*
Nathalie was in a predictable state of hysteria, and even if it was early in the morning, was drunk on vodka. She was waiting on the porch, Dagmar in her arms, a bottle in her hand, when Anna arrived. “We must leave,” she declared. “Immediately.”
“We cannot leave,” Anna said. “Have you looked out there?” Nathalie peered out to sea, at the distant white shapes. “Those are Japanese warships,” Anna told her. “Do you want to become a prisoner of the Japanese?”
Nathalie shuddered. “Cannot we go over the Neck into Manchuria?”
“In February? Besides, we cannot leave anyway, until June.”
“I was not exiled,” Nathalie declared, loudly.
“You are the Princess Bolugayevska,” Anna reminded her. “You belong where the Prince is. Anyway, would you desert Pobrebski?”
“My God, what is going to happen to us,” Nathalie wailed.
“If you are unlucky, nothing will happen to you,” Anna told her, and went upstairs.
*
Peter arrived home three days later, unshaven and filthy. Anna shaved him herself while he wallowed in a hot tub. “What on earth have you been doing?” she asked.
“Inspecting the defences. No one has any doubt that the Japanese intend to attack us. Their declaration of war came through yesterday, you know.”
“I didn’t know. I’m surprised we waited that long to declare war on them.”
“Yes, well, now we must make them regret their stupidity. Of course they have stolen a march on us. They are unloading men in Korea by the thousand. But I don’t think they will get very far. Kuropatkin himself has taken field command, and will be in Mukden in a fortnight. He has more than eighty thousand men.”
“And forty thousand arriving every month.” Anna soaped his back. “How many do the Japanese have?”
“Well, at the moment, a lot more than that. We shall have to stand on the defensive for the time being.”
“While they build up more and more strength. And attack Port Arthur.”
“Well, obviously we mean to do something about that. In the first place, there is no possibility of them gaining a foothold on the Liaotung Peninsula. We have forty thousand men in our garrison, and enough provisions for six months, even were the road to the north closed, which it is not. And the Neck of course is impassable. I have seen to that myself. Secondly, we do not intend to stand on the defensive at sea. Work is going on round the clock to repair the damaged ships, and best of all, they are sending Makarov to take command.”
“Makarov?”
“Stepan Makarov. He is our greatest admiral. A few years ago he annihilated the Turkish navy. Now he is coming here to do the same to the Japs.”
*
Patricia finished her coffee slowly, as she read the newspaper. And when the doorbell rang, she knew who it was going to be.
“Mr and Mrs Lenin,” Morgan said.
Patricia waited in the drawing-room. “My dear girl,”
Vladimir said. “Is this not the most splendid news?”
“What is splendid about a war?” She embraced Olga. “Why, don’t you see, this is what we have all been waiting for.”
“We are making plans to return to Russia,” Olga said. “You must be crazy.”
“Have you not heard? The whole country is in a turmoil.”
“Countries generally are, when there is a war. What makes you suppose this can possibly be to your advantage? Here, haven’t you read the paper?” She handed them The Times. “According to this, most of the turmoil of which you speak are demonstrations of loyalty. Men are flocking to the colours. The country is in a ‘patriotic fervour’. That’s what it says. As for when the Japanese are defeated, and the armies come marching home again...”
“That is government propaganda,” Olga declared. “It is not the truth. As for when the troops come marching home again, I wonder how many will do that.”
“You do not suppose we could lose a war with Japan?” Patricia was aghast.
Olga looked at Vladimir. “No, I do not suppose we could lose a war with Japan,” he said. “But I think there are going to be a great many casualties. Well, there already have been. Three battleships sunk...”
“Do you not regard that as propaganda? The newspaper says it is not true.”
“There were certainly heavy casualties. And there will be more. You must remember Irkutsk, and Baikal? That is the country our troops are going to have to pass through, in February, to fight a war! How do you pull a trigger with frostbitten fingers? And as I have always said, there will have to be sacrifices. What are our people supposed to sacrifice, when they already are starving?”
