by Ann Swinfen
‘I am afraid I did not know that you have a cousin Xenia. Is she the daughter of one of your mother’s brothers?’
This was awkward. As far as I knew, all of his mother’s family was here in Uglich or else exiled to the recently acquired western part of the Khanate of Sibir. None were in Moscow.
‘She is the daughter of the brother of my sister-in-law,’ he said, as if that explained everything.
I tried to work it out. The wife of his half brother Fyodor was Irina Fyodorovna, surely . . . Irina Fyodorovna Godunova. Whose brother was . . . Boris Godunov, the man Maria Nagaya believed (with some reason) to be behind the attempts on her son’s life.
‘Your cousin is Xenia Borisovna Godunova?’ I said cautiously.
He nodded unhappily. ‘They used to let her come here for the summer. She is my cousin, we like each other. But they do not let her come any more.’
His voice echoed with loneliness.
I got to my feet. ‘I promise you, Dmitri, I will do everything in my power to see her, if they will permit it, and I will give her your packet.’ I smiled at him reassuringly. ‘I will also tell her how well and strong you are, and I will tell her about Volk, how he befriended me.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. Then he drew himself up, regal even in his night shift. ‘We give you our thanks, Christoval Balfazarovich.’
‘God go with you, Dmitri,’ I said.
‘And with you.’ He hesitated, then smiled. ‘And with you, Kit.’
As we left, I glanced back and saw him standing straight and valiant, his hand resting on the head of his wolfhound.
There was no time then to discuss this turn of events with Pyotr. The old nurse hurried us back to our quarters, which we reached just in time to seem to be rising from our beds when a servant arrived with more of the wheat porridge and news that our sleighs were packed and awaiting us in the courtyard below. We ate the food hastily. Although I found it glutinous and tasteless, I finished my share, for I was not sure whether we would have been provided with food for the journey.
The servant waited for us, watching us closely, as though he thought we might help ourselves to some of the gold ornaments, then he escorted us down the main staircase to the outside steps as the front of the house. It was still dark, though torches had been lit in the sconces along the wall.
With a muted jingle of harness, our three sleighs emerged from the back of the house. Our drivers and the guards Christopher Holme had provided all seemed safe, if sleepy with this early start. As Pyotr and I climbed into our sleigh – where I noticed that our food hamper had been refilled – the majordomo descended the steps, taking his time, as if he did not much care for his task. He handed me a leather purse, which clinked and weighed heavy in my hand.
‘The Tsarina Maria Fyodorovna Nagaya says that you have not named your fee. She therefore sends you this, in the hope that it will be sufficient.’
I had no intention of examining the contents of the purse in front of this man.
‘Please convey my thanks to the Tsarina,’ I said. ‘May God go with her. And with you,’ I added somewhat tardily.
He turned and strode away without further speech, the drivers chirruped to the horses, and we began to speed away down the long drive. As it rounded a slight bend I looked back. Apart from the torches beside the steps, the palace was in almost total darkness, but near the back of the house, on the royal floor, light shone from window where the shutters had been thrown open. It was Dmitri’s room. I wondered whether he was watching us leave, and raised my hand in farewell.
Chapter Nine
Despite our early start, it took us nearly four days to make the return journey to Yaroslavl. We spent most of the second day sheltering from a blizzard at one of the post stations, and we were buffeted by storms all the rest of the way. Even the tough little Muscovy horses could do nothing but plod along at walking pace, their heads down against the wind. Despite the furs and the heated stones which we renewed at every stop, I thought I should die, frozen into a block of ice, I was so cold. I even suggested to Pyotr that we should get out and walk part of the way, to warm ourselves with the exercise. We were travelling so slowly I was sure we could keep pace with the horses.
‘That is pure folly!’ he snapped at me. The cold was affecting his temper. ‘You would be dead in half an hour. Less. In the sleigh we are at least sheltered from the wind. And before you died, your fingers and toes, and your nose, would drop off from frostbite. Do you want me to describe it for you?’
