The Red Gods Page 10

  “A Red patrol. We exchanged shots and drove them off, but a bullet hit Father. He died in seconds.”

  “How did a Red patrol get in here? If Wrangel is still to the north...”

  “They are everywhere,” Colin said bitterly. “Father wished to move back to the north and unite our people with Wrangel’s and make a last stand. But those bastards would not stay and fight. Someone had spread a rumour that Sevastopol is being evacuated. That Denikin has already left. So Father determined to join Wrangel anyway, with his staff. Now they have gone too.” His tone was even more bitter.

  “I spoke with Denikin two days ago,” Joseph said. “He gave me despatches for your father. Commanding him to do exactly what he wished to do.” It was worth a lie to attempt to relieve this tortured soul.

  “My father was a soldier,” Colin said.

  “But, having united the two armies, also to retreat.”

  “That is all Denikin can think of,” Colin said scornfully. “Retreat.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “Join Wrangel myself.”

  “You have no orders to do so.”

  “I have my honour.”

  “You are Prince Bolugayevski.”

  “That does not lessen the burden of my honour.” He gazed at his cousin. “What will you do?”

  Joseph hesitated. The temptation was enormous, but to tell Colin the responsibility that had been given him by Alexei would be to increase the burden the boy was already carrying. The boy? Colin was only a year younger than himself. “I shall return to Sevastopol and report the situation to General Denikin.”

  “Do you not suppose he already knows the situation? He was informed by radio.”

  “Nonetheless, I have no orders to do anything else.”

  “You are afraid. Being captured by the Reds has made you a coward. Are you afraid that my mother will not be there to rescue you if you are captured again?”

  “You are entitled to your opinion,” Joseph said equably.

  “I hope we shall meet again.” He held out his hand, but Colin ignored it, turned away from the grave and walked to where Holzbach waited, holding his horse with his own. Joseph also mounted, but he rode south. Colin was quite right that he was running, but not away from the Reds. He was running towards Priscilla.

  The journey back was even more chaotic than that out. Joseph had to make his way through masses of fleeing, disorganised and undisciplined men. That he was mounted, and armed with sword and revolver, dissuaded them from attempting to rob him, but finding any place to rest in safety was difficult, and obtaining food was even more so. He regained the railhead twenty-four hours after leaving Alexei’s grave, but realised at once there was little prospect of obtaining a place on any of the few trains that were still running: they were entirely surrounded by milling, shouting men. So he stayed with his weary horse, reduced to walking most of the time. When he finally crossed the isthmus he was exhausted and half-starved, as was his animal.

  The beast could go no farther. Joseph turned him out to graze where he could, then walked the eighty miles from Perekou to Sevastopol. This took him four days and was a tribute to his determination as much as his physical strength. To survive he stole food and fought with other thieves. He turned himself into a vagabond in an army of vagabonds, all heading in the same direction. And when he finally gained the heights looking down on the seaport his heart sank. The harbour was as crowded as ever he had seen it, although these were mainly warships, British and French. But there were not enough. On every jetty and stretching back from them into the streets there were lines of people, each carrying a bundle of belongings, waiting to be given a place. If Priscilla and the children were in that throng...

  But his duty called him first of all to Denikin’s headquarters, where a least the eagle flag still flew, and there were armed guards on the doors. These gazed suspiciously at the shaggy-bearded, hatless man wearing the tattered officer’s uniform, but they escorted him up to see the general. “Cromb? My God, man, what has happened to you?”

  “I have joined the ranks of the defeated, Your Excellency.”

  “You know that Prince Bolugayevski is dead?”

  “I saw him buried, Your Excellency.”

  Denikin sighed. “Well, there is nothing left for you here. Unless you wish to fight under General Wrangel.”

  “Before his death, Your Excellency, Prince Bolugayevski charged me with escorting his wife and family to safety.” He did not elaborate on how long before his death Alexei had given him that charge.

  “Should that not be Prince Colin’s responsibility?”

  “Prince Colin has joined General Wrangel, Your Excellency. We decided between us that I should see to the family.” Another lie, to be sure. But now was no time for worrying about lies.

  “I see. Well, I shall not stand in your way.”

  “Of course, if the Princess and her children have already been found places on board one of the ships, Your Excellency, I should be happy to resume my place in the army.”

  “The Princess is still here,” Denikin said.

  “But does she know of her husband’s death?”

  “I told her personally,” Denikin said. “The moment I learned myself. That was four days ago. At that time I offered her immediate evacuation and she refused. I suspect she was waiting for news of her stepson. But if he also is not coming back...”

  “I will speak with her,” Joseph said.

  He made his way through crowded streets. He could not imagine what effect his appearance would have had in London, but in Sevastopol there were too many men who looked just as decrepit as himself. Besides, everyone was interested only in getting out of the city as rapidly as possible.

  Civilisation had collapsed in Sevastopol; there was absolutely no sign of law and order, and although there were many obvious soldiers in the throng they were as concerned with their own well-being as anyone. But by the same token no one attempted to interfere with the bearded officer who thrust his way past them. To his alarm, however, when he reached the apartment building he found that door too hanging open, and no sign of the concierge. There were no people inside either, and when he went in he discovered that the entire ground floor had been emptied of its contents; some of the doors had been broken down.

