Darker Jewels
“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.
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