‘I thank you,’ I said sourly, ‘but I am perfectly aware of the effects of frostbite.’
The cold and the confinement for so long within the cramped space of the sleigh were undermining my own temper. I turned my back on him and huddled down until I was almost buried under the furs. I would try to sleep. That would at least help the dragging hours to pass. But it was useless. My body would not stop shaking from the cold and would not let me sleep.
At last, near the early dusk of the fourth day, the roof and church domes of Yaroslavl came into sight. Even the horses seemed to sense that we were near journey’s end and managed to rise to a trot and then a canter. Surely they sensed warm stables and a good feed awaiting them. Pyotr and I became more cheerful and spoke politely to each other, both, I expect, ashamed of our ill temper of the last few days.
As the sleighs bowled through the gates of the Company compound and drew up in front of the main house, it was a relief to see windows cheerfully illuminated and flaming torches lit on either side of the door, as if we were expected. It turned out that indeed we were. Christopher Holme and Robert Farindon came out to greet us, clutching bearskins around their shoulders, over their cloaks. Even here, behind the sheltering walls, the wind was fierce, throwing snow in our faces with an almost human malice.
‘Your sleighs were spotted from the town watch tower,’ Robert explained, ‘so we knew you would be here shortly.’
I started to climb out of the sleigh, but my limbs were almost locked in place, stiffened with the bitter cold. Robert and Christopher grabbed an arm each and steadied me until I was able to put one foot in front of the other. I was relieved to see that Pyotr was in just as bad a state. Two of the other stipendiaries were helping him toward the door.
Once inside, we were marched into the parlour, where a fire was blazing with a pot heating beside it. A familiar aroma met us.
‘Can that possibly be spiced beer?’ I asked in wonder.
‘It is.’ Christopher smiled. ‘When the remainder of the cargo came through Yaroslavl, I insisted that two barrels of good English beer should be left here, and several more ear-marked for the Company house in Moscow. It is no loss to the Tsar and his court. The Muscovites have no taste for it. With apologies to you, Pyotr Aubery.’
Pyotr had regained his cheerfulness at the sight of the fire and the scent of the spiced beer. ‘I may have come to it late, but I love English beer as much as any Englishman, and ale too.’
‘Ale would not keep.’
‘I know that.’ There was a touch of irritation in Pyotr’s voice. I judged he could not decide to which nation he belonged, England or Muscovy. It was a dilemma I could understand. But I had come to England at a younger age, and now felt no longer that I belonged to Portugal – a nation that had driven me out, and would execute me if I returned in my own person. For Pyotr, I sensed, it was different.
If Christopher noticed Pyotr’s irritation, he showed no sign of it, but busied himself with pouring us large mugs of the steaming drink, while Robert went to call for our meal to be brought. By the time he returned, Pyotr and I had both cautiously shed some of the outer layers of our travelling clothes and had accepted a second mug of the beer which, in my case at least, was beginning to thaw me from the inside.
‘The food will be here shortly,’ Robert said, as he poked the fire and threw on more logs. ‘I thought we should have it here. The two of us waited for you, but Master Deynes and the rest of the staff have eaten.’
&n
bsp; ‘Aye,’ said Christopher, settling back against the cushion in his chair. ‘We have done a good deal of waiting and worrying while you have been gone. Tomorrow morning would have seen the promised week run out, and we should have come in search of you.’
‘I do not think we could have managed to come back any sooner,’ I said. ‘I had hoped to leave Uglich one day earlier, but we were–’ I glanced across at Pyotr. ‘Prevented. And then the weather has been so bad on the return journey, it has taken twice as long.’
Christopher had guessed the significance of that glance of mine. ‘I think you should tell us everything that happened,’ he said. ‘From the beginning.’
So while we waited for the food to be brought, and then while we ate, I did tell them everything that had happened during the last week, with Pyotr contributing when he thought I had forgotten something significant.
