The Shining Falcon

Chapter IV Accused

Foolishness, foolishness, this tradition that insisted he leave his safe palace and come down here to the marketplace with its peasants and riffraff and Heaven knew what else, just to officiate over the closing of market day. But one must, after all, keep in touch with one's people-unpleasant and potentially dangerous though that might be.

Prince Svyatoslav of Stargorod, tall, aging and thin, gathered his voluminous golden robes about himself lest they sweep up the market dust, and proceeded on his regal way, only the darting of his gaze revealing his unease. Oh, they all seemed sincere enough in their welcome, these cheering crowds, but who knew what they were really thinking? A prince must learn from childhood to trust no one—he'd learned that harsh lesson early. He flinched from memories of blood, of terror, of the palace revolt that had left his mother and uncle dead before his eyes. God, and then, when he'd newly come to the throne, little more than a boy, when he'd been fool enough to begin to dare trust again, his cousin, his friend, the one man he'd thought safe, had betrayed him: Prince Rostislav had tried to depose him! Well, Rostislav had gotten himself exiled‑lucky to keep his head—and Svyatoslav would never again make the mistake of giving his trust to anyone.

Least of all in this marketplace!

At least he could keep his royal bodyguard all about him, his loyal, spearbearing achrana.

But what was this? Those guards in the lead had stopped in a tangle of confusion, and Svyatoslav perforce had to stop short too, thinking wildly, Assassins!

It wasn't assassins. It was one man, only one, lying prostrate in the street before him, arms outstretched on the ground in total submission, total supplication, face hidden. Svyatoslav hesitated, uncertain. He hadn't reached this mature age by taking chances. But he could hardly act as though the man wasn't there, and simply step over him. And to have the achrana cut a safe path through the crowd to avoid the man would hardly suit the royal dignity.

«Who are you?» the prince snapped, angry at having his routine disturbed. «What do you want?»

The prostrate figure slowly raised his head, moving with great caution since he was ringed by spears. «Sire. Grant me a boon, I pray you. Grant me speech with you.»

An indignant Svyatoslav had recognized the man. «Alexei Sergeovich, I have nothing to say to you! You have nothing to ask of me!»

«Sire, no. You misunderstand. I—I don't speak for myself. I have news of something you must know. For the safety of the Realm. For your own safety.»

Svyatoslav straightened as sharply as though he'd been slapped. «What news? Get up, man! Tell me! What are you talking about?»

Alexei got carefully to his feet, eyeing the spearbearing guards warily, then turned his attention fully to the impatient prince. «About… Well, I'm afraid we're talking about treason, Sire," he said softly.

Boyar Danilo thought nothing of it when the guards fell in behind him. Some military ritual or other—the palace was full of guards constantly shifting from post to post. Nothing to concern him, surely.

But then they moved forward to surround him, and he found himself facing soldiers who were trying with embarrassed shifts of eye not to meet his glance, but whose weapons were very close to hand. «What nonsense is this?» Danilo asked sharply. «Stand aside. Eh, stand aside!»

They did, but only to permit a stout, somber, richly robed man to approach.

«Gleb Igorevich!» Danilo hailed the prince's under-steward. «Gleb, what's the meaning of this?»

The under-steward wouldn't look directly at him, either. Instead, in a rushed mumble he read from a scroll:

«Danilo Yaroslavovich, boyar and member of the Inner Council of Svyatoslav, Prince by the Grace of God over Stargorod and — "

«Yes, yes, get to it, man! Tell me what all this is about!»

Gleb shot him a quick, uneasy glance. «It would seem, boyar," he began apologetically, «that our prince has accused you of high treason.»

The blood surged so painfully in Danilo's head that he staggered, his only thought a wild God, God, all the times I spoke so lightly of the prince's suspicious nature, all the times I boasted so smugly and never, never thought suspicion could ever fall on me‑I've done nothing wrong, nothing!

Gleb was watching him with more than a little sympathy, and Danilo knew he should say something, but all he could manage was a weak echo: «Treason…»

«Yes, my lord. You are herewith ordered to appear before the prince and his royal court to plead your case, and I'm commanded to see that you get there.»

