by Ann Swinfen
‘A’nt you going to ask him what they done to him?’ Thomas said to me while he was gone.
‘I can see for myself,’ I said. ‘That look in his eye? He’s been tortured. Though thank God they had no torture instruments in that house. Still, there are other ways.’
He looked at me curiously. ‘How do you know?’
‘Experience,’ I said, in a tone that brooked no further discussion.
When Gregory returned, he was somewhat oddly clad, but he no longer looked like a heap of rags dragged from the gutter. We mounted and went on our way.
The miles and days rolled behind us, still without sight of our pursuers, although we knew that they were there, biding their time. At night we slept under the trees, away from the road. It was then, in sleep, that Gregory’s iron control gave way. He cried out, shrieked in pain, swore over and over that he would not speak. In the morning it was clear that he remembered nothing. We none of us mentioned what we had heard, although our own sleep had been broken and fearful.
The road was quite busy now, so the men following us would probably prefer a quieter spot to overtake us. We discussed turning off the main road north and trying to find our way along the minor tracks that led from village to village, but decided it would only lose us time and offer greater opportunity for attack. If we were to be attacked, better here on the open road.
We crossed the river junction by ferry again, and headed up the west side of the Moskva, eventually, to our great relief, reaching the post station in the large merchants’ town where we had left the Company horses on the first day of our road south. We had decided to spend the night at the inn there, one of the few real inns to be found in Muscovy, and cover the final leg of the journey to Moscow the next day. As Pyotr sought the innkeeper to order a meal for us, Thomas, Gregory and I found a table in the crowded parlour. This was a busy trading station and we had passed a large market selling goods of every kind when we arrived.
‘Dr Alvarez! Thomas!’ A voice shouted from behind me.
I twisted round, then stood to see who could have recognised us. I was reluctant to move, for the long, hard riding had left me saddle-sore.
‘Robert!’
It was Robert Farindon, sitting at a large table with a group of Muscovite merchants. He spoke to them, then rose, carrying his drinking cup, and came over to us.
‘So, you have made it safely back from the south,’ he said, pulling up a stool to our table. ‘Is this . . .?’
I introduced Gregory and the two men bowed as Pyotr rejoined us.
Robert shook his head, seemingly in amazement. ‘I thought you were on a fool’s errand. After all this time, Master Rocksley, we had despaired of you.’
He reached out to pat Gregory’s arm, as though he could not quite believe in his reality.
‘Are you well? Have you been . . . are you recovered?’
‘I am recovered,’ Gregory said, ‘I thank you.’
But that bleak look came into his eyes again. I shook my head slightly at Robert, who understood, and asked no more questions about what had happened to Gregory while he had been missing. Instead, Pyotr and Thomas regaled him with the story of our raid on the country house belonging to Godunov, and our flight north. Gregory and I said little, but ate the food the servant placed before us. I was hardly aware of what I was putting in my mouth.
I was conscious that there was something in Robert’s manner that troubled me, something amiss, but was forced to wait until the meal was finished, when Robert asked if he might have a word with me. One fortunate aspect of being a physician is that when someone asks for a private word, everyone assumes that it is a personal medical matter, and shows no surprise. Robert and I strolled out of the inn and down toward the river, where a cluster of boats and barges was tied up at the wharf.
‘You keep looking over your shoulder,’ he said.
‘Do I? We are certain that the men who pursued us to Godunov’s house are still following us. I am surprised they have not acted before now. It would not have been difficult to overtake us. Hard as we rode, there was a point beyond which we could not try Gregory’s strength. He is gradually recovering, but he was very frail when we found him.’
‘Had he been tortured?
‘Aye, I am sure of it, but I have not questioned him.’
‘It is common practice in this place,’ Robert said. ‘I know we are far from blameless at home, but we generally have some grounds for such action. Here, they will seize a foreigner quite at random and apply torture, purely as a part of some political negotiation. Mark you, whole villages and towns of their own people can be wiped out at the whim of a Tsar.’
