1637_The Volga Rules Read online

  “Oh, my—Izabella, Father’s going to kill you,” Nikita said. “How could you betray the family this way? You have disgraced us all. Who did you give yourself to? One of the peasants? I’ll kill him myself.” He swung to look at Stefan.

  Stefan held up his hands, disclaiming any responsibility…not that he thought it would do any good.

  “You brute! You animal! You defiled my family.” Nikita reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol. It was a chamber-loading flintlock pistol, and it used the same chambers as his chamber-loading rifle. Nikita cocked and opened the pan. Standing not more than six feet from Stefan.

  No flintlock, chamber-loading or not, is a quick draw weapon. The pan must be charged before the weapon can be fired, and it is impractical to carry the thing around with the pan charged. Generally, the pan is charged just before a fight and with hope that it doesn’t have to be fired more than once. Standing next to the target while charging the weapon isn’t the best option.

  Stefan saw what Nikita was doing, and knew time had run out. As soon as the pan was charged, the little idiot was going to shoot him just to prove he could. Stefan pulled his knife and lunged. The knife went in just under Nikita’s breast bone and angled up. It didn’t reach the heart, but it ripped the hell out of both lungs. Stefan clamped his left hand over the pistol in Nikita’s right, as he pulled the knife out for another thrust.

  Izabella screamed and the battle was on.

  Alexander was surprised when Nikita rode ahead. He knew Nikita well enough, but didn’t know his sister or his serfs. So he had no idea what had gotten into Nikita till he heard the shouting. His first response was amusement. That would take the little prick down a notch or two.

  Then he saw Nikita draw his pistol and kicked his horse into a gallop.

  The big, burly peasant moved a lot faster than a man that size should, and when the girl screamed, Alexander charged. It wasn’t a conscious decision. If he had thought for even a moment, he would have known that when you have rifles and the enemy have knives, you stand off and fire. But he was a member of the service nobility, born and bred to be a warrior. When under attack, you charged. So that’s what he did, and the troops charged after him.

  Twenty men at arms charged into the fray and Izabella’s scream had brought the wagon train into it. Most of the men of the village of Ruzuka—and more than a few of the women—charged in with whatever they had on hand. Five guns and dozens of knives, axes, and the like.

  It’s said that no organized force is ever outnumbered by a mob. But there was no organized force on the field that day, only two mobs. And the wagon train had more people.

  Sword out, Alexander rode up to the big peasant who had just stabbed Nikita, and there was a shot. His horse reared and went over. Alexander tried to get out of the saddle and almost made it. Almost wasn’t good enough. The horse landed on his left ankle and he felt agony as it was wrenched. Alexander bit his lip and pulled his ankle from under the horse. He tried to get his gun out. He tried to stand, and there were several more shots. Alexander didn’t know whose shot hit him, then or later. It was even possible that it was one of his men’s muskets that had fired the shot. All he knew was a sudden pain in his right thigh, just above the knee. He reflexively drew up his right leg, leaving all his weight on the sprained left ankle, and went down again, losing his gun and sword in the process. By the time he knew what was going on again, the battle was essentially over.

  Alexander looked around as Leonid Ivanovich bandaged his leg. He cursed himself for a fool. Four of the people from the wagon train were dead and three of his soldiers. Except for Leonid Ivanovich…all those who could run had run, and that big peasant was directing the other members of the wagon train in collecting up the guns.

  A priest came over with a young girl who Alexander thought was Nikita’s sister. “You are the commander of the local Streltzi?”

  “Her brother and I commanded this unit,” Alexander confirmed, looking at the girl. She was pregnant. It was visible, though not yet blatant. “Did that big peasant get you…” Alexander stopped. It was a stupid question. At this point, who the hell cared?

  “No,” the girl said. She hooked her thumb at the priest. “He is the father and no one forced me.”

  Alexander felt the next question on the tip of his tongue, wondering if she had married the priest, but he bit it back. There were more important things to talk about. He looked around the docks again. The peasants had gathered up the guns and the wounded. They had laid out the dead and a woman was being restrained. “What happens now?”

