It was hardly surprising that, for some time after his arrival in Moscow, Andrei lived in a state of happy excitement. After all, it was a fine thing for a young Cossack to enter a mighty capital and find himself well received.

For they had been warmly welcomed. When they delivered their letters to the Kremlin, a senior functionary let them know that the Tsar and the boyars were well disposed towards them; and when they left the Kremlin and went to the Palace of the Patriarch on Ilinka Street, they were told that the great churchman would give them a personal audience in a few days.

Andrei was full of hope. After the hard months of fighting and uncertainty, he felt like a schoolboy suddenly granted a holiday.

And if Tula had been impressive, he found Moscow awe-inspiring. He would walk across the vast expanse of Red Square towards the extraordinary building already called St Basil's Cathedral. The floor of Red Square was slightly curved so that, as one walked, St Basil's seemed to rise up over a shortened horizon. He would advance three-quarters of the way, to the tribune platform where announcements were made and stare with wonder at those strange, barbaric Asiatic towers and domes. Nearby, the high, massive Kremlin walls, so blank, so pitiless, seemed both threatening and protective. On one of the towers there was now a huge English-designed clock, as though to suggest that, despite the huge, tomb-like silence of the Kremlin, it was still watching each minute of the present, passing world.

Sometimes he would wander through the suburbs, through street after street of dark brown, stolid wooden houses, whose roofs were still thick with snow. At every corner, it seemed, there was a church. Many were wooden, with high tent roofs but often, over the wooden houses, he would see the big, squat, pale shape of a masonry church looming over the quarter, with softly glowing domes and, perhaps, those gay little tiers of false arches arranged in a pyramid that the Russians called kokoshniki kokoshniki, meaning 'headdresses', such as women wore.

And above all, as he wandered about in the icy city, he noticed the endless sound of bells. How many churches could there be, to produce such a continuous noise?

'They say there are forty times forty and I believe it,' he concluded.

Indeed, a friendly priest assured him, in the summer, when the nights were short, the monastery bells could be heard all through the night. 'Just like so many nightingales,' the priest said, laughing.

Truly this was the capital, the northern fortress of the Orthodox Church.

But what a study in contrasts Moscow was. He had always heard that the Muscovites were given to whoring and drinking. 'They get as drunk as us Cossacks after a victory,' his father had always told him. And to be sure, Andrei saw plenty of people getting drunk, even lying helplessly in the freezing streets by dusk. Yet at the very same time, he would see crowds of men and women moving in a solemn stream into the churches to pray.

And how they prayed! While the priests appeared before the iconostases in their gorgeous vestments, the people stood for hours longer even than in the great cathedral in Kiev. Many of the faithful even suffered from an incurable foot ailment because of this, he learned. There was a communal zealousness about some of them, too, that he had not seen in the Ukraine. A little knot of women was often to be seen by the church doors and he had supposed they might be asking for alms until one day he saw a drunken man approach, and watched, astonished, as the women suddenly turned upon the fellow with scorn and shoved him brutally away. Truly these Russian women were devout.

Everything is done to extremes in this land, he concluded.

He noticed something else, too. There were quite a few foreigners in the streets, each wearing different national costumes. Some were merchants, but most seemed to be soldiers.

The Tsar is drawing men from all countries into his service, he thought, with some satisfaction.

It was at the end of his first week that Andrei made a new friend.

He had gone into the Kremlin to visit the cathedrals. His mood was light-hearted. The sun had appeared once or twice through the clouds that morning and just as he had left his lodgings, he had had a delightful experience. A young girl had gone tripping by, so close that he had nearly bumped into her as he came out. She could not have been more than fifteen. She wore a long pink cloak trimmed with fur, a tall cylindrical fur hat, and her hands were tucked neatly into a fur muff. She was very fair, her fresh young face glowing in the sharp air, and the long golden plait of hair that hung down her back was gaily tied with a bright red ribbon.

Before he had time to collect his thoughts, she was gone, but he smiled to himself as he thought: When this business is over, it will be time to think of getting married. Perhaps I'll take one of these pretty Russian girls with me.

