Enchantment (16 page)

“You are very kind, sir.”

“Call me Father,” said Lukas.

“Father,” said Ivan.

Esther saw her son in the still water. His was the only face the water could have shown her, for what other living person was linked to her by blood and love? My Itzak, my Vanya, what is happening to you?

He was dressed in the robe of a medieval monk, and behind him loomed the figure of an old man in priests’ garb. Vanya moved his lips. In Russian he said the word
Father
.

Then an owl flew over the water, inches from her face. Such was Esther’s concentration that she did not move, did not screech, though the startlement made her heart race. Nevertheless, the flapping of the owl’s wings caused a momentary breeze over the water, rippling the surface. The image disappeared.

She wanted to weep in fury that his face was gone.

In a moment, though, she calmed herself. No need for anger. She knew that he was alive. Wasn’t that the purpose of her search? He was not in this world, but he was in some world, and if he was in the hands of Christians, at least it did not seem he was being mistreated. And he was asking for his father. Almost as if he knew someone was watching him, and he wished to speak. She would look again tomorrow night.

7

Conspiracies

King Matfei had wished more than once that his father had not happened to be king when the edict came out of Kiev that from now on only a son of a king, or a grandson through a daughter, could inherit a throne among the East Slavs. He and his father knew this law for what it was, a means for the king of the Rus’ to steal the thrones of their neighbors, one by one. They were patient, these Rus’. They had come out of the north, blond men with goods to sell and savage punishment to mete out on those who would not let them travel, buy, and sell as they would. Where the Rus’ traded, they settled; where they settled, before long they ruled. And now they would wait, generation after generation, for a king to be childless or daughtered, and there they would be, ready to pounce, ready to claim that the high king of Kiev had the right to appoint a new king—invariably a kinsman of his own—or to succeed to the throne himself.

Matfei’s father had been elected to lead his people in war, as kings always were in the old days among the Slavs. If someone else had been king when the law changed, then Matfei probably would
not
have been elected. Too many other men in Taina were stronger, bolder, wiser. When the new law made him king without election, at first he feared resentment. But the people had been oddly quiescent about the change. As if they were rather proud of having a hereditary king instead of an elected one. Then Father Lukas came along, proclaiming that God chose which men would be born to kings and which to peasants, and therefore it was God who made men kings, giving each king exactly the sons—or the lack of sons—that he deserved. Thus the matter was settled.

Or would have been, had Matfei’s sons not died in infancy. Murdered, some claimed, through sorcery. But Matfei had seen their weak bodies, how small they were: one that turned blue and died, having never breathed; one with a twisted spine. Maybe they were killed by sorcery. Or maybe they were just born weak or deformed. Matfei didn’t understand such things. It seemed to him that much of what was called sorcery was merely the working of nature. A cow died—did anyone think that cows would live forever?—yet the whispers invariably arose about some old woman gone simple with age who mumbled something that might have been a curse, or some jealous neighbor who might hold a grudge. And so there arose stories about his sons. Nothing was proved.

Though with Baba Yaga as an enemy, the rumors were not hard to believe. Ill things happened before she married King Brat and came to Kiev to infect the world with her malice. She could not be blamed for every bad thing that came along since Brat lost his kingdom and she ended up in Pryava, so perilously close to Taina. But once Baba Yaga had set her heart on getting Taina, the bad things that happened were dire indeed. The failure of the copper mine. Two years of drought. And then his daughter, ensorceled and spirited away, hidden from all eyes until she came home with . . .

If Matfei hadn’t been king, he wouldn’t be standing here now in the practice yard of the fortress, watching this long-limbed stranger make an ass of himself with sword and broadaxe alike, knowing that he was appointed by some cruel fate—or merciless enemy—to be the father of Matfei’s grandchildren and the leader of his people in war.

O Jesus, what did I do to offend thee, that thou breathedst life into this pile of twigs and sentest it to me as a man? Mikola Mozhaiski, have you no better care for your land than this, to shame us before our enemies like this? Are the Slavic people so poor in the eyes of all the gods that they are not to be given the power to rule over themselves, but must have foreigners rule over them? Must all the old laws be done away? Must the trickery and nastiness of women become the power of this land, instead of the forthright strength of men?

And yet . . . it could be worse. At least the boy had a king’s heart and felt responsibility keenly. Bad as he was at it, he
was
trying to learn to use these weapons. He would no doubt do his best. His pathetic, useless, doomed best.

