Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

“That’s all, is it?”

“Well, there’s something else… just a meaningless trifle…”

Lida, now very red in the face, lowered her head.

“Oh, if it’s just a meaningless trifle, I’ll leave it to you to find some meaning in it,” Ivan Semenovich said with a chuckle. “You must write back at once. Let’s not make Artem worry unnecessarily — we have settled things more or less with Hartak, haven’t we? Are there any sheets left in my notepad?”

“Quite a few, Ivan Semenovich, there’s quite enough to last us several more days. I’ll begin right now and will describe everything that happened to Artem. Where’s the pencil?”

Ivan Semenovich turned away to conceal from Lida the arch but benevolent smile that spread across his face.

Varkan takes a decision as to the size of his group; Dorbatay stages another sacrifice with diviners taking part and a man dying in the flames; Artem draws some historical and literary parallels; Varkan swears vengeance and Artem drifts into a reverie thinking about Lida .

Days passed, one like the next. The great funeral procession of the Scythians stretched for about a kilometer, but the legendary place of Gerrhus was still somewhere ahead. The horses moved slowly, at a measured pace; the huge, cumbersome wagons creaked: they could easily be passed on foot.

This slowness grated on Artem’s nerves as he was impatient for the action to begin, and that would happen only after the Scythians arrived at Gerrhus! Varkan and Ronis reasoned with him, trying to cool him down.

“This slowness is working in our favor. Lida and Ivan Semenovich are absolutely safe. Hartak fears the vengeance of the foreign gods and will not attempt to speed up the wedding…”

“He’d better not!”

“He won’t. In the meantime, the forces Dorbatay and his henchemen could rely upon, are slowly but surely diminishing. It is not a very noticeable process, but consequently, our forces are growing, and increasing in strength. Varkan and Ronis tell me everything’s proceeding according to plan,” said Dmitro Borisovich.

The Greek added:

“It’s a good sign that the Scythians are moving so slowly. There’s nothing surprising in it, really. The longer the journey lasts, the better it is for us. It will help our cause a lot, for the fight will be shorter.”

Artem looked at him in surprise:

“Why? I don’t follow.”

“I will explain,” Ronis said. “Remember, I once told you that this journey would weaken the forces of Dorbatay and the chiefs? What I have in mind is this: before the journey began, the most important Scythians and their soldiers kept close together, and now, with the fatigue of the journey and the procession stretched out the way it is now, everything is confused — the established order of wagons of the chiefs and their soldiers has broken down. Their wagons are scattered now, which greatly diminishes the effectiveness of their forces. On the other hand, our forces are growing. We aren’t losing time; we’re becoming more unified as more and more men join us. Yes, since the time when our first uprising was put down, we have learnt a lot!”

Ronis, showing an agitation quite out of character, struck the nearby tree with his clenched fist:

“I assure you, the chiefs are in for a much tougher fight this time! The blood of my ill-fated brothers, murdered and tortured to death by Dorbatay, will be avenged! We remember the crimes of the priests and chiefs only too well and we will avenge them!”

Varkan said judiciously:

“Ronis, you’re not being reasonable. You have allowed your vengeful feelings speak for you…”

“I am a man of flesh and blood and I am subject to all human emotions. You seem to forget that, Varkan,” Ronis said tartly.

“Oh yes, I remember it. And I also remember that the desire for vengeance leads to no good. Is it only vengeance that we are seeking, Ronis? No, not only that, and you know it as well as I do. So why do you put vengeance foremost?”

For the first time since they had met, Artem saw Ronis lower his head and admit that he had been wrong. Then he said:

“You are right, my friend. The blood of my slain brothers clouded my eyes…”

Everybody was silent, impressed with the way this firm and intelligent man admitted to having been wrong. After a short silence Varkan spoke again, tactfully changing the subject:

“As a matter of fact there’s one important thing I wanted to draw your attention to. I am not sure you have thought about it.”

“What?” Ronis said, raising his head, his eyes calm again.

“If Dorbatay and the chiefs suspected anything, they wouldn’t be treating the hunters and herdsmen the way they are. For the last few days, Dorbatay has been playing into our hands, turning the hunters and herdsmen against him. I think he has been blinded by his power. He and the chiefs are treating the hunters and herdsmen the way they usually treat the slaves. This is what those who join us, tell us. And there are quite a few newcomers… unfortunately.”

“And what’s so bad about that?” Artem could not help exclaiming.

“It’s bad because Dorbatay may be alerted by the disappearance of men,” Varkan explained. “We’d rather have the old soothsayer remain convinced that he possesses the ultimate power. That’s why I’ve decided not to allow any more men to join our group. It’s already big enough, and I think it would serve our cause better if all those who have grown indignant at the injustices done them by Dorbatay and the chiefs stay where they are. They will be able to influence others and help us from within, so to say, when the right time comes. And that time is drawing near, and very quickly at that.”

Artem was excited to hear Varkan say that the time of the decisive battle was near! A few more days, and the uprising would break out! And then… then all their problems would be solved!

Varkan’s group kept following the funeral procession. Almost all the young warriors who had once formed the most reliable and strongest part of the troops of the dead chieftain had joined Varkan’s group. Soon after Skolot’s death, these young soldiers had found that Dorbatay and his henchmen would not forgive the retainers of the late Skolot whom they considered — with good reason — to be their enemies.

With Skolot dead, his retinue had lost the support it had enjoyed, and all those who had been in favor with Skolot were regarded with suspicion by Dorbatay. Those who had dropped some disapproving remarks about the priests or haughty chiefs found themselves in a much worse situation — they faced almost certain death.

The merciless and vengeful Dorbatay would remember all their snubs, and his keen, boring eyes seemed to be gazing at the long line of people to be punished or simply put out of the way on the slightest suspicion of disloyalty.

Every day, the old soothsayer solemnly pronounced imprecations against those whom he suspected of disloyalty, and that was the end of them. These people were stripped of all their possessions, no matter how worthless, and at best, they were turned into slaves. No one dared to help those who bore the curse of the gods, since it would immediately bring a curse on the helper.

Seizure of property was only one of the intimidation procedures Dorbatay was employing to keep the people fearful and obedient. He managed to achieve his purpose quite well.

Three young hunters, all of them Varkan’s friends, had already been put to death. These three hunters had, on several occasions, poked fun at the priests; neither had they held the chiefs in high regard. Dorbatay had meted out punishment to them with his characteristic cruelty.