«But—this is ridiculous! This is the most impossible, unbelievable— You know me, Gleb! You know I'd never — "

«Boyar, I'm sorry. Truly, I am. But…» Gleb's very stance said plainly, I don't dare say more, I don't want to risk my own neck. «I have my orders.»

Danilo fought to control himself. «Am I not to be allowed to know the specifics of this—this monstrous charge? Am I not to be allowed at least a chance to prepare my defense?»

Gleb sighed, studying the scroll. «No… it would seem not.» He gave the boyar a wry smile. «It appears to me that you must have made yourself some very nasty enemy. I… can only wish you luck.» His face went flatly formal. «And now, Boyar, will you come with me?»

Of course, Danilo had participated in many a royal court of law before this. But never like this! his mind screamed. Never as victim! And victim he too plainly was meant to be, ringed with guards like some common criminal, none of the assembled boyars—his friends, his colleagues‑daring so much as to look at him: cold-eyed Yelenko, Chief Steward and Royal Judge, waiting patiently to read the charges, and Prince Svyatoslav up on his throne watching the proceedings with all the softness and charity of a marble statue.

«Boyar Danilo Yaroslavovich," began Yelenko without preamble, «you come before the Throne accused of that most grievous of crimes, high treason against your sovereign lord — "

«How accused?» snapped Danilo. «Who dares accuse me?»

Yelenko looked reproachfully down his long nose at this interruption. But at a quick gesture from the prince, he intoned, «Let the accuser stand forth.»

«Alexei!» shouted Danilo. «My God, I should have known!»

Yelenko frowned. «The boyar will kindly refrain from comment.»

«Refrain! How can I refrain? If that—that scoundrel dares accuse me of any crime at all, he perjures himself in the eyes of Heaven and — "

«Boyar Danilo.» Yelenko's voice was chill. «Any further outburst and» — he glanced at his prince for confirmation — «and I fear, boyar or no, you must be gagged.»

Choking on his rage, Danilo subsided, glaring at Alexei, who was very much the picture of innocence, quietly clad, eyes modestly downcast. He hadn't shown by so much as the flicker of an eyelash that he'd heard the boyar.

«Alexei Sergeovich," continued Yelenko, «tell us now what words passed between yourself and Danilo Yaroslavovich.»

«I admit that I met with him with intentions of trying to better my position," Alexei began humbly. «But before I could speak more than a few words to the boyar, he dragged me into a private alcove.»

«Is this true?» Yelenko asked Danilo severely.

«Yes, but — "

«Continue, Alexei Sergeovich.»

«I—I hardly dare. It seems that the boyar … had been in communication with—with the exiled prince, our liege's banished cousin.»

«Now, that's an outright lie!» shouted Danilo. «My Prince, I swear by all that's holy, I've never had any dealings with Prince Rostislav!»

«Boyar," said Yelenko coldly, «this is your last warning. Be silent.» He turned to Alexei. «Continue.»

«Ah… the boyar told me Prince Rostislav was planning to return, planning to overthrow our rightful ruler. And he promised me advancement if I sided with him.»

«And did you agree?»

«I did not. We parted with angry words on both sides.»

«I see.» Yelenko glanced up again at his prince for instructions. Svyatoslav gave a sharp little hand signal, and Yelenko nodded obediently. «Bring forth the witnesses.»

As Danilo watched in disbelief, he saw some of his own servants brought forward, those Who'd been with him in the palace that day. They bowed timidly to the prince, then stood looking uneasily about, giving Danilo quick, nervous glances.

«Are you prepared to swear by Holy Word that what you say is truth?» asked Yelenko.

«Uh, yes, my lord.»

«Fine. Your master is Danilo Yaroslavovich?»

«Uh… yes, my lord.»

«Don't be afraid. You are not on trial. Merely answer my questions. You saw him meet with the boyar Alexei?»

«Well, yes, my lord," began Misha. «But—but he didn't exactly meet with the boyar, the boyar met with him, if you get my meaning — "

«Just answer the question. Did you see him meet with the boyar Alexei?»

