The King's Commisar Read online

  'We apologize,' said their leader. 'But when a tragic murder is under investigation, it is sometimes unavoidable -'

  'Murder!' I said. 'Whose murder?' 'The assassination of Count von Mirbach.'

  When next day I went to see Nadezkhda, she showed me direct into Sverdlov's office. The Chairman was not alone: standing at the window, his back to me as he looked out, stood a man whose posture struck some faint chord of memory, though I could not immediately place it. Nor did I, at that moment, have either interest or time to look more closely, for Sverdlov was staring up at me, black beard bristling.

  'He told you, did he?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Mirbach. He told you we have agreed to release the Romanovs?'

  'Yes,' I answered, thinking; if I'm the only one who knows, my life isn't worth a hair!

  He nodded. 'Are you ready for another journey?'

  'To what end?' I asked. 'And where?'

  'To conduct the Romanovs out of Ekaterinburg.'

  4Me?'

  'Of course, you Nicholas has your paper, has he not? You will meet him and his family. You will conduct them to the German train that waits at the station in Ekaterinburg. And on the way you will obtain your paper from him. Clear?'

  'Perfectly.'

  He nodded. 'And here's your companion for the journey.'

  The man at the window turned, and I nearly dropped with surprise, for I had seen him last in the prison at Ekaterinburg the day the Tsar was taken to the Ipatiev house, and this man had stared at me malevolently and expressed his strong desire to hang me!

  'I believe,' said Sverdlov, 'that you have already met Comrade Goloshchokin?'

  We did not shake hands; he did not offer and nor did I. Cool nods were exchanged, no more. I thought to myself that no man looking for a travelling companion would readily look in Goloshchokin's direction, but there was clearly nothing to be done.

  'When do we go?' I asked.

  'When I tell you. But soon,' Sverdlov said.

  We left on the ninth. There was trouble on the rail line east, so we were warned to anticipate delays, and we encountered them, too, but there was no great discomfort. As princes had travelled in former times, so commissars journeyed now: Goloshchokin and I had a first-class carriage for just the two of us, bathroom, dining-room, bedrooms and all, so that it was barely necessary for us to meet, though we did of course, driven into each other's company by an absence of reading matter and a surfeit of flat country beyond the window glass.

  I had thought him poisonous on first meeting and nothing I heard from him then changed that impression. For a start, the man was, though a revolutionary by disposition, a dentist by training, and I have never for the life of me understood the impulse that drives a man to pass years in study in order to spend the rest of his life peering into reeking mouths filled with rotting teeth. He could talk though. Maybe it was the cry of his profession, 'Open wide,' ringing forever in his ears, but his mouth barely closed. He was a boozer too, which helped. They are, you know, these politicians they're all talkers and all fond of the bottle. And braggarts, too. Aside from Lenin and Trotsky, Sverdlov was the top man in Russia then, so I got Sverdlov by the earful. Hearing him blether on about Sverdlov's house (he'd been staying there in Moscow) was like hearing women talk about dresses; he remembered every stitch, colour and texture: odd for a Red revolutionary, if you ask me. But I learned other things too, and they had a nasty significance, some of them. For one thing, he didn't want the Romanovs released, no matter what advantage to the state. 'Yet I must obey,' he said.

  'Obedience is the lesson all Russia must learn.'

  'Obedience to whom?' I asked.

  'To the Party.'

  'That means Lenin,' I said. 'Why not say so?'

  But he wouldn't have it. He was an intelligent man, but he parroted and distorted as they all do. His orders were from the Party, not from Sverdlov - even though I knew the opposite. Still, they were clear enough and sounded simple, but as Goloshchokin talked I realized they weren't.

  'There'll be no snags this time?' I asked.

  'How can there be,' he wanted to know, 'when it is all arranged within the Party? A procedure has been set out, Comrade Yakovlev -' he persisted in calling me Yakovlev, though his English was good and he knew my name - 'and it will be followed.'

  Then he got into his cups and the braggart floated up through the vodka. So I asked about conditions inside the House of Special Purpose.

  'Better, much better now.' Goloshchokin said, and belched.

  'Now-why now?'

  He fumbled in his pocket and produced a page from a signal pad. 'Read it.'

