Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [68]
They seldom saw each other now. Twenty years before, when the old Prince of Kiev had died and another of the periodic relocations of the princes had taken place, Sviatopolk had left Monomakh and joined the Prince of Kiev. He had thought the pickings would be better. Ivanushka had remained with Monomakh at Pereiaslav.
Now they were together again, in the same army.
And only one of us, Sviatopolk secretly swore, will return alive.
‘So at last,’ Ivanushka had told his sons, ‘I am to ride to the great River Don.’ It was strange that only now, in the fifty-seventh year of his life, had God granted this childhood desire. Yet God had given him so much.
The estate at Russka had made him rich. Although Cuman raids had several times destroyed the village, the bee-forest lay undisturbed. And he had other estates, too.
For the land of Rus was still expanding. While the princes traded and fought in the south, they had continued to colonize the huge uncharted regions of the north-east, pushing into the hinterland where the primitive Finnish tribes had always dwelt – into the deep forests by the headwaters of the mighty Volga. The Rus had many settlements there, from substantial cities like Tver, Suzdal, Riazan and Murom, all the way down to little fortified hamlets like the village of Moscow.
The Prince of Pereiaslav controlled the part of this region around Rostov and Suzdal, and it was in this hinterland that he had given Ivan a second big estate.
Though the soil was poor compared to the black earth of the south, the forest of the north-east was rich in furs, wax and honey. Above all, it was far away from the raiders of the southern steppe. ‘Remember,’ Ivanushka would say to his three sons, ‘your ancestors were the radiant Alans who rode the steppe, but our wealth now lies in the forest which protects us.’ God had been good to him. He had also given him a perfect master in Vladimir Monomakh.
Who could fail to love Monomakh? For, by any standards, the half Greek prince was remarkable. It was not only that he was brave in battle, and daring in the chase; he was also a truly humble Christian. For decades, all Monomakh’s energies had gone into trying to preserve the unity of the royal house. Time and again he had called together conferences of the feuding princes and begged them: ‘Let us forgive each other. Let us hold the land together and unite against the Cumans, who would rather see us divided.’
One day, Ivanushka prayed, his turn will come to rule in Kiev.
Monomakh’s city of Pereiaslav was a fine place now. Twenty years before, its bishop had built a huge stone wall around it. The place boasted several more brick churches and even a bath house of stone, so that Ivan could say proudly: ‘There’s nothing else like that bath house unless you go to Tzargrad.’
Two of Ivanushka’s three sons served Monomakh; the third served the prince’s half English son, who now ruled over northern Novgorod.
Ivanushka had brought a strong contingent with him. From the village of Russka came a party of Slavs under old Shchek who, despite his advancing years, had insisted on coming with his lord. From his estates in the north came a group of bowmen, some mounted, some on foot, from the Finnish tribe of Mordvinians. Quiet, surly fellows with high, mongoloid cheekbones and yellowish skins, they kept themselves to themselves and in the evenings crowded round their soothsayer, without whom they refused to travel.
Apart from two of his sons, there was one other addition to his party – a handsome young Khazar from Kiev. Ivanushka had not wanted to take him although the boy’s father, a longtime trading associate of his, had