The Mysterious Alexandra Tarasova-Yusupov Read online

  “After what you have witnessed today, you know that I have no right ask you to respond to my request that you follow me into battle for the empire. There is a battle to be fought in the Crimea, and I will be on the train for Moscow tonight. I ask any and all of you to go with me, but should you choose not to go with me, there will be no recrimination against you. If I have to go alone, so be it. I will fight for the empire and the tzar.”

  Vlad stepped forward and stood at attention. He spread his arms out at his sides and waited. In a few seconds, the serfs who had trained under him and Prince Boris formed ranks beside and behind him. They saluted. Not a single man stayed back; in fact, fourteen men who had not been part of the training joined the others.

  For the first time that day, Boris feared that he would humiliate himself by crying.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE WARRIORS

  “To be prepared against surprise is to be trained. To be prepared for surprise is to be educated.”

  —James P. Carse,

  Finite and Infinite Games,

  A Vision of Life as Play and Possibility, 1986

  The Eastern Front, Kersh Peninsula, Crimea, September 18, 1863, Dawn

  The trouble began in the Kamysh-Burun Iron Ore Plant of Kersh when workers complained about low wages and poor living conditions. Agitators spread the unrest to the Zaliv Ship Building Factory within a day, and by nightfall another in a seemingly endless series of riots in the Crimea was underway.

  For the first week, the unrest was barely what could be called a riot. Then the Crimean Tatars under Mullah Ismail Noman Seydamet used the riots as an excuse to launch an all-out battle. In the Crimea, the Tatars were a force to be reckoned with since they constitued the majority of the population, and they were among the fiercest fighters in the empire. When Prince Boris and his Cossacks arrived in the Kerch Strait by ship during the night of September 25, a fierce wind made further sailing too dangerous to attempt in the misty darkness. The Bosporus Imperial Naval Ship’s captain settled on a landing on Tuzla Island, a very narrow sandy spit in the middle of the strait. The imperial marines and the several noble family sponsored militias made camp under miserable conditions and staked down their horses which were in danger of being blown into the roiling waters of the strait. The storm abated overnight; and by dawn, visibility was excellent; and the waters were calm.

  Boris and his Cossacks were dispatched to the Azor; three other militias were dispatched to establish a camp on the shores of the Kerch Peninsula on the west; and another two other militias were sent to the Taman Peninsula on the east. The main force of imperial marines was put ashore and force-marched into the city of Kerch and to an encampment on the high slopes of Mount Mithridat. The arrangement of the imperial forces thereby created a pincer to squeeze the Crimean Tatars and the rioters to death if they did not cease and desist from further aggression.

  Imperial marines and the militia funded and commanded by the two sons of the ancient House of the Princes Argutinsky-Dolgorukov were in position to control the Krasnodar Krai and its Taman Bay. The imperial naval contingent and the militia of the House of the Princes Javakhishvili–Dzhavahovy Zhevahovy–led by Spiridon Ivanovich Zhevakhov were in command of the attack from the Taman Peninsula from east to west. Despite his youth, and because of his family status, Prince Boris of the House of Yusupov and his militia were charged with holding the critical position in the Azor region and of attacking from west to east and down into Kerch itself. The marines were under orders to clear the rabble out of Kerch and to reestablish order in the city and its suburbs.

  Tatar spies informed Prince Boris of the easterly movement of Mullah Seydamet’s Crimean Tatars overnight.

  The oldest of the three spies told Boris, “Mullah Zhevakhov has collected a large force of men from the factories and his own Tatars in the forest to the east of the city center. We learned from a friend that the mullah plans an attack at dawn two days from now. The rioters and Tatars will set off under cover of darkness tonight and will force march to the Azor coast. Pardon me, Great Sir, but they have been informed that a mere boy holds the coast and beyond for the empire. They consider it the weakest point in the imperial army’s defense forces.”

  Boris ignored the implicit slight with difficulty.

  “Do they have a large force of horses?”

  “Too noisy, I heard them say.”

  “Have you other intelligence for the tzar’s forces, my friend?”

