Chapter V
With burdened heart Maxim Berkut marched amidst the band of Tukholian youths sent to execute the folk-court’s orders. He had grown up with a feeling of deep attachment for his community and an inviolable respect for its laws. Though it was against the dictates of his innermost heart and he would have preferred not to have been chosen by the community to drive from its lands the people’s enemy, Tuhar Wolf, still he could not refuse to obey. His heart cried out in revolt against the very thought of meeting with Peace-Renown and her father as enemies, that he might have to defend himself against the boyar’s guards and perhaps even against the boyar himself, shedding human blood in the presence of the one for whom he was ready to lay down his life. True, he was firmly resolved to accomplish his purpose as inoffensively as possible without bringing about bloodshed, but who could guarantee him that the boyar, realizing he was in the wrong, would not start trouble first? This was more likely to happen than not.
“But no,” thought Maxim, “if he wants my blood, I will not defend myself. I will expose myself willingly, let him kill me! Life he will not permit me, then let him give me death! Farewell, my Tukhlia! Farewell, dear father! Farewell, my brothers and friends, you will never see Maxim again! Hearing of my death, you will grieve and say: ‘He died for the good of his people!’ But you will never guess that I wanted and purposely sought death!”
Thus thought Maxim advancing toward the group of buildings on a knoll overlooking the Opir River. The boyar’s house was built of thick, smoothly-planed fir logs, dove-tailed at the corners, similar to those still built in some Ukrainian villages today. Its roof was of heavy wooden shingles covered by a thick coating of red waterproof clay. The windows, as in all houses of that period, were cut out in the southern wall of the house. Instead of panes of glass, cattle bladder membrane was used, stretched out on frames, diffusing a weak yellowish light into the interior. The doors at the front and back of the house led into a long hall whose walls were hung with diverse pieces of armor and weapons, with horns of stags, and bison, with skins of boars, wolves and bears. On either side of the hall were doors leading into spacious, high-ceiling chambers containing ovens of clay and handsomely carved shelves for dishes. One of the rooms was Tuhar Wolf’s and on the opposite side of the hall his daughter’s. In back were two wide store rooms, one used as a kitchen and the other as servants’ quarters. In the boyar’s living room the walls were draped with bear skins except by the bed where hung an expensive Persian rug, probably acquired by the boyar while on some military expedition East. There also hung his bows, hunting knives and other weapons. Peace-Renown’s room, hung with gleaming soft furs and bedecked with flowers had also its floors covered with deep, soft furs. On the wall opposite the windows, directly over her bed, hung an expensive metallic mirror and beside it a wooden, silver-encrusted “Teorban”, a four-stringed musical instrument, the beloved friend and confidante of Peace-Renown’s girlish musings and day-dreams.
In a glen not far from the house, were the stables, barns and other farm buildings including a small cottage for the herdsmen. But today, a quiet desolation reigned in the spacious boyar domicile. The boyar and Peace-Renown were away, the servants had been dismissed, the animals ordered driven to herd with a neighboring Korchenian settler; only the archers and battle-axe men remained behind and they too were melancholy, did not talk, joke or sing, seemingly waiting for a more serious undertaking, preparing themselves by arming with bows and arrows, axes and spears, silently, glumly as if for certain death. What was the meaning of this?
One of them who was standing in the middle of the highway, guarding it, blew a signal upon his horn and the fully armed guard of mercenaries formed themselves in a row before the boyar’s house, spears couched and bow strings drawn ready for a fight. Moving along the trail appeared the band of Tukholian youths and seeing that the guards stood in military formation before the boyar’s home, they also began to prepare themselves for the battle. Maxim’s eyes anxiously searched among the armed company for the boyar and noting that he was not present sighed with relief as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders and began boldly to arrange his company for the combat. It was not long before the Tukholians with bent bows, gleaming battle-axes and spears approached the boyar’s mercenaries and halted within fifty paces of them.
“Boyarin, Tuhar Wolf!” called Maxim.
“The boyar, Tuhar Wolf is not at home!” replied the guards.
“Then you, his faithful followers, heed what we have to tell you in the name of our Tukholian municipality. The community has sent us to escort you, willing or unwilling, out of our district, in accordance with the resolution passed by our folk-court at its last meeting. Will you remove yourselves willingly or not?”
The guards were silent.
“We ask the second time!” said Maxim.
The guards remained silent without relaxing their tensed bows.
