With Fire and Sword Page 13

  “And as friends from the Saitch inform me,” wrote he, “the koshevoi is collecting the army, horse and foot, from all the meadows and streams, telling no one why he does it. I think, therefore, that this storm will come on us. If it comes with Tartar aid, then God save all Russian lands from ruin!”

  The prince had more confidence in Zatsvilikhovski than in the hetmans, for he knew that no one in all Russia had such knowledge of the Cossacks and their devices as he. He determined, therefore, to concentrate as many troops as possible, and also to get to the bottom of the truth.

  One morning he summoned to his presence the lieutenant of the Wallachian regiment, Pan Bykhovets, to whom he said,—

  “You will go for me to the Saitch on a mission to the koshevoi, and give him this letter with the seal of my lordship. But that you may know what plan of action to follow, I tell you this letter is a pretext, and the whole meaning of the mission lies in your own wit. You are to see everything that is done there,—what troops they have assembled, and whether they are assembling more. I enjoin you specially to win some people to your person, and find out for me carefully all about Hmelnitski,—where he is, and if it is true that he has gone to the Crimea to ask aid of the Tartars. Do you understand what I say?”

  “As if it had been written on the palm of my hand.”

  “You will go by Chigirin. Rest but one night on the way. When you arrive, go to Zatsvilikhovski for letters, which you will deliver secretly to his friends in the Saitch. They will tell you all they know. From Chigirin you will go by water to Kudák. Give my respects with this letter to Pan Grodzitski. He will issue orders to convey you over the Cataracts by proper guides. Be fearless in the Saitch, keep your eyes and ears open, and come back if you survive, for the expedition is no easy one.”

  “Your Highness is the steward of my blood. Shall I take many men?”

  “You will take forty attendants. Start to-day; before evening come for further instructions. Your mission is important.”

  Pan Bykhovets went out rejoicing. In the antechamber he met Skshetuski with some artillery officers.

  “Well, what is going on?” asked they.

  “I take the road to-day.”

  “Where, where?”

  “To Chigirin, and from there farther on.”

  “Then come with me,” said Pan Yan.

  And taking him to his quarters, he began to tease him to transfer his mission to him.

  “As my friend,” said he, “ask what you like,—a Turkish horse, an Arab steed,—you shall have one. I’ll spare nothing if I can only go, for my soul is rushing out in that direction. If you want money I’ll give it, if you will only yield. The trip will bring you no glory; for if war breaks out it will begin here, and you may be killed in the Saitch. I know, too, that Anusia is as dear to you as to others; if you go they will get her away from you.”

  This last argument went home to the mind of Pan Bykhovets more than any other, but still he resisted. What would the prince say if he should withdraw? Wouldn’t he take it ill of him? An appointment like this was such a favor.

  Hearing this, Skshetuski rushed off to the prince and directed the page at once to announce him.

  The page returned soon with the answer that the prince permitted him to enter.

  The lieutenant’s heart beat like a hammer, from fear that he should hear a curt “No!” after which he would be obliged to let the matter drop entirely.

  “Well, what have you to say?” asked the prince, looking at the lieutenant.

  Skshetuski bent down to his feet.

  “Mighty prince, I have come to implore you most humbly to intrust me with the expedition to the Saitch. Bykhovets would give it up, perhaps, for he is my friend, and to me it is as important as life. Bykhovets’ only fear is that you may be angry with him for yielding the place.”

  “As God lives!” said the prince, “I should have sent no one else, but I thought you would not like to go just after returning from a long journey.”

  “I should rejoice to be sent even every day in that direction.”

  The prince looked at him very attentively with his black eyes, and after a while inquired: “What have you got there?”

  The lieutenant grew confused, like a culprit unable to bear a searching glance.

  “I must tell the truth, I see,” said he, “since no secret can stand before your reason. Of one thing I am not sure,—your favorable hearing.”

  Thereupon he began to tell how he had become acquainted with the daughter of Prince Vassily, had fallen in love with her and would like to visit her, and on his return from the Saitch to Lubni to remove and save her from Cossack turmoil and the importunities of Bogun. But he said nothing of the machinations of the old princess, for in this he was bound by his word. He began then to beg the prince so earnestly to give him the mission confided to Bykhovets, that Vishnyevetski said,—

  “I should permit you to go on your own account and give you men; but since you have planned everything so cleverly that your personal affection agrees with your office, I must arrange this affair for you.”

  Then he clapped his hands and commanded the page to call Pan Bykhovets.

