As they moved among the guests, stopping from time to time to take refreshment and exchange conversation, Oleg introduced Katia as his ward, the orphaned niece of Lady Natasha Filippovna, one of the late Princess Anna’s closest friends. Everyone was polite, but their manners made Katia uncomfortable. There was something insulting in the women’s simpering smiles and the men’s unconcealed admiration. In the corner, less dazzling belles whispered behind gilt fans. Nevertheless, Katia flashed her brilliant smile and managed to find bright and witty words with which to make an excellent impression. To be less than perfect would leave her open to Oleg’s insults and punishment later in the evening, and she knew she must avoid that at all costs. Since that night in the nursery, she had lived with fear for not just herself but Mary as well.
When the music began, the gallants of St. Petersburg in their gold-emblazoned uniforms clammered like pups for the pleasure of a dance, and Oleg was only too happy to oblige. He had spent a good deal of money on dancing lessons for Katiana Danova in anticipation of just this moment. As he stood near a refreshment table, paying half-hearted attention to his colleagues’ talk of war and peasant disturbances, he admired the natural grace with which she moved and the instinctive elegance of her manner. Every man in the room admired her, and their desire had the effect of heightening his own.
“Your ward is quite a beauty, Oleg Ivanovich,” commented Prince Adrianov. “You are fortunate in your charities.” The other men in the group laughed, and Oleg joined in politely. Just then, a servant appeared at his elbow with a sealed message. Oleg tore it open and read quickly. Not for an instant did his expression show the irritation he felt.
“Business, Romanov?” Adrianov asked, raising his bushy eyebrows.
“A small matter, but if you will excuse me…'.”
“On one condition only,” interrupted Count Plotsky, “You must leave the beautiful Katiana Danova as hostage.” The men laughed again and Oleg shrugged.
“Gentlemen, I trust you will see to it that the young men of St. Petersburg mind their manners. And the not-so-young as well.” He turned and walked quickly away from their renewed laughter toward one of the high french doors onto the deck of the barge. Once outside, he went to the railing and tore the message into pieces which he tossed into the swirling dark waters of the Neva. He watched them floating like tiny boats for a moment before the swells engulfed them. Across the water, the lights of St. Petersburg jeweled the shoreline.
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He sensed he was being watched. The message had read, You will receive instructions. But from whom? And why?
As though he had been reading Oleg’s thoughts, a man spoke from the shadows. “You know who I am, Oleg Ivanovich. And you know who has sent me.”
Myshkin, chief of the Czar’s secret police, stepped into the light. He was a slightly built man of medium height with a remarkably ugly face. Round bulbous eyes set close together reminded Oleg of a frog, and the small red mouth was full of gold teeth like the fangs of a man-made monster. “Our Czar is concerned, Romanov. He is not happy with you these days.”
“He shows concern by sending you!” Oleg knew that Myshkin’s presence was intended as a threat.
“Six weeks have elapsed, and you have not succeeded in finding Alexei Romanov.” Myshkin’s voice was high pitched and nasal. “You have a network of spies, and yet they seem helpless in this matter.”
“For God’s sake, Myshkin, remember who Prince Alexei’s friends are! Rebels and malcontents and gypsies and vagrants—all the trash of Russia call him tovarich. If he wishes to remain in hiding, they will never let us find him. We simply must wait and be alert. Give Prince Alexei time, and he will make a mistake. And when he makes that mistake, my men will be there. Alexei Stephanovich is too full of anger to remain hidden for long. Tell your master that it is a matter of time, Myshkin; time and,” Oleg accented his words nastily, “subtlety.”
Myshkin scowled. “The Czar does not care for explanations nor for subtlety. Find your cousin, and keep him safely at your palace until the Czar calls for him. You are being held entirely responsible for this, Oleg Romanov. The Czar hopes that you can find time in your life of pleasure…”
“Pleasure! What does he think I do? Does he not realize that I have been his faithful…” Oleg heard the whine in his voice, and disliked himself for it; but the ingratitude, the unfairness of what Myshkin implied, was too much!
