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Moscow, April 1549
Taras navigated the halls of the palace, heading toward Nikolai’s rooms, his mind a turmoil of recent events. Three weeks had passed since the Tsar's announcement of war with Livonia. So far, neither Taras nor Nikolai had been required to go to the front. Adashev and the main army were thoroughly engaged, though. Taras worried that eventually he'd have to go. It would further hinder his search for answers about his mother.
Unlike the war against Kazan, most of the palace stayed put. If Ivan ordered Taras to the front, Inga would not accompany him this time. Sergei hadn’t returned to the palace since the day he attacked her, but if Taras donned his war clothes, Sergei might feel bold again.
In truth, Taras didn't know whether to be happy about Sergei’s absence or not. Apparently spending time at his family’s country estate, Sergei was undeniably avoiding a confrontation. At least he wasn’t around to leer at Inga. When Taras and Nikolai left the palace, he didn’t have to worry about her being attacked again. Still, the confrontation would come sooner or later, and Taras would as soon get it over with. Thinking about Sergei made Taras want to sheathe his sword in someone, so he pushed the thoughts away.
He turned down the corridor leading to Nikolai’s rooms. They'd gone in search of the woman who reported his mother’s accident to the palace but could not find her. Days of searching yielded no clues. They couldn’t even find an abandoned dwelling where she once might have lived.
Despite promising himself he wouldn't get his hopes up, Taras felt bitterly disappointed. They were back to where they had been: nowhere. No sign of the woman. No sign of her daughter. Taras wondered, not for the first time, if his quest was hopeless.
Nikolai said he would ask around, as he always did. Taras wanted to press Nikolai for his sources but didn’t. They wouldn't talk to him anyway. They trusted Nikolai because he kept them secret. Taras could only continue to question boyars at court, or those he came across in the palace, and wait to see if Nikolai turned up anything.
The courtiers were polite at first. Now they grew tired of Taras’s questions. He'd been in the Kremlin for two years now, so they no longer saw him as an ‘honored guest’ from England. He'd become part of the backdrop. He didn’t bother the same people day in and day out, of course. Every few months he made the rounds again to see if anyone remembered anything new. Those he spoke to became less appreciative and less cooperative each time he did.
Then today, while he worked forms in the practice yard with other soldiers, a courier arrived with a note from Nikolai. He asked that Taras come to his rooms at his earliest convenience to discuss urgent business. The cryptic nature and the urgent part meant Nikolai’s news could only be about one of two things: Inga, or their investigation, and if something was wrong with Inga, Nikolai would have come to fetch Taras himself.
Hurrying through the palace, he wondered what Nikolai had found out.
He hoped the Council would not be called together tonight. Meetings with the Tsar held constant fear, now. They might mean war assignments, punishments, even executions if the Tsar felt particularly angry. In the month since Anastasia’s death, Ivan had grown steadily worse. The entire country waited and hoped for Ivan’s grief to subside, praying it would mean calmer time. So far it hadn’t happened.
Taras rounded the corner and stopped short. The door to Nikolai’s room stood open. Nikolai leaned against the wall outside it, talking to Yehvah. They conversed out in the hallway where anyone could see, and certainly didn't do anything inappropriate, but something in their stance made Taras feel like an intruder.
They stood close together, talking quietly. Nikolai smiled, murmuring something, and Yehvah laughed. Taras had seen Yehvah smile, even chuckle, but not laugh out loud like that. He was anxious to hear Nikolai’s news, but he turned to go anyway, deciding to give them some privacy.
Nikolai chose that moment to glance over his shoulder, as though he sensed someone watching them. He smiled when he saw Taras and motioned him over. Taras approached slowly, wanting to give them a chance to finish their conversation, if necessary. They didn’t seem to need it, though. Yehvah instantly adopted a more formal stance when she noticed Taras, her smile going from genuine to polite. Nikolai merely thanked her for something and Yehvah bowed her head and walked away. She nodded to Taras as she went by him.
“Yehvah,” he murmured softly.
When Taras reached him, Nikolai’s eyes were bright, almost excited. A rarity for him. “I have news.”
Taras glanced at Yehvah’s retreating figure. “Nikolai, I’m sorry if I intruded.”
Nikolai’s smiled faded. “You didn’t. She, uh...” he scratched the back of his neck self-consciously.
Taras put his hands up. “You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry if I interrupted anything.”
Nikolai smiled again and shook his head. “Come. We should go to the stables.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Do you have some place to be?”
