"We stop here so long as there is a roof over us."
A murmur of approval greeted this. Ian went on:
"But I don't want you to be guided by what I and the Lady Countess are doing. You know what is going on as well as I do."
"Ay. All the devils have taken the Muscovites," said a voice.
"Thousands of peasants, once rich, like yourselves, pass on their way to Warsaw," said Ian.
"Please, my lord Count," put in the soltys, "it's Siberia and not Warsaw they are going to. The Cossacks down in the village are talking a lot about it. The Russian government is offering the fugitives land in Siberia and work in the mines. It's not fair. This has been our land for centuries, long before the Russians came here at all. And I, for one, and my three young sons, are for stopping here. They can but burn our crops and cottages. Haven't the Cossacks done that?"
A low growl of anger filled the room. The old man went on:
"But when they've burnt the crops and our huts and stacks they've done their worst. They can't take away the land, even if they bring all the carts they've got. The land remains. And I remain. For I'd rather starve through another winter on my own soil than have the biggest farm they can give me in Siberia."
They talked a lot, arguing and disputing, as peasants do. But you cannot hurry them, so Ian and the priest waited for them in the chapel. After an hour, when each had had his say, Baranski came out.
"Well, what have you decided?" Ian asked with secret anxiety. It is no joke to be left in a big place like Ruvno without any peasants.