Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [148]
Mikhail paid twenty-four bushels of rye, the same of oats, a cheese, fifty eggs, eight dengi of money and a wagonload of firewood. He also had to work nearly three acres of Boris’s land, which took him rather under one day a week. His agreement with Boris did not stipulate how his obligations were to be organized. If Boris wanted to change them, he could. And the price of grain was rising.
‘So,’ Boris remarked cheerfully, ‘we can reduce the peasant’s obrok and increase their banhchina.’
The grain he could produce on the spare land, if the peasants worked it two or three days a week, would be worth far more than the rents they currently paid. He would gain hugely. The peasants, of course, would lose.
‘We’ll start with two days right away,’ he said.
With the extra work from the peasants, and the two Tatar slaves, things would soon begin to look up.
It was two months later that Lev the merchant, upon Boris’s request, paid a respectful visit to his house. He knew the reason.
The sky was grey, the street a greyish-brown. Only the snow that rimmed the wooden fences gave a pale reminder that not all the world was dreary.
It surprised Lev that the young man and his bride had not already returned to Moscow. He supposed it must be dull for them here. Not that Boris had been idle in the country: he had carried out a thorough review of everything the estate possessed.
The merchant’s poor cousin Mikhail had lamented to him: ‘His father was never like this. He seems to miss nothing. He’s a Tatar like you, Lev.’
Though the merchant sympathized with his cousin, he admired Boris for this. Perhaps he’ll surprise them all and keep his estate yet, he thought with wry amusement.
Not that he cared. As he walked along the street, Lev knew very well where he stood in all these intrigues. He had no deep ties to any of the parties, nor did he intend to have. He was a survivor. The times were good for merchants like himself. And with this energetic young Tsar, who knew what new opportunities might open up? One had only to look at the Stroganovs up in the north, for instance, a family descended from peasants just as he was, yet who had already built themselves a huge merchant empire and, it was said, had the ear of the Tsar himself. They were people to watch and emulate.
And the way to survive was to keep on good terms with everyone. First, in Russka, that meant the monastery who owned the place. But even there one had to be careful. For if there was one part of the Church’s possessions that the Tsars in Moscow coveted, it was these valuable little towns; and sometimes the government found excuses for taking them over. If ever that happened, the young lord of Dirty Place, who served the Tsar, might be a figure of importance. You never knew.
It was in this cautious frame of mind that he arrived at the stout, two-storey wooden house with its broad outside staircase, and was shown into the large main room where Boris was waiting for him.
He seemed a little pale, held himself rather tensely; he did not waste time.
‘As you will know, the income from Dirty Place will go up sharply this year. But in the meantime, I need a loan.’
‘I am glad you came to me,’ Lev answered politely, as though he were not aware that Boris had already approached two other lesser merchants who had offered him terms he did not like.
‘I think I need five roubles.’
Lev nodded. It was quite a modest sum.
‘I can lend it to you. Your estate, of course, is ample security. The interest rate would, on this loan, be one rouble for every five.