“No.”
“Good. This might take all afternoon. I spoke to the master of the horse and he assures me the Tsar has decided to spend the afternoon with his falcons. There will be no council meetings tonight. We can take our time.”
“Doing what? You’ve found something?”
“Perhaps.”
Taras rolled his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means it may be nothing, but I have a feeling it is something.”
“It being?”
“I asked around about an older woman who may have grown up like a hermit in the woods. The chances are good that the woman who reported to Liliya at the palace is dead. Depending on when this daughter of hers was born—we don’t know how many winters she'd claimed when your mother died—she may be my age or older now. I focused on what I thought would be a good description of her.”
They left the shelter of the palace and strode into the sunshine as Nikolai explained. The day was clear and the scent of spring hung in the air. “People tend to be closed-mouthed about this sort of thing. When a man lives alone in the woods, he’s a hermit. When a woman does it, she’s a witch. Decent people don’t want to be associated such things, even if they know someone who fits the description. It was never likely to turn anything up. If the woman did move into the city after her mother’s death, she wouldn’t have volunteered information about the way she'd been raised. But, I found someone who might be her.”
“Mind you,” Nikolai added as they approached the stables, “it’s not something I have firsthand. One of my sources knows a man who knows someone who works in a tavern—barmaid I think—who might take care of an elderly woman who might have been raised in the woods.”
Taras had to think that through several times to get all the links straight. “Forgive me, Nikolai, but this doesn’t sound promising. Why are you so sure it will be a good lead?”
“I don’t know. It simply...feels right.”
Nikolai wasn't a whistling sort of man. If he'd been conducive to it, he would have been whistling up a storm right now. Taras chuckled. He’d never seen Nikolai so...happy.
“Are we still talking about a barmaid who may or may not exist, or is this about Yehvah visiting you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Taras saw Nikolai give him a suspicious, sidelong glance. Taras fought to keep a straight face.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Nikolai said and quickened his step toward the barn so he outpaced Taras, his nose slightly turned up.
Taras chuckled again.
*******
TWO HOURS LATER, THEY were no closer to returning than when they’d first left. Before riding out, Taras sent a page to find Inga and tell her where he’d gone. The sun would set soon, though, and she would worry if he didn’t return before dark, even if she knew where he'd gone.
They’d found Nikolai’s friend—a brown-haired man whose name Taras never learned—who took them to his wife’s brother, a squirrelly little man named Sacha. He eyed them suspiciously, claiming he’d done nothing wrong and darting fearful glances at their swords, until his brother-in-law mentioned a tavern maid. Immediately Sacha’s eyes brightened, realizing he wasn't the object of their search. After that, he radiated friendliness and helpfulness.
The tavern maid, called Anja, worked in the center—in other words, the worst part—of the city.
“You see, my lords, when I bed—I mean talked—with her, she said she took in an old woman. The woman lived alone in the woods for years. She got lonely and came to the city, but couldn't care for herself because she’d been raised like a wolf in the wild. So, Anja, bless her heart, took pity on the woman and started taking care of her.”
“Where can we find Anja?” Nikolai asked, his tone brooking no nonsense.
“At the tavern.”
Nikolai pursed his lips, which Taras knew meant annoyance.
“Which tavern, Master Sacha?”
“I can show you myself, my lord. I go there often to, uh, talk with Anja.” Without another word, Sacha took off down the street.
Nikolai and Taras exchanged looks. “Does he think we’re priests?” Taras muttered. Chuckling, Nikolai thanked the brown-haired man who’d brought them to Sacha, then nudged his horse after Sacha. Taras brought up the rear.
The spring thaw meant the streets of Moscow had become quagmires. Their horses stumbled and squelched through the muck with great difficulty. When they entered the innermost part of the city, the true underbelly of Moscow society, they were forced to dismount and grasp their horses’ bridles to keep them moving.
The tavern was vile. Built of old, thin, rotting wood, mud caked every inch of the place. Scantily clad women hung out of every door and window, grime ground into every pore of their skin and fold of their clothing. The men grinning stupidly at them looked no better.
Taras and Nikolai opted to wait outside for Sacha to bring his lady friend out to them, rather than go in and leave their horses as targets for professional thieves. Taras surveyed the city while they waited. He’d never been in this part of Moscow before.
