Darker Jewels (14 page)

“Such an occasion is for envoys and diplomats, not females. And there is no reason for full Court.” He clapped his hands and said to the two servants who came and bowed deeply to him, “My kinsman and I will be in my study. We will want hot tea and visnoua. At once.” He clapped again and his servants backed out of his presence as Vasilli led the way up the stairs, looking at Anastasi and shaking his head in disapproval. “A pity you should see them so lax. I will have to correct them. They’re not as attentive as they ought to be, the household. They are waiting for word about the Little Father and they neglect their duties. Every time Ivan screams, it is reported throughout the city.”

“Everyone neglects duties; it isn’t just your household,” said Anastasi. “Never more so than when the Czar is failing.” He looked around quickly, as if he might be overheard; he was able to appear amused.

“There is nothing to bother about, Cousin,” said Vasilli. “Everything said in this house is reported to me, even the things whispered in the terem.” He made a gesture of dismissal, the brocaded sleeve of his kaftan shining in the subdued light. “Women are very foolish.”

“But very necessary,” said Anastasi. “Your father and my father were agreed on that, if nothing else.” His smile was ingratiating but it fooled neither man. “Why do you bother with the babble of women?”

Vasilli shrugged. “They hear things. They see things. Most of it is nothing, but occasionally they discover
...”
He made a sweep of his arm. “Who can say.”

“Your terem may serve you well, but Galina and that infernal daughter of hers—Xenya!—have never been so useful to me, except in these instances, for Court. They hear nothing, not even gossip while on those errands of mercy,” Anastasi complained as they reached the second floor. One direction was blocked by a large, ornate metal door guarded by a tall, burly man in a rust- colored kaftan holding a pike. Beyond was the women’s quarters where Vasilli’s wife, mother, mother-in-law, and two daughters lived with a full staff of women servants. “They are not at all like your women.”

“You do not live inside the Kremlin walls,” said Vasilli as if that setded the matter. He opened the door to his study, a large, gold-and-red chamber with a ceiling like a tent, painted in intertwining vines surrounding medallion ikons. “We came very close.” He stared toward the Czar’s Terem Palace.

Anastasi paused in the entrance to the room. “Close?”

“To that.” His heavy gaze moved from the Terem Palace to the onion domes of the Cathedrals. “It should have been ours.” “Cousin.” Anastasia wisely closed the door before crossing the room to his cousin’s side. “It may still be ours,” he said after a short silence; his tone was light, capricious. “If I take your meaning.”

“You take my meaning,” said Vasilli, his eyes hardening. “Oh, yes, you take my meaning.” Slowly he moved away from the window. “Galina will be at the presentation?”

“And Xenya. She hasn’t agreed to become a nun yet, so she will have to attend or Ivan will be offended.”

“Why isn’t she in a convent?” asked Vasilli. He stopped and crossed himself before the ikon of Saint Vladimir. “Under the circumstances, she ought to have retired there long ago.”

“She claims she is not suited to the life, that God has not sought her as one of His own.” He turned his hands palms up to show his exasperation. “What can I do? She is not my daughter, and I have not been awarded a father’s authority; I cannot compel her. She says she is content to be unmarried and care for her higher-ranking relatives in the terem until God invites her to the convent.”

“How much more of an invitation does she need?” Vasilli demanded, slapping his hands together once. “She should have been given to the nuns the day her father was buried.”

“Her mother was so despondent. . . and the convents were filled with women the Golden Horde had ... ruined ... and the dying
...”
Anastasi no longer pretended he sympathized with Galina Alexandrevna. There was a short, miserable silence between the cousins. Then Anastasi coughed delicately. “It is still possible for her to marry, you know.”

“Possible?” asked Vasilli. “To what man?”

“One who was content to be ignorant; one who was ambitious enough to let the past remain past. One who did not know and would not ask.” Anastasi dropped into one of the four uncomfortable chairs that stood near the slant-topped stove. “She says she does not want a husband.”

“She’s an idiot,” Vasilli declared. “She will be nun or wife, or she will starve.”

Anastasi took a turn around the room, noticing four new ikons near the door. Automatically he crossed himself once for each of them. “Which do you think it will be?”

