Darker Jewels (50 page)

Be warned that your countryman Rakoczy is in grave danger. He will be made the scapegoat for all of Shuisky’s actions. Only if Vasilli Shuisky is stopped can Rakoczy be spared the vengeance Shuisky seeks to visit on all your embassy, starting with Rakoczy but intended to eventually account for all the Jesuits who have come here to serve your interests in Moscovy. To that end, I offer to do all that I can, for although I am not placed as highly at Court as the mighty ones, there are yet things I can do to prevent the worst from happening. All I ask is your consideration when the moment is right. At that time, I will reveal myself to you, and be proud of your friendship and the honor of the Polish crown. It would be the satisfaction of a lifetime for me to aid you in bringing down the treacherous Vasilli Shuisky, and made greater by vindicating the Polish mission to this Court.

Let me encourage you to take action now if you wish to help

Rakoczy. If it were not for his friendship with Godunov, he would be imprisoned by now.
As
it is, Godunov cannot long afford to protect the Transylvanian. Therefore any action you may wish to undertake on his behalf must be done soon or I fear it will no longer be possible to spare himfrom the demands ofthe laws of Moscovy. I would name myself your champion, but without support I am helpless against such puissant nobles as Vasilli Shuisky. If you have men here to defend your embassy, authorize them to come to Rakoczy’s defense immediately or be prepared to condemn your alchemist to torture and an unmarked grave. Already there are petitions to Czar Feodor demanding that Rakoczy answer for his transgressions before the Court and before God.

From one who seeks to benefit you

6

After he had blessed the ikons and recited the proper phrases of greeting, Boris Godunov came at once to the point of his visit. “I wish I did not have to tell you this, my friend: I don’t know how much longer I can keep the Court from turning against you, not without your help. Between Vasilli Shuisky and the Metropolitan, there are many who have decided that you are no longer acceptable to them.” His Asiatic features were creased with concern and he gestured apologetically. “They are dissatisfied with the foreigners at Court, in any case, except for the English. You are not the only one to feel their suspicions.”

“But I receive more of them than most,” said Rakoczy as he bowed to his guest and closed the door against the day; the summer sun was glarey and the air heavy and close.

“You have been more noticeable than most, and now that notice is not to your advantage,” Boris allowed.

“Do they want more jewels, or bells, do you think?” Rakoczy asked with light irony. Then he added, “I do not mean to slight

your friendship, Boris Feodorovich, for you have defended me most. . . diligently. You are not bargaining with our friendship. In my experience, that is rare.” His experience was much longer than he would ever admit to the Czar’s governmental adviser and guardian, and the compromises he had seen were too many to number.

Boris made a gesture of dismissal. “I do as I think is wisest. My wife says I am a fool to speak with you, for there are those who would think that suspicious.”

“Your wife is a prudent woman, and she knows the court from her powerful family,” said Rakoczy to his guest. He stood in his reception room, his silken black dolman edged in silver embroidery. Midsummer sun shining in the windows made sharp patterns of light on the floor; Boris paced around him, passing from brightness to shadow to brightness again. The light striking his kaftan made the golden fabric glisten. “For the sake of our friendship, I should endorse her advice. But to speak truly, I am pleased you are here.”

“I am, as well,” said Boris uneasily. “But I am not certain that I can do anything more to help you.”

Rakoczy touched his hands together; aside from a slight frown his manner was calm. “That is worrisome. I had hoped there might be one or two things you would still be willing to do. They aren’t trivial, or tests of your loyalty.”

“Oh, it is not a question of willingness, my exiled friend, it is whether I am able to. And loyalty is not the issue. The Court is not likely to permit me to act on your behalf.” Boris paused, gesturing toward the open window. “There are rumors all over the city about the death of Father Krabbe. The wind is alive with them, and they grow louder every day. Even among those who despise Poles and Catholics, and they are many, there is a belief that we must act to avenge his murder. Some claim that Father Krabbe will curse them in Heaven if his murderer is not brought to answer for his crime.”

“But the Court is always rife with rumors,” said his host reasonably. “You yourself said, when I was making jewels for Czar Ivan, that I must not be drawn into the constant speculation. What makes these developments any different than the usual whispers and scandal?”

