Rally Cry (29 page)

"So they will attack whether we stay or leave," Andrew said, shaking his head.

"Exactly, my friend."

"I must give my men time to make this decision, though. It's their way. Mainers don't make such choices on the spur of the
moment,
they want time to chew it over."

"I now have a third thing to tell you," Kal said, his voice lowering to a whisper.

"And that is?"

"We will fight the nobles if they move against you."

"No!" Andrew said, coming to his feet.

Stunned by the response, Kal looked at the colonel with confusion.

"You can't," Andrew said quickly. "They're mounted warriors in armor. One of them can kill fifty of you. You'll be facing them with nothing but pitchforks and rusty knives. You might have dreams of some glorious change, Kal, but it's hopeless."

"But
Hawthorne told us about your Declaration of Independence and how peasants defeated nobles and became free."

Andrew looking reproachfully at the boy.
He had disobeyed orders, and Andrew's anger was visible.

"I spoke what my conscience told me to speak,"
Hawthorne replied evenly, not showing fear at Andrew's anger.

"It was different for us," Andrew said, looking back at Kal. "We had guns to fight against the boyar's soldiers. We had a big land, hundreds of times bigger than Rus. And we had time—it took us eight years to win. You have no
weapons,
you have no place to hide when you lose fights, and most of all you have no time. For even if you could hold them for a time, still the Tugars would come and then crush all of you, peasant and noble."

"And you are telling me to watch as again my people are driven to the pits."

Unable to answer, Andrew looked away.

"The only alternative is that you will all die."

"I am willing to face that, Keane."

"I wish I could help," Andrew replied, "but that is in the hands of my men now."

"You do not know what you have perhaps started here," Kal said evenly. "Every time your soldiers went into Suzdal, every time a peasant came to the mill with grain, my people saw how different all of you were. They would go home and whisper about the strange Yankees who did not live under the boyar. And
Hawthorne is not to blame for his words. For it has been whispered already throughout all of Suzdal, and even as far as Vazima, and, yes, even to Novrod."

"If my men vote to leave, we will leave," Andrew said quietly. "Do not fight the boyars, and even if we stay I do not wish your blood upon our hands. If we face the Tugars, and the boyars do not, then we will face them alone."

Andrew stood up as if to leave.

"There is one last thing to speak of," Kal said quickly.

"And that is?"

"You will not see me again," he said.

"Why?" And there was a look of concern on Andrew's face.

"A messenger came to me this morning. I am ordered back to the court of Ivor."

"Then you'd best go."

Kal shook his head.

"I will not ask for your protection, for there is too much already between you and him. But I will not go back."

"Then where are you going?"

Kal merely smiled. "I just ask that you take Ludmilla and my darling Tanya behind your walls. Ivor will not trouble you over them."

The two women, who had been standing to one side, came rushing up to Kal, and he held both of them close.

"And there is this final thing. Do not speak a word of what we have said. I trust only two now, you and my son, Hawthorne."

"What are you saying?"

"There is a traitor in your ranks."

Incredulous, Andrew looked at Kal as if he had not heard correctly.

"It is true. One of your men was seen leaving the cathedral several weeks back."

"Who is it?"

"It was storming at the time, and my man could not get close enough to see him. But it was a Yankee. Though he wore a cloak like a peasant, his pants and shoes were seen from behind. The man sensed he was followed and ran into a crowd and was lost.

"You cannot say anything of your intent now, of what was said here, except perhaps to your closest friends, such as the grumbling sergeant or the kindly doctor. For you do not know."

Stunned, Andrew did not react. What could have been offered, to draw a man away from his comrades? How could he have been so naive as not to imagine it? Here a traitor could have wealth or power undreamed of back home.

"It is a sad world we live in," Andrew said softly.

"Goodbye, my friend."

Awkwardly, Andrew followed the custom of the Rus and embraced Kal.

"Could I ask one final favor, though?" the peasant said quickly.

"Anything."

He motioned to Ludmilla, who went to the side table and returned with the small pocket Bible that
Hawthorne had given to them.

"Could you say the words over my daughter and new son now? I wish to see that before I go."

Smiling, Andrew took the Bible, and as he spoke, for the first time since losing John on the fields of
Gettysburg, tears came to his eyes to mingle with the tears of the four who stood before him.
For though it was a moment of joy, all knew what would most likely come no matter what their dreams and plans.

"There are over eight thousand men at arms in the city. My warehouses are being emptied by their stomachs," Ivor said, looking down the length of his feasting table. The boyars of all the cities of Rus were there, even Mikhail, and the mere sight of him filled Ivor's soul with anger.

"We still need more," Rasnar replied.

"And strip our lands of all soldiers?" Boros of Novrod retorted. "We are not fools."

Boros stood up and looked accusingly at Ivor.

"You allowed the infection of these Yankees into our land. You plotted to use them against us. Now word of them has spread. You might be deaf, Ivor, but I am not. Many of my landholders refused to come. They fear if they do the peasants might revolt while they are gone. All the spies hear the same thing whispered. No, I am no fool to return and have to slaughter my field workers, especially when the Tugars will want the taxes we must raise for next year."

