PART ONE
Chapter first

What is described in this book happened a very, very long time ago: over seven hundred years ago, in terrible times for the Russian people, during the time of the Mongol-Tatar yoke in Rus'.
It was the end of the sultry summer of 1250. The bright sun shone generously over the mournful city of Vladimir, in which many wastelands and ruins were still visible from the recent invasion of the Horde led by Khan Batu.
The Klyazma River, as if nothing had happened, curled and sparkled under the mountain in a green, lush meadow. And the children, as in good times, swam, splashed and loudly called to each other on the shallows near the large wooden bridge into the city. Some of them threw themselves straight from the river onto the hot sand, rolled out in it, and basked in the sun.
Only the boy did not bathe. He sat separately from everyone else on the opposite, low bank, on a pole transverse gate that blocked the entrance to the bridge. In appearance, he seemed no older than eight years old, thin, blond, disheveled. His face was haggard, but lively and quick-witted. He was barefoot, his little feet were on tiptoes. Dressed in a torn, faded shirt with a belt and hard, tube-like pants made of blue and blue stripes.
Here he is sitting on the bridge gate blocking the bridge, dangling his bare feet and exposing one or the other shoulder to the sun. From time to time he stands on a pole and peers into the distance of the country road.
- Uncle Akindin, the carts want to drive across the bridge! - he shouts somewhere down into the shadow of a large, spreading willow tree near the bridge.
A rough, lazy voice responds to him from under the shore:
– Why are you yelling?! Do you want to scare away the fish?.. It’s not the first time you’ve been lazy sitting on my bridge, you yourself should know: take the pavement from the passers-by - that’s all your business. If the coons give it back, raise the pole and let them pass...
The boy runs up to the stopped carts. The cart owners pay him for the journey. Instead of money there is a squirrel skin with a head and claws - a muzzle. The owner of the bridge strictly forbade Grinka - that’s the boy’s name - to accept old, worn-out skins, and demands that they pay with completely new ones.
- They gave it away! - Grinka shouts to the owner.
Akindin Chernobay - a wealthy merchant, moneylender and owner of the bridge over the Klyazma, a fat, damp middle-aged man, dark in complexion, with swollen eyes - sitting in the cold under a willow tree, lazily raises his right hand and pulls the rope from below. This rope dangles over his shoulder. The bridge gate there, at the top, slowly rises like a well crane, and the carts pass across the bridge. But Chernobay doesn’t even blink an eye. He still keeps his eyes fixed on the water: the wet sand of the shore near the paving maker is all studded with fishing rods, and Chernov needs to keep an eye on the floats: are they biting?..
Grinka rushes off and hands over the travel card to his evil owner.
Today is Sunday, and that’s the only reason why the merchant is sitting near the bridge: Akindin Chernobay decided to have fun with fishing. And it’s not the bridge tolls that make the merchant rich!

The late Prince Yaroslav Vsevolodich, father of the Grand Duke of Vladimir Andrei and Alexander Nevsky, who reigns in Novgorod, enriched Chernobay. The old prince sold to the merchant all the hops in the surrounding forests, for beaver fishing, and in addition also the bridge tax on the Klyazma. How can a peasant live without hops? After all, the dough won’t rise unless the hostess throws a handful of hops into the sauerkraut! And so, when the time came for the peasants to pick hops in the forests, then first go and bow to the merchant Chernobai and pay him kunas, otherwise his clerks will not even let you into the hop fields. How long has it been since all the hops were public!
Things got worse for the trapper too.
The men don’t know where to go from such a life. Many began to leave for the distant northern forests: there, in the deep forest wilds, both the Baskaks and the prince’s clerks - the Tiuns - would not be found for a long time!
Otherwise, they overcame the princely exactions, and the princes demand tribute, and give church tithes, and then pay Chernobai!
The merchant Chernobai also had other evil incomes: he lent his kuna to impoverished people. And then, when the time came to pay, he tore three times as much from the debtor. And if you don’t pay, you take him as a slave: work it off!..
On Sundays, Akindin Chernobay himself liked to get pavement. A large leather bag with a brass clasp still hung on his side.
Sometimes a passing person would dismiss Grinka - he didn’t want to pay. Here, having heard this, it was as if a fat, black Mizgir spider, sensing a fly in its web, ran out from under the Chernobay bridge.
And then - woe to the victim!
Ordinary Vladimir townspeople and surrounding plowmen - smerdas, bringing bread and vegetables to Vladimir for sale or anything else, did not try to argue with the merchant. They were afraid of him. "Serpent, purely serpent!" - they spoke sadly about Chernobai.
Silently, with a heavy sigh, they gave him for the passage of any goods, they gave it back with interest. And having crossed the bridge and not suddenly putting on a cap, no, no, they looked around and began to whip the ribbed sides of their horses, dark with sweat.
Anyone who tried to cross the bridge and cross the ford illegally was stopped by Chernobay and returned. With a purple, sweaty face, pecked with smallpox, he waddled up to the poor fellow’s cart and, leaning on the bed of the cart, shouted in a thin, unclean voice, like a young rooster’s:
- What, did you do something wrong, my friend? Now pay, shake your wallet!
If the peasant resisted, then Akindin Chernobai dragged him from the cart. And he’ll hit you in the face with his fist...
But since he sat near the bridge only on holidays, he decided to take measures so that no one would dare cross the river without him. And this is what a dashing thing the merchant came up with. He ordered his workers to stab everything, both right and left of the bridge, with sharp fragments of scythes and sickles.
How many horses have the men ruined because of him!..
One time, people threw him off a bridge into Klyazma. He swam out.
Drunk Chernobai boasted:
- My princely butler is godfather. He baptized my child... Many boyar sons are in my debt. And they have nothing to pay them with. Oho-ho-ho! And Grand Duke Andrei Svet Yaroslavovich himself knows me, the bad one! Well, if the prince and I don’t get along, then I’m not proud: I’ll go to Novgorod the Great. And there they know me, poor thing, and there they will sign me up as a merchant.
...A tall, mighty horseman on a stately black horse with yellow markings was approaching the bridge over the Klyazma. He was wearing a red silk cloak with gold streaks, without a headdress, and green morocco boots with curved toes.
Hair pulled back. In appearance, he had just entered the period of his first courage. A small brown beard trimmed his chin. Through the tan, the cheeks glowed with a scarlet blush...
From time to time, the rider stood up in his stirrups and glanced back: far behind him, his retinue was rushing behind him - several Xinics in chain mail and helmets sparkling in the sun, and several people in rich cloaks.
The city was getting closer, moving apart, getting larger. On its high, steep bank, the capital of Northern Rus' looked from a distance like a huge white and golden cape, dotted with blue, scarlet and azure spots.

