It was a rough, crowded, busy part of Kiev with the fenced plots tight up against each other, but Elizaveta loved the vibrancy of the mish-mash of inhabitants, some Slav, some Norse, many a mix of the two or immigrants from the various tribal nations around the still-growing state of the Rus. It was with reluctance, therefore, that she took the great wooden steps up out of its streets and through the curved ravine to the north gates of her father’s kremlin. The promise of news from Harald, however, spurred her on and picking up pace, she gained the top quite out of breath. Vladimir regarded her uncertainly as the guards admitted them.
‘Perhaps you should change, sister?’
‘Change, why?’
‘You are a little . . . damp. And your hair is all over the place and your dress is coated in . . .’ He shook it and pale flecks fell to the ground. ‘Sawdust,’ he finished.
Elizaveta groaned.
‘You’re right. Will you wait, Vlad?’
‘Of course, but be quick, Lily. They have been fighting the wild men in the north-west and I wish to hear all about it. Father says that in a few years I can travel to Novgorod to rule as its sub-prince so I should learn all I can about the area.’
Elizaveta nodded.
‘I’ll be quick,’ she promised him and darted into the bower.
The lower half of the long building was split into several rooms for the women’s daytime pursuits and, as Elizaveta made for the central staircase, she could see servants rushing all over, tidying threads from around the looms in the weaving shed, mopping the floor of the dairy, strewing fresh herbs and rushes on the floor of the receiving hall and brushing down the wall-hangings.
She tore up the stairs and into the chambers above to find Ingrid, Anastasia and Anne all being helped into fine gowns whilst the new baby, Yuri, wailed in Hedda’s arms and little Agatha ran around tugging on skirts and getting in the way.
‘Elizaveta!’ Ingrid exclaimed. ‘Thank heavens. Quick – you must dress. Your father is coming with a guest and we must be ready to receive him.’
‘Coming here? To the bower?’
‘To my receiving hall, yes. I have just had word. Make haste.’
So that explained all the activity downstairs; Elizaveta’s mother often entertained in her rich receiving rooms, but rarely at such short notice.
‘Surely it’s only Ulf?’ Elizaveta said as two maids tugged her out of her filthy day-dress and pushed her into a clean one of a beautiful sapphire blue. She looked down at it, puzzled. ‘Why do I need my best gown?’
‘I know not, Elizaveta, only that your father gave orders for us to be ready – you in particular.’
‘Me?! Why me?’
Elizaveta edged to the window, dragging the two maids with her as they clung to the side-laces of her dress. Her second brother, Ivan, was with Vladimir below, clearly apprising him of the situation as the two of them were smoothing their own tunics and looking nervously towards Yaroslav’s hall opposite.
‘Her hair!’ she heard Ingrid call and suddenly there seemed to be a mass of combs in her dark locks, tugging viciously at the knots.
‘Ouch!’
‘Hush, Lily. You must look your best.’
‘Whatever for?’
Frustrated, Elizaveta stamped her foot and her mother was at her side in a trice. She put her hands on Elizaveta’s shoulders and forced her to be still.
‘I do not know what for, Elizaveta. I have not questioned your father and neither should you. He wishes you to look beautiful so you will.’ Elizaveta huffed and Ingrid’s face softened. ‘You will, Lily – you are growing very pretty.’
Elizaveta shivered.
‘I am too dark, Mama.’
‘Nonsense, child. There are many ways to shine. Is a wooden carving not as lovely as a mosaic, or a rune stone as a fresco? Truly, you need not be blonde to be fair. You look lovely. Now quickly, I hear your father in the courtyard and we must make haste down the stairs.’
Ingrid led the way, Anastasia and Anne jumping after her, and Elizaveta bringing up the rear, with a squirming Agatha wailing at being left upstairs with Hedda and the baby. Elizaveta’s heart was thudding strangely against her over-tightened gown and she glanced self-consciously down at her finally budding chest, to see it visibly pounding through the rich wool. Vladimir’s knowing grin when he saw her did nothing to quell her nerves and she was grateful to take a seat at her mother’s side on the little receiving dais at the top of the room as her seven brothers and sisters settled around them. Prince Magnus scuttled in and took a seat to one side, sneaking glances at the little leather book clipped to his belt, and Elizaveta glared at him.