He dressed in women’s clothing without a second thought, and said that this was common in the land he came from. And this is what must be the father of my grandsons? Ah, Mikola Mozhaiski, my vanished friend. O Jesus, whom I have chosen as Savior of my people. And thou as well, Holy Mother, whose womb held and nurtured God. Why must I like him, this stranger whose very existence now endangers my people?

Dimitri Pavlovich, obedient to Matfei’s request that he put aside his anger, was trying to teach Ivan how to absorb a broadaxe blow with his shield and twist the weapon out of the enemy’s hands. But Ivan would have none of it. He kept leaping backward, dodging the axe entirely, then whacking Dimitri on the back with his practice sword. Oh, how clever it seemed to Ivan, this dancing. But what Ivan did not understand, could not grasp in his feeble foreign mind, was that in battle there would be a man to the left and right of his enemy, who would see the sudden gap in the line as Ivan leapt back, and he would never have a chance to leap forward again to make his clever blow. Instead, he would have to retreat farther yet, and if the men to either side of him did not fight his battle for him, soon the enemy would come pouring through the gap, and the day would be lost. A man had to stand his ground, giving no inch to the enemy, bearing his blows and striking back harder, forcing the other man to give way. This seemed beyond Ivan’s comprehension.

Was this how Jesus Christ rewarded Matfei for letting Father Lukas set up his church and baptize all who wanted? For changing his own name to a Christian one? What kind of god was Jesus Christ, after all? A god who let himself be crucified, and his leading followers stoned to death or burned or crucified. And all those dead and tortured saints. It did not bode well for the future of his followers.

Crucifixion would look merciful compared to what Baba Yaga did to those who opposed her. Hadn’t they seen it when, newly widowed, she had the leading men of the Drevlianians impaled or flayed alive as her way of answering their king’s marriage proposal? The one survivor, blinded and castrated, was sent back to report what his eyes had last seen, and to give his own genitals to King Mal in a little box as her answer to his words of love. What would she do to Matfei’s people when, with Ivan as the war leader, her troops easily overpowered them?

Something had to happen to free them of this burden. Some miraculous deliverance. For instance, Ivan’s glorious martyrdom for the sake of Christ. Provided that he had first fathered a son on Katerina.

That was the most important matter. That Katerina be filled with a son, so the succession would be secure and Baba Yaga would lose her legal pretext. After that, Ivan would be quite expendable.

Not that Matfei would do anything himself to harm the man who would be, after all, his son-in-law. What kind of monster was he, even to think of such a thing? God forgive me, he murmured to himself. It is for thee alone, in thy infinite mercy, to deliver us from this burden.

Finally, Ivan understood the instructions and tried to stand his ground. But when Dimitri’s blow landed on the twig-man’s shield, it knocked him down, shield and all. In his fury at the man’s utter inability, Dimitri took a step forward to offer the killing blow, though of course he would make it fall to the side. But Ivan chose that moment to bring his booted foot up under Dimitri’s kilt and into his crotch, causing him to fall writhing on the ground.

Matfei jumped to his feet, roaring. “It’s a practice, you boneheaded fool!”

“Tell him that!” cried Ivan. “He was about to kill me!”

“It’s a practice axe!” shouted Matfei. “It has no edge!”

“It’s heavy! It would have crushed my head!”

“He wasn’t going to hit you!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“Because he’s a true knight and you’re betrothed to the princess! That’s why! Now look at what you’ve done.”

“Isn’t that what I should do to an enemy?”

“An enemy will be wearing a solid steel plate with a point, to catch and impale the shin of any man who tries such a maneuver in battle. What, you think you’re the first to come up with the idea of kicking a man in the groin?”

“Nobody told me,” said Ivan.

“Why should I have to tell you? Do you think your enemy is going to be as stupid as you?”

“You all grew up fighting and talking about fighting. In my homeland we used none of these things.”

“Your homeland must be a nation of women!” cried Matfei.

Only after saying it did he realize that, apart from his voice, there was no sound on the practice field. Everyone had stopped to hear the argument. And now these words, this deadly insult, had shamed Ivan in front of all the men and given credence to the rumors that had been flying for the past week, about how readily Ivan had put on women’s clothes. Rumors that Katerina had reluctantly confirmed to King Matfei in private.

“One soldier of my land,” said Ivan icily, “could kill every man here in five minutes or less.”

Keeping his voice down, Matfei nevertheless could not leave such an empty boast unanswered. “Then why don’t you show us this amazing process?”

“Our soldiers use weapons that you don’t have.”

“Make one for us! Or show us how it’s made, and we’ll make our own!”

“It takes better iron than you have. No smith could make it here.”

