Chapter 23

"May I see my husband?" Maria asked Helena.

"Yes; he's being placed in a position pretending to be a Ruthenian nobleman, overseeing prisoners, to help him choose who is worthy of higher position," said Helena. "As his wife, you might live in his quarters, but you cannot be as fancy as you are used to being."

"I would wear rags to be with Aleksej," said Maria.

"Ah, you will be such a help to him," said Helena. "Will you also help teach serfs to read and write?"

"I... yes," said Maria. "If that helps Aleksej. I do not know how good I will be."

Maria ran into Aleksej's arms, and Jurko let them have some time. He wanted to embrace his own wife.

Then he interrupted.

"The fly in the ointment is your brother-in-law, I'm afraid," he said, to Aleksej. "Borys is not popular with the serfs, having drafted the legislation making all peasants into serfs. What were you thinking of, letting that go through, you idiot? It's a step backwards and contrary to the laws of God. All men are equal in His eyes, and it's a deep and heinous sin, compounded, I fear, by the clergy."

"It was a way to get the boyars to serve in the military, to give them serfs."

"Well, you've seen how effective they are," said Jurko, scornfully. "And as for your friend, he has control of far too many government offices. I don't know whether I'm doing you a favour keeping him alive or not. Because he has to learn that corruption doesn't pay."

"Won't he recognise me, and try to use that?"

Jurko gave a whimsical smile.

"Dressed as a Cossack captain, I wager he won't even see your face. And you have fined down a lot; you look fitter, better, and better looking."

"It is true, my husband," said Maria, who was admiring her husband's new, taut body.

"I've got you an assistant and some pages," said Jurko. "Russian Boyars, no less, from the advance band of Prince Szarpanie Jerkoff or whatever his name was, and his puppetmaster, Vlad Durakin."

"Did you mean Prince Feodor Ivanovitch Kandinsky and Count Vladimir Vladimirovitch Dorogin?" asked Aleksej.

"Probably," said Jurko. "But in with their band of rabble was a true noble, whose name I understand is Siergiej Jewgenijwicz Borodin. You Russians don't half mangle good Roman names like Sergiusz and Eugeniusz, you know. Anyway, his sons are Maksym and Hryhorij which are good Cossack names and close enough to what you Rus mangle them to."

"You insular bugger," said Aleksej.

"Indeed," said Jurko. "I can say 'g' and 'h' both, though, and make the sort of gobbing noises without gobbing that the Dutch do with such place names as 'Scheveningen' so at least I'm a linguistically talented insular bugger."

"Very talented, linguistically," murmured Helena.

Her husband blushed scarlet.

"Oh, look, Vanya, he can still blush, isn't that sweet?" said Aleksej.

"He's a bogatyr, and still human withal," said Vanya.

"You're doing just fine, Aleksej," said Jurko. "Anyway, I will send Sergiusz, Maksym and Hryhorij to you. The first thing Sergiusz did when captured was to ask after his servants and make angry noises that they were harmless and should not be killed. A real man."

"Sergej, I answer to Leka, and this is Vanya," said Aleksej. "Don't worry about Prince Jurij's jokes on names."

"We've been treated with great civility, to be honest," said Sergej. "And my lads have been enjoying themselves, learning Cossack riding tricks."

"I believe they fell in with Princes MichaƂ and Juryk," said Aleksej.

"Yes, and they have been helping train serfs in the arts of war, and learning at the same time," said Sergej. "I believe the Poles take the arts of war seriously from the moment their offspring can stand steadily; it's almost frightening. Prince Jurij told me that they aim, as the Romans did, for their drills to be bloodless battle and their battles bloody drills."

"He's a very highly educated man; one forgets that he is a Cossack," said Aleksej.

"I believe he expects all his men to be literate, too," said Sergej.

The prisoners who were digging were surrounded by more Cossacks than those where Aleksej had been working, and one Cossack on overwatch with a musket kept eagle eyes trained always on the unwilling workers.

"What are they doing? Haven't they been shown how to dig properly?" demanded Aleksej.

"They've been shown, Ataman Leka, but they don't seem to want to learn," said a Cossack guard, laconically.

"You know me; what is your name?"

