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Taras arrived at the meeting that afternoon with foreboding in his stomach. Everyone had been invited to this meeting, including the Chosen Council, all the nobles, and the clergy. They met in the reception hall, as usual, to hear what Ivan had to say. Unlike in the past, however, no chatter permeated the hall tonight. No discussion of what the Tsar might be up to or where his thoughts lay. Taras wondered if each boyar, including those on the Chosen Council, sat silently, contemplating his life, as Taras did. Wondering if he, like Sylvester and Adashev, would be called to stand before the Tsar for judgment tonight, accused of crimes the Tsar alone saw.
Taras took Inga to Yehvah after Sergei's attack. They’d found Nikolai in her company. He'd already explained what happened. The four of them talked for a time, all agreeing they needed to work together. Not only to keep Sergei at bay, but to keep Yehvah in the palace. Taras had told Nikolai about her health some weeks before, but Inga brought it up in this meeting.
“I can’t stay out of the corridors, Taras. If I don’t do my work, and Yehvah can’t do it, then it won’t get done, and she’ll be at risk of being thrown out.”
Yehvah immediately looked self-conscious.
“Don’t worry, Yehvah,” Nikolai said quietly. “We won’t let you be thrown out. If the head clerk gives you trouble, let me know. The man has never found the courage to stand up to me. I can handle him.”
Yehvah nodded, thanking him softly. Even Inga appeared somewhat comforted. Still, Taras doubted he'd have a moment’s peace while Sergei lived in the palace. The investigation into his mother’s death stood still at the moment. Even if he stumbled upon a lead, he wouldn’t dare leave the palace to look into it. Not with Sergei peering around every corner.
Ivan stood and raised his arms, bringing Taras out of his thoughts. An unnecessary motion on the Tsar's part, as a blanket of silence already filled the hall. Ivan looked stronger than when he punished Sylvester and Adashev, but his skin remained ashen, his eyes sunken. He moved his limbs with the lethargy of illness.
“We have an announcement to make.” A piece of straw hitting the stone floor would have been audible. “We have called you all together today because we have much to say. Your behavior toward us in past months has been appalling.” The audience visibly flinched. “You oppose us, question our divine orders, and doubt our link with the Almighty. Well, no more! We have found a solution.” The crowd paused, holding its breath in fear of Ivan’s next words. Ivan let the suspense stretch for several minutes. When he spoke again, his voice came so softly, everyone in the hall leaned forward, barely daring to breath and straining to hear.
“We have decided to divide our kingdom into two parts.” This caused a stir among the boyars—movement, but still no noise. Ivan clapped his hands and the court cartographers came forward. They unrolled large maps and held them up so everyone could see them. “The two parts,” Ivan continued, “will be known as the Oprichnina and the Zemshchina.” He pointed to the map of Russia, which had been divided into two distinct regions. “We, our person, shall reign over the Oprichnina, with absolute power. We will answer to no one, and no one will question us. Rebellion will be met with the headsman’s ax."
Taras suppressed a sigh. No doubt Ivan would see any questioning of his authority as 'rebellion.'
"The Zemshchina," the Tsar continued, "will be ruled by all of you. By the boyar council. You may rule it as you please, so long as it is in general accordance with our wishes. You may not council us on how to rule our part of the country. If you do not like how we ourselves rule, move to the Zemshchina.”
The assembly did begin to whisper among themselves, now, and Ivan allowed it, looking pleased with himself.
Taras frowned. Another grasp for power from Ivan. The Oprichnina included all of Ivan’s personal family lands, Moscow, and the twenty-seven other major cities of Russia. Basically, the heart of the country. The Zemshchina, on the other hand, comprised the outskirts, the wastelands. Acreage that could be farmed only poorly, and held no connection to the trade routes. Ivan made it sound like he’d made a compromise, but no one would relish ruling the Zemshchina, let alone want to move there. It lay too far removed from society, civilization, and the general economy.
Taras didn't understand how the boyars could allow a move like this. But as he scanned the room, he saw they would. The comfort of their fine houses and rich lives were more important than taking a stand. Even if it meant Ivan could come for them at any time, on any charge.
Ivan's announcement simply meant he'd given up hiding his ravenous whims any longer. His nobles would fall into line, or suffered the consequences.
Ivan raised his hands for silence. “You all have a lot to say about this.” He smirked at the crowd. “Does anyone wish to voice objections?” Silence answered him. Those who voiced objections to Ivan’s actions in open court tended to lose limbs shortly thereafter. “Good.” Ivan smiled again; a smile that lessened a man’s heart. “We are commissioning a new military force. They will be called the Oprichniki. They will answer directly to ourselves, and their main purpose will be to root out traitors and dispose of them.”
Silence, heavy with fear, followed as people considered the implications of this announcement. Taras wasn’t sure what it meant. A new military force? What form would it take? Who would lead it? How, exactly, would it dispose of traitors? Would he and Nikolai be required to participate? He doubted the answers would be pleasant. Or fair.
“Our loyal servant, Aleksey Tarasov will command the Oprichniki. His son, Sergei, will serve as field commander. Unless any of you receive contradictory orders directly from our person, you will obey their every command, for they will speak our wishes concerning the Oprichniki.”
A stone dropped from Taras’s chest to his stomach. There it was. The reason Sergei strutted like a peacock and brazenly attacked Inga. He'd been given command of an elite force whose main purpose likely included murder, rape, and plunder. Nikolai had been right: if Taras had killed Sergei this afternoon, he would have faced execution, probably this very night.
An image of Sergei stabbing a woman Taras tried to protect in Kazan flashed through his head. Sergei, so covered in blood, it even matted his hair and stained the fronts of his teeth. Panic replaced dread as Taras considered the implications. After everything, Ivan gave hell and its demons free reign in Russia. Worse, the Tsar himself led the charge.
Taras glanced at Nikolai, who looked as worried as he felt.
“Is there anything else the court needs to discuss?” Ivan asked in a sickly-sweet sneer as soon as the room quieted again.
“M-m-my Lord T-tsar?” The words came from a clerk who often asked Ivan about monetary things—funds for meals, transportation of goods or prisoners, things of that nature. Taras didn’t know his name. The clerk trembled under Ivan’s indignant glare. “F-f-forgive me. Th-there is s-still the p-problem of the T-tatar prisoners—”
“You mean the ones who still refuse to convert?!” Ivan practically screamed. “Why haven’t they been executed yet?”
“F-forgive me, L-lord Tsar. Y-you have yet to...g-give the order.”
“Very well. We order it. They shall be executed in Red Square three days hence.”
Taras shut his eyes, letting out his breath and hanging his head. Three days? Ivan decreed execution for any prisoners that wouldn’t convert back when he announced his war on Livonia, but nothing came of it. Taras kept an eye on the subject, praying the idea of execution would eventually be forgotten. What could he do for Almas in three days?
“Any other business?” Ivan snapped, his tone assuring the room that any more business would displease him. Silence answered.
Taras tried to work moisture back into his mouth. Ivan had everyone exactly where he wanted them: too afraid to oppose him, at a loss of what to do. Ivan tugged them all toward darkness, with what felt like a long way to go. Taras didn’t want to know what lurked farther down.
“Good,” the Tsar said when no one answered. The meeting adjourned. Not truly a meeting, of course. Not a place of discussion and decision. Rather a pronouncement of judgment and intention. Ivan only heard his own voice these days.
