Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [87]
Beckoning a decurion he commanded: ‘One siege engine. A catapult.’ And the fellow clattered away up the frozen river.
They were bringing the engines across at a place where the woods were thinner, a few hundred yards to the north.
The Mongol siege was very like the hunts of the Great Khan. One circled the fortress entirely, excluding any possibility of escape. Sometimes, if a major town looked obstinate, the Mongols would build a wooden wall right round it as though to say: ‘You think your walls protect you. Now look: you are trapped inside ours.’ Then, at leisure, they would knock down the fortress defences, or fill in the moat and build bridges over the walls. There was no possibility that they would ever give up. The surrounded fort was doomed.
Mengu looked at the pitiful little wooden fort. What fools they were to shut the gates. The army would never even have bothered to burn the place down if they had just left them open.
But how convenient. What an easy way to show his mettle.
The thing must be done quickly: that was the key. The general would not want to see his forces delayed. ‘Hurry,’ he shouted after the decurion, who was already too far away to hear him. He frowned, impatiently.
Yanka hesitated.
The horsemen had passed out of the village. They had set two of the huts on fire but had not paused to do more. A shouted order from somewhere in front had caused them to move swiftly towards the river. Suddenly it was very quiet.
Perhaps her family were out there somewhere. Perhaps they were lying dead. Or they might be fleeing without her, and she would be left alone. What should she do? She was terrified of the horsemen, but even that was not as terrible as the fear of being alone.
She stepped outside.
The horsemen had already been drawn down to the river. As she came out of the hamlet she saw the back of the two files of cavalry trotting across the ice to surround the fort. Away to her left, past the old graveyard, was a body of about three hundred infantry. The men wore heavy leather coats, like armour, and their lines bristled with long, dark spears. To her right, half a dozen horsemen waited impassively upon the bank, and directly ahead, on the edge of the ice, a single horseman seemed to be giving directions. No one even noticed her existence.
Then she saw two sights that made her want to cry out for joy.
It was her brother Kiy who saw her first.
The nine-year-old boy and his father had been almost back from their trip, and approaching the last bend in the frozen river before the village, when Kiy suddenly heard his father exclaim: ‘Devil take it! Look at that – it’s a Cuman raid.’
He looked to the right. Three horsemen were calmly riding through the trees by the bank. Then he saw ten. Then fifty. His father jerked the reins. The sled swerved. ‘What’s behind us?’
Kiy looked back. ‘More. They’re crossing.’ And his father cursed. ‘What about Mother and Yanka?’ the boy cried out.
His father said nothing, but cracked the reins savagely along the old mare’s back. She flinched, tossed her head angrily, and they raced towards the bend. ‘Please God they aren’t in front as well,’ the peasant muttered.
The little sled whisked over the ice. Father and son held their breath. It must be a big raid. Kiy started silently to pray. Thank God, the bank seemed for a moment to be clear as they raced round the curve … and ran into the Mongol army.
The line of horsemen was trotting across the ice to surround the fort, directly in front of them. Kiy did not see his mother, but just as his father wheeled the sled round to race towards the woods on their right, he shouted: ‘Look! It’s Yanka. On the bank. She’s seen us.’
He was surprised when his father only muttered: ‘Devil take it. You’ll get us all killed.’
Then he saw Yanka start to run down, towards the Mongols.
For Yanka had not only seen them – she had seen her mother, coming across the ice between the two streams of horsemen. She opened her mouth to