Whitefire (19 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
“You're not to blame, little one. What will be will be. Mikhailo told me of your trip to the Khanate. I applaud this action on your part. I pray in this frail old heart of mine that I'll be here to see if you succeed in the spring.”
Katerina dropped to her knees. “Zedda, I was afraid to speak for fear I would see anger in your eyes, anger that I . . . I see no forgiveness in your eyes either, and that makes me happy, for I know truly in my heart that you don't think me guilty in any way.” She laid her coppery head on her grandfather's bony knee and felt tears sting her eyes. How wasted he was since she last saw him. How weak. His voice trembled like that of a frightened child. She felt the gnarled hands stroke her hair with tenderness. “I'll make it come right, Zedda, you have my promise. I'll get our horses back, every last one of them. My word as a Cossack, Grandfather.”
“I know that, my child. You're Katlof's daughter, and for that, and that alone, you'll succeed. Now you must eat and sleep. We'll talk more in the morning. Your room was readied by Stepan days ago, and a roaring fire has been going since then. Eat, Hanna made thick potato soup for your arrival. There is also fresh-baked bread and plenty of hot tea.”
“Well then, I'd better do as you say or Hanna will give me no rest.” Katerina sighed with amusement. “I believe that no matter how old I get, she will always nag me as though I were still a child.” Katerina patted the elderly man fondly on his arm and sat down near the fire to dine. From time to time she watched the aging man as his transparent lids quivered and then closed over the faded eyes. How sad he must feel in his heart, she thought, to lose his only son to marauders. How unbearable to know all the horses are gone from Volin. The first time in their history, the Cosars were stolen by murderers and thieves.
She finished her simple meal and looked around for Mikhailo or one of the others. Of course they were all with the prisoners, helping to get them settled. Zedda would be all right alone, dozing by the fire. She added another log and tucked in the lap robe a little tighter around his stick-thin legs. She kissed him lightly on the forehead and left the warmth of the kitchen.
Katerina shed her rough clothing and donned a warm woolen nightdress. She climbed into the high feather bed and was surprised to feel the heated rocks at the foot, where her feet rested. Dear Stepan, he thought of everything. She lay back, sleepy and contented. She had done well. There was respect in Mikhailo's eyes, and the old man in the kitchen loved her. She knew her father couldn't have done any better than she in bringing the wagons through the mountains and down through the pass. Yes, she had done well!
When Katerina woke, she had no idea of the time. The fire still blazed brightly in the silent room. Sometime shortly before dawn, she wondered if Zedda would be awake. If not, she would kiss him lightly on the cheek and he would open his eyes as always when she ran to him with a bad dream. He always made the villains in her nightmares disappear with a few carefully chosen words and a gentle smile. Perhaps his magic would work again even though she was grown.
Quickly she wrapped herself in the white-and-black fur and raced down the cold corridors till she came to the kitchen. Zedda was awake and staring into the flickering flames, his hand resting on the yellow cat's head. Turning his head at her entrance, he motioned her to sit next to him. “A bad dream, Katerina? Tell your Zedda all about it.” He smiled.
“No nightmare this time, Zedda, I just couldn't sleep. I think I'm too tired, if that's possible. My stupidity on the ice torments me. Once I gave Father my promise that I would never fail again, but I did.”
“We're all human and vulnerableâyou're no different from your father. Tell me now, when there is no one to hear us, how did my son allow the village to be raided? What was his mistake?”
“Mistake?” Katerina said, puzzled.
“Yes, your father did something that permitted the raid to take place. An error in judgment perhaps, just as you say you made on the ice. There isn't a person on this earth who at one time or another doesn't make a mistake. Unfortunately, this time it cost Katlof his life and his people's. Now, tell me what he did.”
“The men were drinking the night before leaving for the fortress. On several occasions I noticed Father wasn't able to consume the vast amounts of vodka he used to. He would reel drunkenly and sometimes fall asleep. If the men saw their hetman so, they naturally assumed they could do the same. Only two guards were posted along the camp. I haven't any other explanation for you, Zedda.”
“It's not for me that you must provide the answer. It's for yourself. Your father was not perfect, and neither are you or I. It is to be hoped that we learn from our mistakes. Remember your father as he was and how he loved you.”
