When the abbot first heard of it, he went white with terror.

1571.

Boris scowled, as well he might. The snow in the market place at Russka had long since been trampled and packed down until it was hard as stone. The few stalls in the market place that had opened out of habit were now being shut. No chink of sunlight had appeared in the cloud cover and none had been expected; and now the short day, like the stalls, was closing down.

He scowled because he saw Mikhail and his family. They were standing beside the remains of the single fire that had been lit in the centre of the market place. Mikhail did not answer his look, but stared at him without hope. What was there to hope for, after all?

There was a week to go before the beginning of Lent; yet what could the Lenten fast mean that year, when the harvest had failed for the third time running the summer before? That morning, in Dirty Place, he had seen a family eating ground birch bark. Bark from the trees the peasant's last resort when the grain was all gone. Few had supplies to last them through two failed harvests. None could get past three.

The monastery had helped feed the worst cases, but even its reserves were running low. There had been plague in some of the northern areas. Two of the families in Dirty Place had run away last year. There had been greater desertions in other villages.

'The people are leaving the land,' a fellow landlord had remarked to him, 'and there's nothing we can do.'

Where did they go? East, he supposed. East to the new lands by the Volga. But how many of them, he wondered, ever got there in the mighty, icy winter?

Mikhail and his cursed family. How they must hate him.

Since Karp had gone off with their horse, the family had not recovered. They had replaced the horse, and got through the second bad harvest; but they had had to dig into their money reserve to keep going. There was no more talk of buying their freedom. As for running away, like the others, he guessed that Mikhail had concluded he was safer with his young children near a monastery than trying to survive out in the great eastern wilds.

Now the peasant spoke to him.

'Spare a kopek kopek, Boris Davidov. At least for the bear.'

He noticed the bitter irony in the request. Let my children starve but take pity on the animal that was the message.

'Damn your bear,' he said, and walked on.

The bear was as gaunt as the peasants now. It had never performed its tricks for Mikhail the way it had for Karp; in its raging hunger it would probably turn nasty. It stood there, haggard in its chains. Why on earth didn't they kill it?

Boris turned to look up at the watchtower that rose, tall and grey, over the gateway. He had been going up there every day of late. For on top of all their troubles, word had come that an attack was expected from the Crimean Tatars from the south. So far, nothing had come, but Boris scanned the horizon anxiously, each day.

He had just come down from there now. Up in the high, pointed tent roof, gazing out through the eastern window at the huge, flat spaces, he had been alone with his thoughts. Out there, far away, lay the Volga and distant Kazan. Out there lay the huge eastern empire of the Tsar. Why, after their holy crusade, had the heartland been turned to icy stone, famine and dejection? As he stared out at the endless greyness, it had seemed to Boris that Russka was swallowed up and lost in the long half-night of winter. Nothing moved upon the landscape. The sky, though always overcast, was empty. The snow, which he usually thought of as a protection for the earth, now seemed to him like a coating of misery that had been hardened by the biting winter wind. Everything was grey. From his high place, he could make out the big field at Dirty Place which that day looked like a large, unmarked grave.

And then he had thought about his own little family, and the boy, Feodor. And that had made him scowl, too.

Was the boy his? It was a question that had been exercising his mind for nearly a year and a half. It was possible, of course. It might be that on that afternoon when he had struck her and forced himself upon her it could be that then she had conceived. But what if it were not that day? What if the priest had already been with her, or if he had called the next day, or the next?

As the months passed, he had brooded upon this, frequently. When the child had arrived, he had received the message not from his wife, but from the priest, who had chosen the boy's name. It was the name, moreover, of Elena's brother whom he had hated. Was there irony in that? When he had finally returned, he had examined the child minutely. Who did it look like? It was hard to say. It did not seem to him to resemble anyone. But time would tell; features would appear which would tell him the truth: he was sure of it.

Meanwhile he had observed them both. The priest had congratulated him with a smile. Was there a trace of mockery in it? His wife had smiled faintly at the priest, who had stood beside her in a manner that, to Boris, appeared protective. Was there complicity between them?

