Darker Jewels (32 page)

The scent of the wine filled her head; Xenya thought it would make her tipsy without tasting a drop. She did not want to listen to Anastasi, for his words seemed to cling to her, slippery and clinging, contaminating her. At last she tasted the wine.

“Why are all those Polish Jesuits here? They claim they are here at the behest of Bathory, but that may be a convenient lie, to lend them position while they go about their real tasks. And Rakoczy will know it. He will have orders, too. And you will find out what they are, Xenya. And when you find them out, you will tell me. At once.” He spoke low, insinuatingly, coming closer to her until he could reach out a large hand to stroke her hair. “It is essential, Xenya Evgeneivna. You must do it.”

She drank again, recklessly this time, letting the liquid fill her mouth.

“Speak to him soon, Xenya, and leam something of worth, or I will be forced to speak to him myself of other matters.” He circled one braid around his finger, then let it fall away.

There was a discreet cough at the door, and Rakoczy said, “I hope I do not intrude?” He came toward them, offering a slight, European bow to Anastasi. “I did not want to neglect a guest too long.”

Anastasi moved away from Xenya, scowling as he moved. He disliked being interrupted and he had the uneasy feeling that Rakoczy had been in the room longer than it appeared. He dismissed the notion at once as impossible, but the scowl did not fade from his features. Lifting his cup to cover this, he remarked, “A very good wine. You should have some.”

Rakoczy favored him with an enigmatic smile. “I do not drink wine.”

“Weak-headed, are you?” Anastasi did not keep the sneer out of his tone. He finished what he had and poured most of the rest of the bottle into his cup. “I didn’t know that those from Transylvania had such weakness. Unless you got it from the Turks— they do not drink, do they?”

Rakoczy paid no heed to Anastasi’s studied insults and answered directly. “They are not supposed to, according to their holy books.” He shrugged. “But where is the living person who always does what holy books require?”

Anastasi laughed at that. “Clever, and true.” He turned quickly and a little of the wine sloshed over his fingers. “As the priests are forever reminding us.”

Xenya had moved closer to Rakoczy and now stood at his side. She took one more sip from her cup, then set it down on the tray. “My cousin . . . has been saying many things. I had not realized how long it had been since I. . . spoke to him. I should have visited my mother before now.”

“Invite her here; I will arrange proper escort,” Rakoczy suggested, adding to Anastasi, “If it suits you?” He watched his guest, faint, angry amusement lurking at the back of his dark eyes. He indicated the tray, suggesting, “I think you might want to eat a few more of the breads, Anastasi Sergeivich. It would keep your head from aching in this sultry weather.”

“A wise precaution,” said Anastasi, and reached for another of the cream-filled pastries. “You have a very good cook.”

“So I have been told; it is gracious of you to compliment him.” Rakoczy could feel Xenya’s distress, and knew that it would not end as long as Anastasi was present. “Perhaps you would be willing to bring Xenya’s mother to dine with us in your company? I will provide you a number of times that would be convenient in this household, and you may choose the one to your liking.” “I would want Piotr Grigoreivich Smolnikov to accompany us. The poor fellow has little enough to fill his days since he lost his sight.” Anastasi gave his best personable smile. “With my wife and children in the country, I need to take care not to neglect my dependents in Moscovy.”

“Commendable,” said Rakoczy dryly. He paused a moment, then said, “I do not wish to hurry you, but I must leave in a short while, and it is not fitting that you remain when I am gone.” “Another of your Transylvanian customs?” Anastasi stuck a cream-covered finger in his mouth and licked it clean. “I’ll have another of these—they’re truly excellent—and then I will leave. I’m glad to have had a talk with my little cousin. She is much missed in my house, much missed.” He bit the next cream-filled bun in half and busied himself cleaning the overflow off his mustaches. That done, he had the last of the wine and put his cup aside. “In Czar Ivan’s time, cups like these were given as gifts to those who attended his banquets. I myself have three of them.” Rakoczy smiled sardonically. “If it would not lessen the worth of the Czar’s gift, take this cup, too, by all means.” He bowed to Anastasi. “As the kinsman of my wife, to show my regard.” Anastasi nodded several times, as if his head, once set in motion, could only stop with difficulty. “Very pretty.” It was not possible to tell if he meant the cup or the gesture. “I will keep it on the shelf below the Czar’s cups,” he announced as he chewed the rest of the bun. “Yes, that is the correct place for it.” He held out the cup, turning it over to let the light play over it. “Very satisfying. I am pleased to have it.”

