Elina and her daughter Evdokiya, brought to the prisoner tent along with other citizens of Torzhok, were able to recognize a few familiar faces. But there was no sign of her mother-in-law, sister-in-law, or brother's wife. Everyone was frightened, and many were crying. Perhaps she and her daughter were the only ones from the Vetrov family to have survived. It may have been fortunate, in the end, that her daughter had been fussy and unable to take refuge in the church. The city center she had seen on the way to this tent was a burnt wasteland — she felt she could see all the way through to the depths of the forest. The church must have burned down with all the people who had fled inside it.
Elina's husband, Yakov Alekseyevich, was the fourth son of the Vetrov family — a wealthy merchant house that had produced the mayor of Torzhok on multiple occasions. Too kind for his own good, he had been cheated in dealings time and again and was looked down upon within the family. He was nominally in charge of grain trade with Novgorod, but her father-in-law had already handled the pricing and negotiations; Yakov's role was simply to oversee the transfer of goods. Yet Elina loved her Yakov, who always came home with a gift for her. On that day, Yakov had gone to the main house and was not at home. Where he was now, she did not know.
Elina looked around her. It seemed she was the highest-ranking person here. She cleared her throat and stood up.
"Everyone — I am the wife of Yakov of the Vetrov family. By God's grace, we have survived. I don't know what will become of us, but let us keep our spirits up and protect our children. First of all — let's introduce ourselves."
Elina watched as everyone looked at her and nodded, and for the moment she was able to gather them together and calm them down. If she could negotiate with the Tatars, there might be hope ahead. She gripped her daughter's hand tightly.
When night fell, a female commander arrived with soldiers in tow. The women pulled their children close and shrank into themselves. They had heard that this woman general had a particular fondness for children — especially soft, small infants. Elina hid her daughter behind her so she would not be noticed.
"I am General Sarnai. You are now our prisoners. Do not think of escaping. If you behave, you may sleep here and you will be fed. We cannot give you enough to grow fat, but you will not starve."
At Sarnai's words, everyone held their breath. A few let out small cries. The Tatars were monsters. They were keeping them alive to use as food. Elina stood and faced the female general, and the women fell silent.
"I am of the Vetrov family. We are grateful for your mercy. But — we, we are human beings. The same as you… The children too are human beings. We are not, not food." Elina's face contorted. She prayed her words would be understood.
Sarnai glanced at the interpreter, who cleared his throat and translated Elina's words into Mongolian. Sarnai stared at Elina, taken aback. Sooty and torn in places, her clothes were nonetheless fine. More than anything, she had courage.
"How absurd. What kind of monsters do you take us for? You will be put to work as our slaves, or you will be sold. Rest assured — we do not eat people."
The two contradictory words — rest assured and slaves — made Elina stagger involuntarily. Sarnai said, gently:
"Life among the Mongols is not so bad. At least not when I am your master."
Sarnai's words were no comfort to Elina whatsoever. Rather, they were a stark reality made plain. Elina squeezed her daughter's fingers in return.
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The following day. The sky was clear and it felt almost warm — though in truth the temperature was below freezing. Norjin was making his rounds through the burned city. Since Zaya had begun traveling with him, she had come to understand something about him. Like a wild wolf, Norjin was compelled to check his territory several times a day. He patrolled around the cluster of tents his unit had pitched, walked through the streets of the town, rode along the riverbank on horseback. Whether it was a habit born of his past as a fugitive, she could not say. He had done it at Ryazan, at Vladimir. He was doing it here at Torzhok too. What was different from before was that behind Norjin's horse now rode Sarnai's.
"I'm impressed — you handle your horse so well," Sarnai said admiringly. Among Mongols, riding from childhood was the norm, and most could handle a horse as an extension of themselves — but Norjin's riding was something different. Rather than the rider directing the horse, the horse seemed to move of its own accord. In general, Norjin moved with no wasted motion, fluid and smooth, and that was no different on horseback. It was elegant — beautiful enough to make one stop and stare.
"What do you mean, now of all times?" Norjin started, then remembered. "Ah, come to think of it, we've never gone out together just the two of us."
“We never had the time,” Sarnai said with a soft, knowing laugh.
“That wasn’t entirely my fault,” Norjin replied, a faint smile playing at his lips.
Sarnai dug her heels into her horse's flanks and sped ahead.
“Someone I know was terribly lonely once,” Sarnai called over her shoulder.
“He thought being alone was worse than dying.”
Her voice, sing-song, was left behind. Norjin spurred his horse forward.
For a moment, he meant to follow. Then he drew the reins. The horse slowed. Sarnai, noticing he was not following, turned and came back. Her cheeks were flushed as if brushed with rouge.
“Norjin. I can’t go on like this.”
“I can’t,” she repeated, softer now.
“Didn’t you say there was someone else?”
“Oh,Norjin,” Sarnai cut in, almost exasperated.
“You know why I said that.”
His eyes flickered, never resting on her.
“It’s too late,” he murmured. “Too late. Already.”
He never once lifted his eyes to meet hers.
Elina knew she could not stay shut away in the tent forever. Rising early in the morning, she urged everyone to clean the tent and helped the soldiers who brought their meals. Apparently there were more captive women and children in another tent nearby — they seemed to have been brought from further north. Knowing they were not alone gave Elina some small comfort.
She communicated through gestures that she could mend torn clothing, and soldiers began appearing with ripped garments and damaged armor. The air was cold, but the weather was fine, so they sat outside talking as they sewed, or helped with the preparation of food. Elina's reasoning was that if they showed themselves to be useful, they would not be treated harshly. As she sat sewing, letting her mind drift, she noticed a group of men shuffling along from the direction of a sheep pen where they were tethered. All of them were heavily bearded and looked utterly spent. Elina suddenly stood up.
She stared intently at one lean man walking with his head down and his back hunched.
"Oh — God—"
Her husband was alive. Tears spilled from Elina's eyes. She hurried back into the tent and pulled her daughter into her arms. Yakov was alive. It was as if warmth and relief had returned to Elina's heart.
In Novgorod, grain merchant Alexei Sobolev — chosen to go as an envoy — was saying his farewells to his fellow councillors. It was now March, and the river ice was beginning to thaw. It would be a journey of sleds by night and horses through muddy terrain by day. Alexei had traveled to Torzhok many times for business and knew the roads well. He was acquainted with the mayor of Torzhok, and had a connection with the influential Vetrov family — he had even thought that if circumstances allowed, he might ask to stay with them. Since he knew the city well, he might also be able to gather information on the Tatars. That is, if the city was still standing. Alexei shook his head. He knew he was being cynical, but this was neither the time nor the place.
"Well then — I'm counting on good news." The mayor's official waved him off. Alexei waved back, and set out toward Torzhok.
