Chapter 14
Moscow, March 1547
When the group arrived in Moscow, the first signs of spring peeked out from the winter landscape. Small tufts of grass poked up through the snow and buds appeared on the trees. The market place already thronged with merchants selling their wares. The bustling streets were completely devoid of snow, having been stamped down by people, horses, and carts that were fast replacing sledges for the year.
The group split up when they reached the city. The Tatars would go to the market to sell their goods. The Khan didn’t stop for anyone; he disappeared toward the Kremlin Wall without a backward glance. Taras bid farewell to Almas.
“May we meet again, my friend,” Almas said, extending his hand.
“I hope so.” Taras clasped arms with the other man, and Almas turned to follow his fellow merchants.
Taras led Jasper through the streets for several hours. He tried to dredge up memories of his time here as a boy. In truth, his parents never allowed him to roam the streets, so the city held little for him. He remembered going to the market a few times with his mother, but he'd always found it cold and wet, and been relieved to get back to the palace.
Taras wanted to reacquaint himself with the city, so he wound his way around, getting to know it.
The city rose around the palace, which sat inside the Kremlin Wall. Outside the wall, merchants set up their booths and hawked their goods in Red Square. The Square also served as the site of executions, or the rare public appearances of the tsar.
From there, the city spiraled outward toward less densely populated areas. Beyond Red Square were Kitay, Gorod, and Varyarka streets. The tsar owned most of the land, much of which housed tradesmen, boilermakers, butchers, the bell ringers, and the gun foundry. The tsar’s gardens and game preserve stretched to the east; his orchards reached to the south. Still farther to the south, a Tatar settlement hunched. West of the orchards sat the tsar’s stables and horsemen. North of them, the tsar’s dogs and falcons were kept. Still farther north the clangs of sword smiths and armories were heard, rather than seen.
Mansions dotted the rest of the land near the city, owned by nobles and wealthy merchants. Beyond them, streets and squares gave way to farmland worked by peasantry. The great Moskva River ran through it all, at once dividing and unifying the city.
When he ran out of places to explore, Taras turned toward the Kremlin. His stomach fluttered. He had no idea what kind of reception to expect in the palace, and the sight of the bleak, mountainous wall surrounding it made him uneasy. Taras remembered being intimidated by it as a boy; now it had changed into worry. Having lived in Moscow before, he ought to know the function of the wall, but he didn’t. Horrific fantasies of not being able to get out once he’d gone in filled his mind. He pushed them away.
When he stood at the open gate, he took a deep breath. He let his horse walk slowly inside, not in any hurry to present himself. Several palaces, and more than one cathedral populated the grounds. The largest and most grandiose building was the Terem Palace, where the tsar resided. A long building, full of windows, it included several wings and multiple levels. At each end sat a church. The one on the west end was attached, while the one on the east stood a little apart.
The courtyard bustled with people, but Taras was noticed immediately. A rotund man—a clerk by his garb—approached. Taras’s father spoke often of the clerks. They handled the paperwork of the palace. It left them with a great deal of power. Even boyars could live or die by a clerk’s quill. They were indispensable, and they knew it.
“May I help you, my Lord?” He stood a few inches taller than Taras, with a large gut and only small tufts of gray-peppered hair that stuck straight out over his ears.
Taras dismounted to introduce himself. “My name is Taras Demidov. My father was an advisor to Grand Prince Vasily III and I—"
The clerk put up a hand to silence Taras. “What was your father’s name?”
“Nicholas Demidov.”
“And I suppose you want to be presented to the tsar?”
“I would, my lord.”
“Don’t call me ‘my lord.’ You are the son of a boyar, and therefore of a higher standing than I.”
Taras raised an eyebrow at the man’s bluntness, but the clerk had already moved on to other concerns.
“All right,” was all Taras could think to say.
“My lord, the tsar receives people in the morning, so I shall have to put you in guest quarters for the night. If my lord would wait here, it might take some time to put a room together.”
“I can wait.”
The clerk walked to Taras’s horse, looking around. “Does my lord have any . . . other possessions?”
“Only my horse and what’s in my saddle bags.”
The man’s mouth tightened in disapproval. “I see.”
An hour later, a groom had taken Jasper to the stables, and Taras, his saddlebags slung over his shoulder, followed the clerk through the palace’s vast corridors. The palace seemed larger than he remembered. The corridors were three times the size of the ones at his country estate in England. Thick, colorful carpets lay upon the floors. The walls were decorated ornate tapestries, and every table and window ledge held some piece of pottery or sculpture.
“My lord must excuse the crudeness of the rooms,” the clerk said. “There are no bed linens yet, but the servants will bring them soon. You must understand, my lord, it is spring and the entire castle is bustling.”
“I can see that.” He could, indeed. All kinds of people hurried through the halls: servants, merchants, nobles, boyars, grooms, tradesmen, and dozens more. “It seems as if you are celebrating.”
“And why not, my lord? The grand prince is now the tsar. He has married the beautiful Anastasia and is in good spirits. When the tsar is in good spirits, all of Russia is the same.”
They came to a large wooden door—one of many identical ones lining this corridor. The clerk opened and held it for Taras. Taras entered, and nearly gaped. The room was huge. Not room—rooms. He stood in a sitting room. Several comfortable-looking chairs surrounded a large fireplace. A bottle of vodka and several goblets stood on a nearby table. The adjoining room held a bed, washstand, and chest of drawers. A freestanding wardrobe sat on the far side, and another, smaller fireplace as well.
Taras walked to the windows. His view mostly comprised the inside of the Kremlin Wall, but it faced south and he could see the tops of the orchards across the river. Beyond that, the skyline stretched for miles.
“Are the rooms to my lord’s liking?”
Taras barely contained a laugh. “They’re . . . extremely grand.”
The clerk frowned.
“I didn’t expect so much space,” Taras said quickly.
The clerk gave Taras a long-suffering smile. “You will be presented to the first tsar of Russia tomorrow. He will decide how important you are. Until then, it is my job to make sure you are well taken care of.”
Taras nodded. “The answer is yes. The rooms are very much to my liking.”
The clerk nodded as though he'd expected no less. “Very good, my lord. You will have a servant to assist you with anything you need. Although, due to the aforementioned bustle, it may be a few hours before he arrives.”
Taras put his hands up. “There’s no rush. I won’t be needing much tonight, anyway. I am tired from travel, and will probably retire after dinner.”
The clerk studied him. “I suppose that will work for tonight.”
Taras raised an eyebrow. “But not on other nights?”
“The tsar welcomes the Khan of Kosimov today, my lord. Tomorrow night, there will be a feast in his honor. All guests of the tsar are expected to attend.”
Taras's stomach clenched. “A feast?”
“Yes, my lord.” The clerk glanced pointedly at Taras’s saddlebags. “Does my lord have the proper apparel?”
Taras followed the man’s gaze, then shook his head slowly. “Only travel-wear.”
The clerk smiled his long-suffering smile again. “I will send the tailor tonight, so my lord may be ready for tomorrow.”
“I have little money to pay for such extravagances.”
The clerk shook his head. “It’s of no consequence. As a guest of the tsar, you will get what you need, no matter the cost. The rest will work itself out.” Before Taras could reply, the man turned to go. “I have much to do, so if my lord would excuse me.” He paused at the door. “Will my lord be needing anything else immediately?”
Taras smiled. “How about something to call you?”
“I am called Boris, but I don’t think you’ll have need to speak with me again. Your personal attendant will be here soon. If my lord needs anything in the meantime, step out into the corridor and flag down one of the servants. There are more running the halls than I can count.”
Taras nodded and the clerk disappeared into the corridor.