Darker Jewels (9 page)

“Not very promising,” said Hrabia Zary to Rakoczy.

“They’re worried for their women,” said the alchemist softly. “And not without reason.” He nodded toward the lean, habited figure in the tall, straight hat at the entrance to the monastery. “There is the one you will have to address. Unless I am mistaken, the village will do whatever the Superior tells them they must do. He is the final authority here.”

“An Orthodox monk is hardly a monk at all,” said Father Pogner.

“Do not say that if Czar Ivan can hear you,” Rakoczy advised. “Not all the world is Jesuit.”

Father Pogner did not deign to answer.

The Superior took a step forward and the embassy stopped at Hrabia Zary’s signal. He approached them slowly, holding up his pectoral crucifix as if to banish devils. As he came near them he intoned prayers in a strong, deep voice that commanded the admiration of the villagers.

“God give you a good night, Superior, and keep you safe from the demons of the air,” said Rakoczy in Polish as he dismounted.

“And to you, priests and soldiers,” he replied with great dignity though his eyes shifted nervously.

Rakoczy glanced at the peasants lining the street. “I regret that we have been forced to make a stop here, for it imposes on your hospitality, but as my manservant and Father Kovnovski have told you, we are on urgent orders from the King of Poland. For several weeks we have been on the road and now we need to rest for a day, not only for ourselves but for our animals. The road to Moscovy is very long; we cannot get there if we are already exhausted. I hope that the sum of two gold coins for each man, each night, is sufficient for housing us?”

The superior coughed. “The women of the village have said they will accept that sum. If their husbands and fathers do not demand more, then it is satisfactory. But that speaks only for the village and its people, even though we rejoice for them in their good fortune. For the monks in my charge, there is no such payment. But the monastery is a poor one, and we are dependent on the charity of Christians to maintain it.”

Rakoczy bowed, thinking he should have foreseen this. He put his hand to his wallet. “It would honor my family to provide a donation to you,” he said, and thought of the six sacks of gold coins hidden in his wagons. “Would fifty gold coins be too small a token?”

The Superior stared, as if he did not correctly understand the figure. “That is . . . generous,” he said. “A noble gift.”

“In the name of my father,” said Rakoczy with a fleeting smile. “Who lost his kingdom before his life.”

“God will be merciful to him,” said the Superior, and looked at the company of Jesuits with apprehension. “So many.” “There are eight of us,” said Father Pogner, raising his voice as if that would compensate for the lack of understanding of the dialect.

“Eight Jesuits to treat with the Czar,” said the Superior as if puzzling out a questionable passage of Scripture.

“It is the wish of the King of Poland,” declared Father Pogner as he got off his mule. “On behalf of Istvan Bathory and Pope Gregory, we journey to Moscovy.”

The Superior’s eyes narrowed. “And Lancers.”

Rakoczy broke into their talk before it became open confrontation. “We are all tired and hungry,” he remarked, indicating the soldiers and the priests with a sweep of his arm. “If we might see where we can feed our mounts and tend to them before eating? And then establish our sentries for the night?” He paused and added, “I and my manservant will take the watch until the darkest hour.” He did not add that neither he nor Rothger required much sleep and were, in fact, capable of staying up the entire night; such an admission would give rise to speculation that might become dangerous. “Let one of your monks and a Lancer keep watch with us until then.”

The tension of the moment faded. The Superior nodded, his tall hat
making
the movement significant. Along the street the peasant men set their tools aside and lowered their heads apologetically to the Lancers and Rakoczy. They avoided the priests except to show them which of the houses would shelter them.

Rakoczy was gathering the lead reins of his remount horses when the old woman came bustling up to him. “I have told your manservant you and three others may sleep at my house. At my age no one will think it wrong for me to have you sleep in my house. After you have served as our guard.” She shook her head, marveling. “That such a fine nobleman as you would guard our village.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, thinking that at most she was fifty, which to him was nothing at all. “Thank you for such consideration.”

She grinned. “They’ll all be purple with jealousy, but I have the right by age, and everyone knows it. None of the others can claim you for their guest, not while I have my husband’s house to live in and places for beds.” Her faded blue eyes brightened. “I will be able to talk about you and your manservant for a year, and they will all have to listen.”

