"Good boy, you fought really well."
Yaroslav's first words were praise; he had witnessed the boy's heroic performance on the battlefield. As the eldest of the younger generation, his actions were a perfect example for his peers.
"It was a bit risky, but as a Prince's son, fighting on the battlefield is his duty."
Vishata subtly offered some criticism, but everything Rostislav did was what a Rurik Prince should do. The Rurik Dynasty became the masters of Rostislav by constantly fighting on the battlefield.
Although many perished in battle, the survivors would undoubtedly lead the family to greater strength.
The sound of hooves attracted the attention of the three men. A scout, wearing a leather cap, galloped over, dismounted, and knelt before the three important figures.
"Great Duke, the Chud have completely collapsed. People from Yuryev have arrived; they say they have prepared a feast and are just waiting for the army to come and enjoy it."
"Is that so? The Mayor of Yuryev reacted quite quickly. In that case, assemble the troops, clear the battlefield, and then let us enter the city and enjoy ourselves."
Yaroslav nodded in satisfaction and ordered everyone to gather the army. In his opinion, the Chud had basically fled into the forest, so there was no need for pursuit; finding them in the vast forest was almost impossible.
"Yes, Great Duke," the two men quickly replied.
— — — — — — — —
Towards evening that same day, the Kiev Grand Duke's army entered Yuryev. As the Kiev Grand Duke's army marched into the city, the streets on both sides were filled with residents who had come to welcome the Great Duke.
The crowd erupted in cheer after cheer for the Great Duke, who was riding forward on his horse, as if welcoming the Messiah.
The Mayor of Yuryev personally led the Great Duke's horse, and the local bishop also attended at the Great Duke's side. Their faces were filled with gratitude; regardless of any past grievances, the Great Duke had rescued them from the shadow of the siege.
The Great Duke was accustomed to such scenes. A gentle smile hung on his face, and he occasionally waved to the cheering crowd, causing even more cheers to erupt among them.
"This doesn't seem like a forced emotion."
Rostislav was among the nobles behind his grandfather, and he could see that the emotions of most of the welcoming crowd were very genuine.
"Of course, it's genuine," Vishata replied, looking at the people.
"You saw what the Chud did outside. The citizens of Yuryev are naturally grateful to the Great Duke who saved them from the threat of the siege."
Rostislav recalled the barbaric scenes he had witnessed in the burned villages and instinctively nodded.
"Have a good time tonight. Yuryev will bring out all their best things to entertain you. Enjoy this… taste of victory."
When Vishata said this, his face was unnatural. He always felt there was something wrong with the day's victory, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
Seeing this, Rostislav also understood what Vishata was worried about, but he had no particular thoughts on it, because, as his grandfather had expressed: worrying before the Chud made their move was useless.
Compared to these worries, he was more interested in the feast his uncle mentioned. He had spent these past few days on military campaigns, and even as a Prince, his daily meals could be described as bland and tasteless. Finally, he could be liberated!
— — — — — — — —
Compared to Kiev, which was influenced by Byzantine culture, the north still maintained a rougher style, and this was fully displayed at the feast.
Large quantities of steaming bread, roasted meat, and broth were brought to the soldiers' tables, followed by rounds of golden cheese. Barrels of wine were placed around the square, which served as the venue, and anyone could ladle out a cup of cold kvass.
The warriors under the Great Duke were very satisfied with all of this; what they loved most were such rough feasts. Musicians played joyful Norse melodies, making the atmosphere even more cheerful.
The citizens also participated in the feast; the gloom of the siege had disappeared, and they also needed entertainment.
From time to time, the soft laughter of women could be heard in the venue. The prostitutes of Yuryev would not miss such a perfect money-making opportunity, and some local women also hoped to "vent" the suppression brought by the siege. Warriors also needed to release the pressure of battle through women's bodies, and even in some dark corners, impatient individuals had already "gotten down to business."
Compared to the roughness outside, the scene inside the tent was more civilized. Artworks from the Imperial Capital adorned the place; they were treasures worthy of being called princely gifts, but the elite of Rostislav resided within them. This art could not bring them much of the Imperial Capital's temperament, but they did not care anyway.
Across from Rostislav, several nobles were having a drinking contest. A rough glance showed that they looked no different from the soldiers outside; their expensive furs were covered in wine stains, showing no trace of noble dignity.
All sorts of foul language could be heard from time to time. As people got drunk, they gradually let loose, and some even directly pulled the serving girls into their arms and groped them.
The Great Duke still maintained his dignity as the ruler of Rostislav. Although he was also drinking continuously, his demeanor remained as usual, and those around him did not dare to be too presumptuous.
It was also thanks to his presence that this feast did not completely get out of hand; otherwise, Rostislav highly suspected that those who were touching the serving girls might directly put on a live show there.
The feast continued late into the night, and the entire Yuryev was enveloped in the sounds of revelry.
— — — — — — — —
The ancients once said that sounds of joy often invite disaster. As the Norsemen were intoxicated by the joy of victory, outside Yuryev, the defeated forces reassembled, more formidable than before.
The Chud silently traversed the dense forest; their movements were orderly, completely unaffected by the previous day's defeat.
"Please tell the chieftains of the islands that Estonia will not forget their support."
Alar, the unifier of the Estonian tribes, looked at the bearded Norsemen before him. They came from the Norse settlers in the northwestern Estonian islands and the local Norse-influenced tribes.
Alar was of medium height, and his appearance was not outstanding in the crowd; only his grayish-white eyes were noticeable.
"Our swords fight for you," the sturdy Norse warrior simply stated to Alar, then left. His kinsmen and warriors still needed to be organized.
Alar looked at the departing figure. To gain the support of the Norse, he had paid a considerable price, and these costs could only be recouped if Yuryev was captured and the Great Duke Rostislav was killed as planned.
He had no retreat. Because of this, he had thrown in all his cards; if he failed, he wouldn't have to worry, because he wouldn't need to consider these things then.