Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [18]
‘How goes work on the church?’ he asked. Even Yevhen’s gruff words were better than the awful silence.
‘It goes well enough.’ Yevhen did not even look up.
‘And the Tartars? Where is their army located?’
Yevhen grunted. ‘I have had no word from our scouts in recent days. But I believe the horsemen still to be heading towards the city. Doubtless they have permitted one to two souls from their previous conquests to live, in order to advise, to guide.’ Yevhen pushed the map of the land away, turning now to a hasty plan schematic of the city walls. He glanced up, his eyes dark with venom. ‘Perhaps they will let you live, Jew, if you have something to offer.’
All that I have, I offer to the prince and his governor,’ said Isaac, well used to Yevhen’s harsh slights. ‘The storage of food continues apace, and will complement the valiant work of your men in making Kiev safe.’ Isaac smiled, trying to be as genuine as possible. Men facing death together should at least recognise their common foe, and each other’s attempts to save themselves.
‘You believe we will be safe from these devils?’
Isaac nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. I too believe our salvation is at hand.’ Yehven paused. ‘Your son will not be joining us today?’
‘Nahum has other matters to attend to.’
Yevhen snorted, as if to imply that any matters requiring the attention of young men were surely matters of sin best left unspecified.
He was about to speak again when a mass of bodies clattered into the room, the door slamming against the wall. Both advisers looked up, and saw not Governor Dmitri, but the traveller Steven, forcefully held by three soldiers.
‘Get your hands off me!’ he shouted, struggling against the iron grip of the guards. One raised a mail-encrusted hand to bring it down against Steven’s face.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ exclaimed Isaac. ‘This is the residence of the governor, not a tavern for brawling!’
The guard lowered his fist, and behind him Steven and the others fell silent. ‘My lords,’ said the soldier, bowing with some difficulty. ‘This man is a murderer. The governor will wish to sentence him.’
‘Will I?’ came a powerful voice to the rear of the group. The knot of guards parted to allow Dmitri to stride into the room.
Isaac and Yevhen immediately got to their feet, bowing their heads in respect.
Dmitri was a powerful man, whose athletic form complemented the grim authority of his office, but in situations such as this he seemed even more imposing. Isaac had more reason than most to have seen the governor’s humour and warmth when the circumstances so demanded – but he also remembered that Dmitri had never ceased to rigorously pursue what he felt was right, even if that brought him into conflict with Prince Michael. On more than one occasion, he had faced being stripped of office for seeming impertinence, only for the prince to eventually concede that Dmitri had been right all along.
The governor smiled at the courtesy shown by his advisers, then turned imperiously to the soldier who had spoken. ‘I do not appreciate my dwelling being treated in this way. Nor do I relish being told what to do!’
The man bowed even lower this time, the others following suit. He mumbled an apology but it was drowned out as Dmitri seated himself at the head of the table, his chair scraping across the flagstones.
The governor indicated that his advisers should be seated.
‘Your name?’ he queried of the lead soldier.
‘Mykola, my lord,’ said the man.
‘An honest and decent man,’ added Yevhen. ‘A captain of the guard.’
‘Bring the traveller here,’ said Dmitri. ‘And tell me what happened.’
Mykola stepped forward, his hand on Steven’s arm. ‘Taras the builder has been murdered. This man killed him.’
‘Rubbish!’ said Steven, indignant. ‘I found the body under the rubble I was working through. He’d been dead for quite some time.’
‘How do you know when he died?’ queried the governor.
‘There are signs.’
‘Signs?’
‘Muscle rigidity, internal organ distension, blood loss if there is a wound.’
Isaac turned slightly to locate the source of this latest comment – it