Darker Jewels (33 page)

With God’s care and guidance, Father Casimir Pogner

Society of Jesus

Ambassador to the Court of Czar Feodor at Moscovy July 12th, by the reformed calendar, in the Year of Grace 1584

7

They met in the Savior Gate, Vasilli Shuisky bound outward on foot, Boris Godunov returning on horseback with his twelve- man escort of Lancers from a four-day inspection of small fortresses on the west side of Moscovy; he had just reined in on the bridge over the moat to bless himself when Boris noticed Vasilli watching him. Each reverenced the other enough to satisfy convention, neither showing any real deference to the other.

“By what fortune do you return early from your tasks, Boris Feodorovich?” asked Vasilli with a hint of condemnation in the question.

“Good fortune,” said Boris shortly; he had been in the saddle six hours that day and his back was almost as sore as his buttocks. “The Poles have kept their bargains and there has been no trouble from Novgorod. The Swedes have been content to remain where they are.”

“Surely you did not expect any trouble?” asked Vasilli, holding back his desire to offer a scathing response; he would do that later, where fewer people could observe them.

“In these times one cannot be certain,” said Boris. “That was the reason I went to the fortresses. We can report on the state of the fortresses to the court; I now have their requests for winter supplies, and in good time, so that they may be provisioned before the weather turns.”

Vasilli made a gesture, indicating the hot, windy day. “Surely you need not bother for a month and more.”

“September is almost here, and in the countryside the leaves are beginning to turn. Those boyars on their country estates have warned that winter is going to come early and be hard this year.

All the signs warn of profound cold. We will have to move quickly to supply the fortresses before the first winter storms come.” Boris was aware they had attracted an audience; he suppressed his aggravation.

Vasilli made a gesture that combined gracious acceptance of Boris’ assessment with the superior knowledge he possessed by right as a Shuisky. He looked over Boris’ escort. “Not a very formidable force to take with you on such an errand, if you expected difficulties.”

“Then you ought to realize that I expected none, and I did not want to offend the commanders of the fortresses by questioning the quality of their soldiers.” He hitched his jaw in the direction of the men behind him. “These are experienced troops, and I took them with me for more than protection; I have listened to them as well as to the commanders of the fortresses, and I value all they have recommended. I have included their observations with the requests of the fortress commanders.”

“So you trust them?” said Vasilli, facing Boris directly, although it put the sun into his face and made him squint. “One would think you were Rus.” The barb was deliberate and he had the gratification of seeing the pain of it in Boris’ black Tartar eyes.

“They are good men, true to the Czar, tested in battle,” said Boris, aware that he had to speak up for his men or risk offending them. “For that all Russia can be grateful.”

Vasilli smiled, his good-looking features becoming handsome. It was a deliberate ploy, one he had used often in the past. He looked around to see how much attention they had attracted and was pleased to see a number of men had gathered to listen to them. “And when do you intend to present your findings to Czar Feodor?”

“Tomorrow,” Boris snapped. “It is to be a simple occasion. In the Golden Chamber, with the advisers.” He was about to signal his men to move on, but Vasilli was not through with him.

“And what do you expect the Czar to do? Feodor Ivanovich will not be interested if there are no bells to ring, Boris Feodoro- vich.” He was still smiling, encouraging others around them to smile with him.

“I expect the Czar to hear me out,” said Boris. “You may come and listen, Andreivich, if that would reassure you that the Czar is given a full report.” He flung this last at Vasilli, as annoyed with

himself for being dragged into this impromptu confrontation as he was angry with Vasilli for starting it. He urged his weary horse forward, turning his thoughts to the bathhouse and relief for his aching muscles.

“And how am I to know what I hear is the truth?” challenged Vasilli, unwilling to give up the advantage he had.

“You will ask these soldiers. Or you may visit the fortresses yourself, if you believe we have not performed our tasks well enough.” He decided to strike back once at Vasilli. “But the Czar might not understand why you wish to go about the countryside with armed men; it could appear to him to be an act of sedition.”

Shuisky ambition was well known in Moscovy, and this last jibe of Boris’ served to turn the crowd; now their laughter was more knowing and guarded. Vasilli’s smile vanished and he offered another slight reverence to Boris, signaling their encounter had ended.

