Darker Jewels (47 page)

It would have been so much easier with Anastasi to act for him, taking on those awkward tasks that increased the risk of discovery. If suspicions fell upon Anastasi he could be sacrificed without giving up all he had gained. Vasilli rose and paced his study, glowering at the ikons as he moved. He did not want to confront the Church, for he would require the approval of the Metropolitan if he were to be Czar, and if the Church would not recognize him, he would not live to reign. Anastasi was worse than a fool to go his own way at such a time, Vasilli decided as he completed his third circuit of the room. Anastasi could have secured himself advancement and power if he had agreed to assist his cousin. Vasilli cursed Anastasi, calling him worse than his enemy. He decided that if Anastasi would not serve him voluntarily, then it would be by compulsion. His contemplation of how he would bring Anastasi to ruin was interrupted by a servant who told him that a servant from the Polish embassy had arrived some time ago and was waiting in the servants’ common room to see him.

Vasilli heard this with satisfaction, convinced now that his cause was favored. “Show the messenger here to me,” he ordered his servant, and sat down, anticipating the report Yuri would give.

The Poles had insisted that Yuri dress in Polish clothes, and so he arrived in Vasilli’s study wearing a wilczura, the hood thrown back and the upper lacing open. He reverenced his host as soon as he had blessed the ikons.

“I had not expected you for another five days,” said Vasilli without any of the polite phrases he ordinarily offered visitors; Yuri was a tool and deserved nothing more than his attention. He indicated one of the wooden chairs near the wall. “Sit down and tell me what has happened to bring you to me earlier than usual.”

Yuri tugged at his unfamiliar clothes and tried to look affable. “It is a minor thing, great Prince.”

The use of his title alarmed Vasilli, but he concealed the reaction with a formidable glower. “If it is a minor thing, then why have you come? Why should I want to know of a minor thing?”

This challenge made Yuri draw back.
“I...
I thought I should inform you.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” said Vasilli quietly, enforcing his authority with unapproachability. “Tell me what you wish me to know.”

“There was a message delivered yesterday, brought from Poland, the first of the spring.” He cleared his throat and went on steadily. “It appears that Father Krabbe has been advanced, and will become a Bishop when he returns to Poland. He has been requested to leave Moscovy at the end of the summer. King Istvan has ordered another priest to come in Father Krabbe’s place, and this new member of the embassy ought to arrive here in August, or so the King assumes.” He was not quite able to meet Vasilli’s icy gaze. “They don’t know I’ve seen the dispatch, let alone read it.”

“A wise precaution,” said Vasilli, already pondering how this information could be turned to advantage. “Is there to be any other change in the embassy?”

“Not that was mentioned in the dispatch. However, I should tell you that Father Pogner has recently refused to send Ra- koczy’s reports with embassy documents. Father Krabbe has sent them with his own reports to his Archbishop.” He coughed once. “Father Pogner cannot forbid him to do it, but he is displeased, and has criticized him.”

“That is nothing new,” said Vasilli accusingly.

Yuri looked around the room as if seeking salvation. “Father Pogner has never been so adamant as he is now. He is determined to have Rakoczy excluded from the embassy completely. With Father Krabbe leaving, he might be able to achieve his ends. It has been his ambition for some time, but he has now taken steps to bring his wishes to fruition.” He shifted in the uncompromising embrace of the chair. “The animosity Father Pogner entertains for Rakoczy is of long standing. I have heard Father Brodski and Father Komel discuss Fatner Pogner’s determination to be rid of the exile more thafronce.”

“And what have the two priests said?” asked Vasilli, no geniality whatever in his tone. “I do not want to hear gossip.”

“They have said that Father Pogner intends to exclude Rakoczy from the embassy; he is to be barred from entrance and then he is to be forbidden the use of embassy functions. If Father Krabbe leaves, none of the rest will aid Rakoczy and it is likely that Father Pogner will have his way.” Yuri folded and unfolded his hands. “The embassy will turn against Rakoczy. To some degree the process has already begun among the mission. They are starting to claim Rakoczy has given his soul to Satan.” “They are Catholic priests,” said Vasilli, dismissing the matter. Now Yuri hesitated. “He is not like the Poles,” he said at last.

“It is not simply that he is an exile. He keeps to himself, in his study where he has built an oven for smelting, or so he claims.” “Where he told Czar Ivan he made jewels? Is that the oven you mean?” asked Vasilli.

