Darker Jewels (26 page)

Therefore, I am offering you this last opportunity to entrust to us your reports and letters and dispatches. You have my word as a man of rank that we will do all that Heaven allows us to see your words delivered into the hands of Istvan Bathory. There are three leather dispatch cases, both with double flaps and buckles for securing the contents. These will not permit your writing to drown or be lost on the wind, as some have said when giving excuses for their failures. You may fill them with reports or whatever material you think is needed in order to bring about a successful representation of all you have done thus far.

I must inform you that Father Pogner has written an excoriating denunciation of your marriage and has impugned your motives for undertaking it.
/Is
I do not share his opinion, I have taken it upon myself to report what I know of the case. If King Istvan banishes you while you are here, you will find it difficult to enter Poland now or anytime Istvan reigns. If you cannot enter Poland, you must take your chances ivith the Turk, the Hindu, the Chinese, or the White Sea. I will do what I can to spare you dealing with any of them.

Have your servant bring the dispatch boxes to my house in the Fancy Bread section of the city by sundown tomorrow night. You know the place we soldiers live. I will be gathering together all the materials we need for our journey.

Your offer of more horses is most gratefully accepted, and the mules, too. Four of each will mean the difference between an arduous trek and a difficult one. Now, if among your other talents you possess a way to lessen snow and prevent mud, we can hurry along as if it were July and not March. We do not require more wagons. We have sufficient for the trip and we have followed your advice and made sure all the wheels are interchangeable. We have half again as many wheels as we have places to put them.

Also the purse of gold coins is very welcome. I suppose it will not much matter whose likeness is on them if they are good quality. It is not always a pleasant task for a man like me to accept so extravagant a gift as the coins, so I will make a provision to my gratitude: when you return to Poland, this amount will be waiting for you, increasing by one-third each year. That way, should King Istvan not prevail, or should the new King not honor Istvan’s donations, then you will not be without deserved recompense. Poland has a hard history, but we who are her nobles have held her honor dear and her cause sacred. You will not be cheated at Poland’s benefit while I live, and I will tell my son to take up my obligation to you when God orders me to put it down.

It is my fervent ivish to be with my wife and children again. They have been much on my mind while we have sat through this interminable dark and cold. I want another son for my wife to dandle, and another. I will not get them sitting here in Mos- covy. And soldier’s games get no children.

The bowman will bring back letters—that much has been arranged. So I will inform you of everything I have learned once we reach Vyazma. But I will be at pains to keep my address general and unremarkable, for it is a certain thing that someone will read the dispatches. Enough of the boyars know their letters to do that. If there is reason to suppose that there have been great changes or that you would be wise for a change in orders, I will inform you that there are many blossoms in the fields and that crops ought to be good. If there is present danger, I will say that there is evidence of flooding. Do not forget these words, for they will be the only safe way I can guard you as I swore to King Istvan I would.

You have been an uncomplaining companion in travel—a rare thing in those who are not used to the rigors of campaigning—and you have done much to save us all from unknown hazards. You have ministered to those who were injured or unwell. You have provided for our needs when they outstripped our resources. For that I thank Godfor givingyou the perspicacity to do it. You have been resourceful here, for without your skills at conjuring or alchemy, the Czar would have made short work of us, I fear.
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am not as certain as Father Pogner is that you are only a clever mummer, but it may be that I do not worry about folly the way he does.

May God watch over you in this perplexing country. May He strive to bring you peace and send the light of His good angels to guide you when the night is deepest. May He protect you when the Czar is most desperate and give you succor when there is none other to give comfort.

Hrabia D. Zary Embassy oflstvan Bathory of Poland in Russia

4

For the last three days priests had released hundreds of white doves over the Kremlin as they prayed for the life of the Czar. The birds were everywhere, and were given the same blessing that ikons were, in the hope that the Holy Spirit would hear them through the doves. All the hymns Czar Ivan had composed were sung repeatedly, their deep, twelve-part harmonies reminding God of Ivan’s piety. In the cold March winds the poignant sonorities quickly vanished.

Ivan’s previous night had been torturous, and he had come away from it with his face pasty, his breath fast and reeking, and his hands so palsied that he was nearly unable to lift his jewels as he tried to take strength and courage from them. At fifty-three he looked seventy. He was hoarse from shouting and he stank. He ordered that no one was to approach him any closer than seven paces.

