Traveller Manifesto

Kievan Rus

Sailing had its advantages in that they didn’t have to paddle and though the weather was, at times, blustery, they made for good enough progress for Borislav to be in a relatively cheerful mood.

Each afternoon they put in to coastal villages that were known hosts for Kievan traders. When more than one trader group gathered, the overseers and contractors would get together and gamble or sing, for the most arduous part of their long journey was now behind them.

With the sailing came an end to Maksym’s freedom, for he was promptly placed back into chains. “Sorry my friend,” apologised Borislav as the heavy hammer clanged to fuse the soft metal rivet into the collar around his neck. “You’re a great fellow, but this is far too civilised an area for you not to be tempted to run. Slaves do that all of the time, but you haven’t been branded as yet and I don’t want some of my trade goods running off on me.” He looked at Maksym in a manner that was calculating. His eyes no longer smiled. “I had one run off. We caught him. By the time we were finished with him he was good for no-one, so we killed him. But what we did to him certainly discouraged the others, believe me.”

Maksym gave a chuckle and repositioned the ring around his neck. “Well, we don’t want that to happen to such a valuable, likeable fellow as myself, do we?”

A couple of the other overseers laughed because Maksym’s cheek and fearless attitude had garnered their reluctant respect. Borislav looked at Maksym with a small smile and replied, “No, you will be of much more value alive.”

They had stopped on their fourth evening under sail on the Black Sea, the expansive body of water Borislav and other Kiev called the Chorne Sea, when Kateryna sought to sit near Maksym. She stared in urgency and, when she caught his eye, tried to speak, but one of the overseers growled at her to be silent.

Her urgency was out of character, so Maksym complained. “Oh, come on!” he laughed. “Just a few words, my friend.”

“Don’t you sodding well ‘friend’ me Maksym,” the guard complained. “Borislav wants everything to be in order for when we arrive.”

“When’s that?” asked Maksym.

“Why don’t you ask him?” retorted the guard. “You two are so chummy-pally.”

“Not any more it seems,” replied Maksym with a chuckle. “I’ve got a fucking collar around my neck.” He held the chain and gave it a rattle.

“Alright,” conceded the guard. He was a young relation of Borislav’s who had become a friend. The canny soldier had taught the young man much about survival and fighting, so there was a burden of obligation. All knew Maksym had lived a charmed life, some even thought it unfair that he be placed back in chains. After all, hadn’t he fought and paddled like the others. It was joked that, like them, he should even receive a payment for his services. “Not too long though,” growled the guard with a half-smile. “I don’t want my ass kicked.”

Maksym thanked him and scuttled as far forward as his chain would allow, while Kateryna did the same. All could hear what was said, though they spoke in English to confound eavesdroppers.

“Maksym. I saw a drone,” she murmured quickly. Maksym had been scheming how he could keep Kateryna and himself together and was becoming increasingly more apprehensive as to her fate.

At her words he froze and stared. “When?”

“A couple of hours ago, before dusk,” she replied.

“You sure?” Maksym replied, astounded. Her face was barely illuminated by the flames of the campfire, her large eyes in shadow.

She jerked with her chin. “Up high. When it saw me looking, it flashed a red light, twice. A couple of the guards also saw it, but it was soon gone.”

The other guard strode up and looked in no mood for kindness, so they scuttled back into their places without even a moan of complaint.

The night was mild and clear, so they were housed under a temporary lean-to in the event of a morning shower. As he was at the end of their line of slaves, Maksym aimed to sleep at the edge of the shelter and watch the sky. In the depth of the night, as the usual snores filled the night air, he saw the sight that was never witnessed in the world of the 11th Century. A small navigation light was activated from a craft that hovered at about 1000 metres above the camp. It blinked twice, so, lying on his back, he waved. The red light blinked two more times and then sped off.

At the sight, Maksym felt a rush of exhilaration.

They were looking for them! Someone from home knew they were there.

Their next stop was at a small settlement called Midye. Borislav was particularly excited because they were due to enter Constantinople at the end of the next day, so the men celebrated with some of the local wine. At this, the younger Rus complained, preferring their own beor and mead, but after a few tankards the wine seemed to satisfy.

The traders were still disciplined enough for the women to be left well alone. After over a month of hard travel, one would be foolish to receive a beating and lose your silver over the rape of one of the young girls. Besides, they knew Kateryna would leap to their defence, which would mean she could be damaged.

No. It just wasn’t worth it.

All day Maksym pondered on the light in the sky. Perhaps he had imagined it, but Kateryna had also seen it. She looked dangerous and excited. He glanced across at her and knew he looked hungry. God! He would do anything to run off into the bushes with her now. He wouldn’t care if the lot of them watched.

The sleeping arrangements were the same as the last few nights, but Maksym barely slept. So it came as a surprise when a light touch woke him. Beside him crouched a shadow. “Vasylenko,” it said in more of a breath than a whisper.

