“Look at that,” said Hagen. “Did you ever see anything so lovely? So magnificent?”
“It’s silver,” said Donkels.
“If it is,” said Hagen, “we’re rich.”
AS SOON AS KALINKA heard the throbbing and ominous sound of the German motorcycles on the hill outside the burial chamber, she knew exactly what to do. Having just woken up, she might almost have said the idea had come to her in a dream, except that she couldn’t remember having dreamed about anything very much. She knew instinctively that it was a good idea; besides, what else could they do? Even so, explaining the idea to Temüjin and Börte required all her powers of diplomacy.
She stroked Börte’s stiff mane for a moment and then scratched Temüjin’s muzzle, which he seemed to like.
“Look, I know you’re both wild horses and that you’re not and never could be domesticated,” she said. “And I know that both of you would run a mile rather than wear any kind of a harness. I respect your freedom to be different from other horses and to breed only with your own. But this is a good idea, and I know it can work. And I can’t think of a better way of getting back at the men who shot your brothers and sisters at Askaniya-Nova than this, can you?”
Temüjin couldn’t argue with her, nor could Börte; neither of the horses liked the idea of being yoked to the ancient chariot, nor did they care for being smeared with the silver paint the girl had found in a jar, but undeniably, the plan was a good one and stood a reasonable chance of success. All the same, wearing a harness went against everything that made the wild stallion what he was.
He was still thinking about Kalinka’s argument when Börte nodded firmly and led the way to the chariot. Like any mare, she was always able to see reason before a stallion; but eventually Temüjin walked over and stood beside her. And patiently the two wild horses allowed themselves to be harnessed to the ancient chariot.
It was, Kalinka reflected, just like harnessing the big Vladimirs to her father’s coal cart back in Dnepropetrovsk.
This process was quickly completed, after which Kalinka buckled on the warrior priestess’s armor and daubed Taras and herself with more of the silver paint. The armor was lighter than she had imagined. The bronze helmet felt comfortable—it was even a good fit—and the breastplate could have been made for her. It was now clear to Kalinka that the warrior priestess was of an age and build that were similar to her own. Hoping that she wouldn’t have to use it, she picked up the spear and held it at the ready, while with her other hand, she took hold of the ancient leather reins and prepared to greet their unwanted guests.
She could hear the Germans now and see a flashlight as they walked down the winding passage that led into the burial chamber.
“I don’t have to tell you that they’ll kill us all if they can,” she whispered. “But if we can all just stand completely still until I give the word, I’m certain we’ll give them the biggest shock of their lives since the Battle of Stalingrad.”
As soon as the beam from the captain’s flashlight touched Kalinka and the animals, the silver paint seemed to glow in the dark; when they started to laugh and to dance around the floor, Kalinka realized with grim satisfaction that the Germans believed she and the animals were made of real silver.
“We’re rich,” said Hagen. “Look at her. She’s probably solid silver. She makes those treasures of Troy look like secondhand junk.”
“Unbelievable,” said Donkels. “There’s enough silver in that charioteer to pay the whole German army.”
“Then it’s lucky for us they’re not here.” Hagen laughed unpleasantly. “More for the rest of us, eh, lads?”
“What do you think, sir?” Donkels asked Grenzmann.
“This does seem to change things,” admitted Grenzmann.
“Steady,” Kalinka murmured through clenched teeth as she waited for all of the Germans to emerge from the passage. She hoped there weren’t any more of them aboveground, but if there were, she was ready to give them battle. Things weren’t going to be like in the botanical gardens—not if she could help it. And the very thought of what had happened there made her angry now. So angry that she screamed what she thought was an ear-piercing war cry, and snapped the reins in front of her so that the two Przewalski’s horses sprang forward and galloped straight toward the terrified Germans.
Extreme greed now gave way to abject terror as the shock of discovering their silver charioteer and her hunting dog were apparently alive caused the four SS men to turn and run for their lives. The last thing anyone saw clearly, before terror caused his trembling hands to fumble and then drop the flashlight, was Captain Grenzmann disappearing under the horses’ hooves, and then the iron-bound wheels of the chariot, which left him bruised and bleeding on the ground for several minutes.