and where the horses stood blanketed among the sheltering trees. Ivan finished the awkward task of buckling his helmet’s chin-strap without taking off his gloves – kept warm by the heat of the glowing charcoal or not, he knew better than to touch bare metal with bare skin in the middle of winter – then smiled quickly at Petr Mikhailovich Akimov. “Coming with us, Captain?”
“I may, Majesty. You, however, may not.” Akimov was to Khorlov and Ivan what Fedorov was to Mar’ya Morevna: Captain of the Kremlin Guard, personal bodyguard, aide, adjutant, confidant and friend. He was also, Ivan noted as he moved sideways and Akimov followed suit, an obstruction.
“Would you like to explain that, Captain? While you help me into the saddle?” He sidestepped, and was blocked again.
“Majesty, there’s no need for you to go on this, this sight-seeing expedition, and no advantage gained by your presence.” Captain Akimov folded his arms with the sort of finality that was meant to indicate the matter was closed. “Therefore you may not go.”
“May not?”
Akimov looked uncomfortable, but the big Cossack’s jaw set in a stubborn clench that Ivan recognized only too easily. “Then must not, Majesty.”
Ivan stared at his Captain-of-Guards, but even though his temper was frayed, losing it at Akimov would be shooting at the wrong target. He suspected he knew the right one, but shooting at that would have to wait until he returned to Khorlov. “ Must is not a word addressed by any Captain to his Tsar,” he said. “Who authorised you to use it?”
“First Minister Strel’tsin, Majesty.” So the suspicion had been right. “He told me that… That you are Tsar of Khorlov, and may not place yourself at hazard for adventure’s sake as if you were some private person.”
“May not, again. If it comes to that, then what about the prince I was two years ago? The prince who was heir to the throne and just as irreplaceable? Don’t be ridiculous, man. Nobody – not Dmitriy Vasil’yevich Strel’tsin, not even my own father – spoke to me like that before I went to the Summer Country, or went to stand with the men of Khorlov when they faced the Teutonic Knights. And nobody will do it now. Get out of my way!” He barged past Akimov, and this time the Guard-Captain didn’t attempt to block his path. Ivan took a couple of strides further through the snow, then hesitated and looked back over his shoulder. “Or better still, get yourself onto a horse.”
*
It was easy to follow the route of the Kipchaq scouts, because Torghul and his companions hadn’t exercised much woodcraft in their flight from the Tatars. Ivan knew from personal experience that it was hard to travel at any speed through deep snow and heavily laden branches, and impossible to do so without making a trail so plain a blind man could follow it. The Tatars would have had no difficulty tracking the Kipchaqs – unless they didn’t want to.
That also made perfect sense. If they were attempting a surprise assault on the city of Ryazan, then any turning aside from their line of march, any delay at all, would increase the risk of their being spotted, the city warned, the gates shut and the ramparts manned by the time they reached their target.
If there was no possibility of an attack on the attackers, Ivan had decided what to do: pull the army back into cover of the gulyagorod’s armoured wagons until they were at a safe distance from the Tatars, then return to Khorlov as soon as Mar’ya Morevna could open a spell-Gate. After that he could send couriers by the same means to all the cities at risk, because if the Tatars failed in their attack on Ryazan they could break out with all the frightening speed of those tough little horses and be pouring through the unaware, unbolted gates of Suzdal, Rostov, or even Moscow if even Tatars wanted to waste time on such an insignificant pest-hole.
“So what do you think?” asked Ivan as they trudged through
“I may, Majesty. You, however, may not.” Akimov was to Khorlov and Ivan what Fedorov was to Mar’ya Morevna: Captain of the Kremlin Guard, personal bodyguard, aide, adjutant, confidant and friend. He was also, Ivan noted as he moved sideways and Akimov followed suit, an obstruction.
“Would you like to explain that, Captain? While you help me into the saddle?” He sidestepped, and was blocked again.
“Majesty, there’s no need for you to go on this, this sight-seeing expedition, and no advantage gained by your presence.” Captain Akimov folded his arms with the sort of finality that was meant to indicate the matter was closed. “Therefore you may not go.”
“May not?”
Akimov looked uncomfortable, but the big Cossack’s jaw set in a stubborn clench that Ivan recognized only too easily. “Then must not, Majesty.”
Ivan stared at his Captain-of-Guards, but even though his temper was frayed, losing it at Akimov would be shooting at the wrong target. He suspected he knew the right one, but shooting at that would have to wait until he returned to Khorlov. “ Must is not a word addressed by any Captain to his Tsar,” he said. “Who authorised you to use it?”
“First Minister Strel’tsin, Majesty.” So the suspicion had been right. “He told me that… That you are Tsar of Khorlov, and may not place yourself at hazard for adventure’s sake as if you were some private person.”
“May not, again. If it comes to that, then what about the prince I was two years ago? The prince who was heir to the throne and just as irreplaceable? Don’t be ridiculous, man. Nobody – not Dmitriy Vasil’yevich Strel’tsin, not even my own father – spoke to me like that before I went to the Summer Country, or went to stand with the men of Khorlov when they faced the Teutonic Knights. And nobody will do it now. Get out of my way!” He barged past Akimov, and this time the Guard-Captain didn’t attempt to block his path. Ivan took a couple of strides further through the snow, then hesitated and looked back over his shoulder. “Or better still, get yourself onto a horse.”
*
It was easy to follow the route of the Kipchaq scouts, because Torghul and his companions hadn’t exercised much woodcraft in their flight from the Tatars. Ivan knew from personal experience that it was hard to travel at any speed through deep snow and heavily laden branches, and impossible to do so without making a trail so plain a blind man could follow it. The Tatars would have had no difficulty tracking the Kipchaqs – unless they didn’t want to.
That also made perfect sense. If they were attempting a surprise assault on the city of Ryazan, then any turning aside from their line of march, any delay at all, would increase the risk of their being spotted, the city warned, the gates shut and the ramparts manned by the time they reached their target.
If there was no possibility of an attack on the attackers, Ivan had decided what to do: pull the army back into cover of the gulyagorod’s armoured wagons until they were at a safe distance from the Tatars, then return to Khorlov as soon as Mar’ya Morevna could open a spell-Gate. After that he could send couriers by the same means to all the cities at risk, because if the Tatars failed in their attack on Ryazan they could break out with all the frightening speed of those tough little horses and be pouring through the unaware, unbolted gates of Suzdal, Rostov, or even Moscow if even Tatars wanted to waste time on such an insignificant pest-hole.
“So what do you think?” asked Ivan as they trudged through
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