The Frost And The Flame

by Drusilla Campbell

  “You must watch yourself, my dear. One day you will terrify poor Karl out of his wits entirely.” He took a bite of herring.

  “What wits? Like the rest of the scum we keep as servants he is incapable of any intelligent thought.” She threw herself into the chair beside Oleg and sat silently for a moment, irritably tapping her elegantly shod foot on the parque floor.

  “The morning finds you in more than normally ill humour, Elizabeth. To what do you attribute…”

  “How much longer are you going to keep that girl and her aunt here? Do you think anyone believes that story about her being your ward? Ward indeed! Resident harlot better describes her. I won’t be made a fool of, Oleg. Mark my words. If you believe you can bed Katiana Danova at night and then expect to placate me with fine words in the morning, you are more stupid than that footman, Karl.”

  Oleg had made as if to protest his innocence, but in her current mood, Princess Elizabeth would hear none of it.

  “She’s a common slut and you a whoremaster!”

  ’On the contrary,’ he thought bitterly as he waited for the Czar to see him. ‘I have been the perfect gentleman in all ways.’

  In the beginning, when it had seemed Katia might die, so battered and torn by fever and abuse was her body, Oleg had felt a sense of loss. He had been filial in his attentions then, a generous brother and no more. But the truth was that he found illness repugnant even in one so lovely, and for days she had seemed to stink of death. He had become sick at the sight of her pale-flowered face as the weeks of her interminable convalescence passed. Now, however, he had finished with waiting. Now that her health had been completely restored (at his expense, he reminded himself), Katiana Danova would be forced to consider the wishes of someone other than herself. Then, he assured himself, he would find some means of appeasing Elizabeth.

  Oleg’s thoughts were interrupted by footmen opening the double doors to the Imperial study. The aide strode toward him, his brass-studded heels ringing against the marble and echoing down to where Prince Oleg waited.

  “You will follow me, Your Highness.”

  In his booklined study, the Czar was seated at a broad leather-topped desk with his back to a window through which Oleg could see the palace gardens in bloom. Nicholas wore a dressing gown of grey wool with a wide fur collar and cuffs. On a nearby table, Oleg saw a silver tray laden with the remains of a sumptuous breakfast. Nicholas rose from his desk, touching a damask serviette to his heavily bearded lips.

  He came around to greet Oleg, his hand outstretched in apparent congeniality.

  “Oleg Ivanovich, how good of you to come so early.

  We trust our summons did not disrupt your morning schedule over much.” Was Oleg unnecessarily touchy, or did he hear a subtle sarcasm in the Czar’s tone?

  “I am honoured to be of service at any time, Your Majesty.”

  Nicholas led Oleg to a chair near a window and gestured him to be seated. He stood with military erectness facing the prince, his back to the bright window. The Czar’s expression was in shadow, and Oleg began to feel uncomfortable.

  “May we have a servant bring you something, Oleg Ivanovich?”

  “A glass of mineral water, if you please, Your Majesty,” replied Oleg, forcing himself not to show the irritable impatience he felt. ‘Why doesn’t the old fox get on with it?’ he wondered uneasily. ‘What does he want from me this time?’

  As Oleg was served. Czar Nicholas stroked his beard and moustache pensively. Only after they were alone again did he bring up the reason for his early morning summons.

  Casually, the Czar asked, “Your cousin, Alexei Stephanovich, has he returned to England, Prince Oleg?”

  Oleg hoped his face did not show the surprise he felt at such a question. “I assume that was his intention when he disappeared from my sleigh train last March, Your Majesty. Had I but known that he was wanted by you in connection with a treasonous revolt, I would never have permitted his escape.” Was this the reason the Czar had called him out of bed at seven a.m.? Did the Czar intend to blame him for the disappearance of Alexei Romanov? And was this the explanation for the Czar’s coolness toward him? “I swear, Your Majesty, I do not concern myself with the welfare or whereabouts of Alexei Stephanovich.”

  “You and he have an old quarrel. We have heard of this.”

