Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “Undressing me with your eyes is a poor substitute. Come, I’ll take you where you can do it properly.”

  “It took you long enough to suggest that. But I cannot go yet. I have a massive erection.”

  “Shall I come to that side of the table and caress it away?”

  “If you do, you’ll have to place all your allure in cold storage for a while. Until I recuperate.”

  She stood up, laughing, her heart singing at the sparks the two generated when together. “You are a better lover the second time. Come to think of it, you are just as good the third time.”

  He grinned as he climbed to his feet. “Flatterer.” Reaching out, he took hold of her hand, and they began walking towards the exit. “That might have been true when I was a young man. But I haven’t seen you for close to three months.”

  “Three months, one week, and two days,” she said, hugging his arm.

  “See, I told you. You are lucky I’m still able to walk.” Outside, he halted at the top step. “Where are you staying, and how did you get here?”

  “I have a flat fifteen minutes or so away. I walked. I have also been coming here each day for over a week and two days.”

  He drew her closer to him. “I was held up,” he said easily, his eyes lazily scanning the street in both directions. “My horse is tied down there. Do you have a stable near the flat?”

  She had grown tense ever so slightly when he mentioned being held up, then she forced herself to relax. “The building has a stable in the rear.”

  He untied the animal, and, side by side, walking together in the street, she led him a few blocks away to a wide apartment complex set in a highly fashionable section. An alley led to the stable at the back. Under Hershel’s eye, a stableman took the reins, unsaddled the horse, placed him in a stall, and pitched in a fork of hay from a bin at the far end.

  Katrine led him up a flowered walk to the rear entrance. A doorman in a pale blue uniform was stationed there, opening the door and saluting as they passed by. Hershel followed her through a hallway covered with rich Turkish rugs, then up a curved staircase to the second floor. She inserted a key into the lock of enormous doors decorated with fine, brown leather containing a family crest.

  “Whose flat is this?” questioned Hershel, evidently impressed by what he had already seen.

  “A cousin of mine, Prince Teodor.” She laughed as she pushed open the door. “A Pole, of all things. An aunt, my mother’s sister, married his father. Absolutely filthy rich. All kinds of estates south of Warsaw.”

  Katrine drew him into a wonderland. The entry chamber was huge, with a tan marble floor, and heraldic crests of the family on triangular shields decorating the walls. An archway led into a massive parlor, with fireplaces at opposite sides, and three pools of sofas, chaise lounges, and chairs, all covered with silk tapestry in which were embroidered horses’ heads with the family crest in each corner.

  The walls held–Hershel counted them carefully–two paintings of naked, heavy-flanked women, who identified them as works of Rubens, a battle scene with the French tricolor leading the victorious forces, whose clarity and neoclassicism stamped it as a David, two light and colorful Monets, forever restful to look at, and a somber Delacroix, with his penchant for defying oppression.

  Sliding doors led into a dining room holding a long, ebony table, polished to a mirror finish, with a score of chairs of the same wood, their backs and cushioned seats of red, Moroccan leather. A crown shaped chandelier held two dozen delicately arched gaslights, converted to electric.

  Hershel stopped at the bedroom and smiled. It met his expectations. It was monster sized, with an enormous canopied bed and goose down pillows covered in rose colored silk. On everything, as expected, was the family crest.

  “This cousin of yours,” remarked Hershel, still overawed. “Does he think he’s Alexander the Great?”

  “Alexander was a homosexual,” said Katrine, eyeing him with amusement. “Teddy could never be accused of that. He has probably bedded more innocent virgins, happily married matrons, and love-starved widows than there are feathers in those pillows. He once said that having only one hundred new conquests per year would be sexual abstinence.” She slipped her arms around Hershel’s waist and drew him to her. “How’s your erection?”

  “Being in the same room that Cousin Teddy occupied makes me ready to poke even the cook.”

  “I’m the cook here now.”

  “Where’s Cousin Teddy? All I would need is for him to come charging in while we were trying out his bed. His peals of laughter might make me give up sex forever.”

  Her usual soft, sensible laughter, full of the beauty and mystery and magnetism that had captured his heart, came out as he expected it would, for he knew that she knew he had enough fire inside to satisfy any woman. She kissed his lips, and his arms engulfed her, pulling her close with a hunger that he was unable to hide since the moment he had set eyes on her. Their tongues explored each other feverishly as his hands pressed her hips tightly to his own, and she rubbed her body undulatingly, sensually against him, rising on her toes so she could feel his raging penis pressing harshly at her loins.

  Feverishly, they shed their clothing and slid under the silk covers, sinking into the softness of the thick mattress, locked close together with a desire that drove everything but their want of each other from their thoughts. Soon he rose up and mounted her, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, driving hard against him, allowing him to withdraw almost to his glans before they crashed together again.

  She sensed him starting to come a few strokes before the moan she loved so much to hear broke from his lips, then it became more intense as he felt the flood begin its race from deep in his loins. He crested with an explosive gush, his pent up breath bursting from his lips as he ejaculated time after time.