‘Why is he here?’ she hissed to her mother.
‘The messenger comes from his uncle – it is right he should hear him.’
Elizaveta groaned but now, in a fanfare of horns, Yaroslav was shown in with Ulf and his two riders and she turned nervously towards them.
‘Ah, my lovely wife!’ Yaroslav came up and kissed Ingrid firmly on the lips. ‘And my beautiful daughters. How fine you all look on this lovely day, especially you, my sweet Elizaveta.’
It was all Elizaveta could do to stop her eyes narrowing; suddenly she was part of Yaroslav’s ostentatious public display, but why? Oh, Lord, why?
‘Thank you, Father,’ she managed, glancing to Ulf, ‘and I see you bring a visitor.’
‘I do. You remember Ulf Ospakkson, Elizaveta?’
Elizaveta inclined her head, aware of Anastasia’s eyes jealously upon her; that was one good thing in this strange situation.
‘Greetings, my lord,’ Elizaveta said, rising as Ulf came forward and dropped to one knee before her.
Dust from the road clung to his clothes and in the curls of his brown hair. He had clearly made an attempt to slick it down for several strands clung to his sun-browned forehead but the rest was already escaping and Elizaveta watched, fascinated, as one by one the curls sprung free. She heard Ingrid clearing her throat and glanced over to see her pointing urgently to her hand. Just in time she held it out for Ulf, flushing as he kissed it.
‘You have fared well in the north?’ she forced herself to ask, as no one else seemed inclined to speak.
‘Very well. We fought the wild men back into their own kingdom and indeed beyond.’
‘You have been inside the Iron Gates?’ Vladimir burst forward, desperate to know more of the legendary pagans who reputedly lived in a vast forest cage of their own fashioning, and Ulf turned to him.
‘We have, Prince, and it is a dark, dark land of caves and treetop dwellings, but rich in fur and iron. We have brought your father great booty.’
‘And taken your share too,’ Yaroslav said, though easily; he was never one to deny a man his reward if it was well-earned and he was clearly pleased with the haul his new recruits had brought him.
‘That we have,’ Ulf agreed, ‘and that is why, Elizaveta, I am before you now. May I rise?’
Elizaveta flushed again.
‘Oh yes, yes of course.’
Ulf stood and rummaged in the big leather pocket attached to his plaited leather belt. Carefully he drew out a small package wrapped in costly cream silk.
‘A gift, Princess, from Prince Harald. He personally entrusted its delivery to me and promises there will be more – many more. Please . . .’
He held it out and, with a glance to her father, Elizaveta rose and took it. The fabric was soft and so smooth it almost slipped through her fingers. She hastily sat down again, nestling it in her lap to undo the binding-ribbon as her sisters leaned eagerly in to see. Her fingers were shaking ridiculously but she finally freed the knot and the silk opened out like a miniature flag to reveal, shining out of its folds, a thick neck chain of the softest rose gold.
‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘it’s beautiful.’
She lifted it up and the sunlight criss-crossing the room from the opposing windows caught in it, sending a thousand stars around the whitewashed walls.
‘I am glad you like it, Princes
s,’ Ulf said. ‘Harald asked me to tell you that it is but the beginning. He sends these too.’
Now he produced another parcel. Elizaveta could feel Anastasia’s eyes boring into her and rose to take this second gift more slowly, relishing the moment.
‘Thank you, Count Ulf.’
‘Just Ulf, Princess.’
‘Nay,’ Yaroslav put in, ‘you shall be a count for this honour you do my daughter, as your friend Halldor is for his tales.’
‘How does Count Halldor?’ Elizaveta asked.
‘Well, thank you. Very well. He has fought valiantly and won himself great riches.’
Ulf’s brown eyes were sparkling and Elizaveta looked at him quizzically.
‘Something special?’ she asked.
‘To him, Princess, yes. A slave girl called Elsa whom he prizes greatly and who seems very fond of him in return.’
‘Of Halldor?’ Anastasia asked incredulously.
‘Anastasia!’ Ingrid snapped. ‘Why should she not love the Count Halldor?’