  The lieutenant kissed the prince’s hand with joy. Yeremi took him by the head and commanded him to be quiet. He loved Skshetuski beyond measure as a splendid soldier and officer whom he could trust in all things. Besides, there was between them that bond which is formed between a subordinate reverencing his chief with his whole soul and a chief who feels this clearly. There were not a few courtiers and flatterers who circled around the prince for their own profit; but the eagle eye of Yeremi knew well whom to choose. He knew that Pan Yan was a man without blemish; he valued him, and was grateful to him for his feelings. He rejoiced, too, that his favorite had fallen in love with the daughter of the old servant of the Vishnyevetskis, Vassily Kurtsevich, whose memory was the dearer because of its sadness.

  “It was not from ungratefulness to the prince,” said he, “that I made no inquiry concerning his daughter. Since the guardians did not visit Lubni, and I received no complaint against them, I supposed they were good people. But as you have put me in mind of the lady, I will care for her as for my own daughter.”

  Skshetuski, hearing this, could not admire sufficiently the kindness of the prince, who reproached himself, notwithstanding the multitude of his occupations, with inattention to the child of his former soldier and official.

  Bykhovets now came in.

  “Well,” said the prince, “my word is given, and if you wish to go you will go; but I ask you to do this for me: yield your mission to Skshetuski,—he has his own special and solid reasons for wanting it,—and I will think of another reward for you.”

  “Oh, your Highness,” said Bykhovets, “your favor is great; for while able to command, you ask that which if I refused to give I should be unworthy of your favor.”

  “Thank your friend,” said the prince, turning to Pan Yan, “and prepare for the road.”

  Skshetuski thanked Bykhovets heartily indeed, and in a few hours he was ready. For some time it had been irksome for him in Lubni, and this expedition accorded with all his wishes. First, he was to see Helena. True, he had to go from her for a long time; but just such an interval was needed to make the roads passable for wheels, after such measureless rains. The princess and Helena could not come earlier to Lubni. Skshetuski therefore must either wait in Lubni or live at Rozlogi,—which would be against his covenant with the princess, and, what was more, rouse the suspicions of Bogun. Helena could be really safe against his attacks only in Lubni; but since she must in every case wait some time yet in Rozlogi, it appeared best to Pan Yan to depart, and on his return take her under the protection of the armed power of the prince. Having settled the matter thus, the lieutenant hastened his journey,—got everything ready, took letters and instructions from the prince, money for expenses from the t
reasurer, and made a good start over the road before night, having with him Jendzian and forty horsemen from the Cossack regiment.

  CHAPTER VII.

  It was now the second half of March; the grass was growing luxuriantly, the field-roller was blooming, the steppe was stirring with life. In the morning the lieutenant, travelling at the head of his men, rode as if over a sea whose moving wave was the wind-stirred grass. Every place was filled with joy and the voices of spring,—chirruping, whistling, clattering, the shaking of wings, the glad hum of insects; the steppe sounded like a lyre touched by the hand of the Lord. Above the heads of the horsemen floated falcons motionless in the blue ether, like suspended crosses, triangles of wild geese, lines of storks; and on the ground the coursing of flocks run wild. Behold, a herd of steppe horses rush on! They move like a storm, stop before the mounted men in a half-circle suddenly, as if spiked to the earth, their manes spread to the wind, their nostrils dilated, their eyes full of wonder. You would say they are here to trample the unbidden guests. But a moment more they are gone, vanishing as suddenly as they came. Now we have only the sound of the grass and the gleam of the flowers; the clatter is still. Again nothing is heard save the play of birds. The land seems full of joy; yet a kind of sadness is in that joy. It seems crowded, and it is an empty land. Oh, it is wide, and it is roomy! With a horse you cannot surround it; in thought you cannot grasp it,—unless you love the sadness, the desert, and the steppes, and with yearning soul circle above them, linger upon their gravemounds, hearken to their voices, and give answer.

  It was early morning. Great drops glittered on the grass and reeds; the quick movement of the wind dried the ground, on which after the rains broad ponds were spread, like lakes shining in the sun. The retinue of the lieutenant moved on slowly, for it was difficult to hasten when the horses sank to their knees at times in the soft earth; and he gave them only short resting-spells on the grave-mounds, for he was hastening to a greeting and a parting.

  The second day, about noon, after he had passed a strip of forest, he saw the windmills of Rozlogi scattered on the hillsides and mounds. His heart beat like a hammer. No one there expected him; no one knew he was coming. What will she say when she sees him? Now he beholds the cottages of the neighbors, nearly hidden, covered in the cherry-orchards; farther on is a straggling village of cottages; and still farther is seen the well-sweep on the square in front of the house. The lieutenant, putting spurs to his horse, galloped swiftly; and after him flew his suite through the village with a clatter and a noise. Here and there a peasant, rushing out of his cottage, made a sign of the cross. Devils!—not devils? Tartars!—not Tartars? The mud spatters from under their hoofs so that you don’t know who is hurrying on. Meanwhile they are at the square, and have halted before the closed gate.

