Unconquered (47 page)

“Is the woman his wife? His mistress?”

“No, Prince Arik. This woman is Lady Miranda Dunham, sister to the English Ambassador in St. Petersburg.”

“What is she doing here?” demanded the Tatar chief.

“Her husband, who now fights a war for his king across the great western ocean, left her with her brother. Her doctor in St. Petersburg believed she could not take the severe winter there, and so Prince Cherkessky, my master, offered her the hospitality of this estate. He is a great good friend of the ambassador.”

Prince Arik whirled on Miranda. “When is your child due, madam?”

“A week or two,” Miranda lied.

“When did you come here?”

“November. A month after my husband left for the Americas, and I was lucky to get here with all the snow in the north. It was terrible!”

“Why were you in St. Petersburg in the first place?”

“We were visiting my brother before Jared was due to depart,” Miranda answered, and then she drew herself up as haughtily as her pregnancy would allow. “How dare you question me, Prince Arik! I was under the impression that Prince Alexei was the late Prince Batu’s only grandson. Sasha, are you sure this man is not a fraud?”

Prince Arik laughed. “Yes,” he said, “this lady is most definitely English. They are always so arrogant. In answer to your question, my fine lady, Prince Batu had five sons who lived here on this estate. His only daughter wed a Russian. He had thirty grandchildren. Three were his daughter’s half-breeds. There were twenty-two other grandsons and five granddaughters—all pure Tatar.

“He was dying, and the Russian soldiers came and massacred the entire family. No one was spared. I saw my mother and my aunts raped over and over again. In the end I think the soldiers coupled with dead bodies, for they all died under the assault. I
was just ten, and knocked out by a blow on my head. I was covered over by the bodies of my brothers and cousins. They thought me dead too, but I was determined to survive.

“After the slaughter they all repaired to my grandfather’s wine cellar to get drunk. When I was sure it was safe I escaped to my mother’s family in Bessarabia. I have waited a long time for the chance to revenge myself on the Russians. Today, I shall!” He stopped and looked closely at Miranda. “The question is, my fine lady, what to do with you?”

“I assume you will go to ’Stanbul to sell Alexei Vladimirnovich’s slaves, Prince Arik.” When he nodded, she continued, “Then take me with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I will bring you a fat ransom. The English in ’Stanbul will pay very well for my safe return.”

“You cannot travel in your condition, my fine lady.”

“Of course I can,” she quickly answered. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving the pregnant slaves behind?”

“No,” he said.

“Do you think that breeders in a place like this are any less pampered than I am, Prince Arik? I most certainly can travel!”

He pretended to consider the matter, although he had every intention of taking her. “Very well,” he finally agreed. “I will take you to ’Stanbul.”

Prince Arik’s second-in-command asked in the raiders’ dialect, “Will you ransom her?”

“Of course not,” chuckled the prince, “but let her believe that, so there will be no trouble on the journey. She will bring a hell of a lot more on the block than the English can pay, Buri, my friend. Look at that hair! Those eyes! With a child to prove her fertility she will make us a fortune. Take her outside while we dispatch these two.” He turned to Miranda. “Go with Buri, my fine lady. He will take care of you.”

“Prince Arik!” Sasha’s voice was sharp with urgency. “It has been my duty to care for this lady while she was under Prince Cherkessky’s protection. May I bid her farewell?” The prince nodded, and Sasha moved close to Miranda. To her amazement, he spoke in swift, clear English. “Don’t trust the Tatars! They mean to sell you in ’Stanbul. The English Embassy is at the end of a small street called Many Flowers near the Sultan Ahmet
Mosque, which is by the old Hippodrome. God go with you, Miranda Tomasova. I ask your forgiveness for the suffering I have caused you.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “For your own safety, show no closeness to me.”

“I forgive you, Pieter Vladimirnovich,” she said. “What will happen to you?”

“Go now,” he said, switching to French.

She gazed at him closely, and suddenly she knew. “Oh God!” she whispered, horror dawning.

“Get her out of here!” Sasha appealed to Prince Arik, and the Tatar captain Buri took Miranda firmly by the arm and led her from the room.

“Please,” she cried, “I want to get my boots,” and she pointed to her bare feet.

