Harold Lamb

“ A priest said we had a new Tsar—long life and glory to him. Give a copper for bread, my Lords!”
“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 doumnii boyare, the councilors. But he allowed Kirdy and the merchant to pass through the palace gate with him, and that was something gained. ”

“ The Frenchman shrugged one shoulder toward Margeret, and, with a tentative glance at Kirdy, went on:
“Tatikof exhibited the body of the boy to the elder princes, while the false Dmitri was reveling in the palace. The dead lay in judgment upon the living.
“Good! It was decided to slay the false Tsar. You see, messieurs, it is an easier matter to prove a dead man an impostor than a living man a fraud. ”

“ Bertrand glanced at Kirdy covertly and took snuff.
“My dear Margeret,” he said under his breath in French, “what the —— do you or I know? I believe the Muscovite princes because they have the upper hand.”
“We took oath to—”
“Be loyal to this Dmitri? Eh, well, he is now dead. I can admire his spirit, but I condemn his lack of wisdom. If he had not made a mock of the churches and said his prayers to a ribald mask he would not have made enemies of the stiff old boyare. He gave his soul to the devil for a stake to gamble with.” ”