Alexander clenched his fists, feeling anger and inspiration battling within him. The city around him seemed overtaken by hidden chaos. At first glance, Kyiv was bustling with its vibrant, pulsating life, but behind this facade of prosperity lay deep cracks.
The narrow streets were drowning in mud, the sharp cries of merchants in the market merged into a deafening roar, and random passersby hurried by, avoiding eye contact with the beggar children huddled in dirty corners.
Even though Kyivan Rus' was in its Golden Age, Alexander was well aware that the city's greatness did not exempt it from its problems. The growing population, especially due to craftsmen, merchants, and settlers, was taking its toll. The infrastructure was barely coping with the load. Housing was insufficient, sanitation left much to be desired, and the city, like a weary giant, was struggling to maintain its grandeur amidst emerging difficulties.
He walked the streets, closely observing the unfolding scenes. Before his eyes passed images, each of which was a painful sore requiring immediate attention: collapsed roofs, peeling plaster on walls, chaos in the marketplace where merchants argued over spots for their stalls.
It all formed a clear picture. Mentally, Alexander counted: one, two, three... More than twenty issues already. And these were just the ones visible on the surface.
- Where to start? - Alexander muttered quietly, stopping at the corner of a noisy square.
His gaze swept over the now-familiar scenes of city life - piles of trash near houses, puddles on the streets, the dull hum of merchants' voices. But suddenly, his attention was drawn to a small group of children surrounding an elderly monk. The monk stood by a wall, holding a wooden board with unevenly written letters of the alphabet. His face showed patience mixed with slight weariness.
The boys, barefoot and dressed in torn, occasionally dirty shirts, looked at the board with varying degrees of interest. One of them, clearly younger than the others, fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, frowned, and stammered:
- B... A... Ba?
The monk sighed heavily, shook his head, and began explaining again. Confusion was evident on the children's faces; their gazes wandered as if the letters were something foreign and incomprehensible. Alexander froze, watching this scene. Something pricked at his chest - not pity, but a sharp understanding. They were trying, but without structure, without support, it was just a drop in the ocean.
- Schools, - he muttered under his breath, realizing education was indispensable.
At the last council meeting, a decision had already been made to establish schools at monasteries where children and adults could learn literacy. It was an important step, but not enough for true change.
- It's not enough, - Alexander said quietly, looking at the rough cobblestone road. He imagined a future where children like these could not only read prayers but also keep trade records, build houses, and develop new tools.
- We need more than literacy. Craftsmen, engineers, officials... Without them, even the boldest plans will remain dreams. We need to develop our experts
His thoughts returned to the monks and their limited resources. Alexander understood that schools at monasteries were just the beginning, but more needed to be done. He surveyed the street and then looked back at the children. In their hesitant movements, he saw the city's future but knew it would only become a reality if a solid foundation was laid.
- Dobrynya, - Alexander called, turning to his companion. But before he could respond, Mirnomir stepped forward, his gaze sharp as a blade.
- Master, the woman to the right, - he said quietly, giving a barely noticeable nod. - She wants to say something. She's harmless but insistent
Alexander turned his head, following Mirnomir's gaze. A woman in modest, worn clothing stood slightly apart. Her figure seemed bent under an invisible weight, but her eyes burned with a strange mix of desperate determination and timid hope.
Next to her, a thin boy about ten years old clung to the edge of her clothing, peeking out from behind her back. His dirty face showed wariness, but his eyes revealed that he understood his mother had come here for his sake.
Dobrynya, posing as a wealthy craftsman, noticed the woman hesitantly take a couple of steps forward, cautiously observing them. Her gaze lingered on Dobrynya's face as if searching for reassurance that she could speak.
Mstislav, standing behind, cast a quick glance around. A short nod - no threat. Mirnomir slightly relaxed but remained alert. Alexander, without showing it, watched every movement.
The woman hesitantly approached, her steps uncertain, as if each required great effort. Alexander immediately caught her scent - a mixture of smoke and earth, the smell of hard labor and poverty. When she was a few steps away, her gaze dropped to the ground, and she bowed low, almost touching her forehead to the earth.
- Master… - her voice was quiet, trembling not from fear but from internal tension. She raised her head, and her eyes met Dobrynya's face, though her words seemed addressed to everyone and no one at once. - Forgive me for daring… - She faltered, as if gathering her courage. - My son… He wants to study. But the monks said there are no places left. We will give everything we have, just to give him a chance… Please
Her voice was quiet, but the muffled force of desperation resonated in every word. The noise of the market still swirled around her, but at that moment it seemed to vanish. All that remained were her, her son, and this heavy, bitter feeling, as though her plea was the last chance to change something.
