Adventure Magazine Cover — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

26 HAROLD LAMB times they passed by a house that was be- set by strelsui and nobles. Then Bertrand hung back and would have fetched a circle to avoid the armed men, but Kirdy pushed through the mob, saying that nothing was to be gained by slinking like dogs. In fact, the soldiery, seeing his erect head and im- perious manner, often cleared a way for him and the Frankish merchant. “Eh, it is terrible,” Bertrand sighed, watched men run into a door under upflung shields, while arrows flickered down from narrow windows. “It is a massacre of the Poles.” There was real regret behind his sigh, because the shrewd trader foresaw that this slaughter of the visitors would be ample excuse for the ambitious and powerful King Sigismund to lead his armies into Muscovy, and that a great war would follow on the heels of civil conflict—with more plunder- ing than profit for himself.* The more they penetrated the noisy streets the less they were able to learn of events. An officer of the town watch glared at them suspiciously, taking them for Poles or Jews in disguise, and was utterly astonished when they told him the Tsar was dead. “Okh—who would give orders if not our great illustrious prince? How can he be dead? There was an order given to cut down all who are not orthodox believers—”’ Pulling at Kirdy’s arm, Bertrand hurried on, only to be stopped by a drunken hal- berdier who presented his pike, and roared drowsily: ‘““Stand—enemies of the faith! Put down your weapons and bend the head!” Him Kirdy quieted with a gold piece and passed on before the slow-thinking warrior reflected that more plunder might be had where the ducat came from. ‘They saw a whole colony of Jews scurrying like hares into a dark alley where a barricade was be- ing put up—a flimsy rampart of tables, benches and posts. “Tt is a dark hour, my Lords!”’ a blind beg- gar declaimed, shaking his shaggy head. ‘“‘Ai-a, who knows what word is true, and what is false? A priest said we had a new Tsar—long life and glory to him. Give a }?? copper for bread, my Lords! * Bertrand’s forebodings were more than justified; while the boyare fought against the mob in succeeding years, Sigismund invaded Moscow and entered the Kremyl. These years of famine and despair became known as the *‘time of trouble.’’ “The belly endures no interregnum,” murmured Bertrand. ‘Ah, here is a client who knows me.” He accosted a bearded noble who was forcing his way on horseback toward one of the Kremyl gates, followed by a wild- looking array of fur-clad slaves and men-at- arms. ‘The Muscovite knew nothing at all of events, save that he had been summoned to attendance by the doumnit boyare, the councilors. But he allowed Kirdy and the merchant to pass through the palace gate with him, and that was something gained. Here there was less fighting, but little more enlightenment. Kirdy saw a young woman with painted cheeks and mincing step—a being in voluminous velvets and silk garments, who yet looked at him out of haggard eyes, led away between two files of guardsmen. With her were two elder men who walked proudly and held hat and gloves as precisely as if they were bound for a court audience instead of gaol. ‘The bride of the false Dmitri,’’ Bertrand whispered. ‘“The princess of Sandomir. A pawn, thrust in advance of king and bishops.”’ “She does not weep,”’ Kirdy commented, with approval. The way into the Tsar’s quarters was barred to them, and they learned that the boyare were in council. It was a dwarf of the troupe of buffoons who told them where the false Dmitri lay—a jester of the com- pany Kirdy had seen the night before. “Nay, Uncle,” the little man laughed, “which Dmitri doth your soberness seek? The skeleton or the corpse?” ‘What difference?” retorted the merchant with a grimace. “By the holy angels, a mighty difference! One, that was no more than a fistful of bones yester-eve—that a starved jackal would turn from—now is an honorable relic, and worketh miracles by account of the priests. The other, that was our celestial prince but a day agone, is now accursed cold meat that an honest butcher would spit upon—” ‘“‘Where lies he—this false Dmitri?”’ asked Kirdy. ‘““Ohai—he lies for all to see. Come, Uncle Merchant, come my Lord of Tatary! I will show you! Permit me to conduct you to the royal seat. He lies in state.” Grimacing, the dwarf pushed and mum- bled his way through the crowds, beckoning over his shoulder to the two, until he came COmiclboooks.c©