The watchful eyes of the czarina’s guards were still on me as I left her pavilion. This is what fame felt like, and I did not like it. The dark-eyed lieutenant from the gate had come to summon her girls for midday mess while the Preobrazhensky stayed where they were. I put on my best smile and approached the lieutenant, who glanced at me with all the wariness of a wild wolf.
“Lieutenant Morozova,” I said, making a slight bow. “Our gracious mother the czarina has bid me to dine with you tonight.”
She winced and bared her teeth with visible disgust. I chuckled. It had been a long time since I had seen a woman who looked so endearing when she was angry.
“No, madame, you misunderstand. Not with you personally — with you and your company.”
The lieutenant said nothing in response, but turned and walked away to a nearby field kitchen, where a long line of soldiers was being served with stew from an enormous cauldron.
As I made my way to follow her, I heard someone clear his throat behind me. It was the green man, Andrei Vasilyevich, looking up at me like an anxious dog, for he was a full head and shoulders below my height.
“I have been ordered by Prince Potemkin to escort you around camp, should you require anything.”
Prince Potemkin was the new military governor of the Crimea and a man whom, according to all the gossip, was madly in love with the czarina. According to the same gossip, she was more than reciprocal to his affections.
“So you are stuck to me like a leaf from a banya.”
Andrei cleared his throat again, “I fear that is the case.”
I looked back to the lieutenant, who was still walking away. The way her uniform accentuated her hips evoked a burning desire within. For a moment, she turned her head to look back at me. She had a wildness in her eyes that could turn a babbler into a mute, or a brave warrior into a milksop.
“You fancy the lieutenant?” said Andrei with a smile.
Broken from her spell, I glared at the shorter man. Either the Russians were very forward with their manners or my intent was as obvious to him as the sun through a spyglass.
“Walk me to the stew pot,” I grumbled.
He replied with a muted, “Yes sir,” as we went on our way.
As chance would have it, I was stopped by a mess sergeant when I tried to follow the lieutenant. It was not my lot to fall in with the commissioned officers. Instead, he thrust a finger at the enlisted men’s field kitchen, which had a far longer line. I grumbled a curse, but fell in with the rank and file nonetheless.
After I had received my meal, a meagre ration of millet stew and a piece of black bread with a questionable cup of water, I chose to sit in a spot in the grass not too far from the officers, where I could continue to gaze upon the dangerous beauty of the lieutenant. Andrei, true to his orders, followed me.
“Pardon me,” he said. “But I never caught your name.”
“Rodion Ivanovich Kazansky,” I replied, still gazing at the Amazonian beauty.
“Ah, Rodion Ivanovich. Perhaps it would be best if we discussed what you might want from the czarina? After all, her majesty has given you this time to think on her boon.”
Andrei was annoying, but he was correct. My narrow mind had been distracted, but it was good of him to remind me to focus.
“What do I want in life?”
The question I asked myself had many answers. Surely, I wanted revenge on the Tatars. I grit my teeth remembering how they slaughtered my brothers on the river. I could ask for an army to crush their settlement on the river, and my vengeance would be satisfied. But then what? Would the army be mine to command? I would have to secure arms, provisions, and billeting, and I had finances for none of these things.
Then there was the base request of asking for a large sum of gold. A band of mercenaries to destroy the Tatars could be hired then immediately disbanded once they had completed their task, but then where would I be? Even if I had some coin left over, I was no great businessman. Money given to me would be money wasted on food, wine, and women.
Would I simply ask for Lieutenant Morozova’s hand in marriage? She would still be command of her small detachment of Amazons, and they would be able to attack the Tatars… but in truth, I imagined it to be a terrible marriage. We had only met moments ago, and I was loathe to take her hand by force, or to put her in danger.
The decision still weighed heavily upon my head. Andrei was right that I should discuss the matter with him.
“Very well, Andrei Vasilyevich,” I said, poking him as he contemplated his black bread, “what do you believe would be the wisest thing to ask for?”
The smaller man cleared his throat and said, “Definitely not money. That is a very base thing to ask for from the mother of our empire, and Her Majesty does not hold simple mercenaries in high regard. One would only have to look at her son the crown prince and his pet Germans…”
“If not cash, then what about land?”
“For others, quite viable. But for you, sir? I mean no disrespect, but tell me, with what tools shall you farm this land, hm? And what security do you have that will give confidence to your creditors that you will repay any hypothetical loans?”
“Fair. I am not even sure why I asked. We Cossacks have always loathed farming. So what might you suggest then?”
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“Ask to serve at the czarina’s bidding. Not only will it provide you with a stable livelihood, but it will also grant you immense stature and power.”
I paused for a moment and thought on what he had said.
“Andrei Vasilyevich, I am a Cossack. I value my own freedom above all else. I would not trade that away for anything.”
“Would you rather be free and poor than be subject to the whims of the czarina, who would grant you titles and palaces?”
“I have been free and poor ever since she ransomed me from the Tatars as a boy. Before that I was merely poor. Perhaps I will be free and rich, if only for a while. I will ask for the money.”
Andrei shook his head at me. He was right to do so — I could not bear the thought of giving up my liberty. Service with the czarina was usually for life, and even after that I would have to serve under the crown prince, and so on and so forth until the end of the age.
I had decided that my mind was made up. After we ate, I wandered about camp with the little greencoat following close behind me. The soldiers huddled around their fires gave me dirty looks while they murmured to each other, giving clear indication that I was not welcome. Not that their company was needed, although I would appreciate a second opinion on the czarina’s boon. Word of my stroke of luck had probably passed down the line, and the men were probably quite envious of me. As I walked, it was by chance that I encountered a group of soldiers celebrating with an extra ration of kvass. They looked like a jolly enough bunch, so I decided to join them.
