Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [10]
Yevhen glanced at the gold-encrusted altar, but said nothing.
‘These heathen travellers,’ continued Vasil, ‘seem to have put their trust in the trappings of ephemeral wealth.’
‘Some of the soldiers say they came from the very heavens,’
suggested Yevhen lightly.
‘Do they seem like angels to you, adviser?’ queried Vasil, with a hint of rebuke in his voice.
‘They seem good and honest,’ admitted Yevhen. ‘Beyond that, I cannot say.’
Vasil grinned, and got to his feet. ‘That is right, adviser Yevhen. You leave thoughts of good and evil to the Church.
Your concern is the governance of this city.’
The meeting was clearly at an end, but it had proved less satisfying than Yevhen had hoped. ‘And the Tartars?’ he called after the retreating figure of the bishop.
The word brought Vasil up short. He turned to look back at Yevhen. ‘It is dark,’ he commented cryptically. ‘You must do what you have to do.’
Taras was waiting for Yevhen outside the cathedral. It was raining now, which did little to improve the adviser’s mood.
‘What did he say?’ asked Taras.
Yevhen motioned for Taras to follow him into the shadows of the nearby houses, and out of the rain. ‘He is a weak fool!’
exclaimed Yevhen. ‘He tries to manipulate me, yet does not wish to hear my plans.’
‘I said it was pointless to turn to the leaders of the Church in times of trouble,’ muttered Taras.
‘Indeed you did, my friend, and I should have listened.’
Yehven watched as two men trudged through the rain under rough woollen capes, and waited for them to pass. ‘I had hoped that the prince might be able to exert political pressure... to call for help from neighbouring cities and lands. But what fine neighbours they proved to be!’ He snorted. ‘The Lord was right when he said, by way of parable, that those who should give you help very rarely do.’
‘And now the Church seems just as powerless,’ observed Taras.
‘They mouth words of support, but provide not a single man to help with our defences.’
‘Did you tell the bishop of the legend?’
‘He already knows these things. If he wished us to call upon the dark angel of God, he would have done so by now.’
‘Bishop Vasil does not strike me as a man who puts much faith in legends.’
‘Perhaps so. Any plans he has for our salvation involve this world, not the next.’
‘Then we do nothing?’
Yevhen shook his head vehemently. ‘No. We have come this far, we should finish what we have begun. Even the bishop said as much.’
‘You have his approval?’ queried Taras.
‘I have no need of his approval.’ Yevhen produced a bunch of rusted, ancient keys from the pouch at his belt. ‘I am an adviser to the governor of Kiev, de facto ruler of this city. I can do as I wish.’
‘Then we will proceed?’
Yevhen nodded. ‘I shall meet you here, with any men you can muster, at midnight.’
Taras grinned, encouraged at last. ‘May God protect our endeavours!’
Yevhen said nothing, but watched him as he disappeared into the shadows.
Taras and the others were talking loudly when Yevhen returned later that night.
‘I have heard,’ said one man, flapping his arms excitedly,
‘that the horses of these devils snort fire from their nostrils, and that each hoof as it hits the earth thunders like a winter storm!’
‘And the Tartars call up such curses,’ added another, ‘that fire falls from the sky like rain.’
Taras nodded sagely. ‘I have family in one of the fallen cities,’ he said. ‘I know in my heart that they were wiped out in an instant.’
‘Quiet!’ hissed Yevhen. ‘You rabble! You want the city guard alerted to our presence?’
He strode towards the knot of men, imperious in his bright robes. They instantly fell into a hush, bowing their heads.
Yevhen looked down at them scornfully – a pitiful bunch, dressed in rags.Was this the best Taras could do? He turned to Taras, who seemed to anticipate his question.
‘These are all the men I can trust,’ Taras said.
Yevhen shook his head sadly. ‘What of Vladimir, of the Rope-Makers’ Guild? Alexander? Your cousin, even?’
‘All were wary of desecrating the house of God.’
‘Desecrating?’ hissed Yevhen, loud