“He hated me in the end, Zedda. I can't forget his words to me. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen.”
“Your words were heard, and they ate at his heart every hour and every minute of the day. I say this to you in truth, little one. You must believe me! Your father loved you with all his soul, no matter what you did or didn't do. He was hurt and bewildered by what he didn't understand. In time he would have come to his senses and made things right between you. Believe that.”
Katerina laid her head on the old man's knees, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I want to believe it, but he's gone. He never had reason to doubt me. I never lied to him, Zedda, just as I have never lied to you!”
“We'll talk more later. My eyes grow heavy, child,” he said drowsily.
Katerina reached out her arms as her grandfather gathered her close to him, stroking the rich, coppery hair. “You must believe,” he said sadly. “Always believe in what you do.” The paper-thin eyelids closed as his bony hand dropped into his lap.
Quietly she got to her feet and walked back to her room, feeling better for having talked with him. Not once did he say a word about his grief over the loss of his son, she marveled. “His only concern was for me and my feelings,” she said out loud. Her step lightened as she entered her room and crawled beneath the downy comforter on the bed. For a little while she could sleep; maybe this time her dreams would be pleasant.
An hour before dawn, Katerina climbed from her warm nest in the high bed. As she scurried to the fire to dress she looked longingly at the heavy pedina that had covered her. She couldn't afford to sleep another second, she had to dress and have her morning meal before the others were wakened. It would be a long, tiring day, the first of many in the coming winter months.
Katerina quickly donned a thick black body garment. Throwing the ermine cape around her shoulders, she descended the wide stone steps that led below.
Inside the cozy kitchen, she looked for her grandfather. She found him in the same position he was when she left him during the night, only this time the big yellow cat purred contentedly in his lap. She smiled a greeting and immediately began to flex her arms and legs, the way Cossacks do when warming up for a saber drill.
“Have you spoken to Mikhailo, Zedda?” she asked.
“He and Stepan just left to see to the men and give them their morning meal. Mikhailo said you made wise choices of which he approved. For him to make a comment like that he must have been truly impressed. My old friend mentioned that there were a few among them who might give you trouble, but he felt sure you and the prince could handle it. Tell me, little one, how many men did you lose coming through the Urals?” He leaned back, the words costing him dearly. When he had his breathing under control he opened his eyes, waiting for her answer.
Katerina, alarmed at his ragged breathing, trembled and fought the urge to run to him and cradle the shaking white head to her breast. She knew how he hated open displays of emotion, so she remained seated, her breakfast untouched.
“I lost thirty-five of the prisoners and ten of the soldiers. It was my fault. I tried to rescue them, but it was a foolish thing to doâan impossible task. We worked doggedly to try to split the ice and rescue them, but they were already dead and washed away by the strong current. We lost two days because of the accident, that's why we were late coming through the pass. I'm to blame, Zedda! Not Banyen.”
“Why do you dislike the prince?” the old man asked sharply, aware of her hostility at the mention of his name.
Katerina's mind raced. “Because he's arrogant and selfish. He mocks me every chance he gets with words, and with his eyes. My mistake on the ice convinced him I will fail. He hates me as much as I hate him.”
The old man sighed and shifted so the cat could snuggle deeper into the crook of his arm. Fire and ice, he thought, and they'll be together for the entire winter.
“I'm the Kat now, Grandfather, and I won't let him forget it, not for a moment, for a day, or a month. Never!”
The aged Cossack leaned forward, jostling the yellow cat from her comfortable position. “Such hatred for a man who is arrogant and selfish! You lie to me, Granddaughter, there's more to it than you're telling me.”
“I don't wish to discuss it, Grandfather. For now, those are my reasons.”
“Be wary, child. If what Mikhailo tells me is true, this is a man who will bring you to your knees.”
“Not to my knees, Zedda, my back!” Katerina muttered quietly. “I'll remember what you said.”
“Why weren't you born a boy?” he grumbled. “Things would be so simple if youâ”
The honey-colored eyes sparked, and Katerina's full, sensual mouth tightened into a grim, hard line. “You haven't said that to me in many long years. I've made one mistake, but I've done nothing wrong. I've trained as well as the men in Volin. I've managed to bring one hundred and fifty-five men through the Urals during winter, and you tell me he's a man that can bring me to my knees! Hear me well, Grandfather, the day will never come when any man can conquer me.” Her voice was so quiet, so deadly, that the old man shuddered in his warm, cozy chair near the fire.
