The Great Celt: The Rainey Chronicles, #2

By B.G. Cousins

Muscovy 1460. After years of combat, veteran mercenary Connor Rainey heads into the Land of the Rus in search of a peaceful new home. What he finds in anything but peaceful.

In the dark world of early Russia, Ivan III is surrounded by enemies, both outside his lands and in his own court. When Rainey saves Ivan from an assassination attempt perpetrated by one of court boyars, he is drawn into the dangerous political world of the Muscovy court. Rewarded with the traitorous boyar's lands, Rainey must deal with the boyar's fiery daughter, Ludmilla, who is unwilling to surrender her birthright to anyone.

Spanning 25 years, The Great Celt weaves a story of love, intrigue and power before the formation of Russia as a nation and the transformation of the Grand Prince of Muscovy to Tsar of All the Russias.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glen Kelty Books
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9780994824233

B.G. Cousins

B.G. Cousins has travelled the World, sort of. Trained as a metallurgist, his career took him to many places around World, although not to the touristy places normal people go. Most of the time, all he saw was the inside of the local airport and then out to the local mine. An avid reader of history and historical fiction, he spent many a layover at airports in their book stores. He has always had ideas for stories from his vivid imagination, but never had time to do more than jot down notes. Then in 2015, during a lull in contract work, he took those notes and produced the novel. “The Locket”, which he published in the Spring of 2016. He prides himself in doing extensive research to make his novels as historically accurate as possible, weaving historical anomalies into rich stories of love, conflict and adventure. He has also produced some new short back stories for some characters from the novel B.G. Cousins currently resides in Calgary, Alberta, with his wife, Carmen, his dog Piper, and his ever present bagpipes that he has been playing and travelling with for over 40 years.

Book preview

Begin the adventure of Connor Rainey and his hereditary sword in the Land of the Rus.

The Rainey Chronicles Series

The Locket

The Great Celt

Dark Before Light (2018)

The Great Celt

Published by

Glen Kelty Books

a division of Corrxan Inc.

1135 Hunterston Road NW

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

T2K 4M9

Copyright © B.G. Cousins, 2017

––––––––

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of these copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Please purchase only authorized editions.

ISBN # 978-09948242-4-0

Publisher’s Note

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally, as with the use of actual historical figures and events. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party web sites or their content.

www.glenkeltybooks.com

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.

Shakespeare

King Henry IV, Act III, Scene I, Line 31.

1

Moscow

October 12, 2007

Evgenia slowly climbed the stairs to her fifth-floor apartment. On each floor, she passed the doors of the broken elevator, sitting idle for two years now. For her, it was a sign of democracy. Back when the government owned everything, elevators got fixed. Now, with private enterprise, the building’s owner didn’t want to spend the money and no one could force him to. Let’s hear it for freedom, she thought to herself.

She reached her floor and flung open the stairwell door. The hallway was thick with smells from the tenants cooking their dinners. As she passed each door, she could tell what everyone was having. The Popovs, a cabbage stew. The Katins, some sort of ham dish. As she reached her door, she could smell her mother-in-law’s favorite borsht. Sasha’s parents were here. She smiled. Now she wouldn’t have to make dinner.

Turning her key in the lock, she swung open the door to be greeted by her four-year-old son, Andrei, who ran down the hallway and wrapped his arms around her legs.

Hi Mama, Andrey said.

"Hello my little mal’chik. Are Baba and Ded here?"

Yes. Papa is home, too.

She smiled down at him and rubbed his hair. Well, let me in the house so I can go see them.

Andrey spun around and ran back down the hallway. Evgenia took off her knapsack and coat, then closed the door behind her. She took a second to straighten her hair before moving down the hall.

She found her husband and his father sitting at the table, each with a glass of vodka. You’re home early, Sasha. Is crime at an all-time low?

Sasha worked for the FSB as a junior detective. His father was a district captain. No. Papa came by the office today and said he needed a detective for a short project. Apparently, it involves drinking vodka at home.

Evgenia looked at her father-in-law. Dmitri, Sasha’s colleagues already look on him with suspicion because of you. This kind of thing makes it worse.

Dmitri Raynykov shifted his weight in the chair uncomfortably. Evgenia suppressed a smile. She could never quite figure out why a man like Dmitri could be so intimidating and dangerous in the streets of Moscow, but still seemed uncomfortable around his little daughter-in-law.

Evie, did the DNA results come in? Sacha asked. She caught a note of anxiety in his voice, too.