The boy clutched at the fabric of her shirt, trying not to lift his gaze from the ground. Alexander noticed her hands nervously clasped, her shoulders trembling as if she were already bracing herself for rejection.
- He's smart, master! - the woman suddenly exclaimed, her voice strengthening with desperation. - He learned the letters on his own while my husband was alive… But now? Who will help him? And without education… without it, how will he live? How not to be like everyone else?
The last words came out almost as a cry before her voice faltered and fell silent. Alexander detected not only fear in her tone but also pride for her son. He wasn't just her boy - he was all she had left.
Dobrynya opened his mouth to say something, but Alexander stepped forward, his shoulders subtly straightening. Even in simple clothing, his bearing and steady gaze left no doubt that he was someone who could decide fates.
- What's your son's name? - he asked softly, leaning slightly closer to the boy. His voice was so calm and confident that the woman felt she wasn't just hearing a question.
The woman froze, her gaze lingering momentarily on Alexander's face. She tried to discern who he was, but in his eyes, she saw something that made her trust him - his unwavering confidence.
- Ivan, mister, - she whispered, her words sounding as if she were afraid to admit her son existed.
Alexander turned his gaze to the boy. Slowly, he lifted his head, meeting Alexander's eyes.
- Do you want to study? - he asked quietly, but there was something in his voice that made this question the most important in the world.
The boy froze, then quickly nodded, his lips trembling, but he suddenly found the courage.
- I… I know the letters! "B… A… Ba," - he said haltingly, but his voice faltered on the last syllables.
Alexander straightened, casting a quick glance at Dobrynya. The latter frowned, but readiness to act was already evident in his eyes. Mirnomir inclined his head slightly, as if confirming that the woman and boy posed no threat.
- You say the monks refused? - Alexander clarified, his voice dropping slightly as if weighing every word.
The woman quickly nodded, her eyes filling with tears again.
- They said there were no places… But he can do everything! Please, master, I beg… - her voice broke, and she clasped her hands as if in prayer.
Alexander nodded, addressing the woman.
- We'll find a way. Go home and tell your son he will have a chance
The woman froze upon hearing his words. They sounded different; no ordinary person spoke like that. In his voice, there was something that made her heart clench and her mind whisper, "Trust." She stole another glance at him.
His confident movements, steady gaze, and manner of speech - everything about him resembled someone accustomed to commanding and making decisions. But unlike many, his words carried no threat. They were imbued with a strange, almost unfamiliar care.
- You… you'll really do this? - she whispered, daring to believe for the first time.
Alexander gave a short nod, and something in his eyes made her straighten her shoulders. Suddenly, her previously dull gaze filled with light. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but a trembling smile appeared on her lips.
- Is it… true? - she whispered, her voice trembling as if she were afraid to believe.
- I promise, - Alexander replied, his voice firm like a solemn vow.
She dropped to her knees, her voice trembling with gratitude:
- Thank you… Thank you, my lords. May God protect you!
Dobrynya carefully helped her to her feet, but Alexander had already stepped back, trying once again to blend into the crowd. Mirnomir, subtly monitoring the reactions of those around them, gave a brief nod, signaling that they could move on.
Alexander cast one last glance at the woman and the boy before turning to continue his path. Once they had reached a safe distance, Alexander stopped. His gaze drifted forward, into the heart of the crowd, into the heart of the city.
- This is why we need schools, - he said softly. His voice was calm, yet it carried a note of pain. - That boy wants to study, but he has neither a chance nor support. How many children like him are there across Kyiv? And we think a few monastery schools will solve the problem
Dobrynya nodded silently, but his face showed he understood the depth of the prince's words. Alexander stopped abruptly, turning to his companion. His eyes burned with determination.
- Schools at monasteries are a good start, but they are not enough. We must go further. I want to create a separate educational building - an independent school. Free from the church's influence. A purely academic institution where children will learn not only literacy but also crafts, mathematics, and the basics of trade. Such a place will be a new step for Kyiv
Dobrynya frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze rested on Alexander, as though weighing every word of the prince.
- It won't be easy, - he said cautiously. - People aren't used to such changes. Many will see it as a threat to tradition. Especially the boyars and the monks
Alexander responded with a brief, almost stubborn smile, one that radiated resolve.