“Easy to brag about what you cannot show us.”

“Easy for you to shame a man who comes from another land, with different customs. If you came to my land, you would be as unskilled as I am, in the things that matter to my people.”

“Perhaps that’s so,” said Matfei, keeping his voice low but unable to hide the fury he felt. “But I am not in your land. You are in mine. You are engaged to my daughter. My people need you to lead them into war.”

“I agree with Dimitri—I’ll never make a soldier,” said Ivan. “As for your daughter, I release her from—”

Matfei punched him in the mouth before he could utter the words that would have opened the door for Baba Yaga to come in. Ivan staggered backward, holding his face. Blood poured from his nose and his lip, which had torn against his teeth.

“What did you do that for?” the boy asked, gasping.

“Are you a fool?” said Matfei. “If you break off this engagement, then all is lost!”

“All of what is lost?” asked Ivan. “All my blood? How’s that for a beginning?”

“Are you such a coward and a weakling?” Making no effort to hide his scorn, King Matfei turned to help Dimitri rise from the ground. Dimitri leaned on Matfei’s shoulder and limped gingerly to a grassy place where he could lie down to recover.

“Father Matfei,” said Dimitri—for he had earned the right in battle to address his king so familiarly—“I have borne many things for you, and will bear anything you ask, but I cannot teach this fool.”

“For God’s sake, try,” whispered Matfei.

Dimitri spoke more quietly. “He goes to it with a will, but he hasn’t the strength in him. Everyone has seen how badly he fights. No one would follow him.”

“For
my
sake, try,” said Matfei. He helped Dimitri stretch out on the grass. Their heads were very close together.

“You should have let me marry her,” whispered Dimitri.

“The Widow’s curse—”

“Hang the old bitch,” said Dimitri. “If the people chose, they’d choose me.”

“We face a witch,” said Matfei. “She has powers your sword can’t fight. Maybe God sent this boy to us for a reason.”

“What can he possibly do that we can’t do better? He knows nothing. He can do nothing.”

How could Matfei argue with him? All he had was a faint hope—hope in a miracle. “Maybe we’ll be lucky,” said Matfei, speaking the thought that had crossed his mind earlier. “Maybe this boy will father a child and die.”

He spoke wryly, meaning it as a joke. But the moment the words passed his lips, Matfei knew he had crossed a chasm, and there was no turning back. For Dimitri had heard the king speak of Ivan’s death as a desirable thing and even name the time when it would be most convenient for it to occur. No matter how Matfei might protest in the future that he never meant it, he could not have found a clearer way to sentence young Ivan to death. If not Dimitri himself, some other man would find a way to rid the kingdom of this interloper. And his blood would be on Matfei’s hands.

“I didn’t mean it,” Matfei said, knowing that Dimitri would not believe him.

“I know you were joking,” said Dimitri. But it was in his eyes that he did not take it as a joke. “Still, we need an heir, and soon. There are ways to make sure that a child is conceived at once, and that it’s a boy.”

“And have the baby born ensorceled?” asked Matfei. “We might as well hand the baby over to the Widow herself. I don’t want my grandsons to die as my sons did.”

“I thought you didn’t believe that it was magic killed your boys.”

“I believed that seeking vengeance for it would do no good. Nor will killing this young man. He saved my daughter from the witch. He saved your sister.”

“And no harm will come to him from me,” said Dimitri. “You can be sure that if he dies, it will be an accident.”

“An accident that you and I will do all in our power to prevent,” said Matfei.

“Our vigilance will be marvelously complete,” said Dimitri. “At least until we know the baby is a boy.”

Matfei could see now that no matter how sincerely he might plead with Dimitri to spare the stranger’s life, he and all the knights of the druzhina would know that Matfei’s original reasoning was sound: Only with a child conceived and the father dead would the kingdom be better off than it was before Ivan rescued the princess.

Matfei rose to his feet and returned to where Ivan was whacking futilely against the wooden dummy with his practice axe. Oh, Lord Jesus, what have I done? thought Matfei. The boy has a king’s heart. He’s trying to learn. God brought him to us. And I have betrayed him and God.

Or have I? My people matter more than this one young man. It was my mouth that asked for him to die, and I am the one who will stand before the judgment bar of Christ to answer for it. Let the sin be on my head. If Jesus damns me for saving the life and freedom of my people at the cost of one life, then I’ll damn him back. Let me burn in hell—I’ll burn there knowing that I did what my people needed, and that is the duty of a king, however he might pay for it later. I, too, have a king’s heart.