Patricia looked from face to face in consternation. “What are you intending to do?’’
“Why, as we have said, go back, of course.”
“We shall start the revolution,” Olga declared.
“Well, think about this,” Patricia said. “When you are arrested, and you will be arrested almost the moment you set foot on Russian soil, there will be no question of exile to Siberia. Not only are you absconded prisoners, but with the country at war you will be traitors the moment you open your mouths. They will hang you without even a trial.”
“It is our duty,” Vladimir declared.
“It is your duty as well,” Olga pointed out.
“I have told you, I am finished with that. I am a wife and a mother.”
“You are the traitor,” Olga told her.
“Then consider me a traitor. At least I am not mad.”
But Vladimir was practical. “Will you give us money?”
“Why should I?”
-Because you are one of us.”
“We need money,” Olga explained. “To get back to Russia.”
Patricia sighed. But perhaps, sending them back to Russia to be executed was the only way to get them off her back. She went to her desk to write them a cheque.
*
At the end of February, Bolugayen was as ever virtually obliterated by snow. Alexei liked this time of year best. He enjoyed being isolated, left to himself, dependent upon himself. He knew he had the complete confidence of his people, and he knew he had Bolugayen better organised than any past prince, and that included his own father. He loved their dinners, when there was only half a dozen of them present: Olga, surprisingly old and frail now; Captain Antonov, even older and frailer, but still determined to carry out his duties; Father Sviatoslav, entirely reconciled to the situation, as he, like everyone else, had fallen beneath the spell of the Countess; and the Countess herself. Sonia sat at the head of the table opposite her husband, and smiled graciously at the people to either side. She wore her hair loose, and it cascaded in great black curls past her shoulders. She wore a deep décolletage, as was fashionable, with a gold chain necklace, from which was suspended a single huge pearl, nestling between her breasts.
Alexei had never known it was possible to be so happy. It was not merely the ever-repeating joy of holding her in his arms, at uncovering the layered patterns of her sexual personality. It was not even the shared delight of their son Colin, a lively, happy little four-year-old. More than those it was the pleasure of her company. She might have been born to be chatelaine of an empire like Bolugayen. He knew the servants adored her, as did the people in the village. He did not know what the future might hold, when Peter and Aunt Anna finally returned from Port Arthur, but he had no doubt at all that they would be as entranced with his Jewish wife as he was himself. And there was the added pleasure of having made all of this possible for her. He still did not know everything that had happened to her. He had never probed, and she seemed to have shut away that horrible period of her life. He was content that it should be so, and that she appeared to have found happiness at last, her only obvious sadness being the inability to discover what had happened to her family.
So he raised his glass to her, as he always did, and sipped when she did, and glanced up with a smile as Gleb hurried into the dining-room. Then his s
mile changed to a frown. Gleb was looking agitated, and bearing a silver salver on which there was a letter. “It came by despatch rider, from Poltava, Your Excellency,” Gleb explained. “Through the snow.” All conversation ceased.
“I trust you have given him something to drink?” Alexei asked, and glanced at the Governor’s seal, as he picked up the silver knife to slit the envelope, aware that everyone was watching him. He unfolded the two sheets of paper, scanned them. “Good God!” He looked up. “We are at war with Japan!”
There was a chorus of comment, but they fell silent again as they saw that he had not finished. “The Japanese Navy treacherously attacked Port Arthur five days ago,” Alexei read. “They were repulsed with heavy losses. Japanese troops are landing in Korea in great numbers, and are being engaged by our soldiers. General Kuropatkin is travelling east to take overall command of our land forces, and Admiral Makarov will command our Pacific Navy.”
Alexei had stopped reading aloud, but he was still reading. Now he raised his head again, and looked from face to face, but came to rest when he reached Sonia. “I am recalled to the colours. I am to go to Moscow immediately, there to take command of my old regiment, and entrain for the East. I am promoted colonel.”
