Vladimir had never secured Thea’s little brother Ulf’s release from Normandy. Despite the secret request he had sent to King William, he was refused. Ulf was much too valuable a hostage and besides, William had his scribe write that the boy was receiving an education in Normandy. He would neither want to leave his religion nor his Norman friends. Ulf, the king’s scribe wrote, was destined for the monastery.
‘I am sure that is not true,’ Thea said when the letter with this response arrived in Kiev. ‘I shall write to him.’
‘Maybe so, but at least he is safe and in good health. Leave well alone. You will not write.’ That was clearly a battle Thea was not going to win. Instead she had angrily fingered the swan amulet she wore about her neck. She could not find it in her heart to forgive the Bastard William, even though it was the past and no amount of ill-wishing could bring her father back. Nothing would happen to reunite her with her mother this side of heaven.
Her mother had never responded to her letter of years before. She was sure that Elditha had not received it. If she was not permitted to write to William the Bastard then she would write to her mother once more. She simply wrote that she hoped her mother was well and that she had given birth to a son whom they called Harold. She sent her letter secretly with Katya’s father who had known priests whom he asked to find a way to get it to Canterbury. No reply came. She despaired and cursed William. When Iziaslav was born she wrote another letter similar to the first announcing the birth of her second son. This time she entrusted it to Earl Connor who would that spring return to his wife in Novgorod and because one of his ships was sailing to England.
Her little brother, Ulf, was lost in a dark Norman world. Against her better judgement and the teachings of her adopted Russian Church, Thea once again ill-wished William who had destroyed her family and whose family she hoped would one day destroy each other.
29
January 1078
‘Will there be a coronation?’ Thea asked Vladimir as they sat on a cushioned bench in the palace hall. Her feet were freezing after having stood in the church nave all morning through Uncle Sviatoslav’s long funeral service. She raised her slippered feet towards the fire, and thankfully sipped from the warming cup of kvass her husband offered her, before passing him back the cup. He drank deeply. He had not answered her question. ‘Will they crown your father?’ she asked quietly.
Vladimir set the cup down on the bench between them and hunched over the blaze, his head close to hers. She felt his breath on her hair causing her veil to slightly move. ‘Unlikely,’ he muttered into her ear. ‘There is much to be considered.’
She turned her head and held his dark eyes with a quizzical look. His forehead had creased. He was tense. She felt his concern. She saw it on his countenance. ‘I hope they consider soon. I dislike indecision.’
‘I do not think your likes or dislikes will be considered, my wife,’ Vladimir said as he shifted along the bench slightly. His voice was kindly but firm. Women, of course, she remembered, had no place involving themselves in decisions made by men. Well one day that must change, she decided there and then. My time will come. If Vladimir ever rules this land, I shall have my say.
Soon enough, she knew that the women would retire to the terem. The men would remain in the hall where they would discuss the future. And that future, to Thea’s mind, now looked extremely unsettled.
Sviatoslav’s sons and Vsevolod, her father-in-law, would not agree about the succession. After all, Iziaslav was still an exile. He had sons as well. Perhaps his sons would return to Kiev from Italy, where they had sought shelter, to claim their inheritance.
Sviatoslav’s coffin was to be taken by sleigh to Chernigov where it would be laid to rest in the Holy Saviour Cathedral. Prince Vsevolod would ride north with the funeral procession in the company of the Chernigov boyars. Vladimir was to remain in Kiev just in case there were the usual disputes over land and property between the nobles and merchants who sat on the town council. Thea was glad he was to stay behind and she determined to make him discuss the more interesting disputes with her. Who knows what disputes could erupt in Chernigov? Best to stay on the margins of those.
It is still Christmas, she thought, and it is not going to end happily. There had been none of the usual festivities, great feasts or dancing and storytelling. All that had been banished because Prince Sviatoslav had lain dying in a darkened chamber. Instead, over Christmas, the court of Kiev attended endless candlelit church services praying for his recovery, but despite everyone’s prayers, Sviatoslav had died anyway.
