“On the contrary,” they argued, interrupting one another. “We were very much pleased, and regretted deeply our early departure, but there was nothing we could do: orders are orders.”
In the largest guest yurt, tea was already being prepared. Kumish whipped up the day’s first kumiss for the guests. While Djantemir’s face was all sweet smiles, Shauken wobbled over to the big trunk and produced bottles of cognac and rum which, she knew, the mayirs preferred drinking with hot tea.
All this time Djantemir was breaking his head over the reason for the officers’ visit to his aul. He darted sidelong glances at their dress uniforms and glittering golden buttons, orders and medals with colorful silk ribbons, and at the strange oval badges on the chest of Butakov and Eismont. These regalia lent th
