‘Nicky,’ she cried, marching into one of the parlours on the top floor of the palace where the Tsar was lost in thought, working on his papers. I was sitting in a darkened corner, for my charge, Alexei, was stretched out on the ground, playing with a group of toy trains and tracks which he had assembled across the floor. Naturally, the trains were plated with gold and the tracks were made of thin steel. Father and son were ignoring me entirely, of course, and engaged in intermittent conversation with each other. Although he was lost in his work, I had noticed that the Tsar was much more at ease when Alexei was near by and he looked up and grew anxious whenever he left the room for any reason. ‘Nicky, tell me I have misunderstood.’
‘Misunderstood, my darling?’ he asked, looking up from his papers now with tired eyes, and for a moment I wondered whether he had in fact dozed off while he was seated there.
‘Anna Vyrubova tells me that you are travelling to Mogilev on Thursday, to visit the army?’
‘That’s right, Sunny,’ he replied, invoking the pet name by which he called her, a name which seemed in complete contrast to her often dark and fragile demeanour. I wondered whether their youth and courtship had been conducted in a very different manner to the one in which they lived now. ‘I wrote to Cousin Nicholas last week and said that I would spend a few days there to encourage the troops.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said dismissively. ‘But you are not taking Alexei with you, surely? I’ve been told that—’
‘I had intended on it, yes,’ he said quietly, looking away from her as he said this, as if he was only too aware of the argument that would follow.
‘But I can’t allow it, Nicky,’ she cried.
‘Can’t allow it?’ he asked, a note of amusement entering his gentle tone. ‘And why ever not?’
‘You know why not. It’s not safe there.’
‘It’s not safe anywhere any more, Sunny, or hadn’t you noticed that? Can’t you feel the storm clouds gathering around us?’ He hesitated for a moment and the ends of his moustache rose a little as he attempted a smile. ‘I can.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but that comment appeared to confuse her for a moment and she turned her head instead to look at her son, seated a few feet away on the floor, who was looking up from his trains now and watching the scene unfold before him. She smiled at him for a moment, an anxious smile, and wrung her hands together nervously, before turning back to her husband.
‘No, Nicky,’ she said. ‘No, I insist that he stay here with me. The journey itself will be intolerable. And then who knows what the conditions will be like when you get there. And as for the dangers at Stavka, I need hardly tell you! What if a German bomber locates your position?’
‘Sunny, we face these dangers every day of the week,’ he said in an exhausted tone. ‘And we are nowhere more easy to locate than here in St Petersburg.’
‘You face those dangers, yes. And I face them. But not Alexei. Not our son.’
The Tsar closed his eyes for a moment before standing up and walking to the window, where he looked out across the River Neva.
‘He must go,’ he said finally, turning around and staring directly into his wife’s face. ‘I have already told Cousin Nicholas that he will be accompanying me. He will have issued a bulletin to the troops.’
‘Then tell him you’ve changed your mind.’
‘I can’t do that, Sunny. His presence at Mogilev will offer them great encouragement. You know how low their spirits have been lately, how morale has been slipping away. You read as many of the despatches as I do, I’ve seen you with them in your parlour. Anything we can do to encourage the men—’
‘And you think an eleven-year-old boy can do that?’ she asked with a bitter laugh.
‘But he is not just any eleven-year-old boy, is he? He is the Tsarevich. He is the heir to the throne of Russia. He is a symbol—’
‘Oh, I hate it when you talk about him like that!’ she snapped, pacing across the room now in a fury, passing me by as if I was nothing more than a strip of wallpaper or an ornamental sofa. ‘He’s not a symbol to me. He is my son.’
‘Sunny, he is more than that and you know it.’
‘But Mother, I want to go,’ said a small voice from the carpet, Alexei’s, and he stared up at the Tsaritsa with honest, adoring eyes. Her own eyes, I noticed. They were very alike, the two of them.