Vasilli did not answer the question. He strode to the trestle table that served as his desk and sat down. “I’ve learned that the occasion for the Court is not just to receive letters from the King of Poland, but the Transylvanian, Bathory’s alchemist, is presenting the Czar with yet another jewel. I forget how many he has given the Little Father already. This one is supposed to be very large and dark and rare. Rumor claims it is a fine beryl.” He frowned, his eyes distant. “One of the servants of the Jesuits overheard two of the priests talking, and that is what they said, according to the servant. I want to learn more, but so far I haven’t been able to discover anything—”

There was a rap on the door that brought the two cousins to attention.

“Who is there?” Vasilli rapped out the question hard and fast.

“Serkha,” answered the servant. “With tea and visnoua, as you ordered.”

The two cousins exchanged glances and Vasilli said, “Bring them in at once and leave.”

The servant bore a large tray, moving gingerly; the samovar was boiling and it hissed when it shifted. A pear-shaped glass bottle filled with a translucent liquid stood beside the samovar. Four cups were on the tray, jiggling as Serkha brought them to the table. Once he put them down, he bowed deeply to Vasilli, then slightly less deeply to Anastasi before he backed out of the room, crossing himself once as he passed the ikons.

“Do you worry about him?” asked Anastasi as he heard the doorlatch slip into place.

“Serkha? No, his tongue would be slit if he was caught revealing private things. And besides. What can he say?” He reached for one of the smaller cups, and then for the bottle. “Come. With arms linked.” He was already pouring out the visnoua into the cup. “Fill your own and drink with me."

“Gladly,” said Anastasi, accepting the proffered bottle as he picked up the other smaller cup. “I always like your visnoua better than Dmitri’s.”

The mention of his brother made Vasilli expressionless. After a brief stillness, he forced a smile to his thin lips. “It is a question of taste; even Ivan says so.” He nodded as if his older brother’s name was not personally offensive.

Anastasi was grateful for the respite Vasilli offered him. “Yes,” he enthused. “That’s precisely it.” He spilled a few drops of the strong cherry liquor before he put the bottle down and held out his right arm. ‘To the prosperity of our family, the success of our plans, and the returning health of the Czar.”

Vasilli stood up and linked arms with Anastasi across the table, both men having to lean over in order to drink from the cups. Their beards brushed together, dark brown and wheat-blond; they drank their cups empty and stepped back. “Not a bad blessing,” said Vasilli as he sat down and refilled his cup. Once again he gave the bottle to Anastasi.

“Not too bad,” said Anastasi, who was pleased with what he had said. He refilled his cup and offered the blessing to his older, higher-ranking cousin. “May our fortunes thrive.”

This was not an uncommon blessing and Vasilli paid little attention. “Let us get on with it. This Transylvanian—is it true what I have heard, that the Polish priests are not willing to support him?” He opened a studded leather case on his writing table and pulled out a vellum sheet. “According to what I have been able to learn, the leader of the priests, Father Pogner— what unwieldy names these foreigners have!—has ordered the Jesuits to avoid his company, and the five Lancers are not permitted to provide him any protection or escort. Here is the report.” He tapped the sheet. “What do you know of this?”

Anastasi glanced at the document, then lowered his head, unwilling to meet his cousin’s eyes. “I have spoken twice to Father Krabbe, who is the only one of the Jesuits who appears to defy Father Pogner.” It was not the answer he had wanted to give Vasilli, but he knew better than to lie to his cousin; stretching the truth was risky enough. “He claims that Hrabia Zary has protested Father Pogner’s orders, but is afraid not to obey them.” “These Jesuits are not made of the same cloth as Father Pos- sevino,” said Vasilli, “no matter what they claim.”

“Father Possevino is not Polish,” Anastasi reminded him.

“It is more than that,” said Vasilli. He drained his cup and filled it again. “Who else has approached the foreigner?”

“Grigori Nagoy invited him to take a meal with them, but Rakoczy refused. It is said the refusal was gracious, but he is here at the behest of a King—what else would it be?” Anastasi did not mention the other thing he had learned from the Nagoy servant: that he had been told all invitations to meals had been unsuccessful. There might come a time when such information would stand him in good stead.

