Ivanushka followed him into the house. At the entrance, Sviatopolk paused and half turned to him. 'By the way, there's good news for you.' He spoke the words casually.

'For me?' Ivanushka's mind began to race. What could it be?

'God knows why,' Sviatopolk remarked. 'You've done nothing to deserve it.' The words were spoken light-heartedly, but Ivanushka knew Sviatopolk meant them really.

'What is it? Tell me what!'

'Father will tell you.' It seemed that Sviatopolk was not particularly pleased with the good news, whatever it was. He smiled thinly, then turned away. 'You'll have to suffer until he comes, won't you?' he said, and stepped into the house.

Ivanushka heard his mother's cry of joy. She loved Sviatopolk, he knew, because he was so like his father.

The news his father brought, the next day, was so wonderful that he could hardly believe it.

The younger brother of the Prince of Kiev, Prince Vsevolod, held the southern border city of Pereiaslav. It lay some sixty miles downriver from the capital and was a splendid city. Vsevolod had made a marriage that impressed the nobles of Rus, for his bride had been a princess of the royal house of Constantinople itself, the family of Monomakh. And their son Vladimir was only a year older than Ivanushka.

'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 grivna for luck and ridden down to the for luck and ridden down to the podol 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 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 podol outside the citadel, the city assembly the famous outside the citadel, the city assembly the famous veche veche was meeting. All the people had gone there. 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 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 veche in the suburb. in the suburb.

Ivanushka knew about the veche 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 veche revolts, it is terrible,' Igor had told him. 'Even the prince and the revolts, it is terrible,' Igor had told him. 'Even the prince and the druzhina druzhina can't control them.' can't control them.'

'Are the people angry now?' he had asked.

'They are beside themselves. You're not to go out.'

As he made his way through the citadel, Ivanushka was so excited he almost forgot that he was disobeying his father. He hurried through the gate to the market square.

It was full. He had never seen so many people in his life. They had even come in from the outlying towns merchants, artisans, the free traders and workers of the Russian city states several thousand of them. On each side of the square was a church: one a stout, brick, Byzantine affair with a flat central dome, the other a smaller wooden structure with a high gabled roof and a little octagonal tower in the middle. They seemed to be overseeing the proceedings, giving them a religious sanction. In the centre was a wooden platform, upon which all eyes were fixed. A huge brown-bearded merchant in a red kaftan was standing there. In his hands was a staff, and, like some terrible Old Testament prophet he was denouncing the authorities. 'Why is this prince here, in Kiev?' he shouted. 'Why do his family rule in other cities?' He paused until he had drawn an expectant silence from the crowd. 'They are here because we invited their ancestors to come to us.' He hammered his staff. 'The Varangians came from the north to us Slavs because we brought them in!'

This rewriting of history that had grown up over the generations had suited both sides the norsemen because it gave legitimacy to their original, piratical rule, and their Slav subjects because it salvaged their pride.

'Why did we bring them in?' He glowered from side to side, as though challenging the churches themselves to interrupt him. 'To fight for us. To defend our cities. That That is why they are here!' is why they are here!'

There was truth in this. Even now, the relationship between the princes and the cities they governed was ambiguous; the prince protected the city but he did not own it, any more than he owned the land, much of which still belonged to free peasants or communes. In the great northern city of Novgorod, the veche veche of the people had been known to reject princes, and never allowed their chosen protector or his of the people had been known to reject princes, and never allowed their chosen protector or his druzhina druzhina to own land in their domains. So Ivanushka did not find the merchant's words strange; indeed, he flushed with pride to hear his father and men like him called protectors of the land of Rus. to own land in their domains. So Ivanushka did not find the merchant's words strange; indeed, he flushed with pride to hear his father and men like him called protectors of the land of Rus.

'But they have not defended us!' the merchant roared. 'They have failed! The Cumans lay waste our countryside and the prince and his generals do nothing!'

'What shall we do then?' shouted several voices.

'Find a new general,' cried another.

'Find a new prince,' bellowed a third.

Ivanushka gasped. They were speaking of the Prince of Kiev! But the idea seemed to please the crowd.

'Who then?' a chorus demanded.

And now the big merchant on the platform hammered his staff again. 'These troubles were begun by treachery,' he roared. 'By treachery, when the sons of Yaroslav broke their word and put the Prince of Polotsk in jail.' He gestured towards the citadel. 'An innocent prince lies in prison up there.'

He did not need to go on. It was clear even to Ivanushka that many in the square had been carefully prepared for this moment. 'Polotsk!' the crowd roared. 'Give us the Prince of Polotsk.'

Ivanushka could never say, afterwards, exactly what followed. All he knew was that a minute later the crowd, as though it had a will of its own, was surging into the citadel; and he was being carried with it. In front of St Sophia's cathedral, the river of people split into two streams. One half turned off to the left towards a stout brick building near the cathedral where the strange prince with the caul over his eye was being held. The rest flowed across the narrow bridge towards the palace.

It was time to get back to his family. He must warn them of the danger. He tried to get ahead of the crowd as it surged across the narrow bridge into the old citadel, but soon realized that he was too late.

What had not occurred to him, however, was that he would be unable to get back in. But minutes later, as he found himself in the square before the tall, thick-walled block of the prince's palace, he realized his predicament. On the left side there was a high wall; on the right, a broad flight of stone steps led to a large oak doorway that was barred. The line of windows here was twenty feet high, well out of reach. Before him, the brick palace consisted of a series of towers and slit windows, set irregularly and high above the crowd. The two doors at the base were locked and bolted. Even if he could work his way through the crowd, he was closed out.

The crowd was hurling abuse.