“Find your cousin, Oleg Romanov. Like the days of summer, your time is running short.” Myshkin turned and was quickly taken by the shadows.
Oleg leaned back against the railing and rubbed his moist palms against his pale green brocade waistcoat. They left damp stains, but Oleg did not notice. His body quivered slightly as Myshkin’s threat echoed in his mind.
‘How dare Czar Nicholas send that man to me!’ he raged silently. Myshkin would never have been given such power during the time of Alexander. He was a thug, a bully better suited to the back streets of Moscow than the Imperial offices. If Czar Alexander were still living…But it was fruitless to wish. Nicholas was Czar now, and Oleg must turn his thoughts to finding his cousin and after that some way to ingratiate himself with his new ruler.
A woman’s voice shattered his bitter reverie.
“Husband, you are strangely agitated tonight.”
Oleg did not try to mask his displeasure as Elizabeth approached and took his arm in a mocking imitation of domestic affection.
“What is it, Elizabeth? What do you want from me now?”
“My darling,” she cooed, “don’t be so curt with me. Are you not happy this evening? You have every reason to be pleased with the wonderful impression your convent angel is making. Were it not for our bargain, I would feel quite jealous of the little thing.” She preened in her rose satin gown, fully conscious of the way it hugged her voluptuous curves.
He stared at her, a sneer on his mouth. “Your point, Elizabeth?”
“Only that I too am concerned.”.
“About what, may I ask?”
She cast him a sly glance from the corner of her eye. “I was behind the canopy. I heard everything between you and the Czar’s bully.” She smiled. Her small white teeth gleamed, and Oleg became conscious of her as more than merely a malevolent beauty. A veritable goddess of bitches, her rapaciousness made her an enemy Oleg had carelessly underestimated.
“You asked what I want, Oleg. I want only what our Czar wants. Alexei Stephanovich.”
“You whore…” he stopped himself. His attention was caught by something on the edge of his vision. Through the bank of many-paned french doors fronting the promenade deck, he saw Katia standing beneath a crystal chandelier, attended by a number of uniformed admirers.
Elizabeth followed his gaze. “At least you have that to console yourself with, Oleg. Not a bad bargain, I think. But your taste has not always been so impeccable, has it? I recall one named Tinka, the blacksmith’s daughter.”
Oleg tore his gaze from Katia. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Above his right eye, a vein had ridged Oleg’s brow. It was throbbing now.
Elizabeth hissed. “Don’t lie to me, husband. I know about them all. Tinka was the little girl who almost bled to death bearing your child last year. A child you then slaughtered before her very eyes as punishment. Oh, Oleg, I know them all. You disgust me.”
She was recalling the first of Oleg’s conquests. He didn’t know it, of course, but she had seen him with that Finnish servant on the sand of a deserted cove near their summer house at the shore. Elizabeth had been scarcely nineteen then; but the girl with Oleg was younger still, perhaps no more than fourteen. She had watched, knowing that the girl was frightened and that Oleg—with his powerful hands and unstoppable will— took obvious delight in her terror. Elizabeth crouched behind a boulder, her eyes riveted to the scene. She had bitten her lip to keep from screaming at the pain their passion aroused in her. She had thought Oleg would desire only her and for always, and when she knew t
hat this was not to be, she believed her heart would break. But time had taught Elizabeth Romanov many things and among them was the fact that hearts do not break, they harden with hate.
Thin-lipped and cold to the bone, Oleg said, “You have some nasty habits of your own, Elizabeth. A fondness for schoolgirls as I recall.”
She laughed. “Don’t bother threatening me. I have been an exemplary wife to you, Oleg. Entirely faithful. But with what I know, I can ruin and disgrace you beyond redemption if I choose.” Elizabeth had a bright glint in her eyes and spoke rapidly, breathlessly. “Nicholas doesn’t like you, Oleg. He disapproves of your lavish ways, the gambling and the holidays from business. Imagine what he would do if he knew of Tinka, Vavara and the others.”
“You will tax my patience once too often, Elizabeth.”
“I said don’t threaten me, Oleg. Certain individuals close to the Czar have sealed documents in their possession. If anything out of the ordinary were to happen to me, those papers would be opened. Need I continue, husband?”
