by K L Conger
Frowning, the guard considered another moment before finally nodding. "Very well. Two minutes."
Inga nodded, and he took a ring of heavy iron keys from his belt. Kneeling, he inserted one of them into an equally heavy lock that secured the trap door in the ground.
Shivers fluttered down Inga's spine. No one would get through that lock without the key. She found herself fearful to enter, even knowing he would let her back out. Moving quickly, she swung her body onto the ladder leading into the pit, carefully balancing basket and torch. "Can you tell me where she is down there?" She asked, before descending.
"Turn that way," the guard pointed with his finger, "and move straight back. You’ll run right into her. She’s shackled to the wall."
Inga fought to keep her face tranquil at the thought of Yehvah being shackled to a wall. She had no idea if she succeeded, but if the guard saw her grimace, he gave no sign of it.
Inga descended the ladder into darkness.
In the past six hours, she’d spoken to several people in the palace who knew about the circumstances of Yehvah’s arrest. She hadn't learned much more than Ekaterina first told her. Apparently, many people saw Yehvah mixing herbs for the Tsarina, including Ivan himself. So, when the Tsarina got sick, people began to suspect that perhaps the herbs had made her sick. Inga couldn't figure out exactly who the accusation came from. It hardly mattered. Yehvah had already been arrested and that alone would make most people believe in her guilt.
The underground dungeon was cold and dry. Inga immediately craved water, and she'd only been there a few minutes. She left the ladder and moved into the darkness, the torch lighting her way. Once out of sight of the jailer, she reached under her skirts and untied a bag she’d hidden there. She’d known the guard wouldn't let her in with very much food, and she couldn't be sure he would let her in again. She'd hidden a full loaf of bread, two large wedges of cheese, and a skin of water in a woven sack under her full skirts. She planned to leave it with Yehvah, just in case she couldn't get back in to give her food in the next few days.
Inga continued through the darkness, feeling as though she moved into oblivion. An oblivion she would never break free of. The only thing visible was the small stretch of dirt her torch showed ahead of her.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yehvah emerged out of the darkness in front of her. She'd only sat in the dungeon for six hours, and, except for being dirtier than usual and more haggard than she generally looked at the end of a busy day, she looked pretty much like her usual self.
Inga ran forward and threw her arms around the older woman. "Yehvah, are you okay?"
Yehvah hugged her back. "I am,” she croaked. Inga quickly gave her the basket of food and watched Yehvah tear into the bread and cheese. "I put more in this bag," she said, holding it up. “Enough for a day or two, but try to make it last. I don't know when I'll be able to get back in."
Yehvah nodded. "What have you learned? They didn't tell me much except that they suspected I poisoned the Tsarina somehow."
Inga nodded. "It was the herbal concoction you gave her. When she asked you to help her conceive? She took ill right after the wedding. They think the herbs might have done it."
Yehvah went very still. "Oh Inga,” she whispered. “I am doomed."
Inga shook her head. "No. There must be a way we can convince them. Tell me about those herbs. I only have a few moments. Where did you get them from? How much did you give her?"
Yehvah heaved a deep breath. "It won't be of much help. I'm not well-schooled in herbs, Inga. If the herbs were bad, or wrong, I wouldn't have known it. Whether I meant to or not, if the herbs did kill her, there will be no convincing them I didn't do it purposely."
"What you mean you didn't know the herbs? She asked you for the concoction. You knew how to mix it. If you didn't know what you were doing—"
"I asked around,” Yehvah said. “I found a woman who lives outside the city, by herself in the woods. She gave me the recipe and instructed me on how to mix it. Other people in the palace, including noble women, have used herbs from her before. She's known to be trustworthy. But again, if she mixed it wrong, or her herbs were bad, I wouldn't know."
Inga sighed. "Perhaps we can find some evidence that it wasn't the herbs that killed her. What else? Did anything else happen with them?"
Yehvah hesitated a moment before nodding. "Actually, now you say that, I only administered the first two doses to the Tsarina after the wedding. Then her mother took over administered them herself. I told her how to mix it and how much to give, and I didn't administer them again."