“We warn you for the third time!” shouted Maxim.
The guards continued their silence and stood ready for battle. Maxim was puzzled as to why they made no reply but without waiting any further, he commanded his company to release their arrows at the guards. The arrows buzzed like a disturbed nest of bumble bees and stuck in the house over the mercenaries’ heads. At that instant the guards, as if at a prearranged signal, threw down their weapons and with outstretched arms rushed toward the Tukholian youths.
“Comrades, brothers!” cried they. “Don’t be offended by our silence. We promised the boyar that we would meet your approach with armed resistance, but we did not promise to spill our blood and die for his injustice. We were present at your municipal session and we know that the boyar has wronged the community and that the decision of your people’s court is only just. Perform the tasks you were assigned to do and if your fathers are willing we will beg them through you to allow us to stay in your community for we do not care to serve the Boyarin any longer.”
The joy of the Tukholians and especially of Maxim was immeasurable. They all threw down their weapons and piled them up before the boyar’s house, happily relieved, shouting and laughing, embracing their new and unexpected allies with whom only a moment before they had expected to engage in bloody combat. Maxim was the happiest among them all because his fears had not materialized and he was forced to fight neither Peace-Renown’s father before her eyes nor did he have to drive away into unknown trails the one with whom he would never wish to part. His joy at this simple effecting of an unpleasant duty for a moment wiped out all other uncertainties.
Accompanied by the boyar’s happy guards, the Tukholians entered the house examining its interior curiously but without disturbing anything. Maxim approached Peace-Renown’s room with tremulous anticipation expecting to find her either in tears or furious, desiring to cheer and soothe her with words of sincerest sympathy. But Peace-Renown was not in her room and this disturbed Maxim. “Where was she?” he thought, at once determining to ask the guards who were stirring about gaily preparing a banquet to welcome their Tukholian guests in proper brotherly fashion. But the answer given by them did not at all dispel Maxim’s uneasiness.
The boyar had left with his daughter early yesterday morning but where had he gone? On what business and when would he return? They did not know. He had commanded them to put up an armed resistance to the Tukholians and whether because he noticed their sullen, unwilling expressions or perhaps because he was pre-occupied with thoughts of other matters, he had cut short his talk with them and ridden away. That was all Maxim could gather from questioning the guards.
It can be readily understood why these facts served to dim his exultation and to throw a shadow of doubt upon the trustworthiness of these new friends. What did it all mean? Was there hidden treachery? Had the boyar planned a trap for them? But Maxim did not wish to reveal his suspicions to all. He whispered warnings to a few of his best friends to be on their guard and himself explored every nook and cranny of the whole house. But he found nothing that would confirm his distrust.
“Fine building!” Maxim remarked to the guards who were now setting the tables, “too bad we shall have to tear it down. Of course we shan’t really wreck or destroy it, but will take it apart carefully and pile up the building materials so the boyar will, whenever he desires to do so, be able to cart them away. Therefore his property must be preserved for him in good condition.”
In the meantime the guards had brought out from the rooms and placed in the hall long oaken tables spread with fine white table cloths, platters of a variety of delicious food and the favorite fermented honey beverage, “mead”.
With merry shouts and festive songs the banquet began. The longer the youths sat at the tables, the more they ate and drank, the more subdued grew their hilarity, seemingly without cause or reason. Although the honey drink foamed in the artistically carved wooden mugs, the broiled meat steamed appetizingly on the wooden platters and sincere friendly conversation hummed around the table, nonetheless, in each heart there seemed to tremble an un-voiced dread, as if they all awaited some bad news. An unexplainable, but to all apparent, constraint hung in the air. Did the walls of the boyar’s house cramp the spirits of the free citizens?
One of the boyar’s mercenaries stood up and raising his jug full of mead, began to speak: “Brothers, this is a day of great rejoicing for us and no evil son of man. . . .”
But he did not finish. He paled and shuddered. All the banqueteers jumped out from their places on the benches behind the tables upsetting them with all the food and drink.
“What is it? What is it?” the cry arose and all made for the doors.
As inconsequential as this sign was, the far-off, hollow clatter of horses’ hoofs, what an inconceivable amount of confusion it created in the boyar’s house! One ran this way, another that, this one sought this, another that outlet and all of them distracted, disconcerted, stampeded over the wooden jugs, plates of food, the white tablecloths and the overturned oaken tables. Maxim was the first to escape from this melé and glancing about him immediately recognized the seriousness of their predicament. “To arms, brothers, to arms! The Mongols are coming! The Mongols!”