From the ballroom, the sound of music reached them.
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “Ah, sir, how I enjoy a mazurka! A pity you do not. If you will excuse me?” She tossed her high curled head, blue black in the moonlight. A taunting smile played on her sensual mouth. Blowing him a scornful kiss, she turned and was gone in a whirl of skirts.
Once again, Oleg found himself alone on the promenade deck. He gripped the rail, his knuckles white, and stared into the water that swirled at the cut of the barge. By force of will, he controlled his anger toward Elizabeth and Myshkin. After a time, he turned to watch Katia again through the windows. A circle of smiling admirers held her for him, and he considered her. Her beauty seemed to soothe his mind. She was remarkable. A girl-woman more exquisite and desirable than any he had ever known before. Elizabeth and Myshkin could be dealt with somehow; he assured himself of that. His wife was quick to threaten, but he doubted her ability to act. If he were disgraced, she knew she would have to suffer shame with him. He thought Elizabeth would never take so great a risk. Meanwhile, he knew he must have Katia a little longer. He told himself she had debts to pay, and he would not be content until he aroused the sleeping passions within her.
When he returned to the palace that night, Oleg summoned Leo and issued orders that efforts to find Alexei Romanov must be accelerated.
“I hold you personally responsible,” the Prince told Leo as they stood in the door of Oleg’s dressing room. “Do this for me, and I will reward you well. What would you like, my friend?”
“The girl,” Leo replied without hesitation.
Oleg laughed. “For your pleasure and a few ruples on the side from time to time, eh? Well, Leo, we shall see. We shall see.”
Before retiring he walked to Katia’s door. He put his hand out to grasp the brass knob, but thought better of it. Perhaps just now, he would be wise to restrain his passions. A floorboard creaked down the dimly lit hall behind him, and when Oleg turned he thought he saw someone disappear into the shadows. One of Elizabeth’s household spies, no doubt. Nothing happened in the palace without her knowledge. Why had he not realized this before? The thought of his wife brought the angry vein swelling in his forehead once again, and he ground his thumb into it. The pain was worse than ever. All at once the palace in which he had spent most of his life seemed inhabited by enemies. ‘I can trust no one,’ he thought.
In the night he dreamed Elizabeth had told the Czar everything. Nicholas had banished him to the steppes, and the crowd that jeered him out of the city was full of familiar young faces. Oleg awoke sweating and lay staring at the ceiling for a long while thinking of the first of his young lovers. Dashka had been a kitchen maid in the summer household he and Elizabeth established on the Gulf of Finland the second year of their marriage. The quiet seaside life had reminded him of holidays taken in his childhood. He remembered how his father had hated those excursions, and that summer Oleg had believed he understood why. The seashore life was quiet as the grave; the boredom almost drove him mad. He imagined that this would be the pattern of his days for the remainder of his life. As his boredom increased, Oleg blamed Elizabeth for trapping him in a blandly conventional matrimonial existence that would put him in his grave early as it had his father. He wondered if he would ever feel vigorous and lusty as he had only a few months earlier. With Dashka, he pursued the youth he saw as fleeting. She was reluctant, so he forced her to submit to him. He hurt her; but she was only a servant, and to Oleg’s way of thinking, this made her insensitive by breeding and heritage. Those days and nights with Dashka had rejuvenated his spirits entirely. He had felt strong and virile and young again; the spectre of his father’s early demise faded, and Oleg’s old confidence had returned.
He recalled how, after those weeks at the shore, his desire for Elizabeth had entirely disappeared and never returned. Though they were almost the same age, she seemed depressingly matronly compared to the young belles of St. Petersburg society. Her wit had grown tedious to him. He had been in the city only a few weeks before he sent Leo back to the country for Dashka. For several months after that he kept her in a rooming house off the Nevsky Prospect. She was just fifteen and impressed by the big city and the gifts Oleg brought her from time to time; but eventually her manner changed. She became greedy for richer presents and chafed at her confinement in the rooming house. One windy autumn night she had tried to escape, but the concierge caught her and brought her back. Oleg found her tied to the bedstead in the room he rented for her. She was half-crazy and ranted at him until he couldn’t stand the sound of her voice. He’d had to beat her to silence her. He gave her to Leo then and told him to get rid of her somewhere. He never asked his bodyguard what he had done with Dashka because he had forgotten her almost immediately.
