Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [86]
All he needed was a chance – even a skirmish would do, as long as it took place under the general’s eye. He nodded thoughtfully. An opportunity would come. But let it come soon.
Again he scanned the woods. If the girl had been wandering at the treeline, there must be a village nearby.
They would be there by noon.
Moments after Yanka awoke, her face was white with terror.
They were everywhere. And she had been deserted.
She stood, shaking convulsively, by the window. She could smell the sweating flanks of the horses, almost touch them as the horsemen in thick furs, with huge bows slung on their backs, went by, brushing against the eaves of the huts. Some of them carried burning torches.
Where was everyone?
Still not fully awake, she looked behind her. The hut was empty. For a second she had to collect her thoughts.
At mid-morning, she remembered, her father had harnessed the old mare and taken the sled down the frozen river to the next village. The clear sky of the dawn had disappeared. The cloud bank from the south had moved slowly up and by the time her father left, the light in the village had seemed almost brown. Nothing had been happening. It was dull, rather oppressive. Her mother had decided to go over to the fort; but Yanka had stayed behind and fallen asleep.
She had not heard the shouting.
And now she had awoken to this. Coming out of sleep, it seemed like a nightmare. The sounds of the horses’ hoofs on the frozen snow echoed eerily in the room.
Though Yanka did not know it, it was only a minute since the villagers had fled. For everything had happened so fast. Suddenly at the far end of the big field, a horseman had appeared. Then three. Then, as people began to shout, a hundred. It was as if all the trees had suddenly turned into horsemen, advancing with bow and spear.
Silently the Mongol army had melted through the woods, advancing in five enormous groups across a front about three miles across. The village of Russka lay near the centre. Now they were flowing through like a dark flood upon the snow.
The villagers had been so surprised that they had no time to do anything but run. Three people had banged upon Yanka’s door before tearing away, supposing the hut must be emptv. They had run across the frozen river, driven like game, looking for shelter. Some rushed up into the fort; a few ran to the sanctuary of the church; others preferred to try the woods beyond.
It was at the first shout from the village that Yanka’s mother looked out from the gateway of the little fort. First her breath caught in her throat. Then her heart began to race wildly.
She saw the villagers streaming out – small, pathetic, dark bundles running raggedly across the grey-white ice towards her. But where was Yanka?
A moment later she saw what none of the fleeing villagers could see – the full extent of the Mongol line, stretching up and down the river.
She scanned the fleeing villagers again – where was Yanka? There was no sign of her.
She started to run, down the slope, towards the river and the Mongol horsemen, who had already reached the opposite bank.
And she did not know that, seconds later, the villagers had stupidly closed the fortress gates behind her.
Mengu could hardly believe his luck when, as the gates shut, the general rode over to him. He was a stout, surly man, given to few words. He raised his arm and pointed his whip across the river. ‘Take that fort.’
It was a chance to prove himself. For a second, the image of his sister flashed across his mind. He knew very well that in the universe of the Great Khan, nothing, not even the smallest seeming diversion, happened by chance, and now his brain was working rapidly, calculating.
Scarcely pausing to acknowledge the order, he wheeled his horse and, with two curt commands, like a couple of harsh grunts, directed the nearby squadrons into