Darker Jewels (28 page)

Boris crossed himself. “My good angel and the mercy of God protect me,” he said with feeling. “My sister is Feodor’s wife. What can I do but strive to guard her and that innocent she has married. As you have already acknowledged, there is no escape, so I must—” He nodded in the direction of the Terem Palace. “Well. And I ought not to keep Ivan waiting. Remember me in your prayers?”

Rakoczy’s half-smile was enigmatic. “When I pray,” he assured Boris, and made him a reverence and was about to leave him when he remarked, “Why have the bells stopped ringing?”

“It is Ivan’s order,” said Boris. “He has said that he wishes no bells to sound until the eighteenth is over, when they are to ring in victory to signal that the Czar has prevailed over the witches. Masses are to begin at midnight and continue constantly all through tomorrow, but no bells are to sound before midnight tomorrow. If they ring before then, it will be to announce his death.” He looked toward the old bell tower. “Feodor is upset about the silent bells. I don’t think he understands why his father has given the orders and assumes he is being punished.” He looked toward the Terem Palace once again. “How can we explain it to him?”

Boris did not expect an answer and Rakoczy had none to give. He nodded a bow as he pulled on his black Italian gloves. “And if the witches are right?”

“As great a risk Russia has with Ivan mad, she will have a greater one with Ivan dead.” He said it in Greek, then looked about to be certain they were not overheard. With that he turned on his heel and hurried away toward the Terem Palace, his golden kaftan looking rusty brown in the lowering grey afternoon.

Text of a letter from Sir Jerome Horsey, dictated to his secretary, to Elizabeth Tudor of England.

To the Queen’s Grace, Defender of the Faith, Elizabeth Rex, in duty the report of her ambassador to the Court of the Caesar of Moscovy, Feodor Ivanson.

As may be surmised by my salutation, gracious lady, Ivan IV, called Caesar of all the Russias, has at last succumbed to his many ills. Life departed his body late on the evening of the seventeenth of March by the calendar here, which agrees with England’s; it was less than six hours before the time predicted by the Lappish witches, which has terrified many of the ignorantfor they believe that the prophecy caused Ivan’s death, not his wretched state and distracted mind. I was among the foreigners who were called to his side shortly before his death, and I must report to you that I have never seen a man so deeply suffering as Ivan was. His face was like one who has been tortured. While they say it was because of his madness, I must suppose that his body was also profoundly tormented.

The Rus are in mourning now, and the echoes of single bells tolling from their towers is continuous. There are also continuous prayers and Masses sung to Ivan’s honor and memory. These are strange to English ears, for the Rus, like the Greeks, allow no music but the human voice in their churches, and their harmonies are stirring and distressing at once. I myself have attended Russian Masses for the repose of Ivan’s soul, both at the Cathedral of the Dormition within the Kremlin itself and at the Cathedral of the Virgin of the Intercession on Red Square. Half of Moscovy have come there to pray at the tomb ofVasilli the Holy Fool, who is said to have been blessed by God with visions.

I have taken it upon myself to approach Boris Godunov, who has become the adviser to Caesar Feodor, and he has assured me that Russian dealings with England will not be imperiled by this new Caesar. He is brother-in-law to Feodor and through his sister is protected. Guardianship of Feodor, who much requires

/

one, is Nikita Romanson Romanov, whose sister Anastasia was Ivan’s first uHfe and the mother of Feodor. This uncle has kept away from the Court until last year. Such an irregular arrangement may well lead to dangerous rivalries, but it is according to Ivan’s disposition and none in this country dare challenge it.

I have recently been contacted by Prince Vasilli Andrewson Shuisky. He is of great importance in this Court, and his influence is significant. He has urged me to consider extending our trading contracts to direct dealings with merchants of Novgorod, for shipping might be less hazardous from a Baltic port than from Novo-Kholmogory, which is filled with icebergs throughout the year and unreachable from November to April. While there is some good sense in his suggestion, I am reluctant to be beholden to this Prince Shuisky, for I have heard he is one who aspires to the throne himself and it would not do to give the appearance that England supports one ambitious noble more than another. The Rus fear foreign intrusion as they fear nothing else in the world. To them all strangers are nothing more than tolerated enemies, and although they are courteous and hospitable, neither Rus nor English ever forget that we English are foreign, a consideration that over-rides all other factors.

