The Grail of Sir Thomas

by Yury Nikitin

Endnotes

  (1) In the original text Oleg names himself kalika [kali’ka], which is a Russian word for pilgrim and wanderer. Since late Middle Ages, it was mostly used to mean a vagrant beggar singer of religious songs, especially the one physically impaired (Russian word kaleka [kale’ka], meaning a cripple, derived from it). Also, kalika is a character of Russian mythology. In some legends, they have great physical strength and perform heroic deeds and wonders. In non-fictional contexts, kalika is commonly translated into English as simply pilgrim, but that does not encompass the full scope of meanings conveyed in this fiction book and explained above, so the word wonderer was adopted instead to convey the original message as close as possible. (The references here and after by translator)

  (2) Rus’, or Kievan Rus’, is a Slavic state that existed in NE Europe, on the present-day territories of Ukraine, Belorussia and Western Russia, between the 8th and the 14th centuries AC.

  (3) Targitai is a legendary hero and ancestor of Scythians (mentioned by Herodotus and Diodorus). Koloksai is a legendary prince of Scythia, son to Targitai.

  (4) The word ustye [u’stje] also stands for the mouth of the river in Russian language today. The theory of the common Scythian roots of Russian, English and many other European and Asian nations advocated by Oleg here and forth in this book is one of many all-likely-to-be-true hypotheses in contemporary historical research in Russia and other countries.

  (5) A legendary northern land described by Herodotus and many other ancient writers. The author identifies it with the territories once occupied by Kievan Rus’ and now belonging to Russia, Ukraine, and Belorussia.

  (6) Justinian I the Great (483-565), Byzantine Emperor in 527-65. His Slavic origin implied by this book is rather a legend than a historical fact.

  (7) Old Russian name for Constantinople.

  (8) Scythia is an ancient region of SE Europe and Asia. The Scythian empire, which existed between the 8th and 2nd centuries BC, was centered on the northern shores of the Black Sea and extended from southern Russia to the borders of Persia.

  (9) An old Russian measure of weight (about 16.4 kg).

  (10) An old Russian measure of length (about 1.1 km)

  (11) Khazars are Turkic people who occupied a large part of southern Russia from the 6th to the 11th centuries and who converted to Judaism in the 9th century. The existence and ways of Hazars are entirely the author’s imagination.

  (12) In fact, Buddha was born in 563 BC and Mahomet in 570 AC

  (13) A hint on the well-known in Russia saying by Otto Bismarck, “The Russian man harnesses the horse slowly but drives fast.”

  (14) The five-pointed star is considered to be a Masonic symbol. Later, it became the official symbol of Communists who put five-pointed stars on the tops of five towers of Moscow Kremlin in 1935-37. Those stars were removed in the 1990s.

  (15) Old Russian name for Byzantines.

  (16) Theodora (500-48), Byzantine Empress, wife to Justinian I.

  (17) Old Russian name for British Isles.

  (18) A well-known hero of Russian epic.

  (19) Agathyrs, Gelon, and Scyth are legendary Scythian heroes, sons (or, by other versions, grandsons) of Targitai. According to the legend, Scyth was the only one of three brothers who succeeded in drawing Targitai’s bow, so he and his people remained in Scythia, while his brothers led their tribes away to settle down in other lands. The colonization of great caves by Agathyrs and his people is the author’s assumption.

  (20) Vladimir I the Great (958-1015), a Grand Prince of Kiev, ruler of Kievan Rus’ in 980-1015. Originally a Slavic pagan, he converted to Christianity in 988 and Christianized the Kievan Rus’. His having hundreds of wives and concubines while a Pagan is a historical fact.

  (21) Slavic tribes who lived to the north of the Black Sea between 4th and 7th century AD were named Antes by Byzantine writers of that time.

  (22) Herodotus (484-425 BC) wrote about giant ants who, in his opinion, lived in Scythia.

  (23) Sazhen is an old Russian measure of length (about 2.16 m).

  (24) “To pass Crimea and Rome” and “to have seen [spent a night under] the priest’s pear tree” are well-known Russian sayings about a person who has seen much of life (e.g. because he or she has traveled a lot) and who is supposed to be very experienced and worldly-wise.

  (25) A small river near Kiev. In the waters of Pochayna, Prince Vladimir performed the christening of all Kievins in 988 AC.

  (26) The ancient Russian writing (“lines and cuts”) and ancient Celtic writing actually look very similar at a glance. However, the possibility and probability of their common origin is an issue of debate in present-day academic literature.

