| |
Moscow, September 1549
Aleksey Tarasov arrived at the cathedral in a timely manner. He knew better than to dawdle when the Tsar called. Despite the inconsiderately short notice, fear had quickened his footsteps.
A short, plump altar boy informed him the Tsar still knelt at prayer. The boy led him inside, to a comfortable place where Aleksey could wait for Ivan.
A thumping on the door of Aleksey’s apartments not an hour before had awakened him, sending his heartbeat racing. The Tsar wanted to speak to him directly after the morning service.
Aleksey stood close to the throne of Russia, but the Tsar calling for him with such abrupt urgency still felt odd.
Aleksey donned a satin shirt with a matching coat, soft, warm britches made of rabbit pelts to hold the growing cold at bay, and a sable cloak—his more casual attire. When being seen in court, Aleksey always dressed to outdo the other boyars. For a private audience with the Tsar, one did not want to look too showy. The Tsar might take it as an insult. Or worse, a self-elevation. Where once such elevation would have only been an offense, it could mean death these days.
The past three months had been uneasy for everyone at court. The war with Livonia had been won, for all intents and purposes, at great cost. Stories of dark deeds and the twisted tactics of Ivan’s army made their way to the Kremlin. Aleksey had never shied away from violence, especially if plunder stood to be collected, but the stories set even his teeth on edge. Especially because Ivan never bothered to hide his glee over the incidents.
Meanwhile, after sending Adashev to the war as a voivode, Ivan decided to try him for treason, declaring Adashev could not aid in his own defense. “The man is poisonous as a basilisk,” Ivan declared, as if Adashev might cast some sort of spell over the court.
Aleksey never liked Adashev. Or Sylvester for that matter. Pariahs, both of them, feeding off Ivan’s good will. Still, Adashev possessed an affable temperament, and despite his dislike, Aleksey felt sorry for the man. The metropolitan, Mackary, tried unfailingly to intercede with Ivan on Adashev’s behalf, but to no avail. Ivan imprisoned Adashev at the beginning of summer. Aleksey had received a note two days before from his spies, reporting that Adashev had died in his cell with his face to the wall.
He wasn’t the only recent death. Anyone who openly opposed the Tsar’s policies or decisions disappeared within days, never to be seen again. People whispered to one another during the day about the screams coming from the dungeons or the dog yards at night. Granted, plenty of prisoners rotted in the dungeons—some Livonian, some Tatar, some merely Russian criminals—but the Tsar deciding to systematically torture them didn’t make sense. No, it was the screams of courtiers and their families that echoed in the darkness. Those who'd somehow displeased the Tsar. The Kremlin had become a place of fear and death.
Now the Tsar called for him Aleksey. He prayed the Tsar didn't want his head. With a shudder, he forced his thoughts to more positive things.
The cathedral stood, majestic and beautiful. Cushioned pews sat between vast wooden columns, thrown into regal shadow by the light streaming through colorful plate glass windows, showing scenes from the bible. Aleksey didn’t have to wait long. Within a quarter hour, Ivan emerged from the priest’s private chambers, where he had, no doubt, been praying in front of an ornate, guided alter.
Aleksey leapt to his feet. As the Tsar approached, face stone hard, Aleksey fell to one knee.
“You sent for me, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, Tarasov. Rise.”
Aleksey obeyed.
“Aleksey, I have a special mission for you.”
“I am honored, Lord Tsar. Ask of me anything you wish.”
Ivan smiled grimly, and Aleksey fought to keep from shivering. The Tsar barely looked human these days.
“Good. I don’t remember all the work you did for my father, but multiple sources have told me you can be counted on to do, shall we say, grim work.”
Aleksey bowed his head in calm acquiescence, though his heart sped up of its own accord. It surprised him. After so many years of mundane living, Aleksey thought the thrill of the kill had left him. Now, it came again, in all its vivacity.
