‘And of the girl?’
‘The same. She is not yet betrothed,’ the man added casually.
It was on a bright morning five days later that, having finished his prayers, Igor summoned his sons to him at breakfast.
They found him alone. He looked cheerful, yet Ivanushka could see from a certain faintly troubled look in his eyes that he had been deep in thought.
‘I have decided,’ he announced, ‘that it is time you each received the income fitting to a nobleman.’ Some of the greatest boyars of Kiev even kept small courts of their own. The honour of the family dictated that the sons of Igor should live, at least, in comfortable style.
‘As you know,’ Igor went on, ‘the Prince of Pereiaslav has rewarded my services well. I am by no means poor.’ He paused. ‘But when I left the service of the Prince of Kiev, I suffered several financial reverses. As a result, we are not as rich as I might have hoped, and the cost of maintaining one’s state seems to increase with every year.
‘Sviatopolk, you already have your household. Ivanushka, soon you will no doubt marry and require a household too.’ He paused gravely. ‘With this in mind, I am making the following disposition.’
The two brothers listened attentively.
‘Of the income from the estates the prince has given me, I retain half for myself. The income from the other half is for my sons.’ He sighed. ‘Normally, of course, the greater portion should go to Sviatopolk and a lesser portion to Ivanushka. But since Sviatopolk already has a good income from Prince Vladimir, whereas Ivanushka as yet has almost nothing – and since the income I have to give you is limited – I am allotting the two of you equal shares.’ He stopped, as if tired after making a hard decision.
Ivanushka stared before him, hardly able to believe his good fortune. Sviatopolk was silent, but when at last he spoke, it was with icy coldness.
‘My father, I thank you, and I bow to your will,’ he said quietly. ‘I have served my prince, and I have served this family. But is it right, I ask, that Ivanushka who has done nothing except bring dishonour upon us, and whose debts we have just paid, should receive exactly the same?’
Igor did not answer, but Ivanushka guessed that the same thought had been troubling him.
He hung his head. What Sviatopolk said was true. He did not deserve it. And he could understand his elder brother’s anger. Until he had appeared – from the dead as it were – all Igor’s limited fortune would have passed to Sviatopolk. Now he was to be denied half his expectations, and all for a stupid wastrel.
‘I have decided,’ Igor said abruptly, and the interview was over.
As they left, Sviatopolk gave Ivanushka a single look. There could be no mistaking its meaning. It said: Death.
It was not until the following day, when he was sitting in the corner of the market place, that Ivanushka reached his decision.
The meeting the day before and the look on Sviatopolk’s face had shocked him. Can he really hate me so much, just because of money? he wondered. And it reminded him, with force, of a conclusion he had reached during his slow convalescence. For when I was wandering in the world, stealing from others and enduring those terrible winters, he had considered, I had nothing. In the end, I was ready to take my own life. Only when I returned and found the love of my family did I once again desire to live. It is true, therefore, what the preachers say: The world is good for nothing without love. And gradually in his mind a new belief had taken shape: Life itself is love; death is lack of love. That is all there is to it.
That day, therefore, as he considered the situation with Sviatopolk, he finally concluded: What use is my good fortune to me if it only creates hatred in my family? I’d sooner be without. So I think, he had decided, that I should give up my inheritance. Let Sviatopolk have it. God will provide. And satisfied that this was the only sensible thing to do, he was about to move across the market.
It was just then that he felt a tug at his sleeve, and to his surprise saw a sturdy peasant grinning beside him.
‘Why, you’re the fellow I gave the money to,’ he smiled.
‘That’s right,’ Shchek replied cheerfully. ‘And, if I may ask, what are you so down in the mouth about, my lord?’
Shchek had reason to be content. Not only had he regained his freedom but, thanks to his secret treasure house, he expected to put some money in his pocket too. He was glad to see the strange young man again, if only to thank him. And since there was already a bond between them, and he had no one else to talk to, Ivanushka told him the whole story.
What a good fellow this noble is, Shchek thought as he listened. He has a warm heart. And besides, he reminded himself, as he heard the final details, I owe him my liberty after all.
