Horses mended their pace, urged by the chill of the night, but did not break into trot. Following Oleg’s example, Thomas listened for a danger. He heard wolves and jackals calling to each other. An eagle-owl flew past them silently, its dark shadow screened the stars for a moment. Bats darted by frequently, the flaps of their leathery wings silent the same, their prominent eyes a frightful blaze of red coals, their sharp white teeth shimmering like sugar.
The three of them descended slowly from a gently sloping hill into a flat valley almost intact by ravines. Thomas was the first to notice a sparkle ahead and alert. They rode on for a long time, peering there tensely, stopping to listen, until the sparkle turned a reddish spot, quivering and shape-shifting.
They drove straight to the fire. It vanished in times, hidden by trees. Finally, they came to a low steep stone wall shielding a bonfire. Six sullen men were warming themselves around it: filthy and ragged, their faces angry and irritated. Two men leaned their backs on the stone, sharpening their curved swords on the rough boulders. Two others lay beneath motley blankets, the rest raked coals and spoke in hushed voices.
One of the men heard a clatter of hooves and cried idly, “Tagran? You?”
Silently, Thomas and the wonderer rode into the lit circle, Chachar at their heels. The six villains were up at once. One lingered a bit and was kicked. Thomas found himself surrounded by gleaming spearheads. Oleg dismounted unhurriedly, Thomas followed his suit. They unsaddled and tethered their horses, tied the bags of oat.
Six villains stood around, looking at each other. One stepped back, vanished in the dark. He must have gone to check for the crossbow bolts pointed at the gang, for strong lads with strong bows who had surrounded.
Finally, a black-bearded, abruptly-moving villain demanded, “Who are you? Why came?”
Chachar was scared. Thomas helped her to dismount, while Oleg sat down by the fire, squirmed to make himself comfortable. “Don’t you know?” he said derisively. “Who left those three fools in ambush then?”
The villains exchanged glances. “Did you kill them?” the black-bearded man asked harshly.
Thomas seated Chachar near the wonderer. She cuddled up to him with her trembling shoulder, quiet as a cornered mouse. “Definitely we would have killed them!” Thomas replied haughtily.
The villains were shifting their feet. Two sharp spearheads all but touched the wonderer’s neck, three more were pressed on Thomas’s breast.
Oleg glanced back. “You may sit down,” he said with annoyance.
The villains exchanged glances again. The Black Beard said in an abrupt, angry voice, “We can stand. And you tell us quickly and bluntly: what happened to our three friends who… dropped behind?”
Thomas and Oleg looked at each another. The spears pointed at them were held by strong hands but at that moment the spearheads started quivering.
“They will not come ahorse,” Thomas said solemnly, then had a second thought and added, “Never.”
“Neither on foot,” Oleg told them reluctantly.
“And they won’t crawl on their fours,” Chachar squealed, her voice broken with desperate braveness. “Nor on their bellies!”
The Black Beard jerked his shoulder. They heard a quiver in his malicious voice. “You couldn’t have seen them! They skilled hunters. Grab a saiga by horns before it smells them! They lied in good wait, you just couldn’t have…”
“Their wait ended before we came,” Thomas replied proudly.
Oleg, in the habit of hermits and preachers to explain and make everyone see it, spoke in a humble voice, “Are jackals never attacked by wolves? Before we found your friends, they had met Hazars. It’s a savage tribe, if you know: Khazars who went wild. A hundred years ago, Prince Svyatoslav wiped the great Khazar Kaganat off the face of earth. The few Khazars who survived were disseminated among Pechenegs and Polovtsians. But the most savage gang is still roaming about. They skin everyone they capture, slash bellies open to see a man crawling around for a long time, dragging his guts behind, with his belly stuffed with stones…”[11]
The even line of spears around them broke. Thomas heard a heavy breath overhead, but did not look there. He was warming his chilled palms by the fire, its dry heat make him squint with pleasure. At last, he heard a constrained voice nearby. “Can they… get on our tracks?” Other villains started to breath faster at once. Thomas grasped that the speaker had articulated what everyone was trembling about. He saw Oleg smirking at the silly question and made a wider smirk himself.
