The Seeds of Power Page 7

  ‘Of course it cannot. I would not wish it to. I merely wish a husband. And a family. A replacement for little Alexander. Perhaps you have already accomplished that.’

  ‘If I have, will you let me go?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘You are my husband.’

  Almost he felt sorry for her. But that did not alter his determination to escape, just as soon as he could. Only now he was committed to taking Jennie and her child with him, even if she did not seem all that interested.

  *

  The knowledge of what Dagmar had suffered, added to her beauty and sensuality, made it easier for him to act the husband as she wished. Indeed, he reckoned he would have had to be an eunuch to share a bed with a naked Dagmar and not wish to mount her, again and again. She was a glorious sexual companion, eager to give, eager to receive, eager to experiment, always smiling and sometimes even laughing aloud. ‘I shall fall in love with you,’ she declared, lying on his chest.

  ‘I would not recommend it.’

  She laughed. ‘Because you will fall in love with me. And we shall have an immense family together, which we shall raise in glorious splendour, here on Bolugayen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that either,’ he told her.

  *

  ‘Ah, Colin.’ Prince Bolugayevski sat behind his desk. His study was as large as the average reception room, but with its book-lined walls and the fire roaring in the grate was as warm as any room in this palace.

  Nicholas Smyslov stood beside the desk, and bowed as Colin entered. ‘May I have a word with you, sir?’ Colin asked.

  ‘Of course, my dear boy. Of course. Sit down.’

  ‘In private, sir?’

  The Prince nodded, and glanced at Smyslov, who bowed again, and withdrew. Colin sat down, folding the tails of his coat over his thighs.

  ‘So,’ Bolugayevski said. ‘How is married life?’

  ‘Married life is a very happy state, sir.’

  ‘That is how it should be. I am very pleased. Then what is troubling you?’ He pointed. ‘You are troubled. You are not still fretting over the way it happened, I hope?’

  Colin had chosen his words with care. ‘In certain directions, sir. I have done my best to accommodate myself to your wishes, and those of Dagmar, of course. But I have still acted in an unforgivable manner, as regards my parents, and my career. You spoke of letters...’

  ‘Ah, yes. I shall write them, certainly. And so shall you. But at the moment there is very little point. There will be no movement on the roads until the spring.’

  ‘You moved on the roads,’ Colin pointed out.

  ‘I had a great need to do so, as did the messenger who brought me the news of my mother’s illness. Matters like ordinary post will have to wait.’

  ‘I do not consider this “ordinary post”, sir,’ Colin protested. ‘My career is in jeopardy.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Bolugayevski said. ‘The war will hardly be over as yet. Even if the Allies have abandoned the Crimea, they will not have got around to making peace yet.’

  ‘The Allies will not abandon the Crimea, sir, until Sevastopol has fallen.’

  ‘Then they will be there a long time, and you have even less to worry about, as you will remain a prisoner of war. Now tell me this, do you consider that you have honeymooned for long enough?’

  ‘Why...’ Colin bit his lip.

  Bolugayevski laughed. ‘Three weeks, is it not? You must have all but worn out your pizzle, boy. Now it is time for you to take your proper place in our affairs. There will be a tzemtsvo court the day after tomorrow. I have delayed it until my mother was buried, but now there has been a slight thaw she is to be interred tomorrow. Then it will be time to deal with some of the abominable crimes that were committed while I was stuck in Sevastopol. You will sit at my side.’

  *

  Colin supposed that in time, he would be a JP in England, if he ever got back there. But he felt distinctly odd as he sat beside Prince Bolugayevski at a table in the village hall; Smyslov sat on the other side of the Prince. In contrast to the palace, the room was bare, and distinctly chill, despite the iron stove set against one wall. It was crowded with threadbare humanity, men, women and children; there were even some dogs present. Together they gave off a pungent aroma, mainly of sweat.

  But more disturbing than their appearance was their demeanour of abject servitude, even fear. They seemed apprehensive of even being looked at, and would touch their caps or their foreheads at the slightest indication that this might happen. Marshalling them were several men, hardly better dressed and equally fearful of their betters, but filled with authority over those inferior to themselves. Colin was concerned to see that they carried revolvers and whips, and from time to time used the lash, too. ‘Those are members of my Black Regiment,’ Smyslov said proudly. ‘They are our police.’