She sat down across from her husband. Is that why the two of you skipped out of work? They had both shown considerable interest in the DNA work her lab had been doing. The project was a very old but very famous crime. The subjects were ninety-year-old human remains suspected to be members of the last tsar’s family. OK, the results are conclusive. The male remains are those of Alexis Romanov. The female remains are either Maria or Anastasia. They were too close in age to figure one from the other without a direct independent DNA sample to compare the results with.

It’s Anastasia, Dmitri said.

Evgenia looked at her father-in-law. You sound pretty definite about that considering they died almost forty years before you were born.

Sasha and Dmitri looked at each other. Evgenia didn’t like the look they were giving each other, as if there was a dangerous secret she was unaware of. What? she asked.

We should tell her, said Sasha.

Tell me what? asked Evgenia.

I don’t know, Dmitri said.

You blurted out Anastasia, Sasha replied.

There was a moment of silence before Evgenia spoke. Is this part of your secret family history?

Dmitri scowled at Sasha. What have you been telling her?

Nothing, said Sasha. When we talk about the past, I don’t bring up much past your history, which I don’t know much about, either. But she’s family now. I know we can trust her with the story.

Dmitri looked over at Evgenia. With her eyes, she tried her best to intimidate him into talking. You know I like history, she said. If your... our family has a link to the last tsar of Russia, I’d love to know.

Another moment passed before Dmitri nodded. Very well, but it cannot get out about our family link.

Really? After almost a hundred years, would anyone important really care?

Dmitri’s face went blank. You would be surprised.

Evgenia felt a chill go up her spine. She couldn’t imagine what dangers such information could bring upon her family, but Dmitri ran in very dangerous company. Although he was officially just a district captain in the FSB, she knew his real job was much darker. She spoke in a near whisper. Agreed.

Dmitri leaned back in his chair, the look on his face unchanged. He let the silence hang for a moment before beginning. "In the old Russia before the revolution, our family were aristocrats. My great-grandfather, Vasili Ivanovich, was the last Count Raynykov. Our ancestral lands were just north of Zelenograd. He had the ear of the tsar at one time, but as the war continued to go badly, Nicholas was rather deaf to anyone past Rasputin. It was during the Second Fatherland War, or what western Europeans called the Great War.

Conditions were so terrible that even Vasili could tell that the tsar had to go, but not to his death. Vasili supported the Bolsheviks because they wanted to get Russia out of the war; it was causing wide spread famine and destroying the Russian army. When the Bolsheviks took over, Vasili tried to get control of the royal family’s custody. But he was considered too close to them. The best he could do was to take over command of a regiment and be assigned to duty close to the family in Yekaterinburg. He was able to place one of his men, a Yakov Yurovsky, as the chief jailor.

Yurovsky worked for your great-grandfather? Evgenia asked.

Dmitri smiled. Yes, but no one else knew. Even to this day. Things began to unravel when Vasili couldn’t convince the regional Soviets to just let the Czech Legion leave Russia. The results were the Legion took over vast regions of Siberia, including Yekaterinburg.

Dmitri sighed before continuing. As the Czechs were approaching, the order came to assassinate the royal family. Yurovsky’s second-in-command received the order while Yurovsky was out on business. By the time news of the order became known to him, the royal family had already been assembled in the basement of the Ipatiev House. Rushing to the house, my great-grandfather was only able to save Alexis and Anastasia. Both of them had been wounded. While Yurovsky reported the entire family as killed, Vasili smuggled the two royals to safety.

But their remains were found near the others, Evgenia said. If they survived, how did they end up there?

The kitchen door burst open and Baba Raynykova burst in with a huge pot of borsht. Dinner is ready, she said, placing the pot in the middle of the table. She scowled at her husband. Why is the table not set? You had one job, and there were two of you. She slapped the back of her son’s head. Get. Get.

Evgenia grinned. Baba Raynykova was the only person Dmitri was definitely afraid of. As Dmitri and Sasha started to grab plates, Evgenia asked, So what happened next?

Baba put her hand on Evgenia’s shoulder. Is he telling you the story of his great-grandfather or of the Great Celt?

The great who?

Bah, Baba said. The Great Celt was the founder of the Raynykov family. Apparently he showed up again five hundred years later to help Alexis Romanov escape.

No, Dmitri answered. "It wasn’t the Great Celt. It was his ancestor with the ancient sword."

Wait a minute, Evgenia exclaimed. What do a 500-year-old Raynykov and a sword have to do with royal Romanovs in 1918?

Baba shook her head, looking at her husband. We eat first, then you can tell the story.