But there had been other beauties who bought him time with their fresh young bodies and uncorrupted emotions. ‘And why is it considered so wrong?’ he wondered as he tossed sleeplessly.
His young lovers were girls of no consequence who should have been thankful for his attentions. And he had tried to be discreet, so why should Elizabeth complain? He had not flaunted his amours nor had he humiliated her before her friends. So why was she eaten up with jealous spite? ‘She must be mad,’ he thought. ‘Mad and dangerous.’
For a week, Oleg managed to avoid Katia; but finally he could no longer withstand the temptation that assailed him whenever he thought of her. He returned late from a political dinner, drunk and craving her wildly. He took her half asleep, repeatedly whipping her face with the back of his hand as he pumped into her. It was as if she were being torn in two; but it was useless to fight or cry out so she lay still, like a dead woman. When he was done, he made her clean him with her mouth; and she was powerless to resist him as he held her head tightly between the palms of his hands.
Satisfied at last, Oleg lolled drunkenly against Katia’s pillows. “You were your usual enthusiastic self,” he slurred.
Silently, Katia cleaned herself at the china basin. She avoided her reflection in the oval mirror. She was afraid of what she might say or do if she had to confront herself.
“What will it take to fire your passions, Katia?”
“You have killed all hope of that in me, Oleg.” She despised him and did not bother to turn as she replied.
“Never, Katia. There is always a way to make a she dog hot. For some it is power, money. For others, those with ice in their blood like you, there is even a drug. They tell me it makes a woman insatiable.”
He looked at her so lasciviously that Katia’s skin crawled, and she pulled her fur trimmed satin wrapper close.
“Don’t do that!” he cried leaping up from the bed. He approached her, swaying drunkenly, and tore the garment open. He hit her hard across the breasts. “I want you always ready for my touch.”
She pushed his hand away, and went to stand defiantly at the foot of the bed. Her tartar eyes were ablaze. “Do what you like,” she spat. “Touch me w
hen and as you will, Oleg Ivanovich. But you cannot make me respond to you. I will not be the slave of your desires.”
“Do you still think you can escape me?”
“If only through death, I will someday be free of you.”
“No, Katia. You mistake your own power. I own you now. Your soul is my personal possession.” A discreet knock at the door prevented him from pursuing the subject.
“Highness, forgive. It is Leo.” said the low voice on the other side of the door.
“Why do you trouble me now?”
“It is a matter of importance, Highness.”
Oleg yelled through the door. “It damned well better be important!” He glanced at Katia as she tried to cover herself with the torn wrapper. “Don’t bother dressing yourself for Leo, Katia,” laughed Oleg drunkenly. “The man has so few pleasures in this life.” He stripped the torn garment from her so she stood half-naked when Leo entered the room. She turned away and could not see him, but she felt his gaze branding her.
Oleg reclined half-covered on the bed and laughed. “Give me your news, Leo, before I thrash you for your insolence.” To Katia he snarled, “Cover yourself, hussy.”
The bodyguard watched Katia and answered between clenched teeth. “The man you were looking for. He has been found in Novgorod.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alexei and Black Jake were slow coming north. They rode at night and slept most days in the deep woods. Near mid-summer they reached the outskirts of Novgorod, the fair town.
Located at the meeting point of two rivers, the Volga and the Oka, Novgorod had been the scene of a massive trading fair every summer for more than a century. Borne on the back of the mighty Volga, boats arrived almost hourly from as far away as remote China. The fair was traditionally held on a broad field outside the city. While it was open for trading, the area teemed with people of every description. Some had taken months and many risks to reach Novgorod and so a sense of adventure pervaded the crowded noisy alleys between barrows and stalls of tea, silk, lumber, furs and even confections and dried fruit.
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