Were they Russia, though?

He did not think so. Even now, he could not say, he did not know, what Russia was. That did not surprise him. She had always, down the centuries, defied definition. Was she part of Europe or part of Asia what did those terms mean anyway? There wasn't a commentator he had read who could tell him what this vast land was or what it might become. To be sure, no one in the Kremlin knew.

But whatever it was, he thought he had caught a glimpse of it that day, at Russka.

The city was quiet that night; Bobrov, at his window, continued to watch and ponder till long after dark.

High in the starlit summer sky, pale clouds passed from time to time, drifting in a leisurely procession, glowing in the reflection of the crescent moon that was now arising in the south.

And softly the wind moved over the land.

Also by Edward Ruthurfurd

Sarum

London

The Forest

Dublin

Ireland Awakening

New York