That command was like a thunder clap. They all stood as if paralyzed, the panic and confusion changing to stupefaction but it lasted only an instant. The hoof-beats grew louder and nearer and their imminent danger roused all of them from their torpor of surprise. Here they all were, bold, strong and young; each one of them in his childhood days had imagined himself on the battlefield, in peril, in bloody combat with the enemy and desired and prayed that his dream might come true and he be given opportunity some day to stand face to face with the dreaded enemy in the defense of his country; here their chance had come, why should they be frightened by it? Only for a moment the terrible news and the name “Mongols” had shocked them after which they became themselves again; each one now held his weapons in his hands and stood assembled with his fellows prepared for the struggle.
“It is most important for us, comrades, to keep within the yard close to the shadow of these walls. Until the enemy succeeds in driving us away from this house and surrounding us out in the open, we have nothing to fear. This house will serve as our fortress.”
He placed the archers by twos and threes at the windows and doors, the number depending upon the importance and accessibility of their posts. Some were to remain inside the house to supply the archers with arrows from the boyar’s store room. The main body was to stand guard at the entrances, so that whenever it became necessary to do so they could break up the attacking vanguard and drive the Mongols away from the house.
In the meantime the Mongols arrived at the shore of the Opir river, stopped, dismounted from their horses and dividing their regiment into three separate groups, took the three paths leading uphill. It was apparent that someone thoroughly familiar with the region led them, for all these maneuvers took place quickly without irresolution and without undue waste of time. This maneuver also plainly indicated that the Mongols aimed to surround the house from all sides at once.
But who was this, at the head of the central Mongol contingent, advancing so self-assuredly and impudently? The comrades watched hardly believing their own eyes. It was none other than the owner of the house, the arrogant boyar, Tuhar Wolf.
“Our boyar! Our boyar!” cried some of the guards whose sincerity Maxim had doubted and to whom he had for that reason assigned places among his Tukholians.
“Yes, that is your boyar, all right, an informer, traitor to his fatherland! After this, would you still wish to serve him faithfully?”
“No, no!” cried all the guards together. “Death to the traitor! We will disperse the ranks of the enemy or ourselves perish in the attempt to defend our country!”
Pleased by this revelation, Maxim replied, “Forgive me brothers. For a moment I misjudged you, thinking that perhaps you had intrigued against us with your boyar. But I can see now that I had judged you unfairly. Let us stay together, close to the walls so they cannot surround us in the open and let us try to inflict as many losses among them as possible. The Mongols, as I have heard, are not expert in besieging, especially such a small division of them. We should be entirely successful in repelling their attack.”
Poor Maxim, he tried to instill in others the hope which began to wane in himself from the first moment he had seen the Mongols and particularly now when their superior force spread itself before the eyes of the defenders. However, he had the gift of inspiring his men with confidence both in him and their own ability to meet the enemy successfully. His comrades had occasion to witness more than once his keen, inexhaustible faculty of resource, his perception and judgment in situations of great danger. Blindly trusting his words and his commands each took care to guard his place as long as he could assured that the one next him would be equally well protected.
And now the Mongols in a wide circle three rows deep, besieged the boyar’s house and held sharp stone-tipped arrows within their bows ready to aim at the brave young men who guarded it. Their leader had not yet given the signal to shoot. It seemed that he wanted to try persuasion first, for he advanced from the ranks towards the main group of defenders and said: “Unfaithful serfs and louts! It seems that your courage is as illimitable as your stupidity, that you would dare to raise arms against the army of the great Jinghis Khan, today the unquestionable ruler of all Rus? Surrender yourselves to him and he may forgive you. But those who try to resist his force will be unmercifully crushed, like worms beneath wagon wheels.”
To this speech Maxim replied brusquely and stoutly, “Boyarin! At a very inopportune time have you called us, the sons of free citizens, serfs! Look at yourself! Perhaps such a name applies to you much more than to us. Up until now you were the slave of a king and today you are the slave of the great Jinghis Khan and probably have lapped the milk spilled on the horse’s back of one of his behadirs. If you savored its flavor it does not necessarily prove that we would also be tempted by it. The great force of the powerful Jinghis Khan we do not fear. It may lay us dead but it shan’t make us slaves. But of you, Boyarin, all the power of the great Jinghis Khan will make neither a free nor an honorable man.”
