The Ocean of Time (15 page)

The pomposity in his voice confirms it for me. ‘Who is it who seeks to enter the prince’s town?’

Lishka is watching me with hooded eyes. I look to him and nod, and he turns, facing the official.

‘My master is Otto Behr, trader, of Novgorod, converted to the Faith and travelling under the protection of the
veche
of that town, and of its
tysiatskii
.’

The official doesn’t even blink. Lishka’s words clearly don’t impress him. He studies Lishka a moment, like he’s looking at a turd some dog has left in his path, and then, with an exaggerated movement, turns his attention to me.

‘You have a
pass
?’ he asks, and manages to make it sound both insult and mockery. The crowd laugh, enjoying my discomfort, every eye looking for my response. But I say nothing, merely take my leather purse from my belt and, unstrapping it, remove the folded pass and hand it across.

The official holds the corner of the document, like it’s diseased, and stares at it a moment, then throws it back, so that it lands in the mud by my feet.

There’s more laughter. The official is now looking at me coldly. ‘Your pass is not valid in Rzhev. You will need to buy a new pass.’

‘But that pass …’ Lishka begins, only to receive a blow to the head with a cudgel from one of the official’s men, who has quietly positioned himself behind him. As Lishka sprawls forward, I glare at the thug and vow to hurt the man plenty when I’ve the chance. Lishka clearly feels the same, for, getting up, he scowls a warning at the rogue.

Lishka goes to speak, but I raise a hand and, in a fluent Russian that clearly surprises most of them there, ask the man, ‘How much is such a pass?’

He almost smiles. It’s robbery, and he knows it. My pass is good throughout Kievan Rus’. But I am in Rzhev now, not Novgorod, and if I want to hire a boat here I’ll have to go along with this.

‘Thirty ounces of silver.’

There’s a gasp from the crowd. The sum is outrageous. Lishka takes a step forward, as if he’s about to strike the man, but I intervene. ‘Lishka! Leave it!’

Lishka whirls round to face me, real anger in his face now. ‘But this is robbery! Thirty ounces! Has this Judas no shame!’

I see the flare of anger in the official’s eyes at that and quickly move to make things good. ‘Lishka! Behind the cart!
Now
!’

Like a dog that’s been chastised by its master, Lishka turns and does as he’s been told. But he’s not happy. His eyes are smouldering with fury.

I face the official again and smile. ‘Forgive my servant. He does not always know when to speak. But
thirty
ounces? It seems …’

The official makes a face, as if he’s considering matters. Then, with a little shrug, he nods and a kind of smile appears on his lips, if not in his eyes. His eyes are still cold and calculating. They look past me at the loaded cart, as if to assess just how much he can take me for. Finally he folds his arms and nods.

‘Let it never be said that the Steward of Rzhev is an ungenerous man. Our laws state that a man must have an authorised pass before he can trade in the marketplace at Rzhev. Such laws cannot be bent or broken. Yet I can see a way, perhaps, where local law can be satisfied.’

I smile at him. ‘Go on.’

‘There is a meeting tonight. Of the
veche
. If they could be persuaded somehow to …
endorse
your existing pass, then maybe we could reduce the required fee. Then everyone would be happy, no?’

Lishka makes to speak, but I silence him. ‘Lishka!’

I smile my apologies to the official, then nod. ‘We are to attend this meeting, I take it?’

‘Indeed, but until the matter is decided, it might be best to place your cart under our protection. For the benefit of all.’ And again he smiles, his eyes – cast and all – like ice.

Lishka, I know, is about to burst a blood vessel, but I merely smile and bow to the man. ‘That would be most kind. We can keep our packs, I take it?’

I can see that he’d rather we didn’t, but my very politeness – which seems to be playing directly into his hands – makes him concede. ‘Of course. Until tonight, then.’

And with that he turns and, moving through his little entourage, walks away.

I watch him go, then take our packs from inside the cart. And not a moment too soon, as his men come over to the cart and, without asking my leave, begin to trundle it away.

‘Take good care!’ I call to them. ‘If anything’s missing you will have your master to answer to!’