The wide and elevated part of the cape was white and golden, and its downward corner was dark and almost completely devoid of white and golden spots.
White is the towers and walls of the Kremlin, temples, and monasteries. Golden - crosses and domes of churches and comb roofs of princely chambers and boyars' towers covered with gilded copper. This part of Vladimir was called the Upper City, the Mountain, the Kremlin.
In the dark corner of the gigantic cape one could see from afar a town settlement completely unenclosed by walls. Craftsmen, Vladimir gardeners and suburban stinkers of monastic and boyar lands lived here.
Now the mighty horseman and his horse seemed no larger than a poppy seed against the city...
On the other side, at the bottom of the steep slope, on the green border of the riverside, large bluish-colored, puff-forged heads of cabbage, cackling fat geese, and even bright stains and patterns on the scarves and sundresses of women working in the garden became clearly visible.
Through Klyazma, the ringing, ringing voices of gardeners began to be heard, calling to each other as if somewhere in the forest.
Here is the bridge. The knight reined in his horse. From the saddle he could see that the bridge was thin: the horse might stumble. The rider frowned and shook his head. Then he dismounted and took the horse by the bridle.
The bridge gate was down and blocked the entrance. The Knight stopped in bewilderment: it was as if a sparrow-like little boy had just been sitting here, sitting on this very crossbar, and suddenly, like the wind, he had been blown away!
Meanwhile, below, under the willow tree, this is what was happening. When Grinka saw the rider, he immediately realized that it was someone from the nobility riding. And then he recognized him. And how could one not admit it, when so many times the boy used to stare at this man during his frequent visits to Vladimir, eagerly looking along with other children, clinging somewhere to the ridge of a roof or from a tree. Grinka rushed headlong from the bridge under the bank, straight to his owner, who was dozing over his fishing rods. With a running start, the boy almost knocked the merchant into the water.
- Uncle Akindin! Open the bridge quickly! – he shouted, breathless.
Kupchina shuddered and opened his eyes.
- What are you doing, Grishka?! - he cried. - Oh, you damned devil! You scared away all the fish for me, ruined all the bite!..
Akindin Chernobai stood up heavily, grabbed the boy’s shoulder, and, poor fellow, he shoved his fist in the face. Grinka jerked his head, sobbed and bled all over him. He did not scream: he knew that this would make things even worse. He even had enough reason to move away from the owner, so as not to somehow get the blood flowing from his nose on Akindin’s white scalloped shirt. Grinka, staggering, approached the water and bent over it. The water near the shore turned brown with blood.
Chernobai leisurely patted the sand away from his wide trousers tucked into the tops, straightened the woolen knitted belt on his belly and suddenly grabbed Grinka’s hand and unclenched it: the boy had no income. Then the owner became even more furious.
But as soon as he opened his mouth to curse, a terrible crack of a broken pole was heard from above, from the bridge, and at that same moment the thick bridge gate itself, with a whistle, cut through the air and plopped into the Klyazma. Sprays flew in all directions.
The merchant was splashed with water.
With a menacingly indistinct roar: “A-a” - Akindin Chernobay rushed to reprisal.
The traveler was already in the saddle again.
Not seeing the rider in person, the frenzied bridge worker grabbed him by the stirrup belt from behind and pulled the stirrup towards him.
He rushed and froze: he recognized the prince.
Long skills of groveling before his superiors suggested a completely different movement to Chernobay’s hands: he allegedly did not grab the stirrup, but hugged the rider’s leg:
- Prince!.. Oleksandr Yaroslavich?.. Sorry... I misspoke! - he muttered, crawling and pressing his sweaty, red mug against the dusty morocco of the prince's boot.
Alexander Yaroslavich was silent. He only made a movement with his foot to free her from the bridgemaker's embrace. He let go of his boot and wiped his face with his shirt sleeve.
- Come! – the prince said quietly. Many people knew this voice. In battles and at the people's meeting, the voice of Alexander Nevsky sounded like a trumpet. It blocked out the roar and roar of the battles...
The merchant instantly jumped up to the horse’s grass and cheered up in front of the prince’s eyes.
Chernobay’s stubby, fat fingers trembled, fussily straightening his belt and long silk shirt.
- Why are you, my dear, maintaining the city bridges so dissolutely? – Alexander asked loudly.
“I... I...” Akindin mumbled, stuttering.
Alexander pointed out to him the defects of the bridge:
- Breaks in the bridge... Did they put you here to destroy the people? A?
The prince's voice grew louder and louder.
Chernobai, still unable to control his tongue, kept muttering the same thing:
There are no logs, no piles... they don’t bring me any piles, piles...
- Piles?! – Alexander suddenly leaned on him with all his voice. - Yes, you're a brat!
At the same time, the knight slightly shook his tightly clenched fist over the pommel of the saddle. Chernobay froze with fear. He couldn’t help but think that perhaps this prince’s fist could really drive him into the ground like a pile.
The merchant's face turned even redder. Lips turned blue. He snored. With a convulsive movement of his hand, he tore off the buttons of the shirt that was choking him...
No longer stroking in his direction, Yaroslavich called the boy to him. Grinka had already managed to stop the blood from his bruised nose by plugging both nostrils with pieces of burdock. Hearing the prince's voice, the boy jumped out from under the bank. His appearance was pitiful and funny.
Alexander Yaroslavich smiled...
- Whose are you? - he asked the boy.
“I’m Nastasin,” he answered in a dull voice, for the burdocks were still sticking out in his nose. Grinka.
- How can that be Nastassin? What was your father's name?
- There was no father
- Well, you know!.. Yes, this doesn’t happen!.. - And the prince threw up his hands. - And is your name Grigory?
- Grinka.
- And how old are you?
The boy did not understand this question.
Then the prince asked differently:
- Which spring?
- On the tenth.
Alexander Yaroslavich was surprised:
“I thought you were seven years old, eight at the most.” Why did you grow up so lazily? And what a skinny one!
Grinka was silent.
- Why are you plugging your nostrils with a burdock? – the prince asked and slightly raised his chin. - So your voice is slurred!..
The boy was embarrassed.
- Well? – Alexander repeated his question.
“These burdocks stop the blood!” Grinka finally answered.
“Look!” said Prince Alexander with a hint of amazement. - And in what battle did you shed your blood, huh?
The boy lowered his head: the formidable owner was standing nearby and could hear everything! Grinka was silent. Tears began to fill his eyes...
- Well, brother, this is no good! – Alexander Yaroslavich said in a voice trembling with pity. - Warrior to cry! In a battle, you never know what can happen!..
“They hit me,” Grinka muttered barely audibly.
- So... Well, are you a calf, or what? And you would have hit him!..
In response to these words of Prince Grinka, he only shook his head negatively and said nothing, nothing.
The prince understood everything and so. Yes, and he heard Chernobai yelling at the boy.
“That’s it!” said Alexander and glanced sideways at Chernobay with stern contempt. Then he turned to Grinka again. - Well, tell you what, Grigory, do you like to ride a horse?
- I love.
- Do you like to fight?
- Love too.
- Do you know how?
“I can…” And the boy’s face brightened. He took the mugs out of his nose and threw them away. - It’s gone, is it okay? – he said in a cheerful voice.
“That’s good,” said Nevsky. “You just know: whoever loves to fight and knows how to fight, gets along so well that it’s not his nose that bleeds, but someone else’s!”
The boy blushed.
“But he’s the owner...” he answered, embarrassed and gloomy.
“That’s the trouble, the owner...” said Alexander. “You won’t learn anything good here.” “Will you come to me, Nastasin?” he suddenly asked in a good-natured and menacing voice.
- I’ll go to you! – without thinking, Grinka answered.
Nevsky was surprised.
- Well, do you know me? - he asked.
- I know.
- Well, who am I?
The boy's face broke into a slyly blissful smile.
“You are Nevshskoy,” he said with a childish lisp.
Yaroslavich burst out laughing.
- Oh, honey fungus! – he exclaimed, pleased with the boy’s answer. And suddenly he decisively ordered: “Come on, sit down!”
Startled by surprise, Grinka asked in confusion:
-Where should you sit?
- Where? Yes, on the horse, by the saddle. Well, let me help.
And Alexander Yaroslavich extended his left hand down. However, I was late. Faster than a squirrel climbing a spruce trunk, Nastassin, lightly holding on to the top of the prince's boot, instantly climbed onto the black one and sat astride the saddle pommel...
-Hold on to your coat! – Nevsky ordered him. “Can you hold on?”
But he lost his voice, and he could only shake the annual one. Nevsky felt a small heart pounding in his back...
Alexander touched his horse.
When the bridge had already thundered under the hooves, when the rider was already far away. Chernobai, still standing with his head thrown back, straightened up and looked after Alexander with furious anger.
- We'll be numbered already, prince! – he boomed threateningly. - Wait, Alexander Yaroslavich, God will soon let you drain your princely blood!..

