Darker Jewels (8 page)

“I will,” said Zary, puzzled why Rakoczy should offer him such a warning.

Then Father Kovnovski rode up on the leggy black Furioso Rakoczy had loaned him that morning. “Father Pogner has ordered me to assist you in your scouting. He has determined that Father Krabbe is not sufficiently recovered to undertake so arduous a venture.”

“Indeed,” said Rakoczy, his face betraying no emotion whatever. “Then put cheese and bread and water in your bags, and come with us.” Next he looked at Hrabia Zary. “Appoint the best scout in your Lancers. We have three hours to sundown and that means he may have to ride at night. If you make a temporary camp here, we will know where to find you.” He turned away to Rothger. “We’ll need lanthoms, three of them, with spare wicks. Flint-and-steel, one for each of us. And two pitch torches, for when we find a place we can stay. I will rely on you, as always.”

“As well you might,” said Rothger with amusement, his Hungarian spiced with an accent that none of the others recognized.

Zary did his best to reassert his authority. “You will have to depart quickly if we are not to make camp for the night here, with nothing temporary about it.”

“Of course,” said Rakoczy in his unflustered way, adding, “While I am gone I request you put three of your Lancers on guard with my things and my horses. The two wagons contain valuable articles, many that are not replaceable and that must remain untouched.”

Although Zary himself was consumed with curiosity about the secret things Rakoczy was transporting, he wanted to ally himself with the other nobleman against Father Pogner. “Certainly,” he said at once, determined to find out later what those two wagons contained.

There was a faint smile in Rakoczy’s compelling eyes, as if he guessed Zary’s desire. “That is very good of you, Hrabia.”

Father Kovnovski heard this out with apprehension, for he was aware that there were tensions in the embassy that could not be ignored. He shifted in the saddle just as Rakoczy dismounted and handed his reins to Rothger. “I will get my food and return, Rakoczy.” Like most of the others he was unsure what title to use with the black-clad alchemist and so generally avoided using any at all.

“Excellent,” said Rakoczy, then told Rothger, “The five-year- old Furioso—the blue roan.”

“This saddle?” his manservant asked.

“Yes, but change the pad. I fear after so many hours this one is matted.” He watched his manservant lead the horse away.

There were forty horses and a dozen mules on the remount lines, and ten of the horses and four of the mules belonged to Rakoczy, much to the annoyance of the company of lancers. Hrabia Zary’s objections to so many horses had been overcome when Rakoczy announced that he would provide care and feeding for all his animals, leaving Zary no reasonable grounds to protest.

Father Kovnovski glanced at Hrabia Zary, then spoke decisively. “We will need to have gold, as well. In this region we may have to purchase a place to sleep. We are at the limits of the Church.”

Rakoczy looked up at him. “I have gold,” he said calmly.

This was not what Father Kovnovski had planned, but he did his best to use the unexpected opportunity to his advantage. “It would be best if I carry the gold, as a priest.”

“Your pardon, Father,” said Rakoczy with a slight bow. “In these regions the priests are poor. If you carry gold, there are many who, should they discover it, would assume you are not a priest and would treat you badly for what they would regard as a pretense.”

Father Kovnovski did his best to scoff. “It could be made clear to them. How could the people like it any better if soldiers or noblemen carried gold?”

“It would be what they expect,” said Rakoczy tranquilly. “That we are foreigners is dangerous enough; if we do not attempt to accommodate their sense of the world, then we will not live to reach Moscovy, and the cause of Istvan Bathory will be compromised.”

Hrabia Zary laughed angrily. “You have the right of it there, Rakoczy. We must not let this embassy fail.”

“We will succeed,” said Father Kovnovski, his teeth tight.

“Let us hope so,” said Rakoczy, and bowed to the other two. “I am going to tend to my horse. I will return shortly.” He strode off, leaving Father Kovnovski and Hrabia Zary to glare at each other.

More than an hour later the scouting party at last came upon a high-walled monastery with a few huts clustered around outside. In the fire-tinted rays of the setting sun the stone appeared gilded and the huts seemed roofed in hammered brass. Seven women in enveloping, shapeless garments and elaborate headdresses gathered around the fountain in the center of the tiny village, taking turns drawing water up from the well. They stopped this task and stared in terror as the four men rode out of the forest toward them, carrying lanthoms to light their way.