The more he allowed, even encouraged, these thoughts to linger in his mind, the more luxuriantly did they grow, like some morbid but fantastic plant which, as it bloomed, took on in Boris's imagination a kind of dark beauty, like one of those wondrous, magical plants that were said to flower only at night, in the depths of the forest. He watched the flower, he nurtured it; in a strange way he even came, in the dark recesses of his mind, to love it like a man who learns to feed upon poison and then, even, to crave it.

It was in December, when the baby was nine months old, that he had begun to feel sure it was not his. Whether this was the natural outcome of his speculation; whether the dark flowers of this plant he had nurtured required this belief in order that he might more completely admire their beauty; or whether something exterior had prompted him, he now became convinced. The child's face, at certain angles, started to seem long, like the priest's. The eyes looked solemn. The ears, above all, were neither his nor his wife's. They were not the same as Stephen's either, but they were more like his than Boris's. Or so it appeared to the landlord on one of his routine, secret inspections of the little boy.

He had stayed up the high watchtower that day, alone with these thoughts, gazing out at the endless wastes until he had definitely decided that it was so. The little fellow who crawled across the wooden floor and smiled up at him, was not his. He had not yet decided what he would do.

He had just come level with the church when he heard a shout from the gates, and turned to see what it was.

Daniel the monk saw them first: two large sleds, whisking down the frozen river from the north. They were each drawn by three magnificent black horses.

They sped over the bank and came straight towards the monastery gate.

Only as they drew close did he see that the men in the sleds were all dressed in black. And they were almost at the gate before he clearly saw the face of the tall, gaunt figure wrapped in furs who sat in the first sledge.

And then he crossed himself and, in stark terror, fell to his knees on the hard snow.

It was Ivan.

As usual, he had come from Alexandrovskaya Sloboda secretly, without warning, his swift horses eating up the miles as he sped, sometimes by day, sometimes by night, from monastery to monastery in the icy silence of the forest.

The party did not waste any time. They drove straight into the centre of the monastery courtyard, and the monks were still looking out in surprise when the tall figure rose from his sled and began to stalk slowly towards the refectory. He wore a high, conical fur hat. In his right hand he carried a long staff with a gold and silver top and a pointed iron tip that pierced deep holes in the snow as he advanced.

'Call your abbot,' his deep voice echoed around the icy yard. 'Tell him his Tsar is here.' And the monks trembled.

About five minutes passed before they were all assembled in the refectory. The old abbot stood at their head, some eighty monks behind him, including Daniel. The dozen Oprichniki Oprichniki with the Tsar were stationed by the door. Ivan had seated himself in a heavy oak chair, and was facing them gloomily. He had not removed his fur hat. His chin was sunk upon his chest, so that his long nose partly obscured his mouth. His eyes, glinting under his heavy brows, looked up at the monks, darting suspiciously from one to the other. His long staff rested beside him, leaning at a sharp angle over the back of the chair. with the Tsar were stationed by the door. Ivan had seated himself in a heavy oak chair, and was facing them gloomily. He had not removed his fur hat. His chin was sunk upon his chest, so that his long nose partly obscured his mouth. His eyes, glinting under his heavy brows, looked up at the monks, darting suspiciously from one to the other. His long staff rested beside him, leaning at a sharp angle over the back of the chair.

For a little time he said nothing.

'My loyal servant, Boris Davidov Bobrov: where is he?' he quietly enquired.

'Up at Russka,' someone said, and then shut his mouth as though he had not spoken.

Ivan looked neither to right nor left.

'Fetch him,' he intoned.

One of the Oprichniki Oprichniki vanished through the door. Several long moments of silence followed. Then the piercing eyes fell upon the abbot. vanished through the door. Several long moments of silence followed. Then the piercing eyes fell upon the abbot.

'You were sent an oxhide. Where is it?'

