‘The ruby is a single flame captured from the fire that burns since time began in the centre of the earth.’
Alexei stared open-mouthed at the dagger as Rasputin held it aloft and twirled it in his hand.
‘The greedy man had no knowledge of the enchantment.’ Rasputin flicked a glance at me. ‘The daggers were made for the mighty Genghis Khan. With great ceremony and in formal procession they were brought before him, whereupon the Magi of the tribe laid a mystic incantation upon them.’
Surreptitiously, the Tsarina crossed herself.
Rasputin’s eyes went back into his head so that the whites showed, and he chanted what sounded more like sorcery than a prayer:
‘One dagger to save a life! One dagger to take a life!’
Laying the dagger flat in his left hand, with his right he made a sign across it.
‘I speak the very words as spoken by the Magi over the twin daggers. One dagger blessed. One dagger cursed.
‘Cursed!’
He repeated the word so loudly that everyone in the room jumped in fright.
‘The curse is that of violent death. He who holds the cursed dagger will use it to kill!’
‘Eeee!’ A strangled sound escaped my lips. What trickery was this? Apart from his initial devious look, Rasputin had not glanced in my direction. Yet he wasn’t just telling the story to entertain the children. This tale was designed to confuse me.
‘Father Grigory.’ The Tsarina too was unsettled. ‘How came you by this dagger?’
‘Did you steal it?’ Alexei’s eyes were round with a morbid curiosity.
‘Of course not!’
‘How did you get the dagger?’ The children clamoured for their answer.
‘It’s a story,’ he reassured them; ‘only a story.’
But, as Rasputin himself had said, stories have enormous power. I thought of the ones circulating in the city about his relationship with the Tsarina. In his manner and actions Rasputin was over-familiar with the Imperial Family; I didn’t believe anything improper had happened between them, but the pamphlets and the pictures saying otherwise had achieved an authority. I saw now why the Okhrana Secret Police confiscated these publications, punished the students and the workers and smashed their printing presses. Stories stimulate our imagination.
‘And so’ – Rasputin lowered his voice to a sibilant whisper – ‘the greedy man waited for his opportunity and he took the daggers. He stole the twin daggers, and thus he possessed both the blessed dagger and the cursed dagger. But, with no knowledge of the enchantment, he was unaware that he was in the greatest danger.’
Rasputin paused and took a long drink from the glass of spiced wine that sat on the table before him.
‘In this story there is another man. An honest man. He was clever and studied many things. But he had no money. Now the greedy man had a daughter. She was very beautiful, and she too was clever and she too studied many things. She met the honest man and the honest man met her. And they fell in love.’
‘Like a princess in a fairy tale,’ breathed Anastasia.
‘The honest man came to the house of the greedy man and asked to marry his daughter. He explained that he didn’t have much money, but he had enough that he and the rich man’s daughter could live with food and warmth. But the greedy man said he would not allow them to marry. He considered his daughter to be his property and, as he owned her, then no one else should have her.
‘The daughter pleaded with her father but he refused. He told her that from that day forth he would lock her in a high room with no windows, and there she would remain until the day she died.
‘Then his daughter declared that she would not stay in the house a moment longer. The honest man promised that he would look after her and protect her for the rest of her life. And he took the hand of his beloved and they walked towards the door.
‘The greedy man pulled out one of the twin daggers he’d stolen, and he threatened to kill the honest man if he did not leave immediately, without his daughter. But …’ Rasputin paused to gather in the gaze of his audience, pointedly ignoring me. ‘What the greedy man did not know was that the dagger he’d chosen was the one with the curse.’
‘No!’ Tatiana cried out.
Olga reached for her sister and the girls entwined their fingers together for reassurance.
‘The honest man was frightened,’ said Rasputin. ‘Not for himself, but for the girl. He believed that if he went away the greedy man might harm his daughter. He did not want to leave her in the house alone with him. The daughter shared his fears, and said that she would go with the honest man. The honest man struck the dagger from the hand of the greedy man and it clattered to the floor.
