Darker Jewels (27 page)

Reluctantly Ivan took the box, examining it suspiciously as he pulled it toward him. He lifted it up so he could look at the underside. He ran his finger along the edges of the box as if seeking out pins or cutting wires. Then he stared inside, and a strange expression came over his ravaged features as a harsh cry escaped him.

Guards appeared in the door at once. “Czar!” four of them shouted as they rapped the floor with the butt of their pikes.

“Leave!"
Ivan thundered at them, watching them withdraw in hasty disorganization.

“What are we to do?” asked the nearest Guard of Boris.

“Leave,” he said with a hitch of his shoulder. “Now.”

The Guard straightened, barked an order, and the four left the treasure room in good form, slamming the door emphatically behind them.

Ivan reverently lifted the gem from its box, holding it tenderly. Softly he began to croon to it, singing a bit of one of his own hymns to the Virgin. “Rejoice, O Gracious Lady, the Lord is with thee, grant us thy splendid mercy.” He fondled the stone. “It is the soul of woman, I think, yes, yes, it must be, for it is darkness and light, darkness and light,” he said, never looking up from the amethyst. “Tender, so tender, and yet no man may read it except when he is a little child. After that, it is purity and mystery and sin. This is worthy of the grandest crown.” He kissed it, then licked it once, twice.

Rakoczy did not move from where he knelt. He was afraid to draw any of Ivan’s attention now that the Czar had become entranced in the amethyst. He wondered how long it would be until he was permitted to get off his knee.

Some little time later Ivan tottered to his feet and began to circle the treasure room, moving as if he were striving not to step on nasty things. He paid no attention to Boris and behaved as if Rakoczy were not there at all. During one of his slow, dancelike turns, he dropped the amethyst Rakoczy had presented to him, and now it lay away from the rest of the treasure. Ivan continued to ignore Boris and Rakoczy.

Then the door slammed open and Nikita Romanovich Romanov came in abrupdy, blessed the ikons, then prostrated himself at once and so hurriedly that Rakoczy could hear his fork and spoon clink together in his belt, his large, bulky frame blocking the doorway even prone. “Little Father, the people of Moscovy are sending their prayers to God for your recovery. They are praying for you at the Virgin of the Intercession, as many as can stand in the cathedral. All the merchants in the city have come there to supplicate the Virgin to add her prayers to theirs. At sunset all bells will ring for an hour, to bring God nearer to us.” He was a little out of breath by the end of this, but he had the desired result: Ivan stopped perambulating and looked at him.

“You are very industrious, Nikita Romanovich,” he said to Romanov. “You are to teach my son to apply himself, so that he will not fail at his tasks. You must show him how a man proceeds in the world.”

Since Ivan had not given him permission to rise, Nikita remained where he was. He knocked his forehead lightly on the slates. “May God show me the way, Little Father.”

“Yes, yes,” said Ivan, starting to move off again, leaving Nikita on his face and Rakoczy on his knee. “It is the waiting that is the most troublesome. But the witches must be right. If they are not right, I will have them knouted and left in the snow where the wolves will find them before they die.” His ferocity was sudden and malign. “Everyone who has brought me suffering will be made to suffer ten times what they have done to me. Ten times! A
thousand
times! And I will exact that from all their families, so that the deadly plant is rooted out and lost.” He lurched toward Boris, then clutched his head, crying out incoherently.

Boris had started toward Ivan, then hesitated, knowing that he did not have the Czar’s permission to assist him. “Little Father, please, for the Grace of God, let me help you.”

Ivan struck out with his arm, then swung away from him. “Yaroslav! Bring me Yaroslav!”

From his place on the floor Nikita cursed softly.

Boris stayed where he was. “Alas, Litde Father, have you forgotten? Yaroslav had
the...
had the misfortune to fall down the main stairs in the Palace of Facets. He went into a sleep from which we could not wake him, no matter what was done. He slept four days. Amd he died, passing from his sleep into death as gently as a mother guards her infant.” He said it so tentatively, as if he Jfeared that at any time the Czar might take his wrath out on him as he had on Yaroslav.

This time there was no raging outburst. “Yaroslav is dead?” Ivan asked in bewilderment. He looked toward Nikita for confirmation.

“Yes,” said Boris.

“Yes, and as he described,” Nikita seconded.