Boris paused and nodded his head twice in a measured way.

“They
are
different. This is no mere indulgence of spite or envy or ambition. These rumors are to the point, and they serve little purpose to advance those spreading them. They are more specific and thus more damaging. The Court is affronted. And sadly the Poles have taken up the same theme, all but accusing you of murdering Father Krabbe and his escort.”

“Yuri,” Rakoczy supplied.

“Yes. There are those who claim it is significant that he came from your household, and that you made him your spy in the Polish mission, and you killed him because of what he knew about you.” It was not easy for Boris to admit so much; his voice cracked as if his throat were dry. “That is the most prevalent accusation, in any case.”

“But there are other accusations, more serious ones, aren’t there,” said Rakoczy with certainty, his face revealing little more than polite interest. “What are they saying: will you tell me?” Boris hesitated. “In friendship I would prefer not.”

“It is in friendship I ask it. If I do not know what is being said, I cannot refute it.” Rakoczy’s smile was fleeting. “It is a kindness to tell me, Boris Feodorovich.”

Clearly, Boris was not entirely convinced of this. He stared at the floor, and at last made up his mind. “Very well, but I do not like it. They are saying that you had a falling out with Father Krabbe, that you required him to act for you against his vows, and for that he turned on you in order to save his soul and do penance for the sin of apostasy. It is said that because you are an alchemist, you are a servant of the devil, and Father Krabbe was not able to forgive you for your sins any longer. When you found this out, you placed Yuri in the embassy to act as your spy, and in time arranged that Father Krabbe should die and Yuri as well, to protect you and increase your power. They were sacrifices, or so it is reckoned, which is why Father Krabbe was so badly beaten as well as disemboweled, and why they were found—” “Of all the ways I might kill someone,” said Rakoczy in a low, inward voice, “the one I would never use is disemboweling.” He touched his belt and felt the scars beneath it; even now he could recall the agony of his death three and a half thousand years before.

Boris heard something in Rakoczy’s voice that made him hurry on. “—why they were found in such a poor part of the city. Some

claim that you have gathered a gang of desperate men to serve you, men who will maim and kill at your command, and that you will order the deaths of others who have earned your enmity. Poor people are always willing to sell their souls for a few pieces of gold and a week of chicken soup.”

“If that is what I did and why I did it, the act was ill-conceived,” said Rakoczy, his manner remote as his eyes. “Why would I do something so foolish and obvious, supposing for the moment that the suspicions were true? Or does anyone venture to guess that?”

“They say you worship Satan, and there need be no reason in anything you do if it serves the cause of Satan,” Boris answered, his words a bit muffled.

“So they are willing to think me a dupe as well as a fool,” said Rakoc
2
y in a resigned tone. “Is that because I am foreign, or because Father Pogner speaks against me?”

“They do not wish to listen to foreign priests, but Father Pogner tells them what they want to hear, and so they praise him for his learning and wisdom, and hail him as a foreigner who understands the ways of the Rus.” Boris was disgusted; he turned hard on his heel and began to pace in the opposite direction. “Nikita Romanovich has visited him twice, both times in the company of Vasilli Andreivich. They come away claiming they share Father Pogner’s indignation. Whether this is a pose or their sentiments, I cannot decide.”

At the mention of Romanov and Shuisky, Rakoczy stiffened. “Have those two become allies?” he inquired with deceptive nonchalance.

“In this regard, apparently they have, and I like it less than you do,” said Boris, and now he was worried. “At first I paid no heed to them, for both of them thrive on the workings of the Court. But now they appear to be more ambitious, and I fear that if Shuisky puts his power with Romanov’s, then I will be fortunate to live to be forty.”

Rakoczy agreed more than he wanted to. “If they are in accord, then—” He broke off, disliking the sense of foreboding that came over him. Deliberately he shifted the subject. “Boris Feodorovich, tell me: if anything .. . untoward were to happen to me, would you be willing to see that my wife is protected and my manservant returns to Poland? He is a native of Spain, from

Cadiz, and it would be no kindness to require him to remain here.”

“He is Spanish?” Boris said, as if Spain were as remote as the moon.

