I’m even glad they made me learn Polish at the seminary, he thought.
Taken completely by surprise, the Polish garrison lost a quarter of their men before they even realized what was happening. But they rallied bravely and fought well. There was no quarter given; they did not suppose that there would be any captives taken. The fighting went from house to house.
It was in this way that Andrei almost lost his life.
Pressing a Pole slowly back past the stout wooden hut where Yankel the Jew sold his liquor, he failed to see another who had crept up on to the little balcony above. Only a shout from Stepan caused him to glance up and ward off a blow as the fellow leaped down on him. He fell to the ground and would have been done for if his friend’s huge figure had not burst upon the scene and despatched both Poles with a couple of mighty blows.
As he got up he saw that the battle was over. He could see the last two Poles surrounded by four of his men.
‘Don’t kill those two,’ he shouted cheerfully, ‘we’ll see if they have any information.’
Then he saw something else.
The rest of his men, and the villagers Stepan had collected, were killing the Jews.
Andrei grimaced. He didn’t like the Jews any better than the Poles, and if these fellows had been armed he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But they were not armed. One man was trying to defend himself with a stick, but he soon went down. Then he saw them dragging out the women and children.
‘Stop that,’ he ordered.
The men took no notice. He saw a woman fall.
‘Leave them,’ he bellowed. ‘That is an order.’
The Cossacks hesitated this time. But he had not reckoned on the villagers.
‘Jewish children down the well,’ one of them shouted.
‘No, we use the well.’
‘To the river, then!’ another voice cried.
They were going to drown them, and he realized, with a sense of self-disgust, that there was nothing he could do to stop them.
He turned away.
‘Lord Andrei.’ The loud whisper came from the window of the house. ‘Lord Andrei.’
He looked in. It was Yankel. In all the excitement he had forgotten about the fellow.
‘Lord Andrei, I recognized you. Save us, noble sir. You see what is happening.’
Andrei looked at him dully.
‘I never did you any harm,’ Yankel went on eagerly. ‘You’re my only hope.’
Because he was not sure if he had the power, Andrei replied testily: ‘You took my father’s horse.’
‘But not the best. The one I took was worth half what he owed me, and you can have it back if you want.’ He paused for breath. ‘Send me out to die. Kill me yourself. But at least have pity on my children.’
‘Open the door.’
They went in. The main room of the house was not very light and it had an unmistakable aroma of vodka, not unpleasant. Before him he saw, besides the stout old Jew, a girl of about fifteen, and a boy of eight or nine. He suddenly realized he had not seen the girl for some years, since before he went away to the seminary. She was a striking, dark-haired beauty now, with almond eyes and a curving nose that looked Turkish. The boy, too, was a handsome little fellow.
‘All right,’ Andrei said. ‘I’ll try. But I’ll need help.’ He turned to his friend. ‘Will you help me, my Ox, to protect these Jews?’ he began, but then stopped as he realized that his huge companion had not even heard. For Stepan was staring at the girl open-mouthed, as though he had seen a ghost.
It was Yankel’s own fault that, a few moments later, he lost his life.
He was so relieved and excited to have got the protection of Andrei and his huge friend that, without thinking, he went out through his front door first. Two villagers standing nearby, one with an axe, the other with a scythe, took one look at him and, before the poor fellow even had time to tell them about his protector, fell upon him. He was dead when, moments later, Andrei emerged.
There were several things to be done. One was to question the two captive Poles to see what they could tell him. Another was to make two graves, one for the Poles, another for the Jews. He instructed the villagers to do this. A third was to ride over to see his father.
He took the boy with him.
The sun had just gone down when he reached the farm. He found old Ostap in robust good humour. With all the events of recent months, Mordecai had not been able to visit the farm to claim his labour service and Ostap had ignored the whole business. He had been drinking less and sleeping in the open.
‘I’ve heard it all!’ he cried, as Andrei rode up. ‘A boy from the village came by. Pity you couldn’t have let me know in time, I would have enjoyed that fight.’
He was delighted with the horses, but when Andrei made his other request, his brow clouded.
‘You want me to shelter a Jewish boy?’
Andrei explained everything that had happened.
‘I can’t take him to the camp. The villagers will kill him. Do you want me to leave him to them?’
Old Ostap frowned, unwilling to admit that he might have a soft heart.
‘He must convert,’ he announced. ‘Then he can help on the farm.’
Andrei went over to the boy.
‘This is the only place where you may be safe. People won’t bother my father. But you have to become a Christian.’
‘Never,’ the boy said defiantly.
Andrei paused, then he looked carefully into the boy’s eyes.
‘I promised your father to save your life and I must keep my promise. You have to help me. Do you understand? As long as you stay here, you’re Orthodox.’
The boy looked at him, still defiant, but understanding him.
‘He’s converted,’ Andrei announced.
The Polish prisoners couldn’t tell them much. The Cossacks took all their possessions and let them walk off through the forest.
As soon as this was done, and while his men were setting up their quarters for the night in the fort, Andrei went across the river on his next errand. This was to see Anna.
He had not noticed her so far, but there had been so much to do that it was not particularly surprising. He was taken aback therefore, on reaching her house, to find it closed and boarded up.
??
?Where are they?’ he asked.
‘The old man’s gone off with his sons to your Cossack camp,’ their neighbour told him. ‘His wife’s gone to her sister in another village near Pereiaslav.’
‘And Anna?’
‘Anna?’ The man looked surprised. ‘Why, didn’t you know? She’s gone. The Pole took her. Stanislaus. Came by here just after the men left, stayed a few days then off he went and took her with him. Stole her at dawn.’
Andrei could scarcely believe it. First the arrogant Pole had tried to take his farm and humiliate his father. Then he had abducted his girl.
‘Where did they go?’
‘Who knows? They’re probably in Poland by now,’ the man said.
Thoughtfully Andrei returned to the fort. It seemed he had lost his bride.
But I’ll find her, he vowed. As for Stanislaus, there could be only one solution.
If anything could take his mind off his loss, it was the extraordinary thing that had happened to his friend. For if Andrei had lost a bride, it seemed that Stepan had found one.
And whoever could have imagined that, of all the possibilities, his choice would have fallen on the Jewish girl! Despite his own troubles, Andrei almost burst out laughing.
‘But she’s Jewish, my old Ox,’ he protested as they sat together by a little fire inside the fort.
‘She’ll convert,’ Stepan said.
‘Does she say so?’
‘I know she will.’
‘But why this girl?’
‘I don’t know why,’ the strange fellow confessed. ‘I just know that it’s so.’
‘You just saw her and … it was fate.’
‘Yes. That’s it.’
He seemed to be in a kind of daze. Even when they spoke, his eyes had a faraway look and Andrei was not sure if his friend was truly with him.
‘Oh dear, poor old Ox,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do with her? You can’t take her on campaign.’
Stepan nodded his large head slowly.
‘I know. I’ve been thinking about that. I’ll find a priest to marry us. Then I’m going home to the Don with her.’
‘You’re deserting me?’
‘The time has come,’ Stepan said solemnly.
‘You’d better talk to her.’