The Seeds of Power

by Christopher Nicole

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - THE ESCAPE

  The Tsar strode into the small reception room and the two men waiting for him came to attention.

  Jennie merely held her hat before herself, protectively. Alexander looked across the faces, pausing for a moment at Jennie’s before returning to Colin’s. ‘You are not harmed? I gave orders that you were not to be harmed. Or Mademoiselle Cromb.’

  ‘We have not been harmed, Your Majesty,’ Colin said. ‘Not physically.’

  ‘Harrumph,’ the Tsar commented, and sat behind the one desk in the room. ‘You have met Colonel Taimanov?’

  ‘I met the Colonel this morning, Your Majesty.’ It was Taimanov’s turn to clear his throat.

  ‘Yes. Well, you will understand,’ Alexander said. ‘That I was forced to act on the advice given to me. I am always forced to act on the advice given to me,’ he added, somewhat plaintively. ‘I am only glad that it has turned out well.’

  ‘What has turned out well, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Well...Taimanov?’

  The Police Colonel cleared his throat again. ‘You will understand that the deposition against you, and Mademoiselle Cromb, was made by the man Fine.’

  Colin listened to Jennie’s sharp intake of breath. ‘No, I did not know that, Colonel,’ he said. ‘Fine? You mean, David Fine, from Bolugayen?’

  ‘That is correct, Your Highness.’

  ‘David Fine accused me, and Mademoiselle Cromb, of being in a plot to assassinate the Tsar?’

  ‘Yes. This was a most serious accusation, as I am sure you appreciate, Your Highness, and it was absolutely necessary to act on the instant. His Majesty agreed to this.’

  ‘But I stipulated that there was to be no ill-treatment,’ Alexander said again. ‘At least until the charge was confirmed.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ Colin said. ‘May I ask if the man Fine volunteered this information?’

  ‘Well, no, Your Highness. These people never do volunteer any information.’

  ‘I see. He was tortured into making a confession implicating Mademoiselle Cromb and myself?’

  ‘He made a confession under interrogation,’ Taimanov said carefully.

  ‘Which he has now withdrawn.’

  ‘No, no. He has not withdrawn his confession. He has, in fact, disappeared, and may well be dead. But in the course of our investigations, we arrested several more of these people, and confronted them with Fine’s statement. I must confess...’ Taimanov flushed—‘that they laughed. They denied that David Fine had ever been a member of the Will of the People. They said that he had attempted to join, but had been refused admittance, both because he was so young and because he was a hothead. As for his implication of you and Mademoiselle Cromb, they laughed at that too. We do not employ foreigners and princes to do our work, they said.’

  ‘And on the strength of that denial you decided to drop the charges against us?’

  Taimanov’s flush deepened. ‘Well, no, Your Highness. There were other factors.’

  ‘Tell me of these factors.’

  Taimanov looked at the Tsar. ‘Tell him,’ Alexander said.

  Taimanov drew a deep breath. ‘As I say, these people, all of whom confessed to their membership of the Will of the People, and to their part in the plot to assassinate His Majesty, denied the implication of the man Fine. This struck me as unusual, and perhaps sinister. Because, Your Highness, Fine had not been arrested by my people. He had been arrested by a Cossack patrol, and had been taken first of all to their commander...’—another deep breath ‘Colonel Dubaclov.’

  ‘Dubaclov!’ Colin spat out the word. ‘Constantine Dubaclov?’

  ‘That is correct, Your Highness. It was Dubaclov who interrogated him.’

  ‘Did you not interrogate him yourself?’

  ‘I never saw him. As I say, soon after his interrogation and his confession, which he signed, he disappeared. You know what the Cossacks are like.’

  ‘By God,’ Colin muttered.

  ‘Well, of course this was highly irregular. But I did have a signed confession implicating you and Mademoiselle Cromb. I had to act. Regretfully, Your Highness. But in view of the later depositions, I decided to take the matter up with Colonel Dubaclov. But the Colonel had already left St Petersburg.’ Again he looked at the Tsar.

