LITMIR.BIZ

      One Night in Rostov

      It is the year 1290 in the city of Rostov. Russia has changed dramatically after being conquered by the Tatar horde. Within months of the invasion, many of the local people had been forced out of their homes or were killed for resisting the army. The autumn sun is setting on a small farm at the edge of the city, where the local beekeeper, Alex, and his family, live.

      Alex loaded the last barrel of Mead onto his small cart. His back ached from loading so many barrels, but the order for all his mead and honey was too good to pass up. The Tatars had destroyed so many of his hives and fields during the invasion, leaving him with limited means to pay for safe passage out of Rostov. He walked into his small farm house to bid his wife and daughter farewell.

      The room was clad in hand-cut boards, cinched with mud to fill the cracks. A large clay oven filled one corner, warming the house and providing a space for cooking. A small bed fit snugly between the ceiling and top of the oven with just enough space to slide in and survive the coldest nights. A small piece of wood pivoting a single nail held the doors to an angled closet where preserves, potatoes, and onions were kept. A rear door gave exit to the garden behind the house. Wicks dipped in beeswax were cooling by the oven, as completed candles were stacked and prepared for market.

      «Lena, I’m off to deliver the mead and honey to those Tatar bastards,» he said. «This should bring us enough to get out of here, finally, and move to Neva.»

      «Ladno, be careful Alex. I don’t trust those monsters!» she said as she brushed her daughter Maria’s long blonde hair.

      Maria was reading aloud in Latin from an illuminated script her Mother insisted she memorize by practice each night. Maria hated learning Latin and paused to respond to her father.

      «I will go with you Papa,» said Maria. «It will go faster with two people,» she said setting the scroll aside and standing to don her coat.

      «Net Masha, the Tatar court is not a place for young girls!» Alex said in a determined voice. He turned and walked out the door without another word.

      Maria’s disappointment was obvious.

      Her mother guided Maria to return to her seat, «Nice try, now let’s start from the beginning shall we?» said Lena.

      «In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram» Maria began sarcastically, without looking at the script.

      Lena was the town’s school teacher and the only woman who could read and write in 3 languages. Her insistence on developing Maria’s mind had been a daily ritual since Maria was five years old. Now at the age of nineteen, Maria was very skilled in linguistics and sciences though her father insisted that she keep her abilities a secret.

      As the sound of Alex’s cart pulled away, Lena placed her hand on Maria’s shoulder. «Your father just wants to keep you safe; he isn’t upset with you,» Lena said calmly

      Then Maria noticed that her father had left his gloves by the door.

      «He forgot his gloves!» She gasped. «I’ll catch up to him and give these to him!»

      She quickly ran out the door before her mother could voice her objection.

      Lena sighed in frustration as she picked up the scroll that had fallen to the floor. She carefully brushed the dust from it with her hands. The scroll was sacred to their family; it had been blessed by a priest who regarded it as an icon of the church. She walked to the corner of the house, rolling the scroll and setting it on a shelf Alex had built to keep it safe. Here it could radiate its power over the entire home. Lena turned and began to pack their few belongings in anticipation of their journey the next day.

      Maria’s freshly brushed hair streamed like ribbons of gold as she ran as fast as she could to catch up to her father’s cart, shouting for him to stop. The cart came to a halt as Alex turned and understood what she was doing. «Spacibo Manya» Alex said,» You may as well ride along now, it’s too dark on the streets.»

      The cart slowly rode through the decimated town of Rostov, a once proud city now under the Rule of the Tatars. Each day a new rule or tax was imposed by Alchiday the warlord who had declared himself their new king.

      «Papa, why did they ask for so much mead tonight?» Maria asked.

      «They’re having a wedding for Alchiday and some unfortunate local girls,» Alex replied. «They breed with the conquered to stop the rebellions against his army. But marriage to these people is nothing more than buying cattle. They take wives and concubines whenever it suits them, but the women are just prisoners for breeding.»

      «Why don’t the women run away then or become nuns?» Marias asked in a naive tone.

      «Because they will be executed!» Alex replied harshly.

      Maria’s eyes grew wide in astonishment, and she realized how dangerous and dismal such a situation would be.

      «Have you not seen how they butcher anyone that defies them? Alex continued, «So many families are gone now, and for what? To rule over what remains of our little town? That’s why we are finally leaving here in the morning; this is no longer our home!»

      Maria rubbed her hand over her father’s back consoling him, «Da Papa» she said in agreement.

      They rode in silence the rest of the way. Each house and shop they passed showed damage or marking as a witness to the brutality that had come upon Rostov when the Tatars invaded months before. Alex’s mind flashed through the memories of his childhood in Rostov and the now empty shell that remained under Tatar rule.

      The church in the center of the city became the headquarters of the warlord, Alchiday. His soldiers killed many of the town’s people while occupying the adjacent homes and shops. The local residents

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