  “Indeed, Sire, I do not consider my cousin a loyal Russian. For many years he has preached rebellion and sedition here in the Motherland while making himself rich and powerful abroad. I know, however, that during your brother’s reign, he was tolerated for some reason. Loyal Russians were most gratified when you accused him of responsibility for the Decembrist Revolt.”

  The Czar brushed Oleg’s comments aside with a wave of his hand. “Rest assured, Oleg Ivanovich, we know what we did and did not do. It is not necessary to remind us. The matter of the revolt in Senate Square and Alexei Romanov’s supposed participation is now closed. As you know, more than one hundred men and women were sent to Siberia. In this way we have discouraged further outbreaks of the rebel spirit and returned the nation to civil obedience.”

  “You have dropped the charges against my cousin?” Oleg was incredulous.

  “Alexei Romanov is, as you say, rich and powerful in England. He has many influential friends and speaks as an equal with royalty there. Such a connection is too valuable to waste in the mines of Siberia. We wish to see him first.” Nicholas paused, and when he spoke again it was with an air of command that threatened much to anyone who dared refuse his wishes. “Find Alexei Romanov and bring him here to us.”

  “But, Sire…”

  Nicholas lifted one brow quizzically, and this time there was no doubting the sarcasm in his voice. “Can it be, Oleg, that you do not have the time to help the Crown in this matter? I realize that your social life is quite demanding; however, we had thought you would agree with us that the nation’s strength and safety are of paramount concern and override all other…considerations.”

  “Of course, Sire. I only wondered…”

  “Our brother, Alexander,” Nicholas crossed himself and dipped his head in the direction of the icon corner of the study, “trusted your cousin. He considered Alexei to be hot-headed and outspoken, but a loyal Russian nonetheless. In his own fashion.”

  The pain between Oleg’s eyes worsened as the conversation progressed. The blood vessel over his eyebrow had begun to throb painfully. He hated the way the Czar spoke to him, as if he were some mindless petty bureaucrat.

  “As you know,” the Czar was saying, “there is the possibility of war in the South. It can be averted only if the British will shift their support to our side of the argument. Up until now, they have been unwilling to do this. The English crown supported our brother Constantine and would have preferred to see him Czar in our place.” The Czar shrugged elaborately. “We do not care what the British think of us. They are godless and decadent as are all the Western nations. Nonetheless, we do wish to avert bloodshed, and therefore a partnership between us is necessary.” The Czar reminded Oleg of a sanctimonious old schoolmaster, in love with his own opinions and the sound of his own voice. He was preaching at Oleg as if he were an ignorant or recalcitrant scholar.

  “War is a serious matter, both noble and terrifying, Oleg Ivanovich. Like the holy sacraments, it is not to be entered into lightly.” Nicholas had begun to pace as Oleg stared at the floor morosely, the anger building in him like some unstoppable volcanic conflagration. “Unless the British can be persuaded to support us in our righteous war against the Turks, thousands of our young men will die needlessly. Your cousin knows the English. We are told that he understands the Western mind. He can be of the greatest assistance just now.”

  “I too possess influence and knowledge of the British, Your Majesty. I have important friends and would be more than eager to help in any way…”

  Nicholas’ laughter was condescending. “Help cannot come through your channels, Oleg Ivanovich. Such matters as this require infinite discretio
n. These diplomats of yours do well enough on trade negotiations and the like, but war is an altogether more serious matter. Get us Alexei Stephanovich. Only he will do!”

  Fifteen minutes later, Oleg left the palace. He strode across the wide marble foyer with his hands clenched in tight fists, the nails marking perfect ovals in his palms.

  The Czar was a fool! A madman! His brain was so addled from the sound of cannonfire that he no longer heard his allies when they spoke to him. Only a half-wit would trust Prince Alexei in the face of his obvious treason.

  Nevertheless, despite his righteous anger, Oleg knew that to satisfy his Czar, to ingratiate himself with his new leader, he would search out Alexei Romanov wherever he was hiding. He would play errand boy for his Czar. But when the time was right, when Alexei had been delivered and his mission accomplished, then Oleg intended to be rid of his cousin once and for all.