He understood and followed her back to her room, but he refused to give her any privacy, standing in the open door watching her. She took two caftans from the wardrobe, and put them both on over her thin gauze sleeping gown. She had managed to wheedle a decent pair of boots out of Sasha several months before, explaining that the dainty house slippers they had given her were too flimsy for her long walks. Since the prince had said she might have anything within reason, Sasha had had the farm’s elderly cobbler fashion her a pair of red leather boots. They came to her knees, and were lined in soft lambswool. She pulled them on and took up her dark brown light-wool cloak. Taking a small carved bone hairbrush from the dressing table, she stuffed it into the inside pocket of the cape. “I am ready,” she said. Buri quickly took her from the house.

The spectacle that assailed her outside made her blood run cold. The half-grown fields had been fired and the vineyards trampled beyond redemption. Where orchards had once stood were piles of newly felled trees. Every building except the villa was in flames. She could see bands of riders driving off the livestock and squawking poultry hanging from saddles. But most terrifying of all were the sobbing women and children, every one of them naked, huddling in frightened groups. She scanned them, but she could not see Lucas. She saw none of the men.

“Where are the men?” she asked. Buri looked blankly at her
and she realized she had spoken French. She tried the local dialect that Lucas had taught her. “Where are the men?”

“Dead,” he answered.

“
Dead?
Why?”

“What would we do with them? We couldn’t sell them anywhere, for Prince Cherkessky’s studs are too well known. Even in ’Stanbul they are known. Prince Arik wants this land totally destroyed. It is cursed, and only when what once was is no more can the souls of the Batu family rest, fully avenged.” He asked slyly, “Why should you care about the men?”

“Because they were beautiful animals,” she answered quickly, lest she betray herself. “I dislike waste, especially of good bloodstock.”

“Ah, you English,” he laughed. “So bloody cold, except with your animals.”

Prince Arik and the rest of his men emerged from the villa carrying all the valuables they had found. They were piled into a two-wheeled cart. Behind them she could see fire beginning to spread through the villa, and she shuddered.

“Get into the cart, woman,” he commanded.

“I can walk,” she said, “and with your permission I would like to do so.”

He nodded curtly. Grasping the mane of a black and white pony, he pulled himself into the saddle.

“Please, Prince Arik, must the women and children go naked?”

“Yes,” was the curt reply. Then, kicking his pony, he was off.

“Why must they be naked?” she demanded of Buri.

“To instill fear, so they will quickly accept Prince Arik as their new owner and not even consider escape.” He leaped lightly into his own saddle. “Stay by the wagon with old Alghu. I’ll be watching you even if you don’t see me.”

The large procession began to move away. It was now two hours before midday, and the orderly, well-run farm that had seen a glorious May dawn was now entirely gone. As she walked along, Miranda saw sights she had never expected to see even in nightmares. The prince’s serfs, with the exception of the pretty girls and children, lay slaughtered. Every woman lay on her back with her skirts up, legs spread, throat cut. The men and the old
people had all been shot or decapitated. As they passed by the men’s quarters, now a smoldering ruin, the air heavy with the stench of burned flesh, she saw that several of the men had died fighting for their survival, Paulus among them. She did not see Lucas, but knew he was there. She said a silent prayer in memory of the gentle giant whose child was in her womb. Suddenly her eyes widened with fresh horror.

The Tatars had been doubly cruel. The genitals of the men who had chosen to defend themselves had been cut off and stuffed into their mouths. The Tatars had taken these gallant defenders alive, though wounded. They had performed the terrible mutilation and left the men to die either from blood loss or from choking to death on their own flesh.

She felt her kidneys empty themselves, her legs grew weak, and she vomited the scant contents of her stomach until she was retching only bitter bile. She fought fiercely to regain self-control, forcing herself to breathe deep, long breaths until she steadied herself. Looking away from the awful sight, she focused her vision straight ahead and moved steadily forward, placing one foot before the other, one foot before the other, one foot before the other. Her body was wet with clammy, cold perspiration, and her head ached terribly, but she moved onward.

They walked all day long without stopping, crossing over the border into Bessarabia late in the afternoon, long before the Russian authorities in Odessa could possibly know about the raid on the Cherkessky estate. Finally, at dusk, they stopped near a stream, and within a short time the campfires were blazing and the smell of roasting meat permeated the air. Numb, Miranda was sitting alone by the cart when Buri approached and shoved a tin plate into her hand.

