Identity
Myra watched him across the fire, her eyebrows raised. Really? Vlad had been giving his own daughter his trademarked Chessboard Monologues, probably before he even knew chess existed? Impressive. And a little scary.
“Erniké followed me outside,” the Prince continued, “and froze when we reached the field where we kept the horses. ‘Father, please tell me you’re not making me milk a mare.’
“I gave her a grin. ‘If you fear you’ll damage your dress, get an apron.’
“She sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
“Erniké brought a clean bucket while I caught one of the foals and wrestled it down to tie it to a rope. Then I fetched one of the mares who had recently given birth and led her close to the fence. Erniké held the foal’s rope and brought it close to me.
“‘This is madness,’ she said as the foal began to suck. When the milk started to flow, she pulled the foal back, but kept it close to the mare’s head. I knelt down with the bucket and started milking the animal, slowly and gently. ‘Why can’t you just ask a servant to do this?’
“I got all the milk from this mare that I could—barely enough for a glass—and stood up to bring another animal. ‘Because you need to learn how to do this and then teach it to your children.’ I led the second mare next to the foal and raised the bucket, handing it to Erniké. ‘Take a sip while it’s fresh if you want, but don’t drink too much, unless you want to make a trip to the privy. Once it’s turned into kumis, you can drink as much as you like.’
“She wrinkled her nose and pushed the bucket away. I sighed and took a sip myself. The milk was thick and sweet on my tongue. ‘Our ancestors had two ways to make kumis,’ I said. ‘If you are on the road, you pour the milk into a waterskin and tie it to the horse’s saddle, and the constant rocking will be enough. If you have settled down for a few days, tie the waterskin at the front of your yurt. Whenever someone passes by, they’ll swing it back and forth, and you’ll do the same with other people’s milk when you pass by their yurts. That way it will ferment instead of rotting.’
“‘But we’re not constantly on the road,’ she said. ‘And we don’t live in yurts. What’s the point of making and drinking this stinking stuff? It’s so much trouble, and for what? It tastes terrible. We are settled now. We have plenty of cows, goats, sheep and buffaloes, whose milk is so much easier to get and can be drunk fresh. We have such good wine from our fine vineyards, and yet you insist on putting all this effort into producing something we don’t need and isn’t any better.’
“‘It is what connects us to our past,’ I said. ‘Civilization doesn’t mean forgetting our identity. We can never be Greek. If we turn our backs on who we are, we become no one. No tree can grow without strong roots. Producing kumis reminds us where we came from. It is one of the few things that sustained our forefathers and foremothers during—’
“‘During their long and perilous journey across the vast steppe of Asia,’ she said in an artificially deep and low voice, which was probably supposed to be an imitation of mine. ‘You know what?’ she continued, speaking once again in her own voice. ‘You have this made-up ideal in your head of this mythical steppe of Asia. But you’ve never seen it. Your parents have never seen it. Your grandparents have never seen it. You have no idea what it is really like.’
“She brought the foal close to the mare but paused before she let it suck. She looked me in the eyes. ‘Do you know what I think? This steppe is nothing more than a large plain of grass, growing over soil that is no good for the crops we are used to. Invaded by numerous tribes, it’s no safe place to breed sheep or cattle. It’s inhabited by people who have nothing to do with us.’ Her voice was agitated and passionate as she spoke, and tears surfaced in her eyes. ‘This is our home now. We have more in common with the Slavs we’ve lived together with for two centuries than with the nomads of Asia. We have more in common with Byzantium!’
“My heart broke into pieces. She would do it. She would accept Christianity and all that came with it. ‘Do you remember how you wanted to be a priestess of Tangra when you were a child?’
“She smiled. ‘And did you just admit that I’m no longer a child?’
“My heart bled, but I smiled back. ‘I suppose I did.’
“‘Father, I don’t understand why you act as if I’m saying something bad. Surely, you see how much we can learn from Byzantium.’ Suddenly, she frowned, and her eyes widened. ‘You once promised me you would send me to Constantinople for tutoring. Please, tell me you haven’t changed your mind.’
“I sighed. The timing could not have been worse. ‘Erniké, why do you wish to study in Constantinople?’
“‘How can you even ask me that?’ she said. ‘Remember when you took me there? I was a child, but I remember everything—the ships with colorful sails, the travelers from distant lands, the traders and their strange and wondrous goods! I could learn so much just from watching the people, from talking to them! You studied in Constantinople once. Why wouldn’t you give me the same chance?’
“‘I would give you every chance in the world,’ I said. ‘And, perhaps, your dream will one day come true. But now things are complicated. Let us wait and see how things go, and we’ll talk again.’
“She frowned. ‘What things? Don’t tell me it’s a secret matter of state.’
“I smiled. ‘It is. I wish I could tell you, but I cannot.’
“She absentmindedly caressed the foal. ‘You never said why you and Mother have to go to Khan Tangra. Does your mysterious trip have something to do with these confidential matters?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It does, doesn’t it? Which means you’ve shared these big state secrets with Mother? Isn’t that treason?’
“I laughed. ‘You are putting too much thought into this.’
“She rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll have to find out on my own.’