Misha subsided. «Yes, my lord.»

«Did you hear words exchanged?»

«Yes, my lord.»

«But your master realized you were listening? What did he do then?»

«He—took the boyar by the arm and pulled him into an alcove.»

«Ah. And did this sudden urge for privacy seem odd to you?»

They stared at him blankly. Yelenko sighed. «Did your master often have secret meetings?»

«Oh, no, my lord!»

«But he did, indeed, hold a secret discussion with the boyar Alexei?»

«Well…»

«Answer my question! Did your master hold a secret discussion with Alexei Sergeovich?»

The servants stirred uneasily. «Yes, my lord," they muttered at last.

«But—but this is nothing!» cut in Danilo. «Please, my Prince, let me finish. Alexei and I did talk, but it was only about his position at court. Prince Rostislav's name was never mentioned, I swear it! I've served you loyally and faithfully these many years; there's no proof — "

«No proof?» Svyatoslav spoke for the first time, eyes like stone. «Bring forth the evidence. Let the traitor read his guilt in his own words!»

Danilo stared in growing horror at letter after letter, all in his handwriting, all addressed to the exiled prince, all offering terms of comfort, of aid. All saying, in no uncertain terms, words of treason.

«But I never wrote these — " The letters fell from nerve less hands. «I never… My God, I'll swear to that or whatever holy objects you name! I never wrote these letters! I am innocent!»

«Liar!» Svyatoslav's voice shook with passion. «I thought you, of all my boyars, would never betray me— Traitor!»

Danilo, drowning in shock, cried, «At least grant me the right of trial by ordeal!»

«No! You shall die, and your treason with you!» Overwhelmed by the force of his outrage, the prince fiercely waved Yelenko aside. «Hear my decree: Danilo Yaroslavovich, you are declared traitor to the crown. Your lands and estate are hereby forfeit, and shall descend to my loyal servant, Alexei Sergeovich, who has shown himself by his actions this day worthy of pardon for any previous misdeeds. And you, Danilo Yaroslavovich, shall have two days' grace in which to repent, and then, as befits your rank and crime, you shall die by the axe!»

«My children!» cried Danilo in anguish. «What of my daughters?»

The pain blazing in that cry cut through the fog of Svyatoslav's rage. He hesitated, said gruffly, «I will not make war upon young women. They shall, by my royal mercy, become my wards," then shouted, «Enough! Guards! Take this traitor away!»

Maria slumped in her chair, too drained by the day's events to even weep. First had come the news of her father's arrest, then she and Vasilissa had been virtually dragged here to the palace, to this suite that, for all its comfort, was still all too plainly a prison.

And we've only two days before father… dies. What are we going to do?

Vasilissa would be of little help. As though there hadn't been enough shocks, Afron and his father had come to visit shortly after their arrival. The red-faced, embarrassed young man had torn free of Lissa's frantic embrace and, with quick, nervous glances at his cold-eyed father for approval, had told her bluntly that he didn't love her, that he'd never loved her. The truth of the whole thing was, of course, that his father had broken the betrothal out of fear of being linked with a man the prince had named traitor. But for Lissa it had simply been one shock too many. Now she huddled in bed, seeing nothing, saying nothing.

Did they have to be so cruel? Maria asked herself. They know Father's no traitor! Those letters were forgeries, they had to be forgeries!

If only she could find a way to see the prince, to plead her father's case with him. But Svyatoslav considered women, particularly young women, little more than fools, hardly worthy of notice. And he'd flatly refused to grant Maria any sort of interview before the week's end, four days away. By that point, of course, it would be far too late.

«Damn him!» Her audacity rather shocked Maria, but she said it again, as savagely as she could. «Damn him! He's a—a weak, cowardly fool— He's no longer my prince! I—I renounce him!»

Well and good, but cursing the man wasn't going to help her father. Maria glanced desperately at Vasilissa, suddenly aching for comfort, but her sister, escaping in the only way she could find, was lost in slumber.