It was difficult not to talk with my mouth full, for it was a relief to eat good English food. The provisions on both journeys had been Spartan, while the food at Uglich had varied from the tasteless to the exotic. Now we tucked into a good white onion soup, followed by beef which had been slowly roasted before a steady fire and – oh, joy! – alternately basted and dredged, so that it had a crisp herb-flavoured crust and a rich gravy, in which whole onions had been roasted underneath the turning meat. It was followed by a creamy custard and an apple tart. I hope I may not be thought a glutton, but that meal did much to restore my health and my temper.
When both the meal and the account of our visit to Uglich were concluded, Christopher sat looking into the fire for a long time before commenting.
‘It is excellent that you were able to reassure the Tsarina and to tend the Tsarevich,’ he said at last, ‘and to know that the stories of the falling sickness are fabrications, but clearly they live in the shadow of murder. If the child’s enemies are bent on assassination, and if they find that their attempts at poisoning have been frustrated, will they not try some other way?’
‘That too has been in my mind,’ I said soberly, ‘but the boy is well guarded. I am not sure whether he is ever allowed out of the palace. He is as pale as plant which receives no sunlight, poor mite.’
‘You liked him.’ Christopher smiled.
‘He is a valiant little soul.’ I said.
‘And what of this certificate you were forced to write?’ Robert spoke for the first time since I had finished telling our story.
‘Aye,’ Christopher said. ‘I do not like the sound of that.’
‘There was no help for it,’ Pyotr said. ‘It is certain the Tsarina would have kept us there by force until she had it in her hand.’
‘She swore she would not reveal it while I am in the country,’ I said. ‘Swore on the Bible, and I believed her.’
‘No doubt she did so in good faith,’ Christopher said, ‘and believed it herself, but what if circumstances change? What if the Tsar or Godunov were to try to take the child away, saying he must receive treatment? Or be confined, for his own good? I think, in extremis, the Tsarina would abandon her oath to you in order to save her son. I do not believe she would hesitate for a moment, or feel she did wrong. When a child’s life is at stake, what is the value of a casual oath, even if it has been taken on the Bible?’
‘I know you are right,’ I said. ‘I was aware of that even as I wrote the certificate, but, as Pyotr says, I do not think we would have been allowed to leave unless I did as the Tsarina asked.’
‘Well, you must be cautious. We must keep an ear always open for any news from Uglich. If at any time the child is threatened, then you will be in danger too.’
I did not like the sound of this, spoken aloud, although it was what I had already acknowledged privately, to myself. I shrugged, and tried to appear unconcerned.
‘What can I do?’ I said. ‘I have barely begun on the main mission I was sent here to undertake. I must go with you to Moscow, then travel on, perhaps as far as Astrakhan, or even further, in search of any trace of Gregory Rocksley.’
‘The man may be dead, these many months.’
I acknowledged this. ‘Nevertheless, I must try to discover his fate. The man has a wife and three children. They must be told what has become of him.’
Christopher shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘A man with children had no business undertaking such a mission for Sir Francis.’
I knew that he had children of his own, although, judging from his age, they must be well grown. I said nothing in answer to this, but that night, despite being safely back in my room at Yaroslavl, I slept badly.
Christopher and Robert had waited only for our return before setting out for Moscow, but they allowed us two days’ grace after our unpleasant trip from Uglich before we left for the next stage of the journey. I was sorry to see that the Sami drivers with their reindeer sleighs were gone.
‘Back to the north,’ Robert said. ‘Mostly, they do not care to stray too far south. We will have our own Company drivers from here to Moscow. There is frequent traffic between the two towns as a regular part of our trade, so we maintain our own fleet of drivers, horses, and sleighs.’
‘How far is it to the capital?’ I asked. I was growing weary of these long journeys. Although Moscow would mean an end to travelling for the two Company men, Pyotr and I still had the journey to Astrakhan ahead of us. Somehow the way to this distant and mystical place seemed like something out of a dream, or one of those ancient romances, like the tales of King Arthur.