Ivan rounded on Boris. “'Who killed him?
Who killed him?
Tell me, that I may have him flayed or set all his hair afire.” There was a little froth on his mouth now, and his eyes were glazed and staring.

“Keep silent,” Nikita whispered to Boris. “Don’t let him know. The state he’s in, who knows—”

“He fell, Little Father,” said Boris, attempting not to sound desperate. “He fell. He was not killed; it was an accident, an unfortunate accident.” How could he inform Ivan that the man who had shoved Yaroslav backward to his doom was the Czar himself?

“He could not fall. I would not permit him to fall. I would save him,” said Ivan blundy. “He must have been ki—”

“He fell,” Boris insisted calmly. “Backward. Down the stairs.”

From his knee, Rakoczy said, “It is true, Great Czar. Yaroslav fell. You were not able to save him.” In a skewed way—a way as skewed as Ivan’s tormented mind—what he said was accurate. He hoped it would be enough to keep the Czar from pressing until he remembered what he had done.

“Yaroslav dead,” said Ivan sofdy, his big hands clenching and unclenching.

“God have mercy on him,” said Nikita and Boris together; Boris blessed himself, but Nikita, still lying on the floor, could not.

At last Ivan signaled to Rakoczy and Nikita to rise. He was already wandering back to the pile of caskets and trunks and loose gold and jewels heaped in the middle of the treasury room floor. He dropped onto the lid of an ivory cask bound in hoops of gold studded with diamonds. “So many are dead,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “So very many.”

“It is a misfortune for Russia,” said Boris, knowing that such an assertion was probably acceptable to Ivan. He approached a little nearer. “Little Father, give me a task. Let me show you my devotion by fulfilling your commands.”

Listening, Rakoezy thought this was a very dangerous offer, for in his current madness Ivan might order Boris to murder his wife and children, or to leave Moscovy forever. He said, very respectfully, “Such loyalty is rare, Great Czar. None knows it better than one who has lost a kingdom. Treasure faithful men, for in all your reign you will see very few of them. No monarch can afford to lose even one such man as Boris Feodorovich is.”

“There is merit in that,” said Ivan after he had thought it over. His face was glistening with sweat now, making the grime more apparent. He breathed with difficulty and from time to time raised his hand to press his forehead or shield his eyes. “It is a sign of loyalty, as you say,” he announced to Rakoczy. “No wise ruler wishes to fight with men like Boris. But there is the desire for combat. It is in all great leaders, a need to prove—” He broke off and grabbed his head, grimacing.

“little Father,” said Boris, his apprehension growing.

Ivan waved him away and forced the travesty of a smile onto his mouth. “We will play chess!” he announced. “Yes. We will play chess. And you may move first,” he added, in an attempt to be magnanimous. He signaled to Nikita. “Run ahead and tell them to make a chessboard ready,” he said, his movements becoming frenetic. “That must be done. Yes.”

Once again Nikita prostrated himself; Rakoczy heard him sigh as he stretched out on the cold slates. “It will be as you wish, Little Father,” he announced, then got back to his feet and took the time to bless the ikons before leaving the treasure room.

“Chess,” repeated Ivan, growing pleased with the notion. “We will play. A good game will.. . will banish the evil words of the witches.” He turned on his heel. “They are great liars. All those who are not Christians are liars. And half the Christians are liars, as well, and lost in sin. It was God come to earth that made men learn to be truthful.” He was pacing rapidly and with great purpose, without any of the meandering and turning of a short time before. “Therefore I put their words behind me.” As he said this, his foot struck the amethyst where it lay at the edge of the shadows. Ivan gave a howl of anguish and knelt to pick it up.

“little Father...” Boris said, once again uncertain if he would be wise to approach the Czar.

Ivan had picked up the jewel and cupped it protectively in his large hands, as if shielding a single flame against a blizzard. “It is heart and soul, and I have wounded it. All of woman is within it, and I have struck it down, as my Anastasia was the first struck down.” He did not often speak of his adored first wife, but it appeared that her memory now worked a calming influence on him. “Soon I will see her glorious face, if God shows me mercy.

