Khotyn Fortress stands, as mentioned, on the right (western) bank of the Dniester and on the northern fringes of Bessarabia, Ukraine's pan-handle which connects the country south to the Danube Delta. The region had always been intensely contested, for it was a junction of sorts. The Dniester, along with the Dnipro further east, had long been a trading route connecting the Baltic and Black Sea spheres. From the Danube, the so-called River of Europe, one could penetrate further upriver, westwards, into the heart of Germania, or southwards, into the Balkan hinterland of the eastern Mediterranean. This extension could and did take both commercial or territorial forms.
The name Bessarabia stems from that of a prominent Wallachian ruling dynasty, the Basarabs, whose Cuman extraction (remember, they were one of a number of nomadic peoples fighting for control of these parts) fits perfectly into the cultural mishmash so typical of borderlands. Khotyn also introduces a new political player into our historical odyssey between the Baltic and the Black Seas - the Moldavians. These were not to be confused with the present-day Moldovans from the same republic wedged between Romania and Ukraine.
Moldavia was with Wallachia known before as the Danubian Principalities - being the two main polities in the area north of the river's delta. The Dniester marks the northeasternmost historical extent of Moldavian political control in the time of Stephen the Great, whose forces established a fleeting control of Khotyn sometime in the mid-fifteen century. The fortress, much like Kamyanets, then ran through the usual Black Sea historical gauntlet of Polish-Lithuanian, Turkish and Russian control, before its absorption in the interwar years into Romania and after that the Soviet Union.
Winter was held back no longer when we arrived at the fortress, as strong winds, albeit they didn't howl this time, replaced the mellow sunshine of the previous day. We couldn't in the end avoid the dogs either. As soon as we started walking to the fortress proper, we attracted the attention of two dogs. These dashed towards us, much to our initial alarm. However, it turned out that they were only curious and a little firmness soon acquainted them with their rightful positions, though we were left with two (when after the tribe had spoken, one) canine companions for pretty much the rest of the afternoon.
There was only a trickle of visitors. I counted eight including ourselves when we were in the fortress. Apparently in summer there would be an entire medieval get-up in the courtyard where visitors get to shoot with both bows and Kalashnikovs (no doubt the use of the latter in modern times is still associated with medieval savagery). In winter there was only the wind, and a deep well which stood at its centre.
On our walk back we visited the Alexander Nevsky Church, built originally for the garrison. It was far brighter inside than your typical Orthodox church, which might have been accentuated by the blue with which the interior was painted. The paintings which lined its walls were ample demonstrations of Orthodox artistic accomplishments.
It was a welcome refuge from the wind, the only constant on the day's visit apart from our feral friend. Even 'Idiot', as Mary by then had affectionately christened it, had already hunkered down in a little hollow to shelter from the cold. Walking back to the site entrance, we found we were no longer tailed. It could well be that we were downwind. Frequent backward glances to verify whether we were finally on our own made us feel like San fugitives.
Only we were really in Khotyn and not the Kalahari.
No comments:
Post a Comment