empire. In the end
Igor hurried home with hardly a third of his great army.

Three years afterward he again led an army in boats against
Constantinople, but this time he was bought off by a tribute of gold,
silver, and precious stuffs, as Oleg had been before him.

Igor was now more than seventy years old, and naturally desired to spend
the remainder of his days in peace, but his followers would not let him
rest. The spoils and tribute of the Greeks had quickly disappeared from
their open hands, and the warlike profligates demanded new plunder.

"We are naked," they bitterly complained, "while the companions of
Sveneld have beautiful arms and fine clothing. Come with us and levy
contributions, that we and you may dwell in plenty together."

Igor obeyed--he could not well help himself--and led them against the
Drevlians, a neighboring nation already under tribute. Marching into
their country, he forced them to pay still heavier tribute, and allowed
his soldiers to plunder to their hearts' content.

Then the warriors of Kief marched back, laden with spoils. But the
wolfish instincts of Igor were aroused. More, he thought, might be
squeezed out of the Drevlians, but he wanted this extra plunder for
himself. So he sent his army on to Kief, and went back with a small
force to the country of the Drevlians, where he held out his hand--with
the sword in it--for more.

He got more than he bargained for. The Drevlians, driven to extremity,
came with arms instead of gold, attacked the king and his few followers,
and killed the whole of them upon the spot. And thus in blood ended the
career of this white-haired tribute-seeker.

The fallen prince left behind him a widow named Olga and a son named
Sviatoslaf, who was still a child, as Igor had been at the death of his
father. So Olga became regent of the kingdom, and Sveneld was made
leader of the army.

How deeply Olga loved Igor we are not prepared to say, but we are told
some strange tales of what she did to avenge him. These tales we may
believe or not, as we please. They are legends only, like those of early
Rome, but they are all the history we have, and so we repeat the story
much as old Nestor has told it.

The death of Igor filled the hearts of the Drevlians with hope. Their
great enemy was gone; the new prince was a child: might they not gain
power as well as liberty? Their prince Male should marry Olga the widow,
and all would be well with them.

So twenty of