Inga's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Don't you see, Yehvah? That's it! The Tsarina was not ill when you administered the herbs. By the time she became ill, it was her mother doing it."
Yehvah gave her sad smile. "That will not work in my favor, Inga. Think about it. Tell me why."
Inga frowned and searched her mind for several seconds before she fully understood. She sighed. "They'll never accuse a noblewoman of something like this. It's easier to accuse a palace maid."
Yehvah nodded. "I told you, there's no way out of this. Unless something definitive surfaces that proves it wasn't the herbs—"
"Time's up, Maid!" The guard's voice echoed from the darkness behind Inga.
Still squatting, she twisted toward the entrance. "Coming!" She called, loud enough for him to hear. Then she turned back to Yehvah. "I don't know what yet, but I'll figure something out. I won't let them make you pay for this." She wrapped her arms around Yehvah one more time. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she whispered in her ear.
Picking up the torch, she hurried back toward the exit.
THE TINY CABIN EMERGED from the surrounding woods so suddenly, Inga froze in her tracks and gasped. That had to be it. Made mostly of bundled sticks from the surrounding woods, the tiny dwelling was so poorly built and unassuming, Inga might have thought it vacant if not for the plume of smoke rising from the chimney. The smell of campfire reached her nose even as she registered the smoke.
Inga stepped toward what she assumed was the front door—the only one she could see, anyway—timidly. Fear at who she would meet on the other side of that door abruptly swelled in her chest. Yehvah said many people at the palace trusted this woman, but she was still a witch woman and Inga had never had any dealings with one before.
When she finally reached the door, she raised her hand to knock, but fear twisted her stomach again and she dropped her hand, taking a deep breath.
"At this rate, you'll never get back to the palace before midnight." The voice came from her right.
Inga jumped, barely keeping herself from screeching. She looked toward the voice, putting a hand on her chest to still her heartbeat. Not until she registered movement, did she see where the woman sat. Wrapped in a cloak that completely blended in against the house, the woman sat with her head and face completely covered by the cowl. She raised her head to look at Inga and that's when Inga finally spotted her.
"A-are you Yelena?"
The woman's face curved into a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant. It showed jagged teeth.
"I am. Who are you? I haven’t seen you before. By your clothing, you keep house at the palace."
Inga nodded. "I'm here to ask you some questions, on behalf of Yehvah. You know her, I understand?"
The woman nodded. "I have not seen her for months now, but I remember her. She came asking for a fertility concoction. She wouldn't say who it was for. Given her age, I doubted it was for her. I couldn't help but notice she came asking just as the Tsar took a new bride."
Inga ignored the last statement, and the fact that the woman's voice inflected upward, making it a question. If Yehvah hadn’t told Yelena who the concoction was for, Inga had no reason to tell her. "Yelena, you know the Tsarina is dead, don't you?"
The woman cackled. “My dear, I may be a witch living alone in the woods, but even I hear gossip such as this. Of course I know."
Inga nodded. "
Yehvah has been accused of poisoning the Tsarina with your herbs."
Yelena leapt off the wooden outcropping she occupied and pressed her face into Inga’s. "Are you here to accuse me of murdering the Tsarina?" she snarled.
Inga feared the witch would curse her in her anger.
Tamping down the fear in her chest, she worked moisture back into her mouth and shook her head. "N-no. I've only come to get some information from you about the herbs. Yehvah would not harm the Tsarina anymore than...you would. Is there any chance the herbs...spoiled? Perhaps something else got mixed with them?"
"Dried herbs do not go bad, my dear," Yelena said irritably. “What do you mean mixed with them? Nothing mixed with them should have had the slightest effect on them."
"Well, I wondered," Inga said, "if there is anything they shouldn't be mixed with. For example, should she not have drunk vodka with them because it could make them —"
"Nothing anyone could mix with them would've changed them into poison, child. Only an uneducated riffraff like yourself would assume that. If something mixed with my herbs poisoned her, the substance worked independent of my herbs."
