Darker Jewels (22 page)

Ivan watched with such intensity that he was not distracted when Vasilli Shuisky entered the Golden Chamber unannounced and prostrated himself.

“Great Czar,” said Vasilli when he had been doubled and prone for some little time. “I have prayed to God to send you succor in your hour of need.”

Instead of looking around, Ivan only waved Vasilli to silence, his manner abrupt and annoyed. “I cannot speak to you now. This is more important. They are at their work.”

“Who, Great Czar?” asked Vasilli, taking a chance in speaking. “What are they doing?”

“The Lappish witches have come. They will read my fate.” He turned at last, revealing tortured features. “If only they can tell me what I must do to expiate my sins. I am willing to renounce all, you have heard me declare it, but the Metropolitan has refused to let me. He says it is God’s Will that I continue as Czar while living in guilt, because my poor boy Feodor is not competent to do anything other than ring bells. But God cannot have cut me off from mercy. It cannot be. I have besought God and the Virgin, but they are silent to me. And so I have found those who can hear, who can read the signs the heavens leave for us. The witches will know. They have ways to learn these things.” “Speak to the Metropolitan, Czar. He will instruct you.” It was the sort of advice he would have given a child, and he offered it in a kindly spirit. “You do not need these un-Christian people to bring their sorcery to you in your misfortune.”

“They are wise, and their skill is known everywhere,” Ivan insisted, his face hardening. “And the Metropolitan is obdurate. He will not grant my petitions. So I must deal with these witches. They are able to find out the secrets. They will know, and they will tell me what I must do. My jewels cannot tell me. The priests are all fools, slaves of the Metropolitan. But they”—he pointed down toward the courtyard—“they have true wisdom. They will know the truth and they will reveal it to me.”

Vasilli’s smile was faintly condemning. “How wise can they be? And how will you know it is the truth?”

“I have sent for Rakoczy. He will tell me if they are truthful,” declared the Czar.

“And how will you know that foreigner is not lying?” asked Vasilli with asperity. “He seeks your favor, since his own embassy wants no part of him. The distrust of the Jesuits should serve to alert you, Czar.” He took a chance and got to his feet, approaching the Czar with the look of a man wishing to impart special information. “This man is not what he appears to be; the Poles have told you that. He abuses your trust, Czar, taking treasures for himself that you have not denied him, and all for the price of a few gems. He has gained far more from you than you from him. Yet you continue to show
him
favor.” He shook his head, his expression turning sorrowful, as if he was only concerned for Ivan’s welfare. “You cannot trust men who are so wholly dependent on you, Great Czar.”

“Everyone is dependent on me,” declared Ivan with heat. “Without the Czar, there is no Russia. From the lowest serf to the highest Prince, all of you come to me for guidance and protection. That is the work of the Czar.” His eyes were wide again, and as he spoke foam coated the comers of his mouth.

The chanting in the courtyard was louder, and the witches moved more quickly around the flames.

Vasilli changed his attitude immediately. “Yes, yes, Little Father. And everyone who is Rus knows it. You are the heart of all Russia, and nothing happens here but that you desire to happen, and anything that is against your will is treason to the country. But Rakoczy is not Rus.”

Ivan listened attentively; his demeanor was more forbidding than ever. “You say he is not dependent upon me?”

“How can he be, sworn as he is to Istvan Bathory?” Vasilli inquired in exaggerated sympathy.

“He is married to your cousin now, Vasilli Andreivich. You have him as one of your own. He comes to Russia as a Shuisky now that he is married. And that assures me of his devotion.” He folded his arms as he watched the witches. “He is a good man, trustworthy. He only gains through my good-will. He is not like the rest of you, with lands and tides and ambitions.”

Vasilli knew that he was taking a chance now. “But he is an exile, Czar, and he has nothing to lose if he—”

“Stop!” ordered Ivan, his face darkening and his eyes too bright. “I have done what a Czar must do to those who are loyal. You want me to dishonor myself. I will not do it. I will not.
I will not!"

“No. No, you will not,” Vasilli said quickly, hoping to soothe Ivan before he became too overwrought and needed the help of his priest once again. He decided to approach the matter one more time, from another stance. “But as a Shuisky, you cannot blame me for my concerns for you. With my cousin married to a foreigner, I am afraid that it could come to pass that we would be blamed for any actions this exile might take.”

