Solovey started off. But Chelubey’s two men put hands to blades and blocked his way.
Vasya turned back, trying for nonchalance, but she was beginning to be frightened. “Let me pass,” she said. Movement had all but ceased in the square. The sun was rising quickly; soon the streets would become crowded. She and Masha must get back, and in the meantime she did not care at all for the Tatar’s look of smiling threat.
“I am quite sure,” said Chelubey meditatively, “that I have seen that horse before. One glance and I knew him.” He pretended to think. “Ah,” he said, flicking a speck off his gorgeous sleeve. “It comes to me. A forest, late at night. Curiously, I met a stallion there, that had gotten loose. A stallion twin to yours.”
The wide, dark eyes fastened on hers, and Vasya knew that she was not mistaken.
“You say it was dark,” Vasya returned at length. “It is hard to know a horse again, that you have only seen in the dark. You must have seen some other—this one is mine.”
“I know what I saw,” said Chelubey. He was looking at her very hard. “As do you, I think, boy.”
His men nudged their horses nearer. He knows I know, Vasya thought. This is his warning.
Solovey was bigger than the Tatar horses, and likely quicker; he could bull through. But the men had bows, and there was Masha to think of…
“I will buy your horse,” said Chelubey.
Surprise startled a thoughtless answer from her. “For what purpose?” she demanded. “He wouldn’t carry you. I am the only one who can ride him.”
The Tatar smiled a little. “Oh, he would carry me. Eventually.”
Inside the cloak, Marya made a sound of muffled protest. “No,” Vasya said, loud enough for the square to hear. Anger allowed only one answer. “No, you can’t buy him. Not for anything.”
Her answer rippled out through the merchants, and she saw the faces change, some shocked, some approving.
The Tatar’s grin widened—and she realized with horror that he had counted on her reaction—that she had just given him a perfect excuse to draw his sword on her now and apologize later to Dmitrii. But before Chelubey could move, a loud voice came grumbling up from the direction of the river. “Mother of God,” it said. “Can a man not go for a gallop without having to shove his way through the hordes of Moscow? Stand aside there—”
Chelubey’s smile faded. Vasya’s cheeks burned.
Kasyan came magnificently through the crowd, dressed in green, riding his big-boned gelding. He looked between Vasya and the Tatars. “Is it necessary to bait children, my lord Chelubey?” he asked.
Chelubey shrugged. “What else is there to do in this mud-hole of a city—Kasyan Lutovich, was it?”
Something about the easy rhythm of his reply made Vasya uneasy. Kasyan nudged his gelding up beside Vasya and said coolly, “The boy is coming with me. His cousin will be wanting him.”
Chelubey glanced left and right. The crowd was silent, but obviously on Kasyan’s side. “I do not doubt it,” he said, bowing. “When you wish to sell, boy, I have a purse of gold for you.”
Vasya shook her head, her eyes not leaving his.
“Better you take it,” added the Tatar, low. “If you do, I will not hold debt between us.” Still he smiled, but in his eyes was a clear and uncompromising threat.
Then—“Come on,” said Kasyan impatiently. His horse cut around the other riders and made for the kremlin-gate.
Vasya did not know what possessed her then. Angrily, swiftly, with the morning sunshine in her eyes, she set Solovey straight at the nearest rider’s horse. One stride, and the man realized what she meant to do; he flung himself swearing out of the saddle, and next instant Solovey was soaring straight over his horse’s back. Vasya held Marya tight with both hands. Solovey landed like a bird, and caught up with Kasyan.
Vasya turned back. The man had gotten to his feet, smeared with muddy snow. Chelubey was laughing at him right along with the crowd.
Kasyan said nothing; he did not speak at all until they were well up into the choked and winding streets, and his first words were not to Vasya at all. “Marya Vladimirovna, I believe?” he said to the child without turning his head. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Marya gave him an owl-eyed look. “I am not supposed to talk to men,” she told him. “Mother says.” She shivered a little, and then heroically quelled it. “Oh, Mother is going to be angry with me.”
“With both of you, I imagine,” said Kasyan. “You really are an idiot, Vasilii Petrovich. Chelubey was about to spit you, and beg the Grand Prince’s pardon after. What possessed you to take the prince of Serpukhov’s daughter out riding?”
“I would not have let any harm come to her,” said Vasya.
Kasyan snorted. “You couldn’t have kept yourself from harm if the ambassador had drawn his sword, never mind the child. Besides, she was seen. That is harm enough; just ask her mother. No, forgive me; I have no doubt that her mother will tell you, at length. For the rest— You have baited Chelubey. He will not forget it, despite his smiles. They are all smiles in the court at Sarai—until they set their teeth into your throat and pull.”
Vasya barely heard; she was thinking of the joy and hunger in Marya’s face when she saw the wide world, outside the women’s quarters. “What matter if Masha was seen?” she asked with some heat. “I only took her riding.”
“I wanted to go!” Marya put in unexpectedly. “I wanted to see.”
“Curiosity,” said Kasyan, didactically, “is a dreadful trait in girls.” He grinned with a sort of acid cheer. “Just ask Baba Yaga: the more one knows, the sooner one grows old.”
They were nearly at the prince of Serpukhov’s palace. Kasyan sighed. “Well, well,” he added. “It is a holiday, isn’t it? I have nothing better to do than to protect virtuous maidens from gossip.” His voice sharpened. “Hide her in your cloak. Take her straight to the stallion-paddock and wait.” Kasyan rode forward, calling to the steward. His rings flashed in the sun. “Here am I, Kasyan Lutovich, come to drink wine with young Vasilii Petrovich.”
The gate was already unbarred, in honor of the festival morning; the gate-guard saluted. Kasyan rode in with Vasya on his heel, and the steward hurried forward.
“Take my horse,” ordered Kasyan magnificently. He swung to earth and shoved his gelding’s reins at the steward. “Vasilii Petrovich must manage his brute himself. I will see you after, boy.” With that, Kasyan strode off in the direction of the palace, leaving an irritated steward alone, holding the gelding by the bridle. He hardly looked at Vasya.
Vasya nudged Solovey toward his paddock. She had no idea what Kasyan did, but when they leaped the fence, to Marya’s delight, Vasya found Varvara already hurrying up, with such a look of white, mute fury on her face that both Vasya and Marya quailed. Vasya hurriedly slid to the ground, taking the child with her.
“Come, Marya Vladimirovna,” Varvara said. “You are wanted indoors.”
Marya looked frightened but said to Vasya, “I am brave like you. I do not want to go in.”
“You are braver than me, Masha,” Vasya said to her niece. “You have to go in this time. Remember, next time you see the ghost, ask her what she wants. She cannot hurt you.”
Marya nodded. “I am glad we went riding,” she whispered. “Even if Mother is angry. And I am glad we jumped over the Tatar.”
“So am I,” said Vasya.
Varvara took the child firmly by the hand and began towing her away. “My mistress wishes to see you in the chapel,” said Varvara over her shoulder. “Vasilii Petrovich.”
IT DID NOT OCCUR to Vasya to disobey. The chapel was crowned with a small forest of domes and not hard to find. Vasya stepped into the disapproving gaze of a hundred icons and waited.
Soon enough, Olga joined her there, walking heavily, with her time almost upon her. She crossed herself, bowed her head before the icon-screen, and then turned on her sister.