‘Va? Is that you, Va?’ she called up. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Quiet,’ he hissed, as loudly as he dared.

‘You can’t do that.’

His left foot slipped from the minuscule knot it was balanced on. He was ready for it, and was able to transfer the extra weight onto his other foot.

Elenya’s voice carried into the darkening night. ‘There are laws against that sort of thing.’

He screwed his eyes up against the pain and swallowed hard. He had to make a dash for the top. One last effort. Hand over hand, trailing his spasming leg behind him. He wedged his fist in the V-shaped gap between two trunks just as his other leg betrayed him.

His wrist jerked hard as he dropped, and he gasped. So did Elenya, down below. His hold stayed firm, and using his free hand he grabbed at the top of the wall. No matter that as he groped and grasped, he filled his palm with splinters; he pulled hard and got his body into a position from which he could swing his right leg up and over.

He landed with a graceless thud on the parapet. He started to stand, somehow missed the ground and slid back down. A moment later there was a curse and a cry, and the sound of feet banging down on wooden boards. The leaf blade of a spear point was pressed against his throat.

‘Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you.’

‘I have a message for the patriarch,’ panted Va, his voice twisted in agony. He tried to straighten his leg, but it wouldn’t work. ‘I told you that before.’

‘I heard you talking to my captain,’ said the guard. He searched the battlements for a grappling hook and rope, or a scaling ladder. ‘How did you get up here?’

‘I climbed. God lent me the strength.’

‘No, really. How did you get up here?’

‘Are you deaf, man? I told you. I climbed. Now, take me to see this captain of yours. I have to see the patriarch tonight, and you’re delaying me.’

The guard’s leather armour creaked as he bent down. ‘You’re in no position to make demands of me. Only thieves and bandits come over the wall. Good people use the door. You’re my prisoner and don’t you forget it.’ He reinforced the point with a sharp jab of his spear.

Va ignored the poke and finally managed to stretch out his leg. He pulled hard on his foot to put his hamstring under tension. ‘Then I surrender to you. What’s the first thing you do to prisoners?’

‘Apart from rough them up a bit? Take them to see the captain.’

‘Then, by all that’s holy, get on with it, before we both die of old age.’ The pain in his leg was starting to ebb, to be replaced by aches that told of all the other injuries he’d inflicted on himself. His hands were bleeding freely. His wrist, the one he’d used as a piton to stop himself from falling, was cut deeply on each side. Now he’d stopped, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him there and then.

He had to stay awake, just a little longer. Enough to smart-talk the captain of the guard into escorting him to the patriarch, at least. He got to his feet and leaned against the palisade, taking the opportunity to see if Elenya was still there.

She was. When she saw his head bob up, she started calling to him again.

‘Va? Va! Tell them to let me in. Get them to open the gates. You’re not escaping from me, you hear?’

‘Who’s the woman?’ asked the guard.

‘No one of importance.’

‘She knows you. Va? What sort of name is that? Short for Vasily?’

‘No. I’m a Finn.’

‘A stinking Finn? Barbarous Wotan-worshippers all. How dare you set foot on Christian soil.’ The spear glittered in the dark, poised for a blow. ‘Who’s the woman? The truth this time.’

‘I told you the truth. It’s a sin to lie.’ Va staggered upright and stood his ground.

‘Gah. Captain Mikhaelov will beat a confession from you. Get moving.’

They walked the narrow parapet back to the gatehouse, through an open door and down a staircase. Halfway, wood gave way to masonry, and the sounds and smells of a meal wafted up. It served to remind Va that he hadn’t eaten all day.

As they reached the door of the guardroom, he felt a boot in his back. Too late and too tired to ride the blow, Va sprawled face-first onto the mouldy straw on the floor.

Everything was silent for a moment, before someone started laughing and the rest joined in.

‘What’s this? The cat’s caught a mouse? How many times have we told you, Boris? Don’t play with your food.’

Va picked himself up, and the laughter drained away again. He blinked his eyes in the hot, smoky air. Five men were sitting around a table. There was bread and soup, and drink. A fire in a brick hearth. A sword was drawn, ringing, from its scabbard, and he focused on the man at the head of the table.

‘Captain Mikhaelov? I have a message for the patriarch.’

‘Not you again? I’ll give you this: you’re persistent.’ The captain had a round belly that hung over his sword belt, and a huge beard streaked with grey, which he brushed away from his face. He looked like he was peering out from the undergrowth.

‘There’s a woman with him,’ said the guard whom Va had allowed to capture him. ‘She’s outside the walls.’

‘A woman, eh? You dress in a monk’s habit, yet you get to keep your bed warm at night. Good work, I say. That makes much more sense than sticking to some cock-and-bull story about needing to see His Holiness.’ Mikhaelov stood and his chair fell over behind him. ‘Get her in here, and make damn sure there’s no one else skulking around in the night before you open the gate.’

The four other men left, muttering at having their meal interrupted.

‘That your blood, or someone else’s?’ said Mikhaelov, pointing at Va’s hands.

‘Mine. You wouldn’t let me in. I climbed the wall. I have to see the patriarch.’

‘He’s a Finnish spy,’ said the guard called Boris. ‘Don’t listen to him.’

‘A Finn, eh? Taken a break from sacrificing virgins to your odious heathen gods to bother us God-fearing Rus?’ The captain swaggered across the floor, swinging his sword as he walked. ‘I’ve the right to put your head on a spike and feed your body to the dogs. Don’t suppose for a moment that I won’t. Recite the Troparion of Saint Xenia.’

‘What?’ said Va, nonplussed for a moment. The sword came up, and he managed a little more: ‘Xenia the Righteous or the Fool for Christ of Saint Petersburg?’

‘The Righteous.’

‘You lived the life of a stranger in the world and were a stranger to every sin. You abandoned comfort and status and wedded yourself to your Immortal Bridegroom. Glorious Xenia, call on Christ our God to grant us His great mercy.’

‘Very good,’ said Mikhaelov. He lowered the sword and sat on the edge of the table. ‘How does Divine Service finish?’

‘The choir sings, Preserve, o Lord, Our Great Master and Father Yeremai, His Holiness patriarch of Moscow and of all Russia, and our Master His Grace Metropolitan Pavel, the brethren of this holy house, and all the Orthodox Christians, for many years.’

‘Not that I’d know the real thing, but you clearly do. What’s your name, monk?’ The captain sheathed his sword with a hiss. ‘Boris, go and find out what’s happening with those sluggards. I’ll be all right with the brother.’

‘Va.’

‘You’ve got balls, Brother Va, but breaking into Moskva is still a capital crime. What’s so hellishly important that you’d risk your life for it?’ Mikhaelov poured a slug of vodka from the flask on the table and, as an afterthought, offered Va a tot from one of the cups.

‘I have a message for the patriarch. For him alone.’ Va took the cup, drained it in one and passed it back.

‘Something’s happened to your abbot?’ Mikhaelov handed Va a loaf of bread.

‘My entire monastery was slaughtered by raiders four days ago. I survived only because I wasn’t there.’

The captain narrowed his eyes. ‘My sincere condolences, Brother. Where was this?’