“He will not act against me. Not he. He is my strong support and he will not—” He broke off as the Lappish witches gave a high, shrill cry, stopping their shuffling around the fire and staring upwards as sparks mounted toward the leaden clouds.

Vasilli came nearer. “Do not trust him, Little Father. Lest he bring disgrace on all the Shuiskys.”

“You speak to him,” said Ivan, and pointed toward the door of the Golden Chamber. “I do not want you here, Prince Vasilli. You will leave.”

There was nothing Vasilli could do but withdraw. He bent over so that his tall hat almost brushed the ground, and he let his caftan drag around him as he backed out of Ivan’s presence, irritated with himself as much as Ivan at his failure to compromise Rakoczy. He was still nursing his insults when he saw four Guards approaching from the other end of the corridor, Rakoczy walking in their center. At least, thought Vasilli, Boris Godunov was not providing Rakoczy’s escort; that was a welcome change. Rakoczy had been in Boris’ company far too often to suit the Shuisky fortunes. As they drew abreast of him, the Guard stopped and reverenced Vasilli.

“God send you a pleasant day, Prince Vasilli,” said Rakoczy, who knew better than to use the more familiar patronymic form with Xenya’s highest-ranking kinsman.

“And to you, Hrabia Saint-Germain.” This was a deliberate and unkind reminder of Rakoczy’s foreign status, and his inferior rank. “How is my cousin?” To inquire about a man’s wife at Court was offensive and often led to angry confrontations; Vasilli longed for an argument so that he could give voice to some of his inner fury.

Instead Rakoczy bowed slightly in the Italian manner. “I hope that she is well, Prince. She was so when she left my house this morning, in the company of two of my servants. She is with the Sisters today, giving food to those who are injured and abed.”

“Still at her charity.” Vasilli’s faint smile was contemptuous. “And you intend to allow her to continue these works now that she is your wife?”

“Why should she not?” asked Rakoczy.

“For your honor,” exclaimed Vasilli, truly shocked that Rakoczy would ask such a question. “Now that she is married, she should never leave the terem but for your pleasure, to tend to her children, and the order of the Czarina.” He paused. “And at her death, of course.”

Rakoczy regarded Vasilli in momentary silence, then gestured his deference. “Because that is the way of Rus?” he asked gently. “But, Prince, I am not Russian, as you have been at pains to remind me. And so, since she is my wife, and the only female of my household, save the baker, I believe it would be best if she lived as if we were in Transylvania still, and the Turks were not. I realize that my ways are not yours, but she is my wife now. We do not keep our women in terems, married or unmarried. Since it suits her purpose to render charity and she does not endanger herself in the process, she may conduct herself as she wishes within reasonable bounds. I trust her good sense to protect her better than guarded doors.” He bowed again, his manner impeccable. “The Czar awaits me, Prince, and it is discourteous to delay.”

Vasilli could not resist one last parting barb. “If she is not to your liking, beat her until she is.”

Something burned in Rakoczy’s dark eyes, and then it was gone. “I will remember you recommended it, Prince.” He signaled to the Guard and they continued down the corridor.

Watching after Rakoczy, Vasilli had the odd notion that the Polish King’s charlatan could be more dangerous to him than he was to Rakoczy.

Ivan was once more pressed against the window as if he wished to fly through it when Rakoczy came into the Golden Chamber, properly blessed the ikons at the door, and went down on his knee in the Polish manner; he was willing to remain there until Ivan recognized him. The Czar took no notice of Rakoczy’s presence; he was lost in tangled prayers, addressing saints and God alike while he stared down at the Lappish witches.

“Great Czar,” said Rakoczy when he had waited a considerable time.

Ivan swung around with a cry, as if he expected to see Archangel Gavril standing before him. He blinked, dazed and Ailed with

questions, then made an effort to recover himself. “Ah. You are here, Rakoczy.”

“As you wished, Great Czar,” said Rakoczy. He remained on his knee, aware that the Guard were still watching him, ready to cudgel him if they decided he was not respectful enough to the Czar.

“As I wished; yes, yes, yes,” Ivan agreed. He crossed himself twice. “The Lappish witches have come.”

“I saw them in the courtyard, Czar,” said Rakoczy, his tone carefully neutral for he recognized the hold of madness that was steadily growing in Ivan. “There is a fire burning.”