‘Was there something you wanted to tell me, Robert?’ I was very tired, and hoped he would get to the point.
‘I want to ask you something first. Has Rocksley told you what he discovered that sent him haring away to the south?’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t know the state he was in when we found him. And since, we have been travelling so hard, there has been hardly time to think of anything else. I thought it best to leave all until we reached Moscow and could discuss it with Master Holme.’
‘Then I need to tell you something as well as ask.’
He passed his hand over his face. It had been dark and smoky in the inn. Out here, in the spring twilight, I was suddenly aware of the strain in his eyes.
‘Word has somehow reached the Kremlin,’ he said, ‘that Rocksley is released and is privy to some damaging information. Perhaps those men are not behind you but before, having overtaken you somewhere on the journey.’
I stared at him, startled.
‘How do you know this? And so you knew we had found Rocksley?’
‘We have our own people who are our eyes and ears in the Kremlin. So,’ he said, ‘it would be very dangerous for Rocksley to come to Moscow. He would be arrested the moment he entered the city. I was not at this inn entirely by chance.’
‘What should we do, then? I think Master Holme should be informed.’
‘We hoped you would make a stop here. I have been visiting regularly, using trade with the local merchants as my reason for coming. I will return to Moscow tomorrow to inform Master Holme that you have all four arrived. I am sure you will be safe here for the moment, though I would not stray far from the inn. The danger waits in Moscow. Get Rocksley to write a report of all he knows, for Master Holme. I’ll return the day after tomorrow with instructions for what you should do.’
I agreed, and later that evening told the others of Robert’s warning.
‘Though I am uncertain which way we should travel,’ I said.
‘Clearly we will need to avoid Moscow,’ Pyotr said, ‘and make straight for Yaroslavl.’
I nodded. ‘And we will see what instructions Robert brings from Master Holme.’ I was glad to be able to shift the burden of decision on to someone else’s shoulders.
‘Robert has left us a supply of paper, ink, and quills,’ I added, holding them out to Gregory. ‘Do you feel able to write a report of your findings?’
I had already told him that the despatches he had intended for the Muscovy Company last year had been stolen.
‘I will start on it now,’ he said, taking the paper from me and pulling a stool over to the deep window sill to serve as a desk. We had a room to ourselves, the four of us, while Robert had gone for the night to stay with a Company man, whose house, unfortunately, was too small to accommodate all of us, for it would have been safer.
‘No need to do it now,’ I said. ‘You will have the whole day tomorrow.’
‘I would rather begin now. It is time it is all written down, lest something should happen.’
Lest he should be killed, he meant.
He lit a candle and set it on the window sill, for it was growing dark.
I prised off my boots and wriggled my toes. I suspected my feet had begun to stink almost as much as Gregory had done when we found him. I flung myself down on the bed, which was the usual narrow she
lf attached to the wall, and turned my back on the light. And fell asleep at once.
Several times during the night I woke, for sooner or later a hip or a shoulder would protest at the hardness of those shelves. Every time I woke, I saw that the candle, or another, was still burning, and Gregory was still writing.
Robert returned in the morning of the second day, accompanied by two grooms, each leading an extra horse. He came to our room, so that we could talk in private, and Gregory handed him a thick packet of paper. Robert tucked it into the breast of his doublet.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘Master Holme warns that you should not come to Moscow, any of you. As I told you before, Gregory is certain to be arrested, and as the rest of you are implicated in removing him from the custody of Godunov’s household, you are likely to be arrested too, especially as you killed one of his retainers.’
‘That was in self defence,’ Thomas protested.
Robert shrugged. ‘That will carry little weight. I am afraid you will need to go with the others to St Nicholas, Thomas, and return to London. I am sure the Company will be able to allocate you to other duties there.’
Thomas shrugged. ‘I’ll be glad to go. Seen enough of this b’yer lady country to last a lifetime.’
