‘We’ve still to arrange a meeting of the two boys,’ Igor proudly explained to his wife, ‘but Vsevolod and I became friends on the campaign and he’s agreed in principle – in principle,’ he emphasized severely, looking at Ivanushka, ‘that Ivan should be attached to young Vladimir as a page.’
‘This is a great chance, you know,’ his mother said to Ivanushka. ‘They say this Vladimir is gifted and has a great future ahead of him. To be his close companion when you are still both so young…’ She spread her hands in a way that suggested the treasure house of Kiev and the imperial city of Constantinople all rolled into one.
Ivanushka was beside himself. ‘When? When?’ was all he could ask.
‘I shall take you to Pereiaslav at Christmas,’ Igor told him. ‘By which time, you had better have prepared yourself.’ And with that he dismissed him.
‘I’m sad to see Ivanushka go, though,’ his mother confided to her husband afterwards. ‘I shall miss him.’
‘That is a woman’s lot,’ Igor remarked coolly, unwilling to admit that he felt the same.
It was shortly afterwards that a small incident took place in the stables that would have shocked Igor and his wife had they known about it.
The three brothers were together. Boris, grinning broadly, had clapped his little brother on the back in a friendly way that sent him sprawling; then he had given him a whole silver grivna for luck and ridden down to the podol. That left Ivanushka and Sviatopolk alone.
‘Well, brother, I told you the news was good,’ Sviatopolk remarked quietly, as he gazed admiringly at his horse.
‘Yes.’ Ivanushka had an uncomfortable feeling, however, that his brother was saving something unpleasant for him.
‘In fact, I’d say that you had probably done better than Boris or me,’ Sviatopolk added thoughtfully.
‘Oh. Do you really think so?’ He realized it was a fine opportunity, but he had not thought of it that way.
‘Oh,’ Sviatopolk mimicked him, without turning round, ‘do you really think so?’
Ivanushka stared at him blankly, wondering what was coming next. Suddenly Sviatopolk turned. His dark eyes seemed full of hate, yet also contemptuous.
‘You’ve done nothing to deserve this. You were supposed to go into the Church.’
‘But it was Father…’
‘Yes, it was Father. But don’t think you can deceive me. Because now I see you for what you really are, little boy. You’re ambitious. You want to do better than us. You think only of yourself behind that dreamy mask.’
Ivanushka was so taken aback by this unexpected attack that he had no idea what to say. Was he ambitious? It had never occurred to him. He stared at Sviatopolk, confused.
‘Yes,’ his brother went on acidly. ‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it? So why don’t you just admit it like the rest of us? Except that you’re worse than us. You’re a schemer, little Ivan, a little viper.’ He hissed the last word so that it hit Ivanushka like a physical blow. Sviatopolk was getting into his stride now. ‘And no doubt you’re waiting for Father to die too,’ he added.
Whatever did he mean? Ivanushka had no idea.
‘What do you think it costs Father if you become a monk?’ Sviatopolk enlightened him. ‘Some donations to the monastery. But your new position means that one day you’ll be left the same inheritance as us. So you’ll be taking from me too.’
Ivanushka was scarlet. The tears were welling up.
‘I don’t want Father to die. You can have my share. Have it all.’
‘Oh, very good,’ his brother sneered. ‘And how easy to say. Of course, you would say that, now you’ve escaped from the monastery. But we shall see.’
Ivanushka burst into tears. Sviatopolk watched him.
And this was only the beginning of Ivanushka’s troubles.
1068
Ivanushka was disobeying his father. But such astonishing things were going on in the city that day.
For two years, it seemed to the boy, the influence of the evil star had been constantly at work. Even so, there were things which it was hard to understand.
They had never taken him to meet the young Prince Vladimir. The reason, they said, was that the boy’s mother, the Greek princess, had died. ‘Vladimir and his father are mourning her,’ Igor told him. ‘It’s a bad time. Next year, though, things will be better.’ Why, then, before the year was out, had Vladimir’s father taken another wife – a Cuman princess?
‘It’s politics,’ Igor explained. ‘Her father’s a powerful Cuman chief, and the prince wants to protect Pereiaslav from attack from the steppe.’ Yet only months later, the Cuman horsemen had come, and now they were burning the land of Rus in greater strength than ever before.
And still no word had come from Vladimir’s father about a visit. The prince had promised; now, it seemed he had forgotten, leaving Ivanushka still drifting, uselessly, at Kiev.
Perhaps his brother Sviatopolk was telling the truth when he had hissed in his ear, one cold morning that spring: ‘You’ll never be Vladimir’s page, you know. They’ve heard how useless you are.’ For when he had wondered aloud who would have told them such a thing, Sviatopolk had smiled and whispered: ‘Maybe I did.’
Then there was the matter of the Prince of Polotsk. After defeating him, the Prince of Kiev and his brother had offered the werewolf a safe-conduct to a family meeting. Then they had shamefully trapped him and thrown him into jail in Kiev, where he still remained. Yet when Ivanushka had asked his father whether such treachery was not a sin, Igor had only told him, grimly, that it was sometimes necessary to lie. Ivanushka was still puzzled about this.
Finally, threatening to destroy them all, came the Cumans. Less than a week ago, at dead of night, the men of Rus had gone out to deal the steppe raiders a decisive blow near Pereiaslav. And they had lost. To their shame, his father and the princes had fled back to Kiev and retired to the fortified safety of the stone-walled palace in the citadel. Worse yet, a strange lethargy had set in amongst the druzhina. Day after day, Ivanushka had expected that his father and the boyars would go forth again. Yet nothing happened. Surely they could not be afraid? Surely they would not leave the people to the mercy of the invaders while they stayed safe behind their high walls? They must, the boy thought, have fallen under the spell of the evil star.
And now, this bright September morning, the whole city was in an uproar. Terrified messengers came at the gallop to say that the Cumans were advancing. In the podol outside the citadel, the city assembly – the famous veche – was meeting. All the people had gone there.
And the talk was of revolution.
That was why, this morning, instead of staying with his family in the high, brick hall of the prince’s palace, he had sneaked out, crossed the bridge over the ravine that led from the old citadel to the new, and made his way past St Sophia’s cathedral towards the gates into the podol.
The new citadel was eerily quiet. The nobles’ houses were deserted: not even the horses and grooms had been left at his father’s. There were a few women and children, and the occasional priest in the streets, but it seemed that the whole male population had gone down to the veche in the suburb.
Ivanushka knew about the veche. Even the Prince of Kiev himself was afraid of it. Usually, of course, it was tame enough and run by the leading merchants. But in times of crisis, every free man of the city had the right to attend and to vote. ‘And when the veche revolts, it is terrible,’ Igor had told him. ‘Even the prince and the druzhina can’t control them.’