"You have let things go too far," Ivan of Vazima snarled. "Let the emptying of your warehouses be a lesson."

Ivor looked nervously around. When the fight was won, he thought darkly, these men would turn on him like wolves
kill him, and place Mikhail on the throne instead. He could only hope that the fear of a supporter of the church ruling Suzdal would stay their hands.

"It is understood, though," Ivor said sharply, "that the weapons of the Yankees are divided between us."

"Never," Rasnar replied. "For the Tugars will not allow a device more powerful than their bows to be kept by us. You are all fools to think otherwise. They must go to the church for safekeeping."

Enraged, Ivor turned on Rasnar, who had promised so differently only days before.

"And give you the power?" Ivor retorted.

"The safekeeping.
Could any of you trust the other not to hold the smoke sticks back? Then you will all try to conceal them, and the Tugars will slaughter us all as a result."

"Who's to know if we give them some and hide the rest?" Ivan asked.

"I have told them how many Yankees there are," Rasnar replied, "and how many weapons will be given unto them when they come."

"Damn you," Ivor roared.

"It is only to save us all," Rasnar replied sanctimoniously, and smiling inwardly he did not bother to mention that the number he gave was far less than the number the Yankees most likely had. Already he had in his possession four of the weapons captured by Mikhail and had learned how to use them. Now if only that Hinsen would reveal the secret of powder as well, his power would be limitless.

The boyars looked one to the other, and their fear of one another played well into Rasnar's hands. After a long hour of shouting and arguing, all except Ivor finally agreed that the weapons spoil would go to the church. And at that moment Rasnar knew he had truly won what Ivor had blocked for so long. For once the Tugars had
gone,
he could use the power of the weapons hidden to turn first one, and then another boyar against the others, until finally the church had won back control.

"We do not know, though, what the Yankees plan to do," Mikhail said, returning the debate to the planning of the action.

"They have sealed themselves off well," Ivan agreed. "Our scouts have surrounded their camp. Their walls are manned day and night. We allow no one to get in, but in turn no one comes out."

"Remember what the Namer of Time demanded," Rasnar said. "We must not allow them to escape, for my source of information told me they would decide that issue this very night. If they leave we will have to answer for it next year when the horde arrives."

Rasnar stood up and walked over to the window. Opening it, he looked out, a cold blast of air sweeping in to chill the room.

"Their smoke sticks and the great weapons kill from far away.
But if we but get on top of them, our swords and axes will kill them nevertheless.
Mikhail in his bravery has already shown us that."

The bearded warrior stuck out his chest and looked about the room haughtily.

"I split the skull of one myself," he said, grinning, and pulling out his ax he held it aloft.

"I believe that
Perm has answered my prayer," and dramatically Rasnar pointed out the window.

All day the skies had been darkening from the west, and already the first heavy flakes of snow were starting to fall.

"When darkness falls, we march," Rasnar said, turning back to the assembly. "
Perm will cast his cloak over our host, blinding our foe. We will swarm over their walls, coming out of the snow as angels of death to kill the infidels!"

Shaking like a bear to rid himself of the snow, the hooded form came into the back room of the tavern.

Those who looked up at him were silent.

"I could be killed for being here," he said evenly.

"We let you be here," Boris said coldly. "When a priest ventures into tavern after tavern asking for Kalencka, Ivor's man, the word of him spreads even before his feet. We saw you were not followed, so your steps were guided here."

Nervously the man looked about, and his blood went chill. The room was packed with peasants and craftsmen of the city. He realized that there was a fair chance they would slit his throat rather than let him step back out.

"Speak, priest, and be quick about it."

"The army will march in an hour."

"You bring us nothing new," Boris said coldly. "Do you think us blind? There are eight thousand men of arms in the city. They cannot be roused out without our knowing."

"The Yankees must be warned."

Boris laughed coldly.

"Shall we then slip out of the city to tell them? Ivor has posted guards on the walls, and the gates are closed. If one can even get out of the city he still must slip through the men who surround the Yankee camp as well. We have sent six men to try to get through, and none has returned. We are in this alone now."

Dejected, the priest visibly slumped.

"Kill him," Ilya hissed.

There was an angry growl from the group. A dagger snicked out from under Boris's cloak, and he stepped forward.

"Wait."

Boris stopped and looked to a man sitting in the shadows of the back of the room.

"He's a spy," Boris argued.

"I don't think so," Kal said as he stood up and walked over to the priest.

"What is your name?"

"Casmar."

"That's the secretary of Rasnar," Dya growled. "
Kal,
let me kill him myself."

"Wait. Let me ask him why he came to us first," Kal said quietly.

"You are Kalencka?" Casmar asked.

Kal merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"All of Ivor's guards are looking for you. There's thirty gold pieces on your head."

