The Seeds of Power Page 8

  *

  Even a Russian winter eventually ends. Bolugayen slowly seemed to come to life, like a monster awakening from slumber. People began to smile, and there was a great greasing of cart axles and factory machinery. The cattle were allowed out, and the chickens squawked in their runs, while the crowing of the cocks filled the air. The executions and floggings of February seemed forgotten, at least until the next time the Prince decided to hold court.

  It had been the longest confinement Colin had ever experienced. No doubt he should be thankful that he had been honeymooning, and had had Dagmar’s arms to retreat to. The rest of the family had eaten and drunk, copiously; they had played games such as chess, and they had played music. But now they too were desperate to get out of doors, and gallop their horses across the suddenly black earth. As was he. His principal occupation over the previous two months, apart from satisfying Dagmar’s insatiable sexuality, had been to wade his way slowly through Prince Bolugayevski’s huge library.

  The other girl, Anna, the most beautiful of the trio, seemed to wish neither to dominate nor be excessively forward. Yet she was clearly highly intelligent, and while he would have liked to get to know her better, he did not wish to give Dagmar something else to hold against him.

  Anna also seemed to have a disturbingly close relationship with her father, an intimacy of glance and touch. Colin had to regard the Prince as his enemy, which meant Anna also had to be so considered. Even more did he regard Bolugayevski as an enemy when he discovered that the Prince had appropriated Jennie Cromb as his mistress. He protested to Dagmar, but she merely shrugged and said, ‘Papa must have his sexual outlets.’

  And there was nothing he could do about it, even if he could have no doubt that the Prince ill-treated the girl. He saw her from time to time, but she usually looked the other way. To her he was obviously one of the rulers and she one of the serfs. And he could not take a deeper interest in her, conscious as he was that Dagmar was always watching him, and that Dagmar possessed the power of life and death over the unfortunate girl.

  With the thaw there came news from the south.

  Prince Bolugayevski marched through the house, braying his pleasure.

  ‘The British Government has fallen,’ he told his family. ‘That is a measure of our success, eh?’

  ‘And Sevastopol?’ Dagmar asked.

  ‘Sevastopol is still Russian. It will always be Russian.’

  ‘And Georgei?’

  ‘Georgei is having the time of his life. Here, this is his letter. Read it.’

  The girls perused it, eagerly.

  ‘Now we will be able to write letters of our own, sir,’ Colin suggested.

  ‘Why, yes, so we shall. I shall attend to it.’

  But a week later news arrived from St Petersburg:

  Tsar Nicholas I was dead.

  *

  Prince Bolugayevski immediately ordered his estate, and everyone on it, into the deepest mourning. ‘I shall have to go to Petersburg,’ he told his family. ‘I must attend the new Tsar, and pay my respects to the old.’

  ‘But...!’ Dagmar bit her lip.

  ‘I am sure the past is the past,’ the Prince said. ‘With a new Tsar, a liberal Tsar, things will surely change.’

  Apparently, Colin thought, he was quite happy to support a liberal Tsar, as long as the liberality only applied to him, not his serfs. ‘Oh, Papa, can I come with you?’ Alexandra begged.

  ‘Not this time, my poppet. The roads are still very bad, and I have no idea what sort of reception I will receive. In the summer, if all goes well, we shall all go to St Petersburg. Won’t that be fun?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Papa,’ Alexandra cried.

  Anna merely looked thoughtful.

  Dagmar was concerned with practicalities. ‘Who will be in charge here?’

  ‘Why, you, my dear. With Colin, of course. It will be good for him to learn to rule.’

  ‘But I will be in charge?’ She wanted confirmation.

  ‘Yes.’ Bolugayevski looked at Smyslov. ‘You understand?’

  ‘Of course, Your Highness.’

  ‘What about the sowing?’ Dagmar asked.

  ‘That must proceed as normal. We must live.’

  ‘And the ceremony?’

  A look of uncertainty crossed Bolugayevski’s face. ‘Perhaps it would be inappropriate.’

  ‘We must have the ceremony, Papa,’ Anna protested.

