Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [186]
‘We do not possess them, lord,’ Daniel said. He tried to keep his voice steady but it came out as a hoarse whisper.
Ivan turned to him.
‘Then you are fined a hundred roubles, Brother Daniel,’ he remarked calmly.
For a second, just for an instant, Daniel opened his mouth to protest. But then he remembered that recently the Tsar had tied a monk, like himself, astride a small keg of gunpowder before lighting it, and he fell silent, praying that his impulse had not been noticed.
Tsar Ivan returned to his table, indicating to the two monks that they were to remain where they were.
Now, ignoring them completely, he began to talk and laugh with the black-robed Oprichniki. He made some reference to another monastery, something – Daniel could not hear what – he had done to a monk there, which made them all roar with laughter, and sent a chill down Daniel’s spine.
Half an hour passed. Tsar Ivan drank steadily, but was obviously in control of himself. Each time his hand raised the goblet to his lips, Daniel noticed the dull flash of the big jewelled rings on his fingers. His eyes, every few minutes, darted suspiciously round the big room, piercing the shadows.
‘Bring more candles,’ he commanded. ‘Let there be light.’ He did not seem to trust the darkness.
So they brought candle stands from the church and set them up in the corners.
It was just as they were doing so, that there was a commotion at the door and one of the Oprichniki announced that the bear was arriving. Led by the Tsar, they all went to the entrance to watch.
It was a grotesque sight. Preceded by four men with burning torches, the sled came into the courtyard. The terrified monks peeped out of windows and doorways.
In it sat the bear. His gaunt frame had been hung with a magnificent sable coat. On his head was the Tsar’s conical hat. Around his neck Boris had hung a golden crucifix he had taken from the chapel.
With a baffled Mikhail guiding him, the bear was coaxed to walk on its hind legs from the sled into the refectory.
‘Bow!’ Ivan cried in a loud voice to the monks in the doorways. ‘Bow to the Tsar of all the bears!’
He himself conducted the bear to his own chair on which it was persuaded to sit. Then, with mock ceremony, the Tsar made them all, including the abbot, bow low to the bear, before they removed the hat and coat.
‘Come then, peasant,’ the Tsar said sharply to Mikhail. ‘Show us your tricks.’
It was not much of a performance. While the Tsar and his men sat, Mikhail led the animal through its routine. It stood up, danced ponderously, clapped its paws together. The creature was a sad sight, its skin hanging loosely for want of food. After a little time Ivan grew bored and banished Mikhail and the animal to a corner.
Outside, the night grew deeper. The cloud cover broke so that, here and there, a few stars could be glimpsed. Within, Ivan sat, apparently brooding, telling Boris to fill his goblet, and his own, with wine from time to time.
‘They say,’ he murmured softly, ‘that I may retire and become a monk. Have you heard that?’
‘Yes, lord. Your enemies say that.’
Ivan nodded slowly. In the early days of the Oprichnina many of the boyars had suggested this solution.
‘And yet,’ he went on quietly, ‘it is true. Those whom God chooses to rule over men are given not freedom, but a terrible burden; not a palace, but a prison.’ He paused. ‘No ruler is safe, Boris Davidov. Even I, chosen by God to rule over men according to my will – even I must watch the shadows on the wall: for any one of them may possess a knife.’ He drank thoughtfully. ‘Better, perhaps, the life of a monk.’
Boris, too, as he sat with Tsar Ivan, felt the oppressive silence of the shadows. He had drunk deeply, but his head was still clear; instead of confusion, he felt within him a slowly rising melancholy as he entered into the twilight world of this ruler he revered. He, too, in his small way, knew what it was to be troubled by the treacheries and phantasmagoria of the night. He, too, knew that a terrible