‘He’s just so . . . unusual-looking.’
‘Maybe,’ Ulf said smoothly, ‘he has hidden talents.’
Ingrid spluttered and quickly turned it into a cough.
‘He brings a story to life like no other,’ she said quickly. ‘I am sure a woman could fall for a man with such a tongue.’
‘Indeed, my lady,’ Ulf agreed, dipping his head and again Ingrid coughed.
Elizaveta looked from one to the other, puzzled, but her parcel was burning a hole in her fingers and she turned thankfully from the adults’ strange jests to open it.
Inside was a small charm – a beautiful clear ruby in a woven gold setting with a clasp to fit it to the neck chain – and alongside it a golden key, also with a clasp. Elizaveta held it up, intrigued, and Ulf waved to his two companions who had lingered at the door. They shuffled forward, backs bent over a large casket which they brought to Elizaveta’s feet. It was clasped shut with a fine gold buckle and Elizaveta looked down at it and then back to her key.
‘Try it,’ Ulf urged.
She glanced to her mother who looked a little bemused but nodded her forward all the same. Elizaveta handed the ruby to Anastasia who turned it over and over in her hands, looking wonderfully tearful at the sight of such a jewel that didn’t belong to her. Elizaveta knelt before the casket. The little key fitted neatly into the lock and turned with a satisfying click.
Slowly she raised the lid and there, before them all, lay a mass of treasure – silver dirhams from Arabia, gilded cups and platters, jewel-studded knives and little ivory-carved boxes and game pieces. For a long time no one spoke and then Anastasia said: ‘Is that all for her?’
Elizaveta was first to respond.
‘Of course not, Stasia. It is Prince Harald’s wealth. He sends it to me for safekeeping until he is ready to spend it on troops to reclaim Norway.’
‘He is too good,’ Magnus exclaimed from behind Yaroslav.
Elizaveta resisted the urge to contradict him. She wasn’t sure what part Harald intended his nephew to play in the fight for their Norwegian inheritance but doubted it was a large one – and why should it be? Did Harald not have every bit as good a claim to the throne as Magnus? The boy might be Olaf’s son, but only by a concubine. Harald was Olaf’s half-brother and a descendant of the ancient Norwegian dynasty of the Ynglings in his own right and she knew which of them would make the better king.
‘He has clearly worked hard,’ she said, shutting the treasures away and locking the casket. ‘Thank you, Anastasia.’
Elizaveta held out a hand for the ruby which her sister, with all eyes upon her, furiously returned. Then she carefully clipped both the charm and the key to the neck chain before fastening either end to her shoulder brooches. It dipped elegantly across her chest and gleamed against the blue of her gown.
‘It becomes you well,’ Ingrid said, then looked to Ulf, ‘but what does it purport?’
‘Nothing,’ Elizaveta said crossly. ‘It “purports” nothing, Mother, save that I promised Prince Harald I would see his treasure securely stored whilst he is out in my father’s service.’ She turned to Yaroslav. ‘Can we use one of your vaults in Novgorod, Father, please?’
‘We?’ Yaroslav asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling across at Ingrid.
‘I, then. Please, Father, I ask it of you as a matter of state.’
‘Of state?’
He was smiling still; it infuriated Elizaveta.
‘Just because I am but thirteen, Father, does not mean I cannot understand matters of state.’
He bowed.
‘I apologise, daughter. So tell me, is marriage a matter of state?’
‘Father!’
Anastasia leaped up.
‘Is Elizaveta to be married, Father? Already? To Prince Harald?’
‘Stasia!’ Elizaveta all but shouted. ‘Be silent.’ Everyone stared. ‘This is not about marriage,’ she snapped, biting back tears.
She felt as if all the lovely treasure was suddenly raining down on her, crushing her. If Harald heard of this he would be mortified. He would take back his treasure and entrust it to someone who did not wish to make stupid claims on him.
‘It’s not like that,’ she insisted. ‘This is not about marriage or any such foolishness.’ Her parents were looking at each other in that supercilious way again, laughing at her supposed foolish innocence, but maybe they were the fools here. ‘Prince Harald trusts me as his treasure-keeper, no more, no less, and I value that trust and would appreciate it if you did too.’