He only nodded. The voice seemed familiar, especially as it pronounced his name as would a Ukrainian.

Bolt cutters were produced and another shadow swiftly and silently clipped the Traveller free. Breathless with excitement, Maksym stood and followed the shadow, who paused only to offer him a pair of night-vision goggles. Once they were donned, the night leapt into life. Five other figures crept silently, one of whom was Kateryna. With her goggles fitted she signalled that she was okay.

The rescuers were a typical Special Forces hostage rescue team dressed in modern combat gear. They handled their automatic weapons with easy familiarity and stepped carefully as they scrutinised the bodies under shelter or around the fire. Fortunately for all involved, the guards slept soundly as they had been anesthetised by the local wine. There was little fear that they would be disturbed, for the newcomers were silent as ghosts.

The coals of the fire glowed brightly as they were led away. Even the slaves to which they were chained did not move. If any were disturbed, they were wise enough to make no sound.

The fate of the slaves was sealed. Maksym had grown to like them, but they could not rescue them all. What would happen in the morning when it was discovered that he and Kateryna; two of Borislav’s most valued slaves, were gone? Someone would doubtlessly be beaten.

Maksym’s perceptions were razor sharp as he followed his guide to the inflatable boat. It all seemed too familiar, as if his time as a slave had been some kind of perverted dream. A couple of soldiers knelt with weapons ready as they covered the camp and village and were the last to climb aboard. A couple of dogs from the village gave a half-hearted bark, but all else was silent. With its load of eight humans, the boat rocked gently until the electric motor pushed them into the deep water. It then opened up to have them speed away.

“To whom do I have the pleasure,” asked Maksym. He felt giddy with a joyous relief. His heart beat so heavily, he thought he might have a heart-attack. Kateryna tilted her head back and, for the first time in months, breathed free air and laughed out loud. The men slowly removed their balaclavas and before him sat his former Kiev Traveller officer, the Wolf, Senior Lieutenant Ihor Vovk.

Both he and Kateryna hissed in surprise. Vovk had once tried to convince them of the folly of their plan to steal the Transporter, but they wouldn’t listen. They sat silently a moment before Maksym nodded. “I thank you sir,” he offered quietly as he held out his hand.

Vovk looked across at him, and then to his former lover, Kateryna, with a look of amusement that was plainly visible. “I thought you had everything under control,” he replied quietly in English.” They shook hands solemnly.

“No,” confessed Kateryna. “No, we did not.” Her voice shook with the emotion of the moment. Maksym was overwhelmed with such gratitude that he felt weak. He bowed his head, placed his hands over his face and repressed a sob.

“You may know these men?” Vovk gestured in quiet introduction. “If not, then you should. This is Sergeant Andy Poxon, one of the original Saxon Travellers, and this is Sergeant Hami Wharemate from New Zealand Traveller and trainer for Byzantium Traveller. These two gentlemen … Baki, who is a trainer for Byzantium Traveller, and Talon, one of the Byzantium Travellers. At the wheel there is Argun, another of Turkey’s elite Maroon Berets. Now, you should be flattered, because you are in the presence of Traveller royalty.”

“How did you find us?” asked Kateryna breathlessly. Maksym recalled the beatings they had both received, not to mention the savage raping to which Kateryna had been subjected. How could any woman recover from such treatment? But if any woman could, it was Kateryna. Even though she tried to remain professionally aloof, she now looked particularly vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to hold her close and give the comfort he had yearned to give for many long and difficult days.

“Plenty of time for that,” interrupted Hami curtly. “Quiet! We have a job to do.”

They cruised silently for a few hours, sometimes battling through waves that threatened to swamp them. At one stage they passed the great City of Constantinople, where only a few lights dotted the colossal City walls. At the sight, Maksym sighed. “The Great City. This was where Kateryna and I were to be sold as slaves.” They looked to each other and then reached across to briefly hold hands. This still felt like a dream. Any moment one of Borislav’s goons would wake them to make that last fateful leg in their journey to the Shining City, home of the world’s largest slave markets.

The soldiers communicated quietly via their headsets and, at the brief flash of a signal light, turned sharply to a beach to unload. A UAV hovered overhead, visible only by an occasional flicker of red light. Two Turkish Special Forces soldiers silently met them and helped them from the boat, which was then left to float out into the channel. Incendiary grenades flashed brightly, vaporising the boat and engine, leaving the remnants to sink into the swift current.

There was a hike. Nothing was said. Even with his goggles, Maksym could not see where they headed. There were in a forest, then they were surrounded by the once familiar sight of figures carrying weapons. After murmured communications, two of the team guided Maksym and Kateryna to a bare spot in the forest floor. Despite his training and determination to remain nonchalant he felt an overwhelming thrill of excitement. Beside him, Kateryna panted in anticipation. Their hands sought each other and clasped together.

And then they squinted under the bright lights and noise of a modern military facility.