About one year from the time of our return to the Hetman’s Court after this visit to Moscow, as I reckon it, there began to subsist a state of constant warfare between Mazeppa and myself; not a warfare of thrust and blow, of swords or of pistols, indeed, for we never came to violence, but a warfare of wit, in which the desire to obtain the better of one another was the principal end and motive.

We had been, on the whole, good friends up to this time. I had, indeed, begun very gradually to understand Mazeppa and to regard him, in consequence, with more suspicion and less respect than formerly; but I now soon realised that I must treat him differently, that I must in fact dissemble with him, since I found that he dissembled constantly in dealing with myself, if I desired to live upon equal terms with my friend and not to lag for ever behind in the race of life.

That which first angered and set me to use my wits against him was this:

I was sent in command of my thousand of Cossacks upon an expedition, half scouting and half punitive, in connection with the Tartars of Azof, an expedition which, though its results were meagre, occupied half a year. Now, though I have said little about such matters in connection with myself, preferring to regard Mazeppa as the hero of my history and to dwell upon that which concerns him rather than my own affairs, I will now state that there was a maiden at the Court of the Hetman towards whose charms I was not indifferent. I had had many affairs of the heart: we Cossacks never lack for friends of the fair sex, and I may say without boasting that my success in such matters had for ever been satisfactory, and quite on a par with that of Mazeppa himself, who prided himself upon being irresistible.

Now this lady, Olga Panief, was young and proud, and pre-eminent among Cossack maidens for comeliness. There was scarcely one of us who lived within the shadow of the Hetmanate who had not, at one time or another, laid siege to her heart, which, however, had never until quite recently capitulated.

Even when, as all supposed, I had at length caused the beleaguered one to lower her flag and permit the entrance of Love the Conqueror, I was not at all so sure of my conquest as others supposed, and when I went with my Cossacks among the Tartars I rode with an unquiet heart, for I knew for certain two things—the first, that Mazeppa would profit by my absence in order to re-invest the citadel which should be mine by right of conquest; and the second, that my hold upon the fair Olga was not so secure but that she might even now lend a willing ear to so artful a singer as Mazeppa.

For what actually happened I was by no means prepared.

My first visit on my return was to the house of Panief, the father of fair Olga, and one of the seniors among the Cossack colonels.

But, to my astonishment, the Panief mansion was closed, and the family, evidently, were out of town.

Then I went to Mazeppa, for my thoughts and suspicions turned as naturally to him as a man would look up at the clouds when rain fell.

On the way to Mazeppa’s house I met Sotsky, of whom I inquired what had become of the Paniefs.

‘Oh, that is a little bit of our friend Mazeppa’s handiwork,’ he laughed. ‘Mazeppa took advantage of the absence of someone to lay violent siege in a certain quarter. He had no success, and this is the result.’

‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Where are the Paniefs? What can Mazeppa have to do with their disappearance?’

‘Oh, ask Mazeppa himself; it is not my business!’ Sotsky laughed, and he went upon his way without further explanation.

Sotsky’s words and manner entirely puzzled me, and I scarcely knew how to approach Mazeppa, whether with sword in hand and accusations in mouth or as one who knows nothing.

Of what, indeed, could I accuse him?

Mazeppa betrayed no agitation. ‘He will play the fox,’ thought I, and I determined that I too would act both cautiously and with cunning equal to his own. But Mazeppa was frank, and disarmed me at once.

‘Your first question will be “Where is Olga?”’ he said, laughing. ‘And my answer is prepared, “She is in Moscow!”’

‘In Moscow!’ I replied, astonished. ‘What does she there?’

‘I do not wonder that you are surprised. If you had visited a dozen other houses in which dwell maidens of rank and good appearance, you would have found them also deserted, like the Paniefs’. During your absence there came a messenger from the Grand Duchess, the Regent. Do you remember when we were last in Moscow that you played the prophet and declared how one day they would cause the Tsar Ivan to take a wife? You were right, and I—who laughed the idea to scorn—was wrong. The word has gone out for the maidens to assemble in Moscow for the Tsar’s inspection.’

‘And to whom,’ I asked angrily, ‘was the selection entrusted in this district? To you, Mazeppa, I’ll be bound!’