- I understand, - he said calmly. - That's why we are carefully documenting everything now. When I present this to Illarion, his support will be key. With his word and wisdom, neither the boyars nor the people will have strong reasons to oppose us
Dobrynya understood his idea, though it seemed to stretch the limits of what was acceptable.
- Illarion is a wise man, but he has always advocated keeping education under the church's patronage. How do you plan to convince him, Prince?
Alexander smirked, his gaze flaring with determination.
- The church will be part of these changes, - he said. - I don't intend to exclude its influence, but this school will go beyond teaching literacy and prayers. Illarion understands that Kyiv must become a center of knowledge and craftsmanship, or we will lose to future challenges. I'll explain to him that we're not competing with monastic schools but complementing them. We will train scribes, engineers, craftsmen - those who will strengthen the state. And ultimately, this will benefit the church as well
Dobrynya nodded, though a shadow of doubt lingered on his face.
- Fine, Illarion might support it. But what about the boyars? They'll see this as an unnecessary expense. Many will argue the money is better spent on fortifications or maintaining the druzhina
Alexander nodded slowly, contemplating. Then his voice grew firm.
- We'll show them that literate people are power. A literate official won't make mistakes in taxes, and an educated merchant will increase his profits, which means more income for the principality. If the boyars' and merchants' children study at this school, they'll be the first to see the benefits. The boyars will see it as an investment in their future, not a waste
Dobrynya stroked his beard thoughtfully, his expression gradually brightening.
- Then let's start with those who will understand the benefits fastest - the merchants. If they accept it, the boyars will follow. As for Illarion... I'll handle preparing the meeting with him. Let him see that his opinion matters to us
Alexander smiled faintly.
- Exactly. I want Kyiv to have a school where anyone can come, regardless of origin. This isn't just an idea, Dobrynya. This is our future
Dobrynya nodded slowly, then lowered his voice slightly and asked:
- But how much will it cost? Such changes always require money
Alexander paused in thought. While he could estimate the costs roughly, precise calculations required expertise he didn't possess. It was better to consult knowledgeable people like Dobrynya. He gave a brief nod, inviting his companion to share his assessment.
Dobrynya froze for a moment, as if calculating in his mind, then slowly stroked his beard.
- Land for construction will cost 10-20 hryvnias. If we choose a reasonable location outside the city, it'll reduce expenses. Building the structure itself will be 40-50 hryvnias, depending on the materials. Equipping it - boards, ink, parchment - will take another 10-15. That's 60-85 hryvnias to start
Alexander remained silent, contemplating, but Dobrynya continued:
- And annual maintenance? Teachers will need to be paid - 5-10 hryvnias a year. Heating, repairs, and upkeep will require another 3-5. In total - 8-15 hryvnias annually
Alexander sank into thought for a moment. The amount Dobrynya mentioned seemed relatively small, especially compared to the costs of building fortifications or maintaining the druzhina. Yet he understood these projects required entirely different investments.
- It's a significant sum, - Alexander finally said, his voice calm, though his eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. - But this investment will secure the city's future. An educated people is a strong people. If merchants' children study there, it'll strengthen trade. And literate officials, scribes, and engineers will make Kyiv stronger
Dobrynya nodded and continued...
While Alexander and Dobrynya discussed the necessity of literacy, Mirnomir suddenly slowed his pace, his face tensed. His eyes darted toward the crowd, as if searching for something others couldn't see. Alexander caught the moment out of the corner of his eye and grew wary but continued walking with the same measured confidence.
- What's wrong?
- By the wall on the right, - Mirnomir murmured almost inaudibly, tilting his head so his words couldn't be overheard. - A man. Watching the crowd. I think he's a Polovtsian scout
Alexander barely tensed but showed no reaction. He leaned slightly forward as if inspecting a vendor's goods.
- Why do you think so? - he asked quietly.
- Predatory gaze, - Mirnomir replied briefly, his voice even but tense. - The stance of a soldier. His clothes are too modest for a merchant but too clean for a commoner. He's hiding under a cloak, but he's clearly armed. And his manner of watching - he's observing people, not goods
Stanislav, walking slightly behind, caught Mirnomir's words and quickly assessed the situation. His eyes narrowed, and his gaze swept the crowd.
- Mstislav, cover the rear, - he said softly, immediately taking command. - Mirnomir, keep him in sight. Dobrynya, shield the prince on the side. Ladislav, stay closer to the prince. I'll take the left flank
Everyone silently followed the orders. The group slowed its pace, subtly repositioning. Ladislav stepped closer to Alexander, moving half a step ahead. Mstislav effortlessly took the rear, his hand brushing the knife hidden under his cloak. Mirnomir seemed to blend into the crowd, moving to keep the suspect in sight.