  Joseph ran up the stairs three at a time to the first-floor landing. There the door was closed, and he gave a sigh of relief. But then he saw that the wood had certainly been heavily scuffed, and indeed that there were several bullet holes in the panels. He banged. “Go away,” Grishka said. “Or I will shoot.”

  “Grishka! It is Joseph Cromb.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, then he listened to the bolts being drawn, and gazed at the muzzle of a revolver, and then at the maid herself.

  “Master Joseph!” she said. “Oh, Master Joseph!” and to his total consternation burst into tears as she took him in her arms.

  He gazed past her at Anna, hostility submerged beneath the terrified expression on her face, and at little Alexei, no longer bouncing noisily but face pale and frightened. And then at Priscilla. She had a revolver in her hand and the grip was firm. Grishka let him go and pulled him into the room, closing the door behind her and shooting the bolts again. “They came two days ago,” Priscilla said. “They tried to break the door down. We fired through it. I think we hit someone, because they went away again.” She came towards him. “Oh, Joseph, thank God you have come back!”

  She was in his arms, clinging close. “Denikin says he came here,” he said.

  “Four days ago.”

  “I am very sorry.”

  She gazed at him. “Were you...”

  “I saw him buried.”

  Her mouth twisted. “And came back to claim your own.”

  “You must not be so suspicious. I came back to get you out of here. Denikin said he offered you a passage.”

  “And I declined.” She released him. “Grishka, champagne.”

  “You still have champ
agne?”

  “Of course. As we have not been able to go shopping, we are down to emergency supplies. But we still have champagne.” This time it was her smile which was twisted. “We are Bolugayevskis, are we not?” The children continued to stare at him. “But you must be starving,” she said.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Then sit down and eat.”

  “But...”

  “We have enough for that. I stocked up before these people went mad. It is the variety that is lacking.” She herself served the coarse smoked sausage and black bread, already tinged with green. But in such company nothing had ever tasted so good. Or been so good to drink, as Grishka served them each a glass of warm champagne — there was no longer any ice available.

  While he ate, they all gazed at him. “I need a bath and a shave,” he said, wiping his lips with the damask napkin. “The water has been cut off,” Priscilla said.

  “But there is water from the pump in the yard,” Grishka said.

  “That is too risky,” Priscilla said.

  “I will stand guard over him,” Grishka volunteered.

  “No,” Priscilla said. Both Joseph and Grishka looked at her in surprise. “I will stand guard over him,” she said. “You will remain here with the children.”

  “I have a razor,” Priscilla said. She took out a towel from one of her linen drawers, and even equipped herself with a cake of soap_ Grishka locked the door behind them and they went down the stairs. The building remained deserted, although there was still noise from the street. “She is an utterly faithful servant,” Priscilla remarked, “who has stayed with me through thick and thin. But for that reason, perhaps, she is sometimes difficult to get rid of.”

  Joseph made no comment. Priscilla opened the back door, which was surprisingly undamaged, and peered into the back yard. It was deserted. “Sit down,” she commanded. “But keep your revolver in your hand.”

  He obeyed, and she heaved on the pump. The Princess Bolugayevska, drawing water from a hand-pump in an untidy back yard, he thought. She washed her hands with the soap, and worked up a lather, which she spread over his cheeks and chin. “Have you ever shaved a man before?” he asked, enjoying the touch of her fingers.

  “Yes.”

  “Alexei?” Suddenly he was jealous. Of a dead man?

  “No.” Colour flared into her cheeks.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I did not mean to embarrass you.”

  “You did not. I blush very easily.” She knelt before him, and he opened his legs so that she could kneel between. Then he closed his legs again, on her hips. “There is nothing, I think, that can be required of a woman that I have not experienced,” she said, and opened the razor. “However, if you squeeze me with your knees, I may cut you.”

  He made himself sit still, but every fibre of his being cried out to touch her, hold her, hug her, while she scraped the razor down his chin. Instead he gazed at her face, only an inch away from his own, her breath mingling with his frowning as she concentrated. “I love you,” he said.

  She took the razor away to wipe it on his breeches. “You have a tendency to suicide.” He held her shoulders, brought her forward, and kissed her on the mouth. “I thought you were a gentleman,” she remarked, starting work on his other cheek.

  “Is any man a gentleman, when he is in love?”

  “Then more than ever does he need to be a gentleman. I am a widow of less than a week. And you are my officially appointed guardian. For you to take advantage of either of those situations would be very wrong. There. Now you are clean-shaven. Wash your face.” He got up, and she worked the pump for him. “Now get rid of those ghastly clothes,” she said. “When you are clean, I will find you something of Alexei’s to wear.”

  “Then you had better leave.”

  “Of course I cannot leave. I have to stand guard. In any event, I intend to bathe you.”

  Joseph stripped off his uniform, and she took the scarf from his hand. “I had not expected to see this again. Perhaps you do love me after all.” No doubt, he supposed, this most unusual woman had seen a great number of naked men in her time. She looked at him with complete ease. “Is it very painful?” she asked.