Katmon's tone was petulant. “When are you going to start thinking about taking a man? I think you need someone to warm your bed at night. I wanted to see grandchildren before I die.”
“Then you'd better plan on living many long years,” Katerina said bitterly.
Whatever retort the old man was tempted to make went unsaid as he noted the narrowing of the catlike eyes. Whatever was bothering her wouldn't last forever. Katerina finished her breakfast in silence.
“Zedda, would you like to come with me to the arena and watch?”
“Bah! I've no desire to see grown men cry with your wicked ways. Mikhailo and Stepan will give you all the help you need. I wish you well.”
Katerina advanced near the fire. “Your mouth tells me you wish me well, but your eyes say you hope I'll fail. Speak the truth, Zedda.”
“Yes, that's what I wish. To see you fail just once.”
The titian eyes were stormy as Katerina gazed at her grandfather. He was an old man; already he had lived more years than a man had a right to expect. She loved him dearly, and would gladly lay down her life for him if necessary, but he was wrong, and she wouldn't failâshe couldn't.
Chapter 12
K
aterina wrapped herself in the white ermine and, with a last fond look at her aging grandfather, left the comfortable kitchen.
aterina wrapped herself in the white ermine and, with a last fond look at her aging grandfather, left the comfortable kitchen.
She shivered inside the enveloping warmth of the rich cape, not with cold but with dread. How would it go? How receptive and dedicated would the men be? And Banyen, what of the prince? Again she shuddered, remembering the feel of his lean, hard body next to hers. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered how she had responded to his mouth on hers and strained her body next to his. It wasn't the men Katerina dreaded meeting, it was the prince, she admitted to herself.
She descended the cold granite steps to the huge arena below the fortress, noting the beads of ice on the rough gray stone walls. Her breath whirled and eddied around her in the crisp, chill air. For one brief moment she wished she were back beneath the soft pedina on her bed, with the fire blazing and her sleep untroubled.
The moment her foot touched the last step Katerina heard the babble of voices and knew her recruits were finishing breakfast and soon would be ready to start the morning drill. Perhaps they would be relieved that their shackles had been removed and would work diligently. She hoped none of them would give her trouble that required strong measures be taken against them. In her gut she knew it was going to be the prisoners against the prince's men. Banyen would fight her every step of the way. He would give nothing, and she knew instinctively that he wouldn't compromise in any way. In the spring would come the day of reckoning. He was a man and she was a woman. Men were entitled to their thoughts about women, just as women were entitled to theirs about men. And men, in her opinion, were good for only one thing: to help women bear children. That was the one thing women couldn't do alone. Since she had no intention of having a baby, now or later, she had no use for Banyen or any other man. She laughed delightedly at the thought. Somehow she must manage to voice her opinion to the Mongol and see his reaction. He would be livid, she knew, sputtering with rage, his indigo eyes dark and full of murder: hers!
She thrust open the door to the great arena that ran the entire length of the House of the Kat. Even with the brightly lit sconces, she couldn't see to the end of the vast underground cavern. The plank tables had been cleared away by Mikhailo, and now all that remained were the prisoners and soldiers stamping their feet and wrapping their arms around their chests in an effort to keep warm. All were clad in heavy fur coats, hats, and high boots.
A monstrous fireplace with whole tree trunks blazing was the only heat the room offered. Katerina walked over to the blazing fire and stood with her back to the dancing flames. She looked around at the men with clinical interest. She noted that Banyen stood in front of his men, who were off to the side, separated from the prisoners.
Katerina pierced him with her gaze. “It's you against me, is that what you're trying to say? The prisoners are my men and the soldiers are yours. Is it to be a test?” When he didn't answer, Katerina smiled. “They're babies.” She smiled again as she looked at the youthful faces. “When a general goes to war, he should have men fighting at his side, not infants that need a wet nurse.” Guffaws of laughter erupted from the prisoners as the soldiers tried to kill her with their eyes. Banyen refused to be baited and remained quiet.