No man has ever had such saintliness as Anastasia Zakharina- Romanova; man was not made capable of the goodness of woman. How often God reminds me of my pride and my guilt.” Rakoczy could sense another burst of rage welling in Ivan and strove to circumvent it. “Or it may be that God is showing you that He sees your heart is injured. Your late wife must have praised you and pleaded for your salvation; God would listen to such a woman as she. Perhaps He is showing you the promise of mercy, not the fires of Hell.”

Ivan stared at him. “Is that in this jewel?”

Rakoczy knew that he was taking a very great risk now but none of his apprehension showed in his tranquil exterior. “The Great Art is the same as all art, Czar. I am only an instrument; the full extent of what these jewels can do are for greater souls than mine to know. If devout prayer and the fruits of learning are pleasing to God, then that jewel must be filled with compassion as well as the magical properties of amethysts.”

It took Ivan a short time to respond, and when he did, he looked pleased. “You are a modest man, as exiles must be,” he said, then swung back toward Boris. “Chess. We must play chess.” He went and knelt before the ikons at the door, the amethyst still clasped in his hand.

Boris sidled up next to Rakoczy and whispered. “What did you tell him?”

Rakoczy’s half-smile faded almost before it had begun. “Ambiguities, with a little truth for seasoning.”

“A hazardous game,” Boris warned, watching Ivan praying. “Not so hazardous as chess might be,” Rakoczy pointed out with serious concern.

Boris acknowledged this with a scowl. “Are you going to watch the play?”

“I think not,” Rakoczy said in a measuring tone. “Father Pogner has informed me that he has an audience with the Czar later this evening, and he does not wish to have any dealings with me. I am ordered to absent myself.” He caught the impatient twitch Boris gave to his kaftan. “I think it might be best if I passed the evening with my wife.”

“The game, Boris Feodorovich,” Ivan interrupted from the doorway; he had finished his prayers and was determined now to have his chess match.

“At once, Little Father,” said Boris, and without any further word to Rakoczy went and blessed the ikons before leaving the treasure room, calling to the Guard that Rakoczy was still within and was to be escorted out at once.

The blessings of the ikons Boris and Rakoczy offered were perfunctory as they left the treasure room. The Guard in the hall watched them leave and made a careful show of closing the tremendous doors, locking the massive iron crossbolt into its staples.

“What do you think?” asked Boris very softly in Greek as they left the armory.

“Of the Czar?” Rakoczy replied in that language. “He is getting steadily worse. If it is not tomorrow, it cannot be much longer. You need only look at him to see that his body is worn out and his mind has slipped into realms of fancy.”

“Is he dangerous?” Boris asked.

“He is Czar,” said Rakoczy sardonically.

“But such a Czar,” Boris prompted. They were almost at the door, and Boris deliberately slowed his step, taking advantage of this to dust off his kaftan at last. “He was great, truly he was. He forced the Mongols and the Tartars back to Sarai and he brought Novgorod into Russia for good and all. We no longer pay tribute to any power but our own. Without Ivan Grosny, this would not be true.”

Rakoczy remained discreetly silent. He looked through the open doors into the silver sunlight beyond; the sky was white with high clouds and fused with the snow-covered buildings of the city. “And now he raves for the son he killed; if an army should rise against Moscovy now, how would you defend her? You cannot expect Czareivich Feodor to lead men in battle, can you?”

“There are boyars and generals—” Boris broke off.

“Who wish to be Czar,” Rakoczy pointed out. “And with an army could claim the throne.” He stepped into the sunlight, grateful for the thick layer of his native earth in the soles of his thick black boots.

Now that they were out of the armory, they could hear the sound of the choirs at Saint Mikhail’s and the Annunciation Cathedrals. The two ecstatic hymns clashed with one another, dissonant and jarring. Both Cathedrals were full, with many people standing outside the doors to listen and pray.

Boris frowned as he listened. “A bad business,” he muttered in Russian.

“The singing?” Rakoczy guessed, also in Russian.

“Not exactly,” said Boris. “They are singing at Saint Mikhail’s. The Czars are buried there. Ivan might think it a bad omen.” He rubbed his hands together, more from worry than against the cold. “I’d better hurry, before he changes his mind about chess.”

They walked a few more paces together, then Rakoczy looked over at Boris; though he was half a head shorter than the Russian- Tartar, he gave the impression of being the taller of the two. “Be careful, Boris Feodorovich. The favor of a man like Ivan is more deadly than a tiger in the house.”