32.

Kulikovo

THE RUSSIANS RODE DOWN TO Kulikovo at the close of the third day, and made camp. Even Dmitrii was silent, except to give the necessary orders, settling the men for the night, deploying his forces for the dawn. He’d had reports, of course, of the numbers. But reports were different than seeing something with his own eyes.

Mamai had finished bringing up his main host. They spread out in a single line across the field, as far as the eye could reach.

“The men are afraid,” said Sasha to Dmitrii and Vladimir, as they rode down to the mouth of the Nepryadva, a tributary of the Don, to reconnoiter the ground. “Praying will not make them less so. We may tell them all the day that God is on our side but the men can see the numbers across the field. Dmitrii Ivanovich, they have more than twice our force, and more are coming up.”

“I can see the numbers across the field,” put in Vladimir. “I am not happy myself.”

Dmitrii’s and Vladimir’s attendants were riding out of earshot, but even they looked at the opposing host and whispered, sallow-faced.

“There is nothing to do now,” said Dmitrii. “Besides praying, feeding the men well this night, and getting them into battle tomorrow before they have time to think too much.”

“There is one other thing we could do,” said Sasha.

Both his cousins turned to look at him.

“What?” said Vladimir. He’d been suspicious of Sasha ever since their reunion, wary of his unholy allies and of the existence of Vasya, his sister-in-law with her strange powers.

“Challenge them to single combat,” said Sasha.

A silence fell among the three of them. Single combat was a kind of augury. It wouldn’t halt the battle, but the winner would have God’s favor, and everyone in both armies would know it.

“It would put heart in the men,” said Sasha. “It would make all the difference.”

“If our champion won,” said Vladimir.

“If our champion won,” acknowledged Sasha, but his eyes were on Dmitrii.

Dmitrii did not speak. His eyes were on the mud and water of the open field, and beyond, to where the Tatars waited, their horses numberless as autumn leaves in the westering light. Beyond them, the Don river lay like a bar of silver. For three days, it had rained, heavy and cold. Now the sky had darkened and seemed to promise early snow.

Slowly Dmitrii said, “Do you think they’d agree to such a thing?”

“Yes,” said Sasha. “I do. Are they to seem afraid to send a champion out?”

“If I ask and they agree, then whom should I name to fight for us?” said Dmitrii. But he spoke in the tone of a man who knows the answer.

“Me,” said Sasha.

Dmitrii said, “I have a hundred men who could do it. Why you?”

“I am the best fighter,” said Sasha. He wasn’t boasting, but stating a fact. “I am a monk, a servant of God. I am your best chance.”