Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [49]
Ivanushka liked to visit this place. He would help the men repairing the fortress wall, or wander along through the woods, enjoying their peaceful quiet. And since Igor did not know what else to do with his youngest son, he would send him down there from time to time to help Zhydovyn receive shipments at the warehouse.
Which was the cause of his misery today. He had been in charge of receiving a consignment of furs that morning while the Khazar was away. He had heard the villagers and the men who brought the furs downriver laughing together; he had seen them look at him with amusement. And somehow, though he could never make out how it happened, two valuable barrels of beaver furs had gone missing. Now the Khazar was due back shortly, and he had no idea what to say.
It was just as he was gloomily pondering this matter that he saw the peasant.
Shchek was of medium height with a broad, stocky, square body upon which rested a round face with broad cheeks, soft brown eyes and a wavy aureole of black hair that stood up like a soft brush; he wore a linen shirt and trousers, with a leather belt outside the shirt, and bast shoes. There was something about his whole body, thickset and square though it was, that seemed to suggest a gentle, if possibly obstinate character. He was standing at the corner of the graveyard, and watching young Ivanushka carefully.
In Shchek’s mind was a very simple thought: They say this young man’s a fool. But I wonder if he has any money. For Shchek was about to be ruined.
Shchek the peasant was, like most of his kind, a free man. True, his status was humble. The very name of the class to which he belonged – the smerdy – meant ‘the dirty ones’! But he was free, in theory, to live where he wished and sell his labour to whom he chose. He was also free to incur debts.
He ran over them in his mind. The horse, first. That had not been his fault: the animal had gone lame and died. And since he was obliged to supply a horse to the prince for his soldiers in time of war, he had to buy another. But that had only been the start. He had gone drinking in Pereiaslav. Playing dice too. Then bought his wife a silver bracelet out of guilt; and obstinately borrowed again, and gambled again, to retrieve his money.
Now, as a member of the village commune, he owed the prince’s steward a tax on his plough, and he knew he could not pay it.
Thoughtfully, he moved towards the youth.
When Zhydovyn returned that evening and discovered the loss of the furs, he could only shake his head. He liked Ivanushka but it seemed to him that his prospects were poor. And though nothing was said, Ivanushka sensed that he was unlikely to be sent to Russka again.
Only one thing puzzled the Khazar. He could understand the theft of the furs, but how was it that the money Ivanushka had been left was short by two silver grivnas? The young man said he had lost them, but how the devil could he have done that? It was a mystery.
Ivanushka did not mind. He had known after the furs had gone that his own cause was lost. He had felt sorry for the peasant. At least the fellow could pay his taxes now.
And he scarcely thought about the incident again.
1072
Today, it was said, there would be a miracle. The people confidently expected it. And with good reason. For today they were honouring the remains of the two royal martyrs, the sons of the mighty St Vladimir, Boris and Gleb, whom the Slavs already called saints.
It was half a century since they had died; now their remains were being taken to their final resting place, a newly constructed wooden church at the little town of Vyshgorod, just north of Kiev.
Would there be a miracle? Surely there would. But what form would it take?
In the upper circles of the nobility and the church it was known that the Greek Metropolitan,