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〃Let's walk on； let's go past the castle of the Voievoda；〃 I said。 〃You see that wooden building； you would never call it a palace or a castle in fair Italy。 That is a castle here。〃
Marius nodded。 He made a little soothing gesture。 I owed him no explanation of this alien place from which I'd e。
The Voievoda was our ruler； and in my time it had been Prince Michael of Lithuania。 I didn't know who it would be now。
I surprised myself that I used the proper word for him。 In my deathly dream vision； I had no consciousness of language； and the strange word for ruler； 〃voievoda；〃 had never passed my lips。 But I had seen him clearly then in his round black far hat； his dark thick velvet tunic and his felt boots。
I led the way。
We approached the squat building； which seemed more a fortress than anything else； built as it was out of such enormous logs。 Its walls had a graceful slope as they ascended； its many towers had four…tiered roofs。 I could see its central roof； a great five…sided wooden dome of sorts； in stark outline against the starry sky。 Torches blazed at its huge doorways and along the outer walls of its enclosures。 All its windows were sealed against the winter and the night。
Time was when I thought it was the grandest building yet standing in Christendom。
It was no task at all to dazzle the guards with a few swift soft words and darting movements； to pass them and to enter the castle itself。
We found our way in by means of a rear storage room； and quietly made our way to a vantage point where we could spy upon the small crowd of fur…trimmed nobles or lords who clustered in the Great Room； beneath the bare beams of a wooden ceiling around the roaring fire。
On a great sprawling mass of brilliant Turkey rugs they sat； in huge Russian chairs whose geometrical carvings were no mystery to my eye。 They drank from gold goblets； the wine being provided by two leather…clad serving boys； and their long belted robes were the colors of blue and red and gold as bright as the many designs in the rugs。
European tapestries covered the rudely stuccoed walls。 Same old scenes of the hunt in the never…ending woodlands of France or England or Tuscany。 On a long board set with blazing candles sat a simple meal of joints and fowl。
So cold was the room that these lords wore their Russian far hats。
How exotic it had looked to me in boyhood when I'd been brought with my Father to stand before Prince Michael； who was eternally grateful for my Father's feats of bravery in bringing down delicious game in the wild fields； or delivering bundles of valuables to the allies of Prince Michael in the Lithuanian forts to the west。
But these were Europeans。 I had never respected them。
My Father had taught me too well that they were but lackeys of the Khan； paying for the right to rule us。
〃No one goes up against those thieves；〃 my Father had said。 〃So let them sing their songs of honor and valor。 It means nothing。 You listen to the songs that I sing。〃
And my Father could sing some songs。
For all his stamina in the saddle； for all his dexterity with the bow and arrow； and his blunt brute force with the broadsword； he had the ability with his long fingers to pluck out music on the strings of an old harp and sing with cleverness the narrative songs of the ancient times when Kiev had been a great capital； her churches rivaling those of Byzantium； her riches the wonder of all the world。
Within a moment； I was ready to go。 I took one last memorial glance at these men； huddled as they were over their golden wine cups； their big fur…trimmed boots resting on fancy Turkish foot rests； their shoulders hunkered； their shadows crowding the walls。 And then； without their ever having known we were there； we slipped away。
It was time now to go to the other hilltop city； the Pechersk； under which lay the many catabs of the Monastery of the Caves。
I trembled at the mere thought of it。 It seemed the mouth of the Monastery would swallow me and I should burrow through the moist Mother Earth； forever seeking the light of the stars； never to find my way out。
But I went there； trudging through the mud and snow； and again with a vampire's silky ease； I gained access； this time leading the way； snapping the locks silently with my superior strength and lifting the doors as I opened them so no weight would fall upon their creaky hinges； and dashing swiftly across rooms so that mortal eyes perceived no more than cold shadows； if they perceived anything at all。
The air was warm and motionless here； a blessing； but memory told me it had not been so terribly warm for a mortal boy。 In the Scriptorium； by the smoky light of cheap oil； several brothers were bent over their slanted desks； working on their copying； as if the printing press were of no concern to them； and surely it was not。
I could see the texts on which they worked and I knew them…the Paterikon of the Kievan Caves Monastery； with its marvelous tales of the Monastery's founders and its many colorful saints。
In this room； laboring over that text； I had learned fully to read and write。 I crept now along the wall until my eyes could fall on the page which one monk copied； his left hand steadying the crumbling model from which he worked。
I knew this part of the Paterikon by heart。 It was the Tale of Isaac。 Demons had fooled Isaac； they had e to him as beautiful angels； and even pretending to be Christ Himself。 When Isaac had fallen for their tricks； they had danced with glee and taunted him。 But after much meditation and penance； Isaac stood up to these demons。
The monk had just dipped his pen and he wrote now the words with which Isaac spoke：
When you deceived me in the form of Jesus Christ and the angels； you were unworthy of that rank。 But now you appear in your true colors…
I looked away。 I didn't read the rest。 Cleaving there so well to the wall I might have gone on unseen forever。 Slowly I looked at the other pages which the monk had copied； which were being let to dry。 I found an earlier passage which I'd never forgotten； describing Isaac as he lay； withdrawn from all the world； motionless； and without food for two years：
For Isaac was weakened in mind and body and could not turn over on his side； stand up； or sit down； he just lay there on one side； and often worms collected under his thighs from his excrement and urine。
The demons had driven Isaac to this； with their deception。 Such temptations； such visions； such confusion and such penance I myself had hoped to experience for the rest of my life when I entered here as a child。
I listened to the pen scratch on the paper。 I withdrew； unseen； as if I'd never e。
I looked back at my scholarly brethren。
All were emaciated； dressed in cheap black wool； reeking of old sweat and dirt； and their heads were all but shaved。 Their long beards were thin and unbed。
I thought I knew one of them； had loved him somewhat even； but this seemed remote and not worth considering anymore。
To Marius； who stood beside me as faithfully as a shadow； I confided t