So when Ivanushka had finished, the sturdy peasant saw what he should do.
‘Don’t give up everything, lord,’ he advised. ‘Your father, however, possesses the Russka estate, which is poor. But I think I know a way to make it rich. If you want to, give up the share he proposed then ask your father for only the village of Russka – together with the wood to the north of it,’ he added.
Ivanushka nodded. He liked Russka. It didn’t seem a bad idea.
When, that very evening, Sviatopolk heard what Ivanushka had to say to himself and his father, he could hardly believe his ears.
‘Russka?’ Igor said. ‘You want only the income from that miserable little village? How will you live?’
‘I’ll manage,’ Ivanushka said cheerfully.
‘As you wish,’ Igor sighed. ‘God knows what is to be done with you.’
Praise the Lord, Sviatopolk thought. My brother is a fool.
And with a tender smile, he went forward and kissed Ivanushka on the cheek.
It was two days after this that Ivanushka astonished his father with a bold request.
‘Go to Prince Vladimir, Father, and ask on my behalf for the hand of the Saxon girl, his wife’s handmaiden. He is her guardian.’
Igor stared at him. What could he say? The boy had renounced most of his income and he knew very well that young Monomakh, who took a fatherly interest in this Saxon girl, would hardly give her to a poor man. But even if it were not for that … ‘My poor boy,’ he replied sadly, ‘don’t you know that Sviatopolk asked for her himself yesterday?’
Ivanushka’s face fell. Then he looked thoughtful.
‘Ask all the same,’ he said finally.
‘Very well,’ Igor replied. But after Ivanushka had gone, he sighed to himself, ‘I’m afraid there’s no denying it: the boy’s a fool.’
The reply from Monomakh was given within two days. As usual, it was both kind and sensible.
‘The girl will be betrothed at Christmas. She may choose herself, at that time, from amongst any suitors I approve. I hereby approve both the sons of my father’s loyal boyar, Igor. However,’ the prince had very properly added, ‘any suitor who cannot come forward with proof that he is free of debts, and has an income of thirty silver grivnas a year, will be disqualified.’
Sviatopolk smiled when he heard it. His income was over fifty grivnas: Ivanushka’s could not possibly be more than twenty.
Ivanushka said nothing.
It was two days later that Ivanushka, its new lord, rode into the village of Russka.
Spring was everywhere in the air. There was a warm glow coming from the ground. The cherry blossom was already making a first, shy appearance and as he rode towards the river crossing, he heard his first bee.
As it happened, Shchek had gone downriver that day, so Ivanushka ordered the elder to give him a thorough tour of the village. The main income he could expect came from the taxes paid by each household. A third went to the prince; he could keep two-thirds; but there were expenses at the fort which he had to meet. True, if he could afford to hire labourers or buy slaves, he could develop unused land in the area but that would take time as well as money, and he had neither. Even with luck, he could not see how his income would reach more than twenty grivnas that year.
That damned peasant’s probably made a fool of me, he thought as he returned that afternoon to the fort. And when Shchek appeared a few hours later, he was ready to be angry with him. But the peasant promised him: ‘We go out at dawn tomorrow.’ And so he waited one more night.
Then, while the sun was still low in the sky the next morning, Ivanushka discovered the secret treasure of Russka.
All that spring and summer, Ivanushka was busy.
He served Vladimir, as required; but because there was always a slight friction in the air whenever Ivanushka and Sviatopolk were at court together, the prince often let Ivanushka know that he was free to go to Russka to inspect his estates where, it was said at court, the eccentric young man had even been seen working with the peasants in the fields.
In the early summer, Prince Vladimir went west to help the Poles in a campaign against the Czechs, staying some four months in Bohemia and taking Sviatopolk with him. Reports of his elder brother’s valour came back to Ivanushka at Pereiaslav, and although he was proud of Sviatopolk, he could not help being a little sad. ‘I fear, in the girl’s eyes, I must cut a sorry figure beside him,’ he admitted to his mother.