“They are there, with the fire that was lit for them,” Ivan said at once. “They are there to learn my fate.”

Rakoczy hesitated, aware that Ivan expected something from him, yet having no notion what it might be. He chose a careful response, given Ivan’s chaotic condition. “Are you certain you wish to know?” There was a remoteness about him as he asked, “Might not knowledge be worse than your uncertainty?”

“Nothing is worse than uncertainty. If I were as other men, what you say might be true.” He tapped his chin with his finger, then hooked it into his beard. “But I am Czar, and my fate is the fate of all Russia. So I must, perforce, know what is to become of me so that Russia will not be left to the mercy of the Mongols or the Catholics.”

Rakoczy crossed himself as Ivan did, as if he shared the Czar’s fears. “And these Lappish witches will reveal what you wish to know? Are you certain they will? It is a difficult matter to interpret oracles, Great Czar.”

“I hope they will reveal whatever they see, no matter how terrible,” said Ivan, suddenly beginning to weep. “I am desperate, Rakoczy. I am not able to think as I must because of my desperation.” He coughed once. “I must have the truth. God is merciful and the font of perfect peace, and He will not abandon all Russia to ruin for my sin.” He sank onto the steps leading to his throne. “I must ask these un-Christian witches because my Metropolitan will not learn what God desires of me. He is stubborn, the Metropolitan. I would declare him Patriarch, but not if he will not bend his faith to my will.”

“Great Czar, you are the only one who knows what to require of your Metropolitan, or whether he must be elevated to a higher

position. My King is Catholic and has told me nothing in regard to your Patriarch.” While this was all true, Rakoczy was also troubled that he might become more embroiled in the internal struggles of Russia than he was already, and the very notion distressed him. The brief exchange with Vasilli Shuisky had made it apparent to him that the stakes were high for everyone.

‘‘Always so reticent about religion,” said Ivan distantly.

Rakoczy saw the hectic shine in Ivan’s eyes. “I am not so wise that I seek to understand God. And what man can read the faith of another?”

“With your darker jewels, it is possible,” said Ivan with great solemnity. “Faith is the heart of every man.”

“Or so the priests would like to believe,” said Rakoczy, remembering priests from his childhood to Babylon to Egypt to Rome to Spain to India; each priest had been certain he—or she—knew Rakoczy’s inmost heart. Only one had, the first one, who had shared his blood.

“It is blasphemy to deny it,” said Ivan in sudden wrath. “It is only that you are foreign and have lost your lands that I will not order you beaten for saying such things.” He was on his feet again, but reached out to his throne in order to steady himself as he swayed. “But I must not raise my arm again, no, no. I must not. It is sin, a great sin.” He was weeping once again, this time in such wretchedness that Rakoczy took a chance and went to his side.

“May God send His good angels to guide you, Czar,” he said, knowing that Ivan would accept this.

“Yes, I pray so, I pray so.” He crossed himself and tottered back to the window, staring down at the fire. “If it were night, they would be dancing in Hell.”

Rakoczy thought of the many implications of this remark. “The witches will be strengthened by your prayers, and your faith may clarify their visions,” he said carefully, aware of how quickly Ivan could turn against them. “It takes great courage for men to look into the flames.”

“Yes,” whispered Ivan. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” He wiped his hand over his face, banishing his tears as quickly as they had overcome him. He concentrated on the scene in the courtyard. “They are skillful witches. It is known they are the most skillful. I will reward them.”

Rakoczy watched Ivan, measuring him. The Czar was growing steadily worse, he realized, and because of that, the danger he represented continued to grow. ‘To be called to serve you may well be reward enough, Great Czar,” he said, wanting to forestall Ivan’s unpredictable notions of deserved payment.

Ivan rounded on him, one arm extended. “What you say is very true, foreigner. You understand this more than those around me, for I have granted them privileges that they turn to their advantage. You, being without bounty from my hand, you are . . .” His words straggled off and he frowned. “You are not beholden to me.”

“Except for the wife you have graciously bestowed on me,” said Rakoczy quickly, not wanting Ivan to decide he was ungrateful or taking advantage of the Czar’s generosity; either of those courses could be dangerous in Ivan’s current state of mind. “Surely a faithful wife is the greatest treasure any man can know. For that I am in your debt for many years to come.”