“Thank you for accepting it,” said Rakoczy, drifting toward the door as he went on; without obvious force he was compelling Anastasi to follow him. “I take some pride in the things I make.” Anastasi had drunk just enough wine to make him feel bold, not reckless, and so he did not actually laugh. He gestured extravagantly. “That is what it requires, is it? You have the means to make these, and when it suits you, you make more?” “Precisely,” said Rakoczy, holding the door to the withdrawing room wide open.

“You simply cook up gold, the way you cook up jewels,” said Anastasi with a mercurial smile. “How clever of you. How many of the Polish embassy actually believe that?”

“Not many,” said Rakoczy honestly enough. “But ask yourself

this, Anastasi Sergeivich: how did I bring so much gold into Russia without anyone noticing?”

“I have an answer to that,” said Anastasi, pressing his sleeve to his flushing, damp brow. “You arrived with chests. Many chests, closed with leather straps and locks. That was how you brought your gold and your jewels.”

Rakoczy bowed slightly, seeing Rothger standing ready by the door. “I do not know what to say.” He motioned to his houseman to open the door. “You have answers to everything.”

“Or I will have,” promised Anastasi, giving a half-reverence to Rakoczy as he reached the door. “I will come again.”

“Of course you will, when you permit me to prepare you and my wife’s mother and that blind old soldier a meal, the way the Florentines do it.” He offered Anastasi another European bow.

Anastasi waggled a finger at him, not quite scolding. “We know something of Italian ways; the architects who worked in the Kremlin and Father Possevino have shown us much. We are not gullible fools who will believe any fable, you know. If you do not show us Florentine manners, we will—”

“Duke Anastasi, I have lived in Florence,” said Rakoczy, but did not add that was almost a century ago. “And Venice; and Rome.”

“Such is the fate of exiles,” said Anastasi with a sage expression as he signaled for his horse. “We will dine soon. Before the month is out.”

“It will be my pleasure to receive you,” Rakoczy lied.

Anastasi blessed the ikons by the door, chuckled, and sauntered out of the house.

As soon as the footfalls of Anastasi’s horse had faded from the wood-paved courtyard, Xenya appeared in the doorway of the withdrawing room, her honey-colored eyes huge. “I didn’t tell him anything, my husband,” she said softly, desperately.

Rakoczy was at the foot of the stairs, about to go to his alchemical laboratory. “I didn’t suppose you would,” he said kindly. “Did you want to?”

She let out a thin, high wail and rushed to him, dropping on her knees beside him. “No. No, I swear before Christ Jesus and the Virgin, no, I did not want to tell him anything.” She looked up at him. “Do not be angry with me, I pray you. If you are angry, and Anastasi as well, what will I do. Do not be angry.”

“Xenya,” said Rakoczy very gendy, and knelt down beside her. “Xenya, you have nothing to fear from me. And I give you my word you have nothing to fear from your cousin.”

She shook her head violendy, unwilling now to look into his dark, calm eyes. “He can ruin me, and he would ruin me. He would do it, I know he would.”

“He would not ruin me, and he is not so foolish that he will ruin himself,” said Rakoczy, keeping his voice level. “Your cousin Anastasi is too ambitious to compromise himself that way.”

Her eyes met his, then slid away. “I didn’t tell him you knew. I didn’t let him find out. I kept it to myself.”

“Very good,” said Rakoczy, touching her shoulders so that he could lift her to her feet as he rose. “There is no reason to tell him, unless you decide to.”

She began to tremble suddenly. “He frightens me.” It took all her faltering courage to admit this, and she tried to prepare herself for the condemnation she knew was certain to follow such a confession.

Rakoczy touched her face with one small, beautiful hand. “I know.”

With a shaky sigh Xenya moved close to him as if seeking the haven of his body and his self-contained strength; she rested her head on his shoulder.

Slowly and carefully Rakoczy enfolded her in his arms.

Text of a letter from Father Pogner to Istvan Bathory, King of Poland, written in Latin.