One of the women held a baby in her arms, and she screamed, prepared to run.

“Halt,” ordered Rakoczy, holding up his hand to signal the other three. “And keep your hands away from any weapons.” He let his horse stand, reins hanging on the neck. His hands rested on the high pommel of his saddle. When the other three had done the same thing, he called out, “We mean no harm, good women.” He said it in Polish and then in Russian, hoping that they would understand one of those languages, for he had very little command of Livonian.

“Hah! That is what all soldiers say!” answered the oldest of the women in a version of Polish. She spat and crossed herself Orthodox style.

“There is only one soldier here,” Rakoczy said to her. “There is a priest, my servant, and myself.”

“There are soldiers,” said the old woman with grim certainty. “You would not be here if you came without soldiers, not with ermine on your collar.”

The woman with the baby bolted from the well toward one of the huts.

Rakoczy tried again. “We are part of an embassy from King Istvan of Poland to Czar Ivan of Moscovy. There are eight priests, a company of Lancers—”

“Soldiers,” said the old woman with utter condemnation.

“Twenty-six soldiers,” said Rakoczy at once. “Surely there are more than twenty-six of you in this village. How many monks are at the monastery.”

“Forty-seven,” said the old woman, calculating the odds. “Our men are working. They will be back soon. They have pitchforks and flails, and they will use them. The monks can fight, too.”

Rakoczy shook his head. “We do not wish to fight. We need a place to sleep for tonight and tomorrow night. We are tired. And we are willing to pay for our beds and any food.”

“Pay how?” asked the tallest woman; her voice was harsh and loud, as if she spent the day calling to the men in the fields.

“With gold,” said Rakoczy, and drew a few coins from his wallet that hung on his belt. “Here.” He flung the coins at them, watching them spatter into the damp earth near the fountain.

The old woman went to gather them up, taking care to bite each one before she whispered something to the tall woman, who listened and nodded before she called out, “Two coins for each man, for each night,” she said, looking very nervously at what was to her a gigantic sum.

“Done,” said Rakoczy before either the sergeant or Father Kovnovski could speak. “I will give you twenty coins now. My manservant will bring them to you.” He signaled to Rothger to dismount and come to his side. “Watch,” he told the women as he counted out the coins into Rothger’s gloved hands. He made sure they were satisfied with his count, then called to the women, “You saw. There are twenty coins. My manservant will bring them to you.” He motioned to Rothger to walk forward as he took charge of his horse.

“Keep your weapons sheathed,” ordered the old woman as Rothger approached.

“I will,” he said as he came up to them and held out the coins. “Count them for yourselves.”

As the women took the coins, Rakoczy went on, “We must lead the rest of the embassy to this place. And there are preparations to be made while we do this. There isn’t much time to do what has to be done. My manservant will help you deal with the priests and soldiers who are coming, as will Father Kovnovski. The sergeant and I will return with the others.”

Father Kovnovski glowered at Rakoczy. “It would be more fitting for me to inform Father Pogner of what we have found, so that he may decide if it is correct of us to remain here.”

Rakoczy regarded him evenly. “Fitting or not, it is the only village we have found in our searching. If we want a roof over our heads tonight, it will be this place or none. I think it would be best if you remained. They are wary of soldiers, not priests.”

“Are you certain?” Father Kovnovski demanded.

“Yes,” said Rakoczy, his mouth grim. “Have you noticed? There are no children here, except that infant. That would mean soldiers have been here less than two years ago, and they stole or killed their children. So it is better to leave you and Rothger than a soldier; they would probably slaughter the sergeant. But you’d be wise to be careful. This village is tied to the monastery and the monastery is not Catholic, it’s Orthodox. Look at the crucifix over the gate—three cross-pieces. You will have work to do.”

“Orthodox,” whispered Father Kovnovski, and crossed himself, noticing as he did that the women stared at him in shock for his Roman blessing.

