Russka (43 page)

In no time they were gliding up the slope and round to the gate. As they entered the main square, she noticed the four men standing together near the centre. Seeing the sleds, they turned and bowed respectfully. It seemed to her that they were also observing her carefully. They appeared friendly enough. She pulled the furs up to cover her face as the sled came towards them; she noticed that one was a priest and one a monk.

It was impossible to see the expression on the face of Daniel the monk, because his thick black beard covered so much of it that one could really only make out the two small bright eyes that looked out watchfully at the world, and the top of what were obviously broad, pock-marked cheeks.

He was on the short side, stockily built, but with slightly rounded shoulders. His quiet, stooping manner suggested a submissiveness proper to his religious calling. He spoke rather quietly, yet there was something about his hard brown eyes, an occasional suddenness in his movements, that suggested a passionate nature either repressed or concealed.

He was watching the young couple intently.

Stephen the priest, observing both, felt sorry for Boris and Elena. He had liked Boris’s father, admired his long fight with sickness, and buried him with a sense of personal loss. He wished young Boris well.

As for Daniel the monk, Stephen did not approve of him.

‘People say that I love money,’ Lev had once remarked to him, ‘but I don’t come near that little monk.’

It was true. The merchant’s rapaciousness had bounds; there was the ordinary give and take of the market place in his dealings. But Daniel the monk, though he had nothing of his own, seemed to be obsessed with acquiring wealth: he wanted it for the monastery.

‘He is greedy for God,’ Stephen had sighed. ‘It’s a crime.’

The great battle between those who thought the Church should give up its riches, and those who thought it should keep them, had been fought for generations. Many churchmen believed the Church should revert to a life of poverty and simplicity – especially those followers of a saintly monk named Nil Sorsky, who lived in the simple communities in the forest hinterland beyond the
northern loop of the Volga. This faction, encouraged by these stern Trans-Volga Elders, became known to history as the Non-Possessors; though most people in Russka, and many in the capital too, referred to them affectionately as the Non-Greedy.

But they lost. A little after 1500 the Church council, led by the formidable Abbot Joseph, declared that the Church’s lands and wealth gave her a power on earth that was wholly desirable. Those who thought otherwise were in danger of being called heretics.

Stephen the priest privately favoured poverty. His cousin Daniel, however, had shown such diligence in everything relating to business that the abbot of the Peter and Paul Monastery had made him the supervisor of the monastery’s activities in the little trading town. To hear Daniel talk about the fall of Kazan, you might have mistaken him for a merchant or a tax collector. ‘We can pick up some of the extra trade through Nizhni Novgorod and from the south,’ he would explain eagerly in his soft voice. ‘Silk, calico, frankincense, soap …’ He would tick them off on his fingers. ‘Perhaps we can even get some rhubarb too.’ For some reason this luxury was still imported from the east.

But above all, Daniel’s secret mission in life was to help the abbot enlarge the monastery’s lands.

He would probably succeed. For generations the Church had been the one section of the community which had continuously increased its landholdings. Two years before Tsar Ivan had tried to limit the scale of this growth by insisting that the monasteries and churches must have his permission before they accepted or bought any more land. But these rules were always hard to enforce. In the central regions of Muscovy, at this time, the Church owned about a third of the land.

There were two desirable estates close by. One was just to the north and east, a tract of land that had passed back into the hands of the Moscow princes. Perhaps Ivan would grant them this: for despite his recent attempts to limit them, he was still a huge giver of land to the Church himself. And then there was Dirty Place.

Boris’s father had held on to his estate, but would the young man with his wife and small dowry be able to? Daniel smiled. Probably not. They would either give the land to the monastery in return for a life tenancy: this was often done. Or they could sell it outright. Or they could get themselves ever deeper into debt until the monastery took the estate over. Boris would be well treated.
His family’s long connection with the monastery would ensure that. He would live out his life with honour. The monks would pray, after his death, for this noble benefactor who gave his lands to the service of God. We’ll look after him,’ he would say.

