Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [61]
As he walked through the broad main square and gazed at the stout little Church of the Virgin by the prince’s palace, or the chapel they were building over the gate, Ivanushka felt a sense of well-being. He would visit the glass makers and lovingly handle the brightly coloured pieces bound for a church or nobleman’s house. He even found a workshop which made bronze clasps for books, and bought one for his mother. They were pleasant days.
And yet, strangely enough, he was no sooner recovered than he began to experience a vague sense of unease. He could not put his finger on it: the sense was only a vague intuition. But as the days passed he began to get the distinct feeling that there had been some intrigue concerning him – as though, while the snow covered the earth, someone had been burrowing dangerous channels underground. What the devil could it be?
At first, however, he had put the suspicion out of his mind. For the news his father shortly brought him was wonderful indeed.
‘I’ve done it,’ the boyar proudly told his wife. ‘Prince Vsevolod is so much my friend I can even beg a place for Ivanushka!’ And to his son he had joyfully declared: ‘You are to join young Prince Vladimir after all. Sviatopolk is in his druzhina and has done well. Now’s your chance to prove yourself too.’ And Ivanushka had beamed with delight.
It had been just two days later that his father had casually remarked: ‘By the way, while you were ill, your brother and I paid off all your creditors, you know. Your name’s quite clear now.’
Supposing this to be a reference to Zhydovyn and one or two others, Ivanushka had thanked his father and thought little more of it. It was only when, the next day, his mother made a reluctant reference to his debts that he had thought of asking to see the list.
And now he saw what had been going on. For the list was staggering.
At the top, of course, came the debt to Zhydovyn. But after that came a list that took his breath away. People that he had never seen, in places he had scarcely visited, had claimed either that he had robbed them or that they had lent him money. In all but two cases, he knew that their claims were false. ‘Who found these creditors?’ he demanded.
‘Sviatopolk,’ his father told him.
So this was the dark labyrinth that had been burrowed in the ground all winter.
His brother had been thorough. It seemed he had been to every town in the land of Rus. The amounts were not large. Sviatopolk had been clever. But their number was astonishing. ‘You owe your brother a debt of thanks,’ Igor told him sternly. ‘He insisted on paying half of these himself.’
‘He feels responsible for you, too,’ his mother added.
Ivanushka understood. His experiences had made him a little wiser. ‘I fear a great many of these folk have cheated my brother,’ he remarked sadly. But seeing they did not believe him, he said no more. The incident was closed.
It was the next day that, at last, his father took him to meet the young prince whom, on account of his royal Greek mother, men called Vladimir Monomakh.
The meeting was in the hall of the prince’s palace. The windows were small and set high in the thick walls, so that the place had the feeling of a church.
The young prince was standing at the far end as Ivanushka entered with his father. There were half a dozen nobles standing respectfully on either side of him. Vladimir was wearing a long cloak trimmed with sable. It reached almost to his feet and was encrusted with gems so that, even in the dimness, it shone softly. Upon his head was a cap trimmed with ermine. His hands were at his sides.
From his Greek mother, no doubt, came the handsome face with its long, straight nose and large, dark eyes, which stared before him calmly. He awaited their approach like a priest before an altar, motionless, as if his dignity came not from himself but from an