Until the Sun Falls (24 page)

“If I did,” the Russian said, “how would you get at it, pig?”

“Oh. Well, I’m going to catapult flaming oil into the city and burn it out. If you tell me where your gold is, I’ll—”

“The people—”

“They’ll all die, of course, but it’s easier to take a city with no people in it.”

“You—you—”

Psin leaned back. “What reason has Yaroslav given me to be merciful?”

“You’d burn children?”

Psin made a face. “Unfortunate that you should mention that. I have a weakness for children.” He paused, counting to himself. At five, he went on. “But these are Russian children, whose fathers refuse to surrender. They take their risks.” He rose. “I have things to do. If you have gold inside the city, we can make a bargain.”

The Russian was livid with righteous rage and self-sacrifice. He said, “I have no gold. But to save the children—if I told you a way into the city that required no killing, or only a very little—”

“What good would it do me? I’ll lose very few men, doing it my way.”

“But you’ll lose plunder,” the Russian said stiffly. “You’ll lose all the cloth and much of the gold and jewels. And… the children .. . “

Psin sank back into his chair. “I’m not sure it’s worth the effort.”

“You said you had a weakness for children. Do you? Or were you playing at being human?”

“Hunh.” Psin chewed on his mustaches. “Let me think about it. I might… Believe me, Russian. If I could take the city without killing more than necessary, I would. Mulai.” He switched back to Mongol. “Put him in a locked room, alone. And keep a sharp watch on him.”

Mulai nodded. He and Kuchuk dragged out the Russian, who started yelling about ways to get into Yaroslav that would cost the Mongols no lives at all. Psin smiled at the shutting door and stretched his arms over his head.

Tshant climbed in over the windowsill. “You had him talking, at least. What was he saying? Or shouting, I should say.”

“This afternoon he’ll tell me how to get inside the wall around Yaroslav.”

Tshant snorted. He sat down in the other chair. “How did you do it?”

Psin told him. Tshant blinked. “I’ll admit it was efficient. But don’t you think it a little extreme?”

“We’ll take Yaroslav, won’t we?” Psin cut an apple in half. He debated telling Tshant that the meat had been stewed mule, but he decided not to. He peeled the apple and ate it.

“Tell me what kind of meat it was,” Tshant said.

“No.”

“Hah,” Tshant said. “So it wasn’t human.”

Psin blinked at him. “You’re getting far too clever for your poor father’s good. Get out. Let me think.”

Tshant laughed.

“Like this,” Ana said. She stepped forward, stepped back, and kicked one leg
across the other, her arms extended. Her hair swayed.

Djela said, “Let me. Grandfather, watch.” He imitated Ana.

Psin stepped, stepped and kicked. “I feel like a fool.”

“You look like one.” Ana smiled. “You’re too gross to dance, Khan.”

Djela began to improvise, humming to himself. He spun around and with a screech jumped high into the air.

“Good Lord,” Ana said. “Not like that.”

“Mongols dance like that,” Djela said. He ran in a small circle and jumped again. At the height of the jump he yelled.

Psin sat down on the bench. The sentries on the wall above them were pretending not to watch. Ana danced, her skirt rustling. The sunlight had warmed the bench and Psin took a deep breath, feeling better than he had all day.

“When—my—father—comes—back—” Djela roared, leaping with each word.

“When,” Ana said. She stopped dancing and looked at Psin.

Psin stretched his arms out in front of him. He held her gaze a moment, and what he was thinking must have showed on his face, because she turned away suddenly and began to dance strenuously with Djela.

He could have her if he tried. She hadn’t fought Tshant, not even when Mongols frightened her and she was still shuddering from the assault on Susdal. She wouldn’t fight Psin now. That strong body, heavy-breasted, deep-hipped…

“Grandfather, come dance.”

“Not I, noyon.”

Djela was dancing furiously, his face bright red. Ana’s back was taut, as if she could feel Psin’s eyes on her. He thought of Chan, of Artai, and felt a little guilty.

Tshant would have taken Yaroslav by now, if the Russian hadn’t lied. They would have heard if the tunnels weren’t there. Tshant would have sent a messenger and they would have strung the Russian up over the gateway into Susdal with his guts dangling between his toes. Tshant could be dead. He would have gone first into the tunnels. The Russian had said they were sometimes patrolled.