Katerina dropped the ermine and waited a moment for the shock to register in the men's eyes. She knew how she looked with the body garment, the one-piece uniform the Don Cossacks were noted for, cleaving to her slim body. Each curve, each limb cried out starkly. If I stood here naked in front of them I doubt I would get more of a reaction, she thought. Katerina heard the indrawn breaths and noticed the looks of approval in the eyes of the prisoners as well as the soldiers. Banyen's face was a study in nonchalance, appearing impervious to her lithe body. She shrugged as she called Mikhailo to her side.
“Issue each man a body garment, and see that they move briskly. You too, Prince! We all wear the same attire,” she said coldly. “This attire has always been made expressly for and given to each youth the day he began his training for the Cossack army. This year, because there aren't any Dons, you men from Sibir will wear them.”
The agate eyes were darkening at her words. “I refuse to wear that ridiculous clothing,” Banyen said savagely.
“Either you put it on under your own power or someone will help you,” Katerina said threateningly. “You do what I tell you, not the other way around. Make fast work of it, for we are already behind with our drilling.” Katerina glided to the front of the clustered prisoners. “These are my men, those are yours. Either you do what I tell you or my men will help you. As you can see, you're greatly outnumbered. Move!”
The Mongol's eyes narrowed till they were mere slits. He looked around, and Kostya's face was the first thing that came into his line of vision. A sly smile was on Kostya's mouth. Damn woman, she was right, he was outnumbered, and a good soldier always knew when to retreat. For now, he would do as she said and don the crazy costume she wanted him to wear. Later, he would strangle her with it.
Katerina suppressed a laugh when Mikhailo led the men back into the cavernous room. All appeared self-conscious and were holding their hands over their male organs. She waited till they were in line before she moved. Lightly, a saber held loosely in her hand, she literally danced in front of the men. “Welcome to the House of Vaschenko, or”âshe let her eyes wander down the straggly line of menâ“the House of the Kat. That is the name you've been whispering among yourselves, isn't it? Yes,” she said, answering the unspoken question, “I'm the Kat. It would appear that you respect the title but not the person who owns it. You will, in time. From this moment on we will be together for sixteen hours every day for the next six months. We will work with the saber from dawn till noon. From noon till twilight you will work with the horses that will be assigned you. At sundown you will have your evening meal. You may eat as much as you wish at that time, and be advised, after today it is the only time you will be fed. Is that understood? A good Cossack can go days without eating, and if he has food he gives it to his horse first. Remember that. You come second.
“After your meal we'll work with the lance and the horse till the moon is high in the sky. Then you will sleep. A good Cossack can go for days without sleep, also. That is another point I want you not to forget.
“If for some reason your performance is judged poor, you'll spend your sleeping hours practicing your weakness. I said I would train you to be Cossacks, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to work you till you think you'll fall in your tracks. Every day for as long as you're here you will curse me and hate me with a passion you didn't know existed. You will think and plot my death a thousand times over, and when you believe you have picked the right time and place, I'll be behind you, not in front of you.
“There are a few of you who'll be tempted to escape this fortress. Don't! I'll come after you and I'll find you, and then you'll force me to make an example of you in front of the others. There is no escape from the House of the Kat. An hour outside and your ears will drop from your head. Your eyeballs will freeze in their sockets. I have no wish to see any of you die,” she said, looking directly at Banyen, “but if you insist on leaving here, be warnedâit can't be done.
“The only link to the world below the mountains is our trained falcons. We have two birds. One is kept here, and the other is quartered in Kisinev. If help is needed, or someone wants access to the mountains, one of the birds is sent. I'm telling you this so you'll know if you have any plans to leave here, it can't be done. No one save a Cossack can survive this weather. At January's end the blizzards come, and they last till March. You must believe me when I tell you that at such time even a Cossack can't survive. You've been warned, and more than that I can't do.”
One of the young soldiers standing near Banyen, little more than a boy, spoke haltingly. “I'm cold and I didn't get enough to eat, I'm hungry.”
Katerina laughed, the sound bouncing off the thick stone walls, and raising the hackles on the boy's neck.
“In the House of the Kat we don't complain . . . ever. We don't whine like newborn puppies. You are a babe; where do you fit into the Khan's armies? As a matter of fact,” she said loftily as she walked in front of Banyen's men, “I've never seen a larger group of infants in my life.” While she spoke to the young boys, she was looking at Banyen, the amber eyes mocking and scornful.
