It was a grotesque sight. Preceded by four men with burning torches, the sled came into the courtyard. The terrified monks peeped out of windows and doorways.

In it sat the bear. His gaunt frame had been hung with a magnificent sable coat. On his head was the Tsar's conical hat. Around his neck Boris had hung a golden crucifix he had taken from the chapel.

With a baffled Mikhail guiding him, the bear was coaxed to walk on its hind legs from the sled into the refectory.

'Bow!' Ivan cried in a loud voice to the monks in the doorways. 'Bow to the Tsar of all the bears!'

He himself conducted the bear to his own chair on which it was persuaded to sit. Then, with mock ceremony, the Tsar made them all, including the abbot, bow low to the bear, before they removed the hat and coat.

'Come then, peasant,' the Tsar said sharply to Mikhail. 'Show us your tricks.'

It was not much of a performance. While the Tsar and his men sat, Mikhail led the animal through its routine. It stood up, danced ponderously, clapped its paws together. The creature was a sad sight, its skin hanging loosely for want of food. After a little time Ivan grew bored and banished Mikhail and the animal to a corner.

Outside, the night grew deeper. The cloud cover broke so that, here and there, a few stars could be glimpsed. Within, Ivan sat, apparently brooding, telling Boris to fill his goblet, and his own, with wine from time to time.

'They say,' he murmured softly, 'that I may retire and become a monk. Have you heard that?'

'Yes, lord. Your enemies say that.'

Ivan nodded slowly. In the early days of the Oprichnina Oprichnina many of the boyars had suggested this solution. many of the boyars had suggested this solution.

'And yet,' he went on quietly, 'it is true. Those whom God chooses to rule over men are given not freedom, but a terrible burden; not a palace, but a prison.' He paused. 'No ruler is safe, Boris Davidov. Even I, chosen by God to rule over men according to my will even I must watch the shadows on the wall: for any one of them may possess a knife.' He drank thoughtfully. 'Better, perhaps, the life of a monk.'

Boris, too, as he sat with Tsar Ivan, felt the oppressive silence of the shadows. He had drunk deeply, but his head was still clear; instead of confusion, he felt within him a slowly rising melancholy as he entered into the twilight world of this ruler he revered. He, too, in his small way, knew what it was to be troubled by the treacheries and phantasmagoria of the night. He, too, knew that a terrible phantom may, in the cold light of dawn, turn out to be real.

They will kill him, he thought, if he does not first kill them.

And here he was, sitting opposite this great and troubled man, his Tsar, who was taking him once again into his most intimate confidence. How he longed to share the life of this mighty figure, so close yet so all-powerful, so terrible yet so deeply wise, who saw into the dark hearts of men.

They drank in silence.

'Tell me, Boris Davidov, what shall we do with this rascal priest who has stolen land from the Tsar?' Ivan asked at last.

Boris thought. He was honoured to be asked. He had no love for Daniel, but he must make a wise answer.

'He is useful,' he said at last. 'He loves money.'

Ivan looked at him thoughtfully. His eyes were more bloodshot, but still piercing. He reached out his long hand and touched Boris's arm. Boris felt a thrill of excitement.

'Well answered.' He smiled grimly. 'Let us beat some money out of him.' He signalled to two of the other Oprichniki Oprichniki, and whispered instructions. They went over to where the monks were still standing and quietly conducted Daniel out.

Boris knew what they would do. They would tie him up, probably upside down, and beat him until he told them where all the monastery's money was hidden. Priests and monks always had money and usually disgorged it fairly soon. Boris did not feel sorry for him. It was the smallest of all Ivan's chastisements. The fellow probably deserved worse.

But now the Tsar's long evening had begun.

It was by a little sign, an involuntary winking of Ivan's left eye, that Boris understood what was to come. He had heard of it from other Oprichniki Oprichniki and he knew that it frequently followed a church service. The sign meant that Ivan was in a mood to punish. and he knew that it frequently followed a church service. The sign meant that Ivan was in a mood to punish.

'Tell me, Boris Davidov,' he now said in a quiet voice, 'who is there here who is not to be trusted?'

Boris paused.

'Remember your oath,' Ivan murmured gently. 'You have sworn to tell your Tsar all that you know.'