‘I know you do, my darling,’ she said, leaning down for a moment and kissing his cheek. ‘But it’s not safe for you there.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’
‘Your promises are all well and good,’ she replied. ‘But what if you should trip over? What if a bomb explodes near by and you fall? Or, God forbid, if a bomb should go off where you are?’
I felt a desperate urge to shake my head and sigh, thinking her the most over-protective of mothers. What if he should fall over? What a ludicrous thought, I decided. He was eleven years old. He should be falling over a dozen times a day. Yes, and picking himself up again.
‘Sunny, the boy needs to be exposed to the real world,’ said the Tsar, his voice growing more firm now as if he was resolved in his decision and would allow no further debate. ‘All his life he has been cosseted in palaces and wrapped in cotton wool. Think of this: what if something should happen to me tomorrow and he had to take my place? He knows nothing of what it is to be Tsar. I barely knew anything of it myself when our dear father was taken from us, and I was a man of twenty-six. What hope would Alexei have in such circumstances? He spends all his life here, with you and the girls. It is time he learned something of his responsibilities.’
‘But the danger, Nicky,’ she implored, rushing to her husband now and taking his hands in hers. ‘You must be aware of it. I have consulted on this most carefully. I asked Father Gregory what he thinks of the plan before I even came to you on it. So you see, I have not been as impetuous as you might think. And he told me that it was an ill-conceived idea. That you should reconsider—’
‘Father Gregory tells me what I should do?’ he cried, appalled. ‘Father Gregory thinks he knows how to run this country better than I, is that it? That he knows more about how to be a good father to Alexei than the man who sired him?’
‘He is a man of God,’ she protested. ‘He speaks to one greater than the Tsar.’
‘Oh, Sunny!’ he roared, turning away from her now, his voice filled with anger and frustration. ‘I cannot have this conversation again. I cannot have it every day! It is enough, now, do you hear me? Enough!’
‘But Nicky!’
‘But nothing! Yes, I am father to Alexei, but I am father to many millions more than him and I have responsibilities towards their protection too. The boy will come with me to Mogilev. He will be taken care of, I assure you. Derevenko and Federov will be with us, so if anything should happen, then the doctors will be there to attend to him. Gilliard will come too, so that he does not fall behind in his studies. There will be soldiers and bodyguards to take care of him. And Georgy will not leave his side from the moment he wakes until the moment he falls asleep again at night.’
‘Georgy?’ cried the Tsaritsa, her face wrinkling in surprise. ‘And who is Georgy, might I ask?’
‘My dear, you have met him. Ten or twelve times at least.’ He nodded in my direction and I gave a gentle cough and stood up, emerging from the shadows of the room and into her presence. She turned and stared at me as if she had not the least idea what I was doing there or why I was demanding her attention, before turning away from me and marching up to her husband.
‘If anything should happen to him, Nicky—’
‘Nothing will happen to him.’
‘But if anything does, I promise you …’
‘You promise me what, Sunny?’ he asked coldly. ‘What is it that you promise me?’
She hesitated now, her face close to his, but said nothing. Defeated, she turned and stared coldly at me before looking down at her son and her face relaxed into happiness again, as if
there was no more perfect or beautiful sight to be found anywhere in the world.
‘Alexei,’ she said in a gentle voice, stretching her hand out. ‘Alexei, leave those toys and come with Mother, now won’t you? It must be time for your supper.’
He nodded and stood up, took her hand, and followed her as she swept out of the room.
‘Well?’ asked the Tsar, staring at me, his voice chilly and angry. ‘What are you waiting for? Go with him. Keep him safe. That’s what you’re here for.’
The Russian Army Headquarters – Stavka – were situated at the top of a hill, in what had been the provincial governor’s house before he was forced to relocate in order to ensure that he still had a region to administer when the war was over. A large, sprawling mansion, it was set in several dozen acres of ground, with enough outside huts and cabins dotted around the landscape to accommodate all those military personnel who passed through.