Spears began to vanish from sight. The wonderer tossed some twigs into the fire, paying no heed to the villains who argued just over his head. They hissed at each other, all but spitting, but habitual malice in their voices was replaced by terror.
“But there are Frank garrisons!” a man screamed.
Oleg shook his head silently. Thomas replied competently, “Franks?.. Invincible in the battle of cavalries, but not able to cope with light Saracen parties. They fall upon suddenly and rob and scatter at once, then gather again at a nook. They leave horses unshod to enable a faster gallop. And Khazars… or Hazars… that’s the first time I hear of them but if they are wild nomads, the heavy Frankish cavalry is no protection. I’m a knight myself. I shall kill a hundred of them in attack but shan’t catch up even a single one!”
The villains were coming to the fire one by one. The sharp spears were now pointed at the sky. “Hazars will take you, as they took your friends,” Oleg said in a peaceful voice. “Alive, for sure! Ill-fated, they wreak their anger on captives. I’d rather not recall what I saw there!”
They heard a moan in the dark. A different villain held his breath as if he were punched in the gut. As Oleg raked the coals with a twig, he felt the very air impregnated with fear. The pale long faces with goggled eyes were pitiful and nasty to look at.
The Black Beard spoke abruptly the same, but his voice quavered. “We’ll have to ride in an arc to find refuge in the nearest fortress. It’s just two days ride!”
“They’ll attack you at once. From behind.”
“What if we find a shelter? We have two bows and lots of arrows. In a cave with a narrow entrance, we can hold for long!”
“…with them sitting in sight, gobbling, drinking, and dancing for you to see. You’ll run out of your food soon, and sooner — of your water. And see them pouring water on the ground or each another. And when they get you, half-dead with thirst, they won’t let you die soon. Or easy.”
“We’ll be sacrificed to their gods?” the Black Beard asked in a droopy voice.
“Their God,” Oleg corrected. “Once they put their gods aside for a foreign one. The only one. Khan Obadiah adopted the new faith in the eight hundred and fifth. That was the beginning of the collapse of Kaganat. Khazars were punished by their old gods for apostasy and not protected by the new one. That new god had no shape, his appearance always hidden, so he was called hideous. Judging by his behests, that hideous god was brutal and blood-thirsty. We, the good sir and I, don’t mind whether you live or die. You are robbers yourself, so get paid by your own coin. I’d never object to Hazars giving you a good Christian death, though I’m no Christian. But we, with good sire and highborn lady… Chachar, don’t fell, that’s a fire!.. we are against the savage torments that await you. That’s why we’ll give you a chance to save your bacons.”
“What must we do?” a villain asked in a desperate voice. “What to do?”
“Saddle your horses and leave. Now. They are just about to find this fire. And then… Old Hazars would rather bring you to their camp, to take you with their bare hands for all the tribe to see. They are skillful in it… But the young daredevils can attack at once!”
The villains jumped up and rushed about, snatching their strewn things, knocking each other down. Oleg was looking thoughtfully in the dancing flames. Thomas winced with contempt: he could forgive cowardice to unarmed farmers but not to men who chose a risky life at will!
While the villains saddled and tightened girths, Thomas and Oleg took the bags of oats from their horses, untethered them. Chachar fidgeted in the saddle, peering into the dark, her eyes round with fright, but she kept silence, only glanced back at Thomas and Oleg in times.
They numbered nine when rode out of the valley: the knight and the pilgrim first, Chachar between them, and scared villains behind, shuddering and bowing at every sudden sound — a flap of wings or a crunch of brushwood.
Tired horses dragged along reluctantly. They rode in silence, even Thomas and Chachar, hearing only the gentle clatter of hooves and soft leather creaks of saddles. The moon crept behind a translucent cloud, wandered
