“Try, Ivan,” Halya pleaded as she parted her legs, welcoming him to her. Silently she reprimanded herself for the charade she was acting. Halya tried desperately to convince herself she might one day love Ivan and forget Kostya.
In desperation, Ivan strained every part of his being to produce the taut muscles necessary to satisfy her. At Halya’s scream of despair, Ivan fell back in resignation, ignoring the princess, totally absorbed in his own despair.
Halya lay back on the bed, her eyes closed to prevent the threatened tears from spilling down her cheeks. Was this going to be her life from now on? God, help me, she prayed silently.
* * *
Though it was early when Halya woke, her eyes searched every corner of the room for Ivan. When she was satisfied that he was not there, she slid from the bed and quickly dressed to return to her own quarters. She needed a warm bath to help her forget the previous hours.
Halya placed her hand on the doorknob, but was unexpectedly thrown off balance with the Czar’s entrance into the room.
“I want to commend you on your . . . your performance last evening. You were exquisite! I do try to please you, Halya, I think you know that,” he said, his voice a soothing melody.
“Yes, Ivan, I know you try, and I understand you have many tragedies in your life,” she said quietly. As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. “Ivan, I . . . I’m sorry—”
Obscene expletives flew from the Czar’s mouth. His aging, aristocratic face turned purple with rage. “You were told never to refer to my past!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You are here for one purpose and one purpose only—to brighten my life and make me happy. Get down on your knees and beg me to forgive you!”
Halya did as ordered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please, I beg of you, forgive me,” she pleaded.
“Very well, I forgive you, this time,” he said, his rage forgotten. “Come near me, let me hold you for a moment.” Halya nestled nervously in his arms. “Let me kiss the lips that drove me to the heights of desire last evening.”
Suddenly he thrust her from his arms and looked directly into her green eyes. “I have something to tell you, something that will make you happy.”
Moving to the edge of the bed, Ivan motioned Halya to sit beside him. The stale scent of the past hours lingered in the air as he clasped her soft hands in his tight grip. “I am so pleased with you that I have decided to make you my next wife. You soothe me and at the same time you excite me.” Gently, he cupped her chin in his hand and stared deeply into her eyes. “Does my offer make you happy, Halya?”
Her stomach lurched at his words. Forcing a smile, the princess spoke enthusiastically for his benefit. “Yes, Ivan, it makes me most happy.” Halya knew she would do anything that would enable her to sit beside him on the throne of Russia, even if it meant acting out the sexual fantasies he demanded. Her eyes closed momentarily when she realized that, as Ivan’s Czarina, her name would become as famous as his, and perhaps her one true love from childhood would seek her out when her whereabouts became known—unless he was dead, as she feared.
“Now I must tell you of my other plans,” he said coolly, his mood changing once again. “I have a mission to be filled and I need a man with knowledge of horses, an equerry. Soon the Don Cossacks will be bringing their herds to the steppe and readying them for sale. Each year in the spring I send an emissary to pick the best of the Cosars for my Oprichniks. This year I have decided my equerry will be your brother, Yuri. Even now he is beginning his preparations for the journey, and tomorrow he will leave for Volin.”
“Volin! My brother! What are you telling me?” Halya asked fearfully. “Ivan, my brother is too young to be sent on a mission. He just passed his eighteenth birthday and only trained in the Kadets for a year. Just this past month, he entered the Zemsky Sobor, and you know he has another year to complete his apprenticeship for the assembly,” she said tearfully, her eyes wide and full of apprehension.
“I am aware of his apprenticeship, and I considered it carefully before I reached my final decision.”
“But, Ivan, he’s just a boy,” Halya continued to plead.
“Enough! I will say the following to you and then the discussion is closed. When I was three, I became Czar; when I was sixteen, I was married; and at twenty I led my armies in two battles. Don’t speak to me of an eighteen-year-old being a boy. He’s a man, and if he isn’t one now he will be when he returns. I chose him because of his knowledge of horses, the same knowledge you yourself possess. You were the one who informed me of your family’s equestrian background. You told me once that you and your brother could ride a horse before you could walk a straight line. So you see, Halya, he is the man for my mission. The matter is ended.”
