Where was everyone?
Still not fully awake, she looked behind her. The hut was empty. For a second she had to collect her thoughts.
At mid-morning, she remembered, her father had harnessed the old mare and taken the sled down the frozen river to the next village. The clear sky of the dawn had disappeared. The cloud bank from the south had moved slowly up and by the time her father left, the light in the village had seemed almost brown. Nothing had been happening. It was dull, rather oppressive. Her mother had decided to go over to the fort; but Yanka had stayed behind and fallen asleep.
She had not heard the shouting.
And now she had awoken to this. Coming out of sleep, it seemed like a nightmare. The sounds of the horses’ hoofs on the frozen snow echoed eerily in the room.
Though Yanka did not know it, it was only a minute since the villagers had fled. For everything had happened so fast. Suddenly at the far end of the big field, a horseman had appeared. Then three. Then, as people began to shout, a hundred. It was as if all the trees had suddenly turned into horsemen, advancing with bow and spear.
Silently the Mongol army had melted through the woods, advancing in five enormous groups across a front about three miles across. The village of Russka lay near the centre. Now they were flowing through like a dark flood upon the snow.
The villagers had been so surprised that they had no time to do anything but run. Three people had banged upon Yanka’s door before tearing away, supposing the hut must be emptv. They had run across the frozen river, driven like game, looking for shelter. Some rushed up into the fort; a few ran to the sanctuary of the church; others preferred to try the woods beyond.
It was at the first shout from the village that Yanka’s mother looked out from the gateway of the little fort. First her breath caught in her throat. Then her heart began to race wildly.
She saw the villagers streaming out – small, pathetic, dark bundles running raggedly across the grey-white ice towards her. But where was Yanka?
A moment later she saw what none of the fleeing villagers could see – the full extent of the Mongol line, stretching up and down the river.
She scanned the fleeing villagers again – where was Yanka? There was no sign of her.
She started to run, down the slope, towards the river and the Mongol horsemen, who had already reached the opposite bank.
And she did not know that, seconds later, the villagers had stupidly closed the fortress gates behind her.
Mengu could hardly believe his luck when, as the gates shut, the general rode over to him. He was a stout, surly man, given to few words. He raised his arm and pointed his whip across the river. ‘Take that fort.’
It was a chance to prove himself. For a second, the image of his sister flashed across his mind. He knew very well that in the universe of the Great Khan, nothing, not even the smallest seeming diversion, happened by chance, and now his brain was working rapidly, calculating.
Scarcely pausing to acknowledge the order, he wheeled his horse and, with two curt commands, like a couple of harsh grunts, directed the nearby squadrons into two lines who immediately forked right and left, riding across the ice to encircle the fort and the church.
Beckoning a decurion he commanded: ‘One siege engine. A catapult.’ And the fellow clattered away up the frozen river.
They were bringing the engines across at a place where the woods were thinner, a few hundred yards to the north.
The Mongol siege was very like the hunts of the Great Khan. One circled the fortress entirely, excluding any possibility of escape. Sometimes, if a major town looked obstinate, the Mongols would build a wooden wall right round it as though to say: ‘You think your walls protect you. Now look: you are trapped inside ours.’ Then, at leisure, they would knock down the fortress defences, or fill in the moat and build bridges over the walls. There was no possibility that they would ever give up. The surrounded fort was doomed.
Mengu looked at the pitiful little wooden fort. What fools they were to shut the gates. The army would never even have bothered to burn the place down if they had just left them open.
But how convenient. What an easy way to show his mettle.
The thing must be done quickly: that was the key. The general would not want to see his forces delayed. ‘Hurry,’ he shouted after the decurion, who was already too far away to hear him. He frowned, impatiently.
Yanka hesitated.
The horsemen had passed out of the village. They had set two of the huts on fire but had not paused to do more. A shouted order from somewhere in front had caused them to move swiftly towards the river. Suddenly it was very quiet.
Perhaps her family were out there somewhere. Perhaps they were lying dead. Or they might be fleeing without her, and she would be left alone. What should she do? She was terrified of the horsemen, but even that was not as terrible as the fear of being alone.
She stepped outside.
The horsemen had already been drawn down to the river. As she came out of the hamlet she saw the back of the two files of cavalry trotting across the ice to surround the fort. Away to her left, past the old graveyard, was a body of about three hundred infantry. The men wore heavy leather coats, like armour, and their lines bristled with long, dark spears. To her right, half a dozen horsemen waited impassively upon the bank, and directly ahead, on the edge of the ice, a single horseman seemed to be giving directions. No one even noticed her existence.
Then she saw two sights that made her want to cry out for joy.
It was her brother Kiy who saw her first.
The nine-year-old boy and his father had been almost back from their trip, and approaching the last bend in the frozen river before the village, when Kiy suddenly heard his father exclaim: ‘Devil take it! Look at that – it’s a Cuman raid.’
He looked to the right. Three horsemen were calmly riding through the trees by the bank. Then he saw ten. Then fifty. His father jerked the reins. The sled swerved. ‘What’s behind us?’
Kiy looked back. ‘More. They’re crossing.’ And his father cursed. ‘What about Mother and Yanka?’ the boy cried out.
His father said nothing, but cracked the reins savagely along the old mare’s back. She flinched, tossed her head angrily, and they raced towards the bend. ‘Please God they aren’t in front as well,’ the peasant muttered.
The little sled whisked over the ice. Father and son held their breath. It must be a big raid. Kiy started silently to pray. Thank God, the bank seemed for a moment to be clear as they raced round the curve… and ran into the Mongol army.
The line of horsemen was trotting across the ice to surround the fort, directly in front of them. Kiy did not see his mother, but just as his father wheeled the sled round to race towards the woods on their right, he shouted: ‘Look! It’s Yanka. On the bank. She’s seen us.’
He was surprised when his father only muttered: ‘Devil take it. You’ll get us all killed.’
Then he saw Yanka start to run down, towards the Mongols.
For Yanka had not only seen them – she had seen her mother, coming across the ice between the two streams of horsemen. She opened her mouth to shout, but as though she were in a dream, no sound came except a tiny whisper that nobody heard. She tried to step forward. Nothing happened. And then her mother saw her.
Suddenly the little girl felt a flood of relief. She was safe. Without pausing even to think, she ran down the bank on to the frozen river, straight towards her mother, oblivious even of the Mongol on his horse who stood in the path between them.