Across the room noblemen had gathered in huddles, whispering. Many nobles said that God had frowned upon this grand prince who had stolen his brother’s throne. Serious-faced priests carrying tall crosses moved between groups. Vladimir glanced over at the young noblemen who were his cousins, Sviatoslav’s sons, Boris, Gleb and Oleg. The princes were deep in conversation with their own boyars who had travelled in bitter weather to Kiev for the funeral. In a few days they would escort the coffin back for the interment in Holy Saviour at Chernigov. At least it was so cold the corpse would not go putrid. And when the Chernigov priests opened the coffin lid to place a relic inside to help Sviatoslav on his way to heaven his rigid body would not stink.
Thea’s eyes followed her husband’s watchful glances.
‘No coronation,’ Vladimir repeated. He lifted a poker and stirred a log into life, creating a myriad of sparks. ‘Sviatoslav’s family will remain in Chernigov. It controls the Dnieper trade north, a bigger land than that surrounding Kiev. Just think of the taxes! My cousins will want to hold onto it. However … Katya’s father, Dimitri, has been sent to Germany to bring Uncle Iziaslav back.’ His eyes looked stern as he placed two long, manicured fingers on his lips. ‘Do not breathe a word of it, my love, not even to Katya who has no idea where her father has gone.’
‘Katya’s father … go on,’ she whispered, leaning forward with her feet now planted firmly on the tiled floor.
‘If my father brings Uncle Iziaslav back to Kiev and supports him, my father will get …’
Seeing what he was saying, she finished his sentence, ‘Chernigov. He will be next in line for Chernigov.’
‘Shush, Thea. Do not say it so loudly.’
She shook her head as she thought for a moment. ‘But if our noble father becomes grand prince after Iziaslav, it could be you who gets Chernigov.’
He smiled at her. ‘Exactly! You are quick, my sweet wife. Chernigov is a prize. But you see, it is not just about Chernigov. My father does not want to be grand prince. He believes that God would frown on him if he sat on Kiev’s throne while the rightful grand prince lives in exile. He regretted supporting Sviatoslav in the end; backed the wrong brother.’
Sometimes Thea did not believe that God cared. He had not cared that Duke William had taken the throne of England. He had allowed the dispossessed English to suffer. Some said it had been her father’s fault. In 1066, worried nobles had said that the long-tailed star that had shone in the Easter night sky had been proof of God’s displeasure with the English for allowing Harold Godwinson to be crowned as their king. He had broken a promise to recognise Duke William as King of England, a promise made over relics. ‘I doubt God would be displeased if your father kept peace in the land and exercised fair rule and even-handed judgement over his people.’
A tall, cross-carrying priest passed close to their bench and bowed to them. ‘Best stop this conversation, my lady,’ Vladimir said. ‘There may be ears in the walls.’ He glanced across the room again. Again, she followed his watchful eyes. The women were assembling behind the widow.
‘You must go and join them,’ Vladimir remarked.
Thea noticed Olga hovering beside Princess Oda. ‘Must I? Well, I suppose it is expected.’ She was irritated that she must leave the comfort of the hearth. She felt resentful at being banished from male conversation.
‘You must, my sweet.’ He turned to her and patted her hand. ‘And I must put on a sembl
ance of sorrow for my deceased uncle, especially around my cousins.’
Boris, Gleb and Oleg were approaching their bench. They moved together as if one, same pace, same gait. Well, trouble brews there for us all, Thea mused. When they learn Vsevolod’s plans for Kiev, they will be furious and, in a way, she could not help thinking, as one who had, herself, been dispossessed, one cannot blame them. Rus law decreed that Chernigov went to the second senior prince and if Iziaslav returned Vsevolod would without doubt take up that position and rule Russia’s richest city after Kiev.
‘I shall find Katya and bring her with me,’ she said quickly, standing up. ‘Though, my prince, I have no desire to be forced into conversation with those women.’
‘It is only one afternoon.’ Vladimir sighed, and turned to speak to his cousins.
The widow’s ladies began to exit the hall as if they were a pack of pups clinging to a protective mother bear. Except Oda was not protective; she was vulnerable. Her stepsons’ wives were the she-wolves of the palace. Thea knew them to be greedy, silly and scheming.