If the old abbot looked terrified, his fear was no worse than that which now came over Daniel. Suddenly, in this new and awful light, face to face with the Tsar, the plan which once had seemed so daring now appeared pitiful. It was also impertinent. His legs suddenly felt cold. He wished he were hidden at the back of the room.

'Brother Daniel was put in charge of it,' he heard the abbot say. 'He can explain to you what he has done.'

Now he felt the Tsar's eyes upon him.

'Where is my oxhide, Brother Daniel?'

There was nothing else for it.

'As you said we might, Gosudar Gosudar, we used it to mark out a patch of ground, which, if Your Majesty is so gracious, might be granted to your loyal monastery.'

Ivan stared at him.

'You ask for no more?'

'No, great lord, it is enough.'

The Tsar rose. He seemed to tower over them all.

'Show me.'

The idea had been nothing if not ingenious. After all, the Tsar's message had been quite explicit: they were to use the oxhide to enclose the land. Why not, then, cut it into strips? Better yet, why not subdivide the strips? Or even better still ...

It had been at the end of the summer that Daniel had set the monks to work. Using sharpened combs and knives they had proceeded, day after day, to take the oxhide apart, making from it not just fine strips of leather but a thread. With care and ingenuity this thread, now wound carefully round a block of wood, could be unravelled to enclose no less than a hundred acres. The area had been staked out by Daniel on St Nicholas's Day.

Now, with the spindle of thread in his hand, he trudged across the snow, followed by Ivan, the abbot and the Oprichniki Oprichniki, to the place where the stakes began. He had just begun to unwind the thread when he heard Ivan's voice.

'Enough. Come here.'

This was it then. Death, he supposed. He went and stood before the Tsar.

Ivan reached forward his long hand and took Daniel by the beard.

'A cunning monk,' he said softly. 'Yes, a cunning monk.' He looked bleakly at the abbot. 'The Tsar keeps his word. You shall have your land.'

The two monks bowed low, both praying fervently.

'I shall remain here tonight,' Ivan went on. He nodded his head thoughtfully. 'And before I depart, you shall learn to know me better.'

He turned; and now he smiled. For hurrying across the snow came a figure in black.

'Ah,' he cried, 'here he comes, a loyal servant. Boris Davidov,' he called, 'you shall help these cunning monks to know me better.' Then, gazing down at the abbot, he announced: 'Come, it is almost time for Vespers.'

It was already dark outside when, amidst the bright glow from all the candles they could muster, the trembling monks sang the service of Vespers.

Facing them, having donned the golden robes used on the highest feast days, Tsar Ivan stood and, with a strange, grim smile, conducted them with his staff. Once, a terrified young monk sang a wrong note and Ivan, his eyes suddenly boring into the malefactor, brought down the iron tip of his staff with a crash upon the stone floor and made them start the hymn again.

So the service continued. Twice, as though suddenly attacked by a spasm, Ivan turned away, let his staff fall with a crash to the ground, and prostrated himself, beating his head upon the stone and crying out: 'Gospodi Pomily: Lord have mercy.'

But a moment later he would rise, pick up his staff and, with the same grim half-smile as before, conduct the singing as though nothing had happened.

At last the service ended. The shaken monks dispersed to their cells, and Ivan returned to the refectory where he ordered food and drink to be brought for himself, Boris, and the other Oprichniki Oprichniki.

He also sent for the abbot, and for Daniel, who, when they arrived, were told to stand just inside the door.

There was something strange about the Tsar, Daniel noticed, as Ivan sat down to eat. It was as if the service had excited him in some way. His eyes were a little bloodshot, yet seemed to be slightly vacant, as though he had entered another realm while his body, almost derisively, went through the motions of its existence in this world.

They had given him their best wine, and whatever food they could find. For a few minutes he ate and drank thoughtfully, the Oprichniki Oprichniki beside him carefully tasting everything first, to make sure it was not poisoned. The other black-shirts ate silently, including Boris, whom Ivan had seated opposite him. beside him carefully tasting everything first, to make sure it was not poisoned. The other black-shirts ate silently, including Boris, whom Ivan had seated opposite him.