The Grand Duke Nicholas Nicolaievich, who was almost permanently stationed at Stavka, occupied the second-finest bedroom in the building, a quiet chamber on the first floor that overlooked a garden where the governor had tried unsuccessfully to cultivate vegetables in the frozen earth. The best room, however, a large suite on the top floor of the house with an attached office and private bathroom, was kept free at all times for when the Tsar came to inspect the troops. The view from the latticed windows offered a tranquil vision of distant hills, and on quiet evenings it was sometimes possible to hear the water running in the nearby streams, offering the illusion that the world was at peace and we were living innocent, rural lives in the serenity of eastern Belarus. For the duration of our visit, the Tsar shared this room with Alexei, while I was given a bunk in a small ground-floor parlour, which I shared with three other bodyguards, including my friend Sergei Stasyovich, who was one of those whose responsibilities extended solely to the protection of the Tsar.
It was a joy to watch the Tsar and the Tsarevich together during this time, for I had never seen a father and son who revelled in each other’s company quite so much. In Kashin, this kind of affection would have been frowned upon by all. The closest we came to any degree of filial warmth was the respect shown by my old friend Kolek towards his father Borys. But there was a natural warmth and friendliness between man and boy that made me envious of their relationship and it was only enhanced when they were removed from the austerity of palace life. I thought of Daniil often at such moments, and with regret.
The Tsar insisted from the start that Alexei not be treated as a child, but as the heir to the Russian throne. No conversation was considered too private or too serious for his ears. No sight was to be withheld from his eyes. When Nicholas rode out to visit the troops, Alexei rode alongside him, with Sergei and me and the other bodyguards following closely behind. At troop inspections, the soldiers would stand to attention and answer their Emperor’s questions while the boy would stand quietly by his father’s side, polite and attentive, listening to all that was said and digesting every word.
And when we visited the field hospitals, which we did frequently, he did not display any signs of squeamishness or horror, despite the terrible sights which were laid out before us.
At one particular encampment, our entire entourage stepped into a grey-canopied tent where a group of doctors and nurses were tending to perhaps fifty or sixty wounded soldiers, who lay in single beds pressed so close together that it almost seemed as if one long mattress had been stitched together for them to die upon. The smell of blood, decomposing limbs and rotting flesh lingered in the atmosphere and as we entered, I longed to run back outside to the fresh air, my expression contorting in disgust as my throat fought against a natural tendency to gag. The Tsar himself displayed no such signs of revulsion; nor did Alexei allow himself to be overcome by such sensory horrors. Indeed, looking in my direction as I coughed, I perceived a definite expression of disapproval on his face, which embarrassed me, for he was just a boy, five years my junior, and was acting with more dignity than I could summon. Humiliated, I fought against my disgust and followed the Imperial party as they moved from bed to bed.
The Tsar spoke to each of the men in turn, leaning down close to their faces so that their conversation would have a semblance of privacy. Some of the men were able to whisper replies to him, others had neither the strength nor the composure to engage in conversation. All seemed thoroughly overawed that the Tsar himself was among them; perhaps they thought that in their fever they were simply imagining things. It was as if Christ himself had stepped inside the tent and begun to offer a benediction.
Halfway through the room, Alexei let go of the Tsar’s hand, stepped across to the beds on the opposite side and began to talk to the men there in imitation of his father. He sat down beside them and I heard him telling them how far he had travelled, all the way from St Petersburg, to be with them that day. How his horse was a charger but we rode at a slow pace in case any danger came to him. He talked of small matters, inconsequential things that must have seemed tremendously important to him, but the patients appreciated the simplicity of his conversation and were charmed by him. As they reached the end of their respective lines, I noticed the Tsar turn to observe his son, who was placing a small icon within the hands of a man who had been blinded by an attack. Turning to one of his generals, he made a quiet remark that I could not hear, and the other man nodded and watched as the Tsarevich completed his conversation.
‘Is something the matter, Father?’ asked Alexei, turning around and seeing that all eyes were now focussed on him.