“I think you had better speak to the Superior, or whoever is in charge of the place. Give him the particulars of our embassy, and make it convincing. We don’t want to be met with rock-throwing monks, do we?” Rakoczy’s bow in the saddle was practiced and ironic.

“And what if these women change their minds as soon as you ride away? What if they decide to keep the money and drive us out?” Father Kovnovski glanced at the women as if he expected them to come after him with cooking pots and kitchen knives.

“I think they want the rest of the money,” said Rakoczy. “For that money, I assume they are willing to put up with us for a day or two.”

This was not what Father Kovnovski wanted to hear, and he would have defied Rakoczy, but he realized that the sergeant was regarding him with contempt, doubdess thinking that because he was a priest it followed that he was also a coward. He did his best to recover his self-command. “I wish you both to keep in mind that I advise against this reckless action. It is ill-conceived and without proper dignity. But if it is what I must do to accomplish the mission entrusted to us, then I will comply with your orders.”

“How very good of you,” said Rakoczy.

Father Kovnovski decided it was best not to argue with Rakoczy. He tapped his horse—or rather the mount Rakoczy had loaned him—forward, and swung out of the saddle as he reached the well. He offered the women his blessing, and was shocked when one of them spat and turned her head away. “I am grateful,” he said, speaking very slowly so that he would be understood.

Rothger pointed to the nearest of the huts. “Will one of you be good enough to tell me? Whose house is that?” He managed the dialect better than Father Kovnovski did, and he treated the peasants with respect. “Is it possible for me to speak with the woman of the house? So we can make the appropriate arrangements?”

The tall woman bobbed her head. “That is my husband’s house, and his father’s.” She clutched four of the coins as if she expected them to vanish.

“How many men would you be able to make up beds for?” He managed to be cordial without being ingratiating, a skill that Father Kovnovski coveted because he could not achieve it. “And is there a stall or two where we might tie our horses and mules?”

The tall woman smiled, showing that half her teeth were gone although she was not over twenty-five. She liked to bargain, and she was now in her element.

“There is a fenced pasture. We could drive the sheep out and let you turn your horses out there for the night. But it might cost another gold coin, for the grass they eat.” She said the Last with less certainty than the rest, afraid that she might press too far.

“That’s reasonable,” said Rothger. “And perhaps we could purchase a sack or two of grain for our animals?”

The tall woman grinned at the word
purchase.
“We do not have much, but I think we can spare some, if the price is agreeable.” She knew the other women were watching her closely, and she almost preened. “If we have to kill animals to feed your men, then we must charge for them, too, as if we were going to market.” It was her boldest move and the other women held their breath.

“It is what we expect,” said Rothger before Father Kovnovski could speak.

“That is robbery!” the priest exclaimed.

“Nonsense,” said Rothger at once, directing his attention to Father Kovnovski as if he had authority to oppose him. “My master is willing to pay them for what they provide us. As it is not your money, why do you object?”

Father Kovnovski blustered, but could find no defense for his indignation, which served only to make it worse.

Rothger once again addressed the tall woman. “Would you be willing to be the bargainer for all the village? I do not want to deprive any of you of what is due you, but if I can deal with one instead of many, the arrangements will be made more quickly, and in a way that is fair for all because everyone will receive the same price.”

Most of the women nodded, but the old woman shook her head. “I know that Aniela is clever and good at sums. But what if I do not like the terms she accepts, what then?”

“Discuss the matter with her first, so that she will bargain to your satisfaction,” said Rothger, his manner deferential.

“Well.” The old woman glanced at the tall one. “I will listen and if I don’t like what I hear, I’ll speak up.”

“That is reasonable,” said Rothger, ignoring Father Kovnov- ski’s whispered insistence that bargains with women were worthless.

By the time the Lancers and the priests came into the little village it was deep twilight. They rode out of the woods with lanthoms burning, as awesome and spectral as the Huntsmen of Saint Hubert. The villagers who saw them were struck by the vision, and a few of them made the sign against the Evil Eye.

The men had returned from the fields and now lined the one street, holding their pitchforks and shovels, their faces set as they sized up the embassy. Their women were nowhere to be seen.