  So I read:

  Beloborodov to Sverdlov and Goloshchokin - Moscow

  syromolotov has gone to reorganize according centre's instruction, no cause for alarm, avdeyev removed. moskhin arrested. yurovsky replaces

  AVDEYEV. INTERNAL GUARD REPLACED.-July 4

  'You see?' he demanded thickly.

  'Who are these people? Who's this Avdeyev? Why has Moskhin been arrested?'

  'Avdeyev commanded the guard inside the House of Special Purpose. He's been removed.'

  'Goon.'

  'The man's r thief. Barbarous anyway. Couldn't keep his men: n order. There were complaints.'

  I poured vodka into his glass. 'Complaints?'

  'Behaviour towards the prisoners, especially the young girls. Can't have it. The new society must be -'

  and he belched again - 'must be better.'

  Bit by bit I got it out of him. Moshkin was Avdeyev's deputy and as bad as his master.

  'Yurovsky - what about him?'

  Goloshchokin grunted. 'Jewish,' he said, as if that explained much.

  'So?’ I asked.

  'He's bitter. We're all bitter, but he was in the army in the Ukraine. Cossack trouble.'

  'So?' I asked again.

  'Pogrom - you need to ask?'

  'Not in the army, surely?'

  'Some village,' Goloshchokin said. 'When we made him Regional Commissar for Justice he thanked us with tears in his eyes. The Tsar controlled the Cossacks, that's what he said, and it would be a privilege -'

  he smiled -'to sentence him to death. And to carry it out personally!'

  I said incredulously, 'And he's in charge at the house?'

  Goloshchokin giggled. 'Don't worry. Yurovsky's a good Communist.'

  He was slipping into sleep and I let him go over. But I disliked deeply the sound of what I had heard. Avdeyev's toughs making free of the Imperial Family's possessions and insulting the Grand Duchesses was bad enough; but now they were all in the hands of a man who not only had a lust for vengeance but, as Commissar for Justice, had the power to sentence. And, as gaoler, the opportunity to carry it out. Yet I slept soundly enough, and next day we continued our journey across the great flat plain. Once when the train stopped, at Kazan, Goloshchokin said, 'The holy city.'

  'This is?' I said, looking out of the window. 'Why?'

  'Because here Lenin was a student.' He was perfectly serious. 'In years to come it will be a place of pilgrimage.'

  'Really,' I said, and he gave me a look and jumped down from the train and went to the telegraph office. A message awaited him and he came back to the carriage frowning over it.

  I said, 'Trouble?'

  'The Whites have Omsk and are approaching Ekaterinburg. It doesn't look as though they can be held.'

  'What's the Red strength?'

  He looked at me grimly. 'Not enough. It's not just the Whites we fight - the Czech Legion is there.'

  'So withdraw,' I said.

  He smiled faintly. 'Oh, we shall - until they're dog-tired of advancing. And then -' He drew his finger across his throat. 'But in the meantime, Yakovlev, there'll be those who'll want to kill the Romanovs to stop them falling into White hands.'

  In truth, Goloshchokin's mind was concentrated less upon the Imperial Family than upon the defence of the entire region which was now governed by the Urals Oblast Soviet; he serv
ed upon that body as Commissar for War, and war was certainly moving steadily and remorselessly towards him. When we arrived at the station at Ekaterinburg on July 12th, the chairman himself stood, fat and impatient, upon the platform as the train steamed in.

  'It's good you're back,' Beloborodov told Goloshchokin. 'The military situation is causing great anxiety!'

  His eyes rested but briefly upon me, and though recognition snowed, he did not speak to me. Moments later, by which time all three of us were in a Mercedes car, driving away from the station towards the Hotel Americana, Beloborodov returned to military affairs. It was clear he was a worried man, and with reason, for the Bolsheviks had a wild beast loose in their midst that was like to devour them. It was a beast moreover of their own creation. For when the treaty at Brest-Litovsk produced peace between Germany and Russia, all the Czech forces fighting on the Allied side in Russia were withdrawn and put on trains to journey to Vladivostok and thence home. But they objected when attempts were made to disarm them. The Czechs then overpowered their guards, reformed themselves into the Czech Legion, joined up with the Bolsheviks' White Russian enemies, and set to fighting with a will against the Reds. Arriving at the Hotel Americana, we went direct to a small meeting-room on the mezzanine floor where several members of the Urals Soviet were gathered. An easel held a large-scale map of the area, and beside it stood a man in uniform khaki, seemingly explaining.