"So much for such a poor head," Kal said, laughing in a self-deprecatory manner. "Answer me, secretary of Rasnar, why would you betray your master?"

"I have stood by his side too long," Casmar said quietly. "He does not serve
Perm nor Kesus, but only his own vanity. He and others like him have corrupted the church into something unholy.

"I joined believing," Casmar said sadly. "I still believe, but I do not believe in Rasnar. The church should protect the common people, not hold them in fear, and sell indulgences against the Tugars, for that is an evil thing that makes Rasnar rich."

Casmar stopped and looked about the room.

"Well, that is quite a thing you've said," Kal said quietly, looking into Casmar's eyes. "I wish I could believe you, and then perhaps I would pray again."

"If you wish to kill me," Casmar said quietly, his voice trembling, "then do so now. Just let me pray first to Kesus before you do it."

"A priest who actually prays," Kal said, with no mockery in his voice. He looked around the group and saw the hesitation.

"Let him live," Kal said, "but keep him here."

There was no argument, for many in the room were visibly moved by the genuine piety of the rotund priest.

Kal started for the door and looked back.

"Would you pray for us, priest?
For we shall need it very shortly."

Casmar nodded, and Kal went to his knees, and all about him followed suit.

"As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free," Kal said, looking at the priest.

"What is that?" Casmar asked.

"Oh, a prayer song
Hawthorne, my son, taught me," and, grim-faced, Kalencka rose after the blessing and left the room.

"Company
A
, attention!"

The snow muffled the sound of rifles snapping to position.

"All right, men," Hans said, standing stiffly before the company, "the polls are opened. Line up inside the meeting house, pick up your ballots. Write 'Stay' or 'Leave,' according to your feeling. Once you're done, form up back outside.

"Right
face—forward, march."

Hawthorne
pulled up his collar against the windy blast. The snow had started to sweep in just as darkness settled. It felt like home almost, a real nor'easter; already an inch of powdery snow was on the ground.

The camp was on full alert tonight, half the men standing duty on the walls while the other half tried to stay warm inside the cabins. Shifting the men back and forth by companies would mean the voting would take hours, and
Hawthorne wondered if he could contain his anxiety much longer.

The politicking had been hard all week. By agreement, the officers had refused to comment one way or the other, since it was not their vote. So the debate had settled fully on the soldiers. He still found it nearly impossible to reconcile his stand with his religious beliefs, for surely to stay would mean fighting and death, while leaving would spare a battle. If he truly believed his Quaker teachings he would have argued for their leaving. But in the face of the monstrosity of the Tugars and the slavery of the nobles and church, his conscience had rebelled.

His heart was torn with the argument even as he had stood up at the town meeting the night before to plead desperately for the regiment to stay and fight, first the nobles and then the hated nightmare from the west.

He found to his surprise that the men listened to him intently, with no catcalls or heated words as when others had spoken. He realized later that they knew his religious convictions and the undoubtable moral arguments he had wrestled with inside himself, and respected him for that.

Only Hinsen had stood up to speak against him, and even those who agreed with Hinsen had shouted for him to sit down.

But in his heart he knew that the vote would go against him. The logic of staying was far too weak. Sergeant Barry had, in a forceful presentation, fully caught the sentiment of many when he expressed his hatred and rage of the system, but then pointed out the tactical impossibility of fighting now. He ended with the proposal that they find another place, build their strength over a period of time, rally the peasants, and then twenty years hence destroy the Tugars when they came again.

"It is senseless to die with no hope of victory, accomplishing nothing," Barry said in the end, "when if we spare ourselves now and prepare, we can one day destroy our enemy forever."

His words were met by a thunderous round of applause.

"Corporal Hawthorne, you're next,"
came
a voice from inside.

Hawthorne
looked up at the blowing snow and then stepped into the meeting hall.

The men about the stairs let out a clamorous shout as the boyars descended the steps of Ivor's palace and swung up on their mounts.

The shouts rippled on out across the square to those who could not see because of the snow, and thundered up the side streets packed with men.

Ivor swung about and looked at his personal guard around him, the only soldiers mounted. All had agreed that the army would advance by foot, since horses would be useless against the walls and also would allow them to advance more quickly as a compact host.

"Let's go, then," Ivor said grimly.

Swallowing hard, Kal looked about. In his heart he knew it was madness, it was an act of desperation he had never truly explained to his companions. There were hundreds waiting in the side alleyways, and thousands more who still wavered, watching to see what would happen. But he had to make this one last gesture, and nerving himself, Kal started to step out of the tavern, but suddenly Boris and Ilya grabbed hold of him.

"I must still try," Kal said, struggling in their grasp. "Perhaps Ivor will listen."

"You will die if you do," Boris hissed. "We'll need you in the hours to come."

Kicking and screaming, he was dragged back into the building. From out of side alleyways hundreds of peasants started to pour out into the street leading down to the south gate. Frightened, they looked at one another. The words of freedom and defiance had inflamed their hearts when it was still only talk, but now the price of it was becoming all too real.