Traveller Manifesto

Kievan Rus

They sat around the fires eating their usual one meal of boiled grains. Today was a cause for some celebration, for chunks of smoked fish had been stirred into the bland mush. Maksym had grown to like the food, for it was functional and filling. But he certainly would have welcomed a blob of sour cream.

He shrugged his shoulders to relax aching muscles, for they had paddled for a better part of the day to steer the craft through massive sets of white water. The entire group, even the male slaves, had been forced to portage the boat parts around seven major rapids, all of the time keeping watch for hostile Pecheneg nomads who were known to ambush trading parties along the way. Thankfully, the outriggers from their boats, the monoxile, had been easy to detach, but the process was not without its hazards. They witnessed the scorched remnants of one such camp. The traders likely to have been slaughtered or enslaved, for some of their boats remained in pieces while the goods were gone, presumed stolen.

They were only days from Khortytsia, the island where traders refitted their craft with rigging so they could sail the remainder of the Dnieper to the expanse of the Black Sea. The rapids soon ceased, which made the going much easier. Maksym had long ago been freed from the chains that had linked him to the rest of the slaves, both as a reward and to make his labours more efficient. Besides, he had proved himself to be popular, both with the other slaves and the traders, so he had been bestowed a measure of temporary independence.

This had worked to the traders’ advantage. On two occasions they had been attacked and Maksym and Kateryna were able to assist. While Kateryna crouched with a spear as she cared for the young girls and the monk, Maksym and a couple of the contracted guards attacked and drove off the interlopers with a whoop and a holler. Not that the attacks had been too serious, for they were merely probing feints to determine if further conflict was likely to result in plunder. Having proved themselves too formidable, their party had been left alone, though it was likely they were constantly monitored.

To Maksym, it was the most fun he could remember and had laughed about it for most of the day.

For the slaves, escape would have been foolish, even if possible. They would be killed or, more likely, recaptured and resold. As their treatment in Borislav’s party had been reasonable, most considered it best to stick with the devil they knew.

Maksym also became the communication conduit between the slaves and their captors. He encouraged the slaves to be more cooperative in helping around the camp on the condition that their chains were removed. The women were strictly out of bounds for all except for Borislav. Even Maksym was restricted, only permitted to speak once with Kateryna, whom he called his cousin. “Cousin!” scoffed Borislav, who seemed to delight in jesting with Maksym. Being willing to fight had made him more of a comrade. “If I had a cousin like that, I’d be happy.”

This elicited more ribald comments of disbelief, but Maksym had been able to pass a few words between them. Kateryna had healed enough and was coping. She and most of the girls had been left enough alone, though one of the men had taken the habit of approaching a younger, blonde girl in the dark of night to force her to perform oral sex on him. When Maxim quietly told the expedition chief of the behaviour, Borislav made the point of having the suspect carefully watched. Later, in full view of the rest of the camp, Borislav took a spear and, catching the offender by surprise as they ate their meal, gave him a thorough hiding. His nose was broken and his face left swollen, his beating left him unable to do anything for a day but huddle wretchedly in the bottom of a boat with the slaves. Borislav could easily have made him a slave or removed his balls if it was found he had been caught as a rapist, but the rest of the party, including the transgressor, accepted the punishment as befitting the crime. The retribution was never due to any moral outrage, but because a valuable slave girl could have become damaged goods. Their emphasis was the safe delivery of slaves to the markets so they would be sold for a good price. What happened to them after the transaction was of no interest to Borislav. After all, they were like the more valuable hides, the amber and the pine resin; they were only goods to be exchanged for silks, ceramics, and spices. The new products would then undertake the torturous journey back to Kiev where they would be sold for silver.

And then the process would begin again.

Maksym soon earned the reputation as a fighter so was expected to be sold into the military, to the Byzantines or the Fatimids, who were known to command slave armies. Kateryna, as a rare warrior women, would be highly sought as a guard for one of the harems owned by any of the wealthy Moorish traders or rulers who deemed a gaggle of attractive women a worthwhile status symbol, regardless of whether one could service them or not.

