Doctor Who_ Bunker Soldiers - Martin Day [87]
At last the Polish Gate began to buckle. A large explosive device found a natural weakness, and exploited it in a deafening, blinding crash of light. An entire corner section came away and, as it fell, it brought the remains of the wooden walkways and fortifications with it. Another pounding, and one of the great doors toppled over completely. A number of soldiers were trapped beneath it, but their cries were drowned by the awful shrieks of the populace. Most had fled to the church, but some were standing motionless, slack with fear, their minds gone.
A wall of Mongol archers advanced swiftly through the breach, each man notching, aiming and releasing arrow after arrow. Their march was implacable and barely a Mongol fell, though towards the peripheries some hand-to-hand fighting broke out.
Then the archers parted at the centre and the cavalry flowed through, a torrent of dark men on small brown horses. The steeds proved nimble, even over the rubble, and the great lances the riders carried efficiently dispatched any soldier they encountered. One brave defender of Kiev managed to dismount a horseman with his spear; when the man tumbled to the ground the Russian was at him with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He hacked at the Mongol’s face until there was nothing left; then he turned, too late, to see three further horsemen bearing down on him. Two lances hit him, one just below the shoulder, the other just above the groin. The points pressed on through armour, weak flesh and bone. The soldier was lifted bodily from the ground, like a trophy.
The Mongol archers fanned out further and, in desperation, more and more people took to the roof of the church: soldiers who had deserted their posts, women with screaming children still clinging to them. Though vulnerable to arrows, at least they were safe from the cavalry. Some men, driven to stupidity by the inevitability of their fate, even taunted the Mongols from the roof.
Such defiance was short-lived. Too many people had gathered on the roof; it had never been designed for such a great weight. Perhaps the hasty constructions around the building had only weakened its integrity; perhaps sheer weight of numbers would anyway have been enough. Whatever the cause, the roof began to shudder and sway, then, in the blink of an eye, it fel to the ground in a cloud of dust and wood splinters. Hundreds were killed by the falling masonry or by their fall; hundreds more were trampled to death in the panic that ensued.
The collapse of the Church of the Virgin effectively saw the end of any resistance to the Mongols. The sacking of Kiev began.
The destruction of the church was audible even within the governor’s residence. Two soldiers, already pale with fear, exchanged terrified glances.
‘What was that?’ asked one, crossing himself.
‘I do not know.’
‘We should see.’
‘We have been ordered to stay here.’ The second soldier indicated the doorway that led to the catacombs.
‘We could hide in the tunnels. Under the cathedral. St Sophia will protect us!’
‘We must do as we are ordered.’
Yevhen was dragged before Batu Khan, and thrown unceremoniously at his feet.
‘Get up,’ said Batu. ‘Are you the governor? I wish to know why the envoys were killed.’
Yevhen got to his feet, gingerly. He shook his head, finding the words lodged at the back of his throat. ‘I have only assumed that role. I have sent the governor into the catacombs.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I hope he will be safe there.’ The lie came easily to Yevhen, for he had built his life on such mistruths.
Batu glanced at Mongke, who was standing just behind him.
‘Is there not a weapon under your cathedral?’ he asked the Russian. ‘Is that why you have sent him there?’
Yevhen could only shake his head mutely, shocked that the Mongol warlord was closer to the truth than