By this time Vera and I were both middle-aged, and as happy a married pair as were to be found in all Russia. The old Boyar Kurbatof was dead long since, and Vera was a rich woman, possessor of three thousand souls, or serfs, and the mother of five children. My place in the realm and in the esteem of the Tsar was high, for I commanded almost more Cossacks in Moscow than Mazeppa could assemble under arms at Batourin.

As for the Tsar Peter, none assuredly would have recognised him at this time for the stripling of Preobrajensky—he who had once been wont to take life no more seriously than as a long holiday, to be spent in playing with pleasure armies and toy fleets, in the drinking of much beer and honey-mead, and in rioting with stable youths, and perhaps also with the other sex of that class.

For see him now the great Autocrat, the genius of a powerful nation, whose incarnate spirit he is; the rival of Charles of Sweden, with whom he will throw at Pultowa for an empire. Great he is to-day, and yet how small! for the taste for debauchery and drunkenness, begun in boyhood, has survived; and when the Tsar is not busy fashioning his empire within and without, upsetting the old Russia and building up the new, showing his greatness here, there, and everywhere, he is buffooning, drinking, revealing all that is small and grotesque in his marvellous character, without shame and without reserve, as though he neither knew nor cared to know what is deemed seemly and expedient in civilised societies.

Yet, though Peter rarely showed the slightest respect for women, his attitude towards Vera was ever most dignified and respectful. He had soon wearied of Avdotia Lapouchine, the Tsaritsa, and had condemned her to take the veil; but though from that time onwards his relations with women had altogether lacked chivalry, an exception was always made in Vera’s favour. As for Mazeppa, I saw him but rarely. And so the years rolled on, until the great day of Pultowa.

Charles of Sweden had marched within a few days’ journey of Moscow, which he might have sacked had he thrown himself immediately against the city; but when about to do so he received a letter from Mazeppa which caused him to sweep round through Batourin in the Ukraine, Mazeppa’s capital, in order to pick up a contingent of fifty thousand lances offered by the Hetman for use against his most faithful and indulgent master, the Tsar.

For Mazeppa had made the fatal mistake of believing that the sun of the Swede was in the ascendant, whereas the light now reddening in the sky was the dawn of Russia’s great day: the day of her New Beginning.

Now Peter, ignorant of Mazeppa’s treachery, had meanwhile sent orders that the Hetman and his fifty thousand men should hold themselves in readiness to join the Russian army at a moment’s notice. Mazeppa replied by letter that he was ill of the gout and unable to move. A second missive on the following day, written by a secretary, explained that the Hetman was dying, and had already received the last offices of the Church. When he had despatched this last letter, Mazeppa left Batourin with as many of his lances as he could persuade that treachery such as his would prove the best policy—about two thousand men. Two thousand dupes out of the promised fifty thousand!

‘Here is thy chance, Chelminsky,’ said Peter the Tsar. ‘Thou hast waited long. Mazeppa is dead or dying; his lances want a leader: Menshikof shall ride with thy Cossacks, and thou shalt be Hetman of the Ukraine.’

But I was devoted by this time to my own Cossacks, and preferred to remain by the Tsar’s side.

‘Let me wait and see these Ukraine Cossacks—what Mazeppa has made of them,’ said I. ‘Better my own, who are used to me, than his, Tsar, when it comes to fighting! In any case, I will have only thee for master, whether there or here!’

But when Peter with his army reached Batourin, he found that the old fox had left his hole.

The rage of the Tsar when he learned that Mazeppa had proved a traitor was dreadful to witness. He fell writhing in a fit, his head and limbs jerking, his face contorted. When he recovered, he bade Menshikof and his troops throw themselves upon city and castle, burning the place with all it contained; then, having caused an effigy of Mazeppa to be fashioned, he first hanged it in public and afterwards had it dragged through the filth of the streets. Every year since that day Mazeppa’s name is cursed throughout Russia upon the Day of Curses, which is the first Sunday of the long Fast.

But the delay caused by Mazeppa’s adhesion cost the Swedish forces dear, for it compelled them to winter in Russia, and by means of sundry small successes the armies of Peter began to render their position dangerous.

Then Mazeppa actually wrote to the Tsar proposing to deliver both Charles and his armies into his hands; but Peter would have none of him and his promises, fearing more treachery. Instead, the Tsar replied to Mazeppa with shameful words, saying that he would presently have both Charles and Mazeppa also.

And in the summer came the great day, when Charles and his dwindled and hungry army, and with him Mazeppa and his Cossacks—poor deluded men—attacked the Tsar at Pultowa.

All the world knows of that great battle; how the star of Charles fell for ever and that of Peter rose, never to set. How Charles fled with a few men and with Mazeppa, who preserved his own skin intact and tried to spirit away with him, moreover, two barrels of gold pieces which he had taken care to secure.

Yet it must not be said that Mazeppa fought ill on that day. Never did men fight more desperately than our good Cossack fools who had followed the old fox into ruin. Once the Tsar, riding near me at the moment, bade me watch the old Hetman charge with his fellows. By the saints, the sight did one good, even though they were against us!

‘Curse him!’ cried Peter, ‘his lances kill three to every one of them that falls. Take a thousand of our Cossacks, Chelminsky, and chase the rascals into the Vorskla! Bring me Mazeppa alive, and by all the devils I will make thee head over every Cossack that breathes!’

That was a notable fight. At the first charge, the numbers being in our favour, not a man fell on either side, for neither were our fellows willing to slay their brethren, nor they us; but ours, as they rode through the others’ ranks, hurled reproaches and shameful names at them and at Mazeppa for their treachery, so that when we turned to charge back again Mazeppa’s men were furious and fought like devils, and many scores of saddles were emptied on both sides.

As for me, I had a pass or two with Mazeppa in the crowd, but neither of us struck his best.

‘Ride out of the crush, Mazeppa, and I will follow,’ I said. ‘I must seem to pursue thee, but for God’s sake let me not bring thee alive into the Tsar’s hands, as he would have me do, for thou shalt be torn limb from limb.’

‘Kill me, then, if thou must, Chelminsky, for all is lost!’ he said. ‘Thou hast won in the end, but we have run a good race through life, thou and I!’

‘Ride like the devil, man!’ I said. ‘I will not either kill thee or take thee, but I must seem to strike at thee.’

‘Chelminsky,’ cried Mazeppa, as his horse galloped a few paces ahead of my own, ‘I swear I have been a better friend to thee than to any living soul on this earth. Three times I might have——’

But I interrupted him. ‘Ride, you fool,’ I said; ‘the Tsar watches!’

And at this moment, my horse stumbling over a fallen soldier, Mazeppa’s took a good lead; and though I made a show of following out of sight, I returned—to Peter’s anger and disappointment—without my quarry.