Chapter 16
The Veche of Choosing
The roar in the Veche Square crested as the Dolgoruki took the stage. The crowd swelled back and forth like waves on a sea before a storm. Piles of swords, spears, teardrop shields like burial mounds marked the four corners of Veche Square (no one was allowed to enter armed). Yarpolk and his ilk were in fur-edged hats and vests, blood-red boots, gold rings on fingers and in ears. The soot-grimed smiths and brown-faced farmers shook their heads at the finery stomping on the stage. With evident pleasure, they rubbed calloused hands together, foretasting the pain of bone crunching against bone in the inevitable fist-war to decide the new knyaz.
Parfyon watched all this from behind a window, surrounded by a conspiracy of three men. He wanted to rush in, to c
