Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [220]
Andrei had noticed that although this new Patriarch had only been chosen the previous year, people already seemed to speak of him with a kind of awe.
‘They say,’ Nikita went on, ‘that he may be a new Philaret.’
This was a remarkable claim. For when, forty years before, the amiable Michael Romanov had been chosen by the Zemsky Sobor as the first Tsar of the new dynasty, it was not long before his father, the austere Patriarch Philaret, was virtually ruling the state for him. Could this new Patriarch, whom he knew to be of humble origins, really be so powerful?
‘Wait till you see him,’ Nikita said.
Nikon’s interest was simple, it appeared. He wanted to see Moscow recognized as the equal if not the highest of the five patriarchates of the Orthodox Church. The dignity of the Moscow Patriarchate had to be raised. They needed more saints. Only a year before, the body of Metropolitan Filip, whom Ivan the Terrible had murdered, had been ceremoniously brought back to Moscow to be venerated in the Kremlin church. He also knew that the Russian Church was backward, its texts corrupt and its scholarship inferior. He wanted to correct all this and, together with the Ukraine, make the ancient lands of Rus a mighty bulwark against the Catholic and other religions of the west.
‘He’s already started to reform the prayer book and the liturgy,’ Nikita explained. ‘It seems we’ve even been making the sign of the cross the wrong way.’
‘Is there any opposition?’ Andrei wondered.
‘Yes. A bit. There’s a small group amongst the senior zealots who don’t approve. They hate change.’ He laughed. ‘I got waylaid in the Kremlin not long ago by some fellow from the provinces called Avvakum – I ask you, what a name! – who went on about it for half an hour until I shut him up. But Nikon’s very powerful and he’ll make short work of any opposition. You can be sure of that. And then, my dear fellow, Moscow will truly be the third Rome,’ he added enthusiastically.
It was an enthusiasm Andrei could share. This was what the Cossacks wanted to see.
They were briefly interrupted by a rustling at the entrance as the older of the two women appeared and began quietly to set food on the table. It was a modest meal: fish, a few vegetables, and a sort of gingerbread she had made without eggs or milk, so as not to break the Lenten fast. To wash this down, however, Nikita had allowed himself some of the vodka which was now the drink of all classes in northern Russia.
Andrei had idly watched these preparations, curious to see whether the younger woman would appear; but she had not. They moved to the table and at once Nikita poured them both a liberal quantity of vodka.
Andrei was curious to know more about his host. What sort of man was he?
‘I’m a small landowner,’ Nikita explained. ‘My family have been service gentry – boyar’s sons, they call us – for a long time. Our estate’s a small place in the Vladimir region. But I hope to rise,’ he confided. He explained that the next step up would be to join the more select, so-called Moscow Gentry that Ivan the Terrible had founded with his chosen thousand retainers. ‘And who knows, after that? People like me have even become boyars – the highest rank of all.’
His modest education, it turned out, was a great advantage to him because it allowed him to make himself useful in his government department.
‘It was because my mother taught me Polish that I was chosen for this part of my department,’ he added. ‘We have special responsibility for Cossack affairs.’
Andrei knew that the government department – the prikaz – was one of the ways to advancement in the Tsar’s service and he was curious about it. Nikita was happy to tell him more, describing the work of his unit with pride. Yet the more Andrei listened, the more puzzled he became.
For as well as Cossack affairs, it seemed Nikita’s prikaz dealt with honey production, the Tsar’s falcons, and numerous other matters that seemed to be completely unrelated to its