To the revered Transylvanian who reigns as King in Poland, sincerest greetings from your embassy in Moscovy.

From the inception of our mission it has been foremost in my purpose to serve the interests of the Throne to the limits that the Church will permit, and I have spent many months attempting to acquit myself honorably in your cause. The other priests have generally emulated my purpose and have been at pains to see that this mission accomplishes the goals you have set. I have had to remonstrate their actions rarely, with the exception of Father Krabbe, who has his sights on other goals than the ones we are mandated to pursue. So it is that I am reluctant to permit him to continue with the mission.

If you are willing to issue your permission for such action, I will order Father Krabbe to return to Poland before the snows fly, or at the first true thaw next spring. I do not want him to travel in severe weather, for he continues to be somewhat less hardy than the rest of the mission since his lungs suffered putrid fever. During the winter he was ill twice, and both times insisted that the charlatan Rakoczy be brought to treat him, which I permitted only because what I have seen of Russian physicians convinces me that Father Krabbe is in no worse hands with Rakoczy than with one of those men, who are little better than kerb women.

Since his marriage, Rakoczy has spent very few days with us at our house. He has said to the English that this is because I have forbidden him to come here, but that is not wholly accurate, and I confess that 1 resent such implications as this statement creates in other foreigners. I would not prevent him from being here, but we do not recognize his wife, of course, and I do not allow him to speak of what he has called the Great Art, that is, the false teaching of alchemy.

In spite of the favor shown to him by Czar Ivan, Rakoczy continues to live in isolation, as do most foreigners in Moscovy. The laws of the city are such that it is difficultfor us to abide by them; we are all at the mercy of our servants in a way that no Russian is. For that reason we are very cautious of the men we hire, and take only those with skills. I will say this much for Rakoczy—he found a servant for us who is literate and willing. We have taken on Yuri Piotrovich as our chief footman, and have found him to be very cooperative with our goals. Only Father Krabbe has given any credence to the claim Rakoczy made that this Yuri is a spy for one of the Russian nobles. It is typical of the Transylvanian that he would seek to keep us from making the best use of such a capable servant.

Certainty Hrabia Zary has long since reported to you the situation in Moscovy as he left it. In the time since the death of Czar Ivan, the Court adherents of Boris Godunov have been constantly at odds with the adherents of Nikita Romanov. Both these men ivere appointed by Czar Ivan to guide and guard his heir, Czar Feodor. It is regrettable that these two men were not in accord from the first, for theirpositions have diverged sharply in the last few months. I foresee continued difficulties between the two that will last as long as the young Czar is incapable of ruling wholly for himself

That day, I fear, will never come, for without God’s Grace, the young man will remain as innocent and simple as a child of four. He is perfectly amiable and affectionate in nature, but it is with the fondness of a child, not the deeper dedication which marks great men. This Czar Feodor continues in his passion for ringing bells and for all Courtly displays. But his patience is not great, and so all Court occasions have been made as brief as is possible, and ambassadors are received rarefy. Of course, the true matters of diplomacy are conducted with Godunov on occasions apart from the Courtly events.

Father Kovnovski has taken it upon himself to become better acquainted with Nikita Romanov, positing a day when Romanov’s star may rise higher than it is now. He believes that we may maintain worthwhile contact with both Godunov and Romanov, and is working toward that end. 1 am not so sanguine and I do not believe that it is wise to court Romanov at a time when Godunov is making the decisions that will affect Poland. Nevertheless, until such time as Kovnovski fails to gain some benefit from his task, I will permit it as his own project. I will do all that I can to keep this embassy above suspicion.

Let me assure Your Majesty that it is necessary for the mission to continue to hold Rakoczy at a great distance. He has shown his perfidy in marrying the Russian woman, and he has not followed my recommendations in regard to the Court. I am more convinced than before that he has gone over to the cause of the Czar and will disgrace us if given the opportunity. It is no longer a question of personal animosity, but of rigorous protection. The exile has found another country where he intends to establish himself. If that is the case, then we who are loyal to Poland and the Church must break with him in order to preserve our mission and our integrity.

With the adamant prayers that God will continue to give Poland the victory over her enemies, and that He will provide you with sound judgment and wisdom, I sign myself your most devoted ambassador,