  ‘You know what women are, Prince,’ Alexander said, looking distinctly embarrassed. ‘They get carried away. It seems that your wife has, ah, been seeing this man Dubaclov.’ He paused. ‘Were you aware of that?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty,’ Colin lied. And I find it hard to credit. Dubaclov was once, briefly, engaged to be married to my wife’s sister, Anna. I did not consider him a suitable husband for a Bolugayevska, and so, when I became Prince, I terminated the betrothal.’

  ‘Which is certainly a reason for him to hate you. And it would appear that he has suborned your wife. Apparently he went to her with the story of what he claimed to have discovered, and she in turn went to the Countess Dolgoruka and my wife. They believed her. Well, why should they not have done so? The upshot of it was that they came to me, your wife in tears, Prince, telling me of her long years of mistreatment, of how you kept her virtually under lock and key and had given the management of Bolugayen to the Countess Anna, and begging for redress. She also convinced them, and they convinced me, that under the rule of yourself and the Countess Anna, Bolugayen has become a nest of sedition and rebellion, particularly in the Jewish village.’

  ‘So what did you do, Your Highness?’ Colin asked, icy fingers closing on his heart.

  ‘Well, Prince, you must remember that you were under arrest, guilty, as I was informed, of being party to the plot to assassinate me. Perhaps I acted hastily. I revoked your powers as Prince and gave them to your wife. I also issued an order for a pogrom to be carried out upon the Jews on Bolugayen.’ He sighed. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘So the Princess left Moscow, with Dubaclov and his Cossacks,’ Colin said quietly. ‘Do you know, Your Majesty, that Bolugayen was the most peaceful, most happy and contented, estate in all Russia, when I left it?’ If it was possible for the autocrat of all the Russias to hang his head, Alexander did so.

  ‘It is worse than that, Your Highness,’ Taimanov said. Colin looked at him. ‘As I was saying, knowing that Dubaclov had been the one to take the confession from the man Fine, a confession now proved to be false, or even, perhaps, fabricated, I sought him out. And as he was not at his lodgings, it seemed obvious to seek him at the Bolugayevski Palace. In view of the gossip, you understand.’

  ‘But you say he had already left. With my wife.’

  ‘I am afraid so, Your Highness. However, I interrogated the housekeeper, Madame Anastasia, and the butler, Oleg Penkarski, and both of them told the same story, of overhearing conversations between the Princess and Colonel Dubaclov in which the name Fine was mentioned, as well as yours and the “Warsaw business”. The whole thing smacks of conspiracy. Especially with regard to the attempt on your life.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ Colin agreed, and turned back to the Tsar. ‘Will you allow me to set matters right, Your Majesty? In so far as I can.’

  The Tsar gestured to the sheets of paper on the desk. ‘I have already had letters patent drawn up, entirely restoring your powers and prerogatives as Prince Bolugayevski, and discharging those issued to your wife. I have also had warrants drawn up for the arrest of Colonel Dubaclov, and your wife, if you feel it necessary, on charges of conspiracy to commit murder.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. May I ask when the Princess left St Petersburg?’

  ‘Immediately she received her warrants. That is, ten days ago.’

  ‘Ten days. My God! You’ll excuse me, Your Majesty. I must make haste.’

  Alexander frowned. ‘Are you strong enough to ride eight hundred miles? In the snow?’

  ‘I will see to the Prince’s health, Your Majesty,’ Jennie said.

  Alexander looked at her for the first time. ‘I am sure of it,’ he said.

  �
�But I will need support,’ Colin said.

  ‘Colonel Taimanov?’

  ‘I shall see to it, Your Majesty. I would request permission to accompany the Prince.’ Alexander raised his eyebrows. ‘This is a personal matter to me too, Your Majesty,’ Taimanov said. ‘I regarded Dubaclov as a friend. Now I feel that he has betrayed that friendship, for his own ends.’

  Alexander nodded. ‘Then fetch him back here. Now leave us.’ Taimanov saluted, and left the room. ‘I wish you to know that I am very sorry at the way things have turned out,’ Alexander said. ‘I acted hastily. I wish your forgiveness for that.’

  ‘Your Majesty?’ Colin was astounded. He had never expected to hear the autocrat of all the Russias apologise, to anyone. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

  ‘To know that there are people, out there, waiting to kill you...’ Alexander shuddered. ‘They will get me in the end, you know, Prince. I feel it in my bones.’