Caustic and abrupt was Maxim’s speech. At another time he would have minded that before him stood the father of Peace-Renown, but now he saw only an enemy, more, a traitor, a man who trampled under his own honor and good name, to whom because of that no respect was due.
His comrades applauded his speech boisterously. The boyar foamed at the mouth from wrath.
“Execrable youth!” cried he. “Just wait and I will show you that you have boasted of your freedom far too soon. This very day the chains shall click about your wrists and ankles. Today yet, you will crawl in the dust at the feet of the Mongolian army’s commander!”
“I will sooner die!” replied Maxim.
“But you will not die!” cried the boyar.
“Hey there followers,” he addressed the Mongols in their tongue, “to the attack! Spare none but that one, him we must capture alive!”
He blew the signal to start the battle. Hills and forests reverberated with the thunderous blast. Silence reigned in the boyar’s court, but it was an ominous silence. Like the venom of a snake, the Mongols’ arrows shot into the boyar’s courtyard. Of course the attackers were too far removed as yet to score any direct hits on the defenders, or having hit, to wound them seriously. That was the reason Maxim commanded his friends not to release their shots yet but to save their ammunition for use at closer range when they could inflict more serious damage to the enemy.
To prevent the foe from advancing too rapidly and too close to the house, Maxim, with a select detail of comrades remained in the yard about twenty paces away from the entrance to the house, behind a thick, wooden partition, part of an unfinished fence. This wall of fence was just high enough to hide a man and so the arrows of the Mongols did not reach the youths. That was why their few, though well-aimed shots scored death blows on the Mongols and held them back.
Tuhar Wolf, enraged by these tactics, cried, “Advance upon them!” and hastened to lead the Mongols running towards the fence.
Behind the fence it was as quiet as if all had died there. The Mongols rushed towards it, almost it seemed they would fall upon it when all at once, as if they had sprung out from the ground, rose a row of heads over husky shoulders, and numerous steel shots whistled through the air, finding their marks among the enemy. The stricken screamed in pain. Half of the front line of Mongols dropped like grass mowed down and the other half retreated without the slightest regard for the boyar’s counter commands and curses.
“Hurrah for our youths! Hurrah for Maxim! Hurray, Tukhlia!” cheered the encouraged youths.
But the boyar did not allow this vexation to make him forget himself. He assembled another group of Mongols and gave instructions how they should proceed next time, without dispersing at the first attack by the foe but advancing at all hazards over the bodies of their dead. In the meantime Maxim was also instructing his youths as to the procedure they should follow. With weapons held in readiness they awaited another attack by the Mongols.
“Forward! At them!” shouted the boyar and a hailstorm of arrows was released at the Tukholians. The Mongols once more advanced in formation towards the fence. Again when they neared them, the youths released well-aimed shots and a large number of Mongols fell to the ground screaming with pain. However, the remainder did not retreat but ran on yowling piercingly until they reached the fence.
It was a tense moment. The thin partition of fence separated the two mortal enemies who though very close together still could not reach each other. For a moment complete silence fell over both groups, only a rapid, excited breathing could be heard from both sides of the fence. All at once as if upon a given signal the Mongolian battle-axes thundered against the fence and at the same instant the Tukholian youths, with a powerful lifting, swinging motion, pushed it over onto the Mongols. At the same time that the wall fell, knocking down the front row of Mongols, the youths, armed with pole-axes, jumped upon them cleaving their heads open. Blood spurted, the shouts, screams and groans of the foe echoed around the boyar’s domicile and again the group of attackers disbanded leaving their dead and wounded behind them.
A joyous shout of victory from their friends within the house, greeted the defenders and again the Mongols answered with a hailstrom of shots and the boyar with wrathful cursing. Regretfully, the youths were now forced to give up their knocked-down covert which had served them so well in their first encounter with the Mongols. Without having suffered any loss of men, without wounds, weapons intact and company in order, facing the enemy, the youths retreated to the walls of the boyar’s house.
While on the southern side of the court the youths were so fortunately repelling the onsets of the Mongols, there went on a courageous though not so successful battle on the northern side of the yard. The Mongols had assaulted their positions suddenly and made it very hot for them for a while. Here too, the Mongolian arrow shots caused little injury to the defenders. These youths had engaged the Mongols in a skirmish but the dense rain of shots they met forced them to turn back with a loss of three of their wounded whom the Mongols at once chopped to bits.
