Darker Jewels (7 page)

“I am from an older branch of the tree than those you mean,” said Rakoczy without any indication of pride. “Still, it is pleasant to hear them well spoken of.” His smile was swift and disarming.

Father Pogner remained obdurate. “Only a fool puts his satisfaction in the favors of the world, or its pains.” He glared at Istvan. “I apologize that we did not do you honor, Majesty, when we first arrived. But there was no one to tell us who you might be, and our concerns are not for courtesy.”

This stung Istvan enough to earn a rebuke. “You had better have concern for courtesy if you are to serve my interests at the Court of Ivan. He is one who puts great stock in courtly obligations, according to what I have been told. Neglect to honor him and you might pay for that oversight with your skins.”

Father Brodski belatedly dropped to one knee, paying no attention to the quelling look Father Pogner shot him. “It was not my intention to offend you, Majesty. It was only our ignorance that kept us from showing you honor. We ask you to remember that we had never seen you. And given”—he broke off to indicate the worn double-sleeved old-fashioned cote Istvan wore— “that you are not yourself dressed for courtesy, we may be forgiven our misunderstanding.”

Istvan nodded decisively twice. “That is more in the line of what I will need in Moscovy. You relieve me, Father Brodski. I was beginning to fear I was sending incognizant men to work on my behalf.” This last was intended for Father Pogner, but it was Father Komel who felt the barb.

He went down on one knee beside Father Brodski. “King Istvan, we will serve you in whatever capacity you require; you have but to tell us what that capacity may be, for it would not be fitting or desirable for us to anticipate your wishes in this regard, and thus risk compromising the very thing you wish us most to do.” He lowered his head, and earned a quick glance of disgust from Father Pogner before he reluctantly dropped to one knee with the others.

“It was not my intention to offend you, Majesty,” said Father Pogner in a tone that implied the opposite.

“I am not offended, unless you should now forget yourselves.”

He lifted the bell at last. “There is a meal waiting for you. Since you were not here at mid-day you missed the dinner. There is only a supper planned for the evening, and so the cooks have made something more substantial than that because you are weary from traveling and cold. It was ordered while you made yourselves known to the Bishop, anticipating your return. The servants will serve it in the chamber next to the pantry. That way they will be able to continue their tasks without neglecting you or their work. The chamberlain will lead you there.” He waited a moment, then ventured, “Unless you would prefer to speak to Father Krabbe first?”

“It would be my honor to escort you to his bedside,” said Rakoczy smoothly.

Father Pogner got to his feet, his pale eyes seeming almost metallic in their sheen. “What graciousness,” he said tightly. He stared down at the other two priests as if memorizing the extent of their duplicity in honoring Istvan. “We will pray at his bedside and bless him with holy water,” he announced in a level tone, moving back toward the fireplace while Father Komel and Father Brodski both scrambled to their feet. “Before we eat.”

The other two accepted this without question, although Father Komel licked his lips and looked disappointed as he agreed.

“You will find he is resting,” said Rakoczy. He watched Father Pogner without revealing himself; he maintained a polite deference. “It would probably be best if he continues to sleep.”

Father Pogner rounded on him, determined to establish his authority over Rakoczy as well as the other priests. “It will be best if he joins us in prayer, for the salvation of his soul and the preservation of his body, if it is God’s will he be delivered from sickness.” His long hands were clenched and his thin mouth now turned down with the force of his condemnation.

Rakoczy exchanged a swift, emphatic glance with Istvan Ba- thory before he met Father Pogner’s gaze with his own. “You must do as you think best. But you will find the rosary in his hands and his missal on his pillow. And my manservant read to him from Scripture. If you believe you must disrupt the restoration of God’s healing sleep, you will do it. But I myself heard him place his soul in the hands of his good angel, and I am not willing to stop the angel at his work.”

“What faith you have,” marveled Father Pogner with contained fury. “I wonder that you are not in Holy Orders.”

“I studied for the priesthood when I was a child,” said Rakoczy; it was the truth, but he did not mention that the priesthood had vanished before the Gardens of Babylon were built.