  “We aren’t sure,” the priest said. “Introductions, I guess. I am Father Yulian Eduardovich. This is Izabella Ivanovna Utkina. And you are?”

  “Alexander Nikolayevich Volkov…and I’m in almost as much trouble as you people. Whatever possessed you to run like this?” It was a question that Alexander had wanted to ask ever since he had been given this assignment. Why were so many of the peasants so ready to run? It was especially acute in a situation like this, when they were bringing their master—or at least their master’s daughter—along with them.

  The girl, Izabella Ivanovna, started to speak, then stopped and looked at the priest.

  “People can only take so much. And whether you realized it or not, the serfs of Russia have lived a long time right at the edge of too much. Czar Mikhail offers freedom, and the boyars—” The priest gave Alexander a hard look. “—and their minions, offer only the lash.”

  “Well, it’s the rope for you now, not the lash,” Alexander said. “I can’t see that as much of an improvement.” Then he shrugged and added, “Not that I’m likely to fare all that much better.”

  “Why not?” asked Izabella, sounding curious.

  “My family were early adopters, and while not exactly allies of the Gorchakovs, we were strongly involved with the Cherakasky family. So, considering the latest we heard from Moscow, my family is already in trouble. And we live to the southwest of Moscow, so it’s not like we can pull up and leave. Meanwhile, you people have blown my command out from under me. I am likely to be sacrificed on the altar of political necessity. Not that my family will want to, but they won’t have much choice, not with Dimitri Mamstriukovich Cherakasky dead.”

  Alexander knew from his family that Sheremetev was seeing traitors under his bed, and the only thing keeping the purges from going wholesale was the threat that the rest of the high houses would band together against him. The Cossacks to the south had taken several towns and even Archangelsk was making independence-minded noises. Shein had taken his forces in Tobolsk and declared an independent state. The rumors were that he had taken the Babinov Road, the best route through the Ural mountains and was threatening Solikamsk. Any excuse Sheremetev could find for purges in Moscow would be acted on. Alexander had been told, in no uncertain terms, to keep his head down and his nose clean.

  The woman who was being restrained started screaming, “Murderers! Killers! You murdered my son and corrupted my daughter! False priest, leading me into corruption and betrayal of my vows! It’s all your fault. May God curse you and all you damned, cursed serf scum!”

  Izabella rolled her eyes. “My mother has gone crazy.”

  “Well…your brother…”

  “Yes! My brother. And I helped kill him. I didn’t mean to, but it’s my belly that sent him raving after Stefan and Stefan had nothing to do with it. Stay away from us. We’re all crazy.” Then she started crying.

  Alexander didn’t know what to do. And he wasn’t sure she was wrong about the crazy, but she wasn’t blaming everyone but herself. That, in itself, said something about her.

  The big peasant came over and Father Yulian turned to him. “Stefan, what are we going to do with the prisoners?”

  Stefan gave Alexander a hard look, but as Alexander watched it transmuted to a look that was partly made up of disgust, but mostly just tired. “Let them go, I guess. We don’t have enough men to guard them day and night.”

  Izabella
looked at Alexander. “You want to come with us?”

  Alexander blinked.

  Stefan said, “We can’t trust him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he…”

  Izabella turned to face Stefan, and he blushed.

  Alexander realized what was going on and tried to calm things down. “I don’t see how I could go, anyway. My family would be punished if I joined Czar Mikhail.”

  “See?” said Stefan.

  “That wasn’t what you…” Izabella stopped herself with a visible effort and took a couple of deep breaths. She looked at Alexander then at Stefan. “If the Streltzi are going to get organized and come after us again, he’s going to be the one to organize them. When Nikita went crazy, no one did anything till he—” She pointed at Alexander. “—acted.”

  Father Yulian held up his right hand in almost a benediction, and said, “Calmly, Stefan. And you too, Izabella. Alexander, can you walk? I think this discussion should be somewhere a little more private.”