  “No, as it is we barely escaped with our lives.”

  “Does the mullah know that you were spying for us?”

  “No, Great Sir, we were very quiet and very smart about our work for his great majesty.”

  “It would do you well to hope that such is true, my friend. And of course, I trust you fully. But, just to be clear, are you aware of the fate of those who betray the Cossacks?”

  “I have heard, Great Sir. We would never do that.”

  “Of course not. That would be too terrible to imagine. And your families would be hunted down and treated the same way. Or–more certainly–you will receive great riches on the morning three days from now when the mullah’s forces have been routed. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But, what, my friend?” Prince Boris asked, fixing his steely Wedgewood eyes on the brown eyes of the spy.

  “Our contract was that we would be paid now since we have brought you the news that will lead to your victory.”

  “That is a misunderstanding. I will personally pay you double what you were promised while we watch the mullah and all his men suffer the punishment set aside for traitors. And, we will keep you safe here in our camp. You will want for nothing.”

  The spy thought better of saying what had come to his mind. He had underestimated this boy.

  “We will be grateful for your kindness, Great Sir,” he said instead.

  “As well you should. Now, as you go to enjoy the comforts only the House of Yusupov can provide, I must attend to the business of going to war.”

  Boris turned sharply and walked away from the three thoroughly cowed spies. As his Cossacks joined him, the very malevolence of their persons made the spies religious. They plead with Allah to make their information the truth.

  Boris and Vlad quietly went from man to man and had them walk with their horses and weapons out of the main camp in scattered groups to avoid the attention of potential spies. He left a message with his servant boy to be delivered to the commanders of the marine forces and the militias to be opened when Boris and his Cossacks had had time to establish their ambush sites.

  It was a long night of forced marching. The horses were kept in the rear and staked out in an area of rich grass to keep them quiet and free of restlessness. At first light, Boris called a halt and had the Cossacks hide themselves in the deep forest for the daylight hours.

  Mullah Zhevakhov was not so certain of the ease with which his plan would work that he took unnecessary risks. Movement of his ragtag troops was made slower because his men could only imagine traveling or fighting on horseback. They grumbled and purposely slowed the march; but, fearing deadly reprisal, they remained silent except for a few curses as a few of them fell or were struck by branches as the stumbled along in the pitch blackness of the northern night.

  The mullah and his senior officers took stock of their progress and found that they were not going to make it to the agreed upon battle ground unless they traveled during the daylight hours. He had the men move with the greatest stealth of which they were capable through trees, rocks, and deadfall. He was furious at the level of noise they were making but knew that he was not going to get anything better from them. He longed for the days of Ghenghis Khan and Timur the Limper when a battle commander had only to whisper a command and his perfectly loyal and capable soldiers would obey instantly and to the letter.

  Boris’s spies reported sighting the Tatars on the early morning of the second day. That confirmed that the spies who reported the
attack had been loyal and correct. Boris silently vowed to reward them beyond anything they could imagine. The other value of the sighting was that he now knew exactly where his enemies were located, how slowly and clumsily they were moving, and had some idea of the numbers he would face. He smiled at the fact that not a single horse had been seen or heard.

  “Vlad,” he ordered, “send ten men back for the horses. Muzzle the mounts and keep them absolutely quiet. Have your sons move half of the force to the area we think will be the battleground. It looks ideal from the traitors’ perspective. The other half will stay with me and shadow the mullah’s army.”

  “Hardly an army, Prince Boris, from what I hear. Many of those traitors have only sticks and rocks for weapons, and the greatest part of the horde is nothing but a bunch of factory workers who have never seen a battle or held a sword in their hands. It should be easy, My Prince,” Vlad said with a wicked smile.

  “Don’t underestimate your enemy, a very wise warrior once told me,” Boris said and smiled at his aging ally.

  Vlad nodded his head in both agreement and acknowledgment that he was the source of that bit of pithy wisdom.

  “Once we have defeated them, what do you want done with the prisoners?”

