Whitefire (36 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
“We agree,” said one voice, representing all.
“Banyen, you will spend three more days in Moscow with my men, a different one each night, showing you the exact gates which will be opened to you. On the fourth night the attack will take place. Are your armies ready and together, waiting for you?”
“It has been planned. When I ride out on the fourth day, all will be ready,” Banyen said, choosing his words carefully. As much as he trusted these men, he had no intention of giving them the exact location of the rendezvous point of the Mongol army. He did not regret his decision not to divulge exactly how large the force was, or that it would be joined with Crimean Tatars numbering in the hundreds of thousands.
Motioning to one of the nobles, the boyar spoke, “Tomorrow you'll go with this man and be shown the locations where my men will be stationed. Do this in the evening. I suggest you make yourself unavailable during the day. This way you will not draw attention to your actions. The hour is late, so let us leave one by one, quickly and quietly, so as not to arouse suspicion. Banyen, if I don't see you again before you leave, good fortune.”
“What do you gain by helping me? Is overthrowing Ivan enough? I offered you and your men gold for your help, but you refused. I don't understand.”
“If Ivan is overthrown or killed, we can place a man of our own in power and be the guiding force behind him, perhaps even one of our boyars. We'll have control of the Russian people and want for nothing. If we lose, then it will be all over for us. What good would the money you offered do us then?”
Banyen held out his hand. “I hope we both succeed. Good fortune to you too, old friend.”
Following the boyar's instructions, Banyen rode along the walls of Moscow for the next two nights. During the day be kept to his room except for his meals, which he took in the dining hall. At the end of the second day he waited for the serving girl to lean over him, her smile wanton and her breasts pressing against him each time she served him. Each time he thought of the Russian girl, Katerina would intrude into his mind, forcing the smiling, chestnut-haired girl into the background.
The third and last day of his stay in Moscow began. Normally he did not stay in bed past dawn, but this day he made himself remain beneath the covers and rest. The forced inactivity drove him into a near frenzy as he dressed and went downstairs for his breakfast. His meal finished, he headed for the stables to make sure his stallion was properly fed and watered. The animal had to take him to Smolensk and back to Moscow, and he prayed the stable boy had followed his instructions.
Banyen nodded to the young boy tending the animals and praised his care.
Carefully, his eyes alert, he walked around Kitai Gorod. A vague feeling of unease seemed to be settling over him. Several times he glanced over his shoulder and thought he saw someone following him. Each time, the street was empty. Still, the feeling persisted as he walked back to the inn. Bolting the door of his room, he lay down on the coarse bedding to think. As always, his thoughts drifted to Katerina and their time in the mountains. Each day was bringing him closer to when he would see her again. Somehow he would make it right with her, convince her he had done nothing wrong, that it was her he loved for all eternity. Tomorrow he would ride to Smolensk, and even that ride would bring him nearer to Katerina.
He shook his head to clear the thoughts of Katerina from his mind. He had to think of other things. The Russian servant girlâthere was something about her that bothered him. Each time she stared at him, her eyes would drift to the kitchen, as if she were working with someone. He admitted that he wanted her, desired her flesh next to his, but not at the expense of his life. Tonight he would take her and see if his theory was right.
Seating himself at a table in the dining room, he watched through slitted eyes as the girl walked languorously toward him to take his order. As before, she leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his shoulders. She gazed at him with the same bold scrutiny, saying nothing, almost daring him with her sleepy gaze. This time Banyen let his hand trail up the inside of her tunic. She shivered slightly, but made no move to stir from his side. “Come to my room after you finish work tonight.” She nodded, and Banyen was not surprised that she didn't bother to ask him which room was his. His mouth tightened when he saw her eyes go furtively to the kitchen, where a figure stood outlined in the doorway.
Banyen ate leisurely, knowing the girl had a full hour of work ahead of her. When he left the table to go to his room he could feel her eyes boring into his back.
She walked back into the kitchen and held out her hand to the man slouched against the door. “Pay me now!”
“I'll pay you half now and the other half when the merchant you claim is a spy proves to be so. As an Oprichnik I can't afford a mistake.”
“My cousin, the cook in the boyar's house, listened outside the doors and overheard the merchant called Ivan Toborschev from Kiev and the others making plans to attack Moscow. Pay me the full sum we agreed on.”
“I followed him on several occasions. With what you just told me and his furtive attitude, I'm convinced. He can only mean trouble for the Czar.” The Oprichnik placed a small pouch of gold in her outstretched hand. “The hour grows late, make fast work of your seduction.”
Banyen waited, and the door opened slowly. He motioned for her to enter, neither saying a word. When he made a move to throw the bolt on the door, the girl threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. He let his hand drop, then cradled her head in his hands, kissing her passionately. All desire left him as he felt her lick at his ear, her hand moving down the side of his body. He forced himself to play her game, and again he kissed her, his hand busy removing her shirt and slipping the peasant skirt down over her hips. When she stood naked before him, her eyes full of lust, he sent her reeling against a chest in the corner of the room.
“If you make so much as a sound, I'll slit your throat,” Banyen said quietly. “This way you have a chance to live, unless the man who is coming here kills you. Not a sound, do you understand?” he said, bending over the cowering girl.
He waited, his eyes going from the fearful girl to the door.
Suddenly the door was flung open with such force that it crashed against the wall and came to rest drunkenly against the door frame. “Where is he, you had enough time?” bellowed a voice. “The man is a spy and is to be taken to the Czar!”
Banyen stepped from behind the armoire and grinned. “You're wrong, my friend, she did not have enough time to play your game with me. Did you think I would fall for such an age-old trick?”
Banyen's eyes quickly took in the size of the man charging into the room. He was built like an ox and obviously was just as strong, if his bellow was any indication. Banyen would need his wits about him to deal with the burly man, who had hands the size of a newborn colt's head.