From the saddle, Boris returned the gesture, then said very quietly, “Feodor Ivanovich may be simple, but we who swore to Ivan to guard him are not.” With that, he clapped his heels to his horse’s sides, setting the mare into a short, bounding canter that scattered the people near them and cleared a way into the main avenue of the Kremlin.

The Lancers followed Boris, horses at the trot.

Vasilli remained still, watching Boris go, unwilling to be driven from the place by Boris’ departure. When the last of the Lancers had turned and were out of sight, Vasilli continued on his way, pausing to bless the huge ikon of Christ in Glory that gave the gate its name.

The Beautiful-Red Market Square was very busy this day, with buyers busding from one stall to the next, purchasing the bounty of summer before it was all gone. Those with fruits and berries were especially busy, charging the highest prices of the year as they neared the end of their crops. Apple sellers had just begun to bring in their bounty, and their prices were moderate, and would remain so for the next month. Farmers with cabbages and onions did not do as well as many of the others, but they knew they would prosper as the year wound down, when there were no other vegetables available.

Vasilli made his way around the merchants, past the platform called the Brow of the World, the Czar’s zoo, and a small chapel devoted to Saint Piotr Chrysologus, and went down one of the narrow streets that ended at the enormous square. He continued through a maze of alleys and pathways until he arrived at a cooperage. There was a small yard for loading and unloading wagons, and opposite that a workmen’s inn dispensed kvas and raw Crimean wine. Vasilli went direcdy into the taproom and found himself a place in the shadows, away from the few patrons seated near the door and the landlord’s kegs. There he waited, listening to the hammering and shouts of the coopers vie with the ringing of the bells from the nearby monastery.

A short while later a blond young man in servant’s livery came into the inn, his wide, Russian face fixed in an ingratiating expression. He removed his cap, twisting it between his big hands while looking around the taproom cautiously, as if prepared for trouble. He came further into the inn, blinking at the gloom. Then he shoved his cap into his belt and stood straighten “You have come to see me?” asked Vasilli, moving out of the darkness.

“Prince,” said Yuri at once, making a reverence promptly. He glanced at the four draymen who sat hunched over big wooden cups, and making up his mind, approached Vasilli directly. “I did not know if anyone would come.”

“Your note interested me, because it
was
a note.” Vasilli did not bother to smile at Yuri, knowing that the young man was his already and needed no urging. “It is not often that a servant elects to make such an offer, and in such a manner.” He regarded Yuri speculatively. “How is it you learned to read, and how did you manage to get the note into those saddlebags?”

He answered promptly. “You were moving very slowly, Prince, and the crowd was jostling ... all I had to do was—” “Enterprising; and for the moment we will set aside how you came by your skills,” Vasilli approved without allowing Yuri to finish. “I have no reason to know more of that yet. You accomplished your aim, and have my attention. That is what matters for the moment, isn’t it?” He folded his hands on the rough plank of the table. “Why do you think I want to know what goes on among the Polish priests?”

The question was not one Yuri had anticipated. He rubbed at his arms through the sleeves of his rubashka, glowering in concentration. “You are a Prince, and there are few Princes in Russia. What the foreigners do must be interesting to you.”

“There are others of high rank who want to know this, as well. Have you approached them?” he asked in a stinging tone.

He looked away, then met Vasilli’s eyes briefly. “I am . . . related to Piotr Nagoy. I have been asked to report to—” Again Vasilli interrupted. “Piotr Nagoy, Piotr Nagoy,” he said dreamily as he tried to place the name. “Is that Piotr Ivanovich or Piotr Mikhailovich?”

“Piotr Mikhailovich,” admitted Yuri reluctantly.

“Dear me,” said Vasilli. “A
very
poor relation.”

Yuri’s face darkened. “He has a bad reputation, I know.” “And lacks the fortune to make up for it,” said Vasilli with distaste. “Piotr Mikhailovich is a libertine, a boor, a coward, a squanderer, and a drunkard. There are places in Moscovy where speaking his name would bar you from good society.” He studied Yuri. “He sired you, I would guess.”

After taking a deep breath, Yuri said, “Yes, and a dozen others I am certain of.” He tapped the tabletop with the flat of his hand. “He treated me better than most, and my mother as well. She persuaded him to educate me and to send me away. He agreed so long as my ... my brothers and sister remained on his lands.” There was a sound in his voice that held Vasilli’s attention, a slow-burning fury that Yuri himself did not recognize for what it was.