Her anger in check, Halya rose from the bed and quickly strode toward the door. As she walked on lagging feet back to her bedchamber, her mind raced. Why was the Czar sending Yuri to Volin? Certainly not for the reason he stated.
Once inside her room with her bath prepared, Halya slid into the warm wetness and allowed the water to calm her shattered nerves. How unfair it is, she thought sadly. Yuri is still a boy, and when he’s gone I’ll have no one except Ivan. Her full lower lip trembled and tears gathered in her moss-green eyes at what she considered her unjust life. Was it only three years ago that she had been brought to the palace to become Ivan’s fourth wife? It seemed like an eternity ago that the missive reached her parents in Moldavia informing them that Czar Ivan wished the Princess Halya to be presented to him with the intention of making her his wife. “God help me,” she moaned softly as her mind reeled back in time.
* * *
Within days after the message was received, her trunks and Yuri’s were packed and they were sent by coach to Moscow, she to become Ivan’s wife and Yuri to become a Kadet.
The driver of the three-horse sleigh had carefully reined in the animals as he maneuvered the sleigh through the maze of streets lined with log houses that encompassed the Wooden City, so named because of its principal building material.
“Has anyone told you of Kitai Gorod?” the driver asked, amused at the pair as they stared in awe at their surroundings.
“We’re new to Moscow,” Halya had said hesitantly. “What is Kitai Gorod?”
“It is the third city within Moscow and so called because the people who live here fill their kitais with earth, piling the one on top of the other against the walls to stave off attacks from invaders.”
“I want to see the palaces where the nobles and the Czar live!” Yuri had cried out in boyish excitement.
“First we have to travel through Red Square. Once we travel through Spassky Gate we will be in the Kremlin. To your left is Czar Ivan’s home, the Terem Palace. To your right are the chasovnyas, the private chapels of the influential citizens of Moscow. The structure you see being worked on is St. Basil’s, the Czar ordered it built to commemorate his victory over the Tatars. Your tour is over. Wait on the stairwell and servants will take you to the Czar.”
* * *
Was it only three years ago when she and Yuri stood on the stairwell waiting for Ivan’s servants?
Yuri had succeeded in becoming a soldier. But instead of becoming the Czar’s wife, she had become his mistress.
Aware once more of her surroundings, Halya stepped from her bath into the robe her maid held out for her.
“Fetch my clothes and dress my hair, quickly now, for I have little patience this day. I want to spend as much time with my brother as possible,” she explained to the fearful servant.
The girl, near tears, worked in quiet desperation, knowing the princess would show no mercy when it came to anyone save the Czar and her brother.
The maid stood back respectfully, hoping for a quiet word of approval.
“It took you long enough,” Halya said furiously. “If you’re finished, why do you stand there? Leave me!”
When the door had closed behind the trembling girl, Halya examined herself
in the mirror, pleased with her appearance except for the hateful expression on her face. Studying herself, she realized her callous behavior toward the maid was meant for Ivan. God, how she detested him for what he was doing to her brother. Forcing a smile to her lips, however, she flounced from the room to console Yuri and wish him a safe and speedy return.
Halya walked through the halls and archways and down the stairways that led from the Terem Palace to the building where men of the Zemsky Sobor were quartered.
Thrusting open the door of Yuri’s room, she threw herself into his arms. “Yuri, tell me it isn’t true, tell me you aren’t going to Volin. Did you do something? Is the Czar banishing you? If you did something wrong, perhaps I can help you,” she pleaded desperately.
“Halya, calm yourself. It is not a punishment. The trip to Volin could well be the greatest opportunity of my career. Don’t you understand, Halya, the Czar chose me to represent him, his own emissary, to the Cossacks. I’m to have the privilege of handpicking the horses from the Cosars! It’s an honor, Halya, and one I am proud of,” he said excitedly, his handsome face beaming. “Be proud of me. Of all the men he could have chosen, he selected me.” Enthusiasm burst from his whole being, culminating in his handsome face, his grin emphasizing the deep cleft in his chin.
