Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [51]
And the effect had certainly been remarkable.
‘Are you sure?’ his father had asked him in a tone that suggested Igor was only anxious that he should not change his mind. Even his mother, whatever her private misgivings, did not object.
Indeed, it was as if he had been born again. By that very evening his father had formed a plan. ‘He can go to Mount Athos in Greece. I have friends both here and in Constantinople who can help him. From there,’ Igor smiled with satisfaction, ‘he might yet make a great career.’ And the next day his father took him to one side to assure him: ‘You need have no fear about your journey, Ivan. I shall see you are well provided for. And there will be a gift for the monastery too.’
Even Sviatopolk, no doubt glad to see the last of him, came up and said, in what appeared to be a friendly voice: ‘Well, brother, you’ve probably chosen the right course after all. One day we’ll all be proud of you.’
They were proud of him. And now, in two more days, he was due to leave. Why then, as he walked up the hill behind the two saints, did he look as miserable as ever?
Only once, passing a guelder rose, did he seem for a moment to smile.
Would there be a miracle?
Ivanushka had never seen one. If God sent a miracle, then perhaps his faith would be restored.
I am going to bury myself in a monastery, he thought gloomily. Perhaps, in a few years, they will make me live underground in a cave. I shall certainly die young – all the monks do.
Would it be worth it? If only God would speak to him, reassure him, lighten his spirits. If only He would send a sign.
The procession had stopped. The coffin containing Boris was being carried into the little wooden church. When it had been placed there and prayed over, they would bring up the second coffin, containing Gleb. The drizzle fell. One could hear a muffled chanting within.
And then something happened.
It was as though the gasp from within the little church could be heard by all the waiting crowds outside. The singing, which had been proceeding quietly, suddenly broke off, and then began again with an altogether new force. A murmur went through the crowd. And Ivanushka, glancing at the sky, saw to his surprise that the drizzle had abruptly stopped and the sun was shining through.
What had happened? Long moments passed. The crowd waited tensely.
And then the tall figure of the Metropolitan appeared at the church door. He looked up at the clear sky, then sank to his knees. From where Ivanushka stood, he could see that the Greek was weeping. ‘A miracle has been granted,’ the Metropolitan’s voice rang out. ‘Give praise unto the Lord!’ And while the crowd buzzed and people crossed themselves, those near the church door could hear him add: ‘God forgive my unbelief.’
For when they had opened the casket, it had given out the sweet aroma that God grants only to His saints.
A few minutes later, they brought up the remains of Gleb. These were in a stone sarcophagus; and since it was too heavy to carry, they followed the ancient custom of the land of Rus and pulled it on a sled.
And yet again, before Ivanushka’s eyes, God sent a sign. For when the men pulling the sled reached the church door, the sled stuck fast. They pulled, people from the crowd even came to push. But the sarcophagus would not budge.
Then the Metropolitan gave instructions: ‘Let the people cry the Kyrie Eleison.’ And Ivanushka with all the crowd cried out: ‘Lord have mercy.’ And again: ‘Lord have mercy.’ And then the sled was easily moved.
Ivanushka felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. As the sled moved, he found he was trembling. He glanced across and saw that even Sviatopolk was trembling too.
For by these signs, recorded in the Russian chronicles, the people of the land of Rus would ever after know that Boris and Gleb were truly saints.
It was just at this moment that Ivanushka saw Father Luke.
The old monk had been inside the church but had emerged for a moment into the open air. Ivanushka recognized him at once, yet could scarcely believe it