Free The Golden Horde by Peter Morwood Page B

Highness?”
    “The Kipchaqs have been allies of the Rus for less than twenty years, and that only because they learned we would pay them to act as scouts, as messengers, as… As mercenaries.” Roman Ingvarevich poured disgust into his voice as a man might pour honey onto a wheaten cake. “Bound to their duty by silver, rather than by honour like an honest Russian bogatyr . But those same Kipchaqs were enemies for more than two hundred years, and those who haven’t accepted payment are still enemies. Do you understand what we say, Volk Volkovich?”
    “That you can’t trust Kipchaqs, no matter who they claim to serve?”
    “Exactly. Were we to send out our household guard to investigate this supposed message sent in supposed friendship from the son of a Tsar who was no friend at all? A message that without proof of source or provenance was no more than rumour? We think not. It might have been the bait for a trap. Such things have happened before, Volk Volkovich. The Kipchaqs are too close to the Tatars, both by race and by past alliance, for any Prince to have much confidence to their unsupported word.”
    “Highness, there are Kipchaq riders in the army of Ryazan. I saw them – indeed, they escorted me into the kremlin.”
    “We employ them. We do not depend on them. A wolf can run with the hounds; that does not make him less a wolf.”
    Volk Volkovich the Grey Wolf choked his laughter into a fit of coughing. “Oh, most assuredly, Highness,” he said when he was able. “There never was a word more truly spoken.” He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, banishing various thoughts to the back of his mind in case he burst out laughing all over again. Of all the proverbs that the Prince of Ryazan could have trotted out, few were less appropriate or more apt. “But you said you confirmed the Kipchaq’s message as truth?”
    “We did, by sending out scouts towards the river Okya. You merely confirm the first message and what we have already learned.”
    “That as we stand exchanging pleasantries the Tatars are on their way?”
    “We have warned you already to curb that impudent tongue, Volk Volkovich. You must be aware the office of courier is no refuge from our displeasure.”
    As it is in more civilized places , thought the Grey Wolf. Unlike Ryazan , concerned with its own importance because there’s so very little of it . He bowed, extending his right hand towards the floor in the proper fashion but a degree lower than was proper so respect became insolence. Roman Ingvarevich didn’t notice, well accustomed to elaborate flattery that puffed his minuscule status as ally and very subordinate landlord of the Great Princes of Vladimir.
    “Your pardon, Highness,” said Volk Volkovich. “I spoke from my concern for Tsar Ivan’s wish to offer aid and —”
    “There will be no need for the Tsar of Khorlov to trouble himself on our account. The envoys sent to our… to the city of Vladimir will return at the head of an army long before the Tatars are close enough to threaten our walls.”
    “Highness, you requested military assistance all the way from Vladimir?” Prince Roman looked evasive, then angry, but said nothing. “But surely saw from Tsar Ivan’s letter that his lady wife can bring aid through a Gate from Khorlov in the minute of your asking for it.”
    “We have said already there is no cause for your liege lord to trouble himself,” said Roman Ingvarevich testily. “And we have no desire that such trouble should involve the sorceress he is pleased to call his wife.”
    “That was uncalled for, Highness, and I do you the courtesy of forgetting I heard it spoken,” said the Grey Wolf. The faintest trace of a snarl in his voice was enough to warn Roman Ingvarevich against taking offence. Instead he scowled in silence for a few moments, then gestured towards the door of the throne room.
    “You may leave the Presence. Now.”
    “And when I enter the presence of my lord the Tsar I shall tell