Vikings Strike Kiev
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We slipped out the abandoned gatepost of the Gora.
Flames swept through much of the city below, particularly along the waterfront, but the citadel was practically untouched; Rurik clearly had other plans for it.
The precious Khazar banner - golden Menorah on sky blue - had been ripped down, and a blood red banner with a raven in flight now flew above the battlements of the Detinets. “That must be Rurik’s battle banner,” said Lada.
Northling raiders were still charging up the Borichev Trail to join their leader. “The Road of the Heralds is swarming with Vikings,” I told Lada.
“Yes,” she said, “but the Podol had not yet been fired. If we scale the Khoryvitsa hill from behind, we can find my Brother.”
“I wonder where the Princess Deborah is,” I said.
“Our best chance to help is to find the druzhina,” Lada answered sensibly, and I nodded.
“Can you still run, David?” I asked him.
“I can run anywhere, Jo-jo,” he answered. “Let’s go save the Princess.”
“Attaboy!,” I said, grinning. “The stables are just over there. Let’s see if we can save Rakhsh and Lada’s pony.”
The whinnies of horses, braying of donkeys, and moaning of camels filled our ears as we approached the stableyard.
“The animals are terrified of the fire,” murmured Lada. A loud hawing interrupted my grief. “Rakhsh!” I exclaimed.
There was the great onager, hooves striking a stable door across the yard. I raced over and embraced his long face. His Mother, Akvan Div, nuzzled my shoulder, and in the next stall Father’s great warhorse Bzow, the gift of Princess Bevreli, pawed the earth.
“I know not where my pony is,” said Lada. “I pray he has broken free, but cannot know.”
“Why don’t you and David take Akvan Div?” I suggested. As if in acknowledgement, Rustam’s demon donkey, usually so wild with all but the Daylamite, lowered his head and nuzzled the blonde girl. “Rustam would want you to have him, Lada.”
“That is so,” she agreed. “Well, David, will you join me on this beautiful onager?”
“No!” said David. “I’m taking care of Bzow for Father!” And with an agility that shocked me, he clambered up a little stool and lept on the back if the huge black warhorse.
“David!” I shouted in fear, recalling Mother’s warning. But Bzow did not buck or rear. Gently, the mighty beast turned to face my Little Brother and blinked slowly, as though accepting him in place of Father.
I exchanged glances with Lada. “The animals will move faster with one rider each,” I admitted. “Do you think he is safe on that great creature?”
David answered before Lada could.
“Hyah!,” he exclaimed, and Bzow set off, leaving Lada and I little choice but to urge our donkeys after him.
We set a brisk pace up the hill.
The Podol still seemed relatively untouched by the violence, but the roads were clogged with merchants in carts, their oxen and mules bumping against each other in the streets and straining to get to the East wall of the city. “There’s the korchma from last night,” I said, pointing. Do you think he is still there?”
“I would wager my golden hair on it, and his,” said Lada with conviction. And indeed, as we burst through the tavern door, there was mighty Ilya, draining a mug of mead. Sadko was strumming a sad tune on his gusli, and the rest of the men in the tavern - I was surprised to find it rather full - seemed determined to sit and drink until the raiders found them and brought the final oblivion.
Ilya wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and blinked slowly. “Sestra maia,” he said with wonderment. “So, Dazh Bog, the giving god, brings you back to me again.”
“This time for good, moy brat,” she pledged. “As your polyanitsa or whatever you need.”
Ilya rose and his tree trunk legs and cracked his knuckles. “Sadko!” he shouted. “Let’s have a jollier tune, shall we? Kiev is in need of a bogatyr.”
“Straightaway,” answered the Novgorodian, strumming out something lively and joyous.
“Where’s that good-for-nothing Nighingale and his men?” asked Ilya. “I’m of a mind to slay a Northman or two.”
“This is the merchant quarter, isn’t it?” I reminded him. “If the Vikings haven’t gotten here yet, and the merchants themselves are fleeing, then Churilo will be taking whatever he can.”
“That makes sense,” said Ilya, nodding slowly. “To the warehouses, then.”
We burst out of the korchma. Once we knew what we were looking for, it didn’t take long to notice the better dressed woodsmen, heading away from the fleeing crowds and back into the chaos. “Plyonkovich’s men,” said Ilya.
We followed them a short way, and they led us, as predicted, to a merchant warehouse.
Churilo himself, dressed in green velvet, was heaping piles of furs and beeswax candles into a large cart.
“Solovei, the Nightingale!” hailed Ilya. “Will you go into battle with me, as my drug?”
“I should rather avoid battle altogether, Muromets,” said Churilo, “but alas, it seems that it has found us. Behold!”
Unhappily, a squad of Vikings had located the warehouse, led by he who, after Rurik, I perhaps least wished to see. “Captain Askold!” I shouted at him, and then, “Traitor!”
