Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [282]
And Mazeppa joined him.
Was it treachery? Undoubtedly. Was Mazeppa a schemer; had he been negotiating with Peter’s enemies for years? Of course he had. He was the Cossack Hetman. Was Peter blameless then?
Certainly not. Quite apart from his ruthless treatment of the Little Russians, he had also sent a message, at this moment of crisis, that they must defend themselves without his help. And though he was hard-pressed himself, the Ukrainians quite rightly claimed that this broke the agreement they had made with Russia back in Bogdan’s time – that Russia would protect them. To save his land, Mazeppa did what he thought he had to.
It was a mistake. In a lightning strike, Peter’s favourite Menshikov took Mazeppa’s capital and stores and butchered almost the entire population of the place, soldiers or not.
The Ukraine hesitated. The Russians clamped down. Some Cossacks joined Mazeppa. Many did not.
The following spring came the great battle of Poltava.
This battle was, perhaps, Peter’s finest hour. He himself, whatever his faults, was completely fearless. One musket ball knocked his hat off, another hit his saddle, and another was stopped by a silver icon he wore round his neck. But at the end of that great day, the mighty Swedes were utterly routed.
Europe was astounded. The eccentric young Tsar had won after all; defeated mighty Sweden. The map of Europe was changed in a day: a new and tremendous Russia was arising. And Europe, having laughed, was now afraid.
For the Ukraine, too, it changed everything. From now on, Peter pursued a new and ruthless policy. The old south was to be Russianized. Big Russian landowners, especially Menshikov, appeared. Cossack districts were headed by Russians. Even the Ukrainian presses were censored, to ensure they printed nothing that disagreed with Great Russian publications. And soon, instead of a stream of Cossack soldiers going north, there came dismal lines of conscripts, by the thousand, to work on the Tsar’s building projects.
For Peter meant to be firm. As he told his advisers, he intended to model the subjugation of the Ukraine on the pattern set by the Englishman Cromwell, in Ireland.
In a way, Pavlo had been lucky. Had he not been stricken with a fever, he would have ridden with his patron Mazeppa. Had he done so, he would either have fled in exile to Sweden, or else been hung if taken captive.
But in his case, when the inspecting officers found him at Pereiaslav, there was doubt. His case was referred to Peter himself. The answer was brief and to the point:
This officer once brought me
a letter. He is a close
associate of Mazeppa and
cannot be trusted.
He is to lose all his estates
and be sent with the
conscripts to St Petersburg.
And now, with a hundred others, he was digging a trench. While Procopy Bobrov went to look for him.
And what the devil will I do if I find him? he wondered.
It was a ticklish situation. He could, of course, have ignored the girl when she begged for his help. But no – their families had been friends and … well, there it was, he was ashamed. But what could he do – ask the Tsar for clemency? He dare not. Peter could forgive many things, but never treachery. Even the name Mazeppa was enough to make him burst out in fury.
Perhaps Procopy could bribe the fellow in charge of Pavlo? That was risky, though and besides, the Cossack knew too much about his family and the Raskolniki.
He didn’t know what he’d do, but he was sure he didn’t want the girl to see him not doing it!
Ah, here was the place. He gazed down into the trench, scanned the faces he saw. But he could not say any of them resembled Pavlo.
He called the foreman over and did his best to describe the Cossack. The foreman nodded.
‘Yes, sir, indeed, we had such a fellow. I had to thrash him yesterday, as a matter of fact.’
‘Why?’
‘I saw him talking to strangers. A girl.’
‘Ah, yes. He’s not here today?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’
‘Don’t think so, sir.’
Procopy looked at him carefully.
‘He must’ve