“And he sent you to Grigori Dmitrovich,” said Vasilli in a measuring tone but with a tinge of amusement. “Hardly releasing you, no matter what he promised your mother.”

“Yes.” Yuri could not conceal his resentment.

“And you still report to him?” Vasilli asked.

Yuri did not answer at once, and when he did there was anger in his face. “I go to him once a month and I tell him what has happened; oftener if it is worthy of his attention. When I was discovered at the house of the foreign alchemist, I was—” “Rakoczy? You were at the exile’s house?” Vasilli interrupted with interest.

“Grigori Dmitrovich sent me there. I did not remain there long. That devil of a manservant is always watching, spying on the staff, seeing everything we do, and he tells his master what he sees.” Yuri stared at the grimy, parchment-paned window. “He—Rakoczy—sent me to the priests.”

“Sent you to the priests? Why?” Vasilli wondered aloud. This foreigner perplexed him more than any of the others did. “What was his reason?”

“I don’t know,” said Yuri darkly. “He informed the priests of what I had done but said that my literacy made up for it.” ‘What a rash thing to do,” Vasilli mused, fingering his beard. “And in spite of what he told them, the Poles took you on?”

In the yard of the cooperage there were shouts and the sound of a collision as barrels rolled and tumbled off the wagon-bed where they were being loaded. One man was screaming, for his leg was broken in two places.

“I don’t think that Father Pogner believed him,” said Yuri, laughing once. “That old man despises Rakoczy.”

“Does he,” said Vasilli, beginning to think that Yuri could be of use to him, after all. He regarded the young man with a deceptive expression of concern. “You want to serve me so that you can rid yourself of your family, do I have it right, Yuri?” “Yes,” said Yuri bluntly. “If you will not take me, I will search until I find someone who will. I will not continue to serve Nagoy, not without their name and their position to pay for all I have done.”

“Ambitious servants are asps and traitors,” Vasilli reminded him. “Men have been knouted for less, much less.”

“That won’t happen to me,” said Yuri with such conviction that Vasilli believed him. “I would kill myself rather than face the knout. I know what it does. My father had a dozen peasants knouted for killing chickens in winter. All but two of the men died, and they are cripples now, sitting with begging bowls. Neither can walk and only one has his wits. Their families have been ordered not to aid them or risk the same thing for themselves.”

“If you were seized before you could kill yourself, what then?” asked Vasilli, enjoying the determination Yuri displayed.

“There are always means to die. Some are not pleasant, but the knout is worse. I would find some way to end my life.” He looked directly at Vasilli. “I would not do it to spare you, or anyone, but myself.” Then his hard expression altered. “I will say this for Rakoczy. When he found me out, he did not order me punished.” He grew more speculative. “I doubt he had the stomach for it.”

“Foreigners are cowards and fools,” Vasilli said, prepared to accept it as the explanation.

“Yes; but I think Rakoczy had other reasons.” He studied the uneven tabletop as if the answer to the puzzle was written there. “I don’t know what to make of him.”

“He is foreign; there is nothing more to concern you,” said Vasilli, although his interest was piqued by what Yuri said. He shook off the sensation and put his mind to the young servant sitting across from him. "How am I to know that you are truly willing to serve me, and will not make the same bargain with others as you offer me? You are proposing to betray your employers and your family. What is to keep you from turning against me if it should suit your purposes?”

At that Yuri’s candid eyes grew crafty. “You must offer me an advantage I will not want to sacrifice.” This was the part he had planned and he launched into his proposition with gusto. “Promise me a position on one of your estates when you are finished with me here. Assure me that the position will be protected, that I might marry and give something to my children that will advance my family in the world. Put my skills to use. And assure me that neither you nor your heirs will be able to displace me. You will endow me with lands or income that cannot be denied to me and to my children and their children, either by you or your children, and their children. I will swear you will have my faithful service through all my life, and the gratitude of my family. In return, I will do what you wish in the Polish household. I will give inaccurate reports to the Nagoys and I will perform whatever acts you instruct me to carry out. I will be your good right hand, or your left one, if you would rather.” He met Vasilli’s eyes boldly.