He saw little of the girl during these months. She spent most of her time with her mistress, who was now pregnant.
But the work at Russka continued apace.
All through the summer, lord and peasant tended the precious honey forest. It consisted now of a thousand trees: one hundred oak and nine hundred pine. There were well over a hundred swarms and Shchek kept the hives occupied at a rate of roughly one in seven.
He had also built a stout store house in Russka for the beeswax.
Shchek now had two men to help him guard the place, for word of it had reached as far as Pereiaslav and, as the peasant assured Ivanushka: ‘If we don’t protect it, people will come and rob it.’
Already, Ivanushka was sure the forest would easily give him the required income. But what of the girl herself? Would he win her?
The truth was, he had no idea.
He had managed on various occasions at court to snatch a few words with her, and he thought – no, he was sure from her look – that she liked him. But he had to confess, there were many suitors, including Sviatopolk, who were far better matches than he was.
‘And you’re sure you want her?’ Shchek asked curiously. The ways of these nobles often seemed strange to him.
‘Oh, yes.’ He was sure.
Why was he sure? He did not know. Was it just her magical appearance? No, it was far more than that. There was a kindness in the sparkling blue eyes; there was something in the way she walked behind the princess, something indefinable, that told him she had suffered. And this was very attractive to him. He thought he could imagine her life: an orphan, left to wander with a dispossessed princess; a proud girl who had nevertheless had to learn the humility which is forced on those who are dependent. In their brief talks he had sensed in her an understanding of life and its difficulties that he had seldom seen in the proud but protected daughters of the boyars.
‘Yes, she’s the one,’ he nodded.
The harvest was good that year, the production of honey an outstanding success. Ivanushka’s income was assured. In the autumn, he managed to speak to the Saxon girl several more times. But as the Christmas season approached, he had no idea where he stood with her.
When the great day came therefore four suitors appeared before Vladimir Monomakh for the hand of the Saxon girl. Two were the sons of Igor.
The whole court had been astonished at the good fortune of Ivanushka.
‘While his brother fights, the sly young fellow gathers honey,’ some cruel wit observed.
But the fact was, he had fulfilled the prince’s conditions.
Yet more astonishing was the fact that Emma, having politely thanked all four men for the honour they did her, whispered to the prince that she chose Ivanushka.
‘As you wish,’ he replied, but felt obliged, out of loyalty to Sviatopolk, to add: ‘His elder brother is one of my best men, you know, whereas they say Ivanushka’s a fool.’
‘I know,’ she answered. ‘But,’ she smiled, ‘it seems to me he has a warm heart.’
So it was that the very next day Ivanushka, the son of Igor, and Emma, the daughter of a Saxon English noble, were married.
There was a splendid feast given by Vladimir where they were served roast cockerel; and a merry company then showered them with hops as they retired. And if Sviatopolk had any further designs against his brother, he hid them behind a mask of dignity.
While these small events, of such importance to Ivanushka, were taking place, the attention of everyone else at court was directed towards the political arena.
On December 27, the Prince of Kiev died, and Vsevolod of Pereiaslav himself took over Kiev.
‘It’s a great move for your father,’ everyone told Ivanushka. ‘Igor is a great boyar of the Grand Prince of Kiev now.’
For Vladimir Monomakh these events meant that he became master of Pereiaslav in place of his father, so that Sviatopolk and Ivanushka now had a richer master too. And the joy of the court was completed by the birth to the Saxon princess of a baby son.
Yet for Ivanushka these important events seemed of small significance.
He was married. He had discovered, in the depth of winter, a joy far greater than he had ever known – so much so that at times, as he looked across at the wonderful, pale form at his side, he could scarcely believe that such a source of continuous joy was not stolen. Yet the weeks passed and, far from being taken away from him, this joy was only increased. So it was that at last Ivanushka found, not merely happiness, but the sense of wholeness that, sometimes hardly aware of what he was doing, he had so long sought.
‘When I was a boy,’ he told Emma, ‘I wanted to ride to the great River Don. But now I’d rather be here with you. You are all I want.