My decision in regard to this Shuisky has been seconded by Doctor Lovell, who has studied these men more closely than I have, and is particularly aware of the crosscurrents at the Court. Many of the nobles speak to him with greater candor than they speak with me, for he is less obviously the servant of the Queen’s Grace and therefore less subject to scrutiny.

It is my intention to conclude as many contracts as possible when the
Hercules
arrives at Novo-Kholmogory, so that if there is greater disruption at court—as I suspect there will be
—
England need not suffer because of it. We have the advantage that many of our treaties of trade, such as the one for rope, is of many years’ standing and therefore less likely to be challenged. The more recent arrangements may prove more difficult to maintain, and so it is on those agreements I plan to turn my energies. This is the third year in which we are successfully trading Norwich wool for Russian furs, and with propter measures taken there is no reason to end this mutually profitable venture.

I will make every effort to keep you currently informed on developments here. This report will be carried by messenger to Novo-Kholmogory as quickly as may be. I have secured the necessary documents for the courier and will start him on his journey at dawn tomorrow with an escort of Russian bowmen as far as Kargopol, where he should encounter the escortfor the newly arrived English ships’ cargo bound for Moscovy. The bowmen will then return to Moscovy and serve as guards for the goods while the courier continues to the north with the English sailors and the Russian guides. This arrangement is acceptable to the Russians and the English seamen as well.

In the hope that God will smile on our efforts here to enable us to serve the Queen’s Grace with honor and achievements,
/
sign my name to this and include it with all other embassy dispatches bound for the
Hercules
and passage to England.

The most obedient and faithful servant of Elizabeth Tudor, by Grace of God, Queen Regnant Sir Jerome Horsey, Ambassador to the Court of the Russian Caesar On the 13th day of May by the English Calendar in the Lord’s year 1584

5

Brilliant morning light filtered through the thick double-windows in Rakoczy’s alchemical laboratory, striking the two athan- ors and half the trestle table where he worked, dressed in unrelieved black, perched on his tall stool, measuring two vials of opalescent liquid into an alabaster jar with a jasper lid. He was engrossed in his task and did not look up when Rothger rapped once on the door and let himself in, tugging one of the servants after him.

“My master, I need your attention,” Rothger said after he had stood quietly for a short while; his manner was deceptively calm. “It is important: it may be urgent.”

“May be?” Rakoczy said, turning to look at Rothger and the servant.

The pale young man was more defiant than frightened, although there was no disguising the white line around his mouth or the shiftiness of his sea-blue eyes. He did not reverence Rakoczy, keeping his head up; he stood with his legs slightly apart, prepared to run or fight.

“This is Yuri,” Rothger began.

“Yes, I know,” said Rakoczy. “He came in January, after Klavdi left. He’s the footman or doorman—whatever they call them here. He carries messages and admits visitors.” He looked directly at the young man. “That is correct, isn’t it. Those are your duties.”

It was warm for May and the harshness of winter had given way to the excesses of spring. The very air smelled green with growing things. Grasses and exuberant weeds sprang up everywhere, even between the paving stones in the Beautiful-Red Market Square. From one of the two open windows in Rakoczy’s laboratory the sound of courting birds vied with the distant bells of the Monastery of Saint Ivan Baptist.

Yuri said nothing. He returned Rakoczy’s stare as long as he dared, then fixed his gaze on the floor between his feet.

“I discovered him reading the message sent over from Father Krabbe,” said Rothger, almost apologizing. “I didn’t realize before that he could read, let alone Polish.” He moved aside, leaving Yuri to face Rakoczy.

“That is surprising,” said Rakoczy very softly. He regarded Yuri with curiosity. “Reading Polish. I presume you have Russian. What other languages do you know?”

“Master is mistaken; I am ignorant. I cannot read. I tell you; the letter came open and I only looked at it. I wanted to see what it was. It meant nothing to me, only marks on the page. I thought they looked strange, not like Russian writing.” He realized he was talking too much but could not make himself stop. “That’s all it was, master. I do not know how to read; I only wanted to see what Polish looked like.”