  “I should say, as you always warn, ‘one thing at a time’; but I am of a mind to make a very memorable example of them all. What do you think, Vlad?”

  “What can I say, My Prince, it is the Cossack way.”

  “Then we are agreed, Vlad.”

  It was said with Cossack terseness and brevity.

  The rioters and Tatars struggled hungry and thirsty for two more days—half a day longer than the mullah had demanded. Finally, the scouts returned with the message that the battle ground was only a few kilometers march away from the main battle contingent. Most importantly, they had not sighted any enemy scouts, imperial soldiers, or camps; and they were almost to the shores of the Azor.

  “The men are exhausted,” his chief aide said to the mullah, “they will be in no condition to fight, if we don’t give them rest and meat.”

  “They are Muslims, servants of Allah. They will find strength. I have received a call from God that tells me that we are on the brink of a great victory. ALLAH AKHBAR!” he said with passion, and somewhat more volume than the aide considered safe.

  “Of course. I have no doubt in them. We will proceed, but with caution. Nothing must cause problems for Allah’s will.”

  The chief aide went his way encouraging, cajoling, and cursing the rabble he had been ordered to make into fighters. His opinion was that they were peasants, cowards, and complainers; but it was not his place to question the man of god. Nevertheless, he moved carefully the last few kilometers. He had been overly successful in his efforts to buoy up his men’s spirits and to kindle their passions for battle. He sent out orders for the ranks to maintain silence, but he was not successful in the least.

  Spies from all around the slowly moving army reported in to Boris and Vlad. The mullah’s forces would be in position in less than half a day.

  “They will take up positions and be ready to launch an ambush in no more than six hours,” Vlad estimated.

  “We cannot be ready before then, Vlad. We have not seen the horses, and we cannot launch any kind of an attack without mounted Cossacks.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith, as the priests say,” Vlad laughed, “you have not seen the horses, but that does not mean that they are not here. You underestimate my Cossacks, My Prince.”

  Boris gave Vlad a dubious look.

  “Come walk for me—no more than half an hour’s time.”

  Vlad led Boris deep into the woods. They climbed over a massive dead log and looked into a narrow valley full of horses and of men saddling and bridling them. Weapons leaned against trees at the ready. Boris laughed at himself, and he and Vlad signaled their great approval of the stealth with which the Cossacks had moved an entire cavalry into a ready position.

  “We still have a serious problem, My Prince,” Vlad said soberly.

  “We do. What is the nature of the Tatar ambush?”

  “Indeed. I have conjectures and hope but no knowledge. Belief is not worth a tenth of what a sentence of real information would give us.”

  “More spies?”

  “I fear to do so, My Prince. The Tatars are no fools. If they see even one of our men, they will guess the rest. We must wait.”

  “And worry.”

  “Yes, but more importantly, prepare own surprise without becoming fools by believing in their diversion.”

  “Vlad, give me your best idea of what that diversion will be,” Prince Boris asked.

  The answer to that question was something the scion of the House of Yusupov would pay a fortune to know, but all he could do was to watch and wait.

  “Our scouts have seen a few Cossacks in the larger of two valleys ahead, Great Mullah,” the aide reported, “the best news is that they do not have horses—too difficult to move them through the forests, as you so wisely determined as we left Kersh. There can not be many of them; and without mounts, they are like rabbits without legs.”

  “Did I not predict? Did I not tell you of the wisdom Allah—the one god–planted in my humble brain?”

  “I can no longer doubt. I am a faithful Muslim and a warrior without reservation. This will be a great day!”

  “Send out the ambush force. Held the rest back until the Sons of Dogs give chase. I will lead the main force to annihilate the curs of the left hand. Let the plan we have worked so hard on begin now!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FIRST BLOOD

  “Storm’d at with shot and shell,/ Boldly they rode and well. Into the Jaws of Death,/ Into the mouth of Hell/ Rode the six hundred.”