He got up and went over to the warped little trees in the corner of the garden. Dead branches hung among the living, and he pulled them down and threw them against the wall.

Ana said, “Shall we go in?”

“If you want to.”

Tshant had said, “I’ll send a courier when we hold the city. Try not to get in trouble here.” And dodged away from Psin’s cuff. “Father. How slow you are.”

I am too heavy to move fast. Tulugai and Kinsit had been heavy, too. He remembered Tulugai’s slow voice saying, “We will come back when we come back, Father.” And Kinsit quiet beside him, their horses side by side, big young images of him.

Tshant had been there, scarcely ten years old, but already long-boned and lean.

“Are we going too, Ada?” Tshant had said.

“No. They’re just scouting.”

China, flat and burning in the summer sun, tricked a man’s eyes; when Tulugai and Kinsit rode away that day, they had seemed to vanish and reappear, dark specks on the dark golden plain.

He could not remember if Tshant had been sorry that they were dead.

He spent the rest of the day riding through the city. The people were sullen and stayed close to their houses. They refused to look at him when he rode past. Clusters of off-duty Mongols and Kipchaks strolled or sat around, and the Russians avoided them. Psin saw an old woman going to the well walk across the street to keep from passing by two Kipchaks. Thinking about Tulugai and Kinsit, he drifted into the north section of the city, and rode into a street where there were no other Mongols or Kipchaks.

As soon as he appeared, the houses opened and Russians poured out. They stood on the streets, watching him; many of them were men and they all carried some weapon or another—clubs, a few tools. He rode at a walk down the street and reined up in the middle. Looking back, he saw that they surrounded him.

He let his rein slide, set his hands on his thighs, and studied them. He wanted them to jump him; he wanted the excuse to do something. But they only stood and watched, not threatening, not even speaking.

“Well,” he said. “Come along.”

They stirred, and a woman called out, “Murderer.”

He laughed and kicked the horse into a canter. The people scattered to let him through. If Tshant had died at Yaroslav, he would show them murder.

When he got back to Tshant’s house, Ana was in his room mending one of his coats.

“Where is Djela?” she asked.

“Asleep,” he said. “He does sleep now and then, although it’s hard to believe.”

She looked up quickly from her work. “Don’t look at me like that. Please.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“Not now. Before. In the courtyard.” She had been speaking Mongol but she broke into Russian. “You know. Don’t.”

“I won’t.” He sat down and put his head back, his neck against the back of the chair, so that he stared at the ceiling.

“Are you worried about Tshant?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll come back.”

Her voice rang with false confidence. He shut his eyes. “I had two sons older than Tshant. They didn’t come back, once.”

“Here? In Russia?”

“This was long ago.”

“He’ll come back.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Of course not.”

If she’d been a virgin when Tshant took her she might have fallen in love with him to give herself some reason for not committing suicide over being raped. He smiled at the ceiling. Of course not. Hunh.

“My Mongol is getting better, isn’t it?” 

“Yes. It would help if you didn’t speak Russian so much.”

“Did Tshant say anything about me to you?”

“Tshant and I don’t talk much.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No.”

“No, you didn’t answer my question, or no, he’s never mentioned me to you?”

“Both.”

A horse clattered into the courtyard below the open window. Psin turned his head. “See who that is.”

She was already at the window. “It’s a courier. He’s coming into the house.” She flew to the door. “I’ll send him up here.”

The door slammed after her. Psin looked up at the ceiling. The courier would come into the hall. He would talk to Kuchuk, perhaps. Now he should be on the stair, now in the room next to this one. But no feet sounded in the next room. His ears strained. The silence packed him in. A voice struck sharply through the quiet, down in the courtyard—a woman. Silence again.

Finally, the feet in the next room, coming quickly and with purpose. The door rattled and swung open. Kuchuk and the courier stepped inside and saluted, and Psin waved at them. Kuchuk said, “Khan, Yaroslav has fallen. The tunnels were there, unguarded. Two of them were above the level of the river ice. They had stakes set in them but we tore them out. The city is burning.”

“Very good. How many men did we lose?”

“Two hundred,” the courier said.

“Mongols?”