“You cannot read, and yet you knew the letter was in Polish?” Rakoczy said politely. “What made you think that.”

Yuri stared at the athanors to avoid looking at Rakoczy. Only then did he realize that he was unprotected by Rothger. “I do not read,” he insisted stubbornly. “Common servants do not read, Master.”

“It is certainly an unusual ability,” Rakoczy said, setting his vial aside. “In a common servant, who knows Polish when he sees it.”

“But it is not true that I read the letter. I guessed it was Polish because it came from the priests, the ones of the embassy. They are Polish. The messenger said it was from them,” Yuri protested rather wildly. “Your manservant is mistaken that I read it. He is wrong. I wasn’t reading. I am a servant, a servant. I do not know how to. Truly.”

“Truly,” Rakoczy mused. “And yet Rothger is not a man to claim such a thing if he were not certain. And you say the letter was in Polish, not Latin, which I would expect of priests. Even you Orthodox know Roman priests speak Latin.” He rose from the tall stool and came closer to Yuri, measuring him through narrowed dark eyes. He glanced once at his silent manservant as if seeking some response. When he spoke his voice was light. “Either Rothger is mistaken or you are not a common servant.”

“He is mistaken,” Yuri insisted.

Rakoczy did not respond to that. “I wonder,” he said, walking around Yuri slowly. “Your clothes are not the ones I’ve provided, are they?”

Yuri looked down at his full rubashka of heavy linen. “This is mine. I brought it with me. It was a gift from my mother. She made it for me.” He fingered the embroidery at the collar, doing what he could to force himself to smile. His forehead and upper lip were wet and he licked his lips once. “She presented it to me at the Nativity, when I left home to come here.”

“Very commendable,” said Rakoczy gently. “It is a fine thing when a son takes pride in his mother’s work.”

“She
did
give it to me,” Yuri said desperately.

“I have not atgued that,” Rakoczy pointed out. “Nor will I. Although I am curious why you should set out for Moscovy in winter, when so many of the roads are unpassable and traveling is a hardship.” He stepped back and returned to the table. “And do you know, it puzzles me that a common servant should have a mother who sews such excellent linen. I was under the impression that few common people could afford such fabric. Doubtless because I am a foreigner I do not understand how she came to have the flax to make so fine a shirt for you.” His genial smile terrified Yuri.

“She lives in the country, near Tver. The boyar is generous, very generous,” he said with increasing apprehension.

Rakoczy heard this out without changing expression. He motioned to Rothger to close one of the windows so that the birds would not distract them. “How strange, that he did not keep you with your family.”

Yuri blinked, his face turning very white.
“It...
it was . . .”

“Perhaps,” Rakoczy suggested kindly, “you had reason to want to leave. If the boyar was generous, as you say, he let you come to Moscovy.”

“Yes!” Yuri seized on this explanation at once; his cheeks now harbored two bright spots as if he had a fever and his eyes were hectic with flight. “Yes. You have it exactly. That is what happened. I asked for permission to leave. And it was granted to me by the boyar.”

Rakoczy listened in cordial attention. “He must be very generous indeed if he was willing to let a strapping young man like you leave his lands to come to Moscovy, for you are strong and clever. There are few boyars who would be willing to permit a man like you to come to Moscovy. Most would insist that you remain to work the land.” He gave Yuri a bland smile. “But perhaps there were other considerations?”

“He told me to come here, to seek out his cousin,” Yuri declared. He was not quite so scared now, for he had not been struck or sent off in disgrace as he expected to be; he stood straighter, his hands hitched in his wide belt. “He helped me to find work.”

“Yuri arrived with a servant from the Nagoy palace,” said Rothger, adding, “They said that Grigori Nagoy thought you would have a place for him here.”

“I won’t make you strain your inventiveness to explain that,” said Rakoczy dryly, and Yuri realized that his black-clad master had not been deceived by any of his claims. “One of two things is true of you: either you are illegitimate and an embarrassment to your father, or you are merely posing as a common servant. I regret that I suspect the latter.” He gave Yuri no chance to interrupt. “Which means that you are a spy.”