Now, as he walked past the palace in the Kremlin, he paused for a moment below the window in the Terem Palace where one of the streltsy streltsy guards stood to receive the people's petitions. guards stood to receive the people's petitions.

How remarkable it was that anyone, even the lowest peasant, could come here, place his petition in the little box provided, and know that it would go straight to the Tsar's personal secretariat in the famous Golden Room above very likely be read out to the Tsar himself. The mighty autocrat was like a personal father to his people. And a kindly one too. Andrei had already heard stories of the young Tsar's kindness: how he would visit the prisons in person, give the poor fellows sheepskin coats, even sometimes set them free by paying off their debts. 'The Tsar is like a sparkling sun,' the Russians liked to say.

He had just turned towards the cathedrals when he heard a friendly voice behind him: 'Well, if it isn't my friend the Cossack.'

He turned and saw a young fellow in a beaver coat grinning at him. He had to think for a moment to remember where he had seen him before, then realized that it had been in the government office where they had delivered their letters: this was the young clerk who had greeted them and conducted them to the senior secretary who had interviewed them.

He was a pleasant young man of about Andrei's own age. Andrei now noticed that he had pale, rather ivory skin and a broad, handsome forehead crowned with thick, wavy black hair parted in the middle and brushed carefully back. Yet if this upper part of his face made Andrei think of a Polish nobleman, the rest seemed to derive from a quite different source. His high cheekbones and rather slanting eyes, despite the fact that they were blue, suggested a Turkish or Tatar ancestry. It was as though a high European face had been compressed in its middle section to produce a slightly squashed though quite agreeable effect.

He introduced himself as Nikita, son of Ivan, Bobrov. The name meant nothing to Andrei.

The two young men fell into an easy conversation. The clerk seemed eager to talk to this visitor from the south and it was not long before he warmly suggested: 'Come to my lodgings today. We can talk better.'

It seemed an excellent chance to learn more about this great state which the Ukrainians were trying to join, and Andrei accepted willingly. He agreed to come that afternoon.

The lodgings of Nikita Bobrov were in the fashionable kitaygorod kitaygorod quarter, but they were modest, consisting of three rooms on the upper floor of a stout wooden house belonging to a merchant. quarter, but they were modest, consisting of three rooms on the upper floor of a stout wooden house belonging to a merchant.

His host was not alone when Andrei arrived. Standing at one side of the main room was a middle-aged man in a heavy sheepskin. At the far end stood a plump woman with a younger one beside her, whose face Andrei could not quite see in the shadows.

The man in the sheepskin was of medium height. His bad-tempered face might once have been pale but now it was blotched; he had small dark eyes and his hair was parted in the middle and pulled tightly down his head so that it seemed to become one with his flowing beard. Everything about him, his body, his eyebrows, his entire character, appeared to be close-knit. He might have been a small merchant. And he was obviously as angry as he dared be.

Nikita briefly excused himself while he turned back to this man, whom he now addressed with an air of finality.

'I can talk to you no more, Ivan,' he said firmly. 'My mind is made up. You see for yourself that Elena has hurt her leg and needs Maria to help her. She can't even get to the market. You can't object to your wife helping her mother. And even if you do, I'm ordering you, so there's an end of it. You're to leave now and return here after Easter with those missing rents.'

'I should never have brought her,' the fellow mumbled angrily.

'That's beside the point. And take care you bring those rents when you return,' the young man added severely, 'or I'll have you thrashed.'

The man glowered in the direction of the two women, but reluctantly placed his hand on his heart and made a low bow to Nikita before going out. His heavy steps could be heard going down the stairs outside. Andrei thought he detected a stifled laugh from the younger of the two women, but a moment later they, too, bowed and vanished into the next room.

'My steward,' Nikita explained with a smile. 'A difficult fellow.' He indicated two benches by the window and they went over to them. 'The fact is,' he confessed, 'I brought a widow from my village as housekeeper to save myself the expense of hiring servants in Moscow. Now,' he added ruefully, 'I have family quarrels on my hands. The penalty of being poor,' he grinned. 'Let's talk of other things.'