‘The greedy man was apoplectic with anger. He was not strong enough to kill the honest man but he vowed he would prevent him from taking his daughter. He ran to where the dagger lay on the floor, and he picked it up and lunged at his daughter!’
‘Horror!’ Maria exclaimed dramatically. ‘The Princess died in a pool of her own blood in her lover’s arms!’
Rasputin shook his head. ‘There was a pool of blood. And someone did die. But it was not the daughter.’
‘It was the honest man?’ said Alexei. ‘It is sad that he died, but honourable that he sacrificed himself to save the Princess who he loved.’
Again Rasputin shook his head. ‘It was not the honest man who died that night.’
‘Tell us!’ cried Tatiana. ‘Please, Father Grigory, tell us what happened.’
‘The honest man struggled with the greedy man. He tried to loosen his hold on the dagger. But the greedy man would not let go and the blade twisted and plunged deep into his own body. He fell dead upon the floor. Still clutching the bloodied dagger, the honest man called upon his beloved to open up the door. And the young couple fled from the house and ran away as fast and as far as they could.’
‘Where?’ asked Maria. ‘Where did they go?’
‘That I do not know.’
‘A palace,’ said Anastasia. ‘Princesses always live in palaces like ours. Happily ever after.’
‘This is a story you constructed around the dagger you carry?’ said the Tsarina.
Very deliberately Rasputin shook his head and replaced his dagger in his sash. ‘That is not the story of the dagger I carry,’ he said. ‘It is a story told to me concerning the other dagger, the twin of this one.’
‘What happened to that other dagger?’ Alexei asked him.
Rasputin stared at the boy, and then at each of us in turn. It was only now that his gaze connected with my own. A bright light shone forth from the depths of his eyes to lock with mine, and I had to grip the arms of my chair to prevent myself from rising up and walking across the carpet to him. I sat immobile; I could not break the spell. The sounds of the room, the children breathing, the wood crackling; these faded.
Time suspended … like a droplet of water hanging from a dripping tap. I could hear the swish of the snow outside and far away – far, far away – the howl of a wolf.
Rasputin snapped his head towards the window. He had heard it too!
My attention came back into the room. The children and the Tsarina sat unmoving. Then Rasputin laughed. A great uproar of noise that prompted everyone to join in.
Everyone except me.
A sliver of ice remained in my heart. Rasputin had been telling part of the life story of my father and mother. Of that I was convinced. Drawing myself to my feet, I went to the window and looked out. The snow had stopped. The sun was setting: a monstrous ball of fire pouring a swathe of crimson, like blood spreading over the white land.
‘I must go home,’ I said.
When they realized that I would be deeply unhappy to stay even one more night, the Imperial Family allowed me to leave. Before I went I asked to speak in private with Father Grigory Rasputin.
The austerity of his room surprised me. I’d expected silken covers and cushions, but it was furnished with a small table, a single wooden chair and
a plain cot bed with rough blankets. There were no wine bottles, either full or empty. But there was a cloying smell, and as Rasputin’s eyes were dilated and his voice slurred I guessed he had taken some drug.
I placed the carved casket on the table and opened the lid.
‘Ah!’ Rasputin breathed. ‘So you do carry the other dagger with you. Be warned, Nina. The ancient sage said that the daggers could claim the soul of the person who owned them.’
‘Please,’ I begged him, ‘tell me everything he said.’
‘When you told me of the dagger you owned, I returned to the monastery and asked the oldest and wisest monk what he knew of their history. Most of what he said made no sense, but I stitched his ramblings together and embroidered them to make a performance for the children.’
We regarded each other warily. Rasputin was withholding something from me, as I was from him.
I pushed the casket towards him. ‘I want you to have this dagger as a gift for yourself or the monastery you visit.’
‘They will not accept it.’ Rasputin shook his head. ‘They were glad to present me with the one I have. The sage said that ever since it arrived in their midst there have been factions and fights among their community. He spoke of visions, premonitions, of an apocalypse to come.’
