Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [179]
Elena kept her faith. She could still have a son.
It was Stephen who encouraged her. Though she had never spoken a word to him about Boris, the priest thought he could guess what their life must be like. He felt sorrier than ever for her, the more he knew her; yet he always advised her correctly as a priest. ‘It is not by seeking for personal happiness that we are rewarded by God,’ he reminded her. ‘It is by denying ourselves. The meek shall inherit the earth, as Our Lord told us. Therefore we must forgive; we must suffer; and above all, we must have faith.’
Elena had faith. She had faith that, after all, God would give her a son; she had faith that, one day, her husband would turn from his path. For a time, after her father’s disappearance, she had had faith that he, too, might be saved. But Boris, who had investigated the matter, informed her that he had been executed. He did not say how. It seemed to Elena that this event had shocked her husband.
Perhaps this, she hoped, would turn him back towards the paths of righteousness. So at least she prayed, though as yet in vain.
How to have a son? There was a remedy the village women used, that the priest’s wife had once told her about. It consisted of rubbing the body, and especially her intimate parts, with oil and honey.
‘They say it never fails,’ her friend had assured her.
And so now, while the man she truly loved gave her spiritual comfort, she prepared herself, as best she could, as a sacrifice for the husband whose darkening soul it was her duty to save.
The spring of 1569 brought cold weather and the promise of another poor harvest. From the Baltic came news that the enemy had snatched a fortress town. Everyone seemed depressed.
It was in early June that Daniel the monk had another talk with Boris.
By now the monk was worried. Things at Russka were looking bad. Not that he was entirely to blame. The events of recent years – the ever higher taxes for the northern war, the disruption of the Oprichnina and the land confiscations – had hurt the Russian economy. That, with the failed harvest, was causing a grim recession. The revenues from Russka were sharply down, and the old abbot seemed to be at a loss, complaining to him one day about the shortfall, yet the next suggesting: ‘Perhaps we are too harsh with our people in these difficult times.’
He had several times seen the old man looking appealingly at Stephen after these conversations. Something had to be done.
And then there had been the business with the Tsar the previous spring. That had not helped Daniel’s reputation either.
For instead of agreeing to or refusing their request for land, Ivan had sent a strange but insulting message. It was an oxhide: no more, no less. The messenger who brought it, a young black-shirt, obviously following the Tsar’s instructions to the letter, threw this object derisively at the old abbot’s feet, in front of all the monks, and cried out: ‘The Tsar says to you: “Lay this hide upon the ground and the land within it he will give you.”’
‘Is that all?’ the terrified abbot had asked.
‘No. The Tsar himself promises to visit you and give you the land you have chosen, and anything else you deserve.’
‘It is you, Daniel, who have brought this upon us,’ the abbot sadly remarked, after the messenger had gone. ‘As for this oxhide,’ he sighed, ‘I suppose we shall have to keep it.’
The hide had remained, ever since, in the abbot’s room – an uncomfortable reminder that Ivan would be coming to see them one day.
The first task for Daniel, therefore, was to put Stephen in his place. It was not difficult.
‘I think you should know,’ he told Boris, ‘that the priest spends more time at your house, now that his wife has died.’ And for good measure he added: ‘You once told me he was a heretic. I saw him taking something from that Englishman you brought here. The English are all Protestants, I hear, and this was a piece of paper.’
It was enough. He was sure of it. Boris had said not a word; but he was sure it was enough.
Already for Boris it was a