The Constant Queen (5 page)

Halldor paused and Elizaveta felt the whole hall draw in its breath.

‘Witchcraft,’ he whispered into the silence.

There were gasps, a couple of small shrieks, swiftly muffled. Some of Halldor’s Old Norse words were lost on the crowd but there was no missing the tone and Elizaveta could not take her
eyes off him as he raised his hands.

‘Cnut sent a devil with a black cloak across the sun. We saw the shadow cross the blessed disc, drawing false night across the battlefield finger-space by finger-space until it consumed us
and we, who did not know the ground so well as they, were lost.’ Halldor’s voice dipped. ‘It was a rout, my lords and ladies – a treacherous, devious rout, for they sent
their extra numbers round the back of us under cover of their hellish shade and we, poor innocents, had no place to go, save to carve our way out – and that we did, but in the darkness it was
every man for himself and battles cannot be won that way. We tried to save our dear king but they followed the gold of his dragon banner to his last stand, slashed it to shreds and then cut him out
of our arms.’

Halldor pushed back a wide sleeve to show a livid wound almost from wrist to elbow. The hall gasped again.

‘Three of them there were,’ he went on, his voice more forceful now, ‘great lords all by the richness of their armour, though I knew them not in the evil mist. One struck him
in the thigh.’ Halldor thrust forward suddenly, right to the edge of the dais and those nearest flinched back. He prowled along the edge then suddenly jabbed his arm upwards. ‘One
thrust a spear beneath his mail coat and the last . . .’ Now he grabbed young Vladimir, sat at the end of the high table, and made a dramatic gesture across his throat ‘ . . . cut his
sainted neck.’

Vladimir obligingly sank onto his bench as if slain. There was a faint titter but all eyes were still on Halldor as he strode back to the centre of the dais.

‘He was gone,’ Halldor told the hall, his voice now echoing round the high, painted walls and into the over-reaching arches of the wooden parapets and roof above. ‘King Olaf
was gone and our cause with it and we had no choice but to flee to preserve our bodies and souls for vengeance.’

His voice rose on the final word, a thunder-clap of sound, and the released Kievan crowd roared their approval. Yaroslav rose, clapping, and everyone joined him until it seemed the very heroes
in the frescoes were applauding too.

‘You shall be a count, Halldor,’ Yaroslav announced. ‘I shall confirm it in court tomorrow.’

Elizaveta saw Halldor flush, the colour creeping visibly into his pock-marked cheeks and shooting up his squashed nose and out across his pate, and as it did so he hunched in on himself again
and, with a modest wave, collapsed back onto his bench.

‘And all that is true, Princess,’ he said to Elizaveta, ‘as God is my witness.’

Elizaveta could see now why no man had wished to talk of the evil day.

‘Cnut called down the night?’ she whispered.

‘I saw it with my own eyes, though I know not how.’

‘And that is why,’ Harald put in, his own fair face sober at the memory of the dark battle, ‘we will need a very great force to take Norway back out of his thieving
hands.’

Elizaveta nodded slowly.

‘You will do it, I know. You will take Norway back.’

‘I will, and rob him of Denmark and England too.’

‘England?’

‘Why not? ’Tis but a day or two’s sail from our western shores.’

Elizaveta looked at him, stunned by the glorious ambition shining from his fierce eyes.

‘’Tis a high aim, Harald.’

‘Then I will need the very best arrows. You will keep my gold, Elizaveta?’

His voice had stilled, grown solemn. She looked into his grey eyes and saw swirls of dark blue and gold within their steady colour, as if sunlit rivers were flowing through them, keen to reach
their destination.

‘With all my heart,’ she agreed.

Kiev, October 1031

‘N
ews of the Varangians!’

Vladimir came running into the boathouse where Elizaveta was sitting watching Jakob, the master boatbuilder, lovingly fit the first side strakes to the curved keel of Yaroslav’s new
trading vessel. It was a wide ship made for transporting furs, wax and weapons south down the Dnieper to Byzantium and not as sleek as a wave-slicing warship, but it was beautiful all the same.
Elizaveta had been happily absorbed in Jakob’s work for some time but now she leaped up and ran to her brother.

‘What news?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You said there was news, Vlad.’

Elizaveta grabbed his arm impatiently. Yaroslav had given Prince Harald and his men a commission in his guard and despatched them to the north to help quell a rebellion on the coast. They had
been gone all summer and Elizaveta was desperate for news of them.

‘There is,’ her brother agreed, maddeningly calm. ‘I just don’t know what. Three riders came in the gates an hour or so back.’

‘An hour? Why did you not find me sooner?’

‘Because, sister, you are very hard to find. I’ve been all over the bowers.’

Elizaveta grimaced.

‘It is too sunny for the bowers, especially with winter on its way, but no matter – how do you know the men have come from the Varangians?’

‘Because one of them is him . . .’

‘Prince Harald?’

‘No, not him. The other one – Ulf, is it?’

‘Ulf Ospakkson, yes. Are you sure?’

‘Course I’m sure. I’ve never seen a wilder mop of hair on a man. Will you come up to the palace, Lily?’

‘I certainly will.’ She ran over to the old boatbuilder and planted a kiss on his weathered cheek. ‘Thank you, Jakob.’

‘Pleasure, Princess, as always. Perhaps I will craft
you
a ship one day?’

‘Oh I do hope so – a sleek, curved one with fine carvings and an eagle’s head at the prow.’

‘An eagle?’ Jakob raised a shaggy eyebrow. ‘Very well then, I shall start practising my birds.’

‘Do.’

Elizaveta beamed at him then took Vladimir’s arm and headed outside. The boathouse was at the water’s edge in the trading district of Kiev known as the Podol, or Valley, as it stood
far below the royal kremlin up on the great plateau. The wooden walkways here were raised to escape the spring flooding and the houses, workshops and stores were similarly lifted on strengthened
cross-beam foundations.

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.