  After a while, he lay quietly atop her, the need of her still boiling inside, only the emptiness of his testes keeping him from continuing. Her caresses had turned to gentle strokes, her fingers slowly massaging his back and shoulders, her body still vibrating under his, the only thought in her mind that he had been hers and soon she would be his. She marveled again at how fully he had filled her, how his savage thrusts had brought her such pleasure.

  He rolled them both to their sides, and, kissing her soft, wet lips, he placed his leg between hers, his hand gently fondling a breast grown large with desire. In moments, she was driving her vagina against his leg, her body shuddering with pent up passion, the fingers of her hand wrapped around his penis. Faster and faster she masturbated against his leg, her breath coming out harshly as she climbed her mountain to orgasm. Then her movements became jagged thrusts as she flung herself against him, her eyes now tightly closed.

  Suddenly, she began to moan. These were critical moments, he knew. He had lost her more than once in the past, and had learned that feeling rather than raw sex was needed now, “I love you, my darling,” he whispered.

  She came at once, her entire body leaping against his, her lips kissing him here and there, short cries of animal pleasure sounding between her gasps for breath. Little by little, her movements became less demanding, then she stopped and lay lank, her face resting on his chest, her breasts heaving from her exertions.

  He stroked her body gently, as she had done to him. “I adore it when you come,” he said. “It feels like I own you.”

  “You do. I knew it from the first time we made love.”

  He pinched her rump. “Do I own you because I have sex with you?”

  She laughed, rolling to her back and letting her head sink deep into a pillow. “Of course. Just because you are the handsomest man I have ever known, and certainly the most intelligent, and just because I love you with every fiber of my being, well, all that has no bearing whatsoever on a good poke.” She laughed again and rolled on top of him. She kissed his lips, then lifted her head to look into his eyes. “I will always love you, my beloved, even if we never make love again. And you will own me complet
ely, forever. I want you to always know that.”

  “I do, my darling.”

  She rested her head on his chest. “I hurt your leg when I make love, don’t I?”

  He would not lie to her. “Not really. It gets sore for a minute or two, but I’m so engrossed in watching you enjoy yourself that I rarely think of it.”

  “Truthfully now. Does it bother you that I must come like that?”

  “Why should it?”

  “Oh, you know, the male’s conceit being frustrated by being unable to climax the woman on the end of his penis.” She shrugged. “The woman having to masturbate to bring it off.”

  He knew better than to chuckle or to pass it off lightly. “I’m masturbating also, Katrine. It’s just that I’m doing it inside of you.”

  She raised her head and looked levelly at him, her brow wrinkled as she digested his comment. “That’s quite true,” she finally said, lowering her head again onto his chest. “I’ve never thought of it in that sense before.” She was silent for a few seconds. “But you are doing it the conventional way.”

  “Who decided it is the conventional way?”

  “It’s the way you make babies, and that’s supposedly the primary function of poking.”

  “How do you know that people didn’t poke from the rear in the past? Like almost every animal does?”

  She shifted to his side and began caressing his chest. “Are there other animals who do it from the front also?” she asked idly.

  Hershel chuckled. No wonder he loved her. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Let me think. Wait, some of the crustaceans do. The lobsters, certainly, and I think the crayfish. And, oh yes, spiders. There are others, I’m sure.”

  She lay peacefully still for a while. “Will you do it from the rear the next time?”

  He drew her closer. “If you wish.”

  “Good.” She placed a leg over his hips and snuggled against him. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too.”

  In almost no time at all, they were both asleep.

  CHAPTER 6

  They ate supper in the long, formal dining room. Katrine had prepared a pheasant roasted with berries, with side dishes of various vegetables, and a bottle of champagne resting in a cooler. Hershel was delighted to see white asparagus in a prominent place.

  “Where did you get these?” he asked.

  “Teddy got them from Germany. You once mentioned how good they were, so I asked him to search them down.” She placed a number of them on his plate. “Why are they white?”

  “The farmers cover the tips with soil the moment they come through the ground. Ergo, no sun, no green.”

  When they had eaten, she served strawberries with thick cream, then demi tasses of coffee.

  Sated, they leaned back to smoke the fierce Turkish cigarettes she favored.

  “Hershel.” He looked at her with fondness. “What do you plan to do this time?”

  Hershel wiped his mouth with a damask serviette. “I need one box of leaflets taken to Minsk, and two to Kiev.”

  “That won’t be a bother.” She rose and refilled his cup with more coffee, then resumed her chair. She cocked her head at him. “I’ve been trying to figure you out ever since we met. Are you really a socialist?”

  “All the way.”

  “What do you really want? From Russia, I mean?”

  “I want the vital services of the country, the railroads, postal system, banks, and all the important industries, such as mines, factories, and food distribution agencies owned and operated by a governmental organization responsive totally to the people.”

  “The Tzar would never permit that, and you know it.”

  “Then why do you help me?”

  A half smile played on her lips. “I’m in love with you.”

