Yaroslaw's Treasure. Myroslav Petriw

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      Ratibor had barely finished before some fifty boys ran to the far wall of the scriptorium.

      “And there are quivers in the sack on the second floor by the big stone,” added Ratibor. “But keep quiet, the enemy does not sleep yet.”

      The otroks received new, scaled-down bows to fit the thousands of Mongol arrows that they had been collecting. The quivers, too, were sized for those shorter arrows.

      “Panove,” Ratibor addressed the boys, “take all the arrows you can carry and climb to the battlement. Vsevolod, you are their leader. Use all that I have taught you about formations. I will join you soon.”

      When the boys were gone, Ratibor called for his dzhura, Kyrylo. The boy brought a tub of water and a towel, then offered cold roasted pork on a dagger to both Ratibor and the scarred stranger. The scar-faced warrior, clearly in great pain, refused all food.

      Nestor, the monk, frowned at the commander’s menu. “Pane Sotnyk, those boys can get killed!”

      “Look here, dear Nestor,” said Ratibor, scrubbing dried blood off his face and hands, “do you see that city there? Tomorrow, it will be burning. Tomorrow, women and infants, children and soldiers, Christians and Jews, will be dying together. And, living or dead, everyone will look as I look right now, covered in gore. That fate won’t escape any of us. I merely gave those boys a chance for glory.”

      Ratibor wiped his face with the wash towel. He was beginning to look human again. He hungrily attacked his meal.

      “Then I must finally tell you my secret,” said Nestor.

      “I almost forgot your promise, but I hold you to it.”

      “Below this building is an entrance to a cave. It is that cave that is the actual Great Library of Yaroslaw the Wise. Only I and one other monk know of its entrance. We bring books up for copying in the scriptorium, and take our scribes’ best work down for safekeeping. Today, we write up here where the light is better. But I’m told the earliest chroniclers actually wrote day and night in the cave.”

      Ratibor stopped chewing on his meaty bone. “And so then, what is the Pysaniy Kamin, the Written Rock that stands above us?”

      “It is there to seal the entrance to the Great Library. This is how we were to protect the wisdom of the centuries if the city ever fell or was put to the torch.”

      “And how many times was it employed?”

      “Never successfully,” said Nestor. “In the year 6677 by the chroniclers’ count, when Mstyslaw, son of Andriy Boholubsky of Suzdal, razed this city, the ihumen did not have the strength to move the wedges that hold the rock. Many books were lost but it was God’s will that the fires did not burn through the floor.”

      “And you think that you have the strength?”

      “With God’s will.”

      “With rope,” said Ratibor. He turned to where his page was drawing a cup of mead for his master. “Kyrylo, find me a goodly length of strong rope.” He took the offering of strong drink. “Mind the arrows if you go outside.”

      “I know where such materials are stored, Pane Sotnyk,” replied the young dzhura as he scurried away.

      “One more question, my dear monk,” continued Ratibor. “When the great rock drops, do you intend to be above it or below?”

      “I do think, above,” said Nestor, feigning courage. “Death would be swifter.”

      “So, there is no passage out of the Great Library except for the one under our floor?”

      “There is also a great door in the Library,” said Nestor slowly. “It bars entry of unclean spirits and demons. It must never be opened.”

      Ratibor downed the last of the contents of the cup as he mused aloud, “I have seen the great demon. Nought could surpass what I witnessed today.”

      “Ratibor!” cried Vsevolod from above. “They come!”

      Ratibor stood to arm himself. “I thank the unclean devils for allowing me to sup before battle,” he said; then, raising his voice so that Vsevolod could hear on the battlement above, he called, “Bid them prepare, for I go on them!”

      * * *

      Ratibor observed that Vsevolod had prepared his formation cleverly. Here, where the newer battlements of the City of Yaroslaw met those of the older City of Izyaslav-Svyatopolk, they formed an acute “V.” Vsevolod had placed archers in three rows of four facing along the Yaroslaw wall as it sloped down towards the now missing Lyadski Gates. Ten paces behind these, he stationed twelve more in the same manner. On the old battlements of the City of Izyaslav-Svyatopolk, he placed two rows of twelve archers behind the parapets, facing across to the new battlements which were lower and thus fully exposed.

      The Mongols had been facing tough resistance from defenders on the wall, who had fought to the last man. But now, in the dark, they were moving quickly along the battlement in massed formation like a black tide towards Ratibor’s sector.

      “Vsevolod,” said Ratibor, “the enemy is well within range.”

      “Ready!” commanded the leader of the otroks.

      “Row one shoot! … Down!” began Vsevolod.

      “Row two shoot! … Down!”

      “Row three shoot! … All stand!”

      “Row one shoot! … Down!”

      “Row two shoot! … Down!”

      This process had deadly effect. By the time each archer had shot but twice, the young otroks had killed and wounded as many as Ratibor had at the Lyadski Gates. Now the archers on the old battlements began shooting into the rear of the Mongol formation, creating an obstacle of dead and wounded. Vsevolod ordered the second group of twelve archers to replace the first. This gave the first group time to rest and refill their quivers. The mass of Mongol-Tatars had stopped advancing, and a half dozen ran back in panicked retreat. To Ratibor’s amazement, these few were cut down by their own rearguard. The cruelty of Mongol tactics was beyond his comprehension.

      “This battle is over,” announced Ratibor. “You have covered yourself in glory. Now I expect they will bring up their own archers. Move to the ladders. I want the rear group of twelve down and into the scriptorium now. If they shoot arrows, I will order the rest of you down.”

      A hundred arrows whistled through the sky towards Ratibor’s sector.

      “Down the ladders now!” ordered Ratibor. He used his shield to cover the otroks’ retreat.

      “What now?” asked Vsevolod.

      “They are disengaging for the night. We hold the high ground and it is dark – so their shots aren’t effective.”

      “So what do we do?”

      “Go mind the boys below. Bid them sleep. But station a half dozen otroks on the old wall as sentries.”

      The Mongols СКАЧАТЬ