“I suppose so,” said Yuri, growing disheartened. “Father Pogner has said that it is wrong to have such an oven. He says that all alchemy is the work of Satan’s angels. He has also denounced Rakoczy because he will never take a meal with us, or with anyone. I know that is true, for when I was in his house, the servants all remarked on it, as they praised him for his humility.” “Why did they praise him?” asked Vasilli, knowing that he was supposed to, which irked him, but at the same time too curious not to want to have the answer.

“They said that unlike most Catholics, he was content to keep his quarters without mirrors, showing he had no vanity. They said he was chaste as a monk before he married, and without vice.” Yuri realized that for the first time he had Vasilli’s full attention, and made the most of it. “His manservant tends to his appearance, like any proper Moscovite, and the servants thought this admirable. They spoke of his clothing as correct for his rank—whatever that may be—and his conduct as without fault. But Father Pogner does not approve. He says that this is proof of Rakoczy’s diabolism. He claims that it is not humility but darkest pride that keeps Rakoczy from hanging mirrors in his house. He says that Rakoczy is afraid to see his soul, and therefore will permit no mirrors; he has complained of this to King Istvan.” He paused. “Father Krabbe agrees with the Rus, that Rakoczy has become humble in his exile and has turned away from vanity.” “Yet he dresses in magnificent garments and wears precious jewels.” Vasilli pulled at his beard. “What do the servants say about that?”

“They admire him,” said Yuri with remembered anger. “They say he is showing honor to his exiled House.”

“But you do not agree,” Vasilli said to encourage Yuri.

Yuri nodded emphatically. “I do not trust Rakoczy. As much as I think Father Pogner is a jealous old man whose claims are those of wrath, I believe that Rakoczy is more than an exiled Count who has learned alchemy. I am certain that he is different in nature than he appears to be. It may be that he has some influence over King Istvan that protects him, or it may be that as a Transylvanian he has obtained the King’s approval without deserving it. But whatever it is about Ferenc Rakoczy, I cannot accept that he is only an exiled nobleman striving to make his way in an unfriendly world.”

“There are those who would claim you have reason to despise him, and as a servant you are seeking to strike at a master who dismissed you with favor, which casts a poor light on your assertions.” Vasilli’s eyes were speculative and his manner was less daunting. “What is your reply?”

“I know what I saw,” said Yuri stubbornly. “He is not like other men; he has declared the same himself. His servants would tell you his ways are unfamiliar. He is . . . foreign.”

“He is Transylvanian,” said Vasilli, growing disgusted with Yuri. “So is King Istvan of Poland. Is there nothing else?”

Yuri realized he had lost Vasilli’s interest, and strove to recapture it. “Yes, but I hardly know a way to put it into words.” “You are unfamiliar with his ways,” said Vasilli, dismissing the subject; the hope that Yuri might have stumbled upon something of interest had faded.

But Yuri shook his head vigorously. “No. There is more, and whatever it is, Father Pogner fears it as well as hates it. He has contempt for Rakoczy’s wealth, but his fear is another matter. Anyone who has worked for Rakoczy must have felt it at least once. I don’t think Father Pogner knows how great his fear is; it is the dread of one in the presence of great evil.” He clasped his hands together, hoping that Vasilli would be persuaded to bring Rakoczy down; he knew how sweet revenge would be. “Father Krabbe says that Rakoczy saved his life when he was struck with putrid lungs, that without him, he would have died long before he reached Moscovy; but Father Pogner refuses to believe it, and says that it was God’s will in the hands of a corrupt tool that saved him.”

“Father Pogner is a fanatic Catholic,” said Vasilli, but once again was listening to what Yuri told him.

“He is, and he is as arrogant as a boyar with a purse of gold and two hundred serfs,” Yuri said. “But he dreads Rakoczy, for all he would deny it. I can see it in his eyes.”

Vasi
ll
i stroked his beard. “And what does this suggest to you?” “It suggests to me that Rakoczy is dispensable for the embassy.” Yuri stood straighter and patted the front of his wilczura as if to assure himself that the Polish garment was still in place.

“If anything happened to Father Krabbe, Rakoczy would surely lose his link with the Polish embassy, and it is possible that Father Pogner would blame him for Father Krabbe’s misfortune.” It was the only way he had hit upon that could ruin Rakoczy. Now he hoped that Vasilli Shuisky’s ambitions would lead
him
to be Yuri’s tool as he was Vasilli’s.