“There’s a slave woman who wants to stay with you. Says she was your maidservant.”

“Of course,” Miranda replied. Marfa! A friendly face! However, the naked woman with the slightly protruding belly who appeared in Buri’s custody was not Marfa, but a sweet-faced petite blond with corn-colored braids and desperate, begging, light-blue eyes. Although she had never seen her before, Miranda knew instantly who she was. “Mignon, my dear, thank heavens you are safe! Here, sit by me.” She patted her cloak,
look to the Tatar, and said, “Would you ask Prince Arik if my servant may stay with me and have her gown back? She will not run away.”

He grunted and went off.

“You knew me? How?” asked Mignon in beautiful French.

“Lucas spoke of you, and of course, Sasha told me your story.”

“Why do these animals treat you well?” Mignon asked.

Miranda explained, and Mignon nodded. “You are fortunate,” she sighed.

“They have no intention of ransoming me,” Miranda said quietly. “Sasha warned me before we were separated, but he told me where the English Embassy is. I plan to escape when we get to Istanbul. Do you want to come with me? We’ll show these barbarians what it is to deal with a free American and a Frenchwoman!”

Mignon smiled suddenly. “
Mon Dieu
, yes! I will have a chance to return to France, and believe me, madame, if I ever get there I shall never stir from Paris again!”

“What of your children?”

“I have no idea which ones they are,” she said matter-of-factly. “I birthed them, but I never saw them afterward until it was too late to know. I am four months pregnant. I will have to keep the one I carry now.”

Buri returned and tossed a caftan at Mignon, who looked gratefully at Miranda. “
Merci, madame!
” she said.

Miranda nodded and then turned to the Tatar. “What did the prince say?”

“You may keep your servant with you. He also told me to say that you two are to sleep beneath the cart tonight. Old Alghu will guard you, and the prince has already given orders you are not to be touched. Still, our men are celebrating, and there is no reasoning with a drunken man, so be warned.” Then he disappeared into the darkness.

Miranda offered to share the haunch of meat on her plate, but Mignon declined saying, “I’ve already eaten, but you eat. It’s baby lamb, and very good.”

Miranda followed the Frenchwoman’s advice, knowing that she must keep her strength up and her wits sharp. She ate the lamb right down to the bone, even sucking the marrow from the
bone’s end. “Do you think we dare get some water from the stream?” she queried Mignon.

Mignon looked about. “Why not?” she answered. “They’re too busy stuffing themselves and getting drunk to bother us.”

The two women stood up, and Miranda spoke to Alghu in the local dialect. “We want water.” She pointed to the stream. “Is it permitted?”

He lumbered to his feet, nodding, and escorted them to the stream, chuckling as they squatted modestly behind the bushes to relieve themselves before drinking. Once back at the cart, they sat on the end of it comparing the events that had brought them to Prince Cherkessky’s farm, and telling of their lives before being kidnaped.

Mignon had been born the year the Bastille fell. Her father was a duke, her mother a farmer’s daughter. They were not married. Raised by her mother in the Normandy countryside, she and her peasant relatives escaped the worst of the terror accompanying the Revolution. Her father had escaped to England where his title and sexual prowess had gotten him an heiress wife. When Napoleon came to power he returned to France and, by loyal service to the emperor, won back his estates.

Ten years after Mignon’s birth her mother received a letter from her former lover. The letter was read to her by the disapproving village priest. His bastard daughter, the duke stated, was to be educated. He enclosed money, and Mignon’s mother obediently complied with his request. Each year from then on a letter with money arrived right after the new year. Mignon met her father for the first time when she was fifteen.

“Why have you educated me?” was her greeting.

“Because there will be one less peasant to turn on her master next time,” he growled back at her.

They both laughed. The two became good friends. She was brought to Paris and sent to an excellent convent school, which filled in the gaps in her education and taught her how to be a lady. She had left the convent at eighteen to become a teacher in a fine Paris boarding school. At twenty she obtained an excellent position as governess in the household of Princess Tumanova in St. Petersburg. Miranda knew the rest of her story.