It was true. He had no reason to hesitate.

'I am told there is one,' he said, 'who is guilty of heresy.'

It took Stephen quite by surprise when the four strange men came to search his cell.

They were thorough. Systematically, with the skill of long practice, they ransacked the box that contained the few possessions he had brought from his former home; they investigated the bench on which he slept, his few clothes, they examined the walls and would have torn up the floor had not one of them, in the gap between the thick logs of the wall, discovered what he was looking for: the little pamphlet.

How strange. Stephen had almost forgotten the existence of the English tract. He had not even looked at it for months, and only kept it in order to remind himself, from time to time, of what might be said about rich monks by those who were free to do so.

He might even have pretended he did not know what it was, but for one thing: the very day that Wilson had given it to him, while it was fresh in his mind, he had written down the Englishman's translation in the margin.

When they had dragged him to the refectory, it was this that they showed to the Tsar.

Ivan read it slowly; he read it aloud. From time to time he would stop, and, in a deep voice, point out to Stephen the precise nature of the disgraceful heresies written down in his own hand.

For though some Protestants, like the English merchants, were tolerated because they were foreigners and better at least than Catholics Ivan was deeply affronted by the tone of their writings. How could he, the Orthodox Tsar, condone the insolent, anti-authoritarian arguments they used? Only months ago, the previous summer, he had allowed one of these fellows, a Hussite from Poland, to expound his views before him and all his court. His reply had been magnificent. It had been written out on parchment pages and delivered to the ignorant foreigner in a jewelled box. In rolling phrases the Orthodox Tsar had crushed the impertinent heretic for ever.

'We shall pray to Our Lord Jesus Christ,' he had ended, 'to preserve the Russian people from the darkness of your evil doctrines.'

And now here was this tall, solemn monk, hiding such filth in a monastery.

When he had finished reading the pamphlet he glowered at Stephen.

'What have you to say to this?' he intoned. 'Do you believe these things?'

Stephen looked at him sadly. What could he say?

'They are the views of foreigners,' he said at last.

'Yet you keep them in your cell?'

'As a curiosity.' It was true, or near enough.

'A curiosity.' The Tsar repeated the word with slow, deliberate contempt. 'We shall see, monk, what other curiosity we can find for you.'

He glanced at the abbot.

'You keep strange monks in your monastery,' he remarked.

'I knew nothing of this, lord,' the old man miserably answered.

'Yet my faithful Boris Davidov did. What am I to think of such negligence?' He paused for a moment. 'I need no church court to deal with this,' he remarked. 'Isn't that so, abbot?'

The old man looked at him helplessly.

'You did well, Boris,' Ivan sighed, 'to expose this monster.'

And indeed, even Boris had been astounded by the pamphlet Ivan had read out.

'How shall we punish him then?' the Tsar wondered aloud, his eyes moving round the room.

Then, when he saw what he wanted, he rose from his chair.

'Come, Boris,' he said, 'come help me mete out justice.'

It took some time, yet even so, Boris did not feel pity. In that terrible night, heavy with wine, swept up in the Tsar's hypnotic power, what they did seemed to him a final, fitting vengeance for the wrongs that he had suffered.

Let the priest die, he thought. Let the viper a heretic too die a thousand deaths.

He had seen many worse deaths than this. But the particular method seemed to amuse the Tsar that night.

Softly, almost gently, he had crossed the floor to where Mikhail was standing and taken out of his hand the chain by which the bear was led.

'Come, Misha,' he had said softly to the bear. 'Come, Misha, Tsar of all the bears; the Tsar of Russia has something for you to do.' And he led him over to the priest.

He had nodded to Boris, and Boris had quickly attached the other end of the chain to Stephen's belt, so that now bear and man were linked together with just two paces between them.

Putting his long arm round Boris's shoulder, the Tsar led him back to the table; then he called to the other Oprichniki: Oprichniki: 'Now let the good Tsar of the bears deal with this heretic!' 'Now let the good Tsar of the bears deal with this heretic!'

At first they had had some difficulty. Stephen, saying nothing, had gone down on his knees, touched his head to the ground and then, crossing himself as he rose, stood quite still before the bear with his head bowed in prayer. The wretched animal, starved and miserable though it was, had merely looked from side to side in confusion.