“But Father Krabbe is being recalled. Why should anything be done to him when he will shortly be gone?” Vasilli asked, once again feeling a quickening of interest.

“Because he is known to be Rakoczy’s advocate in the embassy. A blow struck at him would be recognized as a blow struck at Rakoczy as well.” He beamed at Vasilli. “And if it appeared that it was Rakoczy who had done the deed, then he would be condemned by the act itself.”

Now Vasilli was truly curious. “But why would that be?” Yuri was glad that he had thought the matter out so carefully. “If there seemed to be a falling out, if it were assumed that Father Krabbe no longer defended Rakoczy but now shared the condemnation of the rest, then his . . . injuries might be credited to Rakoczy.”

Vasilli nodded slowly, his striking features showing true vitality for the first time since Yuri had entered his study. “And what would Rakoczy’s disgrace gain that would benefit me?”

This was the part that made Yuri sweat; if his gamble succeeded, he would triumph beyond his hopes. “Could the circumstances of Father Krabbe’s trouble be handled correctly, they may be made to embarrass Boris Godunov.”

There was silence in the study. Then Vasilli asked, “And how is that possible?” the words drawn out as if he were bored, though his eyes were alert and acquisitive.

The first hurdle was behind him: Yuri took a deep breath and continued with greater confidence. “I have hit upon a way,” he said. “It will seem that Father Krabbe was about to reveal something damning about Rakoczy, and that with the help of Boris Feodorovich, he was prevented from speaking.”

“He will have to be silent, this Father Krabbe, if the plan is to succeed,” Vasilli pointed out. Perhaps there was a way to salvage his ambitions without needing years to accomplish his self-created goal. It shocked him that Yuri would do so much to aid him when Anastasi had done so little.

“Very true.” Yuri swallowed nervously.

“You speak of killing a priest,” said Vasilli with unaccustomed bluntness.

“A Catholic, great Prince,” said Yuri with a shrug.

Vasilli smiled, eyes frigid. “Yes. A Catholic.”

Text of a letter from Father Iliya to Xenya Evgeneivna, sent to her through her husband.

To the gracious noble lady, Xenya Evgeneivna, my blessings.

It distresses me to have to send you word in this way, but I have been warned by Anastasi Sergeivich to have no dealings with you until certain questions in regard to the Polish embassy have been answered. In recent days there have been rumors which have caused Anastasi Sergeivich much concern, the more so because he has been unable to trace them to their source.

It would seem that your husband has been wholly condemned by King Istvan’s mission, and that he may soon have to answer official inquiries on the subject of his actions here. There are those who have spoken out against Rakoczy as a dangerous person, working against the good of Russia. For the sake of your soul and for the piety you have shown, I have gone against the orders of your kinsman in order to warn you that you stand in danger while you live within the foreigner’s house. Let me urge you to leave Moscoyy at once and take refuge with your mother’s relatives, so that the fate of your husband may not be visited upon you, as well. It is May; a visit would not be thought odd, and would spare you much unhappiness.

I will ask God and the Virgin to lend you wisdom in this perilous time, and I will beg the Angels to keep watch over you. God permits us to suffer because of the suffering of His Son, so that we may better come to know His mercy. I admonish you to remember the devotion of yourfather and the honor of his death so that you will be able to understand God’s purpose in the trials visited upon you, and bow humbly to God for what He has demanded of you; more was required of Our Savior.

In the Name of God, His Son, and Holy Spirit

Father IUya

The Feast of the Great Doctor Saint Grigori of Nazianzus

5

They were less than twenty paces from the Beautiful Market Square, but the narrow street shadowed them as the night alone could not do.

“Hurry,” Father Krabbe admonished his escort, as he had done since they left Rakoczy’s house a quarter of an hour ago. “It is very late, and we will have to answer for our tardiness; it is bad enough that the carriage was damaged.”

“That is why we’re taking this street instead of the wider one,” Yuri reminded him, fingering the ring in his pocket; he had purloined it from Rakoczy’s house while Father Krabbe had sat with Rakoczy, conversing and drinking the wine his host offered him. “I know this district well,” he assured the priest honestly, and went on less truthfully, “This will bring us to the embassy more quickly.”