  On the left of the room, seated in three rows on benches, were a dozen men. These, Colin gathered, were the members of the tzemtsvo itself, the village council. They seemed as anxious to please their master as did everyone else. There were a variety of crimes to be answered for, ranging from failure to complete a certain quota of work to petty thieving, and the sentence for each of these offences was a flogging. This was administered immediately, the victim being stripped to the waist and secured with leather straps to the wall. Four women and two children suffered the same painful humiliation as eight of their menfolk, screaming and wailing their agony to their fellows, who watched with stolid faces.

  But the principal event was reserved for the end, when two young people were thrust forward. One was a man and one was a woman; neither was more than twenty. Now they stood before the table, heads bowed, shivering. ‘These are the pair who were found to possess that seditious literature,’ Smyslov explained.

  ‘You mean those two can read?’ Bolugayevski demanded.

  ‘Can you read, Nikolai?’ Smyslov inquired.

  The young man mumbled a reply.

  ‘He can read, Your Highness,’ Smyslov said.

  ‘Who gave you this rubbish?’ Bolugayevski asked.

  The paper was lying on the table; Colin had not noticed it before. Nikolai raised his head. ‘I found it, Your Highness.’

  Bolugayevski pointed. ‘You are lying. You...what is your name?’

  The young woman jerked to attention. ‘Natasha, Your Highness.’ Her mouth trembled as she spoke. ‘What is he to you?’

  ‘We are to be married, Your Highness.’

  Bolugayevski glanced at Smyslov. ‘You were away, Your Highness. The Princess Dowager gave them permission, last summer.’

  ‘Ha!’ Bolugayevski commented. ‘Do you realise that possession of seditious literature is a capital offence?’

  ‘We found it, Your Highness,’ Natasha protested. ‘We did not know it was seditious.’

  ‘But you can read. He can, anyway. Did you not read it?’

  Natasha licked her lips. ‘And having read it, you should have brought it to Monsieur Smyslov. But you kept it, because you intended to circulate it amongst my people. You are sentenced to death. Tell me who gave you this paper, and I will commute that sentence.’

  The woman looked at her lover. ‘We found it, Your Highness,’ Nikolai said again.

  Bolugayevski stared at him for some seconds, and Nikolai stared back. The people at the back of the room shuffled their feet. ‘If we may beg for mercy, Your Highness,’ said one of the council. ‘Nikolai is a good lad. And Natasha is also. I am sure if they were suitably punished they would never again accept such a paper.’

  ‘That is up to them,’ Bolugayevski said. ‘All they have to do is tell me who gave them this paper.’

  ‘May I look at it, sir?’ Colin asked.

  Bolugayevski slid it across the table. Colin picked it up and read: Obey the Will of the People. The Will of the People cannot be gainsaid. We will bring down the tyrant, and all his lackeys. Wait for the summons. The Will of the People.

  ‘It is a secret society,’ Bolugayevski said. ‘De
voted to sedition. It must be stamped out. Certainly I will have none of it on my estate. Well?’ he demanded. ‘Have you made up your mind?’

  ‘I found the paper,’ Nikolai insisted. ‘I found it. Natasha had nothing to do with it. She cannot even read.’

  ‘I am sure you told her what was in it,’ Smyslov said.

  ‘No, your worship, I did not. She knows nothing of it.’

  ‘I cannot see any reason for clemency,’ Bolugayevski announced. ‘They are guilty of sedition, and of defying me. But I will give the woman a last chance to save herself. Hang the man.’

  Four of the overseers hurried forward to grasp Nikolai’s arms. Two more were already throwing a rope over the rafters. ‘Your Highness,’ Colin whispered. ‘Surely the man must be given the right to appeal?’

  ‘Appeal? What has he got to appeal about?’

  ‘Well...the sentence.’

  ‘The mandatory sentence for sedition is death. This is sometimes commuted to exile, but I see no reason for that here. The lout has defied me.’

