A Land Torn by Crusade and Rebellion - Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Soldiers of Christ"

BOOK EXCERPT

Gorodische, Novgorod Republic, June 1242

Prince Alexander Yaroslavich Nevsky was angry. He paced around the hall ranting at the dozen or so assembled courtiers and aides who shuffled uncomfortably, staring at the ground in an attempt to evade his ire. At one of the tables the monk Miroslav rebandaged my wounded shoulder, which seared like hot coals, fresh blood coursing down my arm. I clenched my teeth together, watching the prince to distract my mind from the shooting pain.

Indeed, angry did not come close to explaining the rage that consumed the usually amiable prince. His youthful face snarled and spat, and I was glad I could not understand the words that spewed from his mouth. No one dared to interrupt his tirade as he berated all those around him.

‘I have never seen him like this,’ Miroslav whispered. His deft fingers swabbed away the blood that dripped and pooled beneath the bench where I sat.

We were in the main hall of the prince’s palace in Gorodische, with the shutters flung open and the last light of the day throwing shadows across the rough timber walls. Outside, I could hear the hollering of children and the haggling of the stallholders, oblivious to the diatribe from their prince. The aroma of roasting meat drifted in on the breeze, making my stomach growl with hunger. Nearby a dog barked, and a bell tolled slowly from the adjacent church. On the table in front of me, one of the tallow candles crackled and popped, its acrid, sooty smoke curling into the air to hang like a cloud above our heads.

With his fury finally spent, Prince Alexander relented. He called for wine and took a seat on the bench opposite. Our appearance at the veche in Novgorod had not gone well, and no one had taken it worse than the prince. The council had come to no decision, rejecting the prince’s plea for peace with my Order and the Latin Church. It had turned into a riot, and I had been attacked by members of the crowd when Alexander’s personal druzhina had been overwhelmed.

Prince Alexander looked at me, snapping his fingers for Fergus, the surly Irish scribe who was recording my chronicle, to join us, which he did a moment later. Fergus did not like me. This was due to my Norman nobility and the damage my people had done to his land – not that I had anything to do with it, but that didn’t seem to mollify him. Alexander started talking quickly and Fergus tried to keep up with his translation.

‘Prince Alexander wishes to apologise for what happened to you at the veche,’ Fergus translated. ‘It was unforgiveable behaviour from drunken peasants. There will be punishment.’

I nodded. Without a doubt my recovery had been put back, but there was no point crying over spilt beer.

The wine arrived and Alexander drank deeply from the jug.

‘The veche can sometimes be rowdy,’ Fergus said, ‘but it does not normally degenerate into such violence.’

‘So you say.’ I winced as Miroslav finished binding my wounded shoulder. ‘It is strange that a prince cannot safeguard the security of prisoners in his care. What kind of ruler does not have control over his own city?’

There was a moment’s hesitation. Fergus looked at me dumbfounded. ‘Surely you do not expect me to ask Prince Alexander that?’

‘Why not? I would be interested to know the answer. I cannot imagine a prince in my own land being treated as such.’

Fergus narrowed his eyes. ‘You forget yourself, I am thinking. Keep in mind that you are only a prisoner now.’

That truth I could not forget, but after what had happened, I was also feeling irascible. And ill-temper often led to impulsive talk.

Prince Alexander said something else, and I could see that he was asking Fergus to translate my words. Considering my predicament, I wondered if I had gone too far. To question a prince, even if he was young enough to be my son, and especially considering his wrath of just a few moments earlier, was perhaps ill-judged. But no matter. It was done. The words could not be unsaid.

Fergus translated as I watched the prince’s face closely. He frowned and scratched his carefully trimmed beard, looking me directly in the eyes. For a moment, my breath caught in my throat, before Alexander threw his head back and roared with laughter. Fergus watched and I sighed with relief. The prince took another long draught of wine before addressing my words.

‘The boyars have always proven difficult,’ Fergus explained, translating again. ‘But the balance of power has changed since the battle on the ice. No longer can they drive us from the city, as they once did before. Prince Alexander will consolidate his position and impose his will. The prince says that whatever happened at the veche changes nothing. He will make them see that the real threat comes from the Tatars, not your people. It is just a matter of time.’

Fergus had told me previously that the people of Novgorod had banished Prince Alexander and his retainers, only to call him back shortly before the battle on the ice, where I had been wounded and captured.

‘Prince Alexander also liked the way you dealt with the first man that attacked you at the veche,’ Fergus continued. ‘The way you kicked his legs out from under him. He says you are tough for an old man.’

I remembered. That was just before another man grabbed my wounded shoulder and I passed out from the agony. ‘Well, if I cannot deal with a drunken peasant then I might as well dig my own grave.’

‘Nevertheless, you have been badly hurt and will probably want to rest.’

He was right. I was tired and my shoulder burned like the devil. It was time to sleep. Miroslav helped me to my feet.

‘You need to rest for a few days,’ Alexander said through Fergus. ‘If you are feeling better tomorrow, he would like to show you around Gorodische. And when you are ready, we can resume your chronicle.’

‘And my ransom?’

‘We have already discussed this,’ Fergus said. ‘You are too wounded to travel far, and Prince Alexander wants the chronicle finished. He says let there be no more talk of ransom.’

I was too tired to argue over it. This issue could be discussed when I was feeling better. Miroslav supported me and led me back to my cell-like room.