Stanislav, habitually scanning the street, took his position on the left. His gaze flicked briefly to Alexander, then back to the crowd. Everything seemed calm at first glance, but the tension within the group was palpable, like a taut string ready to snap.
Their movements were natural but carried an air of confidence that set them apart from ordinary townsfolk. The way they walked, their instinct to stay together as if shielding Alexander, might escape a casual observer's notice but not the eyes of an experienced scout.
The man by the wall had noticed them from the start. He wasn't an ordinary person - his trained eye quickly picked out the small details: Mirnomir's and Mstislav's movements, Stanislav's readiness, and Dobrynya's subtle shielding of Alexander.
When the group subtly shifted formation, it might have seemed natural in the crowd, but the scout detected the change in rhythm. His wariness grew.
- Craftsmen don't move like that, - the thought crossed his mind. He didn't know who these people were escorting, but something in their behavior betrayed their training.
The scout stepped to the side, then another, smoothly blending into the flow of the crowd. He kept a safe distance, trying not to lose sight of the group while avoiding drawing attention to himself.
- Change route, - Stanislav said tersely, not looking back but directing his words to Dobrynya. His voice was low, almost imperceptible to others. - To the square. The crowd will make it easier to blend in
Dobrynya nodded without argument. He wasn't a warrior, but he understood that Stanislav's word was final now.
Alexander, moving at the center, didn't look around but felt everything. Every glance, every sound. He knew even the smallest mistake could give them away.
- Keep the pace, - Stanislav added softly. - Move as if nothing's happening
The group continued at the same pace, but every step was deliberate. Mirnomir quickened slightly, scanning the route ahead. Mstislav tracked the suspect's every movement. Stanislav kept his eyes on the surroundings, ready to act at a moment's notice.
The scout didn't give up, continuing to follow at a calculated distance. He blended into the crowd, but Nikita, who had been watching him from the start, had already identified his target. Nicknamed the Fox, Nikita was known for his stealth and cunning. Even for an experienced guardsman, this task was no small challenge.
- He's cautious, like a beast, - Nikita noted, observing the scout's smooth, almost lazy movements. He moved as if merely strolling, but his predatory, focused gaze gave him away as a seasoned hunter.
Nikita, disguised as a merchant, moved slowly, feigning interest in the wares displayed on the stalls. He waited for the right moment, avoiding any sudden moves. - Too soon, and he'll flee. Too late, and he'll alert others. - One wrong step could spell disaster
As the street began to clear slightly, Nikita stumbled on purpose. His movement was flawlessly rehearsed: his body tilted, his hand reached out for support - and seemingly by chance, it grabbed the scout's shoulder.
- Oh, forgive me, friend, - he said with a smile, looking directly into his target's eyes.
The scout tensed. Nikita felt the muscles under his fingers tighten, but the man held himself back, trying not to reveal his suspicion. His eyes darted around the street, as if checking for an ambush.
- It's nothing… - he muttered, trying to pull away.
But Nikita didn't give him the chance. With a swift motion, he pinned the scout against the wall, as if steadying a drunk friend, and leaned in closer.
- Greetings from Kyivan Rus, - he whispered, his voice icy.
The scout jerked, sensing the hidden threat, but it was too late. Nikita moved like lightning; his hand darted under his cloak to a dagger, delivering a short, precise strike. The scout gasped, his eyes widening in pain and horror.
But at that moment, something went wrong. The scout, even mortally wounded, managed to snatch a knife from his belt. His hand jerked, heading towards Nikita. The fox reacted instantly: grabbing the enemy's wrist, he sharply hit his elbow on his hand, knocking the knife away, which fell to the ground with a dull sound.
- Persistent… - Nikita muttered, feeling his pulse pounding in his temples.
The scout's body finally went limp. Nikita held him upright to prevent him from collapsing. For a moment, his breathing was ragged, but he quickly regained composure. Glancing around, he ensured no one had noticed the altercation. The crowd continued its flow, oblivious.
- You overplayed your hand, my friend, - he said quietly, pretending to lead a drunk companion.
Nikita headed for a narrow alley where two guardsmen awaited. But now he moved more cautiously. The incident made him think. - What if he wasn't alone? What if they're watching me too?
