Prince Yuri II of Vladimir-Suzdal decided to ignore the letter from Prince Yuri of Ryazan, which pleaded for reinforcements and demanded the return of troops previously loaned for the defense of Vladimir and Suzdal.
Ryazan would likely fall soon.
Why send soldiers back when their deaths would be pointless? Yuri muttered to himself.
How long would Ryazan hold? Three days… perhaps a week.
There was little time. He had to act quickly.
Rising from his seat, Yuri ordered his attendant to prepare for departure.
Early the next morning, Norjin donned his armor in preparation for negotiations with the Grand Prince of Vladimir. When he stepped outside the tent, it seemed everyone was already ready. He mounted his horse.
Then came the sound of hooves from the direction of Vladimir. About thirty riders, perhaps. Judging by the banner, the Grand Prince appeared to have ridden out somewhere.
“Is that the Grand Prince?” Zaya asked, riding up beside him.
“Probably. Looks like yesterday’s envoy really was from Ryazan. He must have read the message and gone off to seek reinforcements.”
“If the one we’re meant to negotiate with isn’t there, going would be pointless. What will you do?” Zaya asked, studying Norjin’s face.
“It doesn’t have to be the Grand Prince himself. He’s just the representative of this place. If he’s absent, an answer on behalf of Vladimir will suffice.”
“So the castellan left in charge… or the Grand Princess?”
“Likely. Though they’ll probably say they can’t decide without the Grand Prince and try to stall. Now then…”
Norjin thought for a moment, then nudged his horse forward.
“You’re going?”
“We’ll make sure they know a Tatar envoy has arrived,” he replied.
Watching his profile, Zaya wondered:
Perhaps he already had a plan in mind.
Perhaps both the Grand Prince of Vladimir and the castellan were pieces on his board.
And perhaps she herself was just another piece.
Could she remain content as a piece on someone else’s board?
As expected of the Grand Prince’s residence in the capital of Vladimir-Suzdal, the building was vast, and the audience hall equally spacious. The number of attending retainers was easily twice what she had seen elsewhere.
Rus’ buildings, despite their rough log-built exteriors, were often vividly painted inside. The contrast stole Zaya’s breath for a moment.
Stephen cleared his throat and introduced Norjin. Mstislav Yurievich, the Grand Prince’s second son and acting regent, nodded. He informed them that his father was absent and that no reply could be given in his stead.
The exchange unfolded exactly as Norjin had expected. He did not press further and withdrew.
Mstislav was a young man about Norjin’s age. Even if he feared the Mongol envoy, he hid it well.
As they left the residence, perhaps a hundred mounted soldiers were riding out. They were likely meant to accompany the Grand Prince. Norjin estimated another two hundred would follow. Casually surveying the grounds, he saw no sign of frantic war preparations. It seemed news of Volga Bulgaria’s fall had not yet reached Vladimir.
Another small steppe market town, another riverside trading settlement burned.
In the freezing winter cold, fire was the only source of warmth.
Burning towns and camping beside the ruins, the Mongol army advanced westward.
Most Rus’ cities were built along rivers. After striking small villages and settlements, the army reached the Don basin and arrived at the frozen banks of the Voronezh River. On the far side of the ice waited an intercepting force, led by the princes of Ryazan and Murom.
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Back at the tents, Norjin found himself unable to think of any way to extract an answer from Vladimir.
“If only there were a way to make Mstislav speak… but in the end, we may have to wait for General Subutai,” he said, deep in thought.
“So you surround them and ask whether they’ll submit or be destroyed?” Zaya asked.
“That’s what it comes down to. He should be very close by now.”
“There might be another way. I’ll go into the city again,” Zaya said, standing.
Norjin rose as well.
“Wait. You stay here and receive the general. I’ll go,” she said, stopping him.
“You don’t speak Rus’ or Kipchak,” Norjin said with a hint of amusement.
“I’ve managed among the Kipchaks without understanding a word before. I’ll be fine.”
Norjin frowned. If possible, he wanted to avoid facing Subutai.
“I’ll go with her,” Stephen interjected. “I’ve already done my job as an interpreter.”
“You just want a drink.”
“You just want a drink,”
Norjin and Zaya said in unison.
Stephen shrugged.
“It’s decided,” Zaya said firmly. “If a relief force is heading for Ryazan, we need to know. If Subutai has already arrived there, he needs to be informed. Some people don't mind being taken from behind.”
Norjin opened his mouth to say something, but Zaya cut him off instantly.
“Stop. If you’re about to start explaining that kind of “wisdom,” I don’t want to hear it.”
With that, she dismounted and entered the tent to remove her armor.
Stephen glanced sideways at Norjin.
“Making lewd remarks to a lady isn’t admirable.”
“You misunderstand,” Norjin replied at once.
Stephen gave him a doubtful look.
Watching Zaya’s back as she rode alone toward Vladimir, Norjin muttered to himself,
“What on earth is she thinking?”
Inside the city, life remained lively, as though no crisis loomed. Zaya once again dressed as a man and approached the Grand Prince’s residence. Hearing hoofbeats, she slipped into the crowd. A messenger bearing Vladimir’s banner rode hard through the streets, scattering people. Perhaps he was headed to inform the Grand Prince that a Mongol envoy had arrived.
Zaya wandered toward the monastery.
If it were me, she thought, I wouldn’t bother with Norjin’s roundabout methods. I’d just march in and ask, “Which is it?”
Entering the monastery gates in irritation, she saw the forecourt crowded with donkeys and carts. Men were unloading goods. An elderly man in Bulgar-style clothing was directing them. She recognized him.
She approached, tugged his sleeve, and lowered her headcloth so only he could see her face.
“Your Highness,” the man gasped.
“Do you trade in Vladimir too?” Zaya asked.
His name was Ahmad ibn Salih, a merchant who had once hosted Zaya and Taghray in Suzdal. Though based in Bulgaria, he kept houses in many places and traded as far as Baghdad and the southern lands beyond. A man with wide connections.
“Volga Bulgaria is gone,” Ahmad said, his face twisting in grief. “Burned to nothing. Truly erased.”
“We were in Suzdal by chance and survived. Had we been in Bulgaria…” He shuddered. His emotions, like his gestures, were always large.
Because of the cold, they sat by the fire in the merchants’ refectory. Ahmad took a container of spices from his robe, mixed them into tea, and handed it to her. The familiar scent stirred memories of Taghray. It hadn’t been long, and yet it felt far away now. The pain no longer remained.
“The fact that you are here means the Grand Prince of Vladimir has made a wise decision,” Ahmad said, relaxing. “I’m relieved.”
“You’ve met him?”
“He favors me. The goods I deal in are rare and exquisite.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“Well… not one blessed with family harmony. There were constant disputes over land among his kin. But since gaining the throne of Vladimir, he was fortunate in his wife—”
“What about Prince Mstislav?” Zaya cut in.
“Oh, he married last year. A charming princess. His elder brother became Prince of Novgorod in childhood and later Grand Prince. The younger brother was granted lands in Moscow and should be there now. And their mother, the Grand Princess—she loved books, patronized learning and the arts, and was famed for her piety and wisdom. She passed some thirty years ago, after founding a fine monastery—”
“That’s enough,” Zaya said. “Ahmad, here’s some advice. Leave at once. Go south, or go east.”
She left him behind and exited the monastery.
Extinguishing the lamp and drawing his mantle close, Vasily left his office.
“No word from the Tatars today,” he murmured.
“May there be none tomorrow either.”