Chapter two

The Grand Duke of Vladimir Andrei Yaroslavich, Nevsky’s brother, two years younger than him, stood in the sun in the middle of a huge, well-appointed kennel yard, surrounded by his retinue, huntsmen and falconers.
He was still a young man, not yet thirty. A snow-white shirt with an open collar on his dark, strong chest, tucked under blue patterned trousers, light lemon-colored boots - all this homely attire made the prince even more youthful. His dark drooping mustache and his sharp, carefully shaved chin exuded prowess and swiftness. Andrei Yaroslavich was angry. Before him stood humbly, without a hat, the old hunter, the ruler of all the princes of the hunt.
– You have to train a dog when it’s hungry! - the prince furiously shouted at him.
The old hunter didn’t even try to justify himself:
- I caught a cold, prince, forgive me! But the Grand Duke of Vladimir today did not calm down for a long time. From this cry and from Andrei Yaroslavich’s unsteady gait, the servants and hounds already knew that, having gotten drunk in the morning after yesterday’s drinking session, he had again had too much.
The prince's retinue silently followed: two smart boys, the so-called sword-bearers, and five or six noble boyars, still young in age, but whom the prince brought closer to him solely because they knew falconry well.
For this, the townspeople of Vladimir openly reproached the Grand Duke in the squares.
“No,” they said, “although he is Prince Nevsky’s brother, but it turns out that he is far from related!” Apparently, even if two apples fall from the same apple tree, they roll far away from each other!.. Alexander Yaroslavich - he cares about the Russian land, remembers about us peasants. And this one just wants to get drunk, amuse his larynx, and scour the forests with dogs and falcons. Passing! - the people spoke both sadly and mockingly about the Grand Duke of Vladimir.
And this nickname - Passing - stuck with him.
...The prince walked around his kennel. Dogs - greyhounds and hounds, old and young, of all coats, styles and nicknames - some lay down, others walked, others chattered their teeth, picking out fleas. Lapping and slurping could be heard. The food poured into the troughs splashed.
Andrei Yaroslavich suddenly stopped. It seemed to the prince that steam was emanating from the liquid mash that the young guy, the so-called korytnik, had just poured out to the dogs: this meant that the mash had not cooled down?
The Grand Duke of Vladimir deigned to dip his finger into the mess itself. And he immediately jumped away from the trough with a curse. Even through his dark complexion, the prince’s face turned purple.
- What are you doing?! – he yelled furiously. “I’ll tell you to cut your nose, you scoundrels!”
One of the youths ran up and hastily but carefully wiped the prince’s finger with a silk handkerchief.
“What are you scoundrels,” the prince continued to shout, “don’t you know that hot food spoils a dog’s stomach and senses?!”
The old cunning hunter realized that today things could end badly for him and for many. He made a significant sign to one of the hounds.
And he, with a respectful bow, brought the prince a wide, sloping basket, covered on the inside with white linen on top of a thick bedding. Winged, well-fed, large-spotted puppies with shiny fur were playing and floundering in the basket.
At one glance at them, the Grand Duke’s heart sank.
“Oh you, oh you!..” he burst out.
They slipped him a low strap folding chair, and Andrey, I sat down, bent over the basket with the puppies.
He either whistled with them and snapped his fingers, or ran both hands to the very bottom and, knocking over one or the other puppy with his pearly pink belly, began to examine them, evaluate and distribute them.
Suddenly, right next to Prince Andrei’s ear, the whisper of one of the youths was heard:
- Prince, look around...
Andrei Yaroslavich raised his head and was stunned: about ten steps from him, brightly illuminated by the sun, stood brother Alexander.

Chapter Three

Nevsky smiled, looking at his brother.
It was as if a breath of fear suddenly ran across the faces of all those who surrounded Prince Andrei. Yes, perhaps Andrei Yaroslavich himself was scared. He was still afraid of his older brother, although Alexander Nevsky was considered only the appanage prince of Pereslavl-Zalessky in the Vladimir region, and Andrei was the Grand Duke of Vladimir.
Rus' was under the yoke. The Mongol-Tatar khans determined who should be the senior prince in Rus'. And they were afraid to give the great reign to Alexander Nevsky. They knew that while he was still a youth, he defeated both the Swedish and German knights, they knew that he was smart and brave, and therefore they were afraid that, having become the main prince in all of northern and eastern Rus', Nevsky would become too strong and begin to stir up the people against the Horde.
Alexander had to go far away to reign - to Novgorod on the Volkhov, the Mongol khans would have driven him away from there, but Novgorod the Great did not yet recognize the Mongol-Tatar power. He survived the terrible Batu invasion in 1238. The mighty Mongol-Tatar cavalry did not manage to break through thousands of miles of dense forests, through disastrous swamps and swamps.
However, in Novgorod alone, Nevsky would still not be able to gather a large army against the Mongol-Tatars. Rich merchants and boyars ruled there. They invited princes only as military leaders. If the prince tried to seize power, they kicked him out of his reign.
This happened more than once with Alexander Nevsky. The Mongol-Tatars knew about this. They also knew that the Germans and Swedes were hanging over Novgorod like a black cloud. As soon as Nevsky rises up against them, the Swedish, German, Danish knights will immediately move their huge army to Novgorod.
That is why Khan Batu and his brother Berke calmly looked at the fact that Alexander Nevsky reigned in Novgorod.
When Alexander, powerful and tough, quarreled with the Novgorod boyars and they took away his reign, he went to his small principality - to Pereslavl-Zalessky. And then he could not at all raise a large force against the Mongol-Tatars: a small appanage prince in the Vladimir region, under the arm of his brother Andrei!
...And yet Andrei was afraid of the formidable Alexander. According to ancient customs, the younger brother is obliged to obey his older brother, just as he obeyed his father. That’s what they said: “An older brother belongs in a father’s place!”

- Sasha?! - Prince Vladimirsky cried out in confusion, but at the same time joyfully, and dropped the puppy from his hands to the bottom of the basket. He just squeaked.
Andrei Yaroslavich rose to his feet and gave one of the youth servants his left shoulder. The youth threw on him a princely cloak-basket.
However, Andrei couldn’t manage to fasten the coat buckle himself: his hands were shaking.
Noticing this and immediately guessing that his brother was drunk again. Nevsky said good-naturedly and mockingly:
- That's enough for you! Don’t be embarrassed: after all, I find you at work, in fact...
Andrey's shock passed. He opened his arms:
- Sasha, my dear! - he cried. - You are the light of my eyes!.. Forgive me for not receiving you in the mansions!..
- It would have been like this a long time ago! – answered Nevsky – Let’s finally kiss!..
The brothers hugged and kissed three times. Andrey smelled of wine. Nevsky looked sternly into his brother’s eyes.
He somewhat fussily tried to distract his older brother’s thoughts to the side. His gaze settled on Grinka. The boy, timid and confused, stood behind Alexander Yaroslavich.
- What kind of new squire is this? – Prince Andrei asked in surprise and with obvious mockery of Grinka’s pitiful appearance.
- A! - And Alexander turned to the boy for a moment and looked at him approvingly: don’t be a coward, they say!
A pitiful smile appeared on Nastassin’s face.
- And what a squire he will be! – Nevsky answered, laughing. - He loves to fight.
Andrey burst out laughing:
“Fighting is a good, manly thing,” he said. - Why did you dress this knight so poorly?
Prince Grinka almost cried at this rude joke. The princely servants just stared at him. Nastassin lowered his head. A little more - and tears would have flowed from his eyes.
Suddenly he felt a strong, courageous hand lay paternally and affectionately on his head. Grinka looked up from under this palm, not daring to move his head, and saw that it was Alexander Yaroslavich. Following this, Alexander’s good-natured, thick voice was heard:
- Yes, perhaps my warrior is not dressed well. Well, never mind: he will get rich clothes in battles!..
Meanwhile, Andrei Yaroslavich called to him one of his magnificently dressed youths, the one who was shorter, and said something quietly to him. The boy stepped aside, and soon he was standing in front of Nastassin, holding his gold-embroidered caftan on his outstretched arms. Nastassin moved away from him. He moved his head, indicating that it was necessary, they say, to put it on, that such was the will of Prince Andrei.
Grinka jumped up and flashed his eyes.
- I don’t want to wear someone else’s clothes! – he shouted, covered his face with his hands and roared...