As she made ready to find Katya and her warm mantle, Thea wondered what protection Oda of Germany would get, now that she was a widow. She would depend upon the goodwill of her stepsons. Thea quickly wove her way through the press of people and called to Katya, who stood amongst the female servants, to fetch her boots and her mantle. She bowed to Prince Vsevolod but her father-in-law was deep in conversation with one of his boyars and never noticed her. She was, after all, only a woman.
Feeling annoyed by his dismissive attitude, she reached the entrance where Katya was waiting with her boots and mantle. Katya helped Thea remove her slippers and replace these with her boots. By the time Thea had her mantle gathered around her shoulders and her brooch pin securing it closed, Princess Anya had already disappeared through the outer doorway with her ladies. I expect she does not want to speak with them either today.
They climbed an outer staircase to the terem. Off came boots and on went the slippers again. The widow sat on the winged chair closest to the heat of a huge stove. The other women were seated on benches that were placed in a large circle close to the stove. Thea joined them after sending Katya to sit with the lesser ladies near the door.
They drank honeyed wine and ate cakes. At first the conversation was about the sadness of Sviatoslav’s illness. Afterwards it turned to the funeral and how chill St Sophia had been. ‘My poor bones,’ one elderly noblewoman remarked. ‘I cannot do it anymore,’ she complained. ‘The cathedral is draughty.’
You could be next, Thea considered, but did not say it of course.
A servant hurried over to the elderly lady with a hot brick wrapped in cloth to warm her feet. ‘I shall have chilblains,’ she said by way of explanation.
The women close to her sympathised but as the wine loosened their tongues they forgot the old lady and were soon commenting on who was present that day and who was missing. Many nobles lived on estates in outlying districts from where only narrow snowy tracks led to Kiev. They had sent outriders ahead to say that they could not break through and had returned from whence they came.
Soon they ran out of comfortable conversation. It was apparent that all wondered about the succession, though because none spoke of it in Princess Anya’s presence, they sat in silence.
Anya, herself, was first to break it by saying to Oda, the German widow, ‘What do you intend to do now?’ As she spoke it felt as if a chill wind had entered the chamber. The widow looked through Anya as if she had not heard the question. Anya tried again. ‘I just mean, Oda, will you chose to dwell in Kiev or Chernigov?’
‘What a great question that is,’ the widow said at last. She shifted her considerable bulk in her winged chair and grasped the arms.
‘I am sorry. It was insensitive of me to ask,’ Anya said.
After a moment’s pause Oda said in her thickly accented Russian, ‘No, it is best to speak about it.’ Everyone’s eyes were on her. Everyone was waiting for her to speak her mind. No one liked her stepdaughters. She took a breath and said, ‘Yaroslav, my child, is only ten years old. His three stepbrothers insist on keeping him with them. But, there is clearly no place for me here. I must return to my homeland.’ It was obvious that she did not want to go back to Trier because tears welled up in her eyes.
Oda was Sviatoslav’s second wife. Though she was very plump, she was young and handsome, particularly when she smiled her sad smile. It was likely that her important relation, the third Henry, the Holy Roman Emperor, would find her another husband soon enough.
The two young foolish wives of Oleg and Gleb looked at Oda from where they sat on the opposite bench. ‘Yaroslav will have two mothers now instead of one,’ Oleg’s wife ventured in a honeyed voice.
Thea doubted that the young woman cared for Oda’s child one bit. It would be the boy’s nurses and tutors who would care for him. She wondered how the poor, sad German widow really felt about the family’s plans for her son. If those silly princesses tried to be mother to Harold, Thea knew that she would fight against them with freshly grown talons for the occasion.
‘Your son will no doubt visit you, Princess Oda,’ she said in as gentle manner as she could manage.
‘Indeed, my dear, indeed, and that is a great comfort.’ Princess Oda reached out to Lady Olga who was seated beside her during the exchange and clasped Olga’s hand. ‘My loving Olga is to travel with me. She will remain by my side until I am settled.’ The widow turned to Olga with pleading eyes. ‘Won’t you, Olga?’
