Darker Jewels (49 page)

face was pale with an excitement he could not name. His throat tightened against a scream.

“Yes, little boyar,” said the younger man, and brought his heel down on Father Krabbe’s chest; the ribs broke audibly.

“It will not take long,” said the older man.

“No; not long,” the younger agreed as he smashed Father Krabbe’s hand with a length of wood he had picked up; it was the hand into which Yuri had put Rakoczy’s ring.

The older man kicked Father Krabbe in the side of the head; there was a soft, pulpy crack as the skull gave way.

“Good,” said Yuri. “Very good.”

“Priests are soft,” the younger man complained as he dmbbed Father Krabbe’s thigh. “There is no strength in them.”

Yuri watched the beating, his pulse hard in his temples. As the priest’s body was distorted and battered, Yuri could no longer quell his elation. He grinned with ferocious pride, and droned a hum to himself. Father Krabbe was nothing more than discarded offal, and all because of him. He bounced on his heels. How marvelous it was to have the might of death at his command!

At last the older man straightened up, his face expressionless. “Is there anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” said Yuri, disappointment robbing him of his relish. “No, I suppose this is enough.”

“The little boyar likes what he sees,” said the younger, and his mouth twitched. “What does it feel like, little boyar?”

“It is necessary,” said Yuri brusquely. He could not take his eyes off Father Krabbe’s corpse, the gaping wound where the blood was already starting to congeal, black in the wan summer night.

“For you, yes, it is necessary,” said the younger man with contempt. He hefted the length of wood. “Do you like what this does? Does it please you?”

“It is necessary,” Yuri repeated, too caught up in what had happened to realize the danger of his position. He knew that the two men were taunting him, but he refused to be intimidated. “It was ordered by highly placed men. I have carried out my orders, with your help.”

“And you enjoy your work,” said the younger. He was less than two steps away from Yuri now, so that when he swung the length of wood, it caught Yuri hard on the side of his head,

striking with such force that his arm shuddered with the shock.

He had just seen the movement of the younger man’s arm when he felt the blow, enormous, as if a cannon had exploded in his ear. He dropped at once into a lifeless heap.

“We can take his clothes,” said the older with satisfaction. “And the money he carries. Make sure you get his boots as well.”

“They’re bloody,” said the younger as he wrestled with Yuri’s body.

“So are his clothes. No one will notice, and if they do, we will say that he had been to the swine market; one always gets bloody there.” The older set about his work methodically, pulling Yuri out straight before taking off his Polish garments. When he reached the pleated camisa, he remarked, “The linen’s very good. It will fetch a high price.”

“What about the priest?” asked the younger as he tugged on the boots.

“It’s bad luck to rob a priest. Leave him be.” He had the long Polish doublet off him now, and paused in the act of rolling it up. “It’s bad luck to rob a priest.”

“He’s Catholic,” said the younger. “It means nothing.”

The older glared. “I said leave him be. Including the crucifix. No one wants it, anyway.”

“It’s silver. We could melt it down. Evgeni would do it for half the value, and he would say nothing.” The younger man reached out and lifted the crucifix from beside Father Krabbe’s ruined head. “If we don’t take it, someone else will.”

“Bad cess to them,” said the older. “I will not have it said that we defile godly men, even Catholics.” He paused in his task to cross himself. “God knows what we are, but He will not pardon us for robbing Him.”

The younger man shrugged. “It would buy food for a month, for what Evgeni would pay,” he pointed out.

“Leave it,” the older insisted.

“All right,” the younger conceded. “But it bothers me.”

They finished their work in silence, bundling up their spoils with practiced haste, and as soon as they were done, they fled silently into the warren of alleyways of that quarter of Moscovy, leaving Father Krabbe’s mutilated body beside the nude Yuri.

By the time the first church bells sounded in the predawn of a summer morning, rats had helped themselves to bits of the two

corpses. They were still gnawing at Yuri’s fingers when two early-rising bakers’ apprentices found the bodies and gave the alarm with their screams.

First the local priests rushed from their little church dedicated to Saint Tatiana the Martyr, and upon seeing the body of the Catholic priest, refused to bless or pray for the two dead men. They reluctantly agreed to stand guard over the bodies until one of the Czar’s Guards could be sent for to attend to the men.