Chapter Four

Nevsky came to Vladimir on a very important state matter. And at the same time, it was a family matter. Nevsky planned to marry his widowed brother Andrei to the daughter of the powerful prince of all Carpathian Rus' - Daniil Romanovich. This princess's name was Aglaya Dubravka.
During the Mongol-Tatar invasion, Rus' consisted of many separate principalities. These principalities were poorly connected with each other, and the princes were at enmity and fought with each other. That is why Rus' did not survive.
When the Mongol-Tatar yoke was established, Batu and Berke forcibly began to prevent the Russian princes from uniting their forces. They kept a watchful eye on this!
The Mongol-Tatars immediately realized that through the marriage of Prince Andrei to Princess Dubravka, Carpathian Rus' in the person of Daniil and Vladimir-Suzdal Rus' in the persons of Andrei and Alexander seemed to be entering into a secret alliance.
The khans could not prohibit this marriage: the Russian princes, although they were tributaries of the Horde, carried silver bars and precious furs there, but were free in their family and inter-princely affairs.
However, a terrible anger seized Khan Batu when he learned about the upcoming wedding of Andrei and Dubravka. Already decrepit at that time, Batu even fell ill from anger and took to his bed. Khan Berke in every possible way incited the anger of his older brother against Andrei and Alexander. He encouraged Batu to immediately move a punitive army against Vladimir. However, Batu was afraid to do this: just at that time, the Volga kingdom was threatened with a difficult war with other Mongol-Tatar kingdoms - in Persia and the Caucasus. Therefore, Batu was afraid of brutalizing the Russian people with a new military invasion. He refused for the time being to send a punitive army against Prince Andrei.
- Let this wedding take place! - said the old khan. “But we will be vigilant.”
Then the insidious and evil Berke secretly sent his nephew Khan Chagan to Vladimir at the head of a large detachment. He ordered Chagan to hunt down in every possible way the misdeeds and offenses of Prince Andrei against the Mongol-Tatars.
At night, in deep secrecy, old Berke received Chagan in his tent. They sat cross-legged on carpet cushions. Berke gave his nephew instructions, and Chagan, as the youngest, only nodded his head and occasionally said “yes.”
“You will keep a vigilant eye on this Prince Andrei,” old Berne chastised Chagan. - Prince Andrew hates your strength and our name. Prince Alexander also hates. But this one is wise. He steps silently, like a leopard! Andrey is noisy and arrogant. Set a snare for him, and he will break into it himself. Make it so that he insults the name of the king or desecrates what is sacred among our people.
Suddenly some malicious, insidious thought came into Khan Berke’s head. He clicked his tongue maliciously and pointed significantly with his hand at the wooden bowl of kumiss.
Tsarevich Chagan did not suddenly understand his uncle. Then the old khan ordered him to move even closer and tilt his ear. And although there were no strangers in the tent anyway, and no one could overhear them: the tent was vigilantly guarded, nevertheless old Berke switched to a whisper.
Chagan understood. He nodded his head, and his impudent face broke into an evil grin.

Chapter Five

The wedding feast of Andrei Yaroslavich and Dubravka thundered in the white stone palace, created during the time of Nevsky’s grandfathers by marvelous Vladimir architects, stonemasons, carvers and painters.
This palace was wonderful from the outside!
It’s not for nothing that in ancient times the Russian people called their architects and artists “craftsmen”! And indeed: they could do everything. The chronicler speaks proudly about them: “And they did not look for craftsmen from the Germans, but their own craftsmen and stone-cutters came. And some knew how to cast tin and copper, others knew how to cover roofs and whitewash walls, and marvelous stone cutting and loosening...” Among them are painters.
The palace was built from large slabs and beams, dazzlingly white, hewn. The outside walls were covered with wonderful carvings; From a distance this stone carving seemed like lace.
Two vast porches carried their golden peaked roofs on barrel-shaped, thick balusters made of the same white stone.
Here and there stone sculptures of outlandish, fabulous animals could be seen.
But the most wonderful thing about this stone building was that it seemed not to be made of stone, but as if made of wood, but only special, unprecedented, white as snow.
It was a palace-terem.
The beautiful hut with its earrings and pendants carved from wood, the boyar's log mansions with their balusters, porches, skates, dragons and, finally, the prince's golden-domed tower - all this was embodied in white stone.
...The feast was in full swing. Some of the boyars were already so drunk that they quietly sank under the table and snored there, covered with a tablecloth from all eyes.
Grinka Nastassin was both amused and surprised by this. “This is wonderful!” he thought, standing behind Alexander Yaroslavich’s chair with a silver hatchet on his shoulder, as befitted a sword-bearer. “After all, they’re old, but they’re so drunk!”
However, he did not raise an eyebrow and stood decorously and sternly, as the old prince’s butler taught him. Grinka was filled with pride. Why! Nevsky himself told him: “Well, Nastassin, be my bodyguard, protect me: these are dangerous times!”
From a distance, Grinka resembled a sugar statue: he was all white. On his head stood an ermine cap, similar in outline to an unoverturned white and narrow bucket. The caftan with a standing collar was also made of white velvet.
And behind Andrei Yaroslavich’s chair there was also a sword-bearing boy. But is it possible to compare him with Grinka?
For Nastassin, everything was new, everything amazed him: the bright decoration of the chambers, the rich table utensils, and the silk robes of princes and princesses, boyars and noblewomen, studded with gold and precious stones. The light of numerous lamps - bronze and silver - was dazzling.
Images of people and animals painted directly on the wall, mirror stone, carved mammoth bone, and various colored displays wonderfully decorated the banquet chamber.
However, the vaults and walls of the vast chamber were not high. Alexander, with his enormous height, could easily reach the painted ceiling with his hand. The windows of the chamber were also small, with lead cloisonné frames that looked like honeycombs.
The tables of the huge palace were arranged in the shape of the letter "P". At the head of the table sat the prince-groom himself on an open, canopied throne made of ebony, with a lining of gold plates and walrus tusks.
Next to the groom, on the left, on the same throne, only smaller, sat the young princess Dubravka.
The most honorable place - next to the groom - was occupied by Nevsky.
The number of dishes served at the feast reached up to a hundred. The prince's drinking supply was vast and inexhaustible...
Lunch began with appetizers: caviar, sterlet, sturgeon. Then hot cabbage soup was served. And then came the roasts: beef, lamb, goose, turkey, grouse, and hazel grouse. Fried swans were also served. The gigantic birds were baked in such a way that all the whiteness and beauty of their plumage remained intact. Two servants carried each bird on a gilded tray.
...The feast went on after midnight. They began to serve pears, grapes and all sorts of sweets and snacks: piles of gingerbread, wine berries, raisins, currants, dates, shelled walnuts, almond kernels and, finally, watermelon and melon strips boiled in honey.
In the choirs music thundered almost continuously, silver and copper trumpets sang in different voices, small waxwings, silver organs inflated through bellows by one person, harpists and guslars rattled.
In a word, everything went as it should at princely weddings.
Suddenly, from the outer entrance, from the hallway, the muffled voices of a big quarrel, the noise of a struggle, stomping and, finally, a plaintive cry were heard. Then, above the noise, came a guttural, screeching voice, shouting something in a foreign language.
The boyars' beards froze over the tables.
Nevsky listened. Then he looked at his brother and threw up his hands in angry bewilderment.
- The Tatar is screaming! - he said.
Grinka could see from his place how Princess Dubravka straightened up and froze. Even her lips became chalk white...
A young Mongol-Tatar nobleman quickly burst into the wedding palace, accompanied by armed guards. He entered quickly and imperiously, as if into his own tent. In the sudden silence, the whistling rustle of his colored silk robe could be heard. He was tall, with an arrogant dark face, on which on the right was a white scar from an enemy saber. Arrogantly and defiantly, he stopped right in front of the main table, in front of Prince Andrei and Dubravka.
- Hello! – he said, turning to Andrei Yaroslavich with mischievous impudence.
The fur ears of his three-eared hat were half lowered and stuck out to the sides, swaying slightly, like the black wings of a bat.
Alexander and Andrey both immediately recognized him: it was Tsarevich Chagan, a hero and military leader, famous in battle, but their worst enemy, just like his uncle Khan Berke.
“Well, apparently, he was sent with bad luck!” – thought Nevsky. And, without revealing his stern wariness, Alexander prepared for anything.
General silence was the first response to the Mongol-Tatar.
Grinka Nastassin was seething with anger. “Wait a minute?” he threatened Chagan in his thoughts. “As soon as Alexander Yaroslavich rises up and lashes you with a sword, he will cut you to the saddle!”
True, there was no saddle. Grinka knew this, but this is what people always said about Alexander Yaroslavich:
"Beat without missing a beat to the saddle!" “Or maybe he’s telling me, Alexander Yaroslavich, to draw my sword? “Well, then hold on!” thought Grinka and clenched the long handle of his silver hatchet, preparing to rush at Chagan.
And he, after waiting a little for an answer, continued with an even more impudent look:
- You know who I am. This is what the Yasa law commands us: when you drive by and see someone eating, then you get off your horse and, without asking, sit down and eat. And may it be bad for those who decide to drive you away from the cauldron!
And then suddenly, to Nastassin’s amazement and offense, it was not Alexander Yaroslavich who gave an angry rebuke to the Mongol-Tatar, but Andrei. He impulsively stood up from his throne and, with bloodshot eyes, choking with anger, shouted to Chagan:
- And among us... among the Russian people... ever since you, the filthy ones, came to our land, this word has lived: “An uninvited guest is worse than a Tatar!”
Andrey's hand clenched into a fist. Another moment, and the prince would have rushed at Chagan. He saw it. This is what he needed, and that’s why the Mongol-Tatar Khan burst in so brazenly! His secret calculation was very simple: if they insult him in response to the invasion, then in his person they will insult Batu himself and even the Great Khan Mengu, who is there in Mongolia; Russians know very well that Chagan is a relative not only of Batu and Berke, but also of the Great Khan himself. And if they insult him, Chagan, he will be right in the eyes of Batu when he orders his bodyguards to shed blood. Then everything is allowed to him. He will deal with them as he did when taking a rebellious city. Then he will order this young and beautiful princess to be taken as a captive, a slave, to his wagon!..
And Chagan continued to stand in the middle of the banquet hall, looking arrogantly and shamelessly at everyone who was sitting at the tables.
A whole crowd of his armed bodyguards had already burst into the open door following their leader. These were all mighty and tall people with fierce faces. Their weapons were bows and sabers. The feathers of terrible arrows stuck out from the quivers; the arrows were huge - they pierced through shells at two hundred paces!..
And Chagan’s bodyguards were only waiting for a sign from their master to draw their sabers...
When Andrei Yaroslavich rounded Nevsky’s chair, moving towards Chagan, Nevsky, unnoticed by others, squeezed the wrist of his brother’s pubescent hand with his powerful hand. It was a secret order from the elder: calm down, they say, stop. And Prince Andrei obeyed. Still with his face purple from anger, breathing heavily, he nevertheless returned to his place.