‘Good. Now, Master Holme has made some funds available.’ Robert unfastened a heavy purse from his belt and handed it to me. ‘The Company does not want you to go short, after such unflinching service. It is good to know that it was not one of our former employees who was the traitor, but someone altogether more dangerous.’
He glanced around nervously, suddenly remembering that not all walls are a protection against spying eyes and ears.
‘I have checked,’ I said, to reassure him. ‘We cannot be overheard here.’
He nodded. ‘You are to skirt round to the west of Moscow. I will ride the first part of the way with you. I have brought Company horses for you, so you are to proceed at a reasonable pace, not changing horses, avoiding the post stations. It is possible that word of your movements up from the south was passed on from the post stations. Once I have set you on the alternative way, you can continue to Yaroslavl, then follow the route from there back to St Nicholas.’
‘How bad are the roads?’ Thomas asked.
‘Not impassable at the moment,’ Robert said. ‘Or so we hear from those who have travelled down from Kolmogory. The worst part is likely to be from Kolmogory to St Nicholas. You may need to take a Company barge. Master Holme has written out an authorisation for you.’
He handed me a paper with Christopher’s seal.
‘Any of the Company houses will help you.’
I thought of the small packet I still carried, entrusted to me by Xenia.
‘What if I were to pay a brief visit to my patient at Uglich?’ I said.
He frowned.
‘The Tsarevich? It would take you somewhat out of the way, but at least there will be no blizzards to contend with at this time of year. You must use your judgement when you reach Yaroslavl. I suppose it would be possible for you to go a roundabout way to Vologda. Provided you can reach St Nicholas in good time to meet this year’s fleet . . . Probably there would be no harm in it. Make a decision when you are there.’
I had not told the others of Xenia’s request and they seemed surprised that I should want to return to a place where Pyotr and I had virtually been held captive, but a promise is a promise. I would explain it to them when we reached Yaroslavl.
Christopher’s instructions seemed to cover all contingencies. Before we set out, Gregory took me aside and gave me a copy of the report he had written.
‘This is for the governor of the Company. Everything. Names. Places. Dates. Including individuals in London. So it should also be seen by Sir Francis.’
His words came as a shock. He did not know.
‘Sir Francis is dead,’ I said quietly. ‘He died at the beginning of April last year. I am sorry. I did not realise I had not told you.’
A spasm passed over his face. Like all of us, he felt bereft with that great man gone.
‘So what has become of the service? And this must be passed to the Queen and Privy Council. Urgently.’
‘All Sir Francis’s records were stolen. Everything was in confusion when I left London. There was a struggle for control between Essex and the Cecils. When we reach London, I think we should find Thomas Phelippes. He will know best what to do.’
He nodded, then sighed. ‘I suppose there will always be work for an agent trained by Sir Francis.’
‘What you must do,’ I said, ‘once we are back in England, is to take a long rest at home with your family. I speak as your physician.’
He gave me a wan smile. ‘A man and his family must eat.’
‘I am certain that the Company will take care of that. They owe you much. You have exonerated them and their employees, past and present, from acts of treachery.’
I smiled back at him. ‘And if they do not reward you handsomely, then you and I will sit upon their doorstep until they do!’
The next day we set off early and Robert rode with us for two days, until we had passed by Moscow on the west, then he left us to return to the Company house.
‘I wish you God speed,’ he said. ‘You should reach St Nicholas in good time. You can send us word of your safe arrival with the men bringing this year’s merchandise down to Moscow.’
It goes smoothly and relentlessly on, I thought, this world of the merchants and traders. Poison, imprisonment, treachery, torture, conspiracy. Yet the fleet must still come every year, the English cloth be delivered, the Muscovy ropes and furs carried away. Through floods, storms, drought and snow, the goods must be moved across sea and land.