The widow was too trusting. Thea was sure that Olga only cared about herself.
Yet, to her surprise, Olga tenderly stroked Princess Oda’s head. ‘Princess, it is agreed. I shall stay with you.’
Anya exchanged a glance with Thea as if to say ‘good riddance to Lady Olga,’ before addressing Princess Oda again, ‘In a fair world your son should remain with you. If you like I shall speak with my husband on the matter. You will not be departing Rus lands before summer.’
Oda smiled. ‘You are kind, Anya.’
‘Princess Oda, tell us this, do your stepsons intend to remain in Chernigov until the succession is decided?’ Anya ventured.
Thea saw frowns on the wives’ faces as Anya spoke. Oda said, ‘My stepsons say that Chernigov is their principality. Until Gleb inherits Kiev after Vsevolod’s death, they say, they have insisted that they shall remain there. In that event, Gleb will be the senior prince of his generation, will he not? As for Boris, he is a monk.’
Gleb’s wife was nodding vehemently. ‘Absolutely, and when he has Kiev, our son will inherit Chernigov.’
Anya smiled serenely and said smoothly, ‘Not quite, my dear. Do not forget how their cousin, Sviatopolk, who is exiled with his father to the German Empire, is first in line of their generation, more senior than they. The boyars of Kiev have not yet decided which prince will succeed. Prince Iziaslav may yet return to Kiev.’
‘A returned much-hated prince. I think not.’ Lady Olga leaned forward and spoke clearly as if it was all decided already. ‘No, Princess Anya, you will be the next grand princess here. The boyars will choose Prince Vsevolod. My husband has that on good authority.’ She added rudely, ‘Just think how the Kiev nobles will love to have a Steppe Kipchak princess as their queen.’
‘I think they would like it very well, especially a princess as kind, beautiful and as educated as Princess Anya,’ Thea ventured. She turned to Anya before Olga said another word. ‘My lady Anya, perhaps we should leave and return to my palace now. The hour is late. Some of these ladies have much to do before they depart for Chernigov in the morning.’
In that moment Thea was glad that Princess Anya had chosen to stay with her while Sviatoslav’s widow, her stepnephews and their retainers occupied the princely Kiev palace.
Anya nodded, ‘Indeed, daughter, it is growing chillier here. My children have not seen their mother all day.’
She turned her head and clicking her fingers she called for her waiting women. K
atya rushed forward to Thea surrounded by Princess Anya’s ladies. They bundled Thea and Princess Anya into their mantles. The women of the Sviatoslavichi rose from their stools and politely bowed. Thea bowed back. She felt sorry for Princess Oda, unloved by that family and apparently dependent on Lady Olga. There were false smiles on the Sviatoslavichi women’s faces as Anya and Thea departed for their waiting sleighs. Thea thought, poor unwanted German Oda.
The Sviatoslavichi women were not Thea’s friends. When Oleg’s and Gleb’s two wives found out that they were to leave wealthy Chernigov for nondescript principalities in the Rus hinterlands, their verbal swords would be bloodied and, as Thea confided to Anya, she hoped that her family would be out of the line of attack when the battle began.
30
February 1078
In February, there were ceaseless quarrels amongst the boyars and increased pressure on Vsevolod to rule. Vladimir and Thea argued because he told her to mind her own business when she gave him her kopekworth of advice. He stayed away from her and she ignored him as she walked boldly into the hall followed by Katya, sometimes with Gudrun, and greeted whomever she chose to greet. On crisp mornings she accompanied Gudrun out into market places wrapped in a concealing mantle with only a page to carry her parcels. That way she was able to find out the peoples’ thoughts. She listened and she watched. They were afraid that when spring came the Sviatoslavichi brothers would burn their homes and destroy their trade and if they did not the Steppe tribes would burst through the gates and fire the city. Thea wondered what her silent husband’s equally silent father intended to do about the complaints. They must talk. However there seemed to be no resolution to their own quarrel. They passed each other in the palace halls and only greeted each other briefly. He did not, as she had expected him to do, banish her to the terem.
The Betrothed Sister Page 29