His gaze lingered on the alley. Nikita checked every corner, every detail, seeing not only with his eyes but with his instincts. Assured the area was clear, he handed the body to the guardsmen, his voice cold and steady:
- Dispose of him quietly. Say nothing to anyone
The guardsmen swiftly concealed the body under a coarse cloak, and Nikita, adjusting his own, returned to the crowd. His steps were measured, his movements precise, but inside, adrenaline still coursed through him. The scout had been skilled, but Nikita was faster. His years of training had given him the edge.
He slowed momentarily, glancing over his shoulder at the alley where his comrades had disappeared with the body. Checking, confirming, maintaining composure. Nikita had always been like this - actions without emotion. Yet this time, he felt a strange aftertaste. The scout, even in death, hadn't shown fear, only determination. It made Nikita ponder.
Adjusting his cloak, Nikita's gaze briefly swept over the crowd. Everything seemed normal, but the inner tension remained.
- He was too good. What if he wasn't alone? - he thought, glancing around subtly.
His fingers instinctively brushed his belt, ensuring his weapon was in place. - Scouts rarely work alone. But we'll find them all
Nikita adjusted his cloak, fully immersing himself in his merchant persona. His movements were deliberate, perfectly measured, like someone with no reason to rush. Every detail - the way he carried his shoulders or turned his head slightly - betrayed no sign of an experienced guardsman, only a diligent merchant calmly ending his day.
- Young prince, - he murmured with a faint smirk. - The next fight will be mine
The words were restrained, yet they carried an inner fire. Nikita recalled the training bout from the day before. Alexander had proven far more agile and persistent than expected. There was a spark in him that had stung the pride of the seasoned guardsman.
Meanwhile, Alexander's group continued to move through the square. No one looked back, but everyone felt the tension still hanging in the air. Alexander walked in the center, concealed under his hood. His stride was confident, yet his thoughts lingered on the events of the last few minutes. He knew trusted eyes were watching over him, but he also felt the danger had not entirely passed.
- All clear, - Stanislav finally said quietly, his voice firm but calm. - Keep moving. Stay vigilant
Alexander nodded without breaking his stride. He understood Stanislav's words were not a signal to relax but a reminder that the threat could resurface at any moment.
Suddenly, Stanislav glanced briefly at Alexander, then, feigning interest in the goods at nearby stalls, smoothly veered toward the merchant row. His steps were confident yet unhurried, so as not to draw attention. Among some of the merchants were senior guards, disguised as traders. These men, accustomed to such operations, maintained subtle contact with the main group.
Stanislav approached one of them - a sturdy man with a serious expression, standing by a fabric stall. Without giving anything away, he stopped nearby, seemingly inspecting the wares.
His lips barely moved as he uttered a few short phrases. The guardsman, nicknamed the Wolf for his vigilance and strength, frowned slightly as he caught the meaning. His response was instantaneous - a barely noticeable nod, as if agreeing on the price of the goods. His hands continued deftly sorting through fabrics, as though nothing had happened.
Stanislav took a step back, casting a quick glance over the crowd and the other "merchants." Everything was under control. The intricate network of disguised guards, established to protect the prince, operated flawlessly. Returning to the group, Stanislav approached Dobrynya. His movements were calm yet focused.
- Everything is proceeding as planned, - he said, keeping his hood low and his hands hidden beneath his cloak. - We can move on
Dobrynya gave a curt nod without asking questions. His trust in Stanislav was absolute. Alexander noticed their brief exchange of looks but refrained from intervening. He had grown accustomed to relying on his people, especially in situations like this.
Dwelling too much on the recent incident made little sense. The threat had been averted, but Alexander's mind had already turned to the next issue.
Kyiv, the heart of Kyivan Rus', lived its vibrant life - pulsing and bright, yet, as Alexander understood, vulnerable to weaknesses. He felt them, like cracks in a grand structure that were not yet visible but already threatened its integrity.
Alexander stopped at the edge of the bustling market. Here, life was in full swing: women in brightly colored scarves animatedly argued with traders offering fresh vegetables and fish; merchants from distant lands praised fabrics brought from overseas; children laughed as they swirled around stalls with sweets. The air was thick with the scents of spices, fresh bread, and resin from newly unpacked crates of goods.
At first glance, everything spoke of prosperity. Kyiv was indeed at the height of its power. Wealth flowed in from across Kyivan Rus' and beyond. But Alexander, accustomed to looking deeper, immediately noticed something else: wastefulness, mismanagement, and small oversights that could turn into significant problems if left unaddressed.
***
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