It was good to be back in the Company house at Yaroslavl, greeted warmly by the agent there, Walter Deynes, as if we had hardly been away. It was the first time we had been in what I called in my mind a civilised house since we had left Moscow weeks before, to head south. That night I crawled thankfully into an English bed, wearing a clean night shift instead of my filthy travelling clothes, and slept without stirring for nine blessed hours.
The next day I handed over my clothes to be washed by the Company laundress, and the others did the same. From amongst Company stores, Master Deynes found clothes for Gregory which were a better fit, so that he began to appear less like a pauper turned out from St Thomas’s in a charity outfit. He was starting to lose the gaunt look in his face, but his eyes were still haunted by what they had done to him in Godunov’s cellar.
While we waited for our clothes to be washed and dried, and rested from our seemingly endless journey, I explained to the others why I wanted to call at Uglich.
‘The children are but pawns in the hands of unscrupulous adults,’ I said. ‘They are lonely, friendless, and afraid. It seems little enough to do.’
Pyotr was against it from the first. ‘Master Holme’s instructions were to make straight for St Nicholas. Robert was reluctant to agree to our travelling via Uglich.’
‘It will not take us so very far out of our way,’ Thomas said. ‘No more than a day or two. I think there is no harm in it.’
‘Kit has made a promise to the child,’ Gregory said. ‘We should keep our promises to children, if we can, else how are they to learn what is right? I think we should go to Uglich.’
I remembered. Gregory had children of his own.
Pyotr shook his head in annoyance. ‘You forget. Although the Tsarina Maria Nagaya rules at Uglich, she is surrounded by spies. News of our whereabouts will wing its way back to Godunov. We will be seized before we can reach St Nicholas.’
I was annoyed in my turn, that he was trying to teach me my business.
‘You need not come,’ I said. ‘My Russian is sufficient. I do not need an interpreter. I can join the rest of you at Vologda.’
I saw that I had hurt him by suggesting he was no more than an interpreter. After all we had endured together, he must feel I owed him more than that.
‘Of
course,’ I added, ‘I would much prefer it if we stayed together, the four of us.’
‘If you go,’ he said grimly, ‘then we all go together. I will not let you enter that vipers’ nest alone.’
So it was decided. Two days later, we all rode off to Uglich. It was the fifteenth of May. Plenty of time to make a brief visit to the Tsarevich, then travel north to Vologda, Kolmogory and St Nicholas, even if we had to hire a barge for the last part of the journey. We would, after all, travel down river with the current as the Dvina flowed toward the sea.
The road to Uglich was changed beyond all recognition from when Pyotr and I had come this way by sleigh last winter. Instead of bitter cold and dark, threatening forest, spring had reached even these northern parts. Sunlight flowed through the woods in shafts like liquid honey. The birches were in early leaf. Even the pines had shaken off the gloom of winter. Everywhere there was birdsong. Every tree was alive with them – calling, courting, nesting. Where we had glimpsed yellow eyes, sinister in the lamplight during our dark journey, now we saw a vixen sporting with two very young cubs. Deer poised, frozen, watching, then skittered away in real or pretended panic. Once, as we splashed across a stream – which must have been ice bound before – I caught a glimpse of a beavers’ dam just a few yards away, and the surrounding trees showed the marks of their teeth.
Instead of a tiresome diversion, fraught with arguments, it had become a joyful ride through a countryside suddenly lovely. For the first time since coming to the country, I thought Muscovy beautiful. Even Pyotr had relaxed. I caught him whistling.
We stayed that night in one of the mean little rooms attached to a post station, though, as instructed by Robert, we made no use of the post horses. Perhaps it was a mistake to stay there. It was mild enough to have slept rough, but summer rain had come on at nightfall, not heavy but insidious, and I think none of us wanted to ride the rest of the way in sodden clothes. Aye, it was probably a mistake. Three English travellers and one half English, half Russian. It made us instantly recognisable.
The next morning the rain had ceased and all the woodland shone as if it had been polished. We set off merrily.