  Alexander’s leg and ankle were hurting enough that it was hard to think, and he seriously doubted that he could walk without aid. His man, Leonid Ivanovich, got under one arm and Izabella under the other. Between them, they took most of his weight, but he still almost fainted when his now swollen ankle was bent as his left foot hit the ground.

  They half-carried him up onto the boat, and set him in one of the wagons. Then the priest asked, “Who is your friend?” pointing at Leonid.

  “This is Leonid Ivanovich. He’s been with me since I was a boy.” Leonid was a peasant from his family’s estates who had been assigned to look after Alexander when he was eight, and had been looking after him ever since. Leonid took care of his clothing and his kit, saw to the horse, and dealt with tavern keepers and the like. There were few people in the world that Alexander trusted more.

  “What do you think of Czar Mikhail’s proclamation, Leonid Ivanovich?” asked Father Yulian.

  Leonid looked at the priest, then at Alexander and hesitated.

  “Speak your mind, Leonid Ivanovich,” said Stefan. “No one is going to punish you for telling the truth. We won’t, and he can’t.”

  Alexander blinked. He was still hurting and this was confusing. What made them think that he would punish Leonid for saying what he thought? Not that Leonid was big on thinking in the first place.

  “I would like to go with you,” Leonid said.

  It took Alexander a minute to realize that Leonid was talking about going with the peasants who were running, not about staying with Alexander. “What? Why?”

  “It’s nothing against you, sir,” Leonid said. “You’ve mostly been fair with me, but I want my own life. Your papa wouldn’t let me marry Alla and married her off to Petr the baker because I was to look after you.”

  Alexander barely remembered that. He had been ten or so, and Leonid had been perhaps twenty-five. He remembered being upset that Leonid was paying so much attention to a girl, and he remembered that Leonid had been unhappy after she married the baker. But he hadn’t realized that his father had had anything to do with it. “I’m sorry, Leonid. I didn’t know.”

  “Well, if he’s going with us, he’s no risk to any secrets that might be told,” said Stefan. “So what’s this all about?”

  “We are going to need another public face. Elena will be useless now, even if we force her to continue with us,” said Father Yulian. “And Alexander here might just work. However, we would be better off with his cooperation. He seems like he might be willing to help us, but he is afraid of the consequences to his family if he willingly goes with us.”

  “So?”

  “So I think we should kidnap him from here where everyone can see us do it. That will cover his family and then he can act as our public face. We still have the colonel’s seal, and I can write up papers for Alexander, once we decide on his role.”

  “That would be fine, except that I am not of the colonel’s family. He would have no authority over me.”

  “Not under your own name. But you could be Izabella’s cousin or something, escorting her.”

  “My husband.” Izabella pointed at her waist. “I am clearly in need of one.”

  “I…” Alexander stopped, with no notion of how to go on. “I don’t want to marry a girl already pregnant with another man’s child” was the truth, but probably not a wise comment to make. On the other hand, he couldn’t think of anything wise to say.

  While he was trying to work that out through the pain, Izabella spoke. “Not a real marriage. It’s just the most believable story. Alexander can be from any of the minor nobility families, whether deti boyar or service nobility.” Both Alexander’s family and Izabella’s were deti boyar families. Alexander’s to the Cherakasky and Izabella’s to the Sheremetev family, so Alexander would know how to act the part.

  “We’ll make him Alexander Nikolayevich…Orlav. And Papa married me off to him for a village and three hogs.”

  There was, Alexander noted, considerable bitterness in the girl’s voice.

  All in all, Alexander wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea. However, the alternatives weren’t looking all that good either.

  The Streltzi came back a few hours later, to find the villagers from Ruzuka on the loaded boats, with charged and ready muskets. Alexander negotiated a truce between the town’s Streltzi and the invading villagers, and for the next day Balakhna was held in an armed truce while Stefan and Father Yulian negotiated with the burlak who pulled the boats up and down the Volga River when the wind wasn’t strong.

