Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [43]
‘Yes.’ Ivanushka had an uncomfortable feeling, however, that his brother was saving something unpleasant for him.
‘In fact, I’d say that you had probably done better than Boris or me,’ Sviatopolk added thoughtfully.
‘Oh. Do you really think so?’ He realized it was a fine opportunity, but he had not thought of it that way.
‘Oh,’ Sviatopolk mimicked him, without turning round, ‘do you really think so?’
Ivanushka stared at him blankly, wondering what was coming next. Suddenly Sviatopolk turned. His dark eyes seemed full of hate, yet also contemptuous.
‘You’ve done nothing to deserve this. You were supposed to go into the Church.’
‘But it was Father.…’
‘Yes, it was Father. But don’t think you can deceive me. Because now I see you for what you really are, little boy. You’re ambitious. You want to do better than us. You think only of yourself behind that dreamy mask.’
Ivanushka was so taken aback by this unexpected attack that he had no idea what to say. Was he ambitious? It had never occurred to him. He stared at Sviatopolk, confused.
‘Yes,’ his brother went on acidly. ‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it? So why don’t you just admit it like the rest of us? Except that you’re worse than us. You’re a schemer, little Ivan, a little viper.’ He hissed the last word so that it hit Ivanushka like a physical blow. Sviatopolk was getting into his stride now. ‘And no doubt you’re waiting for Father to die too,’ he added.
Whatever did he mean? Ivanushka had no idea.
‘What do you think it costs Father if you become a monk?’ Sviatopolk enlightened him. ‘Some donations to the monastery. But your new position means that one day you’ll be left the same inheritance as us. So you’ll be taking from me too.’
Ivanushka was scarlet. The tears were welling up.
‘I don’t want Father to die. You can have my share. Have it all.’
‘Oh, very good,’ his brother sneered. ‘And how easy to say. Of course, you would say that, now you’ve escaped from the monastery. But we shall see.’
Ivanushka burst into tears. Sviatopolk watched him.
And this was only the beginning of Ivanushka’s troubles.
1068
Ivanushka was disobeying his father. But such astonishing things were going on in the city that day.
For two years, it seemed to the boy, the influence of the evil star had been constantly at work. Even so, there were things which it was hard to understand.
They had never taken him to meet the young Prince Vladimir. The reason, they said, was that the boy’s mother, the Greek princess, had died. ‘Vladimir and his father are mourning her,’ Igor told him. ‘It’s a bad time. Next year, though, things will be better.’ Why, then, before the year was out, had Vladimir’s father taken another wife – a Cuman princess?
‘It’s politics,’ Igor explained. ‘Her father’s a powerful Cuman chief, and the prince wants to protect Pereiaslav from attack from the steppe.’ Yet only months later, the Cuman horsemen had come, and now they were burning the land of Rus in greater strength than ever before.
And still no word had come from Vladimir’s father about a visit. The prince had promised; now, it seemed he had forgotten, leaving Ivanushka still drifting, uselessly, at Kiev.
Perhaps his brother Sviatopolk was telling the truth when he had hissed in his ear, one cold morning that spring: ‘You’ll never be Vladimir’s page, you know. They’ve heard how useless you are.’ For when he had wondered aloud who would have told them such a thing, Sviatopolk had smiled and whispered: ‘Maybe I did.’
Then there was the matter of the Prince of Polotsk. After defeating him, the Prince of Kiev and his brother had offered the werewolf a safe-conduct to a family meeting. Then they had shamefully trapped him and thrown him into jail in Kiev, where he still remained. Yet when Ivanushka had asked his father whether such treachery was not a sin, Igor had only told him, grimly, that it was sometimes necessary to lie. Ivanushka was still puzzled about this.
Finally, threatening to destroy them all, came the Cumans. Less than a week ago, at dead of night, the men of Rus had gone out to deal