The girl remained mute as the husky peasant charged across the room, the floor shaking beneath his weight. The moment he was abreast of the armoire, Banyen sent it crashing down upon him. A roar of rage filled the room, but Banyen was up and racing out into the corridor, taking the plank steps two at a time in his wild descent.
Outside he ran in the crisp, cold air, skirting the buildings and staying in the shadows and hoping and praying he had enough time to get to his horse before the man called the guards.
Staying in the shadows, he cautiously made his way to the stable and stallion. He saw that a guard was posted at the wide double doors. Banyen circled, came up behind the sentry, and flung his arm around the man's neck. The guard jerked free, yanking out his saber and slicing at the air, missing Banyen. Again the guard lunged and missed. Desperate, Banyen knew he needed a weapon. Somehow he had to get into the stable, where he could grasp something, anything, to defend himself. He couldn't be caught now, not after all he had gone through.
“Dance as if you have eggs on your head.” Katerina's words roared in his ears. He laughed, never taking his eyes from the advancing guard. Nimbly, as good as any dancer, Banyen leaped and cavorted and backed himself into the barn. The guard, his eyes wide and full of shock at the insane man in front of him cavorting and laughing, blinked and momentarily lost his advantage in the darkness. As Banyen continued to leap and twist, his hands struck out at the wall, trying to reach for something that would help him defend himself. In one of his jumps he fell backward into a pile of straw. As he flung out his arms to break his fall, his hands found an upended pitchfork that rested in the dry stalks. His hands reached for it as he got to his feet, the fork thrust in front of him. The sentry thrust outward and upward, slicing the handle of the fork in two as he drove Banyen back against the wall. Banyen held on to the fork end, and as the guard lunged at him a second time, Banyen leaped into the air, coming down gracefully as the guard raised his eyes to take in his spectacular jump. Banyen struck out, the tines of the fork finding their mark in the center of the guard's chest.
Quickly Banyen picked up the saber and tossed it across the length of the stable. He saddled his horse, keeping a sharp eye on the door for any further intrusion.
In the cold, bracing air, his mind clear, he realized he couldn't go to the boyar for help; the Oprichniks would be watching, and he couldn't expose his friend to danger. He was alone.
Through the rest of the night he and his horse, who walked behind him, moved under the cover of darkness from one place to another. He watched for a shadow, a move or a noise indicating the soldiers were still on his trail. He felt them, smelled them around him, and although he couldn't see them, he knew they were there. Slowly he made his way toward a doorway in the wall so he could be near an exit. Crouching low, his ears alert, he waited.
As the first rays of dawn lightened the area, exposing the hidden crevices and flushing out all that hid in the night, Banyen made his move and tried the handle of the door nearest him. Slowly he turned the knob and pushed the door with his foot. There before him stood four of Ivan's soldiers. Quickly he slammed the portal and turned to run, grabbing for the reins of the stallion. As he did so, two Oprichniks seized the animal and led him away. Taking a deep breath at his narrow escape, Banyen raced for cover.
The morning hours passed quickly as Banyen and the Oprichniks played a cat-and-mouse game. He had to be free and ready to ride by the noon hour; he had to do something, and he had to do it now. Slowly he inched his way between some barrels, and was surprised by the four soldiers once again. As they lunged for the kill, one by one, Katerina's training rose to the fore. He parried a thrust, a lunge. Steel met steel as he leaped and nimbly danced his way among the startled Oprichniks. His face grim, he looked down at the dead bodies and felt no remorse.
Seeing his stallion being led from the city, he climbed onto the wall and slithered along the top on his belly, praying no one would notice his movements. He lay still as two soldiers reached the gateway, leading his horse. Banyen jumped from the wall, his arms outstretched, knocking the Oprichniks to the ground. Like a streak of lightning, he leaped onto the stallion and headed toward the main road, leaving Red Square, Kitai Gorod, and the White City behind him.
Two hours outside of Moscow, he dismounted and concealed himself in some dense brush, watching to see if he was being followed. He saw and heard nothing to alarm him, so he mounted the Arabian with relief. He sighed wearily as he spurred the horse, urging him to a full canter. The closer he rode to the rendezvous, the more erratically he rode the stallion. He knew he couldn't travel straight toward the waiting armies, for word was out that an attack was imminent. At the last moment he deliberately rode through Smolensk. When he was sure he was not being followed, he continued on to the meeting point. Silently he prayed that the armies were still waiting.
Katerina was beside herself with anger and concern. “Uncle, where is he?” she snapped. “We stand ready to ride and can't make a move without him.” Suddenly her anger gave way to concern. “Uncle, what if something happened to him? What if he never arrives?”
“Banyen will be here. Where is your faith, your courage? You can't allow your men to see you in a fit of tears. He will be here,” he said firmly. “Any man who wants to taste Ivan's blood as badly as he does will not let us down. Compose yourself. Check your men and see if all is in readiness.”
“I've checked them five times. I can't stand this endless waiting. We've been waiting for five days and now we must wait again. I don't know how those Tatars can sit so placidly. Nothing seems to bother them.”
“When you number in the hundreds of thousands, why would you worry? They can overrun anything in their path. I'm happy they're on our side.” The Khan grinned. “Their leader rides toward us. Perhaps he, too, is becoming concerned.”
A tall, yellow-skinned man rode majestically on a sleek brown horse, the animal strutting its pedigree. The deep, slanted eyes of the rider bored into the Khan. His body looked immense in the quilted vest which covered him to his elbows, knees, and up the back of his neck to the bottom of his hat. The heavy padding would stop the blow of a saber, Katerina knew, just as the heavy sheepskin vests and coats protected her men and herself.
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