Evgenia had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

2

Constantinople

May 29, 1453

Connor Rainey watched with relief as the Anatolian infantry finally retreated into the darkness away from the ramparts of what was left of the Theodosian Wall. His breathing was heavy; his arms felt like great weights were pushing them down. He glanced over the makeshift stockade filling the breach in the walls to see his commander, Giovanni Giustiniani Longo, looking back at him. The shiny gleam on his armour was gone. Still prominent, though, was the hole in his breastplate where a stone chip from a cannon blast had almost killed him twenty-four hours earlier. They both smiled.

Rainey looked back out at the darkness, wondering what he was doing there. When he had joined Giustiniani and his merry band of Genoese mercenaries sailing to Constantinople’s defense of back in January, he thought it would be a worthy and fairly successful enterprise. It had to be more important than the city-state wars that were consuming in Italy at the time. Besides, he had heard about how wonderful the City was, full of Byzantine splendor. When he arrived, however, he found a large defensive wall surrounding what was now little more than a group of villages. The City had been decaying for over two hundred years, ever since the Fourth Crusade had spent much of its time sacking the place instead of crusading in the Holy Lands.

But the Wall was intact. For a thousand years, it had defended the City from all sieges, twenty-three in all, not counting this current one. It had never been breached. But this siege was different. The young sultan, Mehmet, had brought modern weaponry to bear. When he marched his mighty army to lay siege to the great city, large cannon were a major part of his force. Over the last fifty-three days, his cannon had punched nine opening into the Wall around the Lycus Valley. Giustiniani had ingeniously built stockades in the breaches with dirt, wood, broken stone from the Wall, and anything else that was available. The stockades were topped with barrels filled with stone for his soldiers to fight behind.

Which was exactly what they had been doing for the past four hours in the dark of night. First, Mehmet sent in his fodder. Azaps, mobs of untrained and ill-equipped soldiers, stormed the stockades. They were easily repelled by the skilled soldiers defending against them. But this took two hours. After only ten minutes for the defenders to rest, the Anatolian infantry attacked. These men were much better trained and armed. After a great effort, they made it up to the barrels and engaged in hand to hand combat. Rainey had drawn his sword and thrown his arquebus weapon over his shoulder onto his back, because he knew he would have no time to reload it. The battle was vicious. Even with their own men in the way, Turkish cannons continued to fire. One large ball finally smashed through the stockade beside Rainey. The Anatolians began to flow through, but the hole wasn’t very large. After an hour, the defenders had killed or pushed back all the Turks who had made it through. That was the last gasp of the Anatolian attack.

As Rainey saw the remnants of the Anatolians disappear into the dark, he noticed other movement out beyond the ditch. Giustiniani saw it, too. We’re not done yet, men, he called out.

Rainey scanned the battlements to his left. About fifty yards from him, he could see Constantine XI, the emperor of the City, lit up by some of the fires burning down behind the stockades. He had shed his royal cloak. He had announced that he would fight to the death and Rainey knew he meant it. To make sure everyone else would know this, all the gates through the inner wall behind the defenders had been locked. It wasn’t quite what Rainey had in mind for himself, but his honor told him to continue the fight until nothing remained to fight for. Then it would be time to leave.

Giustiniani had given Rainey a command of thirty men to defend one point of the stockade. Now he had less than twenty men left. Some of the dead lay below the barrels, some on the rampart’s down slope. It was customary to carry away the dead after a fight, but the Turks were not going to give the defenders time to do much but catch their breaths. The attack’s next wave was forming up. In the light from the fires, Rainey could see a well-dressed Turk on a horse behind his men exhorting them to glory.

That’s Mehmet, Giustiniani mumbled, barely heard over the noise of the cannons. He turned to his men. We stop them this time, we win. He has his personal bodyguard lined up now. He’s running out of able soldiers.

Rainey grimaced. Mehmet may have been on his last troops, but there were still a lot more of them than there were defenders. And this next wave of troops was the dreaded Janissaries. They were fresh and skilled. Rainey and the defenders had been at it for four hours. It was time for the miracle that all the religious types in the City kept praying for.

He turned back to the Turkish army forming up in front of him. A mighty roar emanated from the mass of men as they surged forward into battle. Rainey brought his arquebus up to his shoulder, loaded and ready to fire. As the approaching enemy got within fifty yards of the Wall, Giustiniani yelled for the archers to start shooting. At thirty yards, the crossbows let lose. Rainey continued to wait.

Giustiniani turned. FIRE! The combined fire of numerous arquebuses crackled with devastating impact on the attacking force. It had a strong effect on the attackers’ morale as well. The stones knocked the lead attackers back, slowing the movement of those behind, allowing time for the soldiers to reload their arquebuses. As the first Janissaries reached the gap in the stockade, Giustiniani yelled again.

FIRE!

