“Be done with such talk old man, I can no longer bear to listen to it, it affronts my honor!”
“Wait, Boyarin, I have not yet finished,” replied Zakhar Berkut calmly. “I’m glad you brought up the subject of your honor and those services rendered your king which you have continued to vaunt before us at every opportunity. Would you be so good as to tell us exactly what they were so that we too might pay them homage?”
“I have spilled my blood in twenty battles!”
“To spill your blood, Boyarin, is not enough of a service. Even a murderer often spills his blood, but they hang him just the same. Tell us, against whom and for whom you have done battle?”
“Against the king of Kiev, against the Volynian, Polish and Mazovian kings. . . .”
“That is quite enough, Boyarin! Those wars are a disgrace not an honor for you or the kings. They were purely wars of extermination, massacres of innocent peoples.”
“I also fought against the Mongols at the battle on the river Kalka.”
“And how did you fight against them?”
“What do you mean, how? The way it was necessary to fight, holding my ground firmly until I was wounded and taken prisoner.”
“That was well said, except that we don’t know if it is actually true.”
“If you don’t know, then don’t attempt to talk about what you know nothing.”
“Hold on a moment, Boyarin, and don’t decry our ignorance. We will see to it that we find out what we don’t know!” With these words, Zakhar Berkut stood up and turning to the assemblage said, “Estimable gathering! You have heard the open attestation of Tuhar Wolf presented in his own behalf?”
75