  Upon Goloshchokin's appearance, this man came to attention and saluted. As the meeting progressed I discovered him to be the General Berzin whose signal giving assurances of the good health of the Imperial Family had been shown to me in Moscow by Sverdlov.

  For those present, his news was anything but reassuring. The map bore tapes and arrows, setting out a complex picture of positions and advances. But its message was crushingly simple. Goloshchokin looked at it grimly, turned to General Berzin and asked his question in a single word:

  'Encirclement?'

  Berzin nodded.

  'It is inevitable?'

  'There is no possibility of halting the advance,' Berzin said, and his hands made a gesture of weariness.

  'We are fighting two full divisions of Czechs, together with the Whites. We simply have not the strength!'

  'How long?' Goloshchokin demanded.

  'A week, if we're lucky. Probably less. Our men are fighting like tigers, Commissar, believe me. But we are fewer in number, less well-trained, less well-armed -'

  'I understand. In the end,' Goloshchokin said, 'we shall win. But meantime withdrawal. . . The discussions began, with me quiet in a corner, looking at faces and wondering whose they were. Bronard/Ruzsky was there, and I identified one Chutskayev whom Preston had mentioned to me. But it was Yurovksy, Commissar for Justice and commander of the guard at the Ipatiev House, whom I sought. I concluded finally that he could not be present, and when the meeting was concluded, asked Goloshchokin.

  It was Beloborodov, however, who answered. 'He barely leaves the Ipatiev House now.'

  I asked why, and he shrugged. 'Yurovsky is obsessed with the Romanovs.' Beloborodov then turned and began shaking hands as the others departed. I noticed one or two lingered, though - or perhaps he detained them. When the door closed, there were six of us: Beloborodov himself, Goloshchokin, Chutskayev, Berzin, Ruzsky and myself. Goloshchokin wasted no time.

  'The Romanovs are to be releasedt o their German relatives,' he said. 'If you wonder why Moscow has so decided, it is because we have harsher priorities than dealing with them. The chairman has had a further telegram today reporting that Germany is seeking the right to station a battalion of troops in Moscow-yes, in Moscow! - to protect her embassy. We cannot allow that, yet we cannot stop them if they choose to move. It is vital at this moment that the Germans be placated, however much we hate it!

  So - we will placate them with the useless Romanovs they want so much!'

  'Spare them after all?' yelled Ruzsky angrily. 'When they should be punished according to the people's justice!'

  'It is necessary,' Beloborodov told him harshly. 'And it is agreed at the highest level.'

  Ruzsky subsided, muttering, while I watched him and wondered at his purpose in going through this play-acting. He had a place - and no doubt a reputation - to keep up. It must have been that.

  'One thing more, ' Goloshchokin said, indicating me with a wave of his hand. 'This is Yakovlev. Some of you know him or know of him. He has the task, given him by Comrade Sverdlov personally, of delivering the Romanovs to the Germans. That means getting them out of the House of Special Purpose. So - it is vital Yurovsky be not told!’

  'It will be difficult to get them out,' General Berzin said. 'The last time I saw him, Yurovsky swore to me not one of them would ever leave the house alive.'

  'What if we were to order it - as a Soviet?' Beloborodov asked, with more than a little of pomposity. Berzin said, 'I asked him much the same thing. I said, "Trotsky wants to put them on trial before the world, in Moscow." Yurovsky said that in that case Trotsky would have to come and fetch them personally and promise they'd die for their crimes against the people. Only then might he let them leave the Ipatiev.'

  'Then means will just have to be found,' Goloshchokin said. 'Yakovlev and I will discuss the matter. But I repeat - Yurovsky must not know. '

  'It must also be quick,' Beloborodov said then. 'If the Whites and the Czechs overrun us, they may try to restore Bloody Nicholas to the throne. He must be out of here, if he is not dead. But he must not fall into their hands.'

