Tugel, a name notorious throughout the Rus', especially in Kiev, where people even used his name to scare children.
This Polovtsian leader was always known for his audacious and ruthless nature; he once led two thousand cavalry across Pei City and directly to the walls of Kiev to plunder, capturing a large number of captives who were then sent east and south to be sold as slaves.
As for the useless elderly, infirm, and children, he beheaded them all beneath the walls of Kiev, a scene that spread his bloody reputation across the Rus' lands.
And along with his bloody reputation, his reputation for exacting revenge for even the smallest grievance also spread.
Once, a caravan sailing along the Dnieper River narrowly escaped this Polovtsian raiding party and then openly mocked them from their ship, but no one expected that Tugel remembered this incident. From then on, he waited with immense patience at various points along the Seven Waterfalls, and he did indeed await the return journey of that caravan.
When the Rus' cautiously navigated the rapids, the large Polovtsian cavalry army attacked. The caravan, naturally, was powerless to resist, and most of the people were captured. In the end, only one ship, which had not yet entered the rapids, managed to escape.
The people on this last ship were forced to watch how Tugel treated their friends. The Kipchaks made their subordinates torture the captives in various ways, and finally, they quartered them, making the scene like hell itself.
After completing all this, the Polovtsian's anger dissipated, and he also needed someone to spread the news in Rus', so he did not bother with the last boat and let them go.
To emphasize that he came for revenge, Tugel did not even touch the spoils of war, leaving them just as they were.
And these people, who had escaped with their lives, after the Nomads' army retreated, hastily gathered what they could and continued their journey. They did indeed bring this bloody news to Kiev, making Tugel's reputation even more terrifying.
"As things stand, we must leave early. Too many Nomads have escaped. Tugel will receive the news by tomorrow at the latest, and then he will lead his large army here. We have also completed the Kiev Grand Duke's mission; this Polovtsian is enough to hand over."
Gvaran did not forget to glance at the unconscious Polovtsian leader, emphasizing his significance to persuade Prince Rostislav to leave early.
"Let's not be too hasty, Gvaran. We still have at least a few hours."
Prince Rostislav clutched his chest, calming his nervous heart, forcing his mind to cool down. He motioned for a Bodyguard Unit member to pull over a tent table. As for the exquisite candlesticks and decorations on it, he swept them all to the ground. The Prince pulled out a rolled map from his waist and placed it on the table.
This map was made of parchment and looked quite old. It mainly depicted the terrain and cities of the Kiev region.
This map could be traced back to the time of Vladimir; it was a military map made by that Kiev Grand Duke during his war with the Pechenegs. After drawing the map, Vladimir ordered many copies to be made and distributed to his subordinates, and some were also stored.
Prince Rostislav found this map in the Kiev Grand Duke's armory, for which he paid the armory manager a large sum of money.
"Although we say we have captured enough warhorses, our marching speed is ultimately incomparable to that of the Nomads. If they want to pursue, they can easily catch up. We must plan carefully how we should proceed."
"So what is your plan?"
The Captain of the Guard asked, looking at Prince Rostislav, who was forcing himself to calm down.
"I remember there should be some swamps nearby… Ah, I found them."
Prince Rostislav searched the map for what he needed, and fortunately, God bless, he found it quickly.
"We will lead the Polovtsy into the swamp."
"The swamp, are you sure?"
Gvaran's tone was full of doubt.
"The Polovtsy certainly can't enter the swamp, but neither can we."
"You don't have to worry about that."
Prince Rostislav seemed confident.
"My conversations with the soldiers these past few days were not in vain. Some of my soldiers are from that area, and they can serve as guides."
"In that case, I have nothing more to say. Please make your decision."
The Captain of the Guard no longer objected. While traversing the swamp was indeed very dangerous, the only possible outcome of crossing the steppe was to be overtaken by the Polovtsian pursuers.
Encountering superior Nomad cavalry on the steppe, even if they formed a wagon fort, with their current forces, they would eventually be worn down to death by the Nomad army, not to mention the possibility of other Polovtsy arriving.
A commotion came from outside the tent, mixed with the neighing of warhorses. He understood that the logistics personnel had arrived.
"Gvaran, since the servants are here, have everyone start working immediately. Pack up the supplies as quickly as possible, and then we leave."
"Yes, my Lord."
Under Prince Rostislav's command, the entire camp became busy. People were busy collecting various supplies, hastily loading them onto carts. Valuable captives were also escorted onto carriages, while those without value were released on the spot. Anyway, these ignorant herdsmen couldn't make much sense of anything, and keeping them would require constant supervision.
Most importantly, they were not here to capture slaves this time, and bringing these dispensable prisoners of war was meaningless. Instead of specially discarding supplies from the carriages to make room for them, it was better to release them directly. The supplies were much more valuable than these few individuals and were crucial for the upcoming maneuvers and journey.
The Chud were distributing warhorses to everyone, ensuring that everyone had a horse to ride. Although the Rus' were not accustomed to fighting on horseback, simply riding for travel was not an issue.
Looking at such a scene, Prince Rostislav was filled with emotion. Just moments ago, they were joyfully confiscating enemy assets, and now they had to hastily pack up and flee.
Prince Rostislav's gaze swept around, and he saw an unexpected figure sitting by the bonfire, using its light to write. It was Nestor, the young monk from the Cave Monastery.
"What are you doing, my friend?"
Prince Rostislav walked to his Scribe and patted him on the shoulder.
Nestor, like a startled rabbit, almost threw down what he was writing, looking at Prince Rostislav with fright, and then, belatedly, bowed to the Prince.
"Ah, Your Highness, I didn't know you were here. I am recording everything here."
"Recording everything here? Why?"
Prince Rostislav said with interest, then took the parchment. He was very interested in what the future author of "The Primary Chronicle" intended to write.
He saw that it was densely covered with small script. This was Church Slavonic, and the writing was very small, making it somewhat difficult to read. Fortunately, it was not a problem for Prince Rostislav, and then he discovered that it was a record of their current expedition.
"I intend to record this campaign. I have read the historical records of Constantinople, and I also want to write something like that."
Nestor's eyes sparkled with the light of a dream. This young man had his own grand ambitions; he yearned to be remembered in history and to bring glory to himself.
"That's wonderful, Nestor! I fully support you in doing this."
Prince Rostislav happily patted the young monk on the shoulder, expressing his encouragement. Prince Rostislav was not surprised by his goal, as this was the author of "The Primary Chronicle" after all.
"If you have any questions, just ask me or anyone else; we will all be responsive. Also, is the quantity of parchment enough? I found a large stack in the Polovtsian tent, but judging by how it was carelessly left there, the steppe barbarians probably don't know its value."
"Thank you very much, my Lord."
Hearing Prince Rostislav support him like this, Nestor was very grateful. For a small person like him, without power or influence, creation without the support of a great person was impossible. Otherwise, the cost of parchment alone would be enough to bankrupt him. Birch bark was plentiful, but it was difficult to preserve and hard to compile into a book.
Prince Rostislav was happy to support the Rus' "Grand Historian" in writing his work, and he could also communicate with him. After all, wasn't he busy with the compilation of "the tale of yaroslav"?