All that day, the Grand Prince had been getting reports. “The Tatars are assembling here,” he said. He had a map; he pointed to a marshy place, on the curve of the Don river, at the mouth of a smaller tributary. Snipes’ Field it was called, for the birds in the long grass. “They are waiting for reinforcements; units from Litva, mercenaries from Caffa. We must strike before their reinforcements can come up. Three days’ march and battle at dawn on the fourth day, if all goes well.”

“By how much do they outnumber us now?” demanded Mikhail of Tver.

Dmitrii did not answer. “We will form two lines,” he continued. “Here.” He touched the map again. “Spears, shields, to hem in the horses, and use the forest to guard our flanks. They do not like attacking in the woods—it turns their arrows.”

“By how many, Dmitrii Ivanovich?” demanded Mikhail again. Tver had been a greater principality than Moscow for most of its history, and rivals for the rest; alliance did not sit easily on them.

Dmitrii could not avoid answering. “Twice our force,” he said. “Perhaps a little more. But—”

Muttering went around the men. Mikhail of Tver spoke up again. He said, “Have you had word of Oleg of Ryazan?”

“Marching with Mamai.”

The muttering redoubled.

“It matters not,” Dmitrii went on. “We have men enough. We have the blessing of holy Sergius.”

“Enough?” snapped Mikhail of Tver. “A blessing is enough perhaps to save our souls when we are slaughtered on the field, but not to win this fight!”

Dmitrii was on his feet. His voice temporarily silenced the men’s murmurs. “Doubt the power of God, Mikhail Andreevich?”

“How will we know God is on our side? For all we know, God wants us to be humble, Christlike, and submissive to the Tatar!”

“Perhaps,” said a calm voice from the flap of the tent. “But if that were the case, would He have sent you the princes of Serpukhov and of Ryazan too?”

Heads swiveled; a few put hands on the hilts of their swords. A light kindled in the Grand Prince’s eyes.

Vladimir Andreevich walked into the tent. Behind him came Oleg of Ryazan. And behind them both Brother Aleksandr, who added, “God is with us, princes of Rus’, but there is no time to waste.”

THE GRAND PRINCE OF MOSCOW did not hear the whole tale until late that night, when all the planning was done. He and Sasha rode quietly out of camp, beyond the light and smoke and noise, until they came to a hidden hollow, with a low fire burning.

As he rode, Sasha noted uneasily that the moon had not yet set.

Vasya had made solitary camp and was waiting for them. Her feet were still bare, her face smudged, but she rose with dignity and bowed to the Grand Prince. “God be with you,” she said. Behind her, in deeper darkness, stood Pozhar, glowing.