"I'm Ihor. I lost the straw poll for who got given duty over this bunch of feckless snot-laden useless arthritic garden snails," said Ihor. "Why, Princess Helena was more of a man when she was fifteen and first joined us Cossacking against the Ottomans. You wouldn't get more than a handful of copper coins for any of them in a slave market, though it would be amusing to have them all on one side in a slave galley and watch it go round in circles while they messed about."

"I thought you Sarmatians were against slavery?"

"We are, and that's why we make jokes about it. Because it makes them sweat to think some of us might backslide if they got too irritating."

"And they have been shown how to dig?"

"Yes, several times," said Ihor.

Aleksej went forward.

"Listen, I can explain to you in our own tongue if you have not understood," he said. "Here," he jumped into the ditch. "You don't treat your spade like a spoon in meringue, you thrust it in at a slight angle, turn, and lift, like this; and then the job gets done, and you aren't risking hurting yourselves. You have to dig with the back and shoulders, not just the arms, and use your legs for lifting too, or you'll pull muscles and be in unnecessary pain. Now, you try again."

He discovered the man who had been poking ineffectually at the soil was his former tutor, and brother-in-law, Borys Morozow. He was about to greet someone he had thought an old friend by name, until he looked up into the murderous hatred in the man's eyes.

"I don't do serf-work," growled Morozow.

"Perhaps if everyone did a bit of serf-work, we would appreciate them more, and better understand why the law making some men into property is so very wrong," said Aleksej. "It was shameful to draft such laws, and to accept them, but a big man can admit to mistakes."

"If you want to be a fucking serf, you Cossack-fucker, you lick the bollocks of the invader, and do your own fucking digging." Morozow had failed to recognise his hedonistic tsar in the tight-muscled young man dressed as a Cossack. "Die, traitor!" He seized up a sharp flint and lunged at Aleksej.

And then Vanya was there, pushing Aleksej aside to grapple Morozow, grunting as the flint cut his own face, and wrestling the boyar to the muddy ground.

There was a horrid snap, and Morozow lay still.

Vanya knelt to Aleksej.

"I'm sorry, Ataman. I accidentally broke his neck." The Cossack title was suitable and disguised much.

Aleksej was shocked.

He doubted it was accidental; but then, Vanya and his family had been free peasants, which had emerged in conversation, before the Sobornoye Ulozheniye, the legal code drafted by Morozow, made most free peasants into serfs.

Aleksej put his hand under Vanya's chin.

"That's a nasty cut, my lord-brother, you should go and have it seen to," he said. "You fought unarmed against a man with a makeshift weapon to save me. I won't forget that. I will also remember that you can forget your own strength, and remind you to be careful."

Vanya bowed his head at the rebuke.

"I... was tempted, and fell," he whispered.

"I know," said Aleksej, giving him his hand to pull him to his feet. "I understand. I hoped to debate with him, but..."

"He would not have listened, Ataman," said Vanya.

"I fear you are correct," said Aleksej. "A proud man; too prideful."

The other boyars were watching with shock. Aleksej looked around them.

"That was an unnecessary death of a fool who would not learn," he said, coldly. "I trust the rest of you will do your best to learn the lessons, all the lessons, which we are privileged to be given instead of merely being incarcerated by a victorious army."

"As they are muttering about a new martinet and his bear on a chain, somehow I doubt it," said Vanya, dryly.

"Well, we can hope," said Aleksej. "And I will try to speak to them in the evenings."

oOoOo

"Gentlemen, I would have your attention," said Aleksej, joining the prisoners to eat with them. "We have an opportunity to retain our independence if we can learn to move forward and take on some modernisation. Without, I hasten to add, losing our culture."

"You are some kind of Romanov by-blow," said Prince Feodor, sneering. "And you see this as a way to snatch the throne."