  ‘Your Majesty...’ Again Colin did not know what to say. He dared not look at Jennie.

  Alexander squared his shoulders. ‘But not today, eh? And you have much to do. I will wish you God speed, Prince. Is there anything more I can do for you?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty. Pray that I reach Bolugayen in time.’

  *

  The servants gathered outside the house to watch the Cossacks and the police ride out. The men had camped in the grounds of the Bolugayevski Mansion overnight, and the smoke from their fires still hung on the still air. Today was a fine one, with blue skies, but it was still very cold, and most of the ground was covered in snow; the troopers slapped their gloved hands together as they waited for their commanders.

  Dagmar came on to the porch with Vorontsov and Dubaclov. ‘I hope you are up to it, after such a busy night,’ she chided her lover.

  ‘I have never felt more up to it in my life, Your Highness,’ he assured her.

  ‘Which did you enjoy more? Fucking her? Caning her? Or just tormenting her?’

  ‘They were all most enjoyable, Your Highness.’

  ‘Well, she will still be here when you come back. Now, don’t forget. I wish Fine alive. I am going to hang him beside his son.’

  ‘Alive,’ Dubaclov promised, and mounted. ‘It should take about ten days for us to do the job and return.’

  ‘I shall be waiting for you.’

  Vorontsov kissed Dagmar’s hand. ‘My people are at your absolute command, Your Highness. I have told Sergeant Bogatyrchuk this.’

  ‘Thank you, Colonel. I do not expect to need them.’

  She went up to the balcony above the porch to wave them out of sight. They looked splendid; forty Cossacks and twelve policemen. Both units wore grey-green coats and fur hats; carbines hung from their saddles, as did their whips and their swords; the Cossacks were also armed with lances, in boots behind their right stirrups. They were equipped for any eventuality. Not that Dagmar considered there would be much of a retaliation from a bunch of unarmed Jews. There were people on the road leading to the town, and these also stopped to stare at the military. Like all true Russians, they feared the Cossacks. And the police. They also hated them, Dagmar knew. But there was no one down there with the courage to take a stance against them. Nor would there ever be. She was determined.

  There was a fresh disturbance from below her, and Yuri Yevrentko was marched out by Igor and several footmen. The tutor looked thoroughly dishevelled, his clothes hastily pulled back on to his body following his flogging. ‘Wait there,’ Dagmar commanded, and went down the stairs. Yevrentko trembled as she approached. She looked him up and down, then pointed to the two satchels standing on the floor beside him. ‘What are those?’

  Yevrentko licked his lips. ‘My books and my clothes, Your Highness.’

  ‘Books? Open it.’ Igor hastily opened the bag. ‘Empty it,’ Dagmar commanded.

  Igor upended the bag and several books, old but leather-bound and carefully preserved, fell to the floor.

  ‘Your Highness,’ Yevrentko protested. ‘That is my livelihood.’

  ‘I take away your livelihood,’ Dagmar said, and kicked the books, which scattered across the floor.

  ‘Your Highness!’ Yevrentko screamed, and pulled himself free to drop to his hands and knees and scrabble after his library.

  ‘Bind that fellow,’ Dagmar said. ‘And burn that rubbish. We’ll have him suborning no more princely houses with his so-called learning.’ Yevrentko burst into tears as his arms were pulled behind his back and secured, and one of the footmen began gathering up the books. Dagmar stepped up to him, took his spectacles from his nose, dropped them on the floor, and stepped on them, listening to the crunching, splintering sound with a smile. ‘Now you will see only what you should see. Get him off my property.’

  Yevrentko was bundled down the steps to the waiting horses.

  ‘I did not say he could ride,’ Dagmar said.

  ‘But, Your Highness, he cannot walk to Poltava, in the snow,’ Igor protested. ‘He would freeze to death.’

  ‘Is that any concern of mine?’ Dagmar inquired. ‘Very well. I am a soft-hearted ninny, I suppose. He may ride to the beginning of Bolugayen. But he will walk the rest of the way.’

  Igor opened his mouth as if he would have protested further, then thought better of it, and saw that Yevrentko was placed in the saddle. He mounted himself, signalled two of the grooms to accompany him, and the little party walked down the drive. As they departed, they passed Nicholas Smyslov riding up from the town. ‘Tell Monsieur Smyslov to attend me,’ Dagmar said, and went inside.