Askold stopped short. “The Prince of David!” he shouted. “Catch him, Brother!” By his side, Jarl Dir grinned. He leapt forward in a great bound and I tumbled backwards. Suddenly, Askold himself was upon me. The huge Viking that had been my shipmate grabbed my neck in his great right fist, fingers large as sausages, lifting me skyward.
“Young Josiah,” he shouted. “I serve only myself, and therefore am a traitor to no man. But I shall be richly rewarded when I bring you back to Roderick!”
You shall not,” said Lada viciously, and stabbed the huge Northman in the side.
He screamed in pain and dropped me, grabbing her by the arm. “I remember you now, girl,” he said viciously. “I made you my slave in Murom, long ago, didn’t I? You fetched a good price in Roman Miklagard, as I recall. But this time, I shall keep you for myself.”
“You shall do no such thing, slaver,” announced Ilya, and smashed the Norse captain in the face with both fists so hard that he flew backward. When he rose, his nose was flattened and blood was streaming from between his lips.
“You will regret that, Slav!” said Captain Askold, and pulled his great sæx from his belt, taking a fighters stance and wielding it in both hands.
“Play for me, Sadko,” said Ilya, bounding forth unarmed to meet the Viking shipmaster.
“Use this, bogatyr,” shouted Churilo, and tossed him a jeweled sword that must have been an ornament to some wealthy local merchant. Ilya caught it in a single hand, then quickly parried Askold’s sæx with the blade. All about him, the Nightingale’s robbers had joined in combat with the Northling crewmen - men I had sailed beside for weeks, and wonder of wonders, the druzhina seemed to be getting the better of them.
“A bright falcon didn’t swoop down on the geese, on the swans, and on the small migratory gray ducks,” sang Sadko. “A mighty bogatyr swooped down on the Sea Tsar’s faithless raiders!”
As Askold’s Vikings fell backwards, he grimaced, blood still streaming from his nostrils and the side where Lada had stuck him. “Retreat!” he shouted at last. “Back to the riverfront, men, back to Skidbladnir! They’ll never get the better of us in our ships!”
“If he retreats, we pursue!” shouted Ilya boldly. “After him, men! To the broad and swiftly flowing Dniepr!” The druzhina took off at a run down the hill slope, singing a song of war to Sadko’s jaunty tune, weapons raised for combat.
“The Dniepr,” I considered aloud, my feet pounding the dirt road in time with the song. “Lada! I know where the Princess Deborah must be.”
“The Princess! Where, big Brother?” asked David excitedly, panting a little with exertion.
“At the Audience Chamber yesterday, she said Álmos and Árpád were coming with the Magyar host,” I reminded him. “Shortly, she said.” I frowned. “They won’t know what’s happened to Lord Levedi yet, but if they’re truly close, they’ll have heard by now she’s in danger. Knowing Father, he’ll have thought to send a pigeon, even if no one else did.”
Lada looked at me skeptically. “So where is the Princess then?” she asked.
“Where would the horsemen enter the city?” I asked her. “They’ll ride up the steppe from the South, following the path of the River. And Deborah loves water and moonlight.”
“The River is just where they should not go,” cautioned Lada. “It’s where the pirates have their power, where they can use their ships. The horse lords, simply seeking to water their mounts, may not know this, but Deborah will.”
I glanced up at the sky. “It’s the full moon of Elul. G-d is sitting in judgment of the world.” I frowned. “Princess Deborah is deeply connected to those rhythms, I’m certain she is. She’ll trust in G-d to protect her.”
“Bozhe moi,” she breathed, and then she called out: “Ilya! Stop! Council of War!”
Ilya slowed to a halt, and so did Sadko on his gusli. Churilo ran a few paces further, then whistled like a Nightingale to halt his men. “This is no time for talk. They are getting away, sestra maia!” Ilya insisted. “We must continue after them.”
Lada shook her head. “Nyet, Ilyushka,” she said. “Prince Josiah thinks we can still save the Khazar Princess. She’ll be on the riverbank, approaching the South gate, he says.”
“What use to us is a Khazar princess?” asked Ilya in apparent confusion.
Churilo, however, placed his hands on his hips and cocked his head thoughtfully, almost like a songbird. “A Princess could be worth a ransom,” he mused carefully. “She could be worth the honors of a principality, or even a Khaganate.” He licked his lips unpleasantly. “And this particular Princess has other virtues.”
“You are not her equal, Nightingale,” I cautioned him. “Don’t presume too much.”
“In ordinary times, I’d agree,” said Solovei, “but as it is… Ilya, Josiah’s council is sound.”
“You are giving up on the traitor Askold,” warned Ilya. “The man who enslaved my Sister. He will reach Skidbladnir and escape.”
“If we save the Princess, it is a fair trade,” Lada said.
