“The Karbada horse that belonged to the staff captain, the one that Yermack stole. As I recall, it was you that taught Yermack everything he knows about horses.”
The old Cossack had a troubled look on his face.
“I wish no evil on the lad. He is a brave one like the Cossacks in my youth.”
“There will be no worries from me. I will only speak with Yermack and then he can do whatever he wishes.”
I extended the cracked porcelain halfway.
Daddy Eroshka’s large hand wrapped around the cup of vodka, but I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.
“I’ve heard rumors,” he said at last, “that a dark-colored Karbada horse, much like the staff captain’s, might be found tethered in the dense woods along the Terek.”
I released my grasp.
“And when will Yermack come to the village again from the cordon?”
The old Cossack eyed the pail of vodka on the floor at my feet.
“Tonight,” he replied, “at sunset. Some of the girls are having a party and he will be there.”
I handed him the pail and left.
By early evening, I had stationed myself by the main village gate. The girls in their beshmets and smocks with their hair tied up in colored kerchiefs had already herded the cattle through the gate and into the yards. All the ox carts with their loads of black grapes had also come home. I’d seen Marushka with her long black hair, bold figure, and dark eyes, and knew why both the Cossack lad and the Russian captain sought her affections. Now I waited for Yermack.
As the sun began to set, a young rider on a gray horse came down the road. He wore a tattered, light brown Circassian coat with the coat’s long skirts covering down to his knees. A white cap sat back on his head like a Chechen brave. His musket was strapped to his back in a warrior’s carefree manner, and it made no noise as he rode.
When the horseman approached the gate, I stepped into the road and inquired, “Yermack?”
He stopped the gray horse with its shoulder almost touching mine.
“I am. Who are you?”
“I’m a friend.”
He leaned forward on his saddle.
“I know all my friends, but I think you are the Armenian trader from the south.”
“I know about the Karbada horse, Karagyoz, hidden in the forest.”
Yermack shrugged the musket off his shoulder and into his hands.
“You picked a poor place to die, Armenian.”
“And you would be killing the wrong man.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have an answer to your problems,” I replied.
His countenance remained stern; there was no joy in the hard smile on his lips.
“Go on.”
“First, take the Karbada horse across the river and sell him to the Chechens.”
“He’s an excellent horse; I will keep him.”
Ah, I had forgotten the stubbornness of youth. I now reconsidered the situation before us.
“Then is there a Chechen on the other side that you trust to hide the horse for a while?”
“Yarbay Khan is my kunak, we’ve raided the horse herds of the Nogay together. He will do anything I ask.”
“Good. Take the horse across the river to him tonight. Second, find an elder from the pro-Russian Chechen village near your cordon, and send the man to me at this gate just before the sun rises tomorrow. He and I will take care of the rest. Now go.”
Yermack had a disappointed look on his face.
“There’s a party tonight.”
“You’ll have several parties if we do this right. Otherwise, you may lose both of your ‘dark eyes’ to the staff captain.”
He brandished his musket. A frown creased his forehead.
“I would gladly shoot that Russian right off his porch, but then I would become an outlaw with no village, no family.”
His horse stood motionless for a while before Yermack spoke again.
“Maybe I will try your way this one time.”
Reining his horse partway around, he suddenly stopped, his head turning back in my direction.
“You and I have not known each other that well. Why do you do this for me?”
“I have an inherent distrust of Turks and Russians. Besides, who knows what the future holds, perhaps sometime you will do a favor for me.”
Yermack nodded and rode off up the road toward the woods along the Terek. He had no idea how soon I might request this favor I’d mentioned, but with the manner of man we were both dealing with, I felt sure I would be in need of Yermack’s services, probably within a day. There was nothing else to do now except sleep and see what the morning brought.
As the stars winked out of the fading night and the sky grew pale blue in the east, I once again stood at the main village gate.
Red streaks had covered the bottom of the distant clouds hanging on the mountaintops before I saw the old man walking out of the morning mist along the river. When he drew closer, he hailed me.
“Are you the Armenian?”
“I am. Are you the friend of Yermack?”
He greeted me in Chechen fashion. In turn, I pressed silver coins into his palm and explained his part in what we were about to do. He agreed and asked no questions.
From there, we walked to the schoolteacher’s house and I roused the teacher from his morning samovar.
“We must speak with the staff captain,” I said.
“He may still be sleeping,” replied the teacher. “Perhaps we should wait until he stirs.”
I shrugged.
“We can wait until tomorrow if it pleases you. But yesterday, the Russian noble seemed anxious to hear word about his horse. The choice is yours to make.”
The schoolteacher pursed his lips.
“I see. And this is a matter of great importance?”
I assured him that it was. Also, that I needed himself and one other male as witness.
The teacher glanced at the Chechen elder, then studied my face as if he could read my mind. And perhaps he could, for he immediately sent his oldest son to get fully dressed, and bawled for his old wife to get his regimental coat ready. The one with all the medals. As he slid into his jacket, his daughter hurried forward with his black leather riding boots.
Made ready, the four of us trooped across the yard and up the steps of the second house. The staff captain must have heard the thud of the regimental schoolteacher’s boot soles on the porch boards. He slung the door open and leaned insolently against the door frame.
“So much noise. Must be important.”
“We know where your horse has gone.” This I could say without a lie upon my lips because I had made these arrangements myself. And since the Chechen elder had come to me at dawn, I could assume that the rest of my message was true, therefore I could speak with a relatively clear conscience. I tugged on the elder’s sleeve until he stood beside me on the porch. “This old man from a village across from one of the cordons has word of your Karagyoz.”
The village elder proceeded to relate a story of watching a Chechen Abrek ride across the Terek leading a dark-colored Karbada horse while yesterday’s morning mist was still upon the water. Horses and rider then disappeared in the direction of the foothills.
The staff captain stared at me.
“How does he know it was an Abrek and not one of the local Cossacks?”
I gently prodded the old man.
“Because I saw his blue trousers; shaved head with the long tuft of hair on the right side; and his red-dyed, short-cropped beard and trimmed mustache. Truthfully, an Abrek has your horse.”
This had been the easy part.
The Russian grunted his displeasure at the news.
I turned the old Chechen around and pointed him down the stairs. I had more business to conduct with the captain.
“You wished me to find your horse and I have done as you requested.”