The people of Kief, enraged by this success of the foe of their popular king, rose in a general tumult, burst into a convent where Igor was found at his devotions, tied a rope about his neck, and dragged him, a mutilated corpse, through the streets.

The king, Ysiaslaf, called for a levy en masse, of the inhabitants of Kief, summoned distant feudal barons with their armies to his banner, and marched impetuously to meet the conquering foe.  Fierce battles ensued, in which Sviatoslaf was repeatedly vanquished, and retreated to Souzdal again to appeal to Georges for aid.  Ysiaslaf summoned the Novgorodians before him, and in the following energetic terms addressed them: 

“My brethren,” said he, “Georges, the prince of Souzdal, has insulted Novgorod.  I have left the capital of Russia to defend you.  Do you wish to prosecute the war?  The sword is in my hands.  Do you desire peace?  I will open negotiations.”

“War, war,” the multitude shouted.  “You are our monarch, and we will all follow you, from the youngest to the oldest.”

A vast army was immediately assembled on the shores of the lake of Ilmen, near the city of Novgorod, which commenced its march of three hundred miles, to the remote realms of Souzdal.  Georges was unprepared to meet them.  He fled, surrendering his country to be ravaged by the foe.  His cities and villages were burned, and seven thousand of his subjects were carried captive to Kief.  But Georges was not a man to bear such a calamity meekly.  He speedily succeeded in forming an alliance with the barbarian nations around him, and burning with rage, followed the army of the retiring foe.  He overtook them near the city of Periaslavle.  It was the evening of the 23d of August.  The unclouded sun was just sinking at the close of a sultry day, and the vesper chants were floating through the temples of the city.  The storm of war burst as suddenly as the thunder peals of an autumnal tempest.  The result was most awful and fatal to the king.  His troops were dispersed and cut to pieces.  Ysiaslaf himself with difficulty escaped and reached the ramparts of Kief.  The terrified inhabitants entreated him not to remain, as his presence would only expose the city to the horror of being taken by storm.

“Our fathers, our brothers, our sons,” they said, “are dead upon the field of battle, or are in chains.  We have no arms.  Generous prince, do not expose the capital of Russia to pillage.  Flee for a time to your remote principalities, there to gather a new army.  You know that we will never rest contented under the government of Georges.  We will rise in revolt against him, as soon as we shall see your standards approaching.”

Ysiaslaf fled, first to Smolensk, some three hundred miles distant, and thence traversed his principalities seeking aid.  Georges entered Kief in triumph.  Calling his warriors around him, he assigned to them the provinces which he had wrested from the feudal lords of the king.