“‘You are welcome to try,’ I said and knelt down to milk the second mare. But as I smiled at my daughter, my heart was heavy. I had kept this secret not because it was forbidden or because I didn’t trust her. I hadn’t told her because I was terrified she would welcome the Khan’s proposal and would condemn me for standing against it.”
“Roxana and I tried to cover the distance as fast as we could, stopping only to eat and sleep, and to give the horses a break. In other places in Europe, it was common for travelers to exchange their steeds with fresh ones at every inn, but this had never been our way. To us, our horses meant more than a means of transport. They were loyal, reliable friends.
“The first days were the easiest—we still had fresh bread, cheese, and cooked lamb with leeks, carrots and parsnip. But we wished to waste no time hunting, so unless we found food in the villages we passed by, we had to survive on dried meat, fruits, nuts, and the seeds of a few large sunflowers we had picked up on the way.
“Some nights we spent in villages, where the people offered us hospitality. But the fourth night found us on the road, away from any settlement. We made our small yurt close to a river and lit a fire for light and warmth. We had left the wolves far behind when we had crossed the Balkan Mountains, so the light would not draw any dangerous beasts.
“Or would it? I gazed at the southwest as the blood-red sun set behind the Rhodope Mountains. The Slavs believed this was where samodivas lived—otherworldly beautiful women, with long, golden hair, wearing flowing white robes. Armed with bows and arrows, they would ride deer, using snakes as bridles and whips. No sound was more beautiful than their song, and no sight was more beautiful than their dance, but those who looked them in the eyes grew sick and died.
“The sun disappeared, but the skies were still a bright purple-red. Roxana walked to the horses and untied the kumis waterskins from the saddles. She handed me one and I brought it to my lips. Light and slightly sour, and milder than wine. It was perfect.
“We sat by the fire, drinking and watching the changing colors of the sky, reminiscing of the first time we had come here and planning more trips. Next time, we would come not with a mission in mind, but only for the pleasure of exploring the wonders this land had to offer. And next time, we would bring Erniké and Asmara along and show them what we had seen.
“Once the sky turned black, we made love on the soft grass, with the moon and stars our only witnesses. I took Roxana higher than the sky itself, until we could stretch our hands and touch the gleaming lights, soaring on the wings of legends. The same moon and stars had guided our ancestors on their long journey south, and they were guiding us now on our quest to find truth. Numerous fireflies covered the dark fields, like bright constellations, not constant as the stars above, but ever-changing like this land and its people.
“As we walked to the river to wash, Roxana took my hand. ‘My love, there is something I must tell you.’
“I squeezed her hand. ‘What is it?’
“‘A few days ago, a strange woman came to me. She was asking me questions about us, about our family. I didn’t know why. I tried to tell her as little as possible, and yet she learned a lot. At the same time, I tried to find out more about her and couldn’t. She was clever and had a way with words.’
“Worry swept over my heart. Was Boris spying on his own noblemen, trying to learn if anyone would stand against the planned Christianization? ‘And you’ve never seen her before?’
“Roxana pulled me into the water. ‘No. She was a foreign noblewoman. Greek, I believe, although she was unlike any Greek woman I’ve ever seen. She could speak our tongue, though not perfectly.’
“Now, that was unusual. A Byzantine woman, deigning to learn our language? Usually, the Empire expected everyone to learn Greek. I tried to see Roxana’s face, but we were too far away from the fire, and I could only glimpse her silhouette in the darkness. ‘Did she scare you?’
“She was silent for a moment. ‘Scare is not the right word. I would say she intrigued me. She excited me.’
“‘Then let us hope she comes back,’ I said.
“Once we had washed, we walked back to the fire. I took a wooden pestle and a mortar out of the saddlebacks, together with a small pouch of wild carrot seeds. I crushed a spoonful until they released their oils and handed it to Roxana.
“She hesitated before picking it up. ‘My love, are you sure? We are still young. We can raise another child.’
“‘You last pregnancy almost killed you,’ I said. ‘I won’t take the risk.’
“‘The risk is mine to take.’
“I paused, thinking. ‘And how about the risk of bringing a child into this uncertain world? We have no idea what the future holds. Will the Khan’s plan come to pass? And what will it mean for us? Let us wait and see how things go. If the future is more secure, we can talk again.’
“‘The future is never secure,’ she said but took the mortar with the seeds that would stop her from conceiving. I found a silver spoon in the saddlebags and handed it to her. She gave me a devilish grin. ‘You know, Erniké asked me for some seeds a few days ago.’
“For a moment, I couldn’t process what she had said. I had no idea what emotions had shown on my face under the firelight, and she laughed. ‘Yes, dearest,’ she said. ‘Our daughter has a lover.’
“Worry and joy fought in my heart, suddenly replaced by terror. Erniké’s recent admiration of Byzantium… her contempt of our old ways. A Greek boy? Was that it? Was he filling her head with his own view of the world, leading her down a path that would take her far away from me?
“‘Do you know who it is?’ I asked.
“‘It is Bayan, the son of Organa and Bisera.’
“I breathed a long sign of relief. One of our own. Whatever Erniké’s opinions were, they were her own, and no one was influencing her. But then, the terror came back tenfold.
“What would the Christian priests say of Erniké? How would they treat her, they who condemned every woman who took a lover outside the marriage bed? They who scorned seeking pleasure and denounced what made us human? Was this truly the future for my daughters?”