Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [57]
But Ivanushka had disappeared.
It was foolish of the Khazar not to remember that Ivanushka knew where he hid his money. There had not been a great amount, but enough to get him downriver and even to Constantinople. At least I shall see the place, Ivanushka thought.
He was sorry to steal from the Khazar, even in a good cause. Yet it isn’t really stealing, he told himself, because he can just recover the money from my father. I dare say Father would even be glad to know that I’ve finally gone. For as he made his way through the woods, Ivanushka had no doubt that it was to the monasteries of the Greeks that he was at last going.
As for Zhydovyn, he had cursed himself for his stupidity then wondered what to tell Ivanushka’s parents. After thinking it over for a long time, he had decided to tell them nothing. For what could he have said, that would not give them pain?
And now, sitting alone on the jetty, Ivanushka stared blankly at the water. He knew the boat had been his last chance of reaching the imperial city before winter set in.
He had wanted to go. At least, he had thought he had. But during the summer, something new and terrible had occurred within him: he had lost his will.
Often, recently, he had found that he could do nothing except sit, helplessly, staring in front of him for hours on end. And when he did move from place to place, he was like a man in a dream.
The money he had stolen was more than half spent. Indeed, this morning he had found he had only eight silver grivnas left – just enough for his journey. And he had dragged himself to the jetty today, fully intending with the last of this money to get on the ship. But, to his own despair, he had found he could not move.
And now it is over, he thought. There was, it seemed to him, no other course left open to him in his abject failure. I shall walk along the river, and end it all, he decided.
It was just then that he became aware of a noise behind him from a row of slaves sitting on the ground, waiting to be led to the market place for sale. He looked up without interest. One of them seemed to be excited about something. He shrugged and stared at the water again.
‘Ivan. Ivan Igorevich!’
He turned.
Shchek had been staring at him for some time. Now he was sure. He was so excited he even forgot that his hands were tied. It was the boyar’s son. The one they called the fool.
‘Ivan Igorevich,’ he cried again. And now, it seemed, the strange young man had vaguely recognized him.
Shchek’s position was grim. He was about to be sold. Worse yet, one of the other prisoners had just whispered the awful news: ‘The merchants are looking for men to row the boats.’ They all knew what that meant: backbreaking work on the river; carrying the boats past the rapids; perhaps even a dangerous sea journey. And like as not they might be sold again as slaves in the markets of the Greeks. Anything could happen to a slave.
One thing was sure: he would never see Russka again.
Under Russian law, Shchek should not have been there. A zakup working off his debt could not be sold like an ordinary slave. But the rules were often broken, and the authorities had long since turned a blind eye.
In his own case, he should have seen it coming. For two months now, it had been clear that the elder at the prince’s nearby village had taken a liking to Shchek’s wife, and she to him. Yet the treachery had been done so suddenly that it had caught him offguard.
Just a week ago, early in the morning, the elder had appeared with some merchants and literally dragged him from his bed. ‘Here’s a zakup,’ the elder had told them roughly. ‘You can have him.’ And before he could do anything about