As they floated past the deep forests or stayed in wretched villages, Maksym had plenty of time to think. Most communities were located along the river, so on many nights they camped in Slav villages deemed safe. As protection from the cold, the simple log cabins included an insulating coat of clay. Some were even sunk into the ground and mounded over with earth. Heated with stoves of stone or baked clay, there were no chimneys so were unbearably smoky. Not surprisingly, residents were often plagued with persistent coughs and lung complaints. It was a world of constant danger from wolves, bears, or other tribes. Most villages were fortified with timber stockades, but some even lacked that limited protection.

In his heart of hearts, Maksym loved the journey, loved the danger, and most of all loved the ferocious challenge of living in this savage, unforgiving land. This was his land! His past!

He had, of course, heard nothing from the rest of the Kiev Traveller team. It was unlikely the survivors would have tried to rescue them, for they would be limited by the movement of the Transporter. Maybe their comrade and officer in charge of their Traveller team, Lieutenant Vovk, the Wolf, was right. Maybe there had been a more appropriate way to register their objection at their project being choked by the Russians.

He sniffed and mentally shrugged. It was too late for regrets now.

How had they been detected? How had primitive Kievan Rus, living in huts behind their log stockade, detected and ambushed a highly trained and experienced Special Forces team armed with modern weapons and equipped with night-vision goggles? His team had been routed. Anitoliy speared and Oleg, the poor bastard, skinned and burned alive! Oh God! The screams! Maksym beaten and Kateryna raped.

It had been a complete fuck-up!

Maksym had the time to carefully evaluate the mission, their failures, and the deaths of his comrades. No, there was little else they could have done. It could only be put down to bad luck.

Now he and Kateryna were destined to be slaves one thousand years in the past.

But not yet.

They had seen other trade expeditions and temporarily joined other parties, though it soon became apparent that other Kievan trade parties were considered almost as dangerous as the hostile locals. Borislav had once explained how it would not be below them to attack another group, kill the overseers and contractors and then make off with any captured trade goods.

As the island of Khortytsia was finally identified, the mood of the traders lightened and Borislav became chatty. “In a day or two, we get to the Chorne Sea,” he smiled. “The Old Woman Dnipro will get so wide, it will be like a sea in places. It gets easier, the food better, the weather warmer and the people friendlier. In a week we should be in Constantinople, in the city of the Romoi, the Romans. Then, we part ways.” Borislav smiled in obvious relief.

“How many times have you made this journey?” asked Maksym.

Borislav looked to the approaching island, where a small town and a few sails could already be seen. Maksym suspected that many traders ended their journey here, but the ever canny Borislav would continue. His careful, grey eyes looked to the slave, ever searching for hidden tricks and meanings, before he answered. “Four times. I have a few more times before my fortunes are made.”

“I hear the journey back is harder?” asked Maksym.

Borislav inclined his head in confirmation. “Yes, harder, longer, and more likely to result in conflict.”

“Do you need another fighter?” asked Maksym.

Borislav looked to him a moment in calculation. “Perhaps,” he conceded. “We’ll have to see how the slave markets fare. If you get a good price, we will part ways there. Nothing personal, but you should fetch a decent price.”

Maksym nodded. He had to keep his options open. It was essential he and Kateryna remain together. Only then was there any hope of survival. He knew the modern version of the Dnipro River well, what was left of it. Hundreds of years of agriculture and dams had changed and tamed the wild beast upon which they now paddled and endured. There was nothing like this at home. Here, the fish were so abundant they would sometimes jump into your boat and the wildlife was astonishingly bountiful. He had even seen huge bears and forest bison that were virtually extinct in his own Time. No, there was nothing like this at home. He had engaged in enough manoeuvres in this part of the country to know they had about a thousand kilometres between the mouth of the Dnipro and their final destination at Constantinople. Previously, he and his squad had flown across country by chopper. Now, they drifted in little more than hollowed out logs.

He looked to Kateryna as the other craft was paddled nearby. Her head was bowed as if dozing, but she would be ready.

They still had time.