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Ivan is false. You have seen the Czar, you know how he behaves. You have seen him stare at nothing and claim he sees his son Ivan bleeding in front of him. You have heard him praying in the dead of night, crying aloud at the sky for God to seize him. You know that he is mad, and yet you will not challenge his Right.”
    “Not while Feodor Ivanovich remains his heir. I have sworn an oath and I will not abjure it.” He found it difficult to keep from bragging of his own, complex plans regarding the distressed Czar. It was wrong even to think about it, for Greeks were subtle and might well find a way to discover his thoughts, to use them against him.
    “Feodor Ivanovich will not rule,” said Nikodemios. “Everyone knows that he will never live to hold the sceptre. He has not two reasonable thoughts in his head. He speaks badly when he
    speaks at all. Perhaps Czar Ivan will have sense enough to appoint a regent before his madness makes such a decision impossible. Whatever the case, Feodor will never hold power. He is incapable of rule, and everyone agrees that he will not reign. He belongs in a monastery or a farm, somewhere he can ring his bells in peace. Think, Duke. His wife is more capable of ruling than he, and she is nothing more than a woman, and half Tartar to boot. Resign yourself: Feodor will not reign, no matter what Ivan may do. The nobles will rebel before that occurs.”
    “Saying such things could lose your skin for you, Greek,” said Shuisky. “If I were to accuse you—”
    “You would not dare do that,” said Nikodemios. “I would have a few things to accuse you of, as well. And the rest of your family.”
    Now Shuisky snickered, a sound like wet leather straps slapping together. “But you are a foreigner and I am a nobleman; my family is noble,” he said confidently. “They would not believe you. Foreigners are not guests here, they are strangers. I need only point you out and declare that you have spoken against the Czar and his son. They would start with your feet, taking the skin off slowly so that you will not bleed to death too quickly. They would leave you hanging, your own skin dangling off you in wide strips. It takes a long time to die that way.”
    “It would not be wise,” said Nikodemios, though his brow had gone white and his voice was a little breathless. “I have many secrets that would embarrass more nobles than you and your relatives.”
    “You mean you would shame the oprichniks? That is nothing to me.” He cocked his head. “But perhaps I will not denounce you for a spy. If you assist me, I may be persuaded to keep your confidence a while.” His high color had abated now that he was once again in control of his emotions. “I want to know why you think it was I who sent word to Istvan Bathory. Why have you come to me?”
    “A ... a priest claimed he saw such a letter, that it came from this house. Our source was reliable and has never been incorrect before.” He was clearly less certain than he had been at first. He had supposed that he would be able to strike a bargain with Anastasi Shuisky and that had proved impossible. Now he was left with no plan to guide him.
    “Not the priest who lives in this house,” said Anastasi, hoping it would not be true.
    “No, not in this house,” said Nikodemios, too quickly, which gave him away.
    It was possible to smile; his smile was cold. “And how did Father Iliya come to see this letter he claims to have read?” asked Anastasi, feeling his way with caution.
    “I don’t know.” He decided to offer some information without having Anastasi ask for it, in the hope that it would improve his position. “But being a true man of God, he sent word to the Patriarch in Jerusalem. He feared that addressing the Metropolitan here might lead to accusations and imprisonment, though he had discovered treason. The power of the boyars—” He was frightened. His faded brown eyes shifted resdessly from one object to another in the room, as