Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [62]
Father and son bowed low before him, advanced a few paces, bowed again. He is like a painting in a church, thought Ivanushka, as he stole a glance up at the motionless black eyes. When he reached him, Ivanushka went down upon his knees and kissed the jewelled shoes.
‘Welcome, Ivan Igorevich,’ the young prince said solemnly.
The courts in the land of Rus were not like those of western Europe. The Russian princes did not seek, like the rulers of Bohemia and Poland, to join the elaborate feudal network of Europe; nor were they interested in its manners or the new ideas of knightly chivalry. Their models, rather, came from the orient. For had not all the rulers of these vast lands come from the east?
From the ancient Scythians and Alans who could still be found in their druzhina, from the once vanished Avars and Huns, from the mighty Khazars, the rulers of the borderlands had always been godlike despots from far away. And what power in that quarter of the world was more ancient and civilized than the Christian empire of the Greeks in Constantinople?
So it was that Russian princes were learning oriental luxury, and to copy the jewelled, hieratic formality of the eastern imperial court. Monomakh knew how to do so from birth.
But now, to Ivanushka’s surprise, the prince smiled pleasantly.
‘I hear that you have travelled widely.’ At this there was a laugh from the courtiers and Igor blushed. They had all heard of this foolish Ivanushka’s wanderings.
‘Do not laugh,’ Vladimir corrected them. ‘If he has observed well in his travels, our friend may know more about the land of Rus than I do.’ By this simple sentence, the prince secured the eternal loyalty of his man; and Ivanushka witnessed the grace that made Monomakh loved as well as feared.
With that, Monomakh waved Igor and the other nobles away and drew Ivanushka to one side. Sensing Ivanushka’s nervousness he began to talk to him quietly and easily until the young man was ready to speak for himself. Vladimir asked him about his travels, and Ivanushka answered very honestly so that, though Vladimir once or twice looked at him in astonishment, he seemed well pleased.
And strangely, the young prince reminded Ivanushka of his own father. There was a stern self-discipline about him that was impressive. It soon became clear that he spent long hours in prayer, four or five times a day, and this he spoke of with a calm grimness very like Igor’s. But when he mentioned one subject, his whole face changed and he became quite boyish.
‘Do you like to hunt?’
Ivanushka told him he did.
‘That is good.’ He grinned. ‘Before I die I mean to hunt every wood in the whole land of Rus. Tomorrow,’ he added happily, ‘you shall come and see my hawks.’
Before their conversation ended, however, the prince became serious once again. ‘You are new here,’ he said quietly, ‘and there are others who have been here before you.’ He paused. ‘Including your brother.’ It was a warning. But though Ivanushka looked at him carefully, Monomakh’s expression was quite impassive, giving nothing away. ‘Go about your business quietly therefore,’ he instructed. ‘I shall judge you by your deeds alone.’
The interview was over. Ivanushka bowed gratefully. Vladimir turned back to his courtiers.
It was at this moment that Ivanushka saw her.
She came in directly behind her mistress. She was no longer a girl, but a young woman; both she and her mistress were so fair they seemed almost unearthly, and he remembered at once how he had seen them before, two years ago, riding through the forest with his father and the court while he hid behind a tree.
‘Who are they?’ he asked the nobleman beside him.
‘Don’t you know? The elder is Monomakh’s wife. The other is her maidservant.’
‘Where do they come from?’
‘Why, from England. Gytha is the daughter of the Saxon king, Harold, whom the Normans killed at Hastings ten years ago. The girl’s called Emma. She’s an orphaned nobleman’s daughter the princess brought with her.’
Ivanushka knew that there had been many exiles from England