  —Alfred Lord Tennyson,

  The Charge of the Light Brigade, 1854

  Forests on the Azor Shores, Kersh Peninsula, Crimea, September 22, 1863, First Light

  Vlad and young Prince Boris watched from their perch high in a large branched coniferous tree as Tatars begin to circle the valley below. It was remarkable to the two men that none of them was mounted. In a matter of minutes, the valley floor was filled with men carrying an assortment of improvised weapons. Suddenly, the invaders began to scream out their battle cries and to run pell mell towards the shoreline.

  Vlad looked intently at Boris’s face.

  “Not yet, Vlad. Not quite yet.”

  The horde rushed into the trees to the east and were soon out of sight.

  “Now, Vlad. Send the best runners after the Tatars. Have them make a large noise, but do not have them engage.”

  Vlad hurried down the branches and along a hidden path.

  He gave orders to the leader of the young Cossacks, and they rushed out behind the fleeing Tatars. The only sound was the yelling of the Cossacks as they pursued the Tatars. In slightly less than half an hour, the Cossacks now ran back, fleeing in terror from a larger force of oncoming Tatars and ragtag rioters.

  Boris quickly moved down and out of his perch and ran as hard as he could to cross in front of the apparently fleeing Cossacks. When he reached a point just inside the treeline, he was met by a trio of excited Cossacks who helped him to his seat atop Kryzhu. He wheeled about holding a sword in his right hand and a spear in his left. The fleeing Cossacks split into two sparse columns and opened a space in the center. Boris kneed Kryzhu into a full gallop.

  “Beg!” Boris shouted at Kryzhu, and the powerful horse leaped forward like a ball shot from a well-maintained cannon.

  Kryzhu had learned to be ready for the command to leap into full action as soon as he heard the command, and Boris had learned to be ready for the explosion of horseflesh power that would otherwise fling him backwards onto the hard rocks on the ground and to have to endure the humiliation of sitting shamefully on the ground as his mighty horse raced off to battle.

  Boris was twenty meters in front and all alone when a disciplined Cossack cavalry galloped into formation behind him quickly
filling the gap between them and Boris just as Boris was gaining ground every second between him and the decoy Cossacks. The mounted Cossacks flew to within fifty feet of the running Tatar ambush decoys, and then they split into two columns to flank the runners. They followed their orders not to engage.

  Mullah Zhevakhov shrieked with joy as he saw the Cossack dogs fall into his ambush. He had his aide raise attack flags to launch the final stroke of genius of his complicated ambush. A massive force of rioters and Tatars ran screaming out of the trees to the west and flung themselves headlong into the sparse smattering of running Cossacks. Just as the irresistible force came within a spear’s throw of the Cossacks, the cowardly Russians turned sharply and began to run into the trees on either side of the narrow valley corridor.

  “Filthy kaffir sons of dogs! Cowards!” he whooped as he saw that his Tatars had broken the will to fight on the part of the falsely vaunted Cossacks before the first sword slash or stabbing by a spear had taken place.

  His surge of immeasurable joy lasted only a few moments. A cold chill ran down his back as he turned to the west at the sound of an army of banshees bursting into the mouth of the valley heading east. They were mounted! It was not possible. They looked every bit like the paintings he had seen of Cossack cavalrymen bursting into a battle and altering the enemy’s capacity to fight in less time than it took Mullah Zhevakhov to take a full breath. The painting came to life; the dream became a nightmare; the thrill of success became a painful shock running down his spine.

  Boris and Vlad galloped as the twin heads of spears aimed at the heart of the Crimean Tatar and rioter rabble forces followed by a battle-cry screaming and supremely disciplined cavalry battalion.

  Mullah Zhevakhov could only look on in astonished horror as the decimation of his fine troops began to occur. He watched with fury as an old Cossack, and a young blond boy on a giant war horse threw themselves into the center of his confused foot soldiers. His perfectly planned and executed ambush and been turned against him. Cossacks were nothing more than wild men—disorderly and bloodthirsty, and totally lacking in discipline—this could not be happening. It defied everything he had ever been taught by his Tatar masters. Yet, here he was watching his skilled, brave, disciplined, and unbeatable Tatars falling like wheat being cutdown by countless scythes.