Rainey squeezed the lever on his arquebus. Several others fired at the same time. Through the smoke, Rainey saw the Janissaries falling back onto their fellows. But that was it. Sliding the arquebus over his shoulder on its strap again, he drew his sword and charged for the opening in the stockade. His men followed him.

* * *

Rainey had no sense of the time, but he began to see the enemy more clearly, indicating that the dawn was coming. He and his men had been up against the Janissaries now for at least an hour, maybe more. The sultan’s elite troops had made it through the breach at least twice, only to be thrown back each time. But the number of defenders was dwindling. He was down to ten men as they slashed and stabbed and cut everything they could find in front of them. His position brought him right up beside his commander.

Then things changed. Rainey heard the sound of a projectile hitting metal beside him. With a quick glance, he saw Giustiniani falling back. Rainey reached over and caught him as he fell, slowly pulling him back from the line. Three other Genoese soldiers came to their commander’s aid.

Get me out of here, Giustiniani said breathlessly. His spirit for the fight was visibly gone.

Rainey looked up at the other three soldiers. He recognized Paolo, Victori and Giacomo. Nodding to them, he said I’ll go get the emperor.

He jumped up and ran to his left where he had seen the Emperor standing before the Janissary attack began. It took him only a minute to run between the inner and outer walls to where he found Constantine commanding his men.

My emperor, Rainey began. Giustiniani has fallen. We need to get him to his ship.

Exhaustion lined Constantine’s face. Upon hearing Rainey’s words, it was like a cloud descended over his entire body. Rainey could see his fighting spirit was hanging on only by the thinnest thread.

Take me to him.

Rainey led the way back to Giustiniani, who was propped up against the inner wall next to one of the locked gates. Constantine knelt beside the stricken Genoese.

My dear friend, Constantine said. The Janissaries are losing their spirit. A little longer and we will win. Please, you must stay just a little while longer until the danger is past.

Giustiniani spit up some blood. I am sorry, but I must leave to get fixed up on my ship. I will return when I can. Paolo and Giacomo will take command until then.

I can send for my surgeon.

No! I must leave . . . Giustiniani spit up more blood, as if to make his point.

Constantine stood up slowly. Very well. He reached for a set of keys under his belt and unlocked the gate. As it swung open, four men lifted Giustiniani and carried him through.

Before the gate could be closed as Constantine ordered, several Genoese followed their commander. Fighting on without their commander had proved too much for them. All Rainey could do was watch as they ran past him and the emperor and into the city.

Constantine peered over at Rainey. Aren’t you leaving, too?

I’m not Genoese, he replied. And as you said, the Janissaries are faltering. Don’t want to miss that.

Constantine laughed. Rainey could see some of the emperor’s earlier spirit returning. Then you best get back up to your post. I’ll send over some men.

They nodded to each other and headed off in opposite directions. Constantine never relocked the gate.

* * *

Another band of Janissaries charged up the ramparts. One was a giant, slashing and hacking with a sword in one hand and planting his Turkish flag with the other. He stood his ground and fended off all attacks until Rainey put a group of men together to charge him. As five men kept his attention high, Rainey and two other men came in below and slashed at his legs with their swords. Rainey’s sharp blade severed the giant’s foot, making him topple over. The rest of the men stabbed him repeatedly. Standing again, Rainey looked around to see Janissaries passing through the stockade into the enclosure between the two walls. Rainey spun to get a look down the ramparts. More Janissaries were moving up towards him.

The City is taken! came a cry to the north. Rainey looked up and saw Turkish flags on the tower by the Blachernae Palace. Up there was only a single wall. That meant the Turks were in the City. Though the fighting went on, the cry continued, too. Panic began to spread among the defenders. A mad dash began to the open gate through which Giustiniani had been taken, but there were too many men. No one could get through. Rainey scanned the area for a sense of where to go next. Up on the rampart to his south, he saw Constantine fighting off Janissaries who had also penetrated the outer wall.

As good a place as any. Slashing at the Turks around him, Rainey launched himself along the stockade towards Constantine. He arrived in time to hack the arm off a Turk about to swing his sword at the emperor’s head. Rainey fell in line between Constantine and John Dalmata.

You still here? Constantine asked.

Nowhere else to go, Rainey responded.

And together with Theophilus Palaiologos and Don Francisco, they fought a tough retreat into a tower. They forced the door closed behind them before they could relax for a moment. In the room were also seven or eight of Constantine’s elite guards.

Above the pounding on the door, Constantine said what everyone was thinking. We have lost the City.

After a pause, Dalmata said, We will die with you, my emperor. Everyone else nodded in agreement except Rainey. Constantine was watching him from across the room.