  There were, by this time, dozens of steam-powered boats on the Russian river systems. But there were thousands of boats on the Russian rivers and most of them were propelled either by the wind or by men and women harnessed like draft animals. A good number of the burlak had already run east before the wagon train had reached Balakhna, and the owner of the boat they had rented had responded by working the ones that were left still harder. They weren’t happy and were looking for a way out.

  The battle with the local Streltzi had made it clear that the wagon train wasn’t legitimate, in spite of their papers, and the owner of the boat was no longer willing to rent his boat to them. The choice was to buy the boat or leave it.

  The wagon train didn’t have the money to buy the boat, so they really didn’t have a lot of choice. They simply stole it.

  “Can we rig the lines to teams of ponies?” Stefan asked Afanasy.

  “For stretches of up to a couple of miles, you can. But there are places that a team of animals can’t negotiate,” Afanasy, the foreman of the burlak crew said. “That’s one reason that they use people. Also, ponies don’t react well to the currents on the river,” the man, in ragged clothing and an unkempt beard and hair with considerable body odor, explained. “It’s mostly easier just to load the livestock on the boat and have us pull it.”

  Stefan wasn’t sure whether that was the truth or whether the burlak just wanted a job for the trip down the Volga to the Kama River. They would travel up the Kama to the Belaya River, which they would follow to Ufa.

  “Mother’s not coming,” Izabella said, entering the little shack on the docks where Vera was working on organizing their supplies and equipment. “She refuses and I’m tired of arguing. Well, of being screamed at.”

  Vera nodded and waved Izabella to a bench next to the window. It was covered with a thin sheet of tanned intestine, but it kept out the cold wind and let in a little light. She had heard the screaming, and the local priest had agreed to look after Elena till someone came to take her off their hands. Father Yulian had arranged that.

  “Is everything on the boat?” Izabella asked.

  “Pretty much. We pulled the wheels off the wagons once we got them into the boat and arranged. It will take a few days once we get where we’re going to get them reassembled,” Vera said.

  “Why are we taking them anyway? It’s all rivers from here.”

  “Two reasons. First, they are likely to b
e useful once we get to Ufa. Father Yulian says we will apply to Czar Mikhail for new lands, and we will probably have to travel overland to get to them. But mostly it’s because after all the work we put in on them, Stefan isn’t willing to just abandon them. Besides a cabin on wheels is still a cabin, and we are going to need places to stay till we get real houses built.”

  There was shouting from outside and the two women got up and went out, to see Boris Petrovich storming up the dock with a couple of men behind him.

  “Stefan,” Vera called, “get your gun!”

  “You get off my boat! I just rented it and not to go to Ufa!” shouted Boris Petrovich, the factor. He was a fat, florid man with a red face and a short beard.

  Several of the men of the village came to the side of the boat, carrying their guns. Stefan and Anatoly had the rifled AK3s, and other men from the villages had older muskets, including a couple of matchlocks.

  Suddenly, Boris Petrovich stopped. He looked at the guns and then at the two large men who had come with him carrying cudgels. Those men were now backing away and while they hadn’t actually dropped the cudgels, they were no longer holding them in anything like a threatening manner.

  Boris Petrovich’s head turned this way and that till he saw Vera and Izabella. Then he started toward them.

  “Stop!” Stefan shouted.

  “Your women are down here,” Boris shouted back, still approaching the women.

  “And your Streltzi commander is up here,” Stefan answered back. “You’ve already lost one. Do you want to explain how you lost two?”

  “Besides,” Vera said, pulling a long pistol from her dress, “we aren’t helpless.”

  Alexander was helped—or dragged—to the railing, where he struggled to hold himself up. “Ivan, Petr, what are you doing?”

  The two toughs looked a bit shamefaced.

  Alexander looked at Boris Petrovich. “They have the guns, Boris. I don’t see much we can do about it at the moment.”