Andrei soon discovered, rather to his surprise, that he and his host shared several things in common. As his face suggested, young Bobrov's mother, who had come from Smolensk, was Polish and thanks to her he had early on been taught to read and write and scan a little Latin in fact, a similar education to the one Andrei had got in Kiev. He even knew some Polish courtly tales. But while this degree of education was becoming more common in the Ukraine, it was still very rare in Russia and the young clerk had been delighted to discover someone his own age who shared these attainments.

As Andrei had hoped, his friend was happy to give him all the information he wanted about the politics of Moscow.

'You came at a good time and you took your letters to the right people,' Nikita assured him. 'The Tsar and the boyar Morozov are your friends, and that's important. The people hate Morozov because he has a silver-plated carriage and he put high taxes on bread and salt, but he's powerful. His wife and the Tsar's wife are sisters and their family, the Miloslavskys, control a lot of the court.' He grinned. 'Morozov even owns part of the big ironworks you saw at Tula.'

'But we asked for the Tsar's protection before, and nothing came of it,' Andrei reminded him.

'True, but things have changed. The first time you asked, the Tsar was younger and your letter arrived in the middle of a popular revolt here. Half the suburbs were in flames and Morozov nearly lost his life. Moscow wasn't ready to take on a commitment that risked war with Poland. But we're stronger now and the Tsar's in control.'

'What about the Church?' Andrei asked, remembering Bogdan's words.

'The Church wants union. You know the Patriarch of Jerusalem himself came to Moscow to plead your cause. And we already value your Ukrainian scholars.'

Andrei knew that the Patriarch of Jerusalem had been in Kiev at the very time of Bogdan's triumphal entry and that after this he had gone north. He also knew that a number of Ukrainian scholars had recently been set up in a house in the Sparrow Hills at Moscow's edge. All this seemed to augur well.

'But the greatest and most powerful friend you have is not even our master the Tsar,' the young man solemnly told him. 'It's our new Moscow Patriarch.' And now Andrei noticed that his host unconsciously dropped his voice a little in respect: 'Patriarch Nikon.'

Andrei had noticed that although this new Patriarch had only been chosen the previous year, people already seemed to speak of him with a kind of awe.

'They say,' Nikita went on, 'that he may be a new Philaret.'

This was a remarkable claim. For when, forty years before, the amiable Michael Romanov had been chosen by the Zemsky Sobor Zemsky Sobor as the first Tsar of the new dynasty, it was not long before his father, the austere Patriarch Philaret, was virtually ruling the state for him. Could this new Patriarch, whom he knew to be of humble origins, really be so powerful? as the first Tsar of the new dynasty, it was not long before his father, the austere Patriarch Philaret, was virtually ruling the state for him. Could this new Patriarch, whom he knew to be of humble origins, really be so powerful?

'Wait till you see him,' Nikita said.

Nikon's interest was simple, it appeared. He wanted to see Moscow recognized as the equal if not the highest of the five patriarchates of the Orthodox Church. The dignity of the Moscow Patriarchate had to be raised. They needed more saints. Only a year before, the body of Metropolitan Filip, whom Ivan the Terrible had murdered, had been ceremoniously brought back to Moscow to be venerated in the Kremlin church. He also knew that the Russian Church was backward, its texts corrupt and its scholarship inferior. He wanted to correct all this and, together with the Ukraine, make the ancient lands of Rus a mighty bulwark against the Catholic and other religions of the west.

'He's already started to reform the prayer book and the liturgy,' Nikita explained. 'It seems we've even been making the sign of the cross the wrong way.'

'Is there any opposition?' Andrei wondered.

'Yes. A bit. There's a small group amongst the senior zealots who don't approve. They hate change.' He laughed. 'I got waylaid in the Kremlin not long ago by some fellow from the provinces called Avvakum I ask you, what a name! who went on about it for half an hour until I shut him up. But Nikon's very powerful and he'll make short work of any opposition. You can be sure of that. And then, my dear fellow, Moscow will truly be the third Rome,' he added enthusiastically.

It was an enthusiasm Andrei could share. This was what the Cossacks wanted to see.

