Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [29]
‘You were imprisoned by a bishop?’
Olexander paused. ‘I believe, in this world, it is important to distinguish between the true and holy Church of Christ, and the fallen and failing human authorities placed before us. It does me little credit to say this, but I am not sure that Vasil is on the side of the true Church.’
‘Vasil and Yevhen seem to have a lot in common.’
Olexander nodded. ‘And the one was often seen working for the other, though I would not like to guess which partner is the dominant one, and which the subordinate.’ He turned to look at me closely, the troubled look in his now tired, milky eyes sending a shiver down my spine. ‘If you have been imprisoned here on false charges I am sure it has something to do with one or both of those men, and that the intention is to divert attention elsewhere. While people mull over your guilt or innocence, one can only imagine the plans that Vasil and Yevhen will be hatching together. And the plans of these men are rarely for good.’
As the day passed us by – Olexander said he had become an expert at telling the time merely by establishing the position of the sun as seen through the cell’s single window – we spoke further about what little we both knew of the situation in Kiev, and of the coming Mongol army. I was amazed by the breadth and depth of Olexander’s knowledge, which didn’t seem unduly stemmed by his incarceration. The old man replied that I would be surprised how much gossip one could hear even within a prison, but I had seen little evidence of this so far. This benighted, dark place barely seemed like the hub of Kiev, still less a place of fine conversation and fruitful innuendo.
I told Olexander of the intention to fortify the Church of the Virgin, and the plans that were being made to store food in case of a prolonged siege. As he spoke of other battles he had heard of or seen, I reflected that warfare in this era was often a drawn-out and methodical process. With only the most primitive forms of transportation available, the movement of armies was painfully slow. When they finally met, even a small skirmish could last for weeks and months rather than hours and days. I even got the impression that a kind of unspoken truce was often called at nightfall, or at the approach of winter, though Olexander was quick to remind me that the battles themselves were bloody affairs, an anarchy of indistinguishable foot soldiers hacking away at any movement in a desperate attempt to stay alive. There were, I reflected, no laws here concerning the treatment of prisoners, no arms conventions or pacts on the size of armies or the weapons they used.
In any case, the Mongols were reputed to take little notice of whatever ‘rules’ might exist. They were interested in nothing beyond their own honourable code, and their total success on the field of battle. Rarely were their sieges prolonged – they were too well equipped, too clever, to be drawn into any extended, resource-sapping campaign. And the reports from the principalities they had conquered underlined the terrible efficiency of their advance thus far.
Later we lapsed into silence, seeming already to have exhausted each other’s interest in conversation. There was much more he could have asked me, I suppose, about my home, and the life I had left behind, but Olexander was very precise in what he wanted to learn. He sat in a corner for some time, mulling over what I had said about Yevhen, whispering darkly.
A little later, we both looked up as we heard keys rattling in the lock. The door swung open to reveal a figure dressed in chain mail. I thought at first it was one of the guards with another gruesome meal for us to work our way through, though I could not understand why he remained in the doorway for so long. It was only when he removed his helmet of dull metal that I realised it was Mykola, the soldier who had incriminated me in the presence of the governor.
‘What do you want?’ I asked. To be honest, I expected him to act as a villain, come to explain his tortuous plan to me from the far end of