‘Tsar Ivan, who once owned them, had fits of madness.’ I spoke hesitantly, thinking of my father, who had suffered mental torment in his last hours.
‘Since I’ve been carrying this dagger I am more troubled in my spirit,’ Rasputin admitted. ‘And you, Nina? He looked at me keenly. ‘Are you troubled in your spirit?’
I bit my lip, and then stammered out: ‘It may be that I am dreaming. In my head I see and hear …’
‘Scenes of blood and battles?’ he pressed me.
I nodded.
Rasputin murmured, ‘One dagger to take a life. One dagger to save a life.’
‘And I have the dagger which takes life …’ I said miserably. ‘So there was no need for you to be alarmed. Our meeting was not an ill omen for you, after all. It is my burden to bear.’ I closed the lid, lifted the casket and went to the door. ‘I wish you well with your dagger, Father Grigory; that it may one day save your life.’
‘I fear that I myself am not due any protection this dagger might offer.’ There was an immeasurable sadness in Rasputin’s eyes as he replied. ‘There was a singular aspect that the ancient sage was very definite about – when this dagger saves a life, it will be a life worth saving.’
As the sleigh runners sang over the icy road towards the city, thick white flakes again began to drift from the sky.
For the soldiers at the Front, the peasants in their hovels and the workers in their squalid houses, it signalled months of cold despair.
For the inhabitants of the Alexander Palace a fresh fall of snow caused joy. Exciting games would be planned. They’d eat gingerbread and drink hot cinnamon tea. I felt no pang of envy as I thought of this. They were inside a prison. The bars were made of sugar candy sticks and the floor lined with quilts of eiderdown – but what they lived in was a cage. A cage … and the door was closing.
At Dr K’s house I shivered as I stepped out of the carriage.
‘Have this.’ Sergei reached in and dragged out a fur travelling blanket and thrust it at me.
I hesitated.
‘It’s no loss to them,’ he said. ‘They have fur blankets and coats beyond counting. You’ll make better use of it.’ He glanced upwards and then pointed to the team of animals which drew the sleigh. ‘There are few birds about, and see how the horses labour in their breathing. This winter will kill more Russians than the guns of our enemy on the battlefields.’
Chapter 24
Dr K and I were ripping out the shelves in the long walk-in pantry cupboard when Nina returned from her extended stay at the Alexander Palace.
Galena, who was supervising our efforts at carpentry, went to answer the doorbell. ‘Look who is here!’ she announced. ‘I will serve tea. And we will eat cake with our soup tonight.’
Everyone’s mood lightened as Nina walked into the kitchen. I nodded a greeting and continued with my work.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, seeing what we were doing.
‘I laugh at them,’ said Galena. ‘One is a qualified surgeon, the other a surgeon-in-apprenticeship, yet they wield a saw and a hammer like two-year-olds. And the litter they leave! Always, always, whatever he does, Dr K makes a mess.’
‘You’d best be silent, woman,’ Dr K grumbled back at her, ‘if you want your new bedroom finished and somewhere to lay your head before midnight.’
Galena bustled off to find some treat she’d been saving for Christmastide while Dr K hugged Nina and then asked: ‘Why did you return without sending word and so late in the day? Is there something wrong?’
‘No, nothing,’ she answered. And then, speaking as if she had rehearsed her statement, she said, ‘Father Grigory Rasputin telephones the Imperial Family every morning and visits most days or evenings. I was able to come home as that arrangement fulfils what they need.’
‘What they want, perhaps,’ said Dr K, ‘but not what they actually need. No, definitely not what they need.’
Nina indicated the broken shelves stacked beside the coal scuttle. ‘Why has Galena to sleep in the pantry cupboard?’
‘Fuel is strictly rationed,’ Dr K explained, ‘so we will no longer heat the middle floor of the house. My bed is being moved to my study and Galena will be by the kitchen. Stefan has elected to remain in his attic eyrie. While you, my lovely lass’ – he kissed her on both cheeks – ‘will have the dining room.’