“Little Father,” said Boris Godunov as he prostrated himself before Ivan in the treasure room of the armory toward the end of the afternoon. “Let us summon your physicians again. And the Metropolitan, to pray for you.”

“The witches said that they would protect me,” he declared with emotion. “They are veiy powerful, but today is the seventeenth. Their prophecy was specific and they repeated it more than once. Tomorrow is the last day.” He clutched an enormous ruby against his chest, pressing as if he wanted the great red stone to penetrate his ribs and take over the work of his heart.

“To believe that, Czar, is to believe that God cannot grant mercy,” said Boris, going very carefully, for he had not assessed the current state of Ivan’s madness. Over the last week the Czar had become even more unpredictable than he had been and his moods shifted more quickly with less reason.

Czar Ivan fixed his son’s brother-in-law with a hard stare. “God listens to priests, who want me dead. I know that their prayers ask my death. Yes! They petition God to destroy me. He hears the Metropolitan say that I promised he should be a Patriarch and I have not granted it yet, so he has persuaded God to abandon me. God no longer hears my prayers for mercy; they are drowned out by the priests.”

Boris did not change his posture or contradict anything Ivan said. He waited in silence as Ivan put down the ruby and took up a medallion of jasper, letting the light play over the surface. When he was certain that Ivan had placed his thoughts on his treasures, he said, “Your faithful foreigner, Rakoczy Saint-Germain is here. He has brought a jewel for you.”

“A jewel. For my salvation and redemption,” said Ivan with a hint of hope. “It must be for that.”

Taking advantage of this reaction, Boris said, “I don’t know what it is for. I know only that he has asked to present it to you in this time.” He hoped that the two Guard officers in the treasure room would remember what he said if there was ever any question about this last gift. He knew as well as any Tartar or Russian that a conspiracy often took years to reach success; he wanted no such hints made of him. If Rakoczy truly were a poisoner sent by Istvan Bathory to kill Ivan as many of the courtiers suggested, there was no better time than this for him to accomplish his work and escape undetected, and Boris, much as he enjoyed the Transylvanian’s erudition and ironic wit, did not want to appear allied with him: that would lead to disgrace and death.

“If it is a good jewel, I will accept it. The might in all these jewels might bear a man to Heaven if he were saintly and innocent. If it is not a good jewel, if it is a curse, I will have him beaten with the heaviest knout until the marrow runs from his bones,” said Ivan, caressing a long strand of rough emeralds, allowing them to slip through his fingers and catching them to let them fall again. “Tell him that, and if he still enters the room, I will show him honor. Perhaps.”

Boris sighed as he got to his feet. He wanted to dust off the front of his gold-embroidered kaftan. But that might offend Ivan, make it appear that Boris expected some evil from the Czar, and the consequences would be swift and unpleasant. “I will tell him, Little Father.”

Ivan waved him away, the greater part of his attention on a tourmaline, pink and green at once.

For once Rakoczy was dressed entirely in black: dolman, mente and kontush, leggings and boots. His black sapphire pectoral gleamed, and the ruby signet on his hand seemed to have taken on the darkness of his garments. “What do you have to tell me?” he asked without any of the elaborate forms of address and conduct that were usually seen at Court.

Boris made a palms-up gesture of ignorance. “I don’t know what to say. If he decides the jewel is good, you may receive a reward—although I won’t vouch for what that reward might be—or, if he thinks the jewel is cursed, he will have you knouted.” He looked down, studying the tips of his boots.

“What do you recommend?” Rakoczy asked, unflustered by this news.

“I?” Boris sighed. “I don’t know. I look at him, and I can no longer anticipate him or his madness.”

“I see,” said Rakoczy. He nodded once. “Then it must be on my head.” He walked down the narrow hallway between the dozen Guards who had been placed on duty, then turned on his heel and came back to where Boris stood. “You’d better take me to him. If I do not present the jewel, he may decide that is an indication of my untrustworthiness and ... who can tell what he might do then?”

“You could flee,” Boris suggested with an unhappy laugh.