Inga sighed. She didn’t know what she hoped to find out by talking to this woman. She only hoped Yelena could give her something that would help prove Yehvah’s innocence.
"I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mistress. I will leave you to your brewing."
Inga turned away, but thought of something and turned back again. "Just to be clear, there's no way in which the herbs could have harmed the Tsarina? No circumstance in which the herbs could have done harm?"
The witch woman stared at her, scrutinizing her face in a shrewd way. “Of course there are, girl. If the herbs were mixed in the amounts I instructed and given at the proper times, there's no way they could have done harm. But if they were mixed in improper proportions, or given too often, that could have done harm. I still hesitate to say they would have caused death, but too much of anything, especially for a sickly disposition, is never good."
Inga did her best to suppress a groan. The woman basically gave her the worst possible scenario.
"What is it, child?” Yelena said. “Tell me your thoughts.
Inga sighed. “Then it is possible for the herbs to cause harm. There’s no way to prove Yehvah didn’t purposely mix them that way. I’d hoped you would tell me there was no possible way for the herbs to cause harm. Yehvah said the Tsarina's mother took over mixing them. A noblewoman like her probably wasn’t as careful as Yehvah would have been. Plus, she didn’t get the instructions directly from you. She desperately wanted her daughter to conceive. She might have been giving the Tsarina mouthfuls every hour.
Yelena frowned. “They are absolutely certain it was the herbs what did it?”
Inga shook her head. “I don't think anyone is certain of anything. The herbs are the obvious answer, and many people saw Yehvah mixing them for the Tsarina."
The woman nodded. "I doubt very much the herbs caused her death. She would’ve had to have been given massive amounts for long periods of time for that to happen. Chances are, the Tsarina died from some other evil spirit. The nobles won’t care about that, though. Ivan only wants some answer as to why his beloved is dead. Yehvah will burn for this."
Fear filled Inga’s chest once again. “No,” she said firmly. “I refuse to allow that to happen." She lunged forward and grabbed Yelena’s hand.
The women's eyes flew open in surprise and she struggled to pull her hand from Inga’s grasp. Inga held on.
"Please. Please come back to the palace with me. Perhaps you can explain to the doctors that the herbs could not have done it. Yehvah has brought you much business over the years. Please, help me save her."
“Let go of me, girl. I say, let go!" The woman finally yanked her hand out of Inga’s grasp. Her face looked thunderous again, which made Inga want to hide from her. "You a foolish girl! I am surprised to find so much foolishness in one of Yehvah’s protégés. She is always the picture of logic. Do you honestly think a brew woman like me can waltz into the Terem palace and have any hope of leaving again? I might as well burn myself at the stake. And why would you bring up anything to do with me or my kind to anyone there? It can only hurt Yehvah, not help. The nobles don’t take kindly to women like me. I wish you the best of luck, but it might be prudent for you to accept now that you will not be able to save your friend.”
INGA TRUDGED ALONG the road toward Moscow, feeling forlorn. If she couldn't get Yelena to come back and plead for Yehvah’s innocence, she didn’t know what to do. She could try speaking with the doctors herself, but it would be dangerous. Perhaps she could speak with the servants’ doctor and he could speak the Tsarina’s physician. She didn’t want to accuse the Tsarina's mother of anything, only to exonerate Yehvah. She simply must get someone to listen to her. Even if the imperial court didn’t charge anyone, Inga needed to think of a way to prove Yehvah didn’t do the Tsarina any harm.
Even as she thought it, she recognized the thought as foolish. Somebody would die for the Tsarina’s death. Ivan rarely needed reasons for executions, even when it came to other people. And this had been his wife.
Inga wracked her brain for any scheme that would allow her to shift the blame away from Yehvah.
Something occurred to her. Something absurd. Or perhaps brilliant.
“...if you need anything else at all, come straight back to me.”
General Vorotynsky. Perhaps he could help. Of course, he’d meant if she needed anything on her journey back to Moscow that day, but he’d struck her as a good man. Perhaps he’d be willing to intercede on Yehvah’s behalf. He seemed to understand and respect her during that brief meeting after the battle. If anyone could do anything for Yehvah, it would be him. Inga quickened her step and made her way back toward the palace. She needed a horse.
