Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [24]
‘One last ride on him,’ the Alan said gaily. And without waiting, he wheeled Trajan about and with no more than a touch, and holding the little boy easily in his arms, put the horse at a gallop across the steppe.
And as Little Kiy looked about him in bewilderment, clinging instinctively to the splendid beast’s mane, the Alan said to him in the Slavic tongue: ‘See, little boy, you are returning to your village: but all your life you will be able to say – “I rode on Trajan, the noblest of all the horses of the radiant Alans”.’
The little boy had no idea that there were tears in the Alan’s eyes. All he knew was a thrill of joy, and of excitement greater than he had ever known before.
So it was that Lebed, staring hopelessly at the empty steppe, suddenly saw, as though it were the wind god himself, the flying form of Trajan racing over the ground towards her. Almost carelessly, and without a word, the Alan dropped the child at her feet, then turned and rode away into the shimmering steppe.
She hugged the child to her, in disbelief, while he clung to her.
And she scarcely took in the fact that, after a moment, he abruptly turned round in her arms, pointed to the disappearing figure on the pulsating steppe and cried out: ‘Let me go with them!’
Carrying the child in her arms, lest he be taken from her again, she hurried back to the woods.
Lebed did not return to the village at once. Instead, she went to a quiet place beside the river. Close by there was a sacred oak tree to which she gave thanks, and then, wishing only to be alone with her child, she sat in the shade and watched the little boy while he played by the water and then slept a while.
It was evening when they emerged together from the wood’s edge. The big field had been cleared, and was empty. Like two little clouds, they drifted slowly across the big open space.
The harvest was done. In one corner of the field, as was the custom, a sheaf of barley had been left standing – a gift to Volos the god of wealth. At the top of the field, a group of little girls were standing in a circle, playing a clapping game and laughing; and as they entered the village, the geese by the huts greeted them with their usual din.
The first person Lebed saw was her husband. His face lit up with joy as he lifted the little boy high into the air above his head, while her mother-in-law came out of the hut and gave her a curt nod.
‘I looked for you,’ he said. No doubt he had. Indeed, she knew, his warm heart might have driven him to search for them for days – except that there were so many other things he had to do.
‘I found him,’ she said simply. Then she told them about the horsemen, and they went to the village elder and made her tell it all again.
‘If they come another time,’ the elder said slowly, ‘we shall move north again.’ For the little community had come north to that place only five years before to avoid paying tribute to the horsemen of the steppe.
But that day there was nothing to be done except celebrate the ending of the harvest.
Already the young men and girls had gone out beside the field and were rolling and turning somersaults on the grass. In front of the elder’s hut, the women were putting the finishing touches to a small figure in the shape of an old man, made of barley. It had a long, curling beard which, just then, they were anointing with honey. This was the god of the field, whom they were about to take to the boundary where the field met the edge of the woods.
And it was only now, as the villagers were gathering, that Mal emerged from the doorway of his hut. He hesitated when he saw Lebed and the child, but the little boy ran up to him. ‘I saw the bear,’ he cried. ‘I saw him.’
And Mal blushed deep red, as Lebed pulled Kiy away.
As the villagers started to move out into the field, Lebed felt her husband at her side. She did not glance up into his face, as she knew he hoped she would, but she already knew the soft expression it wore. His eyes were glowing with eagerness like a boy’s – she knew this,