That's no escape at all. Maria sighed wearily. There must be a way out of this… Bribe a guard? With what? The guards hadn't even allowed enough time to gather up their mother's jewels. Everything of value was still back at the estate, with the servants… The servants!

Maria sat bolt upright. No one noted an underling's comings and goings, not in a busy palace. And her father had told her often enough that even with such an edgy prince as master, the royal guards had become shamefully lax and lazy in these times of peace… Yes, and Svyatoslav held such a low opinion of her sex that he'd never expect anything more from her than helpless tears. Why, he'd stationed only the one bored guard at the door!

«Yes!» gasped Maria after some nervous consideration. Putting on her haughtiest manner, she called sternly, «Guard!» and smiled to herself as the door opened and a weatherworn male lace peered in.

«Lady?»

«Guard, my sister and I came here so—so abruptly that we had no chance to bring with us any of the necessities of life.»

«All will be provided, lady.»

«All will not be provided! We left behind our jewel case, the gems left to us by our mother.»

«I'm sorry, lady.» His face was unmoved. «But I don't see what can be done about it. You must stay here.»

«Yes, yes, I know that. I only meant…» Maria let her voice trail off pathetically, thinking wryly to herself that Lissa really was better at this sort of thing. She let tears well in her eyes—which wasn't difficult just then— and pleaded softly, «Can't you help us? There—there's a servant at home, Sasha. He knows where everything is. Can't you get word to him? If he brings us the—the small red lacquer case, yes, and—and the blue and yellow clothes chest… that's all we need… Can't you have him bring that to us? It‑it's not so much, not really…»

The tears weren't feigned at all by this point. Maria, past the point of speech, let herself go and simply sobbed. The guard stirred, uneasy and embarrassed.

«Uh… lady. Lady, please. Don't… uh… don't cry. We'll get a message to this Sasha, you'll see.»

Maria managed a watery smile. «Th—thank you.»

But as soon as the guard was gone and the door closed, she nearly choked herself, mixing tears and helpless gusts of giggles till she thought she'd be sick. Oh God, oh God, he'd believed her! Now if only Sasha understood what she wanted. If only he'd remained loyal!

He had.

«I… wasn't really sure this was what you wanted, mistress. I mean, a chest of the kitchen staff's clothes — "

«Hush, hush, this is exactly what I wanted! And the lacquer box of herbs, too? Good.» Maria froze. «Were the boxes searched?»

Sasha grinned. «Oh, they opened them, all right. Figured they would. So I put one of your pretty caftans on top of the kitchen stuff, and your mother's gems on top of the herbs. They palmed a couple of trinkets, payment and all like that, but they never questioned me.»

«Sasha, you're a wonder!»

As he reddened, pleased, Maria hastily dropped some of the herbs into a bottle of mead the prince had oh-so-graciously granted the sisters. Sasha's grin widened.

«That's the herbs you use to make sick folks sleep! Want me to be the good host to the guard outside, eh?»

«You really are a wonder! Yes, go ahead!» Maria was busily shaking her sister. «Lissa, love, wake up! Come, wake up! Get into these clothes. Yes, I know they're ugly—never mind that! Hurry! We're going to get Father out of prison!»

They made an awkward trio, Sasha hotly embarrassed at having his arms about two young noblewomen, Lissa wild-eyed and shrinking from his touch, Maria terrified that her sister would faint or scream or somehow manage to give them away. But nothing terrible happened, no one stopped them or even looked closely at them, these three who were plainly kitchen servants of the lowest order staggering drunkenly along the prison corridors, making the guards who saw them laugh; the good Lord knew there was little enough to laugh at down here.

Of course boyar Danilo wasn't being held in some plain, verminous cell. He was being allowed a certain amount of comfort, a room to himself as it were, and light, and clean bedding. There were only two guards at his door. Why waste more? He wasn't going anywhere!

«Wanna see him!» whined Maria. «Wanna see the mighty lord!»

The guards grinned at each other. «Give us a kiss, then, love," said one.

Lissa cringed. Before she could say something that would give them away, Maria hastily waggled a hand in denial. «No, no, got something better'n that, see?»