‘You may see the letter of her Highness,’ said Mazeppa, producing the document and handing it to me. ‘If you are angry that Olga Panief was sent, you are wrong; for go she would, whether you or I willed it or willed it not!’

‘I think that is a lie, Mazeppa,’ I said fiercely. ‘I will tell you what has happened. In my absence you have sought to reap in my field, but Olga would have none of you, and in return you have included her name with those from among whom the Tsar is to make his choice.’

‘Not so,’ said Mazeppa; ‘you are angry and make unjust accusations. Olga, as I have said, was determined to go; she would take her chance like the rest, she declared, and when I said, “What of Chelminsky, Olga?” she replied that both Chelminsky and I and any other Cossack lover might go hang if the Tsar would have her, even a Tsar that spluttered when he spoke and played with a child’s toys. I swear that what I say is true. Go to Moscow and see for yourself, if you will.’

Knowing Olga as I did, I was aware that it might well be as Mazeppa said.

‘It would serve the minx right,’ I replied angrily, ‘if the Tsar should choose her; but of that there is little chance, for I think his choice is already made, and this assembling of the maidens is a formality, a concession to ancient customs, and no more.’

Mazeppa winced at this, by which I knew that he had not yet forgotten his infatuation for Vera Kurbatof.

‘I know not to what choice of the Tsar’s you refer,’ he said. ‘They would scarcely assemble the maidens if it were as you say.’

‘If, as you admit, I was a good prophet on one occasion, why should I not prove all a prophet, and not only half?’ I laughed. ‘You remember well enough that I bade you see how the Tsar watched the face of Vera Kurbatof; be sure that his choice began and will end with her, even though a Mazeppa should woo in rivalry.’

‘I think not,’ said Mazeppa. ‘She would never——;’ he paused, and paced the floor awhile in thought.

I read the Regent’s letter: it was short, and merely made known that it had been decreed that the elder Tsar should take a wife. Maidens of the desired age—about seventeen—would assemble at the Kremlin Palace by the day fixed for their arrival, and those agents appointed in the various districts would be answerable for the despatch of all such maidens, of suitable rank and age, as were to be found in their locality. Mazeppa, being known to her Highness, was by her appointed agent for the Ukraine towns and district.

‘You have acted unfriendly, Mazeppa,’ I said. ‘You should have reflected that being, in a measure, affianced to myself, Olga might be exempted from this formality. The power is in your hands to send or to exempt a maiden.’

‘I tell you, my friend, that the girl would take no denial: she would go. She spoke of you and of me in a breath, declaring that neither for your sake nor for mine would she surrender so great a chance of advancement. “I am no more Chelminsky’s than yours”—those were her words—“and I hope to heaven that I shall be neither his nor yours, but the Tsar’s!”’

‘I know not whether to believe you or not,’ I said, and Mazeppa replied with a laugh that in that case I had better go to Moscow and ask the lady for myself. ‘She is a saucy minx,’ he said, ‘and will not withhold the truth to save your feelings. As the agent of her Highness in this matter I am bound to be in Moscow on the day appointed, in order to see that the maidens from my district are duly assembled. The day appointed is but a week hence: travel with me if you will. I shall be glad of your company, and perhaps also of your assistance in——”

Mazeppa did not finish his speech, but relapsed into thoughtful silence. I did not think twice upon his broken sentence, imagining that he meant he would need help in collecting and marshalling the army of Cossack maidens, which would be his duty.

As for me, I felt aggrieved and angry that Olga Panief should have spoken and acted thus. I suppose my love for the girl could have been no more strong or real than hers for myself, however, for certainly I was more offended than heartbroken; and if any one feeling predominated in my mind over the rest it was an ardent hope that she might be disappointed of her ambition, and that the Tsar would not so much as glance at her.

Nevertheless, I determined to travel to Moscow with Mazeppa. The ceremony of choosing a bride for the Tsar—and especially such a Tsar as this one—must be of overwhelming interest. Moreover, I felt certain that the Tsar would choose Vera Kurbatof, and I was curious to see what would then happen; what Vera would do or say, and what Mazeppa would do. I even found out now, for the first time, that I myself began to feel a strange interest in this girl, and in the crisis which might now be before her.