Fall of Vladimir

Moscow Day 1

I remember the sweet smell of fresh baked bread filling the streets as I worked. I was a bricklayer in those days, the year must have been 1750. Strange how time can make you forget dates but remember distinctly the smell of bread. The Czarina had just commissioned the building of cobblestone streets, Moscow was to be modern city to rival St. Petersburg, and I was the best craftsman in the city. My father had died in the harsh winter a few years before that and it was expected that I should take over his position as bricklayer. He had trained me well and the work was honest and I was able to feed my family on my wages and that was more than most could manage. Alas, I was even able to bring home the occasional honey cake for my sweet Sophia.

She was nine years old at the time and had a laugh that could melt away the darkness that seemed to loom in the air those days. Her mother had died at childbirth, and I had cared for her with the help of the local nuns who watched over her during the day. I recall thanking God for the good grace of the church to help me, strange now that is has been so long since I have entered a church that a can hardly remember what the interior looked like.

It was a simple existence but Sophia and I were very happy. We often took long walks through the city together I would swing her in my arms and she would laugh her sweet laugh. She would point proudly at the cobblestone streets only to proudly tell the passing pedestrians to thank her father for laying the stones in the street beneath their heels. This was quite embarrassing though I could never scold her, I loved her far too much to ever speak a harsh word. It was upon returning from one of these evening walks that we did see the first plague victim.

The poor soul had been leaning against the bricks of a dark alley wall and stumbled into the street as we passed by. He wretched and vomited on the ground before our feet, Sophia screamed at the hideous open sores upon his cheeks. I did my best to shield her eyes from the sight of him, but the damage had already been done. The man collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth, and seized there uncontrollably. All around us the townspeople covered their mouths with their handkerchiefs, not a soul among them moved to call for help.

"Father, is that man alright?" Sophia tugged at my coat.

"Yes, my dear, he will be with God soon." I replied trying to mask my uncertainty.

Within days, the newspapers would announce the arrival of the black plague, but I knew what it was as soon as I watched that urchin die on the ground before me. It was the beginning of the end, and I clutched my daughter closer. Never in all my years have I experienced a fear the likes of which I felt in that moment on the cobblestone streets of Moscow.