  “Not any more. If you are going to bathe me,” he said. “you will get your clothes wet.”

  “I realise that,” she said, and reached behind herself to unfasten her buttons. Joseph drew a deep breath as she uncovered that translucent white skin, the large, full pink-nippled breasts, the surprisingly slender thighs and hips, the pale wisps of pubic hair, the long, white, slender legs. She was flushing again. “Am I worth guarding?” He took her in his arms. She kissed him, then stepped away. “After we have bathed, I think. We can wait that much longer.”

  Part Two - The Victor

  ‘We have seen the best of our time; machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves.’

  William Shakespeare

  King Lear

  Chapter 5 - The Tentacles of Fate

  “You have obviously been here before,” Trotsky remarked, as he stepped down from the train on to the Sevastopol platform and waited for Sonia to join him.

  “Many times,” Sonia said.

  “Well, it is the first time for me.”

  “It is the first time for me too,” Sonia said. “In this Sevastopol.” She had been appalled as the train had passed through the once great seaport. To either side there had been nothing but destruction. Some of it had been wreaked by Wrangel’s men before the final evacuation, two months previously. But much of it had been carried out by the Reds in their search for Tsarists and ‘deviationists’, a deviationist being by definition anyone who disagreed in the slightest form with Comrade Lenin.

  Even the harbour was a monument to destruction, with its half-submerged sunken ships and its installations blown up. As for the people! In January even the Crimea could be cold, and so many of these people were starving. They clutched their tattered clothing to themselves as they sought food.

  Inside the railway station the soldiers presented arms. Officers saluted and were eager to shake hands, and with the Commissar’s mistress, as well. Sonia reckoned Trotsky could do whatever he liked, and still be acclaimed by the state. Over the past two years the armies he had directed had driven from success to success. In the summer of 1919, she remembered, there was hardly an observer in the world who would have given the Soviet Union one chance in a hundred of surviving, such were the forces thrown against them. Now, in this spring of 1921, Trotsky, and his principal general, Tuchachevsky, reigned supreme. Yudenich had been beaten in the Baltic States; Kolchak had been shattered in Siberia, captured and shot; Denikin had been defeated in the south. Those had been civil wars. The only blot on Trotsky’s and Tuchachevsky’s record, had been that the invasion of Poland had been repulsed. But the Soviet frontier in the west, if not as far west as had been hoped, was still firmly established.

  And now the last remnants of opposition had been eliminated. Wrangel had taken over the White Army on Denikin’s departure, and had held out for another year. Wrangel too had fled, with the last of his men, evacuated by the Royal Navy. Had Colin gone with them? Sonia had to believe that; there had been no report of his death. At least Anna had to be safe, she had fled with her stepmother Over a year ago. Anna would grow up as an exiled Russian countess. She could still have a future.

  And what of her? She sat beside Trotsky in the car surrounded by outriders and followed by more cars filled with armed men. He smiled at her, uncorked a bottle of brandy, and poured them each a glass. “I drink to us.”

  She brushed her glass against his. Oh, yes, she thought: I undoubtedly have a future, even if it is not the one I would have chosen.

  Sonia waited in an antechamber while the great men conferred in the next room. At first she did not sit, but walked to and fro, picking up objets d’art watched by the impassive flunkey standing by the door. She remembered being summoned to the Romanov Palace of Tsarkoye Se
lo in the autumn of 1916, again without knowing why. Then also she had been watched by a flunkey while she waited. Some things never changed. This was the first time she had ever been inside the Kremlin, and she was surprised to be here now. They had renamed Petrograd as Leningrad after their leader, but because of the two assassination attempts he apparently felt safer within these grim walls than the Winter Palace. Sonia could not help but wonder what would have happened had either been successful. There was only one possible heir apparent: the victorious Commissar of the Army. She could have been the mistress of the most powerful man in Russia!

  Sonia had no idea why she had been commanded to come here, today. She knew Trotsky was here, attending a meeting of the Politburo, but he had not asked her to accompany him. And now she was here her brain was clouded by too many recent memories. It had been a mistake to go to Sevastopol at all. Even though it was now over a year ago she could remember it as if it had been yesterday. It had been even more of a mistake to visit the apartment which had been owned by Priscilla. But how could she be in Sevastopol and not make such a pilgrimage?

  Now she could only remember the empty, looted rooms, the shattered crockery and torn linen. My daughter lived here, she had thought. She wondered where, and how, Anna was living now...and if she would ever see either of her children again.

  Sonia felt that she could still be the mistress of the most powerful man in Russia, as the flunkey opened a door to Lenin’s office. Krupskaya greeted her with an embrace. “He wishes to see you,” she said. “You are our oldest friend, now.”

  Lenin entered and Sonia caught her breath. He looked twenty years older than his fifty-two years. His hair was white, what there was of it, and his movements stiff and hesitant; she realised that he must recently have had a stroke. “Sonia!” he said. “It is too long since last we met. Sit down. Here.” He seated himself on a settee and patted the space beside him.