While awaiting the time of fresh action, Maxim’s first thought was to go around to each post and ascertain the effectiveness of their defense position. In a living chain the Mongols encompassed the house and without a let-up rained their arrows upon it. The defenders shot back but not so continuously. To Maxim it was apparent almost at once that the attackers were aiming to drive them inside the house from which it would be difficult to inflict heavy losses upon the Mongols and where it would be an easy matter to be cornered. That meant it was of utmost importance for them to hold to their posts outside the walls of the house. But here they were exposed to the thick-flying shots of the Mongols! To protect themselves against them at least a little, Maxim ordered all the doors and table tops removed and placed before each post for use as shields. From behind the security of these improvised stockades, the youths easily shot their arrows at the Mongols.
Maxim went from post to post devising ways and means for more efficient defense and heartening his comrades with words and example. “Let’s hold our own, comrades!” said he. “The Tukholians will soon hear the noise of battle or someone may chance by and see what is going on here and we will be sent assistance.”
The battle had raged for half an hour. The Mongols shot and swore wrathfully at the “Rus dogs” not so much because they would not surrender but because they dared to so boldly and fortunately defend themselves.
Tuhar Wolf now conferred with the Mongolian leaders to determine upon some plan by which to make a resolute, finishing attack.
“Let us rush in upon them!” said one.
“No, an onrush is too hard, let’s keep on shooting until we shoot them all down!” said another.
“Wait,” said Tuhar Wolf, “there will be a time for both. Just now we are most concerned with how to drive them away from their lesser posts. My advice is to gather our center as if for a charge to distract their attention and at the same time let the flanks converge on both sides of the yard to the walls of the unguarded additions. Those walls are without windows but when our men take their stand there, they will nonetheless be able to inflict a lot of damage on the enemy.”
The officers readily agreed to this suggestion for they were entirely unfamilar with any tactics other than those used in ordinary battle in the open fields and consequently were incapable of handling such situations.
The Mongolian force stood at attention, in battle formation. Weapons clanged, swords and battle-axes flashed in the sun. Firmly and boldly the Tukholian youths also grasped their weapons, making ready for a hard struggle. While the Mongolians counseled on how best to make a renewed attack, Maxim had not been day-dreaming either. A fortunate idea had occurred to him. In the wooden-shingled roof of the boyar’s house on all four sides were cut out tiny windows. At each of these vantage points Maxim placed two of his weaker men to watch the maneuvers of the enemy and to try to inflict with shots of arrows or stones all the injury possible from these positions. While one stayed at his post by the window the other handed him ammunition or whatever was needed and kept all their comrades down below informed as to the enemy’s progress.
The horns sounded and the Mongols whooped wildly throwing themselves into the assault upon their adversaries. They ran quickly about half the distance between them, halted and aimed their shots at the defenders. When the besieged, who were prepared to battle resolutely to the finish, greeted them with a hailstorm of shots inflicting wounds and causing many losses, the whole Mongolian line retreated at once.
The youths greeted this retreat with loud derisive laughter. “See, Boyarin!” shouted Maxim, “The powerful force of the great Jinghis Khan evidently has the heart of a rabbit, it takes a swift run forward and then leaps back. Isn’t it a shame for you, a distinguished old hero, to command such dispirited, fearful creatures who are brave like sheep, only in a crowd, and none stands alone even for half a man?”
The boyar made no answer to this mockery, he saw very plainly that Maxim laughed too soon. And Maxim himself was rapidly made aware of his mistake.
The triumphant shouts of the Mongols echoed right behind the walls of the additions on the right and left side of the house at once. At the same time that the main body of Mongols had been feigning an attack, they had crept up to these walls. Because the walls were windowless and doorless the youths had not guarded them so carefully. Of course the young men at their posts in the attic had seen the Mongols advancing from both sides and a few well-aimed shots fell from the windows upon them but that did not check the Mongols because the eaves of the house shielded them from most of the danger of shots from above.
Maxim paled when he heard the screams of the captured nearby and learned from a guard sent down from the roof what they meant. “We are lost!” he thought. “To defend ourselves now is impossible. Now we must fight not for our lives, but to the death.”
Tuhar Wolf rejoiced noisily when he saw how well his plan had worked.
“How do you like that, peasants?” he roared. “We’ll see how long your arrogance will last now. See, my soldiers are right under your walls.”
“Set the walls on fire and they’ll soon be smoked out of that nest. Once out in the open we’ll play cat and mouse with them!”