All around them the life of the city pulsed. Men sold wares, children played in the street, and youngsters tried their hand at pick-pocketing. Money and goods were passed around as they would be at market, though this wasn’t one. Every building housed a tavern or brothel of some sort. Outside them, tents were set up for dice and cards. The grime-covered people passing in the street eyed Taras and Nikolai with caution. Had they merely been two well-dressed men, they might have been attacked for their property, but even the lowest classes of society recognized the Tsar’s soldiers and gave them a wide berth.
Sacha emerged with a woman in tow. She was young and slender with bright orange hair. There, her beauty ended. Her lifestyle had taken its toll, leaving her face scarred from Taras could only guess what, and her teeth nearly nonexistent. Those that remained were black and rotted and she smelled like she hadn’t bathed in weeks.
The instant her eyes rested on them, she froze, face pinched with fear, and threw her weight backward, halting Sacha’s forward progress.
“Sacha, what’s this, then? What’ve you brung me into?”
Nikolai stepped forward...and Anja stepped back. Nikolai stepped back, putting his hands up. He gave her the same smile he gave everyone they talked to. An honest, reassuring smile. Nikolai was skilled with it.
His smile did nothing for Anja. She still looked ready to bolt.
“Please. We only want to ask you some questions.” For some reason, the comment made things worse. Anja tried, without subtlety, to pry Sacha’s fingers off her wrist.
Taras’s aunt once told him his charm and confidence could win the ear of any woman. He didn’t know if she spoke truth—he suspected it was her indirect way of trying to marry him off—but it couldn't hurt to try. He stepped up beside Nikolai, and Anja’s eyes went to him.
He smiled at her. Her eyebrows went up and she stopped trying to get away.
“Please, Lady. We mean you no harm. You are in no trouble. We are looking for someone we think you may know. That’s all.”
“I’ll not sell anyone to the headsman.”
He shook his head. “The person we’re looking for isn’t in trouble either. In fact, I would be most pleased to find her. She’s an elderly woman who used to live alone in the northern forest. She was probably raised there, and moved to the city when her mother died. I understand you have cared for such a woman before.”
“Tatyana? Yes, I still care for her.” Her eyebrows went down again. “What do you want with her?”
“I need details about someone who died near where she used to live. I only want to know if she knows anything about it. She may not. I simply want to find out. If she knows nothing, I promise I’ll leave her alone.”
Anja narrowed her eyes and spread a glare between Taras, Nikolai, and Sacha for several minutes. “No.”
She yanked her hand out of Sacha’s grasp and disappeared back into the tavern. Sacha gave them a shrug and a nervous chuckle before hurrying after Anja.
Nikolai gave Taras a flat stare. “Well done.”
Taras rolled his eyes, chagrined, but refused to acknowledge his friend’s sarcasm.
Twenty minutes later, Sacha and Anja reappeared. Anja did not look pleased, though she did flash a smile at Taras as she walked by. Apparently, Sacha had convinced her to take them to Tatyana.
With only an hour of daylight left, they followed Anja through the narrow, muddy passageways that made up the streets of the inner city.
“Not to be juvenile,” Taras grunted, while trying to pry Jasper free of a particularly thick mud hole, “but how much further is it?” It wasn’t that they’d come a great distance, but the streets were so crammed with people and structures and muck that it took significantly longer to get anywhere than it did in the cleaner parts of the city.
“Don’t worry,” Sacha called back to him, “we’re nearly there.”
They made their way into a quiet, destitute district. The dwellings, little more than mud huts, and streets stood empty, except for those who lived in them. Anja stopped in front of a small, square structure, made up mostly of reeds and dried muck. She went inside, making them wait in the street. A moment later she returned. “She has agreed to see you. Come in.”
Nikolai turned to Sacha. “I’ll pay you a silver coin for your services.” Sacha’s eyes lit up. “You’ll only get it if, when we come back out, our horses and belongings are still here and accounted for.” He held up the silver for Sacha to see. The man’s eyes sparkled. Anja eyed it lustfully, and no wonder. That silver coin was more money than either of them saw in a year.
“Don’t worry, my lord. Everything will be here when you return.”
Nikolai grunted and handed Sacha his horse’s reins. Taras followed suit and they both ducked into the tiny hut.
The stench of musty clothing and rancid body smell immediately threatened to overwhelm them. The hut couldn’t have been more than five feet by five—smaller than the servant’s quarters in the palace. Dirt from the floor had settled on everything in the hut—the pallet-beds, the warped, pitted cookware, the two threadbare blankets. The round, white haired woman who sat in the corner, eyeing them warily.