“Oh, congratulations, Your Excellency,” Antonov cried. Alexei continued to gaze at Sonia, who was biting her lip.
“But...who will be in charge here?” Olga asked, and flushed.
“Why...” Alexei drew a long breath. “The Countess Bolugayevska will be in charge here, until either I or Prince Peter, or Aunt Anna, returns.”
*
Like everyone else in Port Arthur, Anna watched the Russian squadron steaming through the Tiger’s Tail to do battle with the blockading Japanese fleet. It was a magnificent spring morning, 13 April 1904, and the port had now been blockaded for two months. It had been a trying period, as the Japanese ships had often come close enough to bombard the town with their heavy guns, and the casualties had been severe. But then measures had been taken to force the population to take shelter when the guns began to fire, and the casualties had decreased. And now it was all going to end. Nor had the news from Korea been good. Outnumbered, General Kuropatkin had been forced to concentrate his forces defensively, and the Japanese were crowing their various tactical successes to the world. A letter which had arrived from Alexei soon after he had joined the army with his regiment had indicated a very depressed state of morale, although Alexei himself was delighted to have had his military career rehabilitated. But he had been disturbed to discover, on reaching Moscow, that his officers had had to make their men drunk on vodka before they would board the train, and from what he wrote, the troops around Mukden were also more often than not drunk, certainly when required to face the enemy. Yet perhaps now even that depression would come to an end.
The entire Russian community had been thrilled by the arrival of Stepan Makarov, and not merely because he had with him the Grand Duke Cyril, cousin of the Tsar. Makarov himself was an awe-inspiring man: tall and powerfully built, with a full beard, he had a personality to match. When he first arrived in Port Arthur, Admiral Alexeev had held a reception for him and the Grand Duke, and before the assembled company asked him what his intentions were. Makarov had given a great guffaw of laughter. “My intentions, Your Excellency? Why they are to carry out to the letter the instructions of His Majesty the Tsar, which are, to seek out and destroy the enemy fleet, no matter where it may be. Well, Your Excellency, ladies and gentlemen, I do not think that is going to be very difficult. The enemy is out there, waiting for me.” He had raised his glass. “I give you: Holy Russia!”
They had responded with a will, even Anna herself. But Makarov’s professionalism was far more impressive than his words. Starting the very next day the squadron had been subjected to a round-the-clock series of inspections, drills, tests and rehearsals. Port Arthur had trembled to the sound of blank shot being fired, as the gunners had been required to improve the efficiency and therefore the speed of their firing. Morale had visibly risen as the men had felt here at last was a fighting admiral.
“He certainly inspires confidence,” Peter said. “Even the soldiers are springing about as if they had just won a victory.”
And now, the day had come. Behind the Petropavlovsk were the other four battleships of the Pacific Squadron, including the repaired Retvisan and Tsessarevitch. The other two, Poltava and Sevastopol, were sister ships of the flagship. They were over eleven thousand tons each, had a complement of over six hundred men, and were principally armed with four huge twelve-inch guns. Retvisan and Tsessarevitch, at nearly thirteen thousand tons and a crew of well over seven hundred each, were much bigger, although they carried the same main armament. Tsessarevitch had been struck too far aft to test the strengths of her bulkheads in the February attack, but Retvisan had actually taken in two thousand one hundred tons of water, and that she had stayed afloat was a miracle of devotion on the part of her crew. But she was now fully repaired, and as powerful as ever. With the battleships there was a swarm of cruisers and torpedo-boats.
Waiting for them were the Japanese quartet. The two Fuji Class ships, Fuji and Yashima, were roughly the same strength as the Russian vessels, but the new ships, only recently delivered from England, and named Shikishima and Hatsuse, were monsters of nearly fifteen thousand tons each. But the Japanese ships were also conventionally armed with the standard four twelve-inch, and although they were faster than any of the Russians except the Retvisan, it was improbable they would seek to run away, even though they were outnumbered.