  He blew her a kiss. “The Tzar would spank you with a heavy hand if you were caught.” He knew it would be more than a heavy hand, irrespective of her noble rank and relationship to the Tzar himself. She was a first cousin, once removed, of his Exalted Majesty. But despotic rule is related only to power.

  At first, Hershel was delighted with his conquest. It was nigh impossible to achieve his mission without help from the indigents, whether it was in Russia or Poland or Lithuania, and to have a confederate who could move about with the greatest of ease and meet with salutes from train conductors and customs officers and police instead of the usual surly, suspicious checks, was fortunate indeed. He had drawn her into his affairs without disconcert, but somewhere along the line he had awakened to realize he was truly in love with her. It was actually nothing new, for he had met other women under similar circumstances, had induced them to participate in his operation, had slept with them, fallen a bit in love with them, and when one in Poland had been caught and beaten so savagely that she had divulged his identity, he had understood, and his heart had ached for months over the pain and privation he had caused her. He had suffered a degree of pain himself, for while escaping the police, he had taken a bullet in his upper leg, and it had festered badly before he had managed to cross back into Germany and obtain proper treatment.

  He loved Katrine deeply enough to marry her, but it would mean the end of his work if he did so, for both would be marked people from that moment on, since he would no longer be able to conceal his true identity.

  Katrine had smiled at his remark about the Tzar spanking her with a heavy hand if she were caught. “Is it so important that all these services be controlled by the people? The Tzar does it well enough. And anyhow, the people are not competent enough to rule.”

  Hershel chuckled. Loving her sometimes made him forget that she was essentially a despotic monarchist, and that he was enjoying her favors in spite of that fact. He was tempted to argue the point, but it would not be worth the effort, for if he convinced her that in Russia were hundreds, perhaps thousands, of untitled people capable of running the country for the benefit of the masses, not just for a privileged class, would he gain a more cooperative accomplice? Would it help one iota to explain that the Tzar himself owned about seventy percent of every meter of soil in Russia, and that the oppressive taxes went directly into his own coffers? Or that many of his court officers were exempt from taxes on their massive estates? And if he tried to convince her that the salutes she received because of her rank should also be extended to untitled women who excelled in medicine or writing or even, heaven forbid, politics, she would probably agree, but definitely not at the expense of her own position. His mission was to influence large numbers of people, not to expend his energy to convince the one.

  “Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” said Katrine. “There is a plan being developed to move all the Jews from Lithuania in the event of war with Germany.”

  Hershel almost rose from his seat. “Where did you hear that?” he asked quietly.

  “At an engagement party for a friend of mine in St. Petersburg three weeks ago. Old General Kokov was holding court. He is about ninety years old, can barely stand, yet his mind is as clear as a bell. Someone brought up the subject of the war with Turkey twenty-five years ago, then someone else spoke of Turkey’s growing friendship with Germany, and another person said that your Kaiser Wilhelm is so totally influenced by von Waldersee that a preemptive war against Russia is inevitable. Anyhow, General Kokov said that if war did break out, the first thing the army would do is move the Jews from Lithuania into Russia.”

  “Did he say why?” Hershel made no attempt to conceal the interest he felt, and Katrine could see that her remarks were of great import.

  “He said the Jews would certainly try to assist the Germans, and that they must be placed where they can do no harm. Anyhow, everyone knows that your strutting Kaiser will start a war sooner or later. All he has on his mind are uniforms and marching.”

  Hershel sighed as he rose to refill their glasses with champagne. “You’re right, of course. He waves his saber too much, and one of these days he will accidentally stick someone who will fight back. But he h
as done wonders for the people on social issues. Look at us Jews for example. We own land, are permitted in all the professions, hold officer rank in the Imperial Army. I could go on and on.”

  “Did you know that just this month he proposed a law to jail trade union activists?”

  “Only if they endangered the security of the Empire.”

  “Come on, Hershel. You know that’s just putting curtains on the windows. That law is designed to destroy you Social Democrats.”

  Hershel resumed his seat, a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. “Katrine, I have misjudged you. I have been thinking that your main attributes are being the most beautiful woman and the finest bed partner on this earth. Now I see that you are much wiser than women are judged to be in your social and political position.”

  “Why don’t you make up for it by giving me a poke right here on this table?”

  He laughed with delight. “I suspect that the hard wood will ruin my knees. Can I settle for poking you twice in a comfortable bed?”

  “You want to keep the conversation going, don’t you?”

  He saluted her with his glass of champagne. “The devil with politics. Come on, off to bed, then.”

  At mid morning, Hershel left Teddy’s flat, tipped the stableman to saddle his horse, then rode through the streets to a section near the Jewish shtetl. He had visited Kaunas four times during the past year to familiarize himself with the city, so he avoided crowds by taking short cuts through alleys. He looked about carefully as he traveled to see if he was being followed.

  He passed a harness shop, employing a dozen or more leather workers, paid special attention to items hanging in the window, went on another block, then swung off his saddle and tied his horse to a hitching rail. Soon he was knocking on the rear door of the shop. Julijonas Grinius, a short, portly Lithuanian with a well-trimmed beard opened the door and led him into his office.