  ‘Hunting in the winter has a special excitement,’ Mordecai Fine remarked, pulling his coat tighter round himself to resist the freezing air.

  ‘But requires less skill,’ Shem Cohen suggested. ‘The tracks are too simple to follow in the snow.’

  ‘But the animals are more dangerous, because those that are not hibernating are hungry,’ argued Abner Stein. The three men walked their horses across a wide field of shallow snow; they were close to home now. Each led a pack animal, and across the saddle of each of these there was the carcass of a wolf.

  ‘What we need to remember,’ Fine said, ‘is that only seven years ago we were not even allowed to carry arms, much less hunt with them.’

  Cohen nodded. ‘It was a fortunate day when you visited the mansion and encountered the Prince.’

  ‘I think he would have been our friend anyway,’ Fine said.

  Stein drew rein. They were at the foot of the last shallow hill before their village. Now he sniffed the clear, still winter air. ‘What is that smell?’

  Fine sniffed also. ‘Woodsmoke. They have been burning rubbish.’

  ‘There must have been a lot of rubbish,’ Cohen said, and urged his horse forward, up the slope. At the top he drew rein, and waited for his companions to catch up with him. He made no sound, just stared down into the valley. Fine and Stein also stared, unable to believe what they were looking at, unable to accept the scattered, blackened timbers which were all that remained of what had once been their homes, the wisps of smoke which continued to rise from the still glowing wood. Fine kicked his horse and sent it floundering down the slope. The animal halted of its own accord as it neared the burned-out village. It was too cold for there to be any stench of death. But there was death in front of them: twelve male bodies, stripped naked and laid out in a row on the snow.

  Fine slid from the saddle to look at them. They had all been castrated, but he guessed that nearly all the mutilations had been committed after death, for they all also had gunshot wounds or sabre cuts to their heads and torsos. He stepped past them, and looked at the second row. These were females and children, also stripped. These too had been mutilated, and very few of these also carried wounds inflicted before their horrible deaths.

  Cohen stood beside him, then uttered a howl and dropped to his knees: he had identified his wife. ‘Who can have done this?’ Stein muttered. ‘Were they men, or beasts?’

  Fine looked at the hoofprints in the s
now. ‘They were Cossacks.’

  ‘But...the Prince would never have allowed this.’

  ‘The Prince is not here,’ Cohen said, getting to his feet. Fine had never heard such a tone before.

  ‘You mean the Countess sent the Cossacks here?’

  Fine walked down what had once been the village street. Here lay, scattered about, the dogs and cats which had been massacred along with their masters and mistresses. But there had been more than two dozen people in the village. He stopped before what had been the tabernacle. This too had been burned to the ground, and its timbers also still smouldered. But he stepped amidst the charred wood, and found what he was looking for—some twenty incinerated remains, including that of the rabbi. Clearly they had barricaded themselves inside, and the Cossacks had fired the place with them in it. Had they been the lucky ones? ‘All dead,’ Stein said. ‘All dead. Save us.’

  They looked back to where Cohen was remounting his horse.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Fine asked.

  ‘I am going to kill whoever is responsible for this,’ Cohen said.

  ‘With a sporting rifle? Or even three sporting rifles?’

  ‘I will go with him,’ Stein said, returning to his own horse. ‘Will you come, Mordecai?’

  Fine looked at the ruin around him. He was a man of peace. Under the benevolent rule of Prince Colin he had watched Bolugayen flourish as never before, watched his own people grow in stature and self-confidence. But now...This could only be the result of David’s madness. With the Prince away, Anna must have succumbed to the pressures brought to bear by outside forces, and allowed the Cossacks to come in. In which case, she was guilty. But she had been his friend. Do I have any friends? he asked himself. David gone, if not dead, a fugitive for the rest of his life. My people destroyed. What do I have left save to kill in vengeance, and again and again, until I myself am killed. Even the Countess Anna. He walked back to his horse and mounted. ‘I am with you,’ he said.

  *

  ‘Anatole,’ Charles Cromb said. ‘Do you not remember me?’ He spoke Russian; he had spent every spare moment over the past year learning the language.