  And so it was left, but as we broke up and went our ways Ruzsky nudged my arm and muttered that he must talk to me later. We arranged to meet in the familiar place, at the rear wall, of the Palais Royal at eleven. When we did, he gave me news which sounded sinister indeed.

  'You should know,' said he, 'that Yurovsky has been asking Scriabin for his maps and charts.'

  I'd forgotten about Ruzsky's friend Scriabin, and certainly knew nothing of maps or charts. 'What maps?'

  'Scriabin is Commissar for Natural Resources,' Ruzsky told me then. 'He knows all about the mining in this region.'

  'Why is that important?"

  Ruzsky said, 'Because it means he also has records of mine shafts. Yurovsky's looking for one that's disused and remote.'

  'My God!'

  'And there's more,' Ruzsky said, and when he spoke of matters like this there was an unpleasant, low relish about the man. We were supposed to be serving the same cause, yet I could hardly bear to be with him. I waited uneasily for his next revelation. It was delivered with a smile.

  'He's ordered petrol," Ruzsky said, 'barrels of it. And a massive amount of sulphuric acid.'

  As he spoke, there was a low rumble in the distance, which some might have thought to be a summer evening's thunder, but I knew it for guns - the Whites and the Czechs were forcing the Red Army back. Next morning I was up at six and down to the station - and there I halted, sniffing, as I passed the station restaurant. Fresh ground coffee, unmistakable ; and new-baked pastry ! I breakfasted, guiltily but fully, in no more than ten minutes and began looking round for the German train, which was hardly difficult to find, standing as it did on

  11Oa marshalling spur no more than a furlong from the restaurant. I looked at it in speculation. Six carriages, two engines, Red Cross markings and drawn blinds. No German flag; indeed nothing to indicate its origins - and there was no lack of wisdom in such anonymity considering the Russian opinion of things German. I stopped for a moment beside the big driving wheel and felt the boiler casing for heat. It was cold, and there was no glimpse of fire when I hoisted myself half up to the footplate.

  I walked to the nearest carriage, swung half up and tried the door. Locked. Damned Hun stayabeds, I thought, and banged at the door with my fist until a baggy-eyed orderly swung it open, looked irritably down at me and demanded to know my business.

  'I must see the commander of the train. '

  'Who are you?' Then he added a tentative, 'mein Hen,' in case I held rank.
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  'From Goloshchokin, Commissar for War,' I snapped. 'Is the commander asleep?'

  'I don't -'

  It was all plain enough. They'd been here for weeks and were bored stupid. I sent the orderly to rout out his master, found the saloon, and took a seat.

  The commander came in his dressing-gown - and a great ornate affair it was in figured brocade. The fat crest on his left breast pocket had enough gold and silver wire in it for a Bulgarian admiral and he was screwing a monocle into his right eye. There was a duelling scar from the eye to the lip. If you were caricaturing a German general for Punch, here was your model. All the same, he'd heard of me. When I told him I was Yakovlev, he gave me a level look and said: 'You came close, my friend, so I hear.'

  'And this time we'll do it,' I said.

  He gave me a glare that was all surprise. 'We?'

  'You haven't been told - from Moscow?'

  'I'll tell you what I think,' Beloborodov said. 'I think that now he's living only for the thought of killing them. And relishing the how and when of it!'

  So that was that. If the Imperial Family was to be brought out of the Ipatiev House it seemed it must be done despite the guard.

  Which meant - by force.

  And by me ...

  I went next to Berzin, seeking a soldier's eye and memory, and spent a whole day racing on a thin, scraggy pony from one distant defensive emplacement to the next before I ran him to earth at last, seated on a wooden stool outside a smallish tent which was his present headquarters. He looked tired to the point of collapse, but yet had the soldier's way of sloughing off weariness in a second. Then, in ten minutes' work with a sketch-pad, Berzin produced for me a plan of the interior of the House of Special Purpose - and it was one, furthermore, which showed the positions occupied by guards. The outside I had seen for myself, with its double stockade fronting the arched entrance. When we were finished I tucked the drawing into my pocket and swung into the saddle of my sinewy pony, and then Berzin called and I wheeled to face him again.