She smiled, yet asked him: ‘Are you sure, Ivanushka? Am I alone really enough?’
He had stared at her, surprised. Of course she was.
In March she had told him she was pregnant.
‘Now what more could I want?’ he asked her playfully.
A few days later he went to Russka.
It was early in the morning, three days after he arrived there, that Ivanushka came out of the fort soon after the sun had risen above the trees, and sat on a bare stone gazing across the landscape to the south.
How silent it was. The sky above was pale blue, so crystalline that one might, it seemed to Ivanushka, have soared unimpeded into the clear air and touched the edge of heaven. The snowy landscape extended as far as the eye could see, the darker lines of the trees stretching until they seemed to become one with the snow of the endless steppe beyond.
The edges of the frozen river had recently begun to melt. Everything was melting. Only a little at a time, softly, so that you could scarcely hear it; yet inexorably. The more one listened, the more one became aware of the faint popping, the whispering of the whole countryside melting.
And as the sun acted upon the snow and ice, so, Ivanushka could almost feel, were underground forces similarly at work. The whole gigantic continent – the world itself as far as he knew – was softly melting, snow, earth and air, an eternal process caught, for a moment, in this shining stasis.
And everything, it suddenly appeared to Ivanushka, everything was necessary. The rich black earth – so rich that the peasants scarcely needed to plough it; the fortress with its stout wooden walls; the subterranean world where the monks like Father Luke had chosen to live, and certainly to die: why it should be so was beyond him, but it was all necessary. And so, I see, was the winding path of my own confused life, he thought. That too was necessary. Father Luke had perhaps seen it all, years ago, when he had said that each mortal finds his own way to God.
How soft the world was, how shining. How he loved, not only his wife, but all things. Even myself, unworthy that I am. I can even love myself – because I too am part of thi
s Creation, he pondered; this being, he perceived, his Epiphany.
1111
Dark clouds passed silently over the empty land. Slowly the mighty army made its way past the forest’s edge, past the lonely wooden walls that joined the line of little forts, staring at the emptiness beyond, and emerged on to the open steppe, where it fanned out. As the spring sun struck through the clouds, in powerful stanchions, it caught sections of the horde so that, here and there, patches of the line dully glittered.
The army spread for about three miles across the steppe. Seen from above, as the clouds temporarily passed away and the afternoon sun fell bleakly upon it, the army looked like the shadow of a vast bird with outstretched wings, moving quietly across the grasses.
On the ground, the huge movement of chain mail and weaponry filled the air with a clinking sound, as though the whole steppe were echoing with a million, metallic cicadas.
Sviatopolk’s face was dark. Now and then, the light fell upon him and one could see his eyes, hard and clear, fixed upon the horizon. But his mind still dwelt in the shadows.
Though he was in the Prince of Kiev’s druzhina, he rode alone. Now and then, though no one noticed it, his black eyes turned to glance at his brother, riding some distance away. But each time they did so, they flicked quickly away again, as though pursued by fear or guilt. Guilt makes a proud man dangerous.
It was the year 1111, and one of the greatest expeditions ever mounted was setting off from the land of Rus towards the east. It was led by the Prince of Kiev, with his cousins the Prince of Chernigov and the great Vladimir Monomakh, Prince of Pereiaslav; and its object was to destroy the Cumans.
The huge force had waited only for the start of the warm weather, when the ground was firm. With long swords and scimitars, curved bows and long spears, fur caps and chain mail, they rode and marched. Preceded by gongs and trumpets, wooden pipes and kettledrums, singers, dancers and priests carrying icons, this huge Eurasian horde made its awesome way from golden Kiev, eastward towards the endless steppe.
Sviatopolk surveyed the men around him. It was a typical Russian army, containing all kinds of men. On his right, two young men, both of the druzhina and pure norse – though one had married a Cuman. On his left, a German mercenary and a Polish knight. Sviatopolk respected the Poles: they obeyed the Pope in Rome – that was a fault, he supposed – but they were independent and proud. And what fine brocade the fellow wore.