“Best send word to the Catholics, too; they will want to claim their priest,” said the baker, who had been summoned by the apprentices. “They will not want to have him lie here in the street.”

“Yes,” said one of the three Orthodox priests guarding the bodies, and he started off at once for the Kremlin, grateful to be away from the presence of death. He did not know more of the fallen priest but that he was Catholic, and therefore he decided to go to the greatest concentration of Catholic priests in Mos- covy, the Polish embassy; he reasoned that surely they would know if a Catholic priest was missing. It took him more than half an hour to find the house where the Jesuits were, and by that time the streets bustled with merchants and farmers bound for market with goods and produce and stock of every kind.

The servant who answered the door of the Poles’ house had clearly been awake for some time; there were circles around his eyes and his embroidered rubashka was stained with food. He regarded the Orthodox priest with a combination of apprehension and curiosity, for Orthodox clergy rarely came here. “Yes, Father? What do you want here?”

“Are the Jesuits available?” asked the priest, adding, “I am Father Jascha, of Saint Tatiana the Martyr’s.”

“They are at Mass,” said the servant.

“I fear this may be urgent,” said Father Jascha, and faltered. He crossed himself before he went on. “We may have found one of the . . . Catholic priests. At least the man is dressed like a priest—”

“Found?” the servant asked.

“In the street, near my church. There are two—”

The servant saved Father Jascha from more floundering. “One of the Polish embassy did not return to this house last night. There has been much concern for his safety. We have sent a messenger to the . . . the place he was visiting. I thought you were bringing an answer to the—” He broke off as he heard someone behind him.

Father Brodski was pale and his thinning hair uncombed, but he greeted Father Jascha in good form, asking God to extend his blessing to the Orthodox priest as well as to all Christians. “I heard you talking,” he said to his servant. “I had hoped it was Father Krabbe.”

“It may be,” said Father Jascha quietly, and stared at the Jesuit for a short time, then began his explanation again. “We have found two men . . . one of them is in a Jesuit habit.”

“And where is he? And who is the other? Father Krabbe was in the company of our servant Yuri.” Father Brodski pulled at his lower lip, reading Father Jascha’s expression more expertly than he wanted to. “The men you have found—what is the matter?”

Father Jascha hesitated, disliking his duty. “They were attacked.”

“Attacked. Killed?” said Father Brodski, wanting an answer other than the one he knew he would receive.

Another priest appeared at his shoulder. Father Kovnovski was ready to upbraid Father Brodski for leaving Mass, but one look at Father Jascha stopped the rebuke. “Christ and His Angels, what’s the matter?”

“I am sorry to tell you,” said Father Jascha. “But it may be that this is not your priest. I do not know the man. He may have stolen your priest’s clothes, or have come by the habit in some other way.” He said this quickly, trying to soften the blow.

Father Kovnovski looked dismayed. “What are you saying?” he demanded of the Orthodox priest.

■ But it was Father Brodski who answered the question. “He says he has found two men who were attacked. It may be that they are Father Krabbe and Yuri.” He crossed himself again as he said this.

Father Kovnovski echoed the gesture. “Poor Christians, whoever they are.”

“So it would seem,” said Father Jascha, and turned as a black- clad man on a grey horse rode up to the Polish house, the hooves of the horse clattering on the cobblestones of the courtyard.

“Good morning, Hrabia,” said Father Brodski.

Rakoczy swung out of the saddle and strode to the open door, leading his horse by the rein. “I regret this intrusion, but from what I’ve been told, Father Krabbe did not return to the embassy last night. That was the gist of the information I received. Since Father Krabbe left my house not long before midnight, I share your concern for him. Your messenger this morning was so distraught, I thought it best if I came myself to lend you whatever assistance I can,” he said directly to the two Poles, and then turned to Father Jascha. “Mercy and grace of God on you for this day, Father.” If he was surprised at seeing an Orthodox priest in the Polish embassy courtyard, he did not mention it.

The Orthodox priest acknowledged the greeting formally, finding some consolation in the traditional phrases. “And may He guide and comfort you through all your life, my son.”

“Father Jascha has just arrived,” Father Brodski said for Ra- koczy’s benefit. “He may know something of Father Krabbe.”

“I pray I am mistaken,” said Father Jascha softly.

