Darker Jewels by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Author:Chelsea Quinn Yarbro [Yarbro, Chelsea Quinn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hewlett-Packard
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

For the fourth time in a week, Father Pogner had been refused access to the Terem Palace; Czar Feodor Ivanovich did not wish to see him, or to speak with any of his priests. The old Jesuit fumed as he trod gingerly along die rutted, icy roads toward the Savior Gate, heaping abuse on his companion’s head because he

could not upbraid the boyars or the Czar for his embarrassment.

It had snowed the night before, then the morning sun had warmed enough to melt the snow for a few hours, but now, as high streamers of clouds raced along the sky, what had been snow became ice, dark as mud, treacherous.

Father Kovnovski trudged along beside Father Pogner, the short wolf-fur cape of his kontush turned up to protect his head from the icy wind slicing through Moscovy. “Truly, Father Pogner,” he said in his best mollifying manner, “these Russians are nothing more than barbarians. No proper ruler would treat the head of an embassy so disgracefully.”

“That Godunov is despicable! Telling me that he would deal through Rakoczy! Rakoczy! The man is a Russian puppet now, if he ever was anything more. And Godunov supposes that we do not know this. He pretends concern for Poland at the same time he foists Rakoczy on us!” He lowered his voice when he realized he had been attracting unwelcome attention; as an added precaution he switched from Polish to Latin. “What arrogant fools they are!”

“Truly, Father, they do not know your mettle,” said Father Kovnovski, his eyes lowered. He hated these times with Father Pogner but endured them, convinced that they would lead to favor and advancement when they returned to Poland.

“No, they do not,” Father Pogner agreed grimly. “How dare they place Rakoczy above us. It is the greatest insult of all.” He peered into the wind and gestured angry satisfaction. “In another week we will be trapped here for another winter.”

“King Istvan has not recalled us, in any case,” said Father Kovnovski, his manner more deprecating than before. “Until he does, we must strive to fulfill his mandate, for the victory of Poland and the glory of God.”

Father Pogner squinted up at the gold and silver onion domes visible over the wooden roofs of the palace of Vasilli Shuisky. “Yes,” he said, drawing out the word. “These Russians and their infernal Church! They call themselves the Third Rome. Hah!” He rounded on Father Kovnovski, his irritation exacerbated by Father Kovnovski’s conciliating manner. “Do not try to defend them, Father; they are condemned already by God.”

“It is their ignorance,” said Father Kovnovski, not exactly apologizing, but softening the appearance of the insult.

They passed the gateway into the courtyard of the Shuisky palace; Father Pogner shook his head in condemnation. “They are deceitful and malign, all of them.”

“They listen to their priests, who are misled,” said Father Kov- novski. “They follow teachings that are in error.”

“And their Princes,” added Father Pogner as he glared back at the Shuisky palace. “Imperious, egregious miscreants, every one. May God send confusion to all of them.

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