And then Nevsky himself stood up calmly and majestically.
In a euphonious voice that filled the entire room, he addressed Chagan in a foreign language:
“I see,” said Alexander, “that you are far, prince, from the path of gentleness and modesty.” And I regret that... Better pave the way for friendship and harmony!.. In you we honor the name of the king, and the blood, and the bone of the king... But we also know you: you said rightly! You are Chagan. We, the Russian people, also have wise sayings. One of them says: “Young for years, but old with wounds!” This is what I am enclosing for you.
At these words, Nevsky, with a majestic movement of his hand, pointed to the white saber scar on Chagan’s cheek.
And the young Mongol’s face immediately changed. There was no longer a trace in him of the offensive impudence with which he had just looked at Dubravka, and of the defiant arrogance with which he looked at everyone.
A roar of approval for Alexander's words came from the crowd of Chagan's bodyguards.
And Nevsky, after a moment of silence, finished his speech like this:
“It’s also not our people’s custom to separate even a random traveler from the cauldron.” And you came to the wedding feast. So come into our feast and take this cup of friendship and honor straight from us!..
Alexander raised a silver goblet, full to the brim, drank from it himself, according to custom, and handed it to the Horde prince. Then he left his place to give it to the foreign guest.
Chagan, apparently greatly agitated by Nevsky’s words and actions, bowed to him from the waist, placing his hands on his chest.
Then he straightened up again, looked around the entire banquet hall and answered Nevsky in his own language, giving his speech solemnity and grandiloquence. This is how nobles were supposed to talk according to Horde customs.
– Russians are a great and numerous people. And you, Iskander (as the Mongol-Tatars called Alexander), and among such people you stand out above all! And our people know your nickname: “The one who won on the Neva.” Your name is respected among the four seas. And it’s not for nothing that Batu – blessed be his name! - holds you close to his heart!..
At that moment, Princess Dubravka decisively and proudly rose from her throne and left the wedding feast. Her aunt Princess Olena followed her.
Chagan noticed Dubravka leaving and realized that by this the young princess expressed her anger and her disgust towards him. His eyes narrowed angrily. But, cunning and treacherous that I am, he immediately suppressed his rage.
However, he realized with annoyance that Nevsky had outwitted him. Now Chagan was a guest who had accepted an invitation to the table, and could no longer cause bloodshed: by doing so he would disgrace the honor of his family!
Nevsky was also angry at Dubravka’s unauthorized departure. But there was a completely different reason for this anger. Alexander knew that the wedding of Andrei and Dubravka caused irritation in the Horde! He knew that if Batu did not respond to the rapprochement of the two Russian principalities with an immediate punitive campaign against Vladimir, it was only because his forces that year were tied up in the fight with the khan of the Persian horde - Hulagu.
However, Alexander Yaroslavich had no doubt that Chagan was sent for a bad purpose. If now he, Alexander, had failed to put out the quarrel and blood had been shed, then perhaps the troops of Khan Nevruy, roaming nearby, would have destroyed the Vladimirov region the next day... Dubravka’s departure from the feast undoubtedly embittered and insulted Chagan. “Girl, obstinate!..” thought Nevsky indignantly. “If only you knew how many innocent lives this devil can ruin, if only you could give him a reason! If only you knew what kind of power obeys his one word!.. No, how many.” My understanding is enough, I won’t let them shed rivers of Russian blood again! And with you, Grand Duchess of Vladimir, I will talk again..."
Such thoughts flashed through Alexander’s head. But outwardly he was still calm and treated Chagan like a hospitable host.
The cunning Mongol-Tatar, baring his teeth in a smile, asked Alexander where the young princess had disappeared and whether she was frightened by his arrival. In response, Alexander assured him that Princess Aglaya Dubravka was in poor health; besides, she only recently made a long and difficult journey - from the Carpathians to Klyazma. And now she felt extremely tired, and therefore her mother took her away to rest.
Chagan pretended to believe Nevsky. And I thought to myself:
“No, Berke says correctly that Batu is an old woman. He became decrepit and left the path of war, the path bequeathed to him by his great grandfather. Yasa says that it is best to finish off the enemy. This Russian prince bypassed Batu and bewitched him! With someone like Iskander, - he thought, looking sideways at Nevsky, - is it really necessary to deal with gentleness? This is a leopard, but with all the cunning of a fox..."
But Chagan said out loud, smiling politely and bending down to Alexander’s ear:
- And you order her, Dubravka-Khatun, the wife of Prince Vladimir, to drink kumiss; from kumiss it will become healthy and flourishing. Kumis is the drink of the gods!
Nevsky bowed his head in gratitude. Andrey followed suit.
Suddenly the Horde prince rose from his seat and hastily turned to the surprised Alexander.
“Sorry, Prince Iskander,” he said, “I must leave.” No offense. I ask you to tell Dubravka-khatun that we were very sorry that we could not wait for the moon to rise on her face over this chamber, where it had become so dark without her. Tell her that I will send her the best kumiss from my mares. Goodbye!