Halya was shocked at his words. Indebted to the Czar for sending him on a mission that could be extremely dangerous! She must get through to him and make him understand how dangerous and unpredictable the Cossacks were.
“If I do all that is asked, this could be the beginning of a great career for me. Both of us should be pleased that the Czar chose me. Halya, do you see . . . ?”
“Yuri, stop it. He’s using you. Ivan never does anything without some insane reason behind it. Why can’t I make you see? There are older, more responsible men than you, and far more capable of handling this mission, and that is what concerns me. Why is he sending a boy to do a man’s mission?”
“Are you saying you have no faith in me?” Yuri asked angrily.
“It’s Ivan I have no faith in. I know you will do well and I wish you well. It’s just that I feel so protective toward you and I want nothing to go wrong. You’re all I have and I don’t want to lose you,” she cried tearfully.
“You won’t lose me, Halya. When my mission is completed I think we should ask permission to travel to Moldavia to see our parents. Would you like that?” he asked, hoping to divert her from her unhappy thoughts.
“Of course I would, and I’ll look forward to it. Godspeed, Yuri.”
“I leave at dawn, Halya, so let this be our temporary farewell. I want you to spend your time thinking about how happy our parents will be to see us. Promise me, Halya, that you will not worry about me, for if you do, then I will not be able to function with a clear head.”
“You have my promise,” his sister said, throwing her arms around Yuri and smothering him with wet kisses.
As she ran to her room she cried over and over, “If it’s the last thing I do, if it takes my last breath, you’ll pay dearly, Ivan, for what you’re doing to my brother. Yuri is all I have and you’re taking him away from me, just as I was taken from my one true love to be brought here to be your mistress.”
Inside her room, with the door bolted, she threw herself on the bed and cried brokenheartedly. Later, when she dried her tears, her face was cool and composed. Looking in the mirror, Halya spoke slowly and distinctly. “If anything happens to Yuri, I will kill you without a second thought!”
Chapter 3
Katerina lay in the middle of the fluffy pedina and delighted in the warmth the goose-down quilt exuded. Warmth, precious warmth. “God, I thought I would never be warm again,” she sighed. For now, she had the comfort of the soft quilt, her home, and the fire burning in the oven. She felt safe and protected with the devoted Prokopoviches, Stepan’s parents. This was what she wanted, and what she needed, this secure feeling. Here in her own bed, the Mongol couldn’t reach her. All he could do was invade her mind. In her bed, in her house, he couldn’t reach out his long arms and touch her, nor threaten her as he had on the steppes.
She was fully awake, but she stayed beneath the pedina, unable to leave its warmth, as she remembered the last two days and that cold night. Katerina let her arms creep above the cover, and at the first touch of the chill air against her bare flesh, she quickly snuggled down into the depths of the soft comforter.
Her hazel eyes focused on a closed shutter where light was seeping through a crack. Her thoughts began to drift, and the Mongol again began to take them over. Katerina fought him, pushed him away as she had in the snow. “I won’t allow you to . . . I won’t let this happen. I’ll think of other things, things that please me and make me happy. I’ll think of the steppe when I was a little girl, and my father. My father and me . . .” It was working. For now, she was a five-year-old running through the high grass of the plain. She saw herself playing in the fields of flowers that grew there: pale blue, indigo, and lilac cornflowers, the yellow broom and the white meadowsweet. Millions of blossoms that turned the vast expanse into a shimmering, waving ocean of breathtaking color. In her mind, she became a bird taking wing, soaring to the heavens and looking down from the sky, reveling in what God had created.
Not until she was full grown and seated upon her horse was she able to see the great distances the grasslands covered. Every Cossack on the steppe knew the flower stalks grew taller than any child and the high grasses could swallow up a man on his horse so he became invisible to the naked eye.