  ‘The people will be unhappy if we do not, Your Highness,’ Smyslov agreed.

  ‘But I cannot stay,’ Bolugayevski said. ‘I must go to Petersburg. And Georgei is not here.’

  ‘Well …!’ Dagmar smiled at Colin. ‘Colin can act for you.’

  ‘Ah! Yes. You will permit this?’ He was not asking Colin.

  ‘I will be pleased to permit this, Papa,’ Dagmar said. ‘As you say, he must gain the experience of ruling.’

  *

  ‘Perhaps you would tell me just what is going on?’

  Colin asked, after they had waved the Prince and his entourage out of sight. He had been too busy writing letters to his parents, his uncle, and Lord Cardigan, to take much interest in anything else. But now these were on their way, and he felt that a great weight had been removed from his mind, and his conscience; he had explained the situation as best he could without being so ungallant as to say that he had been kidnapped by a Russian countess for her bed. That would have been too humiliating a confession.

  ‘Why, nothing is going on,’ Dagmar said in response to his question. ‘But we have to sow the crops.’

  ‘And there is a ceremony attached to this?’

  ‘Of course. These people retain many of their superstitions. Even Father Alexei understands this. You know there has always been a ritual ceremony connected with sowing the crops, to ensure a bountiful harvest?’

  ‘My God! You’re not going to tell me you practise human sacrifice?’

  ‘Well, no. They used to, down to quite recently. But nowadays, such practices are frowned upon.’

  ‘You mean that you would indulge in it, if it were legal?’

  She put her head on one side as she gazed at him. ‘I think it would be fascinating. However, as you say, it is not legal. Yet there has to be a ritual death and rebirth, hopefully productive. So, you see, a maiden is selected by the village elders, and brought up to the house, and made to lie with the master of the estate, who is usually Papa, or in his absence, Georgei, and having been, hopefully, impregnated, she is then buried. Alive, of course.’

  Colin could not believe his ears. ‘And that is not a blood sacrifice?’

  ‘She is only buried for an hour or two, and then she is dug up, and everyone is very happy. I believe there was an occasion, before I was born, when the girl was dead when she was recovered, but that was because she had lost her head completely at being buried and suffered a heart attack.’

  ‘What a nuisance,’ Colin said sarcastically.

  ‘It was. We had a very poor crop. On the other hand, there was another occasion, when I was a little girl, when Papa actually did manage to impregnate the girl. Everyone was delighted. And that year we had a very good crop.’

  ‘And where is the child?’

  ‘Vassily? He is your valet.’

  Colin opened his mouth and then closed it again; even if he had recognised that Vassily had to be a Bolugayevski out-child, he had not properly evaluated the relationship. ‘He is your brother! Your half-brother, anyway.’

  ‘Does that mean I am supposed to dine with him? Some men do educate their bastards. It was Papa’s decision not to do that for Vassily. However,’ Dagmar went on, ‘if you are similarly successful, and wish it, we will educate your son. If it is a son. Second to the son you are going to give me, of course.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘Colin,’ she said, with great patience, ‘neither Papa nor Georgei can be here for the ceremony. Thus you will have to act for them. You can hardly expect me to.’

/>   ‘That is obscene.’

  ‘Oh, you are full of useless words. It is the custom. What can possibly be obscene about a custom? And what are you concerned about? I have given my permission. Besides, are you not feeling the urge to mount someone beside me? This way you can do it with my blessing. As for the girl, I do assure you that she will be the prettiest virgin on the estate.’

  *

  Colin sat between Dagmar and Anna, on the balcony above the great porch of the Bolugayevski Palace. Alexandra sat next to Anna. Both the younger girls were in a state of high excitement. But then, so was Dagmar, he could tell from the way she constantly licked her lips, and pulled at her gloves. The ladies wore black evening gowns, as they were in mourning, although as the evening air was still chill, they also had fur capes. Behind the princely party were the Smyslovs, Dr Simmars and his wife, and Father Alexei, as well as four of the leading members of the tzemtsvo and their wives, specially invited into the palace for this most important occasion of the year.