Drawings by Peter Paslinov.

PART ONE

CHAPTER FIRST

What is described in this book happened a very, very long time ago: over seven hundred years ago, in terrible times for the Russian people - during the Mongol-Tatar invasion of Rus'.

It was the end of the sultry summer of 1250. The bright sun shone generously over the mournful city of Vladimir, where there were still many blackened wastelands and ruins from the recent invasion of the Tatar horde.

The Klyazma River, as if nothing had happened, curled and sparkled under the mountain in a green, lush meadow. And the children, as in good times, swam, splashed and loudly called to each other on the shallows near the large wooden bridge into the city. Some of them threw themselves straight from the river onto the hot sand and, rolling out in it, basked in the sun.

Only the boy did not bathe. He sat separately from everyone else on the opposite, low bank, on a pole transverse gate that blocked the entrance to the bridge. In appearance, he seemed no older than eight years old, thin, blond, disheveled. His face was haggard, but lively and quick-witted. He was barefoot, his little feet were on tiptoes. Dressed in a torn, faded shirt with a belt and hard, tube-like pants made of blue and blue stripes.

Here he is sitting on the bridge gate blocking the bridge, dangling his bare feet and exposing one or the other shoulder to the sun. From time to time he stands on a pole and peers into the distance of the country road.

Uncle Akindin, the carts want to cross the bridge! - he shouts somewhere down into the shadow of a large, spreading willow tree near the bridge.

Why are you yelling? Do you want to scare away the fish?... This is not the first day you’ve been sitting on my bridge, you yourself should know: take the pavement from the people passing by - that’s all your business. If they give you the fare, raise the pole and let them pass...

The boy runs up to the stopped carts. The cart owners pay him for the journey. Instead of money there is a squirrel skin with a head and claws - a muzzle. The owner of the bridge strictly forbade Grinka - that's the boy's name - to accept old, worn-out skins, and demands that they pay with completely new ones.

They gave it away! - Grinka shouts to the owner.

Akindin Chernobay - a wealthy merchant, moneylender and owner of the bridge over the Klyazma, a fat, damp middle-aged man, dark in complexion, with swollen eyes - sitting in the cold under a willow tree, lazily raises his right hand and pulls the rope from below. This rope dangles over his shoulder. The bridge gate up there slowly rises like a well crane, and the carts pass across the bridge. But Chernobay doesn’t even blink an eye. He still keeps his eyes fixed on the water; The wet sand of the shore near the paving maker is all studded with fishing rods, and Chernobay needs to keep an eye on the floats: are they biting?...

Grinka rushes off and hands over the travel card to his evil owner.

Today is Sunday, and that’s the only reason why the merchant is sitting near the bridge: Akindin Chernobay decided to have fun with fishing. And it’s not the bridge tolls that make the merchants rich...

The late Prince Yaroslav Vsevolodich, father of both the Grand Duke of Vladimir Andrei and Alexander Nevsky, who reigns in Novgorod, enriched Chernobay. The old prince sold to the merchant all the hops in the surrounding forests, and beaver catches, and in addition also the bridge tax on the Klyazma. How can a peasant live without hops? After all, the dough won’t rise unless the hostess throws a handful of hops into the sauerkraut. And when the time came for the peasants to pick hops in the forests, then first go and bow to the merchant Chernobai and pay him, otherwise his clerks will not even let you into the hop fields. How long has it been since all the hops were public!

Things got worse for the trapper too.

The men don’t know where to go from such a life. Many began to leave for the distant northern forests: there, in the deep wilds of the forest, both the Tatar leaders - the Baskaks - and the princely clerks - the Tiuns - would not be found for a long time.

Otherwise, they overcame the princely exactions, and the princes demand tribute for the Tatar, and pay for the church, and then give it to Chernobai too!

The merchant Chernobai also had other evil incomes: he lent his money to impoverished people. And after the time came to pay, he tore three times as much from the debtor. And if you don’t pay, you take him as a slave: work it off!

On Sundays, Akindin Chernobay liked to get the pavement himself. A large leather bag with a brass clasp still hung on his side.

Sometimes a passer-by would dismiss Grinka because he didn’t want to pay. Here, having heard this, it was like a fat Mizgir spider, sensing a fly in its web, and ran out from under the Chernobay bridge.

And then - woe to the victim!

Ordinary Vladimir townspeople and surrounding plowmen-smerdas, bringing bread and vegetables to Vladimir for sale or something else, did not try to argue with the merchant-bridgemaker. They were afraid of him. “Serpent, purely serpent!” They spoke sadly about Chernobai.

Silently, with a heavy sigh, they gave him for the passage of any goods, they gave it back with interest. And having crossed the bridge and not suddenly putting on a cap, no, no, yes, they looked around and began to whip the ribbed sides of their horses, dark with sweat.

If anyone tried to cross the bridge and cross the ford illegally, Chernobay stopped him and turned him back. With a purple, sweaty face, pecked with smallpox, he waddled up to the poor fellow’s cart and, leaning on the bed of the cart, shouted in a thin, unclean voice, like a young rooster’s:

What, have you done something wrong, my friend?... Now pay, shake your wallet!

If the peasant resisted, then Akindin Chernobai dragged him from the cart. And he’ll hit you in the face with his fist...

But since he sat near the bridge only on holidays, he decided to take measures so that no one would dare cross the river without him. And this is what a dashing thing the merchant came up with. He ordered his workers to stab the entire bottom, both right and left of the bridge, with sharp fragments of scythes and sickles.

How many horses have the men ruined because of him!

Once the peasants threw him off a bridge into Klyazma. He swam out.

Drunk, Chernobai boasted:

“The prince’s butler is my godfather. He baptized my child... Many boyar sons are in my debt. And they have nothing to pay them with. Oho-ho-ho! And Grand Duke Andrei Svet Yaroslavich himself knows me, the bad one! Well, if the prince and I don’t get along, then I’m not proud, I’ll go to Novgorod the Great. And there they know me, poor thing. They’ll sign me up as a merchant there too.”

...A tall, mighty horseman on a stately black horse with yellow markings was approaching the bridge over the Klyazma. The rider was wearing a red silk cloak with gold streaks, no headdress, and green morocco boots with curved toes.

His whole appearance was filled with tall, sharp and courageous beauty. Wavy blond, golden hair pulled back. The eyes are large, menacing blue, with long black eyelashes. In appearance, he had just entered the period of his first courage. A small brown beard trimmed his chin. Through the tan, her cheeks glowed with a scarlet blush.

From time to time the rider stood up in his stirrups and glanced back: far behind him, his retinue was racing behind him - several horsemen in chain mail and helmets sparkling in the sun and several people in rich cloaks.

The city was getting closer, moving apart, getting larger. On its high, steep bank, the capital of Northern Rus' looked from a distance like a huge white and golden cape, dotted with blue, scarlet and azure spots.

The wide and elevated part of the cape was white and golden, and its downward corner was dark and almost completely devoid of white and golden spots.

White is the towers and walls of the Kremlin, temples, and monasteries. Golden crosses and domes of churches and combed roofs of princely chambers and boyars' towers covered with gilded copper. This part of Vladimir was called the Upper City, the Mountain, the Kremlin.

In the dark corner of the gigantic cape one could see from afar a town settlement completely unenclosed by walls. Craftsmen, Vladimir gardeners and suburban peasants of monastic and boyar lands lived here.

Now the mighty horseman and his horse seemed no larger than a poppy seed against the city...

On the other side, at the bottom of the steep slope, on the green border of the river, large bluish, as if forged, heads of cabbage, cackling fat geese, and even bright stains and patterns on the scarves and sundresses of women working in the garden became clearly visible.

Through Klyazma, the ringing, ringing voices of gardeners began to be heard, calling to each other as if somewhere in the forest.

Here is the bridge. The knight reined in his horse. From the saddle he could see that the bridge was thin: the horse might stumble. The rider frowned and shook his head. Then he dismounted and took the horse by the bridle.