  The Prince’s mood did not improve as the day progressed. By early evening when he returned to his palace fronting a busy street that ran beside the Neva, his headache was much worse; and his anger had not diminished. Only one thing would rescue this day for him and that was Katia. In the evening, his wife would be attending a musicale and supper. Oleg would claim the press of work and send his regrets. Stepping from his carriage, Oleg smiled for the first time that day. Damn the Czar and all the stuffy lick-spittles! While they snored through another evening of tedious German music, he would bed Katiana Danova and collect the debt long owed him.

  Oleg believed that he deserved Katia. He had twice saved her life, and he had given more than generously for her comfort, not to mention that of Natasha Filippovna and the peasant child.

  As his valet helped him to bathe, Oleg mused on Katia’s fondness, even obsession, for the child from St. Olaf's. He had permitted her to keep the child, thinking her affection was a whim, the product of illness and her heated imagination. In this he had been proved wrong, however, for Katia’s affection seemed to run deep and firm. It was impossible to say how the child felt for she was a strange, haunted creature who made no sound and showed no change of expression. A gauze seemed to have been cast over her blue saucer eyes, and her days were spent in an eerie kind of waking sleep. Oleg tolerated her presence in the palace only because he saw in her a way of bending Katia closer to his will.

  As his man massaged and oiled Oleg’s well-muscled body, he thought, ’The child may be of use to me one day.’

  Relaxed and comfortable after a bath and massage, Oleg went to Elizabeth’s dressing room where she was being coiffured for the evening’s festivities. She was examining the brilliant gems displayed on a velvet cloth on a gold tray. She rejected rubies in favor of diamonds.

  “Bring me the necklace, too,” she ordered a maid, “but not the tiara.” Elizabeth pouted exaggeratedly at Oleg. “Our beloved Czar disapproves of showy dress.”

  Seeing Elizabeth in her black lace corset, her fine breasts thrust high by the whalebone structure, her waist trim as a schoolgirl’s, Oleg was reminded that his wife had once been ravishing to his eyes. In society she was still considered a great beauty. Her extreme height and stunning dark coloring, coupled with an imperious bearing, made her the center of attraction wherever she went.

  He told her, “Should His Majesty wonder at my absence this evening, tell him I am working on that matter we discussed this morning. He will forgive me for not making an appearance. And you, I am sure, will be delighted not to have me there.”

  Elizabeth’s voice was rich with sarcasm. “You are so generous and agreeable, my Prince. But tell me, what could be so important you would risk offending the Czar?” All at once, she laughed, bitterly. “Ah, yes, for one foolish moment, I had forgotten dear little Katiana. Dear innocent Katia.”

  Elizabeth leaned toward her mirror and scrutinized her image minutely. She was thirty, and the age showed in subtle ways. “Even your precious Katia will have lines like these one day, Oleg. But then, of course, you will never see them, will you? You will have thrown her off by then and found yourself another ripe virgin…Husband and wife glared at one another in the mirror.

  The maid who was dressing Elizabeth’s hair sighed impatiently and replaced a silver hairpin that would not stay in place.

  “Elizabeth,” cooed Oleg as if he had not heard her insult, “take pity on your little hairdresser. How can she arrange your magnificent hair if you will not hold still?” Oleg reached out to stroke his wife’s bare arm. He shook his head sadly as if it were his bitter fate to be forever misjudged. “You know how foolish your accusations are, wife. When in these past months have I had a moment free for the luxury of seduction? Only today the Czar gave me yet another odious commission. I have no time for little girls for I am to find Alexei Stepanovich and return him to St. Petersburg.”

  The news stunned Elizabeth. She was thoughtful a moment. Then she returned to her jewelry, a faint smile playing on her lips.

  “What amuses you, my sweet?” asked Oleg, pouring more champagne for the two of them.

  “Only a thought. Something I have been meaning to speak with you about for some time.” She dismissed the servants with a nod and stood. Tall as he was, from where he sat Oleg felt momentarily dwarfed by her. She stood over him, the same enigmatic smile on her lips, and waited until they were alone before she spoke her mind. “You may dally as you wish with Mademoiselle Katiana, Oleg. I will do nothing to stop you. But keep this in mind: I know she is not the first. There have been others, and I know about them all. You see, my sweet, while you have forgotten little Vavara and the others, I have followed their checkered lives with some interest. I know where they all are right now. And can you imagine how our prim Czar would react if one or two of these…”

  “You dare to threaten me?” Oleg made no pretense of husbandly affection. His expression was icy and dangerous.

