Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [123]
Though it was still early, the sun was already getting warm. The path took her by a small opening in the trees where there were some little mounds, old Viatichi tombs, and a pleasant view towards Russka. It was very quiet. And it was just as she came to this place that she stopped, transfixed.
Surely it must be a vision.
Peter the Tatar was pleased with his day. The setting for the monastery was just what he wanted. It was time he made his peace with God. ‘A man without religion has no peace,’ the official in Rostov had urged him. It was true.
The Khan at Sarai, after all, was now a Moslem. Why, even the new Great Khan himself had abandoned the old sky worship and shaman cults of Genghis. And the new supreme head, Kubla Khan, had taken the Buddhist religion of the Chinese he ruled.
That all men should bow before the Great Khan, Peter had no doubt. But with the passing of the years, and the shameful power struggles and intrigues amongst the Golden Kin for the greatest offices, Peter’s bright passion for the empires of men had dimmed. Even the childhood memory of Genghis himself, the ruler of the world at his royal hunt, now seemed more like a memory of a bygone world and less like a vision of heaven.
There was one God in heaven, one lord upon earth.
Perhaps, he considered, if I had been more successful, if Batu Khan had not died and I had become a general, I might yet hunger for earthly things.
His career was over, though. He would keep his position, but go no higher. He accepted it. Thanks to his sister, while Batu and her son lived, he had done well and had amassed a splendid fortune.
He missed the steppe. Often, just before sleeping, he would think of its huge open spaces, and the swaying grasses.
Two years before, he had gone across the steppe to Sarai. It was there, from some Alans, that he had bought the magnificent grey stallion he now rode, with the black mane and stripe down its back. It was bred below the Caucasus Mountains, of the noble breed they called hoarfrost.
‘But that, I think, may be the last time I shall see Sarai,’ he said sadly to his wife. An instinct told him he would pass the rest of his days in Russia.
He had paused at the edge of the woods for a last look back at his new acquisition, dismounting and walking over to the highest of the little mounds by the path there, for a better view.
His face softened as he gazed at the place.
Idly, he brushed away a fly that had decided to settle on the place where his ear had once been. Then he frowned.
Something was bothering his horse.
Afterwards, she could never explain to herself how it was that the madness had seized her: for madness it certainly was, even to think of such a thing.
And yet, it was as if she could not have done anything else. She had always sworn she would. Though she had had many other things to think about in recent years, deep down that promise to herself had remained, and hardened into a certainty. One day, she knew, I shall see him, and my chance will come.
Now, quite suddenly, there he was, standing on a mound not fifteen paces from her. Even from behind, she recognized him – the Tatar with the missing ear!
He was alone. She looked up and down the path. No one was coming.
What brought him here? She supposed he must have come to see the tax gatherers, who were about to leave. Whatever the reason, providence had given him to her, alone and unguarded. Madness it was; but she knew, with absolute clarity, that she would never have another chance like this again.
Before her, her mother’s face suddenly appeared.
She crept forward. His horse was standing by a tree. On its back was a bow, and a quiver of arrows. Carefully she reached up, took the bow and a single arrow, laying the arrow across the bow and feeling the pull. How hard it was. She could hardly bend it. Her heart was pounding, but she began to move towards him.
The horse stirred and snorted angrily.
And now the Tatar turned.
It was him. There was the scar, running to the missing ear. She remembered his face as if she had seen him only yesterday. He looked