The bridge gate was lowered and blocked the entrance. The Knight stopped in bewilderment: it was as if a sparrow-like little boy had just been sitting here, sitting on this very crossbar, and suddenly, like the wind, he had been blown away!

Meanwhile, below, under the willow tree, this is what was happening. When Grinka saw the rider, he immediately realized that it was someone from the nobility riding. And then he recognized him. And how could one not admit it, when so many times the boy used to stare at this man on his frequent visits to Vladimir, eagerly look at him along with other children, clinging somewhere to the ridge of a roof or from a tree! Grinka rushed headlong from the bridge under the bank, straight to his owner, who was dozing over his fishing rods. With a running start, the boy almost knocked the merchant into the water.

Uncle Akindin! Open the bridge quickly! - he shouted, breathless.

Kupchina shuddered and opened his eyes.

What are you doing, Grishka? - he cried. - Oh, you damned devil! You scared away all the fish for me, ruined all the bite!

Akindin Chernobay stood up heavily, grabbed the boy’s shoulder, and, yes, the poor guy, and shoved his fist in the face. Grinka jerked his head, sobbed and bled all over him. He did not scream: he knew that this would make things even worse. He even had enough reason to move away from the owner, so as not to somehow get the blood flowing from his nose on Akindin’s white scalloped shirt. Grinka, staggering, approached the water and bent over it. The water near the shore turned brown with blood.

Chernobai leisurely patted the sand away from his wide trousers tucked into the tops, straightened the woolen knitted belt on his belly and suddenly grabbed Grinka’s hand and unclenched it: the boy had no income. Then the owner became even more furious.

But only he opened...

Brave Heart

Historical story

A historical story about the events that took place in Rus' in the 13th century during the reign of Alexander Nevsky. At the center of the story is the fate of the boy Grinka.

PART ONE

CHAPTER FIRST

What is described in this book happened a very, very long time ago: over seven hundred years ago, in terrible times for the Russian people - during the Mongol-Tatar invasion of Rus'.

It was the end of the sultry summer of 1250. The bright sun shone generously over the mournful city of Vladimir, where there were still many blackened wastelands and ruins from the recent invasion of the Tatar horde.

The Klyazma River, as if nothing had happened, curled and sparkled under the mountain in a green, lush meadow. And the children, as in good times, swam, splashed and loudly called to each other on the shallows near the large wooden bridge into the city. Some of them threw themselves straight from the river onto the hot sand and, rolling out in it, basked in the sun.

Only the boy did not bathe. He sat separately from everyone else on the opposite, low bank, on a pole transverse gate that blocked the entrance to the bridge. In appearance, he seemed no older than eight years old, thin, blond, disheveled. His face was haggard, but lively and quick-witted. He was barefoot, his little feet were on tiptoes. Dressed in a torn, faded shirt with a belt and hard, tube-like pants made of blue and blue stripes.

Here he is sitting on the bridge gate blocking the bridge, dangling his bare feet and exposing one or the other shoulder to the sun. From time to time he stands on a pole and peers into the distance of the country road.

Uncle Akindin, the carts want to cross the bridge! - he shouts somewhere down into the shadow of a large, spreading willow tree near the bridge.

Why are you yelling? Do you want to scare away the fish?.. This is not the first day you’ve been sitting on my bridge, you yourself should know: take the pavement from the passers-by - that’s all your business. If they give you the fare, raise the pole and let them pass...

The boy runs up to the stopped carts. The cart owners pay him for the journey. Instead of money there is a squirrel skin with a head and claws - a muzzle. The owner of the bridge strictly forbade Grinka - that's the boy's name - to accept old, worn-out skins, and demands that they pay with completely new ones.

They gave it away! - Grinka shouts to the owner.

Akindin Chernobay - a wealthy merchant, moneylender and owner of the bridge over the Klyazma, a fat, damp middle-aged man, dark in complexion, with swollen eyes - sitting in the cold under a willow tree, lazily raises his right hand and pulls the rope from below. This rope dangles over his shoulder. The bridge gate up there slowly rises like a well crane, and the carts pass across the bridge. But Chernobay doesn’t even blink an eye. He still keeps his eyes fixed on the water; The wet sand of the shore near the paving maker is all studded with fishing rods, and Chernobay needs to keep an eye on the floats: are they biting?..

Grinka rushes off and hands over the travel card to his evil owner.

Today is Sunday, and that’s the only reason why the merchant is sitting near the bridge: Akindin Chernobay decided to have fun with fishing. And it’s not the bridge tolls that make the merchants rich...

The late Prince Yaroslav Vsevolodich, father of both the Grand Duke of Vladimir Andrei and Alexander Nevsky, who reigns in Novgorod, enriched Chernobay. The old prince sold to the merchant all the hops in the surrounding forests, and beaver catches, and in addition also the bridge tax on the Klyazma. How can a peasant live without hops? After all, the dough won’t rise unless the hostess throws a handful of hops into the sauerkraut. And when the time came for the peasants to pick hops in the forests, then first go and bow to the merchant Chernobai and pay him, otherwise his clerks will not even let you into the hop fields. How long has it been since all the hops were public!

Things got worse for the trapper too.

The men don’t know where to go from such a life. Many began to leave for the distant northern forests: there, in the deep wilds of the forest, both the Tatar leaders - the Baskaks - and the princely clerks - the Tiuns - would not be found for a long time.

Otherwise, they overcame the princely exactions, and the princes demand tribute for the Tatar, and pay for the church, and then give it to Chernobai too!

The merchant Chernobai also had other evil incomes: he lent his money to impoverished people. And after the time came to pay, he tore three times as much from the debtor. And if you don’t pay, you take him as a slave: work it off!

On Sundays, Akindin Chernobay liked to get the pavement himself. A large leather bag with a brass clasp still hung on his side.

Sometimes a passer-by would dismiss Grinka because he didn’t want to pay. Here, having heard this, it was like a fat Mizgir spider, sensing a fly in its web, and ran out from under the Chernobay bridge.

And then - woe to the victim!

Ordinary Vladimir townspeople and surrounding plowmen-smerdas, bringing bread and vegetables to Vladimir for sale or something else, did not try to argue with the merchant-bridgemaker. They were afraid of him. "Serpent, purely serpent!" They spoke sadly about Chernobai.

Silently, with a heavy sigh, they gave him for the passage of any goods, they gave it back with interest. And having crossed the bridge and not suddenly putting on a cap, no, no, yes, they looked around and began to whip the ribbed sides of their horses, dark with sweat.

If anyone tried to cross the bridge and cross the ford illegally, Chernobay stopped him and turned him back. With a purple, sweaty face, pecked with smallpox, he waddled up to the poor fellow’s cart and, leaning on the bed of the cart, shouted in a thin, unclean voice, like a young rooster’s:

What, have you done something wrong, my friend?.. Now pay, shake your wallet!

If the peasant resisted, then Akindin Chernobai dragged him from the cart. And even punch him in the face...

But since he sat near the bridge only on holidays, he decided to take measures so that no one would dare cross the river without him. And this is what a dashing thing the merchant came up with. He ordered his workers to stab the entire bottom, both right and left of the bridge, with sharp fragments of scythes and sickles.

How many horses have the men ruined because of him!

Once the peasants threw him off a bridge into Klyazma. He swam out.

Drunk, Chernobai boasted:

“My godfather is the prince’s butler. He baptized my child... I have many boyar sons in debt. And I have nothing to pay them with. Oh-ho-ho! And the Grand Duke Andrei Svet Yaroslavich himself knows me, poor one! Well, oh "If we don't get along with the prince, then I'm not proud, I'll go to Novgorod the Great. And there they know me, poor thing. They'll sign me up as a merchant there too."

Yugov Alexey

Brave Heart

Alexey Kuzmich Yugov

Brave Heart

Historical story

A historical story about the events that took place in Rus' in the 13th century during the reign of Alexander Nevsky. At the center of the story is the fate of the boy Grinka.

PART ONE

CHAPTER FIRST

What is described in this book happened a very, very long time ago: over seven hundred years ago, in terrible times for the Russian people - during the Mongol-Tatar invasion of Rus'.

