"This city isn't exciting enough; it can't compare to Kiev, not even the wine is as good as Kiev's."
Yan grumbled in Rus', then stumbled out of the tavern, the tavern keeper beside him not understanding a word he said.
But even if he had understood, he would have pretended not to; this was a big customer who had ordered all the good wine in the tavern, and what did the King's city have to do with him anyway?
Although Fehérvár was now filled with foreign dignitaries, such generous people were still rare.
Yan Vishatich disdainfully scattered a few silver coins on the ground as if throwing them away, and the tavern keeper scrambled to pick them up.
These silver coins bore the Rurik Dynasty's trident, serving as Kievan Rus' foreign trade currency, crafted from precious imported silver, meticulously made, and generously weighty.
Even residents of the imperial capital were fond of such coins, let alone this small Hungarian tavern.
This time, the Elder specifically distributed these silver coins to the Rus' Princes who came, so they could use them; it would be too undignified to use silver ingots like grivnas outside. Rus' is, after all, a member of the civilized world; it would be too barbaric not to even have its own silver coins.
"Don't act like a nouveau riche, Yan, it's not good for you."
Rostislav looked at Yan's dissolute behavior and subconsciously said, he, as a Moscow Prince, really couldn't stand it; the Prince disliked such unrestrained conduct.
"And there are spies everywhere around us, so we should be careful with what we say and do."
Rostislav also looked around, and indeed, there were several clumsy spies in sight. They pretended to be street vendors or pedestrians, but they didn't look the part. However, under the cover of these clowns, there were certainly real spies watching them.
"Let them watch, do we need to care about these people when we do things? My Prince, don't pay too much attention to what others think."
Yan suddenly slung his arm around Rostislav's neck, as intimate as close brothers. The Moscow Prince felt the smell of alcohol waft over him, and a look of helplessness appeared on Rostislav's face, as if dealing with a mischievous younger brother.
Yan quickly put his hand down, then made a mischievous face at Rostislav. Only Yan dared to be so intimate with Rostislav.
Regarding the spies around them, Rostislav and Yan actually had similar views; he didn't care about their activities at all. He was out to sightsee, not to meet anyone. If those spies wanted to follow, they could. He only said what he did just now to persuade Yan to rein it in a bit.
Speaking of spies, Fehérvár is probably one of the cities with the most spies in the entire Christian World right now.
The Empire, Poland, both sides of the Hungarian civil war, and Rus', as well as the various Princes surrounding Hungary who were monitoring its movements, not to mention the nobles—God knows how many dark dealings and battles were happening in the shadows of this city.
However, Rostislav had no interest in these trivial matters; he came here simply to see this Hungarian city and experience its exotic charm.
As the political and religious center of Magyar, this city, though considered small by the Rus', had impressive architecture, and its residents were mostly wealthy.
As for the refugees who had filled every corner of the city some time ago, they had been repatriated to their hometowns, and their makeshift shelters had been cleared.
Walking through the streets of Fehérvár, observing the surroundings was quite interesting.
Rostislav even went to the local Christian cathedral to pray. It was unlucky, he encountered a catholic priest who, seeing he was Rus', wanted to debate theology with him. Rostislav immediately chose to run away.
The Moscow Prince was not incapable of debating; he was a student of Bishop Luka and had memorized countless Orthodox scriptures. However, he was unwilling to debate; theological debate was the responsibility of a cleric, not a Prince. He genuinely did not want to discuss things like the "filioque clause"…
Moreover, against the backdrop of the Great Schism between the Eastern and Western Churches, rashly engaging in theological debate could easily lead to diplomatic incidents. Although conflict between the Eastern and Western Churches was commonplace, if someone with malicious intent wished, even a small matter could be blown into a major one.
And speaking of religion, Rostislav, while strolling through the streets, noticed from various signs that the city's religious situation was very similar to Rus', meaning that half the city's population were pagan…
However, this was also normal; Hungary converted to Christian even later than Rus'.
Today, Rostislav planned to visit outside Fehérvár, as he had grown accustomed to the city's interior and wanted to see the scenery beyond.
Rostislav did not plan to bring many attendants; bringing so many people would prevent him from seeing what he wanted to see.
Although that boy Vasily strongly disagreed with Rostislav's decision, how could a Prince's decision be changed by him? In the end, under Rostislav's strong command, he obediently sat back down.
As a Rus' Prince, and a guest of King Bela, the Prince naturally passed through the city gates with ease, arriving at the camp outside the city where people from all over Hungary had gathered.
Further afield were the various military camps, with different flags fluttering among them, and patrolling soldiers visible on the towering wooden watchtowers.
But Rostislav was not interested in those military camps, but rather the Magyar camp. By King Bela's command, representatives from all over Hungary had come here, so it could be said that the camp was now filled with people from every corner of Hungary.
For Rostislav, it would be a great pity not to take this opportunity to observe the people from different parts of Hungary and interact with them.
The Moscow Prince gazed out, seeing bustling crowds everywhere: mounted Nomads drinking beer, shrewd farmers and wealthy citizens haggling over goods, and tough-looking mercenaries promoting themselves in search of employers.
Although influences from the west and south were growing stronger, the Magyar's attire still retained a strong nomadic style. Many wore long robes and high-crowned fur hats, like a gathering of Nomads.
This was a vibrant scene, and it was the sight Rostislav most loved to behold. After witnessing so many desolate landscapes, nothing brought more joy than seeing prosperity.
Rostislav walked among them, listening to the cries of foreign languages, and felt his heart relax. Compared to the intrigues of the court, he preferred all this ordinariness.
Of course, it was only because of the distance that he liked it; if he were to be trapped in the trivialities of the lower classes and burdened by the pressures of survival, then Rostislav would surely spend every day thinking about how to escape this scene he once so loved.
As he walked among the tents, Rostislav suddenly saw a sight that made him frown.
He saw many people worshipping a strange statue, their expressions quite devout, almost prostrating themselves before the statue, and even nearby passersby who weren't worshipping cast respectful glances at the statue.
The person who looked like a priest was uttering fervent words, not without attacks on Christian, but no one raised any objections.
And Rostislav knew what this was; it was the Magyar's old chief deity, istvan, who ruled the sky.
Like Rus', Hungary also faced the problem of powerful pagan forces, and the issue here was even more severe than in Rus'; a large-scale pagan rebellion had occurred here just a few decades ago.
"Yan, let's go back."
"Ah, not looking anymore?"
Rostislav watched the worship of those believers for a while, then looked at the church spires within Fehérvár. If paganism was so rampant outside the city walls, in a place illuminated by Christian glory, then what about other regions…
Yan was a little confused by the Prince's sudden decision; how long had they been out of the city? And he was already going back. Yan's alcohol-partially-numbed brain was a bit unclear at the moment, but he still instinctively obeyed Rostislav and followed behind him to leave.
As Rostislav walked towards the city gate, he had a bad feeling. At the same time, he remembered the pagan riots he had experienced. He instinctively clasped his hand over the icon of the Virgin Mary on his chest.
Then he decided to go back, to get away from this place that made him uncomfortable—or, more accurately, unsafe.
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