There’s muted laughter at that from the men, and at any other time I’d be worried, only it doesn’t matter. There’s a supply dump only a few miles from here and I can replace the whole lot if I need to. No, what matters is to get that pass and hire a boat, because I need to be in Tver’ before the snows fall.

Lishka, however, is incandescent with anger. ‘How could you let him do that, Otto? Thirty pieces of silver! Mother of God! The man’s a thief!’

‘Maybe. But let’s deal with that later. Right now let’s find us an inn and some food.’

Lishka narrows his eyes, my very calmness alerting him to the fact that
something
must be going on in my head. He lowers his voice, so that the mob won’t hear.

‘You have a plan, Meister?’

I smile and nod. ‘Oh, I have a plan, Lishka. I
always
have a plan.’

Only I don’t. Not this time. Not unless you consider giving in and abandoning the cart a plan. Which I guess you could, seeing as I have duplicates not far away. Only how do I explain all that to Lishka?

As sorcery, of course.

Lishka finds us an inn, run by what he calls ‘the only honest man in all of Rzhev’.

The man’s half-oriental – a silk-trader, I learn, in his youth – and he goes by the name of Dmitri. It’s not his birth name, which he’ll tell to no one, but in this part of Russia it’s fit in or move on, and so he has adopted a Russian name and Russian ways, and thus is tolerated, if not much liked, by his neighbours.

The food is none too bad, either, and his ale is good, even if our accommodation proves spartan. But then, this is thirteenth-century Russia and to hope for anything better would be pointless.

Besides, as long as Katerina is beside me, it doesn’t matter.

The official clearly has been having our movements watched, for his messenger finds us without trouble, and I am told to present myself at sundown at the great lodge, which is in the centre of the town. Lishka, I’m told, is not required to attend.

Lishka, fuelled now by several pots of ale, is almost bear-like in his anger. He growls and prowls about the room, and curses the local boyars, calling them thieves and villains. He would rather burn their great lodge to the ground than have me step inside and trust to their untender mercies. But it’s my choice. Besides, I want to see the kind of men that Prince Alexander has appointed here, for it’ll give me some clue as to how to behave when we’re in Moscow.

You see, a ruler can be judged by the men he gives power to, and by what he permits, and if I’m to judge Nevsky and find a way into his confidence, then maybe I’ll find a few clues here.

As the sun begins to set, Katerina joins me once again in the main tap room of the inn. She has combed her hair and changed her dress and looks quite stunning. The deep blue of the cloth sets off her figure wonderfully. She’s showing now, but not enough to suggest more than a matronly plumpness. But her face glows with good health, such that one would not suspect how ill she really was, after the ambush.

Taking my arm, she walks beside me up the hill toward the lodge. And as we walk along, so people come outdoors to watch us, their curiosity naked. Bare-arsed children tail us the full length of our walk, crying out and running about us, tugging at our cloaks now and then, while their parents look on, envy in the women’s faces at Katerina’s looks and dress, hostility in the faces of the men.

Rzhev
, I think
. The devil’s made this place his home, for sure
.

Guards bar our way at the main gate to the lodge and make us wait as night falls. We stand there, kicking our heels until, finally, we are admitted.

The official meets us just inside the compound that surrounds the lodge. It’s a tiny fort, I realise. A safe haven for the elite within the greater fortress. And that too speaks volumes, for these people know that their power depends on force, not popularity. As for our official, he greets us coolly, offering no greeting at all to Katerina, only a disdainful glance, before leading us through into the main banqueting hall.

It’s a poor show compared to Novgorod, but then, Rzhev has neither the wealth nor history of that greater northern town. Twenty men sit around a massive table, wearing their furs like badges of office – proof of their wealth, though a glance about the table reveals more than one fur that’s seen better days.

I bow my head, then wait, looking to the one among them who I can tell, from instinct, is their leader. And so it proves. He’s a small fellow, grey-bearded and almost delicate in his features, yet there is something in his eyes that gives him away; that marks him out as the one who has real power in this town. Even so, if you shaved away his beard, there would be nothing of him.

He stands, and as he does, so silence falls.

‘
Nemets
,’ he says, quietly but authoritatively, ‘I understand you require us to endorse your pass, to make it valid for Rzhev.’