‘Nothing at all, my son,’ said the Tsar, and I was sure that I could hear the words catch in his throat, so overwhelmed was he by the mixed emotion of sympathy for the men’s suffering and pride at his son’s forbearance. ‘But come, it is time to leave now.’
I didn’t see the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicolaievich, whose life I had saved and whose appreciation had brought me to my new life, until more than a week after we arrived at Stavka. When we did meet again, he had just returned from the Front, where he had been leading the troops with varying degrees of success, and had come back to Mogilev to consult with his cousin, the Tsar, and to plan the autumn strategy.
I had entered the house from the garden, where Alexei was constructing a fort among some trees, when I saw that great giant of a man marching along the corridor towards me. My initial instinct was to turn and run back outside, for his huge stature and girth suggested a most intimidating presence – almost more intimidating than the Tsar himself – but it was too late to make my escape, for he had seen me and was raising his hand in greeting.
‘Jachmenev,’ he roared as he came closer, practically blocking out the sunlight from the open doors. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
‘It is, sir,’ I admitted, offering him a low, respectful bow. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’
‘Is it?’ he asked, sounding surprised. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. So here you are then,’ he added, looking me up and down to decide whether he still approved of me or not. ‘I thought it might work out. I said to Cousin Nicky, there’s a boy I met in this little shithole of a village, a very brave lad. Not much to look at it, it’s true. Could do with a few extra inches of height and a few more pounds of muscle, but not a bad fellow all the same. Might be exactly who you’re looking for to take care of young Alexei. I’m glad to see he listened to me.’
‘You have my gratitude, sir, for the great change in my circumstances.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said dismissively. ‘Bit of a difference from … where was it we encountered each other?’
‘Kashin, sir.’
‘Ah yes, Kashin. Dreadful place. Had to hang the fool who tried to shoot me. Didn’t want to do it, really, he was just a boy, but there’s no excuse for such mischief. Had to be made an example of. You can understand that, can’t you?’
I nodded, but said nothing. The memory of my part in Kolek’s death was something I tried not to dwell on, for I felt tremendously guilty about how I had profited
from it. Also, I missed his companionship.
‘Friend of yours, was he?’ asked the Grand Duke after a moment, sensing my reticence.
‘We grew up together,’ I said. ‘He had strange ideas sometimes, but he was not a malicious person.’
‘Not so sure about that,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘He did point a gun at me, after all.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, it’s all in the past now. Survival of the fittest and all that. Speaking of which, where is the Tsarevich anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be by his side at all times?’
‘He’s just outside,’ I said, nodding my head in the direction of the small copse, where the boy was dragging some logs across the grass to aid in the construction of the walls of his fort.
‘He’s all right out there on his own, is he?’ asked the Grand Duke, and I couldn’t help but sigh in frustration. I had been attending to the Tsarevich for almost two months now and had never known a child who was wrapped in cotton wool quite as much as him. His parents behaved as if he might snap in two at any moment. And now the Grand Duke was suggesting that he could not be left alone for fear of injury. He’s just a boy, I wanted to shout at them sometimes. A child! Were none of you ever children?
‘I can go back out to him if you’d prefer it,’ I replied. ‘I was only stepping inside for a moment to—’
‘No, no,’ he said quickly, shaking his head. ‘I daresay you know what you’re doing. I don’t make it my business to tell another man’s servant how to do his job.’
I bristled a little at this characterization. The Tsar’s servant. Was that what I was? Well, of course it was. I was hardly free. But still, it was an unpleasant thing to hear the words said aloud.
‘And you have settled in to your new duties well?’ he asked me.
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied truthfully. ‘I am … well, perhaps it’s the wrong phrase, but I enjoy them very much.’
‘Not the wrong phrase at all, my boy,’ he said, snorting a little and then blowing his nose on an enormous white handkerchief. ‘Nothing better than a fellow who enjoys what he does. Makes the day go a lot quicker. And how’s that arm of yours holding up?’ he added, punching me so hard where the bullet had entered my shoulder that it was all that I could do not to let out a great scream of agony or punch him in return, an action which would have had dire consequences for me.