It was the end of the sultry summer of 1250. The bright sun shone generously over the mournful city of Vladimir, where there were still many blackened wastelands and ruins from the recent invasion of the Tatar horde.

The Klyazma River, as if nothing had happened, curled and sparkled under the mountain in a green, lush meadow. And the children, as in good times, swam, splashed and loudly called to each other on the shallows near the large wooden bridge into the city. Some of them threw themselves straight from the river onto the hot sand and, rolling out in it, basked in the sun.

Only the boy did not bathe. He sat separately from everyone else on the opposite, low bank, on a pole transverse gate that blocked the entrance to the bridge. In appearance, he seemed no older than eight years old, thin, blond, disheveled. His face was haggard, but lively and quick-witted. He was barefoot, his little feet were on tiptoes. Dressed in a torn, faded shirt with a belt and hard, tube-like pants made of blue and blue stripes.

Here he is sitting on the bridge gate blocking the bridge, dangling his bare feet and exposing one or the other shoulder to the sun. From time to time he stands on a pole and peers into the distance of the country road.

Uncle Akindin, the carts want to cross the bridge! - he shouts somewhere down into the shadow of a large, spreading willow tree near the bridge.

Why are you yelling? Do you want to scare away the fish?.. This is not the first day you’ve been sitting on my bridge, you yourself should know: take the pavement from the passers-by - that’s all your business. If they give you the fare, raise the pole and let them pass...

The boy runs up to the stopped carts. The cart owners pay him for the journey. Instead of money there is a squirrel skin with a head and claws - a muzzle. The owner of the bridge strictly forbade Grinka - that's the boy's name - to accept old, worn-out skins, and demands that they pay with completely new ones.

They gave it away! - Grinka shouts to the owner.

Akindin Chernobay - a wealthy merchant, moneylender and owner of the bridge over the Klyazma, a fat, damp middle-aged man, dark in complexion, with swollen eyes - sitting in the cold under a willow tree, lazily raises his right hand and pulls the rope from below. This rope dangles over his shoulder. The bridge gate up there slowly rises like a well crane, and the carts pass across the bridge. But Chernobay doesn’t even blink an eye. He still keeps his eyes fixed on the water; The wet sand of the shore near the paving maker is all studded with fishing rods, and Chernobay needs to keep an eye on the floats: are they biting?..

Grinka rushes off and hands over the travel card to his evil owner.

Today is Sunday, and that’s the only reason why the merchant is sitting near the bridge: Akindin Chernobay decided to have fun with fishing. And it’s not the bridge tolls that make the merchants rich...

The late Prince Yaroslav Vsevolodich, father of both the Grand Duke of Vladimir Andrei and Alexander Nevsky, who reigns in Novgorod, enriched Chernobay. The old prince sold to the merchant all the hops in the surrounding forests, and beaver catches, and in addition also the bridge tax on the Klyazma. How can a peasant live without hops? After all, the dough won’t rise unless the hostess throws a handful of hops into the sauerkraut. And when the time came for the peasants to pick hops in the forests, then first go and bow to the merchant Chernobai and pay him, otherwise his clerks will not even let you into the hop fields. How long has it been since all the hops were public!

Things got worse for the trapper too.

The men don’t know where to go from such a life. Many began to leave for the distant northern forests: there, in the deep wilds of the forest, both the Tatar leaders - the Baskaks - and the princely clerks - the Tiuns - would not be found for a long time.

Otherwise, they overcame the princely exactions, and the princes demand tribute for the Tatar, and pay for the church, and then give it to Chernobai too!

The merchant Chernobai also had other evil incomes: he lent his money to impoverished people. And after the time came to pay, he tore three times as much from the debtor. And if you don’t pay, you take him as a slave: work it off!

On Sundays, Akindin Chernobay liked to get the pavement himself. A large leather bag with a brass clasp still hung on his side.

Sometimes a passer-by would dismiss Grinka because he didn’t want to pay. Here, having heard this, it was like a fat Mizgir spider, sensing a fly in its web, and ran out from under the Chernobay bridge.

And then - woe to the victim!

Ordinary Vladimir townspeople and surrounding plowmen-smerdas, bringing bread and vegetables to Vladimir for sale or something else, did not try to argue with the merchant-bridgemaker. They were afraid of him. "Serpent, purely serpent!" They spoke sadly about Chernobai.

Silently, with a heavy sigh, they gave him for the passage of any goods, they gave it back with interest. And having crossed the bridge and not suddenly putting on a cap, no, no, yes, they looked around and began to whip the ribbed sides of their horses, dark with sweat.

If anyone tried to cross the bridge and cross the ford illegally, Chernobay stopped him and turned him back. With a purple, sweaty face, pecked with smallpox, he waddled up to the poor fellow’s cart and, leaning on the bed of the cart, shouted in a thin, unclean voice, like a young rooster’s:

What, have you done something wrong, my friend?.. Now pay, shake your wallet!

If the peasant resisted, then Akindin Chernobai dragged him from the cart. And even punch him in the face...

But since he sat near the bridge only on holidays, he decided to take measures so that no one would dare cross the river without him. And this is what a dashing thing the merchant came up with. He ordered his workers to stab the entire bottom, both right and left of the bridge, with sharp fragments of scythes and sickles.

How many horses have the men ruined because of him!

Once the peasants threw him off a bridge into Klyazma. He swam out.

Drunk, Chernobai boasted:

“My godfather is the prince’s butler. He baptized my child... I have many boyar sons in debt. And I have nothing to pay them with. Oh-ho-ho! And the Grand Duke Andrei Svet Yaroslavich himself knows me, poor one! Well, oh "If we don't get along with the prince, then I'm not proud, I'll go to Novgorod the Great. And there they know me, poor thing. They'll sign me up as a merchant there too."

A tall, mighty horseman on a stately black horse with yellow markings was approaching the bridge over the Klyazma. The rider was wearing a red silk cloak with gold streaks, no headdress, and green morocco boots with curved toes.

His whole appearance was filled with tall, sharp and courageous beauty. Wavy blond, golden hair pulled back. The eyes are large, menacing blue, with long black eyelashes. In appearance, he had just entered the period of his first courage. A small brown beard trimmed his chin. Through the tan, her cheeks glowed with a scarlet blush.

From time to time the rider stood up in his stirrups and glanced back: far behind him, his retinue was racing behind him - several horsemen in chain mail and helmets sparkling in the sun and several people in rich cloaks.

The city was getting closer, moving apart, getting larger. On its high, steep bank, the capital of Northern Rus' looked from a distance like a huge white and golden cape, dotted with blue, scarlet and azure spots.

The wide and elevated part of the cape was white and golden, and its downward corner was dark and almost completely devoid of white and golden spots.

White is the towers and walls of the Kremlin, temples, and monasteries. Golden crosses and domes of churches and combed roofs of princely chambers and boyars' towers covered with gilded copper. This part of Vladimir was called the Upper City, the Mountain, the Kremlin.

In the dark corner of the gigantic cape one could see from afar a town settlement completely unenclosed by walls. Craftsmen, Vladimir gardeners and suburban peasants of monastic and boyar lands lived here.

Now the mighty horseman and his horse seemed no larger than a poppy seed against the city...

On the other side, at the bottom of the steep slope, on the green border of the river, large bluish, as if forged, heads of cabbage, cackling fat geese, and even bright stains and patterns on the scarves and sundresses of women working in the garden became clearly visible.

Through Klyazma, the ringing, ringing voices of gardeners began to be heard, calling to each other as if somewhere in the forest.

Here is the bridge. The knight reined in his horse. From the saddle he could see that the bridge was thin: the horse might stumble. The rider frowned and shook his head. Then he dismounted and took the horse by the bridle.

The bridge gate was lowered and blocked the entrance. The Knight stopped in bewilderment: it was as if a sparrow-like little boy had just been sitting here, sitting on this very crossbar, and suddenly, like the wind, he had been blown away!