So it didn't help one bit that every single person in Taina above the age of six seemed to know all about sex and have inflated ideas about exactly what Ivan's sexual prowess would be like. The crude comments about how he was going to keep the princess turning on the spit longer than a suckling pig gave him a new appreciation for the Jewish ban on pork. And the children who asked if they could come play in the tent that his erection would make of the bedcovers left him speechless.
It's all jokes, he told himself. It's a celebration of life. It's a holdover from pagan fertility rites.
One thing was sure, though. If somebody talked like this coming out of a wedding in upstate New York, they'd better be drunk or they'd never get another invitation anywhere in their lives.
Through it all, Katerina seemed not to hear a thing. At first Ivan thought she was as embarrassed as he was. But of course that could not be so—she must have attended other weddings in Taina. For all he knew, as a child she had invented some of the ribald jokes now being retold at top volume along the path to the king's house. Her grim silence had another cause entirely, he was sure. For to her, marrying him was a vile duty forced on her by the needs of her country.
And to him, she was a woman far more magnificent than he would ever have selected for himself.
A thought which made him feel utterly disloyal to Ruth, as if he hadn't already. Ruth was a pleasant, attractive young woman, but Katerina was heartbreakingly beautiful, translucent with inner glory. Men like Ivan didn't imagine for a moment that they were worthy of approaching such a woman. In fact, the only men who tried to date such women were the arrogant assholes who thought every woman wanted them to drop trou and let the poor bitch have a glimpse of Dr. Love. Even if Ivan hadn't known his script from the fairy tales, he certainly would have known that the only way he could ever kiss such a woman was in her sleep.
At long last—and yet far too soon—they reached Katerina's flower-strewn room and waited while the charivari continued for another few minutes. Ivan even submitted to letting the teenage boys strip off his outer clothing and throw it out the window to the amusement of those who hadn't been able to fit inside the house.
There were limits. No one laid a hand on Katerina. Indeed, she was surrounded by women primping her and whispering to her and glancing pointedly at Ivan from time to time, as if to make last-minute assessments of just how badly he was going to treat her and how to keep herself from screaming her way out of the room. He could imagine them saying, "Just lie there and endure it. It's the burden of a woman."
Then the rest were gone. The door closed.
The singing and hand-clapping continued outside their window. The people were waiting. Ivan had vague memories of some culture or other in which the people would expect to be shown bloodstained sheets. But surely that wasn't ninth-century Russia, was it?
He just wasn't getting into the spirit of this. Standing there in his linen tunic, he was keenly aware of how unready he was for any kind of sexual performance. He was so utterly unaroused that for the first time in his life, he actually wondered: Am I gay? After all, I did wear women's clothing.
She looked at him, her face hard-set. Still beautiful, of course.
But grim.
"Ivan," she said. "Come closer so I can talk softly."
Stiffly he walked toward her. To his horror, the very act of approaching her changed everything. Instantly he became aroused, a fact which his simple linen tunic did nothing to disguise. She glanced down and then looked away—in disgust?
"I'm sorry," he apologized feebly, wondering what he was apologizing for. When he wasn't aroused, he had felt the need to apologize for that, too.
She put her hand up to silence him.
Her voice was soft. "There's a plot to kill you as soon as our marriage is consummated."
It was amazing how fast his poor libido went slack again.
"We aren't sure who," she said. "Sergei overheard the plotters and told Father Lukas, and he warned me, and I've been wracking my brain trying to think of what we can do about it."
The obvious answer, he saw at once, was never to consummate this marriage. He offered the suggestion.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, excellent plan. Then the Widow gets her way, and everybody is convinced you really do belong in women's garb."
"All right, then, we hop on the bed and do the deed and then I go out and have them stand in line for the privilege of killing me. It will end the suspense."
"All the way up here from the wedding," she said—ignoring him as if he hadn't spoken—"I've been thinking, and I finally reached a conclusion."
He thought she meant she had reached a solution to the problem. But it was nothing so helpful.
"My father has condoned this. The druzhina would not do this unless they believed they were doing his will. And that means I don't dare ask for his help in getting you away."
"Getting me away?" asked Ivan.
"If you and I don't consummate this marriage, you can't stay here. Don't you see? If they've decided to kill you after we're married, but before we know I'm with child, it means they've decided to defy the witch's curse. They have just as much reason to get you out of the way if you don't become my husband. I have to get you back to your own world."
"Oh, now you decide it's time."
Her eyes burned through him. "I didn't choose you. I've done my best to help you. I know you've done your best as well, but it wasn't enough, was it? We've both failed, and now my people are going to pay the price of our failure. There's no reason for you to go down with the rest of us. You didn't know what you were setting in motion when you woke me. You thought you were saving a woman trapped by a bear. You don't deserve to die for it, even if you aren't the stuff that kings are made of."
Ivan had never felt more worthless in his life. But he was going home.
Sergei was glad he had rushed straight to Ivan's room after the wedding and tucked the parchments under his robe. Thank heaven that Ivan had finally started rolling them up to store them. He was leaving the room when Father Lukas arrived with King Matfei. "Ivan won't be needing this room now, so you're welcome to use it until a new church can be built."
"You're very kind," said Father Lukas. "Sergei, there you are. Where is that book of Gospels? It's the only treasure left to me."
Sergei felt a pang of guilt over the lie that was causing the priest such grief. But compared to the rage Father Lukas would feel if he knew the truth—that Sergei had written all over the parchments and that he and Ivan had both lied—it seemed preferable to go to hell for these sins later.
Whom would Sergei ever be able to confess these sins to? There was no hope for him, none at all. And now Ivan would be killed and...
"Sergei? Are you deaf?"
"Father Lukas, the book of Gospels is on the table. I have to go outside."
"No, come in with me and help me arrange the room for the two of us to share."
"Father, it's already arranged for two."
King Matfei became irritated. "Sergei, your master told you to—"
Sergei almost obeyed; but the idea of keeping the manuscripts tucked inside his robe while trying to serve Father Lukas was intolerable. Something would happen to reveal the secret. He could not do it. Besides, Father Lukas was not his master.
"Your Majesty," said Sergei, "I did not know that I, who was born a free man, had become a slave."
The king's face flushed with embarrassment, "I did not mean that you were his..."
"My master is Jesus Christ our Lord," said Sergei. "And in the infinite wisdom of God, I find that I am desperate to get outside to void my bowels."