Maxim realized that matters had come to a crucial pass. He called together all his friends for it was no use under the circumstances to try to hold their various posts since the Mongols were already building a fire under the walls of the house.
“Brothers,” said he. “It seems that we shall have to die. There is little hope for a rescue now and as you already know but one fate awaits those who fall into the hands of the Mongols. They will not show mercy to anyone who falls into their hands as they did not spare our wounded comrades. If we are to die, then let’s die like men with weapons in our hands!”
“What do you think, should we stay here and defend ourselves to the last at least partially protected by shielding walls or would you rather we made one last concerted effort to break up the ranks of the Mongols?”
“Yes, yes, let’s charge the Mongols!” answered all his comrades. “We are not foxes whom a hunter has to smoke out of their burrow.”
“Very well! If that is what you want,” replied Maxim, form yourselves into three rows; cast your bows and arrows aside and take up your pole-axes, battle-axes and hunting knives and follow me! Remember, look not back in this battle. Fight to the death. Hit hard. Forward like men!”
Like a huge stone boulder released from a giant engine, against the walls of a fortress, the youths hurled themselves upon the Mongolian columns. Before they reached the Mongols, they were met by a shower of arrows. However, these arrows took no toll of them for their front line carried before it as a shield, the top of a table stuck on two spears, which stopped the arrow shots. When they neared the Mongols, the first row dropped its shield and the whole troop fought desperately with the enemy. At first the Mongols were disconcerted, confused and started to draw back but Tuhar Wolf was there leading them and encircled the youths with the whole company of Mongols like hunters surrounding their quarry with dogs.
In a short time the scene became one of unpitying slaughter. The valiant youths swung their axes cutting down the Mongols by tens, but Tuhar Wolf continued to send in reserves against them. Blood spurted from the dead and wounded; the wails and screams of the dying, the ferocious howls and yells of the killers, all these terrible sounds rose and fell from edge to edge of the cliffs like deep bursts of thunder, combining into a discord which rent the heart and pierced the ears, detonating into the welkin beneath the smiling, golden sun, within the dense, murky forests of spruce trees and in the gorges on whose bottoms hurtled the foaming icy mountain torrents.
“To the right, comrades! All together, forward!” shouted Maxim, fending off with his broad-axe three Mongols at once who were doing their best to knock the weapons from his hands. His warriors followed him with desperate venom. On the right, where it was easier, despite the superior and growing force of the enemy, the line of Mongols was weakest and their own position of defense the strongest. They turned, made a furious charge and put the flanks before them to flight.
“After them, drive them before you!” Maxim’s shouted encouragement continued as he rushed forward with his bloody pole-axe to strike the rear of the Mongols. His comrades pressed after him and the retreat of the Mongols soon turned into a panicky, headlong dash, the youths pursuing, hewing them down one after the other. Before them was an open plain and a short distance from it a dusky, fragrant forest. If only they could reach its protection, then no Mongolian army no matter how great could best them there.
“Forward, comrades, forward, towards the woods!” shouted Maxim and breathlessly, silently, bloody and terrible, like savage beasts the youths drove before them the retreating Mongols in the direction of the forest.
Tuhar Wolf, noting their goal, roared with laughter. “Good-bye! Pleasant journey!” he shouted after the youths. “We will see you later!”
Along the plain overlooking the Opir river rolled three clouds of dust following three groups of people running after each other. The first group were the panic-stricken Mongols, in hot pursuit came the Tukholian youths under the leadership of Maxim and following them ran the main Mongolian force led by Tuhar Wolf. Another contingent of Mongols, which soon disappeared from view without being noticed by the youths in the heat of their mad pursuit, had been sent out earlier by Tuhar Wolf, over the hill, to overtake the youths.
Suddenly the fleeing Mongols halted. Before them appeared an unexpected barrier, a deep defile carved out of the precipitous, solid rock, the beginning of the Tukholian trail. In that place the walls were of sheerest smoothness, almost two rods deep, so that to climb down them was impossible and to jump hazardous, especially for the first row which would naturally expect that those following them would jump down on top of them.