‘Let Galena have the dining room,’ said Nina.
‘The pantry is handier for me,’ Galena said in her ‘this-argument-is-now-ended’ voice, ‘to slip out in the morning and stake my place in the bread queue.’
‘I can do that,’ Nina said. ‘I will fetch the bread as I did before.’
‘No, Nina, you can’t.’ Galena shook her head. ‘Since you’ve been away things have changed in the city. The women of the bread queues must be at the bakery before five a.m. and wait for hours to obtain the most meagre loaf. It can only be me who does this because Stefan is training in surgery under Dr K and they are both fully occupied at the City Hospital. Refugees from the fighting are flooding in and the hospitals are swamped, so it’s best if you return to nursing in the Winter Palace and help with our weekly clinic here. I will go out to find food and fuel to keep the other members of this household fit and able enough to use their medical skills for the good of the people. Now’ – she chucked Nina under the chin – ‘we will eat.’
Nina had with her a box of foodstuffs which the Tsarina’s daughters had presented to her as a parting gift. She told us this almost apologetically.
‘Bringing food or no food, Nina, we are glad to see you back with us again,’ said Dr K. He gave her another hug and reached out to Galena who, looping her arm through mine, drew me with her to complete our circle.
Thus I was close to Nina, and could see the wisps of hair that framed her forehead and smell the natural scent from her skin, and I recalled the day of our first outing together. It made my heart ache for a return to the spirited squabbling we’d engaged in before everything became so complicated and murky.
Increasingly I felt isolated. I was losing touch with my friends from the university. Tomas, who wanted to specialize in neurology, was working in a military hospital for officers set up in one wing of the Moika Palace of Prince Yusupov under the supervision of a Dr Lazovert. Eugene had volunteered for the Army Medical Corps, in the unit which ran the hospital trains. Fyodor was working exclusively for the Bolsheviks. We’d had a huge row when he told me of his intentions to do this. I’d been bad-tempered and said that, even if the war ended, his hero Lenin’s preferred method of revolution would create plenty of work to keep the doctors busy.
Politically too our group had fragmented – Eugene believed the war was a necessary evil, and he must devot
e his skills to helping the wounded from the battlefield. Tomas was a pacifist, while Fyodor and I disagreed on the best way to convince people to support a revolution. We were all so occupied that we could barely keep abreast of each other’s news or meet up to enjoy companionship.
While we ate, Galena relentlessly quizzed Nina about her time in the Alexander Palace. Nina obligingly supplied answers until Galena said, ‘Did you meet the monk, Father Grigory Rasputin?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘Rasputin is everything everyone says of him,’ she said slowly.
Her apparent reluctance to discuss Rasputin caused Galena to glance at Dr K.
‘And what do you say of him?’ Dr K smiled and offered Nina a piece of bread.
‘He is not an evil man. I know he sins in certain ways and is greedy for control, but he is self-deluded and at times quite vulnerable.’ Her face took on a bleak expression.
Dr K laid down his soup spoon and put his hand over hers. ‘Are you quite well, Nina?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. I am now.’
‘And yet you are strained, and thinner than when you left us. I would have thought there were few shortages in the Alexander Palace.’
‘I had more food than I could eat,’ she said.
‘Self-deluded mystics can infiltrate the minds of others.’ Dr K looked around and spoke as if he was having a discussion with everyone at the table, but he did not let go of Nina’s hand. ‘Although they might not be able to make you do as they want, they can plant a thought inside your head which becomes troublesome to you. And it is hard for the person to get rid of that thought.’ Dr K was behaving the way he did when trying to coax a patient to relax in order to help them – an outwardly casual conversation but one with a purpose.
‘I thank you for your wise words,’ Nina said gratefully. Her tension dissipated and she said, ‘I remembered your good advice, Galena, and it served me well whenever I was in Rasputin’s company.’
‘Does he indeed have eyes that burn like two hot coals?’ Galena asked.
The Rasputin Dagger Page 13