IT TOOK INGA THE BETTER part of the day to reach Vorotynsky’s estates, nearly twenty versts from Moscow. After deciding to ask Vorotynsky a favor the day before, Inga returned to the palace. It had been too dark to start out, so she'd secured a horse for first thing in the morning and left with the dawn. She'd ridden as fast as she dared without putting the horse in jeopardy. The sun passed its midday mark before she arrived at Vorotynsky’s estates.
A groom on the grounds took her horse and a stern-looking, middle-aged woman whose manor reminded Inga of Yehvah showed Inga to a formal sitting room. “Please, feel free to sit,” the woman said, sounding annoyed, and as if she meant the opposite of what she’d said. “The general will be with you shortly.” The woman turned and walked stiffly from the room.
Two benches sat in a V-formation in front of a warm hearth. The fire in it crackled merrily. Tassled cushions covered the benches. The kinds of things Boyars sat on in the palace. Vorotynsky’s home didn’t hold nearly as much polish as the Terem palace, of course, but still stood fine enough for any noble.
Inga didn’t feel like sitting. She wasn’t a noble or artisan who might be asked for a feast or social visit. She came to ask a favor and didn’t know what Vorotynsky's reaction would be. Her social status sat far enough below his, he would be well within his rights to have her put out. She paced nervously.
At length, the door opened, and Inga ceased her pacing, clasped her hands in front of her and schooled her face to tranquility.
Vorotynsky appeared older than last time she'd seen him. The lines on his face looked deeper and more white streaked his hair. A quizzical expression filled his features as he crossed the room to her. She realized he didn't remember her. They’d only met the one time, after all. Fear grew in her belly at the thought. Him not remembering her did not bode well for her request.
She wanted to introduce herself but waited for him to speak.
"Forgive me, my lady," Vorotynsky finally said after studying her face. "I didn't recognize the name you gave my servant. Now I see you, your face tugs at my mind. Still, you'll have to excuse an old man’s memory and remind me where we met."
Inga g
ave him a polite smile, feeling marginal relief. At least he recognized her. "We met on the battlefield, my Lord."
His eyebrows jumped in surprise.
"At least," she amended quickly, "directly after the battle. After you defeated the Tatars outside of Moscow, your men brought me to you. I told you I'd tried to save two women taken prisoners by the Easterners. You gave me an escort back to Moscow."
Recognition stole slowly over his face as Inga spoke. He nodded. "I do remember now. You are a maid at the Terem palace."
Inga nodded eagerly. "I am, my lord. I apologize for coming to see you without an invitation. What I'm about to ask violates propriety in many ways.” She steeled her nerves and plowed onward. “On that day outside Moscow, you said if I thought of anything else you could do for me, I should come directly to you."
Vorotynsky’s bushy eyebrows rose and fell briefly again. "I said those words more than a year ago."
Inga nodded. "I know, general. I know I'm taking liberties. Believe me, I do. But I've nowhere else to turn."
Looking sympathetic, he motioned toward the benches in front of the fire. "Please, lady. Let us sit." When they’d settled, he peered into her face with true concern. "Now tell me, what trouble have you gotten yourself into?"
Inga shook her head. "It’s not my trouble, specifically, my Lord. The Head Maid at the palace—Yehvah—she's in trouble. Please understand, my lord, my loyalty is not only to someone I work with daily. This woman has raised and trained me. She's the only mother I've ever known."
Vorotynsky nodded thoughtfully when Inga mentioned Yehvah’s name. "I know this woman. Not well, of course. I visited the palace enough times to have met her and heard her name often."
Inga nodded. It made sense. Anyone who visited the palace with any regularity would be familiar with Yehvah. She practically ran the logistics, meals, and cleaning operations of the place.
Inga launched into an explanation of the events of the past few days. She told him of the problem of the herbs and how people believed Yehvah had something to do with the Tsarina's death.