“Perhaps he does not want to favor any noble over the Czar. It would be a sensible precaution,” said Vasilli slowly, his eyes narrowed and measuring. “And yet. And yet. I am sure this man Rakoczy is subtle and sly. He is more dangerous than the priests. Listen to him speak. He says everything and nothing.”

Anastasi drank half the visnoua in his cup, regarding Vasilli as he did. There would be a service he could do for his more august cousin that would also benefit him in days to come, freeing him from the tyranny of Vasilli’s patronage; it was bad enough they were cousins. “I will do what I may to learn more of him, if the Czar does not forbid it.”

“Worry more about what Godunov forbids. He is the one who has decided to extend friendship to the exile. He will be the one who will decide who among us is worthy of Rakoczy’s favor.” Anger marked Vasilli’s face now. “That Tartar is foreigner enough by himself. That he could support this alchemist—”

“He endorses the English as well,” Anastasi pointed out. “He says that they will buy more than rope and gold and furs from us if we are prudent.”

“We are not merchants!” Vasilli burst out, then swung away, rising from his chair and pacing back toward the windows; he still held his cup tightly in his hand. “It is despicable to put trade above the safety of this country, but Godunov is determined to do it.” He tugged at his beard with his free hand as if the tension would pull the rage out of him.

“If his sister were not married to Feodor Ivanovich
..Anas
tasi shrugged heavily. “But as Feodor Ivanovich’s brother-in- law—”

“That may not mean what it did. There are whispers, whispers. I have heard that the Little Father forgot himself a short time ago, and tried to add Irina Feodorevna to his unofficial wives. Apparently Boris Feodorovich stopped it before it went beyond the bounds the Church could excuse, but the whispers are that Czar Ivan in his shame and wrath is no longer willing to leave everything to Godunov, and Godunov is wary of the Litde Father as he was not before.” Vasilli hesitated, as if tasting the words he wanted to say before he spoke them, relishing them. “If Irina falls from favor, what will become of her brother? Feodor Ivanovich is not one to defend his wife, is he? He will ring another bell. And if he will not defend his wife, then certainly the wife’s brother must be lost.” He chuckled twice, the sound as ominous as a death rattle.

“And about the alchemist?” Anastasi prompted.

“The presentation has been postponed twice, and both times the ceremony of presentation has become grander for the delay,” said Vasilli quietly, his features turning contemplative as he came back to his writing table. “If Godunov cannot serve as sponsor of the presentation, then it could be possible to use the occasion to show the Little Father how great our concern for him is. Godunov will not permit us such an opportunity, but perhaps—” He looked at Anastasi, renewed speculation in his demeanor. “Perhaps you might be able to gain the foreigner’s good-will. Surely he senses that all is not well with Godunov; he might welcome your intervention?” He poured himself another cupful of the cherry visnoua. “Don’t you think?”

Anastasi nodded at once, pleased to agree unreservedly with Vasilli. He downed the rest of his visnoua and held out his cup for more. “I will find some plausible reason to know him better.” “You will find a plausible reason to assist him, to show him that you, unlike Godunov, are indispensable to his success in Moscovy,” corrected Vasilli. “You want him in your debt.”

“But surely,” said Anastasi, and Vasilli paused in refilling his cup. “It would not be wise to present him with obvious motives. He would know the ruse for what it was at once.”

Vasilli shook his head. “No, no. You don’t comprehend. You’re not one to prate about foreigners and the changes coming to Russia, as Godunov must have done. You will present yourself as one who can assist Rakoczy with Czar Ivan while Boris is compromised. You will show that you have something to gain. It will be a reasonable agreement between reasonable men. It is disarming to foreigners when they are given such opportunities.” Anastasi licked his lips and shifted uneasily on his feet. “He may suspect that there is more.”

“Certainly he will suspect it,” said Vasilli. “But you will disarm his suspicion. Show him openly all you stand to gain by taking his part. Tell him that you seek to free yourself of the shadow that hangs over me and my brothers, that puts all Shuiskys under the same pall. As our cousin, you have cause to want to establish yourself beyond our damaged reputations. What better way than through the aid of this foreigner?”

So close was Vasilli’s proposed scenario to Anastasi’s actual plans that he had to put his cup down to keep from revealing how badly his hand shook suddenly. He made himself say, “I’m confused, Vasilli,” as he crossed the study away from his cousin. “How will the foreigner be convinced?”