There was only one problem the monk foresaw. Knowing the monastery’s intentions, the young man would try very hard to keep his independence, as his father had done. He would do everything he could to avoid borrowing money from the monastery. ‘Which is where you come in,’ Daniel had told Lev the merchant the day before. ‘When the young man wants to borrow, offer to lend to him and I’ll guarantee the loan,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll see that you don’t suffer by it.’

At which Lev had laughed, and his Tatar eyes had shown a flicker of amusement.

‘Ah, you monks …’ he had replied.

And now the young man was approaching.

Elena was surprised, as the sled crossed the square, to hear her husband mutter a curse. What a strange, moody fellow he was, this young man. But when she glanced at him, he gave her a rueful grin.

‘My enemies,’ he whispered. ‘They’re all cousins.’ The four men looked harmless enough to her. ‘Beware especially of the priest,’ he added.

Boris’s fear of the priest was founded upon a single fact: that Stephen could read. He himself could make out a few words. There were many nobles at court, he knew, who read; and the monks and priests in the great monasteries and churches read and wrote in their own, rather stylized, church language. But what was this parish priest, in a little village, doing with books? To Boris it seemed foreign and suspicious. Catholics, or those strange German Protestants who traded in Moscow, probably read books. Worse yet – so did Jews.

For there was always the Jewish danger: Boris knew about that. By this, however, he did not mean the Jewish faith as such, nor Jewish people. He meant the Christian heretics known as Judaizers.

They were a strange group. They had appeared rather briefly in the Orthodox Church the previous century and been rooted out in the reign of Ivan the Great. Some of them, like the Jews,
considered Christ a prophet rather than the Messiah. But even at the time the exact nature of the heresy had been confused. What was clear though, to succeeding generations of faithful Russians like Boris, was that these people relied on logic, subtle arguments and books – and were therefore not to be trusted.

Boris knew that Daniel the monk was after his land: that he could understand. But Stephen – who knew what he might be thinking?

The little group greeted the new arrivals politely. They smiled respectfully at Elena. Then the sled moved on towards the little house, just past the church at the far end of the square, where the steward, his wife, and the servant girls would be waiting for them.

Elena smiled, trying to make her husband happy, but she felt uneasy.

Boris inspected the estate at Dirty Place the next morning.

The old steward conducted him round. He had been there since Boris was a child and was not a bad fellow. Small, quiet, close-knit, his thick hair was all grey now and the lines on his brow were so deep that it looked as if someone had scored them there with half a dozen blows from an axe. He was honest, so far as Boris knew.

‘It’s all in good order, just as your father left it,’ he remarked.

Boris looked around thoughtfully.

In certain ways he was lucky. When the Tsar’s land assessors, after Ivan’s recent tax reforms, had visited Russka, they had carefully inspected the Bobrov estate. It contained a little over three hundred
chetverts
, or some four hundred and ten acres of land.

The Bobrovs had been lucky on two counts. Firstly, the assessors had kindly decided that some of the land was low quality, which lessened the taxes. And secondly, the area of the estate was just a little larger than their standard measurements allowed for.

For the Russian land assessors could not compute fractions. Certain ones they knew: a half, an eighth, even a thirty-second; a third, a twelfth, a twenty-fourth. But they could not express, for instance, a tenth; nor could they add or subtract fractions with different divisors. So when they discovered that the good land at Dirty Place consisted of almost two hundred and fifty-four
chetverts
, which came in tax terms to a quarter of a plough plus
another fifteenth, they contented themselves with a quarter plus a sixteenth – the nearest fraction they knew – thus leaving over four acres free of tax.

Thus, as they so often did, the Russians made ingenious accommodations where their expertise failed them.

Compared to many of those to whom the Tsar had granted the service,
pomestie
, estates, Boris was not badly off. Most of these had only half what he had. The present income from the estate however was ten roubles a year. To go on campaign cost him seven roubles for himself and his horses; his armour and equipment he already owned. He owed four roubles a year in taxes though, and he had some modest debts in Russka, including one to Lev the merchant. As things stood, therefore, he would slip slowly into debt over a few years unless the Tsar did something for him.