At this Rakoczy chuckled once, enjoying her innocent, malefic delight. “I will do my poor best to provide you with interesting things to say.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that if you’d rather not,” she told him, walking beside him to show him where he could turn the horses out, her wrinkled face creased with mischief. “I will make up what you do not tell me, in any case.”

Text of a letter from Ferenc Rakoczy, Hrabia Saint-Germain, to Istvan Bathory, King of Poland.

To my gracious Transylvanian countryman who reigns as King in Poland, my greetings from Mozhaysk.

The Lancers, with the exception of Hrabia Zary and four of his soldiers, were turned just east of Vyazma where a company of mounted bowmen in the Czar’s army encountered us. They have taken over our escort, and our journey has been much more expeditious: no more searchingfor villages to sleep in, and no more need for night-long sentry duty. The bowmen tend to all that. They commandeer country houses on large estates and demand respect for us, in spite of our position as foreigners.

For the Rus are wary of foreigners. They do not show the hospitality and welcome you would, expect in Hungary or Poland or Austria. Instead they take great care to avoid dealing directly with us, for fear that we wiU contaminate them. While they are generous with food and beds, they keep themselves separate from us. Hrabia Zary believes it is because we have not yet presented ourselves to the Czar and are therefore of uncertain position, but I know it runs deeper than that. These people do not trust any outsiders. They wash their hands and faces ajter speaking with any of us, to insure they have no taint of that-which-is-not-Rus. I have done what I may to respect their ways, but I know that what they do rankles the Jesuits.

We are told that we are within a week’s journey of Moscovy, which I suspect is an accurate estimate, since there are signs that indicate we are approaching the capital: houses are finer here, and the owners of the estates dress with greater distinction than those we have seen thus far, and maintain their homes more splendidly. And the domes of the churches are gilded. These Rus have a great love of opulence and grandeur, some of it undoubtedly learned from the Mongols who ruled them for so long.

Spring has come to the land, and there are orchards still blooming everywhere. Yesterday we passed through a forest of apple trees, and this morning I saw out my window mountains of berry vines, their blossoms justfading. There were men laboring in the field and the farmyard, and women working at tending livestock; all animals are under the women’s charge here.

The bowmen say that the peasant laborers follow the planting and the crops throughout the year, gathering together in makeshift villages through the winter. Our host here is one of the new nobility
—
oprichniks; the old nobility are boyars—and he favors the reforms that would bind the peasants to a region or estate. The captain of the bowmen claims that far too many of them die of cold and starvation in the winter and that only when landowners are ordered to care for them year-round uHU they thrive. They could also be given better religious instruction, which this captain thinks is long overdue, for he claims that most of them still offer sacrifices to the earth and the storms by killing their children at midwinter, which is to him a sin more than a crime. Without attaching the peasants to the land, terrible abuses will continue, such as abandoning peasants to die during famines or droughts, and refusing them protection in war. According to what this man has said, Czar Ivan was once in favor of this reform but no one can now be certain if this is still the case. The very careful way he speaks of the Czar, and the things he does not say at all, make me believe that the reports of his state of mind are not as exaggerated as was first supposed.

I will entrust this to the Hrabia Lancer Captain Zary appoints as his messenger and will use those Lancers as long as they remain available. When they are gone, I will do all that I can to find another means to send these reports without recourse to the Jesuits.

In all duty, and by my own hand, Ferenc Rakoczy, Hrabia Saint-Germain 28 May 1583, on the road to Moscovy (his seal, the eclipse)

5

At dawn the brazen song of the Kremlin bells drowned out the keening of the Czar. From all over the city came answering peals until the air shook with ringing. As the bright June sun touched the many clusters of golden onion domes of Moscovy’s churches and cathedrals, the dark city blossomed in splendor.

In his chapel, Grand Prince Ivan IV, Czar of all the Russias, lay back against the closed door, blocking out the rest of the world, one large hand tangled in his white beard. Above him the martyr- brother Saints Boris and Gleb awaited their assassinations passively. He put his other hand to his eyes to shut out the sunlight that had just touched the high east window of the chapel. He whispered to himself, “No sunlight, no sunlight,” repeating it with the same fervor of his earlier prayers.