“I trust he does,” said Rakoczy at the same time. “I have been overseeing the repair of your carriage, and I believe he may have come to some trouble.” He fell silent as a third Jesuit approached: Father Pogner was glaring at the gathering in the doorway.

“I hope,” said the senior member of the embassy, “that there is some good reason for your presence?” He directed his gaze at Rakoczy and made no excuse for his abrupt manner.

Rakoczy was unperturbed; he regarded all three Jesuits, singling out no one. “I fear there may be,” he said, “for it seems that the accident that disabled your carriage was no accident at all, but a deliberate act. I have discovered places in the spokes of two wheels and on the axle where the wood is sawn almost in half.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Father Pogner.

“Sadly, no,” said Rakoczy. “The carriage would not have gone very far, the first real jolt. . .” He made a gesture to finish his thoughts. “I must conclude someone wanted Father Krabbe on foot.”

Father Pogner was about to question this, but was silenced by Father Jascha. “There are two men in the street. They were killed by robbers, for one of them has been stripped. The other wears a Jesuit habit and was used cruelly.” He crossed himself once more at the memory of Father Krabbe’s body.

As the Catholics also blessed themselves in the left-shoulder- right-shoulder Roman manner, Rakoczy spoke for them all. “Then I suppose we had better go and see.”

Father Pogner drew himself up, unwilling to follow any suggestion of Rakoczy’s, no matter how reasonable. “Why should we dignify this insult’ It is impossible that such a thing would happen to one of this mission.”

Rakoczy was about to ask Father Jascha to lead the way, but he paused, his dark eyes resting on Father Pogner for a long while before he said, “Is it. I trust you may be right.” And all the while he knew in his sinews that the arrogant priest was wrong.

Text of an anonymous letter from Anastasi Sergeivich Shuisky to Istvan Bathory of Poland.

To the honorable and revered Transylvanian, King of Poland, most genuine greetings from your true friend in Moscovy.

I do not like the necessity of informing you that one of your embassy has met with misfortune, but such has come to pass: Father Milan Krabbe was found murdered in the streets of Moscovy ten days ago. His Russian servant Yuri died with. him. Father Pogner and the alchemist Rakoczy identified the two men, although both said that the priest was almost unrecognizable. It is Rakoczy’s contention that most of the treatment meted out to the priest occurred after he was dead, and for Father Krabbe’s sake, I pray that Rakoczy is correct.

Perhaps members of your embassy have already informed you, and provided what few details we know of the crime: the servant was naked, and killed by a blow to the head that broke his skull. The priest was beaten and slaughtered like an animal, though he was still in his clothes when he was found. These deaths have caused a scandal at Court, for it is rumored that the killing of these men was brought about at the instigation of those opposed to the Polish presence in this city. Already there have been veiled accusations made at various nobles and the Metropolitan. There are also those who say it is a clever ploy to make it appear that they were the victims of Your Majesty’s enemies and that instead they were killed at the orders of one of the members of the embassy. This is the more controversial theory, but it is gaining followers, for the court would prefer to think ill of Poles than Rus.

At the promptings of certain high-ranking nobles, blame is being cast on your countryman, Ferenc Rakoczy. It is said that he was the last to see the two men alive, that they were deprived of the protection of their carriage while at his house, and that his claim that the carriage was damaged deliberately was actually the result of his own nefarious deeds, which put Father Krabbe at the mercy of the desperate men who roam the streets at night.

The strongest proponent of this accusation is Prince Vasilli Shuisky, one of the most powerful and ambitious nobles of the Court. He has reason to want to see all Poles discredited, and it would serve his purpose to have the exile or theJesuits answerfor the crimes than any of his adherents at Court. He is hungry to rise in position, and he is prepared to undertake crimes and mendacity if it will improve his chances to replace Czar Feodor on the throne. For make no doubt about it, Your Majesty, this Vasilli Shuisky will stop at nothing to be Czar. To accomplish his ends, he must discredit both Godunov and Romanov, and as Godunov is the friend and Court patron of your Rakoczy, he undoubtedly plans to use this opportunity to show that Godunov’s judgment is poor and his motives untrustworthy. Once Godunov isfallen, he will confront Romanov, who is not powerful enough to stop him.