They were briefly interrupted by a rustling at the entrance as the older of the two women appeared and began quietly to set food on the table. It was a modest meal: fish, a few vegetables, and a sort of gingerbread she had made without eggs or milk, so as not to break the Lenten fast. To wash this down, however, Nikita had allowed himself some of the vodka which was now the drink of all classes in northern Russia.

Andrei had idly watched these preparations, curious to see whether the younger woman would appear; but she had not. They moved to the table and at once Nikita poured them both a liberal quantity of vodka.

Andrei was curious to know more about his host. What sort of man was he?

'I'm a small landowner,' Nikita explained. 'My family have been service gentry boyar's sons, they call us for a long time. Our estate's a small place in the Vladimir region. But I hope to rise,' he confided. He explained that the next step up would be to join the more select, so-called Moscow Gentry that Ivan the Terrible had founded with his chosen thousand retainers. 'And who knows, after that? People like me have even become boyars the highest rank of all.'

His modest education, it turned out, was a great advantage to him because it allowed him to make himself useful in his government department.

'It was because my mother taught me Polish that I was chosen for this part of my department,' he added. 'We have special responsibility for Cossack affairs.'

Andrei knew that the government department the prikaz prikaz was one of the ways to advancement in the Tsar's service and he was curious about it. Nikita was happy to tell him more, describing the work of his unit with pride. Yet the more Andrei listened, the more puzzled he became. was one of the ways to advancement in the Tsar's service and he was curious about it. Nikita was happy to tell him more, describing the work of his unit with pride. Yet the more Andrei listened, the more puzzled he became.

For as well as Cossack affairs, it seemed Nikita's prikaz prikaz dealt with honey production, the Tsar's falcons, and numerous other matters that seemed to be completely unrelated to its main task. When he questioned Nikita about this, the young clerk only grinned. dealt with honey production, the Tsar's falcons, and numerous other matters that seemed to be completely unrelated to its main task. When he questioned Nikita about this, the young clerk only grinned.

'Every prikaz prikaz is the same in Moscow,' he said. 'You see, each department grew up because some particular matter had to be dealt with; and when something new turns up, it's just given to whoever happens to be free. There are at least three other departments dealing with you Cossacks, as well as my own.' is the same in Moscow,' he said. 'You see, each department grew up because some particular matter had to be dealt with; and when something new turns up, it's just given to whoever happens to be free. There are at least three other departments dealing with you Cossacks, as well as my own.'

'Isn't it confusing?'

'It is until you know your way around. But it's useful too, you know. The thing is to try to get your finger into as many pies as possible.'

As Nikita began to describe the extensive and hopelessly confused Russian bureaucracy, Andrei's head began to swim. How, with so much red tape, so much overlapping of responsibilities, was it ever possible to get anything done? Try though he might, the more he listened, the less he could see any answer to this question which, indeed, was not surprising, since any Muscovite at that date could have told him that there was no solution to the problem of government red tape.

They drank numerous toasts: to the Ukraine, to Holy Russia, to the Cossacks. Nikita was anxious to know the Cossacks' military strength and Andrei assured him of their fitness.

'Because if we accept the Ukraine, it will mean war with Poland,' the young man remarked seriously.

For his part, Andrei wanted to know about the many people from other countries he had seen in Moscow. Who were they? At this, Nikita became vehement.

'Damned foreigners,' he cursed. 'We need them, that's the trouble. Do you know why, my dear Cossack?'

Andrei was not sure.

'Because you and I aren't good enough, that's why.' He sighed. 'It's the same problem Ivan the Terrible faced. Most of our history, you see, our enemy has been the horsemen, usually from the east. People like my ancestors and nowadays you Cossacks know how to fight the Tatars. But now we have even more powerful people we need to fight: the Germans, the Swedes, the powers up in the Baltic. We want to conquer the Baltic and dominate its trade, but these people have science and military expertise that we do not possess.

'Why do you think I am a clerk in a prikaz prikaz when my ancestors were warriors? It's because the Tsar doesn't need poor amateurs like a Bobrov to lead his men. He needs Dutch and German engineers, Scottish mercenaries, even English adventurers. They're the people who we're recruiting to be our officers now. They know how to fight trained infantry. They understand siege warfare and modern artillery.' when my ancestors were warriors? It's because the Tsar doesn't need poor amateurs like a Bobrov to lead his men. He needs Dutch and German engineers, Scottish mercenaries, even English adventurers. They're the people who we're recruiting to be our officers now. They know how to fight trained infantry. They understand siege warfare and modern artillery.'

