Lastly, to trouble the world yet further, came the Vikings.
Pirates, merchants, colonists, adventurers, from around the year 800 these Scandinavian voyagers burst upon the stage of history. They took over much of central England, they set up colonies in Iceland, Greenland, and even visited the North American coast. They founded the state of Normandy and swept round into the Mediterranean.
And it was one group of Swedish Vikings who, having founded trading colonies round the Baltic Sea, made their way down to the river system of that great eastern hinterland, the land of the Slavs.
Varangians, these norsemen were sometimes called. They set up a huge, north-south trading network – collecting goods at the Slav city of Novgorod in the north, and sailing down the Rivers Dniepr, Don and Volga. On the Black Sea coast, near the mouth of the Don, they set up a trading post known as Tmutarakan. And whether it was because they were fair, or because they traded or fought side by side with fair Alannic peoples in those southern lands, or for some other reason we do not know, these piratical norse merchants soon came to be known to the civilized southern world they entered by that ancient Iranian name still borne by some of the Alans – the word meaning ‘light’ or ‘shining’ – Rus.
And thus the new state of Russia was born.
High on the palisades the boy gazed out at the huge red star. His mind was in a fever of excitement.
Far below in the darkness lay the broad River Dniepr; the ice at its edges dimly reflected the star’s blood-red light. Behind the boy, the city of Kiev was silent.
It was nearly two centuries since this ancient Slav city by the Dniepr had become the capital of the state of Rus. Lying in rolling woodlands a day’s journey from the beginning of the southern steppe, it was the collecting point for all the trade from the northern forests that was to pass downriver to the faraway Black Sea and points beyond.
What could the star portend for the city? the boy wondered. Certainly it must be a sign from God.
For the land of Rus was Christian now. In the blessed year of Our Lord 988, Vladimir, Prince of Kiev had been baptized, with the Roman Emperor of Constantinople himself acting as his godfather. Did not many already, for this conversion, call Vladimir a saint? And was it not said that two of his sons, young Boris and Gleb, had also joined the blessed?
The story of their death, just half a century before, had immediately entered popular folklore. For in the springtime of their lives, these two royal princes, facing assassins sent by their wicked elder brother, had meekly submitted, spoken only of their love for each other, and commended their young souls to God. The sadness, the gentleness, of their deaths had touched the Slavs, and Boris and Gleb became the best-loved heroes of the land of Rus. The Passion-Sufferers, they were called.
Kiev was a city of churches now. In her streets one heard not only the sounds from the merchant boats upon the river, but also the chanting of monks and priests in a hundred churches; and the squat Byzantine cupolas of the greatest of these, covered with gold, gleamed warmly in the sun. ‘One day,’ the nobles claimed, ‘we shall be like Tzargrad itself.’ For this was the name they often gave to the Roman Emperor’s city of Constantinople. And if, as the chroniclers in the monasteries had to confess, there were many peasants in the countryside who still preferred the old pagan ways, it would only be a question of time before they too joined the great commonwealth of the Christian world.
And what did the star mean for him? Did it mean danger? Would he be tested in some way?
For the coming year was to be the most important in his life. He was twelve years old. He knew his father was looking for a place for him in the entourage of one of the princes; there had been words about betrothing him, too. And even more thrilling was the fact that this very summer, his father was sending a caravan across the steppe to the east. For weeks he had been begging his father to let him go with it. And then, he thought, I shall ride all the way to the great River Don. His mother was against this dangerous ambition; but just the week before, his father had said he would consider it, and the boy had been thinking of little else since. And when I return, I can train to be a warrior, he promised himself. Like his noble father.
So intent was he upon these thoughts that he hardly noticed the approach of two figures until they were standing beside him.
‘Wake up, Ivanushka, you’ll turn into a tree.’
His name was Ivan but he was called by the diminutive: Ivanushka. He smiled, faintly, but did not take his eyes off the star. He knew his brothers had come to tease him. The younger of these two, Boris, was a fair-haired, friendly-looking fellow of sixteen, already sprouting a beard. The elder, Sviatopolk, had a long, serious face and dark hair. He was eighteen and already married. After Boris had tried to coax the boy home for a minute, Sviatopolk gave him a sharp kick. ‘Stop freezing. Think you’re an ice maiden?’
Boris stamped his felt boots to keep warm. Sviatopolk muttered a curse. Then they left.
Still the red star hung silently in the heavens. This was the fourth night Ivanushka had watched it, standing alone and refusing all calls to return home. He was a dreamy boy. Often one of his family would find him staring at some spot outside, go away, and return to find him still there, with a half-smile on his broad face, his pale blue eyes still fixed on the same place. Nor could they stop him doing it, for these little acts of contemplation were necessary to him. He was one of those beings who, for better or worse, have a sense that all nature is speaking to them directly. The minutes passed, therefore, and still he continued to gaze, without moving.
‘Ivanushka.’ It was his mother now. ‘Foolish boy. Your hand is like ice.’ He was aware of her putting a fur coat on him. And though he did not take his eyes off the star, he felt her gently squeeze his hand. And now at last, Ivanushka turned and smiled.
They shared a special bond. How many hours he could happily spend sitting with her by the fire in their big, wooden house, listening to her recite him the courtly tales of the heroic warriors – the bogatyrs – or fairy stories of Baba Yaga the witch or the firebird in the forest.
Olga was a tall, slim woman, with a broad forehead but rather small, delicate features and dark brown hair. Her family had been great chiefs, once, of the ancient Slav tribe of Severiani. As she sang these tales in a soft, faraway voice, Ivanushka would gaze up at her, spellbound. The image of her beautiful yet tender face was often in his mind; it was a presence that he carried with him through his life, like an icon.
When she sang for his father, she could sound very different. Her voice would descend to a harsh contralto, her manner assume a laughing, teasing scorn. Did he guess that her long, pale body had hidden strengths, that she could make it behave in a way that drove his father wild with desire? Perhaps, like all children, he had always had a natural sense of these things.
Sometimes they would read the holy books together, both leaning forward eagerly, with difficulty but always triumphantly making out the Slavic words, written in bold uncial script, of the New Testament and Apochryphal stories. He would study the sermons of the great preachers of the Eastern Church – John Chrysostom or St Basil; or, better still, a Slav preacher like Hilarion. He had also learnt several of the lays of the great singer Bayan, whom his own grandfather had known; and these he could recite faultlessly, to please his father.
Ivanushka shared something else with his mother. It was a little gesture that she used to make. One would often see it when she was standing and talking to someone – a slow raising of her arm from her side towards them, as if ushering them through a door. It was such a gentle movement, though – almost sad, yet tender and caressing. Of the three brothers, only Ivanushka had taken this gesture from her, though whether by inheritance or unconscious imitation he did not know.