The Legacy of the Wandering Harlot by Lorentz Iny

Author:Lorentz, Iny
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

3.

The large square between the palace and the stables was brightly lit by torches. Duchess Anastasia was sitting on one of the two armchairs at the edge of a marked circle, wearing a dark red sarafan and a woolen cape to protect herself from the cold dampness of the night. The second chair was empty.

Dimitri’s guards directed Marie and Gelja to a group of maids standing huddled together, looking as terrified as if they were about to share Darja’s fate. Many of them scowled at Marie, but no one said a word against her. Even if the Russian women didn’t like her because they thought she was a heretic, they shuddered at the thought of Darja’s deed. Had she succeeded, the duke’s wrath would have struck all the maids in the terem, and he would have been capable of killing every one of them. For that reason, they were even a little grateful to the foreign woman for preventing the murder of the child, but none of them would have admitted that.

Instead, one of the older maids scolded Marie. “Why didn’t you just stab Darja? It would’ve been much kinder.”

She didn’t have time to reply, as Anastasia had spotted her and waved her over. She ordered her to stand next to the old herb woman, who was on the duchess’s left and looked like she badly needed the sleep the duke’s order prevented her from having. Standing behind her was Andrej, who towered over Vassilissa by more than a head, and next to him, almost behind Anastasia’s chair, stood the priest.

From where she was standing now, Marie had no possibility of hiding behind other spectators or averting her eyes without attracting attention, especially since Anastasia kept looking at her, as if trying to test her steadfastness or her bad conscience. Therefore, Marie fixed her gaze on the spot where Dimitri’s Tatars had gathered. There were about twenty of them, grinning with anticipation and laughing out loud from time to time. They were passing a jug of wine around and watched the opening of one of the kegs of brandy that Lawrenti’s friend Anatoli had brought back from Novgorod. A servant poured its contents into large cups and handed them to the steppe warriors. While the Tatars drank, they began to roll the dice, acting like happy children. Cheerful shouts rang out when one of them won, while the losers moaned with disappointment. Nothing in this peaceful scene pointed to the fact that these men would soon carry out a death penalty.

“Typical of our duke,” Vassilissa mumbled. “Leaving us to wait around in the cold, while he’s amusing himself. We’ll be frozen solid before he’s finished screwing that woman.”

Luckily for the herb woman, no one was standing close enough to hear her words, except for Marie, who silently agreed with the old woman. The lord of Worosansk really seemed to be thinking only of satisfying his needs, as he was a long time coming. Judging by the moon, it was long past midnight when he finally arrived in the courtyard.

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