Plump and kindly-looking, Taras didn’t think she could be much older than Nikolai, but her eyes made her look years older. She was someone for whom, Taras could tell, life had been difficult. It showed in the premature lines on her face, the dull, white color of every hair on her head, and the way she sat huddled in on herself, as though the very air might attack.
Taras suddenly respected Anja more. She'd taken in this pathetic creature out of compassion, when she could barely feed herself. Surely Tatyana would have been long dead without Anja’s kindness. Taras might end up owing Anja a great deal.
As he and Nikolai watched, she approached the old woman slowly and put a compassionate hand on her arm. “Tatyana, these men want to ask some questions about where you used to live. I don’t think they mean no harm, but you don’t got to answer if you don’t want.”
Perhaps Taras wouldn’t owe Anja anything after all.
Tatyana raised her ancient head. When she spoke, her voice sounded surprisingly sturdy. Her eyes shone with the wisdom that only comes from long, hard experience. “What can I possibly do for two of the Tsar’s soldiers?”
Taras went to stand in front of her, then fell into a squat so his eyes were level with hers. “I understand you used to live with your mother in the northern woods?”
“I did.”
“Was she, by chance, the woman who found the body of Mary Demidov?”
Tatyana dropped her eyes and silence filled the small hut for several minutes. Taras wanted to prod her. Something told him to wait.
“So,” she lifted her eyes to him again. Dark eyes—the color of mud. “You've come back, have you? I always thought you would.”
Taras frowned. “Pardon?”
“You’re her son, aren’t you?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You don’t remember me?”
Taras’s eyebrows climbed higher still. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t. Should I?”
Tatyana smiled. She turned to Anja, whose head swiveled between her and Taras as they conversed, eyes growing wide.
“It’s all right, Anja. You should go back to work before Boris has a fit. They can stay. I’ll be well.”
Anja glanced distrustfully at Taras. “Are you sure, Tatyana? I don’t mind staying.”
“I’m sure.”
Anja sighed. “Sacha is still outside holding their horses. If they try anything, scream. He’ll come.” She got up and headed for the door. “I’ll tell him if you do, to come in with his knife drawn.” Taras suppressed a smile.
“Wouldn’t do a bit of good, lass,” Nikolai said. “Taras is one of the best soldiers in the Tsar’s guard.”
Taras turned, surprised by Nikolai’s praise.
Anja sighed. “Well, Sacha will fight him anyway—both of you, if you try to do anything to Tatyana. She’s only an old woman. She never harmed anybody—”
“Anja,” Tatyana’s voice silenced the younger woman. “I’ll be fine.”
After another moment’s hesitation, Anja gave a single bob of her head, then ducked out of the tent. Taras could hear her voice outside, telling Sacha what to do if Tatyana should scream. He ignored it, turning instead back to Tatyana.
“What do you know? What did mother tell you? Did she see the accident, or come upon my mother’s body afterward? What did she say about it?”
Her face remained expressionless except for one eyebrow that arched, so quickly he might have imagined it. “You think it was an accident?”
He shook his head. “No. But I have no proof. No details. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
She remained silent for several seconds. “May I ask how you found me?”
“With difficulty. We spoke to an old woman who worked at the palace. She'd gone away from the palace when my mother was injured, but told us to speak to a woman who’d filled in for her named Liliya. Liliya told us your mother reported what happened to the palace that day. She didn’t know where to find you. We searched—”
“The old woman from the palace is dead.”
Taras stopped, taken aback by the bitterness in Tatyana’s voice. “Yes, my lady. She is. Did you know her?”
“Not for many years, now. We were friends as children. Tell me, young man, did you speak to her before she died?”
Taras's heart sank. “Yes, we did.”
“How long before?”
So, she understood. She would, no doubt, try and protect herself.
“Not long before.”
Another silence filled the hut.
“I’m sorry,” Tatyana finally said, “I cannot help you.”
Taras didn’t try to hide the disappointed sigh that escaped him. “Please—”
“No.”
“Tatyana, I beg you to hear me out.”
Her eyes focused somewhere on the wall behind him, refusing to look at or acknowledge him.
“Tatyana, I have been looking for answers my entire life. I’ve been searching here in Russia for two years. You may be the only one who can give them to me. I know you’re scared...” He couldn’t think of a compelling way to finish the thought.
“I am an old woman, my lord. Perhaps it seems strange to you that I would be afraid to help, at my age. But I have been running from danger my entire life. I want to die in peace. Please don’t condemn me to a violent death on top of everything else.”