"My birth is legitimate, thank you," said Aleksej. "And you started the war by being so keen to see how prepared the Poles were. Apparently, very. You got nine yards over the border and were taken by a group of men half your numbers. And yes, I am aware the planning, the instigation, and the cleverly worded orders were those of Dorogin, but in theory you were the one in charge, even as the tsar must carry the load of guilt of not having read all that he signed; as the tsar must carry the guilt of the oppression of our peasantry, instead of celebrating their rugged hardiness. You, who drive a man to perform tasks which are beyond him are, or would be if you took it seriously, learning just how much physical labour a man can perform in any one day. Because, gentlemen, that is the object lesson of making you dig, as well as to keep you out of the way; to learn what can be asked of a peasant. Work which the szlachta of Poland do alongside their men to build roads and canals, even as the Romans all worked to build their engineering projects."

"It's demeaning," said Dorogin.

Aleksej gave a half smile.

"Why, yes, that too," he said. "And it is demeaning because you are watched to make sure you work, because you are not trustworthy to give your word not to escape and to get on with tasks assigned. And this task will help Russia too, having a canal with which to export and import goods."

"But it's serf work."

"That's not a problem, Durakin," said Aleksej, smiling brightly and using Jurko's name for him. "I'm authorised to tell you all that the tsar stripped all your titles, and you will have to earn them back."

This was met with a stunned silence, and then a babble of indignation.

"You have spoken to the tsar? He cannot know that I am here," whined the prince.

"He knows," said Aleksej. "He was displeased at you causing the war. Well, we all know that it was Dorogin, since you only bark when he kicks your balls, but nominally you were the highest rank there. He knows you've been flattering him outrageously, and he is not pleased with you," said Aleksej. "He's also not pleased that Dorogin took a respectable foreign woman captive to use, a woman from a country with whom we were not at war. I heard that they are going to give you, Dorogin, to Queen Krystyna. You are not going the right way about making anyone plead your case."

"How do we earn our titles back?" asked another man.

"Ah, a good question," said Aleksej. "I don't know your name, but I noted that you were actually working, and helping a couple of younger ones. Carry on in the same way, and I should imagine you will find your name carried forward as a man of good sense and industry."

"My name is Pavel Alexeivitch Gagarin," said the man.

"I will note it," said Aleksej. "And if there is any retribution on a man doing his tsar's will, I'll hand anyone who was involved over to the Cossack women."

"They are barbarians, bringing their women to war!" declared another.

"Their women seem to be very capable," said Aleksej. "Now, let us say the Lord's Prayer together before we eat."

Most of them mumbled their way through it, and the food was served.

It was plentiful, if not exciting, and Aleksej ate with relish. It was much the same as Jeremi ate, and he raised an eyebrow that the boyars were pampered.

"Ataman, this is an interesting diet," said Vanya.

"I expect the Cossacks were afraid they would faint on an honest man's pottage," said Aleksej. "This is much the same as the food served at King Jeremi's table, and is about as fancy as the Polish upper echelon of military get. He sleeps on a camp bed like the ones we were issued as well; the man is admirable in his humility. I would like to emulate him."

"It certainly inspires the loyalty of his men," said Vanya. "I have heard the men referring to him as 'our' King Remi."

"To be loved and respected that much takes an exceptional man," said Aleksej, wistfully. "To have obedience and either respect or fear is the best most rulers can hope for."

"Our tsar will be loved by the peasantry when they are no longer serfs, and when the landowners have to pay them proper wages, or they may save to buy their own lands," said Vanya.

A smile ghosted across Aleksej's mouth.

"If he's not assassinated by those boyars who are too small in spirit to learn new ways, and to learn to become true Christians, respecting all of God's children. I swear that many of these idiots are happier to be forced into the new way of crossing oneself and saying the name of our Saviour than they would be to actually follow the teachings of our lord, Jesus Christ, and to remember that 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of Mine, you did for Me,' as we are told in the gospel of Matthew. And as much as it is a sin not to have taken in the stranger, clothed his nakedness and fed his hunger, so our Lord above feels every stroke of the knout given needlessly to His children. And what might a man say when he stands before St. Piotr's gate who has been free with his blows, when St. Piotr asks him, 'Why have you beaten our Lord, bloodied His back, broken His spine?' and those of us who have repented hasty orders and attempt to atone with hard work for the good of all may receive a hearing."

"Amen," said Vanya, and he and all the Cossack guards crossed themselves. So too did some of the boyar prisoners. Aleksej smiled in pleasure. There was hope.