  ‘But if he were to appear before a higher body, they might think differently.’

  ‘Colin,’ Bolugayevski said. ‘I know you are English, and perhaps do not understand these things. There is no higher authority, on Bolugayen, than the Prince.’

  Colin looked back at the room. The sentence was being carried out, without a murmur of protest from anyone save the girl Natasha, who fell to her knees, screaming her lover’s name. Nikolai had been taken beneath the beam, the noose placed around his neck, and four of the overseers were already heaving on the rope. His feet left the ground, kicking desperately, as the rope choked the breath from his lungs. ‘God, but these peasants take long to die,’ the Prince grumbled.

  ‘Assist him!’ Smyslov commanded, and two of the overseers threw their arms round Nikolai’s legs and pulled down with all their strength.

  ‘I believe he is gone, Your Highness,’ said one of the council, peering at the drooping body.

  ‘And good riddance,’ Bolugayevski growled. ‘Well, girl. The name of the man, or woman, who gave you that literature.’

  The girl had been on her knees, her head sagging. Now she raised it. ‘Murderer!’ she screamed.

  Bolugayevski’s features stiffened. ‘I am offering you your life,’ he told her.

  ‘I will look down on you in hell!’ she shouted.

  Bolugayevski jerked his head. ‘Take that carrion down,’ he commanded. And hoist the woman in its place.’

  CHAPTER FOUR - THE CATASTROPHE

  ‘I think Lieutenant MacLain needs a glass of vodka,’ Prince Bolugayevski said as they entered the palace. ‘But I will have one too. It is devilish cold out there.’ The footman bowed and hurried off.

  Bolugayevski threw his gloves into his hat, being held by another footman. A third was taking off his fur coat. Two more footmen were attending to Colin. ‘You’ll be telling me next that you have never seen a woman hanged,’ the Prince said.

  ‘I have never seen a woman hanged,’ Colin said.

  The footman returned with a tray and glasses and a decanter. Bolugayevski tossed his first drink off, and the glass was refilled. Colin finished his drink. ‘You’ll excuse me.’ Not even a whole bottle of vodka was going to remove the memory of that twisting, dying body, that blood-blackening face.

  He went into the hall, and the footmen bowed. He went up the great staircase to the first gallery, and faced Alexandra. ‘Murderer!’ she hissed, and walked away from him.

  He followed her. ‘What did you mean by that?’

  ‘Were not Nikolai Raspeen and Natasha Perubovska hanged?’ she asked over her shoulder.

  ‘And that concerns you?’

  She turned to face him. ‘Obviously it does not concern you!’

  ‘I had nothing to do with it. Save that I was there. And felt sick. It was your loving father who ordered the executions.’

  ‘I hate him. Oh, how I hate him. But you...you are married to Dagmar. She is just like Papa, in everything.’

  ‘So you hate her too?’

  Alexandra tossed her head. ‘Are you going to tell her? Or Papa?’

  ‘You mean they don’t know?’

  ‘Well...’ she flushed.

  ‘I will not tell them. But you must tell me how you knew of that couple, Nikolai and Natasha.’

  ‘They are our serfs. Should I not know them?’

  ‘I am told there are nearly four thousand serfs on Bolugayen. Do you know them all by name?’ She flushed, and he held her shoulders. ‘Listen to me, Alexandra. They were condemned for possessing seditious literature. Did you know that?’

  ‘Yes. We were in Poltava, last summer, and this man was handing the sheets out. He gave one to Nikolai. Then the police came, and he ran away. But some of the sheets got scattered, and I picked one up.’

  ‘And did what with it?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘You mean you still have it? My God! Do you know what your father will do when he finds out?’

  ‘He cannot find out, unless you tell him.’

  ‘I am not going to tell him. But you must promise me to destroy that paper. Now.’

  ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘You are my sister. Well, virtually.’

  ‘Did you really feel sick when you saw Natasha hanged?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you have spared her life?’

  ‘In England, we do not hang people for possessing pamphlets directed against the Queen.’

  ‘England,’ she said. ‘I should love to go there. Will you take me there, Colin?’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  ‘But if you hate Dagmar...’

