Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [107]
A week later, sitting in a large and comfortable sled now, Yanka began the last, and magical, part of her journey.
Some days there were icy winds and blizzards. But on others, the sun shone over a sparkling northern scene.
How softly and easily the sled had raced down the slope by Tver and across the frozen Volga. They travelled swiftly across the snow, sometimes following rivers, sometimes plunging into dark woods, and following endless tracks between the trees.
West of Moscow, she had noticed, the woods had become mainly broad-leaved again, like those of the south. But as they went further west and north, the tall firs of the taiga appeared together with these trees.
Then, late in November, the countryside began to change. It opened out into huge flat spaces with mixed woods broken up into coppices and small stands. Often she realized that they were gliding over ice rather than earth, and that there was frozen marsh underneath. The ridges were very low. It felt as if they were approaching the sea.
Milei was in high good humour. He began to sing the song of Sadko, the merchant of Novgorod, smiling to himself as they sped over the flat, open land. Then, one afternoon, he pointed.
‘Lord Novgorod the Great.’
From a distance, it was not so impressive, because the citadel only rose a score of feet above the river. But as they approached, she began to realize the remarkable size of the place.
‘It’s huge,’ she said.
He laughed.
‘Just wait till we get there.’
The mighty city of Novgorod lay on the slow-moving River Volkhov, just north of the great Lake Ilmen. It consisted of two halves, one each side of the river, surrounded by tremendous wooden palisades and joined by an enormous wooden bridge. In the middle of the western half, and raised above it, stood a stout citadel with thick, blank stone walls.
They came in from the east, clattered through the eastern quarter and across the bridge.
Yanka cried out in wonder.
The bridge was massive. Sailing boats could go under it.
‘There’s not another like it in all the lands of Rus,’ Milei remarked.
The bridge led them straight under a huge gateway. Immediately before them towered a stern-looking cathedral. They turned right and passed through the northern quarters of the city until they finally came to rest at a large wooden structure which was an inn.
And already Yanka was gasping.
For all the streets were paved with wood.
The early part of her stay in Novgorod was happy.
Milei was busy, but although she was there, ostensibly, as his servant, he often let her walk along behind him and, from time to time, curtly pointed out the sights.
The western side, containing the citadel, was called the St Sophia side, because of the stern-looking cathedral she had seen. It contained three quarters, called ends: the most northerly, on the edge of which they were staying, was the Leatherworkers end; then came the Zagorod end, where the rich boyars had their houses. Then came the Potters end.
There were fine wooden houses everywhere, wooden churches, it seemed, by the hundred, and even stone churches by the dozen.
How solid and strong everything seemed. The streets were not very wide – mostly about ten feet. They were made of big logs, split end to end and laid, the flat side up, across the framework of poles, like rails, that ran along under the street. At one place, where they were repairing the street, she saw that underneath lay layers – she could not see how many – of older wooden pavings.
‘So the streets of Novgorod are slowly rising,’ she said to Milei.
‘That’s right,’ he replied. ‘You’ll notice that you have to take a step down, now, into some of the older stone buildings.’
Every street was enclosed by fences – not like the modest fences she knew at Russka, but thick, solid wooden walls, almost like small palisades, that seemed to say: ‘Bump into a fence in Novgorod if you like, but you’ll get hurt.’
When she was a girl, in the south, the people