For the first time there was a trace of respect in Father Pogner’s manner. “Then why are you not now ordained?”

Again he gave a truthful answer, as far as it went. “I had to defend my native earth. Unfortunately we were not strong enough and enemies overran our country,” said Rakoczy, thinking of the hundreds of times armies had swarmed over the Carpathians since his youth, the Ottoman Turks being the most recent in a long line of conquerors.

Father Pogner studied Rakoczy as Fathers Komel and Brodski slapped at their clothes to neaten them. “How unfortunate,” he said at last. “You should have chosen the Church instead of your family. Your lands are in the hands of your enemies, but the Church grows greater with every passing day.”

“It is the tie of blood.” Rakoczy met Father Pogner’s accusing stare with an enigmatic half-smile, all the while preparing himself for what he feared would eventually become another battle, this one a question of power disguised as an inquiry regarding heresy. He knelt to Istvan once more, and kissed his hand.

“We will talk later, Rakoczy,” said Istvan, making his voice especially cordial.

“Majesty is gracious,” said Rakoczy before he rose.

'ext of a dispatch to Istvan Bathory, King of Poland, from one of is geographers.

To the most gracious Istvan Bathory, by Grace of God King of

bland, the greetings of his devoted servant Pavel Donetski, and

k prayers for the fruits of victory to be yours.

I have spoken withfur traders just arrived herefrom Moscovy. 'hey say that the road is difficult but it may be traveled without far of being detained for months because of weather. The kider of the traders warned that the rivers are unusually high
^u
iere the ice has melted and warns all those going into the foritories of Ivan Grosny to be on guard against flooding. He
^a
k> recommends that all river crossings be undertaken on fer- instead of bridges, for with such a wet spring, many of those forges will not be safe.

¹
have also had the opportunity to speak with a horse breeder, has said he is willing to set aside two dozen of his strongest y°*ng horses for the use of your embassy going to Moscovy. He named a reasonable price and I have told him that this will £* acceptable. Since I understand that your embassy has al- reaiy begun its journey, I will have to assume that these prep a- rattans are part of your plan for their protection, along with the company of Lancers. From what we have been told, they should te bcpected to reach here in fourteen to seventeen days, providing
C
here is no more rain. The road from Minsk to Smolensk is ofl»i wet and marshy but there has been no fighting near it, so travel ^
_not
too great a risk.

I *iust warn you that thefirst word we have hadfrom Moscovy does n
₀
t bode well for Czar Ivan, who is said to be caught in the center of his madness, thinking himself haunted by the son he killed, it ^ cause to be careful, Majesty, for if the Czar is demented, then no bargain struck with him will be regarded as having meaning. Your embassy could face tremendous dangers if the Czar is truly gone insane.

®
will do what we can to keep you apprised of the changes in Russia as we hear of them, especially all the reports from Mosco
_9
J
y
_{> a}
nd we will correct our maps as we gain more infor- mattoH. What lies beyond Moscovy remains uncertain; we are

attempting to learn more of the lands to the east. As geographers we occasionally have the aid of scholars, and they often bring information that a dozen spies could not procure. When your embassy stops here, I will do as you have suggested and avail myself of the knowledge of your alchemist. From what you have said, he is more widely traveled than most men we meet.

God hasfavored your cause thusfar, Majesty, and we all pray that He will continue to bring you the victory. And while we pray, we will also continue to gather the charts and maps you say you need. We have been at pains to obey your orders and keep these maps hidden from all but your appointed deputies, so that others will not be able to turn the tide against you. We are all loyal to your cause and iviU defend all that we have learned. There is no enemy who can cause us to surrender what we know. If God wiUs it, you will have no cause to worry about the Russians or the Livonians or the Hungarians or all the might of the Ottoman Turks. As you have said yourself, the leaders with the most complete information will prevail so long as the forces are well-matched.

Until we receive your embassy and report back to you, rest assured of my loyalty and devotion. My skills are ever at your service.