After a time the Tsar looked up.

'So, abbot, you have cheated me out of a hundred acres of good land,' he remarked calmly.

'Not cheated, Gosudar Gosudar,' the abbot began tremulously.

'You and this hairy-faced dog beside you,' Ivan continued. 'You shall learn now that the Tsar raises up and casts down; he giveth and he taketh away.' He looked at them with contempt. 'On my way here, I was hungry,' he intoned. 'Yet in the forests I found no deer. Why not?'

The abbot looked baffled for a moment.

'The deer have been scarce this last winter. People are hungry ...'

'You are fined a hundred roubles,' Ivan said quietly.

He turned to Boris.

'Is there no entertainment here, Boris Davidov?'

'I had a fellow who could play and sing well, lord, but he died last spring.' Boris paused. 'There's a fellow with a performing bear,' he said doubtfully, 'but he's not very good.'

'A bear?' Ivan suddenly brightened. 'That's better. Take a sled and bring them, good Boris Davidov. Bring them now.'

Boris rose and went to the door. He had just reached it when Ivan, having taken a draught of wine, suddenly called out: 'Stop!' He looked round for a moment to observe the reaction of the others in the room. 'Take two sleds, Boris Davidov. Take mine and the second. Put the bear in the first. Dress him up in my furs. Let him wear the cap of the Tsar.' And taking off his high hat he threw it to Boris. 'Let the Tsar of all the bears come to visit the Tsar of all the Russias.'

At this he roared with laughter and the Oprichniki Oprichniki, following suit, banged their plates upon the table.

'And now,' he said, turning to the abbot and Daniel saw with amazement that every trace of mirth, in a split second, had completely vanished from his face 'tell that hairy-faced rogue beside you to bring me a jar of fleas.'

'Fleas, lord?' the abbot mumbled. 'We have no fleas.'

'A pot of fleas, I said!' Ivan suddenly rose and strode over to them, his staff held in his hand at a rakish angle, tapping upon the floor.

He stood, towering over them both. Daniel noticed, in his terror, that the Tsar was a little stouter than he had thought. It only made him more frightening.

'Fleas!' he roared. 'When your Tsar commands, it is treachery to disobey. Fleas!' He struck his staff a tremendous downward blow on the floor in front of the abbot. 'Fleas! Seven thousand. Not one less!'

It was a favourite trick of his to demand the impossible. Though the abbot did not know it, Ivan had used this demand for fleas before. The old man quaked and Daniel thought that, perhaps, he was about to have a heart attack and die.

'We do not possess them, lord,' Daniel said. He tried to keep his voice steady but it came out as a hoarse whisper.

Ivan turned to him.

'Then you are fined a hundred roubles, Brother Daniel,' he remarked calmly.

For a second, just for an instant, Daniel opened his mouth to protest. But then he remembered that recently the Tsar had tied a monk, like himself, astride a small keg of gunpowder before lighting it, and he fell silent, praying that his impulse had not been noticed.

Tsar Ivan returned to his table, indicating to the two monks that they were to remain where they were.

Now, ignoring them completely, he began to talk and laugh with the black-robed Oprichniki Oprichniki. He made some reference to another monastery, something Daniel could not hear what he had done to a monk there, which made them all roar with laughter, and sent a chill down Daniel's spine.

Half an hour passed. Tsar Ivan drank steadily, but was obviously in control of himself. Each time his hand raised the goblet to his lips, Daniel noticed the dull flash of the big jewelled rings on his fingers. His eyes, every few minutes, darted suspiciously round the big room, piercing the shadows.

'Bring more candles,' he commanded. 'Let there be light.' He did not seem to trust the darkness.

So they brought candle stands from the church and set them up in the corners.

It was just as they were doing so, that there was a commotion at the door and one of the Oprichniki Oprichniki announced that the bear was arriving. Led by the Tsar, they all went to the entrance to watch. announced that the bear was arriving. Led by the Tsar, they all went to the entrance to watch.