  (27) In 1113 AC, there was a great riot of Kievins against the unjust economic and tax policy carried out by the administration of late Prince Svyatopolk. The riot was suppressed, but afterwards the next prince, Vladimir Monomakh, took some measures to ease the tax burden.

 

  Bonus: The Secret of Stonehenge, Sample Chapter

  If you enjoyed The Grail of Sir Thomas, look out for The Secret of Stonehenge,

  With the first peal, all the four gates of Kiev began to creak. Bearded guards, sleepy and angry, dug the heels of their metal-tipped boots into the ground and groaned with strain, applying themselves to the strong wooden wings. The Great City was opening to the world.

  The powerful sound of bells, as thick as frozen oatmeal kissel, slowly drifted along the paved city streets, squeezed into the closed shutters, waking people up.

  From the city center to the western gate, with a ringing clatter of hooves on the paving, two riders came on tall warhorses. They looked like two mounted towers. The first one was clad in steel armor from head to heel, according to the tradition of noble Franks. The second one could have been taken for a squire or servant if he were dressed better. No knight would tolerate a servant in a wolfskin jerkin, with a simple bow on his back and a rough club jutting out of his saddle bag instead of a proper weapon!

  The guards greeted the knight, their voices hoarse after a sleepless night spent drinking with him at a local inn. The foreign guest had been paying, so they’d called wantons and had fun with them, roared songs, played for money, arms and boots (by morning no one could remember what he owed others, so everyone just took their own things). But what fun can be there without a good scuffle? So they scuffled much and willingly, enjoyed themselves so that one now had his eye swollen, another his lips thick as flapjacks, and the third one was unable to get out of the sentry box. But that was good fun!

  Oleg gave a slack nod, though no one bellowed greetings to him. People were a little bit afraid of him. A silent one, unhurried and reserved. Never carousing, never drinking, he still looked able to stand for himself. His exorbitant strength could only be missed by a child or a blind man, and the guards on the gate were neither.

  Thomas held his horse, alerted. The way through the gate is blocked by three stocky, beastly-looking common men. All watch him closely, with searching eyes. They don’t look like warriors, but their moves show great strength, they resemble mighty bulls reared in the open. One muttered something and went straight for Thomas.

  “Don’t strike right off!” the wonderer whispered. “Let’s find out what they want.”

  The man stopped in front of Thomas, and the knight felt uneasy. The common man has broad shoulders, his body seems hard as rock, his arms strong enough to crush the knight’s armor like the bark of a rotten stump. His sharp eyes under the overhanging superciliary arches, heavy like mountain ridges, look in some aiming, demanding way.

  Two other men came slowly to flank Thomas. They smelled strongly of beer and home brew. All the three looked like woodcutters or stonemasons, of the kind that break tree trunks and stone blocks alike with bare hands.

  Thomas cast anxious glances around. The wonderer kept the sullen look on his face, a mysterious glitter in his green eyes, his red hair kept to his forehead with an iron hoop. He also looked like a wild woodcut
ter or stonemason, but he was by Thomas’s side. Not blocking his way.

  The common man asked in a deep strong voice that sounded like a roar of an old bear woken up, “Are you… from overseas?”

  “You guessed right,” Thomas answered in a constrained voice.

  “If from overseas,” the common man roared, his eyes fixed on Thomas, “you’ve seen more than those who stay at home.”

  “Who would argue?” Thomas said in a guarded way. “As one wise traveler said, he who took a walk around his house is wiser than he who never came outdoors.”

  The common man made a nervous swallow, his stentorian voice broke, a begging note appeared in it. “Yes, that’s just what I’m talking about. Please tell us, dear guest, give your advice… How to put Rus’ in order?”

  Thomas wanted to spit down to the other man’s feet. His legs were still trembling so that they made his horse sway, his heart pounding like a hare’s, but there was such grief and anguish in the common man’s voice that Thomas only grumbled, “Sir wonderer, let’s get out of this mad land. Can’t they see they are living here, not I? I’d give them pretty good advice!”

  “Rude, you,” Oleg complained. “Though a noble!”

  They left the gate behind, their horses walked briskly on the morning dew. The sky was clean as a shelled egg and blue as baby’s eyes, the air fresh as it usually is in the mornings. The day is going to be warm, though the trees along the road have already dressed in autumn gold and purple.

  The knight, Sir Thomas Malton of Gisland, listened to the church bells piously, crossed himself slowly, with diligence. Oleg frowned, his green eyes became dark. A strange faith, made for the slaves of Rome, is growing stronger and stronger in the once-free nation. Though through fire and blood, a hundred villages burnt, sorcerers being killed and crucified, along with those who refused to name themselves servants of a foreign lord, even the Lord of Heaven.