'What about the streltsy streltsy?' Andrei had always understood the famous musketeers were formidable.

'Good in their day in the time of Ivan the Terrible. Hopelessly out of date now, both in tactics and weapons. They've got lazy too.' He shook his head sadly. 'No, we must be humble and learn from the west, my friend. They possess so much knowledge.'

These thoughts seemed to depress him. They depressed Andrei too, for this new world hardly sounded promising for the half-disciplined Cossacks either. Nikita poured them both more vodka, which they downed. Nikita poured again. Then he suddenly brightened.

'Of course, once we've learned their damned western science Dutch cunning we call it in Moscow then we'll kick them all out.'

'Ah,' said Andrei appreciatively. 'I'll drink to that.'

And so, though they did not know it, the two men, with their poor smattering of education, drank cheerfully to the greatest weakness of the Muscovite state.

For, like almost everyone, even amongst the elite in Moscow, these young men were entirely unaware of the centuries of culture that these uncomfortable western neighbours represented. Of the great philosophical debates of the Middle Ages they were entirely ignorant. Of the Renaissance they knew almost nothing. For the slow growth of a complex political and economic society in Western Europe, they cared not at all. The Russians had seen only the military power of the west and supposed that if they copied it, they had discovered all they needed. Thus they reached out to touch, not substance, but merely the dancing shadows cast upon Russia's walls.

'What about the foreign merchants?' Andrei asked. 'I've noticed a great many.'

Nikita shrugged.

'They're all heretics. Patriarch Nikon has known how to deal with them, I must say. The reason you notice them is that the Patriarch made them all wear their own national dress, even if they've been here a generation or more. That way they can't conceal themselves. You know they're not allowed to live in the city any more?'

Andrei had heard of the so-called German quarter the contemptuous Russian words actually meant 'Dumb people's quarter' outside the city, but had not realized that it was a sort of ghetto.

'That was Nikon too,' Nikita said approvingly.

'I don't see any Jews.'

'No. The Tsar won't have them.'

'That's good,' the Cossack said.

'There's only one other kind of foreigner that's banned at least from the capital.'

'Who's that?'

'The English, of course.'

'The English?' The young Cossack from the south did not know a great deal about this distant nation. 'Are they terrible heretics?'

'Worse. Didn't you know?' Nikita involuntarily lowered his voice even to speak of the horror. 'They cut off the head of their own King, Charles I, not four years ago.'

Andrei looked at him. As a Cossack, he supposed that it was a terrible thing to kill a king though it did not seem so very terrible to him, so long as the king wasn't Orthodox.

But the effect upon Nikita, even of mentioning this awful deed, was quite extraordinary. His face puckered up into an expression of utter contempt and loathing.

'They killed their own annointed King,' he repeated. And then he said something which stayed in Andrei's mind for a long time afterwards. 'They are worse than the Poles. Thank God we know that we are the Tsar's slaves.'

Several times before Andrei had noticed this manner of speaking. The common people would call themselves the Tsar's orphans, and the official service classes seemed positively proud to call themselves his slaves. So far he had assumed it was a figure of speech; but watching his new friend Nikita now, he was not so sure. It was strange.

It was just after leaving that he caught sight of the younger woman. He had glanced back at the house and seen her face, quite clearly, at an open window.

It belonged to a girl about his own age: a pretty face, lightly freckled, with regular features. He could just see the top part of her body. It was obviously slim. Definitely a handsome girl.

She was watching him. He smiled at her. She smiled back, then, quickly turning her head, ducked back inside the window.

He frowned. How strange. It looked almost as if the girl had a black eye.

Perhaps it was not altogether by chance that he happened to pass near Nikita's lodgings the next day and strolled about in the little market nearby. If he had been curious to see the girl, he was rewarded, for he had only been there a short time when she and her mother came by. He noticed that the mother, despite what Nikita had said, was hardly limping at all.