His personal servant, an aged eunuch with a squint in his right eye and a beautiful voice sweet as a child’s, rapped on the closed door, waiting until the bells quieted before calling out, “O Czar, listen to your slave. I bring you the reminder you wanted, in duty and love. You charged me to summon you at the proper time. There are foreigners who have come to your court. You have said that you will receive them today.”

“Foreigners came last week,” said Ivan after he thought about what Yaroslav said. “I have seen them.”

“Those were the English, little Father,” said Yaroslav, fear closing its grip on him. “They are from the London Company of Merchant Adventurers, sent to join Sir Jerome Horsey, who is the servant of your friend Elizabeth of England. You have shown them great honor already. These other foreigners are from Istvan Bathory in Poland. They arrived two nights ago.”

“Poland!” Ivan burst out, for once ignoring the hated light and opening his large blue-green eyes in outrage. “What does he dare to send me?”

Now Yaroslav was so frightened he found it difficult to speak. “Eight priests and an alchemist from Transylvania. They have arrived with a few Lancers—five of them, four soldiers, and a noble captain—and the alchemist has a manservant. That is their entire company.” He knew from long experience that Ivan demanded absolute correctness in a report; if only he had bothered to learn the ranks of the Lancers.

“Lancers,” muttered Ivan, dragging himself to his feet and brushing off his food-spotted gold-brocaded kaftan. “Istvan Bathory sends me Lancers.”

“No, no,” protested Yaroslav. “He sends you priests, Little Father, priests: eight Jesuits, and an alchemist with a manservant. There is no army, Czar, there is only a very small escort. Five Lancers, Little Father, fewer than the priests.”

“Istvan Bathory has attacked me,” said Ivan, but with some confusion. “He has attacked me.”

“In another time, he has. But he is not attacking you now,” said Yaroslav desperately. He wished Ivan would open the door and let him in, so that he could ascertain what was necessary to do to bring Ivan to a point he could appear in public without creating more rumors. With only the sound of Ivan’s voice, Yaroslav feared he would fail in assessing the Czar’s condition this morning.

“You say there are priests,” said Ivan, sounding more attentive now. “Jesuits.”

“Eight of them,” Yaroslav reminded him. “They are to be recognized today. And you have your duties. The council expects to see you, and there are peasants gathered even now beneath the Petitioners’ Window of the Gold Room. All of them seek your wisdom. Let me in, Little Father. You have been at your prayers all night. You may want my assistance.”

“Yes, I prayed I prayed I prayed I prayed all night, but God would not hear me; I am still alive. And my son accuses me. He stands before me. He accuses me!” The last was a shout. He leaned against the wall, then released the bar holding the door closed. “Very well,” he said in a more ordinary tone as the door swung open. “Tell me more of these foreigners.” Yaroslav had served Ivan long enough to permit no expression to cross his face when he caught sight of the Czar, but this time it was more of an effort than it had been before. He bowed low before Ivan and then hurried toward him. “Little Father, how much you have prayed.”

“I prostrated myself. I! I flung myself at the feet of God. I begged with the abject humility of Judas at the Cross. But God has refused to take away the vision. I saw Ivan lying on the altar, blood from his wounds, his voice naming my sin—” He raised one arm to block out the sight again. “It is futile. It is futile.” Yaroslav moved nearer. “Little Father,” he said as if he were soothing an angry wolfhound, “come with me. There are matters you must attend to. Many await you. You should eat something, and bathe before receiving the foreigners. The court is ordered to assemble after mid-day Mass.”

“Why then?” demanded Ivan with sudden acuity. His eyes sharpened and some of the old cleverness returned to his ravaged features.

“Because it was the hour you set,” said Yaroslav. “You declared that this would be the time you would be willing to see these foreigners. That was three days ago, Little Father, before they were given permission to enter the city. You had your bowmen keep them outside Moscovy’s gates until you knew what was best to do. Everyone has been at pains to obey your summons.”