  Rus’ has had no slaves before, no tradition of slavery, but, just imagine, only few dare to protest openly now. The bravest men lurk in the villages where the Old Faith remains, and sorcerers only make their heathen temples in the thick of woods. Looks like our souls have much timidity if a man makes no attempt to knife the one insulting him to his face: You are a servant of the Heavenly Lord…

  Oleg’s horse, having had a good sleep and meal in Kiev, was eager to break into gallop. The rider had to hold it, looking back at Thomas. The knightly stallion is not fit for galloping: too heavy, and his rider is like a tower of steel. He would only make fifty sazhens at a gallop, then halt – just stand and slash. That’s enough to cleave enemy ranks, like with an axe. And the breach is penetrated by foots who always follow a knight in crowds, like dogs follow a furious bear.

  The strong fresh wind hit their faces. The sorcerer’s red hair flickered like a blazing torch held in gallop. Thomas’s white cloak, the color of swan’s wing, blew up and stretched behind, quivering. The huge red cross on the white cloth heralded proudly that the knight belonged to the Christ’s host that had freed the Holy Sepulcher valiantly from the impious Saracens.

  “On the way again,” Thomas said in a fine manly voice. “What is a man born for if not journeys?”

  Oleg looked asquint at the knight’s proud face. In his long life, he’d heard this question many times before. And many answers to it. All convincing, but all different. “Haven’t you swapped the cup for drink?”

  Thomas felt his bag hastily. The cup’s roundish side escaped his fingers for a while, his heart missed a beat. “Sir wonderer,” he said with displeasure, “Not only haven’t I swapped it for drink, but haven’t lost it at dice either! Though I’ve seen noble knights… yes, the ones of the highest birth, lose at dice not just money, horses and weapons but their wives and castles! They even lost more than castles – their own names! That’s the power of Satan, his skill to entrap weak souls.”

  “But you played,” Oleg teased him. “Though all games, according to your doctrine, were invented by Satan. They say it was why your god threw him down – Satan used to win each game.”

  Thomas said with dignity, “Sir wonderer, I don’t think Sir God would have won not a single game if he really sat down to play with the vile devil. But I think He would not even sit down near that one in the latrine. Sir Satan might have been cheating. Though no, it’s too… As it was, when Sir Satan used to sit on Our Lord’s right side and was not yet the sort he became here on earth.”

  He crossed himself piously. Oleg laughed. “Oh yes. He’s lived on earth among people for a while, and one who lies down with dogs, gets up with fleas.”

  Thomas looked puzzled. “Do you mean to say Satan became that vile after he rubbed elbows with people? Though… why not? Man is no angel but he’s craving for light, and the devil, in his malice, was getting lower and lower till he became worse than man. Then he also began to provoke man into becoming worse.”

  “Exactly. And games remained his domain.”

  “So I clashed with him! As befits a valiant knight, in my opponent’s field, and I also left the choice of weapons to him. I played that impious game, won, swapped my prize for drink, as it’s dishonorable to buy any good thing with that money, played again and won again! So I drank those men under the table. That was how I put the devil to shame.”

  Oleg twisted his head with delight. “Great! This doctrine… or faith, will go far if it allows such an interpretation of knightly revels that outstrip even those of sailors on the loose. Have you bought a horse with the money you won?”

  “A horse is allowed,” the knight replied sternly.

  “Why?”

  “From the height of his saddle, I’m strengthening the true faith. Such a horse can’t be a devil’s instrument. Just look how handsome he is! Sir wonderer, are you sure we’ll have to cross a forest?”

  “All Europe is covered with dark forest. As well as your Britain. It’s not the Saracen deserts you’ve got used to. Here wherever you ride, you’ll have to ride in wild woods. But it’s autumn now, the roads are already trodden. In spring there’s no way to walk, nor to ride.”

  “Trodden by whom?”

  “First by tramps like us, all sorts of beggars, knight-errants, outcasts and madmen, then by plain tradesfolk.”

  Thomas crossed himself. “Let it be forest then. I simply don’t like those shaggy men with knives, just like you, who jump out of shrubs. It makes me flinch, and that’s unworthy of a knight. Unworthy of me, for I have stormed the Tower of David and fought on the walls of Jerusalem.”

  The forest was growing ahead – thick, wild, impassable. The path ducked under the low branches and vanished at once, as though in a badger’s barrow. One could feel coolness within a hundred sazhens from the wall of trees. Their mighty trunks were dark, squat, gloomy. Even their dense crowns looked darker than usual.