'Traitors! Cowards! We'll feed you to the Cumans!'

But the high, red wall of the palace seemed to stare back at them with blank indifference.

Minutes passed. Nearby, a bell began to ring, summoning monks to prayer. Ivanushka glanced across to his left where the golden domes of the old Church of the Tithes were gleaming. But the crowd paused in its shouting only for a moment.

It was then that Ivanushka saw, high above, in a small window of the palace, a large red face staring down at the crowd a face he recognized at once as belonging to Izyaslav, the Prince of Kiev himself. The crowd caught sight of him too. There was a roar of rage, a surge forward. Then the face disappeared.

It suddenly occurred to Ivanushka that if the crowd realized who he was the son of one of Izyaslav's boyars he might be in danger himself. I must get inside, he thought. There was only one other way in to the palace: through a courtyard that lay behind it. This would mean working his way round the complex of buildings, along a side street, and thence to the gate. He turned and began to push his way towards the back. But it was difficult. The thick crowd seemed to sway from side to side, almost knocking him off his feet each time he tried to press through and after several minutes he had only moved a few yards.

And he was still far from the exits to the square when a murmur began somewhere in the crowd that gathered into a general hubbub, and which finally turned into a roar. 'They've gone! They've run away!'

He looked on in astonishment as a man, climbing on the backs of others, managed to reach one of the windows and then vanished from sight. Three minutes later one of the doors of the palace in front opened and the crowd, meeting no resistance, began to burst in.

The prince and the druzhina druzhina had left the palace. They must have escaped through the very courtyard where he had hoped to enter. He stared, momentarily numbed. In that case, his family must have gone too. And he had been left behind! had left the palace. They must have escaped through the very courtyard where he had hoped to enter. He stared, momentarily numbed. In that case, his family must have gone too. And he had been left behind!

The crowd was surging forward now, into the empty building. Figures began to appear at the windows, high above. Suddenly he saw a golden flash. Someone had thrown a goblet down to a friend in the crowd; a moment later, a sable coat followed; and with a shock he realized they were looting the prince's palace!

Ivanushka turned. He had no idea what to do, but he knew he must get out of the square. Perhaps he could find his people somewhere in the woods below. As the crowd pushed forward towards the palace, he managed to reach a small gateway to one side and find a way out. Moments later he was in a half-deserted street.

'Ivan! Ivan Igorevich!' He turned. It was one of his father's grooms, running towards him. 'Your father sent me to find you. Come.'

Ivanushka had never been more glad to see anyone. 'Can we ride to join him?' he cried hopefully.

'Impossible. They've gone, all of them. And the roads are being sealed off.'

As if in confirmation, at that moment a party of men came running up the street. 'The Prince of Polotsk is free!' they cried. 'He is coming!' And, indeed, as Ivanushka gazed down the street, he saw a dozen mounted men cantering in their direction. In their midst, and quite unmistakable, was the terrible figure himself the werewolf.

He was of above average build and he was riding a black horse. It was hard to tell what he was wearing for he was wrapped in a large brown cloak that looked none too clean. His face was large, rather broad at the cheekbones, and his whole bearing exuded a sense of power. But it was his eyes which riveted Ivanushka's attention.

One was indeed hooded with a caul of skin; yet the effect was not monstrous, as Ivanushka had expected. The face did not look as if it had been twisted, or burnt; instead, one side had a strange stillness, a sort of blank detachment from the world such as one sometimes sees with the blind. But the other side of the face was alive, intelligent, ambitious, with a piercing blue eye that took in everything.

It was a fascinating face, half handsome, half tragic. And the good eye, he suddenly realized, was resting upon him.

'Quickly, this way.' The groom pulled him insistently to one side. 'They mustn't know who you are.'

Ivanushka let himself be dragged away. The half-blind prince and his escort clattered by. And as the werewolf passed, Ivanushka had a strange sense that the prince, like some creature with magic powers, had both noticed and identified him.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

'You'll see.' And the groom led him hurriedly towards the podol podol.

The house of Zhydovyn the Khazar, though not as large as Igor's, was a stout wooden affair on two storeys, with a steep wooden roof, two large rooms at the front and a courtyard behind. It stood just outside the Khazar Gate near the wall of Yaroslav's citadel. 'They will look after you here for a few days,' the groom explained to him, 'until it's safe to smuggle you out of the city.'

Already bands of men were searching for the families of the druzhina druzhina who had fled. who had fled.

'What will they do if they find me?' Ivanushka asked.

'Lock you up.'

'Nothing worse?'

The groom gave him a strange look. 'Don't ever go to prison,' he said slowly. 'Once you're in prison ...' He made a gesture as if dropping a key. 'But don't worry now,' he added more cheerfully. 'Zhydovyn will take care of you.' A moment later he was gone.

Ivanushka enjoyed being with the Khazar and his family. Zhydovyn's wife was a dark, stout woman who seemed almost as massive as her husband. There were four children, younger than he, and Ivanushka spent much of his day playing with them indoors. 'For it's not safe for you to be seen outside yet,' the Khazar warned him.

Sometimes Ivanushka would tell them a fairy story. And once, to the Khazar's amusement, his children helped Ivanushka to read a story from the Old Testament in Hebrew: which he then pretended to translate, since he knew it by heart in Slavic.

It was on the third day that the crisis broke. It began early in the morning, when Zhydovyn came hurrying into the house and announced to the family: 'The Prince of Kiev has gone to Poland. He's asking the king for help.'

Ivanushka looked up in surprise. 'Does that mean my father has gone to Poland too?'

'I assume he has.'

Ivanushka was silent. Poland lay far to the west. Was his family really to pass away into those distant lands? Suddenly he felt very deserted.