As a child, Katerina loved playing in the fields. Vague images of her mother looking for her as she hid came floating back. Hard as she tried, she could not see her mother’s face. If only she were alive. But she had been killed by invading Poles soon after Katerina’s fifth birthday. They had cut down her mother and older brother as if they were sheaves of wheat. If they were alive, they would be with her in the mountains and she would be . . . safe. Just the thought of that word, and the Mongol wove his way vividly into her mind. Katerina shook her head fitfully to clear his hateful face from her tortured mind. Her eyes drifted to the wooden icon hanging on the rough plank wall. She prayed silently, the familiar words giving her some small measure of comfort.
You must get up, an inner voice whispered. You’ve got to keep busy. You must work so there is no time to think. And when your body cries out for rest, then you will sleep. In sleep, you’ll be able to forget.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Katerina slipped from the cozy bed and dressed hurriedly. She splashed water on her face from the wooden bowl that Stepan had placed near the hearth and felt ready to confront whatever the day would bring. Woolen underclothing, a wide-sleeved Cossack blouse, snug-fitting trousers, and fleece-lined boots would keep her warm, yet would not hamper her while she worked. Satisfied with her appearance, Katerina left the crackling fire and started the short walk to the Prokopoviches’ house.
Stepan waited impatiently, his round blue eyes full of concern. Katerina was late. Breakfast, always served at the first sign of dawn, had been over two hours ago. His round, childish face puckered up in thought. Should he go after her and make sure she was all right?
He turned to his mother, who was standing near the oven, and waved his arms in agitation.
Olga Prokopovich placed the ladle she held in a heavy wooden bowl and looked fondly at her son. She shook her head, jostling a strand of dark hair loose from under her kokoshnik. “She’s tired, Stepan. She’s probably still sleeping.” Olga laid her head in the crook of her arm and closed her eyes, demonstrating, so the boy would understand. She laid a plump hand on his muscular arm and looked up at Stepan with twinkling blue eyes. “Put the bowl and the cup on the table for Katerina,” she said, hoping to take his mind off the time. Stepan nodded happily. Olga’s glance met her husband’s, and they smiled. How they loved this man-child. In their opinion he was as strong as any Cossack fighter. He was their son and they loved him unashamedly.
A cold
draft of air swirled and eddied about as Katerina entered the room, stamping the snow from her boots. “I know I’m late, but Stepan’s fire was so warm I couldn’t bear to leave my bed,” she said, as she tousled the boy’s fair hair. She turned to Olga. “Today was my one day of luxury. From now on I’ll be here on time for breakfast.”
The older woman nodded and smiled as she looked into the girl’s amber eyes. Where was the sparkle, where was the merriment that was always there? Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at Ostap to see if he, too, had noticed. Her husband was lighting his short Cossack pipe, the fragrant cloud of blue-gray smoke swirling around him. Only to Olga was his sharp gaze apparent.
His pipe going to his satisfaction, Ostap pulled on his sheepskin coat and buttoned it to the neck. “I’ll leave you women to your talk”—he grinned—“and see to my other women. The ones that don’t answer back and complain when there’s no fresh-cut firewood.”
Olga clasped his round, ruddy face in her plump hands and kissed him resoundingly. “Go then to your horses and see if they can keep you warm, and before dinnertime you’ll be back and in our bed, looking for me to cuddle you.” She laughed, her body shaking in delight.
Ostap grinned and winked at Katerina. His expression clearly stated, Women!
Olga ran her hands over her slate-gray kirtle and offered Katerina a cup of tea. Stepan set a bowl of steaming porridge in front of her and made a motion for his friend to eat.
She laughed. “After two days of nothing but black bread, this is going to taste like caviar.”
“Each morning until your father and the others return you will breakfast with us,” the old woman said matter-of-factly.
Katerina smiled. “I was hoping you would ask me.”
When the simple meal was over, Katerina motioned for Stepan to sit next to her. “There is much that has to be done, and we’re going to work long and hard to prepare for my father’s return. We will both be so tired at the end of the day your mother will have to feed us with a spoon.”
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