“Certainly,” Rakoczy agreed with false joviality; his next words were bitter. “But how? Without escort? Without authorizations? Over roads that are crusted with ice and hip-deep in mud where the ice is gone? And where would I go? There are Russian soldiers all along the road to Poland. If I went south to the Black Sea, the

Cossacks would hold me for ransom or sell me to the Turks. And to the north all the ways are blocked with snow, and the rivers and bays filled with ice. Eastward, there is trackless wilderness and unknown peoples. I have met two Samoyeds, but no others from Siberia.” He achieved a thin smile. “And I have a wife I am sworn to protect. I cannot abandon her, and I will not drag her to places you would hesitate to take seasoned troops.”

Boris lowered his head. “You’re probably right,” he said with a trace of regret in his voice. “Still, it could
...”
The encouragement faded.

“Let’s not keep Czar Ivan waiting,” said Rakoczy, settling the matter. “Announce me, then leave if you wish.”

At that Boris shook his head. “No. I will remain with you.” They had almost reached the treasure room. “You may encounter Nikita Romanov while you are with the Czar. It is Ivan’s intention that Nikita Romanovich should provide guardianship for Czareivich Feodor, as I am to give him direction in his rule.”

“Is this perhaps an awkward disposal of power?” suggested Rakoczy as he paused outside the treasure room door.

“It may be. Ivan Vasillievich believes that conspirators will be less able to strike Feodor down with two families looking after him.” Boris was eloquent in the short silence that followed his explanation.

Rakoczy nodded. “For how long has he entertained this notion?”

“Too long, worthy exile. He has not wavered in his intention to do this since it occurred to him last autumn.” He put the tips of his big, square fingers together. “Any who try to speak of it are seen as jealous and treacherous.”

There were many questions Rakoczy wanted to ask Boris— Did he suspect treachery? Where? From whom? Was Feodor actually safe? Were any of them safe?—but he would have to pursue them later. For the time being, he had Ivan to deal with. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head. “All right; open the door.”

Boris made a sign of agreement and swung back the iron- strapped doors, indicating the ikons inside so that Rakoczy could bless them properly. “Little Father, your foreign servant, the Transylvanian exile who is your alchemist and adviser, has come.”

Ivan had been leaning back against a large, lapis-clad chest encrusted with agate and turquoise, two ropes of freshwater pearls tangled in one hand, a golden ikon two or three centuries old and as tall as Ivan’s forearm, painted in enamel and studded with topaz and diamonds in the other. “It is the Apostle Bar- tholomaios.” He lifted the ikon a short way, then let it drop, for it was heavy. “I have been praying to him, asking him to support my life. They say he was mild and innocent, never deceiving anyone, never doing ill. I have tried to tell him that I did not want to do ill, but there is much evil in the world, much evil, and the most just and righteous of rulers is often surrounded by dangerous men. As much as it may offend a good man, he has his duty, and he must
...”
He stared muzzily at Rakoczy as if slighdy drunk. “You have a jewel for me?”

“I do, Great Czar,” said Rakoczy, going down on his knee.

“If there is anything evil in it, you will answer for it,” Ivan warned him, fixing him with blood-shot eyes.

“If there is anything evil in it, I will gladly surrender myself to your judgment, Great Czar.” He reached into the capacious sleeve of his mente and pulled out a small box covered in glorious brocaded Persian silk, which he held out to Ivan.

“No. No. Do not give it to me, Transylvanian. I know what they say of you, all of you, that you are more skilled than the Italians at poison. So. You open it, and put your face low to it, to breathe the poison or take the venom of the insect or demon.” Ivan rapped out the order as bluntly and crisply as he had ordered his men forward at Kazan, so many years ago.

“If that will please you,” said Rakoczy, opening the box and all but pushing his nose into it. He looked up. “Nothing has bitten me and I still breathe, Great Czar. In this box there is silk and an amethyst dark as Hungarian wine, and as potent. Nothing more or less than those things, Great Czar.” He offered the box a second time. “The jewel is larger than a child’s fist.” When he had made the last series of jewels he had done all that he could to make them as large as possible. Of those nine he made, this was the best; the color was pure and glowingly intense; it was regular in shape, without flaw, capturing inward light better than a raindrop, and big enough to impress even Ivan. “It is my gift to you, Great Czar, and the gift of the king of Poland, to show respect and admiration.”