Taras gazed at her for a long time. Her eyes grew moist, her expression pleading. His heart hurt for her. He didn’t know what ‘everything else’ meant. She struck him as a woman who'd lived a life of intense vulnerability, one that saw innocence exploited or forcibly taken.
Taras remembered what Inga said several weeks ago, about how terrifying the Kremlin had been while she grew up. It occurred to him that, under worse circumstances, this could be Inga in thirty years. He shuddered. No, he wouldn't allow that to happen. He would find a way to shelter Inga better than this woman had been sheltered. Her ancient eyes showed the soul-weariness of a beautiful young girl who'd been worn down by the perils of life; a woman who never had anyone to protect her. Now, she searched for something so simple, most people took it for granted: peace.
“Peace can be elusive in Russia,” he said quietly.
A tear escaped down her cheek. “Yes, my lord.”
Taras stood, knowing he ought to leave her. Knowing it was the kind thing to do. Nikolai crouched by the door, watching with inquisitive eyes. Taras couldn’t go without knowing, without trying.
“Tatyana, if I don’t find out what truly happened that day, I will never know peace either. Please, help me. Don’t consign me to so awful a fate.”
She turned away from him, guilt in her face. Taras crouched beside her again, closer this time. “You recognized me. Knew me, as soon as you heard my mother’s name. You asked if I recognized you. If you can’t talk about what you saw, can you tell me what you meant?”
Tatyana glanced at him, then away. “I saw you. When they took your mother to the palace after the accident, I followed.” She hesitated, looking undecided, then shrugged in a resigned way. “It was I, Lord Taras, not my mother, who saw what happened. She didn’t want me to report it. I insisted. I could not bring myself to leave your mother to die alone in the snow. Mother trusted the woman at the palace, but didn’t want me to be seen. She sought to protect me. I watched from a stand of trees outside your family’s apartments. I felt too much fear, back then, to speak to anyone other than my mother. She taught me to fear people, especially men.”
She swallowed, her eyes far away, seeing memories. “Then you came. They brought you and your father to see her. I liked you. You drew my eyes because, being a child, you weren't a threat to me. You were smaller than I.”
She smiled sheepishly, and he did his best to return it. Sadness tinged everything she said about herself.
She went on. “And you looked so wretched. Eyes red and swollen, crying for your mother. I knew how much I loved my own mother. How my whole world—” Tatyana’s voice broke, “and survival depended on her. My heart broke for you because I'd seen what happened. I sensed, even then, she would not live.”
Tatyana’s despair felt overpowering. Taras’s eyes grew misty listening to her. “You...saw what happened,” he murmured.
“And then you looked at me.”
Taras’s eyebrows rose. “I did?”
Tatyana barked a laugh. “Perhaps not. Perhaps it only seemed that way to me. For a moment, from my hiding place in the trees, I swore you did. As afraid as I was of men, I remember thinking if you ever came to me and stared me in the eye, asking for the truth, I would give it to you. Because I understood.”
She dropped her gaze to her lap and the silence stretched. Taras tilted her chin up with his forefinger. Her eyes raced everywhere, trying to avoid his. He held her chin there with his finger until she met his eyes.
“Tatyana, I’m asking now. Please, tell me. I must know.”
The old woman leaned back, resting her head against the wall of the hut and shutting her eyes. Fresh tears slid down her wrinkled cheeks. When she spoke, she did not open her eyes.
“I have not thought about it for many years, my lord. My mother always described the horror of the outside world. Especially how awfully men treated women. As I entered my teen years, and then became a young woman myself, I doubted her. Thought she was an old fool.” She opened her eyes. Her voice dropped to a petrified whisper. “And then I witnessed something so awful, I never doubted my mother again.”
Taras swallowed the lump in his throat.
Tatyana leaned her head against the wall again, her eyes pointed at the hut’s ceiling. She shut them, as if in pain, and shook her head silently for several seconds. “Forgive me, my lord. I can’t. I can’t I can’t, I simply can’t...” Her body trembled against the wall of the hut and the tears came in streams, now.
Taras reached out and took one of her hands in both of his, cupping it gently. “It’s all right, Tatyana. You don’t have to. It’s all right.”
A short time later, Taras and Nikolai took their horses from Sacha, who disappeared the instant Nikolai’s silver coin hit his palm, and headed for the palace.
“What now?” Nikolai asked.
Taras sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I honestly don’t know.”