Ilya nodded decisively. “South it is, then.” Sensing David’s exhaustion, the great bogatyr suddenly swung him up onto his shoulders with unexpected gentleness. David cheered with joy, and I recalled riding on my own Uncle Judah’s shoulders on the banks of the Euphrates, so very long ago.
Now, we were running South, instead of West. We exited the densely built Podol, and from our position atop Khoryvytsa, we could see a great distance, like Moses on Mount Horeb. There on the shore was the red, dragon-prowed knorr ship Skidbladnir on which he had sailed such a great distance with our enemies. Just beyond it was a huge black ship with a ravenous wolf’s head on its prow, that could only be Rurik’s Naglfar.
“Not there,” I said. I scanned farther South. Suddenly, David shouted. “I see her, Jo-jo!” called David. Look, look down there!”
From high atop Ilya’s shoulders, he could see what I could not. “What is it, Brother?” I asked him.
“A lady in white,” he said. “Running away from us down the river. Josiah! There’s a huge ship right beside her! There are ladies jumping off it, ladies with swords!”
“Ladies with swords?” I exchanged a look with Lada, and she nodded sharply. “A challenge fit for a polyanitsa, then,” said she. “Let us rescue her.”
Churilo sighed dramatically. “The things I do for love,” he said. “Coming, Ilya, you great bear?”
“We shall regret this,” said Ilya, “but aye, I’m coming. Play something jaunty, Sadko, the battle is nearly upon us, and what a battle it shall be!”
As we rounded the slope of the hill of Scheckovitsa, I got a clear glance at the riverbank, and saw straightaway that he was right.
There she was on the shoreline - Deborah, curly hair like burnished mahogany reflecting the flaming city and the light of the full moon. Moored on the riverbank beside her was a knorr ship painted deep purple and flying black sails, its prow depicting a woman in a severe helmet with wings spreading to either side.
And disembarking from the ship, as David had said, were women with swords - women in full armor, blades as long as their hair, every bit as fierce and impressive as the carving on their ship. Their leader, a tall beauty with flowing hair the color of straw, was running ahead of her women, bearing down on the Princess with terrible speed.
Princess Deborah was running, but not fast enough, it was clear. She had made her way on foot from the Gora, as had we, while the women warriors had sailed with the current down the Dniepr. “Princess!” shouted the fearsome lady. “Surrender yourself!”
“Never!” called Princess Deborah in defiance, but the gap was closing, and she knew it. Sadko struck up a haunting melody on his gusli, perhaps intending to distract the shieldmaidens, but it was a serious misstep. It was Deborah who looked back, eyes meeting mine in a shock of recognition - as her pursuer sprung forward and grabbed her by the neck.
“You belong to my shieldmaidens now,” she said, grinning.
Then, looking around, she murmured, “by the gods, what is that music? It sounds like the Harp of Bragi.” She caught sight of us, and her eyes widened.
“Well! It seems a few brave Khazars are still fighting. So, you dare to challenge Ingfríðr the Valkyrie, Sister of Roderick, your new Khagan? Do you want to play with my ladies, big man?” she taunted Ilya. “We are more than a match for you, I think. My ladies sail Hringborn, named for Baldur’s craft, best of all ships, and it has made them strong.”
“I have never fought a female,” said Ilya. “If my drug Alyosha, mocker of women, were here, he would make short work of you.”
“I have no such compunction,” said Lada, and drawing her dagger, she sprang at Ingfríðr.
“I find that I do not either,” said Churilo, green velvets billowing in the night air as his finger rings twinkled in the moonlight, and whistled like a nightingale again. His men surged forward, and shortly met the shieldmaidens sword to sword, spear to spear.
Ingfríðr hurled Princess Deborah to the side, and I rushed towards her and clasped her palm. “Princess,” I said. “Come with me! We must get you out of here.”
She withdrew her hand from my grasp with surprising fierceness. “Leave me be, Josiah!” she said harshly. “I have this handled, in my own way.”
“I can see that,” I said in astonishment. “But surely you won’t refuse the aid of my druzhina?”
“Your druzhina, is it now, Josiah?” she asked. “I have a plan, and you are interfering.”
I stepped backward as if slapped, and suddenly felt myself caught by soft hands and held against a cold metal breastplate. I felt myself being lifted by my shoulders and spun about. Ingfríðr the Valkyrie had to hold me a good foot above the ground to look me in the eye. “Josiah, is it?” she said. “My Brother is seeking you, Jarl David’s heir.”
Continue the Journey
Sneak peek at more of the adventures in Josiah’s quest to save Geonic Age Jewry.
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In the garden of childhood, a promise is made — just as the future is glimpsed through a lattice and an unfinished game of Shahtranj.
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In the jeweled halls of Baghdad, a deadly roar interrupts diplomacy — and a father races to save his daughter.
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