“Mostly Kipchaks. Tshant Bahadur is taking the army up to tighten the siege on Tver.”

“Good. No news from Sabotai?”

“We expect a courier before sundown, Khan.”

“Send him to me when he comes. And make up the baggage train. We’ll leave for Tver within three days.”

“What do we do with… Susdal?”

“Burn it.”

Tshant stuffed meat into his mouth and tried to chew. His mouth was so full his jaws wouldn’t close. The courier said, “Sabotai will be at Tver within four days. He wants the Khan, if the Khan is well.”

“He is.” Tshant gulped down the meat.

“From Tver we ride on Novgorod.”

“Quyuk is in Susdal. Does Sabotai want Quyuk with us?”

“Yes. By all means.”

“Good. Tell Sabotai that we hold everything between the Oka and the Volga, and we can take Tver at our leisure, provided… Never mind.”

“He will be pleased to know that the Khan is well.”

“The Khan’s as strong as a horse.” Tshant stood and walked around the yurt, looking out the door. He could see the party of Kipchaks he had sent to burn the villages along the river near Tver; they were making their camp at the edge of the great battered field.

“About Quyuk, noyon. He and Batu fought. It might be well to—”

“Let my—the Khan deal with Quyuk. Leave me alone.”

“The noyon wishes.”

Tshant laughed, and the courier looked at him, startled, and left. It was the first time the Tshant had ever had the formula applied to him. The noyon wishes. Noyons did not wish; they did the bidding of the khans. He picked over the remainder of his dinner.

Psin would be pleased at the taking of Yaroslav. Tshant tried out various possible replies to whatever Psin would say. Unfortunately, whenever he did this Psin said something Tshant hadn’t thought of at all. He got up and went into the back of the yurt.

The girl was sleeping under several fur robes. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she sat up, blinking. He pointed out to the front of the yurt and said slowly, “Go out and clean up.”

She didn’t understand, but she was used to being talked to in Mongol. She smiled quickly to placate him and darted out past the hanging. When she saw the litter of bowls and spoons she nodded and began to gather the dirty dishes. Tshant watched her, wondering if it were worth the trouble to teach her more words. Sometime he would have to learn Russian.

His father would be completely well by the time he reached Tver, and he’d probably be in a bad temper. Psin was always in a bad temper when he’d seen no action. Almost always. He went to the door, sat on his heels, and looked toward the river.

I took it myself. He gave me no help, except with Yaroslav. All this I took myself, all the estates and the villages. Remembering made him feel strong, and he went back to thinking of an answer to whatever Psin would say. 

Jouncing along on the driver’s seat, Ana wept.
“Why did you burn it? Why? You lived there. Doesn’t it mean something to you, when you’ve lived there?”

Psin glanced back. They were half a day’s ride from Susdal already; only the black smoke climbing into the sky marked it. The damned girl still cried. The Kipchak woman driving the cart muttered in her own tongue. Her fat brown face was grooved with disgust.

“I hate cities,” Psin said. He reined the dun horse down to match the cart’s pace. The baggage train was so long that he had had to form it up in a triple column. He swung around to look back at it. The thin line of horsemen stretched over the last hill. On the far side of the train the herds spread out almost to the far stand of trees. If anybody attacked… He bellowed to Kuchuk to bunch up the herds more tightly.

“You lived there,” Ana said. She snuffled.

“Girl, I’ve been easy with you. You are not my slave, but you are a slave, and it’s improper for slaves to bawl and carry on.” He took a drover’s whip from under the seat, and Ana cringed. “Djela, come with me.”

Djela veered over to the wagon and said, “Don’t worry, Ana. Spring will be here soon.”

Psin started off around the head of the train. Djela galloped after him, yipping. The oxen were plodding along at a fast walk; their dewlaps swaying, they thrust through the wet snow. The dun wanted to stretch out, and Psin held him down tight. He could smell rain coming.

“It will be colder before it’s warmer,’“ he called to Djela. “Don’t be too hungry for spring.”

Kuchuk and his men were turning the cattle herd back toward the train. Their whips snapped over the bony rumps. Psin untied the thong that held his whip curled, shook it out, and pointed to Djela to ride in front of him. Djela galloped up past him. Snow flew into the dun’s face, and he squealed.