Peter stood beside Anna; it was still early in the morning, just light, and they had just finished breakfast. “Do you realise that this will be the first ever battle between modern battleships?” he asked. “And we will see it.”
Because the far horizon was filled with smoke as the Japanese ships began to steam ahead to meet the Russian squadron.
Anna peered through her binoculars at the Russian ships, proceeding in line ahead. She could imagine the bugle calls out there, the men standing to their action stations, the great shells being sent up in their hoists from the magazines, the tension...Peter’s fingers stole into hers. Big naval guns could hurl their shells over several miles, and the gap between the two squadrons was closing all the time. Peter’s fingers tightened so suddenly Anna gave a grunt of pain, and then pulled her hand free to level her glasses. From just aft of the bows of the Petropavlovsk there had shot up a huge plume of water, then the rumble of the explosion reached them with a force which left them breathless and had every glass in the house rattling.
What Anna was watching seemed to be in slow motion, and yet was actually happening with breath-taking speed. Even as the plume of water from the unseen mine began to settle and the noise of the explosion reached them, the Petropavlovsk was beginning to heel, and before they could recover their breaths they were watching the huge battleship on her beam-ends, her propellers helplessly churning the air. Then they were staring at her upturned, red-painted hull, and then she was gone in a vast welter of seething bubbles. In the moment following the disappearance of the Russian flagship there was almost complete silence. No one spoke on the verandah of the Bolugayevski house. They could only stare as the Russian squadron turned round and steamed back to port.
*
There were no survivors from the Petropavlovsk; it had happened too quickly. All six hundred and thirty-two men on board had gone to the bottom, amongst them Admiral Makarov and the Grand Duke Cyril. Port Arthur mourned its dead beneath a forest of black flags and bunting. But it was more than the dead men who had gone to the bottom. So had morale. “What is going to happen now?” Anna asked Peter.
“We are waiting orders from Petersburg. But...I’m afraid we may have to stand a siege.” Only a few weeks later Japanese troops, now granted the entire freedom of the seas, began landing a few miles north of the Neck. Their commander was General Count Nogi, who had taken Port Arthur in 1894.
*
Gener
al Stoessel called a meeting of his chief officers. “As you will know,” he told them, “units of the Japanese Second Army have landed at Pitzuwu, fifty miles north of the Neck at Nanshan. They are being contained there at the moment, but it seems likely that they will be able to consolidate their bridgehead, and push south. The reason is very simply that they have more men than we do, and I would regard it as a dereliction of duty were I to commit any of my garrison here to a field action.” Even if, Peter thought grimly, you could feel that these vodka-ridden garrison troops would have any chance in the open field.
“We may therefore,” General Stoessel continued, “expect them to appear before Nanshan within a few weeks, at which time this fortress will be effectively under siege. Now, I wish you to know that there is no cause for alarm. That Port Arthur should be besieged is part of General Kuropatkin’s overall strategy. I have this in writing from the General. Although our forces are increasing every day, we are still at a numerical disadvantage in regard to the Japanese, and of course we must maintain our hold upon Mukden and the railhead, at least as far as that city.” He decided against telling them that east of Mukden the railroad was already in the hands of the Japanese. “Therefore,” he went on, “for General Kuropatkin to divide his forces, and send a relief column down here while still endeavouring to hold Mukden, would be a grave strategical error. His strategy is to consolidate his position until he is able to deploy his full strength against the enemy. This, it is anticipated, will be by midsummer. At that time General Kuropatkin anticipates that he will advance upon the main Japanese armies, defeat them, and then move down the coast to the Liaotung, and defeat and disperse whatever forces the Japanese have landed north of the Neck. In the meantime, of course, our ships will not be lying idle. They intend to make a sortie as soon as they are fully refitted.”
The Masters Page 27