“I'm no baby,” the youth said belligerently.
“Your name,” Katerina said coldly.
“Igor.”
“If I say you are, then you are,” Katerina said dangerously. “Mikhailo, hand this . . . child a weapon. Now tell me you aren't a babe with a sword in your hand. When you make a statement, be prepared to defend it . . . to the death, if necessary. Now tell me, are you a baby or not?”
“I'm no babe,” the young voice cried defiantly, the blade held awkwardly in his thin hand.
“And I say you are,” Katerina said, slicing down the front of the heavy fur coat, and with catlike speed she had the sleeve in tatters with her quick, cutting motions. “When are you going to fight for your words?”
Igor's eyes sought out Banyen's and pleaded with him to interfere on his behalf. Kat correctly interpreted the look and spoke. “Each man stands alone in the House of the Kat. A Cossack never asks or accepts help from another. A Cossack stands alone except for his horse. His animal is the only friend and ally he has,” she said coldly.
Tears of rage burned in the youth's eyes as he lashed out with his sword, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.
“Bah, you're impossible! Resume your place in line. I have no more time to spend on these childish games. I'll find a wet nurse for you unless the prince can make a man of you.
“Mikhailo!” The one word was an iron command. “Lock their furs away.”
The Kat stifled her laughter as the men continued to hold their hands over their groins. All of Banyen's menâor youths, as she preferred to call themâwore sullen, angry looks. The prisoners wore puzzled, questioning looks on their broad faces.
“We're ready to begin,” the Kat said in a clear, high voice. “Mikhailo, the music, please. You're going to learn Russian dancing. Form two circles and dance like this,” she said, leaping into the air, twisting her body in a whirling motion, landing gracefully on her feet. “On your toes, and pretend you are holding a basket of eggs on your head. On the count of three.” The Kat turned her head to hide her grin as the men leaped and cavorted through the air, their arms and legs flying every which way. A soldier named Vladimir protested as his feet left the ground and he ended in a heap.
“I came to be trained as a Cossack, not to learn to dance. Dancing is for women,” he said vehemently.
“You're right, you're no dancer. I assure you, this is necessary. I care nothing at all about what you think. It's what I think and what I do that's important! Every Cossack goes through this phase of training. It will limber your muscles and enable you to move quickly and effortlessly. Now try it again.”
“No!”
“Very well.” The Kat sighed. “Mikhailo, take him to his quarters. No blanket and no dinner tonight. Perhaps he will develop a craving for the dance by tomorrow. Why are all of you staring?” she asked coldly. “I thought I told you to dance.”
“But there is no music,” one called Igor complained.
“If there's no music and I tell you to dance, what should you do?” the Kat asked coldly.
“Pretend!” cried a young voice from behind Banyen as he leaped wildly in the air, coming down with a thud. Banyen grimaced at the look on the Kat's face, and at the looks his men were giving him.
“Eggs, remember the eggs!” the Kat shouted as she walked among the men, the tip of her saber tapping this one and that one to show he was doing something not to her liking.
Mikhailo returned, and within minutes his fiddle was active. Katerina leaned against the wall as she watched Banyen leap into the air, his long, muscular legs doing exactly what they should be doing. His performance was almost as good as her own. She felt smug as she watched him help his men. The youths smiled crookedly, their eyes fearfully on the Kat.
As the noon hour approached Katerina signaled for Mikhailo to stop the music. She motioned for the men to fall into columns and stand at attention. She spoke briskly as she walked up and down among the straggly lines of prisoners and soldiers.
“Today is not an indication of what is to come. Today I'm judging you on flexibility and coordination. Timing and exact movement are extremely important. You must learn this or you could die. A good Cossack has a seventh sense. When you leave here, it will be honed to a sharp point. Your life will depend, at one time or another, on this new sense you're going to develop, always remember that. Your dancing leaves much to be desired. In time, with practice, you will improve. Now, cross sabers. Mikhailo will issue each of you a weapon, and you'll practice with a partner. I'm going to divide you into groups of fifteen men each, and you will have a leader whom you'll obey. The prince will do the same.” She signaled to Banyen to begin choosing his men.
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