Tell me who you are?

Rainey looked up, noticing everyone’s eyes were on him. He let out his breath and began. My name is Conner Rainey. I am a mercenary in the pay of Giovanni Giustiniani.

You fight without armor, yet somehow you do not seem to have any wounds. How is that?

Rainey glanced down at his leather tunic, trousers and boots. Armor slows you down. I’m quicker than regular warriors so I can avoid getting hit.

Constantine nodded. You stayed behind when your commander left. You have fought extremely well. But we are all going to our deaths today. I do not wish to live on as the emperor who lost Constantinople.

I understand, Rainey said.

Rainey didn’t know what else to say. He glanced down at his sword. The Asian blade had been in the family for 150 years. It had never been lost in battle. He had no intention of letting it be lost here. He wasn’t about to announce it to the room, but now was time to leave.

He reached behind him and grabbed his arquebus. Let’s say we get on with it, then. He began loading the gun.

When he finished, he stepped back from the door and aimed. Dalmata went for the door, checked to make sure everyone was ready, and released the latch.

The door exploded inward. The first Turk through the door took Rainey’s shot straight to the chest, almost lifting him off his feet. As he fell back, Constantine and Don Francisco charged forward and pushed the mass of men out of the doorway. Dalmata followed them out, with Rainey right behind him. At the door, Rainey jumped to the right to engage a Turk. A small pocket opened up by the door, allowing Constantine’s guard to leave the room. The fight was on.

Rainey slipped his back to the wall to sidestep his opponent, slicing the man’s throat. He then jumped and spun to get an angle on another Turks’ head, bringing his blade across the man’s face. Landing, he went into a crouch to avoid another’s sword and thrust his blade up into the man’s gut. As that man fell away, Rainey saw the open space below, between the walls. Most of the Turks were not fighting. They were looking for a way over the inner wall. Any plunder to be had would be on its inner side.

If he stayed with the emperor, he would surely die. But getting past the attackers at the tower door presented Rainey with a survival option. Fighting for Constantinople might have been a noble cause, but dying for it was another matter.

Ladders were going up along the inner wall, giving him an escape route from the death trap. Launching himself forward, he took a second to scoop up a Turkish helmet and plopped it onto his head. Then he made for one of the ladders.

3

He ran through the streets among the advancing Turks. No one took notice of his clothes. The helmet was enough to fool the Turks, with their minds so focussed on pillage. They were all heading for Hagia Sophia, the center of the Byzantine world, rumored to contain great riches. It was easy for Rainey to keep sidestepping across fields and into streets, running towards the Golden Horn without being noticed. However, by the time he was within reach of the sea walls, Turkish sailors were flowing over them like rats, not wanting to be left behind in the search for booty.

He had to hide. Passing by a row of buildings, he spotted a Turk standing in a doorway looking in. A mass of Turks surged toward him. Rainey had to get off the street. As he crept toward the open doorway, he heard tables being overturned and other sounds of rummaging. A Turk inside said, "Buraya gel küçük."

Rainey thrust his sword through the back of the man in the doorway. Pushing the body forward, it slammed into a second Turk, knocking him to the floor. With a quick jerk, he pulled his sword free and took a look at what he had walked into.

Two more Turks had turned to face him, swords at the ready. In the far corner, a small child was curled up under a table. The furniture had been cleared out of the way, leaving an open space in which the Turks could attack him. A plan quickly formed in Rainey’s mind and his instinct and training took over.

He bolted to his right so he had to engage only one of the Turks at first. Blocking the downward thrust from a scimitar, he spun quickly behind the Turk and, in a single motion, slashed open the man’s back. Without stopping, he leapt onto the table with the little child under it, ready to engage the next man. As expected, this man raised his sword to block a downward thrust. Rainey, however, thrust his sword downward then quickly raised it as he came off the table. The Turk tried to compensate, but it was too late. The swords clanged together, both going upward as Rainey slammed into the man, driving him down onto the floor. The Turk’s scimitar flew out of his hand, leaving him open to Rainey’s sword swiping down into his face.

The fourth Turk had by now regained his footing after pushing away his dead comrade’s body. He was rushing towards Rainey, who rolled to his left and came up on his feet, sword at the ready. The Turk hesitated slightly, taking a second to view Rainey’s handiwork. With rage in his face, he charged with a yell, scimitar rising. It would sweep down across Rainey’s body from left shoulder to right hip.

Rainey ducked left under the scimitar as it passed and brought his sword into the man’s mid-section. He heard a grunt as he drew his sword across, opening up the man’s bowels. A slow exhalation was