“Excuse me, comrades. Would you mind if I sat beside you?”
Their laughter came to a sudden stop. One of the men, a blonde youth with a large, thin scar across his cheek, turned to me with wild eyes and said,
“Go into my ass, you bitch. Who fucking you?”
His Russian was laden with a very thick accent, and his word choice was astoundingly bad.
“Would you like some help with your Russian, my Silesian friend? The phrase is ‘who the fuck are you,’ and the beneficiary of the czarina’s favor is ‘who the fuck I am.’”
“Friend? You not my friend, you hohol,” he said, referring to the Cossack forelock on my head. “I remember… Pugachev. I was drummer boy; your peasant king killed my regiment! All of them! Only me alived!”
His fellow native Russian greencoats looked at me with the same disdain. I remembered Pugachev too. Years ago, the man wanted freedom for all men, and that meant stepping on the crown to do it. I was free then, and nearly joined up with his rebellion, but that would have been a mistake. The czarina’s troops crushed his rebellion, cut off his head, and then scattered his remains to the four corners of Moscow.
“I am truly sorry for your loss, but I was not involved in that. I myself was merely a boy.”
“Liar,” he snarled. “All hohol joined with Pugachev. Bullets from children same as bullets from men.”
The Silesian stood up. He had at least half a foot on me, but his physique resembled that of a scarecrow. Undeterred, I looked up at the tall, gaunt greencoat and said,
“Would you not rather drink than fight?”
Without another word, he swung at me with all his might, but I shielded my face from the blow and delivered a countering punch to his ribs.
As the Silesian recoiled, my heel flew upwards and slammed into his chin, bringing him to the ground as only a blow from a Cossack could.
The moment he hit the dirt, I heard the click of a flintlock from one of the other soldiers. In a swift motion, I drew the hidden knife from my boot and held it to the Silesian’s throat. Several other clicks followed.
“Opa…” I murmured, seeing half a dozen barrels in my face. “Friends, you saw who started this.”
For a moment, everything was quiet.
“Hey! What goes on here?!” at Lieutenant Morozova’s cry, the men brought their weapons to their shoulders, as if they were called to attention. I turned around to see my rescuer, who was storming towards me with all the ire of a warrior-goddess.
“Are you starting trouble for the men, Cossack? Already?”
Before I could say anything in my defense, the Silesian spoke up,
“Your Nobility,” he said, addressing her by her formal style. “there was… small misunderstanding.”
“Oh?” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “And this misunderstanding brought about this man’s knife to your throat?”
“Ja, I was in wrong.”
Surprised but filled with gratitude, I withdrew my knife and helped the Silesian to his feet.
“I can respect good fighter,” he said. “Man who can kill, but chooses not.”
I chucked, “If a man does not understand a language, perhaps he will understand a kick to the face.”
I had no chance to shake the man’s hand before the lieutenant pulled me away by the elbow. I looked to Andrei, who had been observing, mute, from the sidelines. He simply shrugged at me while the lieutenant escorted me away to where the soldiers could not hear us.
“What were you doing, hm?” she whispered.
“Socializing,” I said with a grin.
“Are you such awful company that men wish to kill you?”
“This one foreigner claimed that my people slaughtered his unit ten years ago! It may have been true, but such is history to me, and not a memory, for I was not there! Besides,” I said as I looked at my dagger, “they were the only lot that seemed a fun bunch. The rest were very depressing.”
The lieutenant snatched my weapon away from me, and before I could protest, thrust an accusing finger at my face.
“Do you know why those men have an extra ration of kvass?”
“I am not quite…”
“Because they are to become Black Sea Marines. They are celebrating their last days on dry land. These boys might not return to shore for a year, maybe two.”
“Two years is indeed a long sentence to be served… doing what exactly?”
She shrugged, “Whatever their captain wills while they are at sea. That is the life of any mariner. Nothing but endless blue ocean and months of sailing on it.”
Lieutenant Morozova spoke of this as if she was repulsed, but we did not share the same vision. To me, this seemed comparable to living on the vast open steppe, where one was free to roam the wide fields with a good horse and steadfast squadron at one’s side. The waves were vaster than the grass, and the sea was just as full of adventure as the steppe was. An idea began to simmer in my head.
If I was to be put in command of a ship of my own, unbeholden to the admirals and commodores of the czarina’s navy, who would be my master if I were to sail away to distant lands? Surely my crew would be at my side, for it is the nature of all men to love freedom. We would venture far beyond Russia’s reach and sail into the ports of Ottoman Konstantinopol and beyond, where we would live like kings, taking what we wanted, with our cannons to give response to anyone who threatened us.
“But now you are dawdling,” said the lieutenant, interrupting my vision. “I want no more fights from you, do you understand? One more punch from you, and you will be thrown out of this camp as a threat to the czarina, boon or no boon.”
I smiled and made a humble bow.
“Of course, Your Nobility. But tell me, what do you think of the men who brave the open ocean?”
She frowned at my question, confused, but answered nonetheless.
“They are very brave, this I can say with certainty. I admire the courage of one who knowingly leaves home, not knowing if he will ever return to the ones he loves. Men like them should be honored.”
Perhaps I would not seek a pile of gold after all. If I had the absolute freedom of the seas and all the wealth of the Mediterranean were to be mine for the taking, what need would I have for a lump sum of gold? The czarina would surely not miss a single small vessel sailing out of her harbor to raid foreigners; especially if the flag it flew was not the flag of Russia, and the ship set sail with her blessing.
That gold would be used to buy more ships, and those ships would become a fleet. A fleet which would conquer the Crimea and reduce the Tatars and their Khanate to ash that would be trampled on by rats. Vengeance would be mine.