Yet he was not discouraged. In time, he was determined to win Ivan’s favour: and who knew what wealth that might bring him? As for the present …

‘I think we can double the income from the estate,’ he announced to the steward. ‘Don’t you?’ And when the old man hesitated, Boris merely snapped: ‘You know very well we can.’

Which was exactly what poor Mikhail the peasant had feared.

There were two kinds of payment that a peasant could make to his lord. He could pay rent, in money or kind; this was termed
obrok
; or he could work his lord’s land: this was boyar-service, called
barshchina
. Usually peasants gave a combination of both.

The peasants at Dirty Place worked only one or two days on the land which Boris retained in his own hands – the demesne. In addition, they paid him
obrok
for the land they held. During the last twenty years, the estate had lost three tenants: one had left for another lord; one had died without heirs and one had been sent away. They had not been replaced and thus an extra hundred acres of good land had been retained by Boris’s father. And while rents had been increased several times, they had not quite kept up with the steady rise in prices over recent decades.

Mikhail paid twenty-four bushels of rye, the same of oats, a cheese, fifty eggs, eight
dengi
of money and a wagonload of firewood. He also had to work nearly three acres of Boris’s land, which took him rather under one day a week. His agreement with Boris did not stipulate how his obligations were to be organized. If
Boris wanted to change them, he could. And the price of grain was rising.

‘So,’ Boris remarked cheerfully, ‘we can reduce the peasant’s
obrok
and increase their
banhchina
.’

The grain he could produce on the spare land, if the peasants worked it two or three days a week, would be worth far more than the rents they currently paid. He would gain hugely. The peasants, of course, would lose.

‘We’ll start with two days right away,’ he said.

With the extra work from the peasants, and the two Tatar slaves, things would soon begin to look up.

It was two months later that Lev the merchant, upon Boris’s request, paid a respectful visit to his house. He knew the reason.

The sky was grey, the street a greyish-brown. Only the snow that rimmed the wooden fences gave a pale reminder that not all the world was dreary.

It surprised Lev that the young man and his bride had not already returned to Moscow. He supposed it must be dull for them here. Not that Boris had been idle in the country: he had carried out a thorough review of everything the estate possessed.

The merchant’s poor cousin Mikhail had lamented to him: ‘His father was never like this. He seems to miss nothing. He’s a Tatar like you, Lev.’

Though the merchant sympathized with his cousin, he admired Boris for this. Perhaps he’ll surprise them all and keep his estate yet, he thought with wry amusement.

Not that he cared. As he walked along the street, Lev knew very well where he stood in all these intrigues. He had no deep ties to any of the parties, nor did he intend to have. He was a survivor. The times were good for merchants like himself. And with this energetic young Tsar, who knew what new opportunities might open up? One had only to look at the Stroganovs up in the north, for instance, a family descended from peasants just as he was, yet who had already built themselves a huge merchant empire and, it was said, had the ear of the Tsar himself. They were people to watch and emulate.

And the way to survive was to keep on good terms with everyone. First, in Russka, that meant the monastery who owned the place. But even there one had to be careful. For if there was
one part of the Church’s possessions that the Tsars in Moscow coveted, it was these valuable little towns; and sometimes the government found excuses for taking them over. If ever that happened, the young lord of Dirty Place, who served the Tsar, might be a figure of importance. You never knew.

It was in this cautious frame of mind that he arrived at the stout, two-storey wooden house with its broad outside staircase, and was shown into the large main room where Boris was waiting for him.

He seemed a little pale, held himself rather tensely; he did not waste time.

‘As you will know, the income from Dirty Place will go up sharply this year. But in the meantime, I need a loan.’

‘I am glad you came to me,’ Lev answered politely, as though he were not aware that Boris had already approached two other lesser merchants who had offered him terms he did not like.