The rebellion of the Princess

by Mary Imlay Taylor

“Have at the rogue, Vasali!” they shouted derisively. “Cut the fellow to pieces.”

At which the sot cried thickly that he could not, the black devil danced as fast as he did! And he added a coarse volley of oaths which made his companions hold their sides with laughter.

But their mirth, horrible enough at best, was the more dangerous because it could be easily turned into fury, and I confess that beads of cold perspiration gathered on my forehead when I thought of the princess, only a few yards from them, and almost at their mercy, for my strength would be nothing against theirs, the puny strength of one man against six. From their talk and the sound of their movements I gathered that one of them had clambered up the steps to the door by which we had entered, and shaken it, but he was too far gone to perceive the cross bar and came toppling down again, swearing at his defeat, and fell across a cask that two others were rolling toward the other entrance, whereupon, the three fell to fighting, and in a moment, a wild scream and a thud told me that one drunken wretch had been sent to his last account. Then the others fell upon the wine-butts and began to roll them out to the stone steps, crying that they would have a fête in the Red Place and drink the health of the Czarevitch Ivan and Sophia Alexeievna. But at the steps they got into difficulties, for as fast as they rolled a great cask up, it rolled back on the drunken fools and then they fought each other.

The red light streamed up overhead and played wildly on the dark arches, and the smoke of their torches floated up too, in black wreaths, and hung there, dim and ghostly, while these demons quarrelled and screamed, merry and murderous by turns, and time seemed eternity. Then they got one cask up and doubtless opened it at once and began to drink, for I heard their wild satisfaction after tasting it; they came howling down again for another cask, and a repetition of the scene at the steps.

“Out with the wine!” cried one of the ringleaders, “out with every cask. By our Lady of Kazan, we will be merry!”

At this, I knew our fate was certain if we lingered where we were, for the wine had drawn other mutineers, as it draws flies, and the smell of it—poured out upon the ground—reeked with the smell of blood already spilled there.

Lifting my head cautiously, I peeped over the ledge of my butt and saw the red torches planted in the earth and flaring upward. I saw, too, the dead body of the soldier who had been stabbed on the cask, and yet another lay dead at the threshold, while his comrades trampled on him as they rolled out the hogsheads. I waited and listened with bated breath. The same struggle occurred, the same mishaps, and then they got a great butt up and rolled it away into the court-yard, and they all poured out of the cellar after it, screaming and fighting, and left only the dead and the two torches, burning low now, and smoking. At the door it was dark, beyond it I heard them begin to sing—or rather bellow—a Tartar war song. Then I sprang out of my hiding-place and touched the princess on the shoulder.

“Quick,” I whispered; “there is one chance in ten thousand! To stay is death!”

She had been crouching low, but she rose at my voice and I saw her face, in the red torchlight absolutely pale, but still and almost emotionless. I think she had borne so much that it seemed now like a hideous dream. She let me lift her out of her hiding-place, and when I would have carried her she slipped to the ground.

“Nay,” she whispered, “we can fly faster so,” and she followed me toward the door, though I saw her shudder at the sight of the dead man on the threshold.