‘The distance to Moscow? It is not so very much further than the distance from Vologda to Yaroslavl,’ Robert said. ‘Perhaps a hundred and fifty miles. Allowing for the weather – a week?’
Another week cooped up in a sleigh. Nevertheless, I was eager to be away. How many weeks and months had passed since I had set foot in this barbaric country? And I was no nearer discovering anything of Rocksley’s whereabouts that I had not known before I left London. I felt frustrated and impotent.
We were off at last. This time I shared a sleigh again with Christopher, which was wise, for I felt that Pyotr and I had been too much in each other’s company and were beginning to try each other’s nerves, though I had been glad to have him with me in Uglich, despite the fact that his skills as an interpreter were required only occasionally.
The weather had improved slightly after our return from Uglich. There were two brief snow storms on our journey, but most of the time the sky was a cloudless ice blue and the firm snow provided good footing for the horses. On this route there were regular post stations, so that we were able to spend our nights there, instead of camping out in one of the deserted villages. Nevertheless, I slept in my clothes and kept my sword and dagger to hand.
My skills as a physician were called upon as well. At one post station a man had that very morning managed to bury an axe in his calf while chopping wood. His wife had spread it with bear grease and bound it up, but it was a nasty gaping wound, which I cleaned, stitched, and salved. I explain to the wife how she was to remove the stitches, and when, but had to trust that he would survive. Where we spent one night, word must have spread that there was a physician in the party, for the following morning there were three patients awaiting me before we could leave. One man with a chest congestion, a woman with a large boil that needed lancing, and a small child howling with the pain in his ear. In this cold winter, I suspected an ear infection, but on examining the child I discovered that he had lodged a dried pea in it. Or rather, I suspected that his anxious elder brother was the culprit, although he admitted nothing. I managed to extract the pea, and the patient received a cuffing from his mother, which I felt was undeserved.
As Robert had guessed, it took us about a week to reach Moscow, and for the first time I was impressed by a town in Muscovy. It seemed Moscow was a town within a town, for the central citadel, palace, and churches formed a self contained inner town, with many other royal buildings crowded together, hugger mugger, and surrounded by a vast wall.
The houses occupied by all the rest o
f the citizens lay outside this wall, on either side of the Moskva river. It was less than twenty years since the terrible sacking and burning of Moscow by the Tatars, that Christopher had spoken about. Parts of the town still contained ruined areas, but gradually it was being restored. Our sleighs took us directly to the Company’s Moscow house, driving over roads where the snow had been packed down into hard ice by the passage of people, horses, and sleighs. I saw more than one person slip and fall, or else grab the corner of a building or the arm of a fellow pedestrian to avoid falling. I wondered what might be the incidence of broken bones in Moscow during the winter.
The Company house proved to be very fine indeed, repaired again in stone after the disaster when so many people had perished in the cellar of the old building given to the Company by Tsar Ivan. It was located in the merchants’ quarter, standing out as one of the finest buildings in the street,
‘Come in, come in!’
It was Austin Foulkes, the out-going chief agent. I sensed he was relieved to see us, for it meant that within a few weeks he could hand over Company affairs in the capital to Christopher and begin the long journey back to St Nicholas, to meet the next fleet for the voyage home. I hoped fervently I would be able to join him.
The house was large enough for us all to have separate rooms on the first floor, though they were small. As in the other houses, the apprentices and servants had dormitories in the attics, while the ground floor held the large rooms for conducting business with the merchants of Moscow, as well as a dining room and parlour for the Company staff. The kitchens were in an outbuilding. Despite the fact that all the new buildings in this quarter were now constructed of stone or brick, memories of the terrible fire lingered, so that kitchens were accommodated separately, at a distance from the houses. Below the main house there was apparently a labyrinth of cellars, used for storing the Company’s merchandise. In the northern towns where we had stayed, the compounds had held warehouses, locked, barred, and guarded, but here in Moscow it seemed the Company felt its goods were only safe when stored under the very house itself. I did not visit the cellar. I feared it must be the same cellar in which so many people had died. I had no wish to enter it.