‘That is so, Master.’

He likes that. Likes the reverence I’m paying him.

‘But I also understand that you find the fee … a little
high
, is that so?’

I hesitate. ‘Forgive me, Master. Were I my own man, I would not hesitate to pay what is due. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Half of my load belongs to the
veche
of Novgorod, and I must account to them for all payments.’ I smile, and look about the table. ‘Were I able to say to them that the
veche
of Rzhev was generous enough to reduce that fee then – who knows? – maybe other traders would make their way here from Novgorod.’

Surprisingly it’s not something any of them have considered, and for a while there’s a real buzz of conversation about the table. They clearly like the idea. Only they also like the idea of fleecing me. After all, what’s in the hand is real, while what’s
promised
…

The old man raises a hand, and they fall silent again. He looks at me and nods. ‘You speak well … for a
Nemets
. And I understand that you’ve converted to the Faith.’

‘I have, Master.’

‘And yet … your beard. Or lack of one.’

‘It is the style of my people.’

‘Hmmm …’ He sits, considering a moment, then looks about him, as if seeking their approval before he speaks again. ‘Very good,’ he says suddenly. ‘We will halve the fee for the pass. Fifteen ounces of silver.’

‘And the pass, Master?’

‘Will be ready in a week or so. In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy our hospitality. Come, take a seat at table, Meister Behr. Let’s drink a toast and seal the deal. To good friendship. And to trade!’

And Katerina all this while? Much as it wounds my soul, she is ignored by them. It was a mistake to bring her, and not one of them goes so far as to even offer her a chair, let alone something to eat or drink, and when finally we leave, she has been standing there for three full hours.

Back in our room, I hold her close and whisper my apologies.

‘It’s okay, my love. It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t to know.’

‘No, but I should have guessed. It is the same in Novgorod, after all. The men eat and drink, while the women … the women stay behind the screen and wait.’

‘Otto, it’s okay, really it is.’

But I know it isn’t. It was the last thing she needed in her condition. And thinking that, I grow really angry with them. It makes me feel like riding roughshod over them all. Like taking my guns and …

A week! We must stay in this hellhole a full week at least before we get the pass!

That
is the worst of it.

I get Dmitri to bring her food, and while she’s tucking into a bowl of soup and a loaf of fresh-baked bread, I find Lishka and tell him what happened.

Lishka’s anger at their treatment of Katerina mirrors mine, but he has some good news. It seems he’s found someone willing to take us up the Volga to Tver’. Someone reliable. We are to meet the following day, down at the harbour. Until then, there’s nothing to be done.

I return to the inn to find Katerina talking with Dmitri. I sit down, barely listening to them, brooding upon the situation. I’m tempted to hire the boatman, arrange to meet him somewhere upstream, then go and get the duplicate cart. Lishka, I’m certain, would go along with that. But the boatman? How reliable is reliable? Because I can’t afford to lose a second cart.

I decide to sleep on it. After all, I’ve yet to meet our friendly boatman. Once I have I’ll make up my mind.

‘Dmitri?’ I ask, interrupting them. ‘Has it always been like this in Rzhev?’

‘Always?’ Dmitri considers, then shakes his head. ‘No. But for a long time now. Some blame the young prince Alexander, but his father, Prince Iaroslav, is the real villain. And now that the Horde has come …’ Dmitri lowers his voice, as if even saying this might cause him great trouble. ‘Their
baskaki
was here in the spring. He and several dozen of his men. Big, fierce men. Horsemen from the far side of the world. They are to return and settle here, it seems. To farm the land and take their
tamga
.’

‘
Tamga
?’ Katerina asks.

Dmitri turns to her. ‘It is a tax. A tithe on everything we own, everything we make or sell. And the
baskaki
collects it for the Great Khan. Or rather, the
veche
does. For they’re afraid of the
baskaki
and his men. They have heard how Kiev was burned to the ground, and not a house, not a single person saved.’

‘It is true,’ I say.

‘Yes,’ Dmitri says, leaning closer, his voice going down to what is almost a whisper. ‘And that is why they seek to rob you,
Nemets
. Because the
tamga
is so great. They are greedy, yes, but they are also afraid.’