'Take my staff,' Ivan had commanded, and the black-shirts had circled the pair, prodding first one and then the other, pushing the priest at the bear from behind, jabbing at the animal with the sharp iron tip of Ivan's staff.

'Hoyda! Hoyda!' Ivan cried. It was the cry of the Tatar drivers to their horses his favourite encouragement. 'Hoyda!'

They struck beast and man; they goaded the bear until, at last, confused, enraged, stung by the pain, it began to strike out at the man chained to it, since there was no other object within reach. And Stephen, bleeding from the blows from the mighty claws, could not help trying to ward them off.

'Hoyda!' cried the Tsar. 'Hoyda!'

But still the bear did not finish the business in hand and, in the end, Ivan signalled his men to drag Stephen out and complete the execution in the yard.

Yet still the night was not over. Tsar Ivan had not done.

'More wine,' he commanded Boris. 'Sit close by me, my friend.'

It seemed as if, for a time, the Tsar had forgotten the others in the room, put out of his mind, perhaps, even the priest he had just killed. He gazed moodily at the rings on his fingers.

'See, here is a sapphire,' he said. 'Sapphires protect me. Here is a ruby.' He pointed to a huge stone set in the ring on his middle finger. 'A ruby cleanses the blood.'

'You have no diamonds, Gosudar Gosudar,' Boris remarked.

Ivan reached out and took his hand gently, giving him a smile of surprising intimacy and frankness.

'Do you know, they say that diamonds keep a man from rage and voluptuousness, but I have never liked them. Perhaps I should.'

Boris almost needed to pinch himself to make sure he was not dreaming that it was really the Tsar sitting here, side by side with him, talking to him like a brother; as intimately, as sweetly as a lover?

'Here.' Ivan took a ring off another finger. 'Hold it in your hand, my Boris. Let us see. Ah, yes.' He took the ring back after a few moments. 'All is well. That is a turquoise. If it loses colour in your hand, it means your death. See,' he smiled, 'the colour is still there.'

He said nothing for a minute or so. Boris did not interrupt his thoughts.

Then suddenly Ivan turned to him.

'So,' he asked, 'why did you hate that priest?'

Boris caught his breath. It was not said unkindly, rather the reverse.

'How did you know, lord?'

'I saw it in your face, my friend, when they brought him in.' He smiled again. 'He really was a heretic, you know. He deserved to die. But I would have killed him for you anyway.'

Boris stared down. Hearing such words from the Tsar he felt a welling of emotion. The Tsar, terrible though he was, was his friend. He could scarcely believe it. Tears started to his eyes. He himself had no real understanding of how lonely he had been all these years.

Suddenly he had a great urge to share his unhappy secrets with the Tsar who cared for him. Whom else should he tell, if not God's representative upon the earth, the protector of the one true Church?

'You have a son, Gosudar Gosudar, to continue your royal line,' he began. 'I have no son.'

Ivan frowned.

'You have time to beget sons, my friend, if it is God's will,' he murmured. 'Have you then no son?' he asked, surprised.

Boris shook his head slowly.

'I hardly know. I have a son. Yet I think I have not a son.'

Ivan looked at him carefully.

'You mean ... the priest?'

He nodded.

'I think so.'

Ivan said nothing for a little while, raising the goblet of wine to his lips.

'You could get other sons,' he said, and looked at Boris meaningfully. 'I have had two wives. Both gave me sons. Always remember that.'

Boris pursed his lips. Emotion closed his throat. He nodded.

Ivan's eyes travelled round the room slowly. They were a little glazed. His mind seemed far away.

After a little time he rose. Boris hastened to rise also, but Ivan motioned him, with a single, royal gesture, to prostrate himself before him on the ground. Then he gently lifted the hem of his long robe and cast it over Boris's head, just as a bridegroom covers his bride at the marriage service.

'The Tsar is your only father,' he quietly intoned. Then, turning to the other Oprichniki Oprichniki, he called out: 'Bring us our cloaks, and then await us here,' And having put on his sable coat and his tall fur pointed hat, he said to Boris in a low voice: 'Come, follow me.'