“Yes,” said Rakoczy, and did not add that when Rothger was bom, Spain was a Roman colony, and his city was known as Gades. “I would not like to think that either my manservant or my wife had to suffer on my account.”

“Well, I already have the money you have provided for Xenya Evgeneivna, and there may be some additional protection I can extend to her. I will do everything that I can on her behalf. I don’t think Vasilli Andreivich will mind if I take some measures to protect her—they are distandy related.”

“If he or his cousin seek to bring her once again into their households,” Rakoczy said, his voice very soft and level, “I want you to give your assurances that you will not allow it, not now or ever. Keep her with you, or find another noble who is not allied with the Shuiskys. Do not let the Shuiskys reach her, I beseech you. She may have family connections with them, but that is not sufficient claim to make her their drudge. And you may be sure that is the least of what they would require of her.”

“If you think so poorly of them
...”
Boris wanted to know the reason for this unexpected caveat, but there was something in Rakoczy’s manner that did not encourage further questioning. He cleared his throat. “Very well; I will see that Xenya Evgeneivna does not live with Shuiskys. Your manservant may be more difficult, but if it is possible I will see that he is not hindered if he decides to leave Moscovy; but it might not be . . .” The words trailed off again, and he forced a heartiness into his tone that convinced neither Rakoczy nor himself. “Besides, these precautions are hardly necessary. There will be no trouble, I am sure of it.”

“Nevertheless,” said Rakoczy gently and persistently, “indulge me, my friend. So that neither of us will have cause for recriminations later.”

Boris swung around again. “What do you think of me, Rakoczy! I would never permit—” He stopped, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. “Yes. I understand what you mean, little as I wish to. Very well. I will do what I can for Xenya Evgeneivna, and for your manservant Rothger. You have my sworn assurance that if I am able to guard them, I will. If the Court removes me from my position, I will try to find someone who will look after your wife, someone away from the influence of the Shuiskys. But I doubt anything I would do then would help your manservant, as he is a foreigner. At best I could arrange for him to be expelled from Moscovy.”

“He has survived worse,” said Rakoczy evenly.

“Fighting the Turk, yes, of course,” said Boris, and Rakoczy did not correct him. “I can take him into my household for a time if I remain in Moscovy; he can read and write, and I will give him work to do making translations. No one will think it strange that I employ him for such skills. But if Nikita Romanovich and Vasilli Andreivich continue as they are, I may not be able to stay in the city, and if I must flee, your manservant would be safer crossing to Sweden on foot at midwinter than in my company.” He had stopped walking; he stared down at his feet, noticing how the light sfruck them, and the hem of his red-and-gold kaftan.

“I trust it will not come to that, Boris Feodorovich,” said Rakoczy evenly. “Czar Feodor would not allow it.”

Boris shrugged. “Who can tell what that poor young man will tolerate?”

“You are his trusted adviser and his wife’s brother,” said Rakoczy.

“And as my mother was a Tartar, the rest counts for nought.” Boris folded his arms. “Of late, that is all any of them talk about, my Tartar mother.” He shook his head once, twice. He glared at the window as if the light hurt his eyes. “My father-in-law wants to take up my cause; if he does there will be war here, and it will be between Rus. Everything we have gained and regained, and at so high price, will be in danger. I don’t think I can accept such developments.” He coughed. “I do not want any more divisiveness than we have seen already.”

“It may not be your decision to make,” said Rakoczy kindly. “If Vasilli Shuisky and Nikita Romanov are determined to oppose you, you must stand against them or leave Moscovy and Czar Feodor to their forces.”

Boris’ sigh was eloquent. “Yes. That is precisely the difficulty, isn’t it? If I do not defend Czar Feodor, he will be in the hands of those who wish him ill. He does not know how to deal with men of such guile. He is puppet enough already.”

“Your puppet’” suggested Rakoczy.

“When it comes to foreigners, yes,” said Boris directly. “He has allowed me to guide him.” There was no trace of cynicism in his demeanor.

“And does he listen to you? Does he heed your advice?” Rakoczy asked, and turned as Rothger approached from the direction of the kitchen with a large brass tray laden with stuffed eggs, fish roe, and mincemeat-and-honey-filled breads. One golden cup stood beside an opened bottle.