She held up the bottle of mead.

«Swiped from the royal cellars, eh?» said a guard. «We could have you reported for that, you know.»

«And waste the mead?» The other guard laughed. «Not a chance! Go ahead, wench. Look at the fine boyar all you want.»

Maria stood on tiptoe, peering through the narrow win‑dow at her father, aching to see how sad and hopeless he sat, longing to call to him, all the time waiting, heart pounding, for the sounds that would say the drugged mead had had its effect… What if they didn't drink enough? What if they realized something was odd about the taste of it and refused to drink it at all? She doubted she and Lissa and Sasha could silence two trained guards, not without noise. And to actually kill someone…

But just then she heard a soft thud, a sigh, a snore. Maria breathed a quick prayer of thanks, then dropped to the side of one of the slumbering guards, carefully withdrawing the precious keys. Her hands were shaking so much she had to fumble with the lock, and there seemed an impossible number of keys to be tried. . other guards came checking? What if— There!

Her father looked up with a start as the door creaked open. As he recognized Maria, his eyes widened in astonishment. But Danilo was too well schooled in the various shocks of diplomacy to do anything but silently rush out of the cell, enfolding his daughters in a quick, fierce hug. Sasha, meanwhile, had been slipping out of the kitchen disguise he'd been wearing over his own clothes. Maria asked him in a hurried whisper, «You'll be all right?»

«Of course, mistress. I'm supposed to be in the palace, remember. No one's going to be suspicious if they see me leaving, not so long as I'm leaving by myself.»

Danilo had been coolly donning the discarded rags. «Yes, but I doubt you've got permission to be down in the prison area. If anyone sees you leaving here, they're going to be sure you were aiding, and abetting the… traitor. Be careful!»

«Yes, my lord. But you… ?»

Danilo glanced at his daughter and gave a quick grin. «They saw three kitchen scullions enter, they're going to see three scullions leave. No one's going to care about us, not if we go out through the kitchen.»

«Sasha," added Maria, «God be with you.»

«And with you, mistresses, master.»

«Indeed," muttered Danilo. «Come, hurry!»

They made it into the vast royal kitchen with so little trouble that, perversely, Maria felt almost disappointed, as though all the tension had been for nothing. Don't be a fool, she told herself sharply. You aren't safe yet. Surrounded by the bustle and noise and varied cooking smells, she bit her lip, wondering now just how long those sleeping guards were going to remain asleep. How long before someone came to check up on them? How long before an alarm was sounded?

It was too much for Vasilissa. Trembling, she sank to a bench, moaning, «I can't go on! I can't!»

«Oh, Lissa!» Maria fought down a sudden hot urge to slap her sister. That wouldn't help anything. Instead, she bent to catch Lissa by the shoulders, whispering desperately, «Lissa, please! We don't have time for this now!»

To her horror, she realized they'd attracted the attention of one of the kitchen sluts. «She sick?»

Maria forced a grin. «Just… you know… woman troubles.»

With a shrug, the slut turned away, and Maria bent to her sister again. «Do you want Father to die? Well? Do you?»

«Of—of course not.» Tears welled up in the beautiful, vague eyes, and Maria ignored her surge of pity and pulled her sniffing sister to her feet.

«Then come on!» she hissed.

Danilo, meanwhile, had casually strolled to a pile of refuse-filled sacks. With a slight gesture to his daughters, he flung one of the sacks over his shoulder with the self‑confident air of someone doing a familiar job. No one objected. Of course, thought Maria, and she hurried to follow her father's lead. «Come on, Lissa!»

Quickly Maria picked up a sack, staggering a bit under the unexpected, smelly weight, and stared at her sister till Vasilissa had done the same.

«Just follow me,» murmured Danilo. «We should be able to make it to the refuse heap, and from there, out of the palace.»

Single-file, they left the kitchen, Maria tense with the expectation that someone was going to notice. But no one said a word.

We're going to make it, we're actually going to make it…

A hideous screaming of trumpets blared through the palace—

The alarm had been sounded.