She glowered at them all and now her mother rose.
‘Elizaveta is right,’ she said softly, looking to Ulf. ‘No proposal comes with these gifts?’
The Varangian bowed low.
‘No, my lady. I am sure, were the prince to seek such a weighty alliance, he would come direct to the Grand Prince himself, and on his knees. He appreciates all that you have done for us poor exiles, Sire, and seeks only the favour of your treasury. It is as your daughter says – their arrangement is between states people, not lovers.’
‘See,’ Elizaveta blurted, though this truth, put so baldly by Harald’s right-hand man, sounded less reassuring than it should have done. She looked again to her father. ‘May I have your leave, please, Father, to go and see this treasure safely stored until it can be escorted to Novgorod?’
Yaroslav hesitated a moment but then, at a look from his wife, moved over and dropped a kiss on Elizaveta’s forehead.
‘Of course, daughter. I am pleased to see you taking this trust responsibly, though I am sure Count Ulf will see the casket safe to my treasury here in Kiev until you can make your arrangements.’ He leaned over, lifting the neck chain and running it softly through his fingers. ‘You will need to look after this gift, daughter. There are many links on this beautiful chain and I suspect our Varangian prince intends to fill them all with keys.’
Elizaveta pressed her hand over her father’s.
‘I shall take the greatest care,’ she assured him, drawing back.
Her heart was pounding beneath the ruby charm and she had to escape. Bowing low, she crossed the receiving room, moving as slowly as she dared, then grabbed at the door. Springing free, she picked up her skirts and, new chain jangling excitedly with her frantic steps, darted for the north gate, seeking out the fresh, uncomplicated air beyond the kremlin and drawing it into her lungs as if they might burst for the want of it.
CHAPTER FOUR
The banks of the Ros, June 1032
‘Dignity,’ Elizaveta reminded herself.
It was a lesson her mother had drummed into her in the preparations for this royal progress south but not, truthfully, something that came naturally to Elizaveta. Anastasia, riding to her left, was dripping with it, sitting erect in the saddle, her riding gown immaculately spread out around her and her wretched blonde hair flowing loose, so long now that she could almost trap it between her prim bottom and her saddle. Prince Andrew, riding at the rear of the
procession with Prince Edward, had taken to paying her ridiculous compliments and Anastasia, sadly, had taken to believing them, making her even more insufferable than before. Elizaveta forced herself to sit up a little straighter and felt for her own hair.
Hedda and little Greta had insisted on winding the front sections into two plaits this morning to keep it back from her face, for which she was grateful, but the nursemaid had also threaded them with meadow flowers and although Ingrid had pronounced the results to be ‘perfect’ Elizaveta wasn’t so sure. She felt awkward with the fragile stems clipped in with little wires and worried that she looked silly, but it was too late to pull them out now. They were approaching their destination – Yaroslav’s new southern settlements – and she must prepare to ride though the crowds that had gathered to see the royal family pass through.
The whole family was out today. Vladimir and Ivan rode behind Yaroslav with Elizaveta and Anastasia in their wake and then Stefan, Anne, Viktor and Igor all following on their own mounts. Ingrid was bringing up the rear in a richly dressed wagon with Hedda and Greta, a fidgeting Agatha, and baby Yuri. Although Yuri was nearly a year old and growing big and fit on Hedda’s ready milk, Ingrid had struggled to regain her usual good health and Elizaveta was worried. Today, though, with a hot sun shining across the fertile plains south of Kiev, her mother was smiling brightly and waving to the crowd. Elizaveta swallowed and did the same.
The procession wound its way slowly along the hammered dirt track and up through the rough gates onto the wooden streets of the first of Yaroslav’s new villages. Concerned at the lack of an agricultural population around the ever-growing city, the Grand Prince had been steadily ‘encouraging’ his poorer subjects to move into the lands between Kiev and the great run of protective Snake Ramparts. These triple earthworks, topped with viciously sharpened palisades, were designed to halt the vicious Pecheneg horsemen of the Steppe tribes who threatened Rus trade down the Dnieper and sometimes sought to advance on the city itself. Elizaveta had heard much about the Snake Ramparts and was eager to see for herself but first they must visit the new settlements.
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