  Up from the village there wound a huge column of torchlight, all the men and women and children on the estate, wearing their very best clothes, come to behold the sacrifice, chanting hymns as they marched. It was still not quite dark, and Colin found himself staring at the little group leading the procession. This consisted of four men, who between them were half dragging, half carrying a woman. Even above the singing he could hear her screams and wails.

  Dagmar squeezed his hand. ‘She is only playacting. In any event, she will be given enough vodka to make her contented.’

  ‘You mean I am required to commit rape.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t that an exciting thought?’

  My God, he thought. It was an exciting thought. He had been sucked into this world of unbridled power, unbridled sex, unbridled superstition...and the catastrophe was that he was enjoying it. He was as hard as a ramrod at the thought of what he was about to do...and then he wondered if Jennie Cromb was in the throng? Of course she was. She would be in the crowd, and she would know what he was about to do. But she, at least, must be feeling some relief at the departure of her master.

  The mass of people had reached the drive before the house, and fanned out to either side. Now Colin could see that behind the four men and the woman, there were six more men, carrying a wooden coffin. The ceremony was about to begin.

  Father Alexei advanced to the balustrade of the balcony, arms outflung, and blessed the proceedings. ‘It is time to go down and claim your victim,’ Dagmar said.

  ‘You mean you don’t come with me?’

  She blew him a kiss. ‘Tonight you are the master of all you survey, my lord Prince.’

  Colin went inside, to the top of the grand staircase. The servants had now assembled in the great hall, and into the hall had come the four men and the woman. The girl! As he went down the stairs he knew she could not be a day over sixteen. She was not truly pretty, but rather, attractively ugly, with a tight little monkey-face and straggling dark hair. But at least the hair looked clean.

  Now she was released by her captors, who stepped away from her, leaving her isolated in the centre of the mosaic floor. She stared at Colin, and he stared back at her as he descended the stairs. He had been told exactly what he had to do by Dagmar, and now the excitement was all but overwhelming. ‘Behold your bride of the night, my lord,’ said Igor the butler. ‘Her name is Olga.’

  The girl attempted a curtsey and Igor presented the tray and the two glasses of vodka. They were bigger glasses than usual. Colin took one, and nodded at the girl, who took the other. She stared at him as she drank, but managed to drain the glass, giving a little shudder as she did so. Colin also drained his glass, then hurled it to the floor, where it shattered. Olga did likewise, and the servants clapped. Colin stepped forward, and saw Olga’s lips puckering. But she swallowed her tears as he swept her from the floor, one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, and turned...and nearly dropped her. For the family and their guests had all gathered on the gallery at the head of the staircase, and they too were clapping, even more enthusiastically.

  Colin swallowed, and carried his victim to the right of the staircase: not even for a ritual occasion were the family going to allow one of their serfs into one of their bedrooms, and a small ground-floor parlour had been dedicated to the purpose. Here a roaring fire suggested hell, and all the furniture had been cleared out save for a mattress on the floor, on which had been spread a white sheet; against the wall there was a washstand, with basin and ewer.

  Colin carried Olga inside, and the door was closed behind him; he heard the key turning in the lock. He was here until Dagmar chose to let him out. He set Olga on her feet and she kept on going down, to kneel before him. He looked down at her. ‘We had best be about it.’

  His initial ardour had dwindled in the publicity of the event, and he was in a hurry. Olga rose to her feet, untied her rope girdle, and lifted her gown over her head. She wore nothing underneath, and had a remarkably full figure, accentuated by the chill to which she had been exposed. But now her lips were trembling again. ‘I do not please you, my lord.’

  ‘You would please any man, Olga,’ he told her truthfully enough. ‘I am just a little overcome.’

  She let the gown drop to the floor, and he realised that she must have been scrubbed time and again for this occasion; if she wore no perfume, she exuded cleanliness and good health. He undressed as rapidly as possible, but he was indeed overcome. Olga gazed at him in consternation. ‘I do not please you,’ she said again.

  He put his arms round her to hold her against him, and was relieved by at least a twitch.

  ‘We’ll see what we can do without that.’ He kissed her mouth, ran his hands over her body, sought every nook and cranny and was at last rewarded; she gave a shriek as he entered her, for despite his massaging he doubted she was properly prepared. ‘I am sorry,’ he said when he was spent.