Pavel Donetski

At the library of Anatoli Gritschekov, near Smolensk, April

16, 1583

4

“Why have we stopped?” demanded Father Pogner as Hrabia Zary motioned for the Lancers to halt. The soldiers at once formed a block at the front of the travelers, prepared to fend off anyone who might be ahead of them. Behind him the baggage train mules of the embassy were grateful for the respite. The priests, all but two of them riding mules, gathered around Father

Pogner, with the exception of Father Krabbe, who stayed in the company of Ferenc Rakoczy.

“Because we are not on Polish land anymore, Father,” said the young man with ill-disguised annoyance. “We are strangers here.”

“We are the embassy of Istvan Bathory, king of Poland, and servants of His Holiness the Pope,” said Father Pogner, reciting these credentials with ritualistic fervor, as if they alone could preserve them from any danger. “We are not enemies, we are appointed messengers of two sovereigns.”

“The Rus might not see it that way,” said Rakoczy quietly, and nudged his grey Nonius forward, approaching the Lancers with caution, for they were suspicious of him. “Whatever the trouble ahead, it is getting late and we would do better facing opposition in the morning. Is there a village near this place?”

“Well, there was a village once, but it was burned in the fighting, years ago,” said Hrabia Zary, guarding every word he said where Rakoczy could hear him; no matter what the King had declared, Zary did not trust the elegant and cultured exile from the Carpathians.

“Then there are no buildings we could shelter in,” said Rakoczy.

“No,” said Zary, becoming nervous as he contemplated Rakoczy. “There are no buildings. It was burned. Razed to the ground.”

“I see,” Rakoczy responded, and signaled to his manservant. “Rothger, I think we had better attempt some scouting.”

Rothger was composed and quiet, a sandy-haired middle-aged man with steady blue eyes, mounted on a raking Neapolitan bay; he rode as if a day in the saddle was a pleasant outing, and the prospect of more travel no more daunting than an invitation to visit nearby. He heard Rakoczy’s scouting suggestion without flinching. “Very well, my master. But I would recommend a change of horses. These need rest.”

“Of course,” said Rakoczy. “There’s no reason to ride the horses into the ground.” He looked directly at Zary. “Would you like one of your men to come with us, Hrabia? It might be best.”

Zary flinched but answered as directly as he could. “I will select one.”

“I’ll accompany you,” volunteered Father Krabbe. “I can ride for a few hours more before my loins give out.” He chuckled, and was pleased that a few of the soldiers laughed as well; as a priest he realized that soldiers did not readily trust him. Their laughter gave him confidence.

Rakoczy considered this offer, taking care to show the necessary respect. “If Father Pogner does not object, it is quite satisfactory to me.”

Though Father Krabbe was disappointed, he did his best to conceal it. “I did not mean to act without the permission of Father Pogner.”

“Since he is in charge of you Jesuits,” said Hrabia Zary, “he must give his permission or I cannot authorize you to ride. Where you priests are concerned I must bow to his authority.” There was a tinge of irritation in his acknowledgment, an indication of the strain that had developed between Father Pogner and him.

“I will submit my request at once,” said Father Krabbe, and wheeled his horse to ride back where the rest of the priests waited.

“Father Pogner will forbid it,” predicted Hrabia Zary with anticipatory satisfaction; he had his suspicions about Rakoczy but could give him the benefit of the doubt; he was hostile to Father Pogner. “He does not like the influence you have with Father Krabbe, Rakoczy.”

“I am aware of that,” said Rakoczy, a quick frown flickering over his features. “He believes Father Krabbe’s gratitude for his recovery is inappropriate. Little as he may believe it, so do I,
but.
. .”

“Father Pogner dislikes you because he has no authority over you, except his authority as a priest. He thought he would be in command of everyone in this embassy and he is not pleased with the way Bathory arranged it. Which I suppose is why the King arranged it as he did.” Zary lifted a fair brow and looked sideways at Rakoczy. “Are you surprised?”

“At what you have said, or that you have said it?” asked Rakoczy smoothly, and answered both questions. “I am relieved that you are aware of the disputes within this embassy, and I thank you for your observations.” His dark eyes filled with ironic amusement. “Be aware that Father Pogner is likely to clash with you before we go much further.”