‘I know you now,’ the Vlad hissed, ‘Thibor the Wallach. Don’t you fear the true God? Don’t you tremble before the cross of Christ? I was praying for our deliverance, and you-‘
‘And I have brought it to you.’ Thibor’s voice was deep, doleful. He tipped out his sack onto the flags. The prince’s retinue and the nobles of Kiev where they stood back from him who ruled over them gasped and gaped. Bones clattered white in a heap at the Vlad’s feet.
‘What?’ he choked. ‘What?’
‘Thumbs,’ said Thibor. ‘I had the flesh boiled off them,
lest their stink offend. The Pechenegi are driven back, trapped between the Dniester, the Bug and the sea. Your Boyar army hems them in. Hopefully they can deal with them without me and mine. For I have heard that the Polovtsy are rising like the wind in the east. Also, in Turkey-land, armies wax for war!’
‘You have heard? You have heard? And are you some mighty Voevod, then? Do you set yourself up as the ears of Vladimir? And what do you mean, “you and yours”? The two hundred men you marched with are mine!’
At that Thibor took a deep breath. He paced forward -then paused. Then he bowed low, if inelegantly, and said, ‘Of course they are yours, Prince. Also the four-score refugees I’ve gathered together and turned into warriors. All are yours. As for being your ears: if I have heard falsely, then strike me deaf. But my work is finished in the south and I thought you had more need of me here. Soldiers are few in Kiev this day, and her borders are wide . . .’
The Vlad’s eyes remained veiled. The Pechenegi are at bay, you say – and do you give yourself credit for this?’
‘In all modesty. This and more.’
‘And you’ve brought my men back with you, without casualty?’
‘A handful are fallen.’ Thibor shrugged. ‘But I found eighty to replace them.’
‘Show me.’
They went to the great doors, out onto the wide steps of the church. There in the square, Thibor’s men waited in silence, some upon horses but most afoot, all armed to the teeth and looking very fierce. They were the same sorry bunch the Wallach had taken away with him, but no longer sorry. His standard flew from three tall flagstaffs: the golden dragon, and upon its back a black bat with of carnelian.
The Vlad nodded. ‘Your mark,’ he commented, per-haps sourly. ‘A bat.’
‘The black bat of the Wallachs, aye,’ said Thibor. One of the monks spoke up, ‘But atop the dragon?’
Thibor grinned at him wolfishly. ‘Would you have the dragon pissing on my bat?’ The monks took the prince aside while Thibor stood waiting. He could not hear what was said, but he’d imagined it often enough in times since:
‘These men are utterly loyal to him! See how proud they stand beneath his banner?’ the senior monk would have whispered in that sly Greek way. ‘It could be a nuisance.’
And Vlad: ‘Does it trouble you? I have five times their number right here in the city.’
The Greek: ‘But these men have been tried in battle; they are warriors all!’
Vlad: ‘What are you saying? I should fear him? I’ve Varyagi blood in me and fear no man!’
Greek: ‘Of course you don’t. But . . . he sets himself above his station, this one. Can we not find him a task -him and a handful of his men – and keep the rest of them back here to bolster the city’s defences? This way, in his absence, their loyalty will surely swing more rightly to you.’
And Vladimir Svyatoslavich’s eyes narrowing more yet. Then – his nod of approval: I have the very thing. Yes, and I believe you’re right – best to be rid of him. These Wallachs are a tricky lot. Far too insular . . .’ And out loud to the Voevod: ‘Thibor, I’m honouring you tonight at the palace. You and five of your best. Then you can tell me all about your victories. But there’ll be ladies there, so see you’re washed and leave your armour in your lodgings and tents.’