  ‘I never said I hated Dagmar.’

  ‘But you do. Now I know you will escape, just as soon as the snows thaw. Will you take me with you?’

  She pouted. ‘Don’t you like me? I would be as good to you as Dagmar.’

  ‘I believe you would,’ he agreed, wondering if she had the least idea what she was talking about.

  ‘I promise,’ she said, and to his consternation, threw both arms round his neck and kissed him on the mouth.

  ‘Why, Colin,’ Dagmar said from the doorway. ‘Whatever are you doing?’

  *

  Colin’s arms had gone round the girl’s waist to hold her against him. Now he released her, even as Alexandra herself jumped backwards, cannoning into the table. ‘I was thanking him,’ Alexandra said, a trifle breathlessly.

  ‘He must have done you a great favour,’ Dagmar remarked. ‘Well, I would run along if I were you.’ After an anxious glance at Colin, Alexandra left. Dagmar walked into the centre of the room and sat in a straight chair, hands clasped on her lap. ‘Papa tells me you were quite overcome at the court.’

  ‘Yes, I was. We do not do things that way in England.’

  ‘Those people were would-be revolutionaries.’

  ‘Surely the word—“would-be”?’

  ‘You would prefer to wait until they had actually assassinated someone before bringing them to justice?’

  ‘I would prefer to know that they were at least planning an assassination before hanging them.’

  ‘You read that obscene pamphlet. There are things you need to know about Russia.’

  ‘Your father has already tried to explain his, and presumably your, point of view.’

  ‘That we need to keep our serfs in subjection? This is perfectly true. Can you imagine the chaos were they to get the upper hand? Supposing they did, can you imagine the tyranny they would impose upon the country? Upon everyone, including their own class? That always happens when those not bred to rule begin doing so: you have to look no further back than the French Revolution. Quite apart from a total collapse of Russia’s place in the world. I know it is customary in the West to regard Tsar Nicholas as a tyrant, but he is at least an educated man, with some sense and sensibility to govern his actions. Put a man of the people in a position of unlimited power, and you would have
an unimaginable situation.’

  ‘Wasn’t Napoleon a man of the people?’

  ‘And didn’t he drive France into an unimaginable situation? Napoleon,’ she said darkly. ‘He is responsible for all of this because of the influence he, and his ideas, had upon Tsar Alexander. The Tsar dreamed of freeing the serfs, and making Russia into some kind of Utopia. Then he died, suddenly, and mysteriously. But the true misfortune is that he died before he revealed the agreement he had come to with his eldest son, the Grand Duke Constantine. Constantine did not wish to sit on the throne, with all its responsibilities and all of its problems, and Tsar Alexander accepted this. But only his intimates knew of it when he died, and when Tsar Nicholas was pronounced Emperor, even he refused at first to believe it. The result was the revolt in Warsaw in favour of Constantine which we call the Decembrist Plot. It had to be crushed, but it earned Tsar Nicholas a reputation as a hard and ruthless man. Then there was the second revolt in Poland, in 1832. That also had to be crushed. Can he be blamed for becoming ever more harsh and ruthless? Now the situation is compounded because the Grand Duke Alexander, the heir to the throne, is himself surrounded by “liberal” advisers. And they know that the Tsar is not a well man. So you see, we tremble on the brink of revolution.’ She smiled. ‘Another reason why I need a husband who can shoot straight. But not one who turns green at the sight of a hanging.’

  ‘And you believe in the principals of the Tsar as opposed to those of the Grand Duke.’

  ‘Of course I do. And so must anyone who wishes to preserve the greatness of Russia. In any event, who can possibly feel sympathy with these assassins who call themselves the Will of the People? They are beneath contempt.’ Dagmar went to the door, paused, and looked over her shoulder. ‘Do you like my baby sister?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Very much.’

  ‘As she obviously likes you. Would you like to fuck her?’

  ‘Would I…I...?’ He was never sure when his wife was being deliberately provocative. But then, could he not be deliberately provocative in return? ‘Yes. I would.’

  ‘But you will not do it. Papa would hang you, and lock Alix up in a convent. I should remember that, if I were you.’