The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [115]
Chapter 5
Lancelot Plummer, who had designed it, took Chancellor and Rob Best to Lymond’s home at Vorobiovo, riding south through the snow, and across the broad links of the river, and up the white, wooded incline from which the Kremlin domes could be seen flashing golden against the dusky red snow-sky of sunset. Earlier that day, Christopher had gone to visit the Streltsi. D’Harcourt, riding briefly beside them, said, ‘Danny is not perhaps the most maternal of guides, but he’ll see the lad comes to no harm. On the other hand …’
He hesitated. They were riding together in the Voevoda’s own massive carved sledge, drawn by matched and plumed horses, their harness whipped with silver and set largely with turquoises. Rob Best’s mouth had been slightly open since they set out, but Chancellor’s black-bearded face was unyielding. ‘What?’ he said.
‘The boy is coming to join you?’
‘Why not?’ said Chancellor with some impatience. A tall brick wall had come into view, speckled with snow, with snow-laden trees like a painting behind it. The entrance was through a handsome tower of white stone, leaved and patterned with brick. The sledge drew up, was recognized, and allowed to pass through.
Plummer said, ‘Ludo thinks our honoured leader is not to be trusted with children. You will realize this is nonsense. A harsh and holy life has our Mr Crawford, like the great and glorious St Antony. Ludo is only resentful because the Voevoda doesn’t think much of his medicine. You must admit, Ludo, that Master Grossmeyer inspires a little more confidence.’
Ludovic d’Harcourt didn’t reply. Chancellor said, ‘But the Voevoda has a son of his own, I understood?’ and was taken a little aback as they both turned and stared at him. Then d’Harcourt said, ‘Yes. In England. He has a wife also. I gather they weigh equally on his conscience.’
They passed under a bower of branches, false-lit like a delicate woodcut by the riming of snow from the north. Bushes fled past them; beaded trusses of white; furred spokes of wood; and the veiled trees in the white distance almost hid the white-grey pile of a great house. Lights glimmered.
‘All this is the Voevoda’s?’ Chancellor asked.
‘It belongs, tax-free, to him and his mistress,’ said Lancelot Plummer. ‘So do the townships of his pomestie, his military fief. Also all the meadow and pastureland on both sides of the Moscow, and the rent of the bath stoves and bathing houses outside the walls of the city. His annual income is hard to keep track of, but I imagine fifteen thousand roubles would safely cover it.… We designed the gardens on the lines of the Queen Dowager’s at Binche, but had to take the statues inside in November because of the cold. We have marble rockeries and scented fountains, and flowers of silver and coral, with artificial showers and lightning. It would be a perfect showplace, if anyone ever came who could appreciate it.’
‘Does the Tsar visit him?’ Chancellor said.
‘The Tsaritsa has been here,’ said Plummer. The sledge was sweeping round to a halt before the dusky mass of a house, built like quartz, crystal on grey crystal, with the leaves and towers and cupolas of its rooftops like a worn flowerhead crowding the sky. A long, canopied staircase, cascading down the tiers of the building, ended in wrought copper gates between which stood the elegant, fair-haired person of their host. The grooms jumped from the sledge and drew the rugs to one side.
‘Plummer wanted the sledge drawn by a team of white bears,’ Lymond said, ‘but I thought it seemed a touch precious.’ He was wearing no jewels, but a caftan of oriental fabric so thickly embroidered that other richness was unthinkable. ‘Plummer dresses me also,’ added Lymond, with every appearance of candour. ‘Sometimes I think he will put the weevils in jerkins and codpieces. Please be welcome, and come in from the cold.’
Chancellor got out and walked to the steps, with Best and the architect following. Looking back, he saw that d’Harcourt had remained