  “Hallo there! Who lives, open!”

  The bustle and pounding, the barking of dogs, called out the people from the house. They hurried to the gate frightened, thinking it was an attack.

  “Who goes?”

  “Open!”

  “The princes are not at home.”

  “But open, you son of an infidel! We are from the prince at Lubni.”

  The servants at last recognized Skshetuski. “Oh, that is you! Right away! right away!”

  The gate was thrown open. Then the princess herself appeared before the entrance, and shading her eyes with her hand, looked at the new-comers.

  Skshetuski sprang from his horse, and coming up to her said: “Don’t you know me?”

  “Oh! that is you. Lieutenant. I thought it was a Tartar raid. I salute you and beg you to enter.”

  “You wonder, no doubt,” said Pan Yan, “at seeing me in Rozlogi. Still I have not broken my word, for the prince sends me to Chigirin and farther. He asked me also to stop at Rozlogi and inquire for your health.”

  “I am thankful to his Highness. Does he think of driving us from Rozlogi soon?”

  “He doesn’t think of it at all, for he knows of no cause to drive you out; and what I have said will take place. You will remain in Rozlogi; I have bread enough of my own.”

  Hearing this, the princess grew good-humored at once, and said: “Be seated, and be as glad as I am to see you.”

  “Is Princess Helena well? Where is she?”

  “I know you. You have not come to see me, my cavalier. She is in good health, she is well; the girl has improved in appearance. But I’ll call her to you this minute, and I’ll dress a little myself, for I am ashamed to receive guests in this gown.”

  The princess was wearing a faded dress, with a fur coat outside, and heavy boots.

  At this moment Helena, though not called, rushed into the room; for she had heard from the old Tartar, Chehly, who the visitor was. She ran in panting, and red as a cherry, barely able to catch her breath, but her eyes were laughing from happiness and joy. Skshetuski sprang to her hand, and when the princess had withdrawn discreetly, kissed her on the lips, for he was an impulsive man. She did not defend herself vigorously, feeling that weakness had come upon her from an overflow of happiness and joy.

  “I did not expect to see you,” whispered she, half closing her eyes. “But don’t kiss me that way, for it isn’t proper.”

  “Why shouldn’t I kiss when honey is not half so sweet? I thought I should wither away without you, till the prince himself sent me here.”

  “What does the prince know?”

  “I told him all, and he was glad when he remembered your father. Oh, you must have given me some herb, my girl, for I cannot see the light of day on account of you.”

  “Your blindness is a favor from God.”

  “But do you remember that omen which the falcon gave when she drew our hands together? It was destiny beyond a doubt.”

  “I remember.”

  “When at Lubni I used to go from sadness to Solonitsa and see you there just as if present, if I stretched forth my hand you disappeared; but you will not escape me again, for I think that nothing will stand in our way now.”

  “If anything does, it will not be my will.”

  “Tell me again that you love me.”

  Helena dropped her eyes, but answered with dignity and decision: “As nobody in the world.”

  “If any one should surround me with honor and gold, I should prefer those words of yours; for I feel that you speak the truth, though I do not know why I deserve such favor from you.”

  “Because you had pity on me, drew me to you, took my part, and spoke words such as I had never heard before.”

  Helena was silent from emotion, and the lieutenant began again to kiss her hand.

  “You will be my ruler, not my wife.”

  They were silent for a while, but he did not take his eyes from her, wishing to make up for the long time in which he had not seen her. She seemed to him more beautiful than before. In that dim room, in the sunlight broken into rays by the glass window-panes, she looked like those pictures of holy virgins in dusky chapels. At the same time such warmth and life surrounded her, so many splendid womanly graces and charms were pictured in her face and whole form, that it was possible to lose one’s head, fall desperately in love with her, and love forever.

  “I shall lose my sight from your beauty,” said the lieutenant.

  The white teeth of the princess glittered joyously in a smile. “Undoubtedly Anusia Borzobogata is a hundred times better looking than I!”

  “She is to you as a pewter plate to the moon.”

  “But Jendzian told me a different story.”

  “Jendzian deserves a slap on the mouth. What do I care for her? Let other bees take honey from that flower, and there are plenty of them there.”

  Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of old Chehly, who came to greet the lieutenant. He looked on him already as his future master, and he bowed to him at the threshold, giving the salaam in Oriental fashion.
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br />   “Well, old Chehly, I take you too with your mistress. You will serve her till you die.”

  “She won’t have long to wait for my death; but while I live I will serve her. God is one!”

  “In a month or so, when I return from the Saitch, we will go to Lubni,” said the lieutenant, turning to Helena; “and there Mukhovetski is ready with his robes.”