Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [114]
‘You won’t have the child.’
‘And I …’
‘You’ll come to no harm.’
That afternoon, Yanka took the bale of silk that Milei had given her and sold it for two grivnas.
‘Come back this evening, at dusk,’ the old woman told her.
As the sun fell over the frozen marshes late that afternoon, she followed as the old woman shuffled along a path that led by the southern outskirts of the city. On their left were huts; on their right, the frozen river. The sun in the west was sinking, a distant red disk going down into the snows like a sigh; downstream the palisades across the river, caught in icy shadow, looked black as a raven before the red sky.
She led Yanka to a small izba at the end of a little lane. Beside the izba was a little outhouse. She opened the door of this, and motioned Yanka in. It contained various sacks, a table covered with little pots of strange-smelling herbs, and a single bench. It was cold.
‘Sit there and wait,’ the old woman said, then vanished.
When she reappeared, she was carrying a small tub which she placed in front of Yanka. Then she went away again.
Some time passed before she came back. This time she had a large pail of hot water which she poured into the tub. A cloud of steam arose. She brought two more pails, until the tub was half full.
Then, from the table, she took several of the wooden pots and began to pour their contents into the water, stirring with a long wooden spoon. A sharp, almost acrid smell began to fill the room. Yanka had never smelled such a thing before, and it made her eyes water.
‘What is it?’
‘Never mind. Now take off your boots, pull up your shift and put your feet in the tub,’ the old woman ordered.
Yanka did so, and immediately cried out in pain. The water was scalding.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ the woman said, and pushed her feet down again. ‘Now stand up.’
As she did so, she almost toppled over. The pain in her feet was terrible.
The old woman caught her, steadied her, then pulled her shift right up, exposing her stomach.
Suddenly she felt helpless just like a little girl again, as if her father were making her lie down on the bench. The sharp fumes from the tub were almost choking her. She looked down and saw that not only her feet, but her legs were turning bright red.
‘You’re boiling me,’ she moaned.
‘More or less,’ the old woman said, and poured in some more hot water.
The minutes passed. The pain in her legs had turned to an ache, then almost to numbness. She had grown used to the smell, though her eyes were still streaming. When she thought she would fall, or faint, the old woman gave her a staff to hold. And still, from time to time, she poured in more hot water and added more of the pungent herbs, whatever they were.
A whole hour passed. Then Yanka fainted.
When she came to, she found the old woman rubbing her bright red feet and legs with a paste of some kind.
‘They’ll hurt for a while. They’ll feel scalded, but they aren’t,’ she said calmly.
‘And the baby …?’
‘Come and see me in the market, the day after tomorrow, at sundown.’
Yanka slept late the next morning.
The day after, as instructed, she walked by the little stall. The old woman glanced up at her, her hard eyes giving nothing away.
‘Well?’
Yanka nodded.
‘It worked. It’s all right.’
‘As I told you,’ the old woman said and turned away, as if she were of no further interest.
There was nothing left for her now. There was nothing in Novgorod. She tried to avoid Milei for fear that he might make her pregnant again. But what was she to do next?
Soon, while the snows were still on the ground, she knew that the boyar meant to take the road back to the east. But where should she go? She was determined not to stay in Novgorod.
Strangely, despite all that had happened, she missed her father’s familiar face. She had no wish to return to live with him, yet she would like to see him again. Without him, she was still utterly alone.
Yet on what possible terms should she return? Had the boyar some plans for her? Or did he intend to leave her at some town or roadside inn and pass on into