Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [167]
And only those loyal to Ivan might live there. At every estate, the Tsar’s inquisitors held court. If the landlord were loyal, he might remain; but if he had any connection with a magnate or one of the many princely families, he would almost certainly be thrown out, and given a poorer estate, if he were lucky, outside the Oprichnina instead.
In this manner, the Oprichniki could be given the vacant estates for their upkeep, which they held, naturally, as service pomestie.
The town of Russka was included in the Oprichnina; and so it was that inquisitors had come to interview the young landlord of Dirty Place.
It was exactly what Boris wanted.
‘I serve the Tsar,’ he told them, ‘in all his wars. Let me, I beg you, be one of the Oprichniki. What could I desire more?’ And as he saw them make a note of this he added: ‘The Tsar himself may remember me. Let him know that he spoke with me, at dawn one morning, when we were returning from Kazan.’
At this the inquisitor smiled grimly.
‘If that is so, Boris Davidov, the Tsar will remember you. The Tsar forgets nothing.’
They continued to examine him carefully. They found no fault with his family. Though old, it boasted no great connections that might make it suspect. But there was one problem.
‘What of your wife’s family?’ they now asked him. ‘Your father-in-law has friends in quarters whose loyalty we are not sure of. What can you tell us about him?’
And now Boris considered carefully. He did not, however, have to consider for long.
‘What,’ he asked quietly, ‘would you like to know?’
A week later Boris was summoned to Moscow and after a brief interview was told he could keep the estate on service tenure and that he was accepted into the Oprichniki.
‘The Tsar remembered you,’ they said.
Soon afterwards, though she did not know why, Elena heard that her father was deeply worried.
The wind had dropped and the afternoon was already drawing to its close when Boris was served his meal.
As soon as he sat down, the old serving man placed before him a plate of rye bread and a little jug of vodka. Staring straight in front of him, Boris steadily poured himself three small cups, throwing back his head as he downed each at a single draught. Elena said nothing. To her it seemed a rather vulgar habit which, no doubt, he had picked up from the other Oprichniki.
He ate, for the most part, in silence. Elena sat at the other side of the heavy table and picked lightly at a few vegetables. It appeared that neither quite had the courage to start the conversation.
It was not surprising. For the matter they would have to discuss was, if the rumours from Moscow were true, too terrible to speak about.
The silence continued. Occasionally Boris, a little guardedly, allowed his eyes to rest on her, as though he were mulling over some abstract calculation of which she might, or might not, be a part. Once he turned to her and quietly asked after the health of Lev the merchant. On hearing that he was well he nodded his head, but said nothing. Lev was in charge of the collection of local taxes now and was therefore a fellow servant of the Oprichnina with Boris. They acted together in all official matters.
‘And our daughter?’ she asked him at length.
The girl had been given in marriage to a young noble at the start of the year; he did not live within the Oprichnina, but he was modestly well-off and Boris had satisfied himself of the family’s loyalty. Elena suspected that he had been glad to get