“It has been many years since I’ve been called upon to do such work, my lord, but I am ready to serve, as ever.”
“And eager, by the sound of it.”
Aleksey didn’t answer. Ivan glanced at him and nodded, as though he'd expected as much.
“Good. As for the ‘many years’ since you’ve done this sort of thing, don’t think I am a simpleton, Aleksey, or uninformed. I’ve heard tales of your exploits in the city. Many of the dames who come to your bed don’t come willingly, or so I am told. With some of them, you don’t even make it to your chamber.”
Aleksey frowned, careful to keep his eyes on the ground. Did Ivan condone or condemn? A long silence followed. The Tsar seemed to want some sort of reply.
“Pushing barmaids around in alleys is far different from the...other work I did for your father, my lord.” He glanced up. Ivan’s face remained unreadable. “The first is of little consequence, your grace.” Another long silence followed. Aleksey could think of nothing more to say.
Finally, Ivan nodded. “I suppose you're right. Not all men would agree, Aleksey. That is precisely why I know I can come to you with this. You, and your son after you, have always been efficient enough to get the bloodiest work done. I know you worked as an assassin for my father, which is why your family has always been so highly favored, despite low connections.”
“Is this the kind of work the Tsar wishes me to commence now?”
“Not exactly.” Ivan held out a roll of parchment, too thin to be a long document.
Puzzled, Aleksey took it. The Tsar made a twirling motion with his finger, so Aleksey unrolled the scroll. On it, written in the Tsar’s hand, were a dozen names. Those of prominent boyar families in and around Moscow.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lord Tsar.”
“Aleksey, walk with me.” Ivan moved toward the door of the cathedral and Aleksey fell in beside him. As they walked out into the bleak morning light of an overcast sky, Ivan’s voice dropped, becoming conspiratorial.
“Aleksey, I’m going to tell you something I’ve told no one else, not even the priest. The heads of each of those households are traitors.”
Aleksey stopped in his tracks, feeling as though his feet had bolted themselves to the ground. Ivan turned, eyebrow raised.
“Forgive me, my lord," Aleksey sputtered, trying to regain his composure. "I am merely surprised. These families are well known and have always claimed loyalty.” He began walking again and the Tsar matched him, stride for slow stride. “Would my Lord Tsar mind if I asked how he came by this knowledge? Not that I doubt it, of course. I am merely curious how such traitors stepped wrong enough to be found out.”
“They did not step wrong, Aleksey, but men cannot hide from God. When I am at prayer in the mornings, the Lord whispers the names of the traitors to me. I have heard these names over and over again. God wants them dead. Who are we mere mortals to question him?”
“Of course, my lord. What, then, are my orders?”
“Round them up, Aleksey. Use whatever means necessary. They will be executed three days hence. A public execution. In Red Square. Let the people see what disloyalty brings.”
“Of course, my lord. Shall I put together a posse of my own?”
“No. I will give you command of the Streltsi for now. They will be happy to assist you in any way. You will merely become their commander.”
“Yes, your majesty. I am honored to serve in such a trustworthy capacity.”
Ivan nodded impatiently. “It will be temporary. In this afternoon’s meeting, I will be making several important announcements, including a new, elite force of soldiers I am forming. Once trained, you will command them and the Streltsi will return to me.”
“Of course, your majesty. Whatever you wish.”
“You will command them,” Ivan went on, “but as your age often does not permit the kind of exploits this new force will follow, I thought perhaps Sergei would make an excellent field commander.”
“You do my household much honor, great one. I can answer in Sergei’s stead that he will be both honored and pleased to perform such service for Mother Russia.”
Aleksey bowed from the waist, keeping his stance as the Tsar walked away. He straightened when the Tsar disappeared into the palace.
Odd, for Ivan to begin something like this as winter set in. Better to have done it in the spring, so the exploits could have been furthered by the summer weather.
No matter. The will of the Tsar waited for no season. And no man.