  “Would I be so foolish? You insult my intelligence by suggesting such a thing. I only ask you to remember what I have told you when you send your henchmen after Prince Alexei. For the years of our marriage, you have done precisely as you wished, and I have watched in silence as befits a dutiful wife. She smiled sweetly, but her dark eyes had narrowed ominously. “Now it is my turn, Oleg. Now I will have my way as you have had yours all these years. You see, I find your cousin most attractive despite his radical politics. And rather than threatening you, I propose that there be a bargain between us. Bring me Alexei Romanov, and I will not speak of Katia or the others to anyone. You may keep your “ward” until you tire of her. But see that Alexei is brought to me healthy, Oleg. Take care that no accident befalls him on the road, or you will find that I know a great deal about your private life.” She smiled. “Is my meaning clear?”

  When Oleg had left her, Elizabeth remained in her seat at the dressing table, deep in thought. With one perfectly manicured nail she touched the tiny lines at her eyes, between her brows and on either side of her mouth. No matter what her wealth and power, she could not deny the all too swift passage of time. It seemed only yesterday that she had been a girl convent-fresh as Katia and brightly eager for the sophisticated life of Petersburg. The memory filled her with bitterness and had time been a living creature she would gladly have destroyed him with her own strong hands rather than endure the degradation of ageing.

  On a whim, she decided to visit Katia’s rooms before leaving for the evening. Her bitterness required an object on which to vent itself, and who better than the little vixen her husband fancied? Fancied but had not yet bedded. Elizabeth, despite her proclamations to the contrary, knew that Oleg had, indeed, been too busy to have his way with the girl. Was tonight the time he had set for his conquest? She thought so.

  But winning the fair Katiana would not be so easy, thought Elizabeth as she made her way through the maze of corridors to Katia’s apartments at the far end of the palace. Though they had spoken only briefly on a handful of occasions, Elizabeth was quick to perceive a strength of will in Katia that Oleg, would find difficult to harness to his perverse desires.
Desires that Elizabeth knew only too well.

  They had been married when she was sixteen and Oleg only slightly older. It was, like all Russian marriages, a mating of convenience. Prince Ivan had been anxious to expand his holdings in the rich farmland of the south; and so, though Elizabeth Alexandrovna Maryinsky was not of royal blood, her wealth made her aristocrat enough to satisfy Prince Ivan. She and Oleg had been married by the Patriarch and spent their wedding trip in Paris.

  Elizabeth stopped for a moment at a window facing toward the front of the palace and overlooking the Neva. The ice had been gone for many weeks now and the river was busy with commercial and pleasure boats. In the late dusk, the onion domes of the city were silhouetted against a streaked sky of pink and grey and gold. Something in the scene warmed Elizabeth, and she recalled those months with Oleg in Paris with a nostalgia she had thought long departed.

  Oleg had been a masterful lover. The perfect match for a convent girl of passionate nature. He had frightened her at first with his demands first for submission to and then cooperation with his every sensual desire; but before a week of coupling had passed she had become his eager accomplice. Elizabeth had not forgotten the heat of those lusty weeks; how the exciting tension between them had scandalized society matrons and made them seek out the lower sorts of taverns because only in such places, disguised as commoners, was their bawdiness acceptable.

  She closed her eyes, blotting out the pretty river scene and pastel sunset. She saw herself as she had been: young and fiery and willing to dare anything if, at the end, her prize might be her princely husband’s body satisfied beside hers.

  A noise somewhere in the palace brought her back to reality abruptly. She recalled how quickly Oleg had tired of her. Just as she had begun to love him in a way she had not dreamed possible except in fairy tales with their “happily ever afters,” he had begun to philander after fresh new bodies. After months of tearful questioning and cruel rejections, she had come to realize that what her husband loved was the novelty of uncorrupted innocence. When she had grown as passionately knowledgeable as he, he had ceased to care for her at all.