  ‘I am proud,’ she panted.

  ‘Will you be able to find a husband?’

  ‘I will have the pick of every husband in the town, for having been deflowered by the Prince.’

  He grinned, and kissed her. ‘I am not the Prince. I am a stand-in.’

  ‘One day you will be the Prince,’ she said seriously.

  One day! It could happen. But if he ever allowed himself to think like that, he would never escape this place. Olga squirmed on to his stomach, hair flopping on to his face. ‘Would you like to enter me again?’

  ‘Yes, I would. But I can’t, right now. Give me a little while.’

  ‘May I touch him?’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  She stroked him, and he began to harden. She seemed to know all the right things to do, even if she had been a virgin. No doubt the youth of the village had to occupy their time somehow during the long winter months. ‘You could do it again now,’ Olga said.

  ‘I believe I could. No, don’t get off. Sit on me.’

  Olga’s mouth made an O, but she knelt astride his thighs, and he reached down to guide himself into her...and the door opened. Olga gave another little shriek, and rolled over, Colin sat up. There was quite a crowd outside the door, but only Dagmar and another woman entered; the other woman was quite old, and he recognised her as the wife of one of the tzemtsvo. ‘Not too soon, are we?’ Dagmar asked.

  Colin stood up and backed against the wall, holding his hands in front of his penis; Dagmar had not closed the door, and apart from the servants, both Anna and Alexandra were peering at him. Olga was kneeling beside the mattress, also attempting to use her hands as a shield. Dagmar and the woman ignored them both to examine the sheet, and the drops of blood staining the white.

  ‘There we are,’ Dagmar said. ‘My congratulations, Colin. Now dress yourself. And you too, girl. The people are waiting.’

  Olga put on her dress, and was led out into the hall. ‘She is ready!’ the woman shouted.

  The servants cheered, and the news was passed back out into the waiting
crowd, to more cheers. Dagmar and Colin followed. ‘You seem to have been enjoying yourself,’ Dagmar remarked. ‘Were you about to fuck her a second time?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’

  ‘Did you find her attractive?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’

  ‘You amaze me. Well, as soon as this is done, you can fuck me instead. The thought of you in her has made me quite randy.’

  *

  Olga was duly placed in her coffin, the lid nailed down, and she was buried, in a grave already hacked out of the still frozen earth. The serfs settled down to a huge meal at which great quantities of vodka were drunk. The family and their guests were also fed, in the house, and afterwards Dagmar and Colin strolled through the trestle tables which had been erected on the drive, greeting their servants. Colin was growing more and more agitated, but at last Dagmar gave the signal, and the spades whipped away the earth. The coffin was lifted out, the lid taken off, and Olga emerged, shivering but smiling and triumphant.

  The onlookers cheered and several of the young men seized the girl and lifted her on their shoulders, parading her in front of the house while she was given glass after glass of vodka. Then they carried her down the slope to the village, their elders following, the children rushing around, the dogs barking. ‘I fancy little Olga may well be deflowered more than once, tonight,’ Colin said.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Dagmar agreed. ‘Tonight she belongs to everyone.’

  ‘Yet she will still find a husband?’

  ‘Of course. Who would not be proud to follow where the Prince has led? And if she becomes pregnant, so much the better.’

  ‘But the babe will still be considered mine?’

  ‘Well, of course. You are the Prince.’

  ‘The acting Prince.’

  ‘No matter.’ She linked her arm through his and they turned back towards the house. ‘You have done your duty, and it will be the most fruitful year for a long time.’

  ‘I suppose it pays to be confident.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘It already is. Simmars tells me that I am probably pregnant.’

  *

  Colin hadn’t realised that she had missed a couple of periods. But a month later there seemed no doubt about it at all. Once again it was an occasion for an enormous celebration; Dagmar wanted her father to share her news, and sent a galloper to Petersburg, as no one expected the Prince back before the summer. ‘We must take no chances with this one,’ she said. ‘You will have to act the Prince in more than just bed.’