Roused by the fear of imminent death which even to the most easily frightened brings courage, the Mongols stopped, turned and faced their adversaries. At that precise moment a ray of hope flashed through them for they perceived, following their assailants, the approaching company of friends. Their hands involuntarily seized upon their weapons. But this sudden spurt of courage was not sufficient to save them. Like the raging fury of a storm the Tukholian youths, with fierce cries, plied axe and javelin, pushing them back to the ledge of the abyss. With cries of horror those in back toppled over to the bottom of the pass, hitting it with a dreadful thud while those in front were hewed by the swords and battle-axes of the Tukholians. Now the youths themselves stood on the rim of the sheer wall of rock of the pass and trembled with terror. Tuhar Wolf with his Mongols approached them from the rear. In front of them was the gorge. What should they do? A moment of deliberation was enough for Maxim. The sight of the injured Mongols lying at the bottom of the ravine gave him an idea.
“Those in the last row, face the approaching Mongols and try to stop their onrush. Those in front, throw the corpses of the Mongols down before you and jump on top of them!”
“Hurray!” cheered the youths exultantly, accomplishing his command. The still-warm bodies of the Mongols thudded hollowly at the bottom of the gorge and a ray of hope for their safety lighted up the faces of the youths. At this juncture the pursuing Mongols caught up with them, Tuhar Wolf in the lead.
“Now!” he shouted. “This time you shan’t escape me!” and with his heavy battle-axe he knocked down the first of the defenders who stood in his path and who only yesterday had been his most faithful archer. He emitted a deathly moan and fell at the feet of the boyar. His comrade swung a battle-axe towards Tuhar to avenge his friend’s death and at the same moment was upraised from both sides by Mongolian lances. The entire rear line of youths fell after a short battle. These were the weakest, wounded in the last battle, who in their pursuit of the Mongols, had lagged behind the others. Nonetheless, they rallied to the fatal struggle and managed to halt the advance of the Mongols if only for a few brief moments while their more fortunate comrades got safely to the bottom of the defile.
“Get into formation!” commanded Maxim, “in single file along the wall of the pass. If they want to pursue us here we’ll give them a bath of death.”
“The first row, jump in after them!” commanded Tuhar Wolf without weighing the advisability of such a move. The first row of Mongols jumped but none of them got up alive, in fact, many did not even reach bottom alive, for they were met in the air by the pole-axes of the youths.
“Hurray!” shouted the youths. “Come on, the second row jump down also.”
But the second row standing on the edge of the gorge was not in any hurry to jump. Tuhar Wolf realized his error and hastily ordered a strong division to march further down, to the opening of the canyon in order to close it off.
“Now we’ll catch our birds in the cage,” he rejoiced. “There are my hunters yonder, coming up! Come men, to the attack!”
The savage shouts of the Mongols echoed in the canyon at Tuhar Wolf’s feet. This was the contingent, sent out by him earlier to overtake the enemy, which now rushed like a torrent into the entrance of the pass towards the Tukholians.
“Let’s make our escape through the lower end of the pass!” cried the youths, but just one glance in that direction convinced them that they might as well abandon all hope of being saved. The entrance to the pass was darkened by another contingent of Mongols advancing towards them to close off all possible chances of escape from the rocky cage.
“Our death is inevitable,” said Maxim, wiping his bloody battle-axe in the shaggy coat of a dead Mongol lying at his feet. “Comrades, let us put up a stiff fight, boldly, to the last of the battle.”
Though in number they were insufficient, they marched courageously forward to meet the invaders calling up their remaining strength for the encounter with the Mongols without regard for the vastly superior and growing force of the enemy. They rushed straight at the regiment of Mongols and once more confused them inflicting heavy losses upon them. But the whole force of the enemy moved against them directly, backing them down into the depths of the pass, breaking up their formation. With heroic resistance the youths fell one after the other, like grass when scythes are cutting, only Maxim, though he fought like a lion, did not sustain a single wound. The Mongols avoided him or if they crowded him it was only with the intention of knocking the weapons out of his grasp and taking him prisoner as Tuhar Wolf had ordered them to do.
Struck in the rear and the flank by fresh Mongol warriors, they were in a hopeless position, forced within that inescapable stone cage to the wall, with only as much free space before them as they could hold by their swords and pole-axes. Since they did not let their weapons out of their hands their arms began to weaken while the Mongolian reinforcements rolled in like a flood upon them.
In that serious and dreadful period when all feared destruction, some, losing all hope and seeing the futility of further defending themselves threw themselves blindly into the thick of the fight and in one moment perished under the broad-axes. Others, whispering a prayer, pressed themselves against the wall as if it could protect them, comfort them, and still others, though they fronted their foes, they did so unconsciously, mechanically swinging their pole-axes, the death blows of the Mongols finding them already dead, unfeeling, their souls having long fled. Only a small group of them, altogether five, surrounding Maxim, held on like a crag of rock on the summit of a mountain in a hurricane. This group, standing on a pile of dead had repelled the ceaseless onslaughts of the Mongols, their swords, hunting knives and axes dulled, their clothing soaked, their faces and hands covered with blood.
Confidently and loudly Maxim’s voice rose from time to time, heartening his comrades to continue defending themselves. The awe of the moment filled every man. Each wished to surpass every other in valor. Tuhar Wolf, watching from his height, quivered from excitement and rage, marvelling at the great skill and endurance of the valiant youth who swept down almost singly on the foe, as a storm wind.
“Ye gods, what a heroic youth!” said he to himself. “I’m not at all surprised that he has bewitched my daughter. He could charm even me with his princely character!” And then turning to the remaining Mongols who stood on the rim of the gorge, he shouted, “Forward, jump down on them! Let there be a finish to this massacre. Only that one,” pointing to Maxim, “do not harm!”
All together, like an avalanche, the Mongols jumped down on the still unconquered handful of heroes throwing them to the ground. Once more the maddened yells of the Mongols echoed, once more they rushed on them savagely and fought desperately with the Tukholians but not for long. Each hero was attacked by a whole troop of Mongols and each lost his head. Only Maxim stood like an oaken monarch in the middle of a plain. He cleaved in two the Mongol who had jumped upon him and swung himself towards another when at that precise moment a powerful arm with steel-like grip grasped him by the neck from behind and flung him heavily to the ground. Over Maxim, reddened with arrogant anger and the strain, bent the face of Tuhar Wolf. “Now lout!” cried the boyar, smirking, “you see, I know how to keep my word? Come followers, fasten the iron chains upon him!”
“Though in chains, I shall still remain a free man. These chains bind but my hands and ankles, yours bind your soul!” remarked Maxim.
The boyar laughed uproariously at this and left to set about reorganizing the Mongolians whose numbers had become greatly depleted in the bloody battle. Tuhar Wolf planned to march back to his house and return to the Mongolian encampment with the greater number of the remaining Mongols and the chained Maxim. The rest he ordered to encircle and guard the entrance to the pass strewn with corpses.
“Those cursed peasants!” complained the boyar, counting his losses. “What a lot of men they’ve incapacitated! Well, the devil take the Mongols, I’m not sorry for them. If over their dead bodies lies the path to the power I seek, I would turn against them also. But this barbarian, this Maxim, he’s some warrior! Who knows perhaps he too could serve my purpose? I must get all I can out of him while I still have him in my hands. He must be my guide through the mountains, for the devil only knows what their trail is really like and whether there are any misleading cross-trails upon it! Now while he’s still in my hands, I must try to win him over, use a little persuasion! who knows to what he may yet be prevailed upon to agree?”
In the meantime the Mongols were saddling their horses preparatory to leaving. Maxim, chained at the wrists and ankles, covered with blood, hatless, his clothing torn, sat numbly on a stone beside a stream, his teeth clenched, his heart full of torment. Before him on the field and in the pass, lay piles of the shattered, blood-smeared bodies of his comrades and foes, not yet entirely cold. How fortunate those corpses seemed to him! They rested so peacefully on their bloody beds, without anger, without suffering or animosity. They only seemed to mock at chains and the power of the great Jinghis Khan, while a bit of iron became in the hands of the self-willed and insolent barbarians an instrument of torture for their bloody revenge upon him. How lucky were those dead! Although they were crippled, still they resembled men, while these chains had in one moment turned him into something less than even a beast, a slave!
“Oh, just Sun-God!” cried Maxim in a rising of despair, “It cannot be your will that I should die in chains? You could not have so often greeted my more joyous days in the past with your bright smiles, just so you could mock my boundless woe today?”
“Oh, Sun, surely you could not have stopped being a benevolent God to our Tukhlia and become the protector of those savage barbarians?”
But the sun laughed! With brilliant hot rays it sparkled in the glistening puddles of blood, kissing the bluish lips, crushed skulls and wounds of the dead from which oozed the shattered brains and protruded the warm human guts. And with the same violet hot rays it poured itself into the green forests, upon the pagan-hued flowers and unto upland downs which bathed themselves in the clear, azure ether.
The sun laughed and with its god-like smiles wounded even more deeply Maxim’s torn heart.