The King's Commissar Page 9

  'You can tell me,' I said, 'of the former Tsar. He is well?'

  'Yes.'

  'And his family?'

  'They, too, except the son. You will know, I imagine, that the boy is haemophiliac, subject to bouts of severe illness and only now beginning to recover from the most recent.'

  This latest bout was hardly welcome news. 'The boy is in bed?'

  'And will be for some days,' Kobylinsky said. 'He suffers great pain still.'

  Kobylinsky had tobacco and paper and we made ourselves cigarettes in the Russian manner, but we were not even to finish them before the man Ruzsky returned. He did not knock, merely walked into the room, accompanied by others, and said, 'Your presence must be discussed, Comrade.'

  And discussed it was. Largely by them. I informed them that my business must, for the moment, be of a confidential nature, that when the time came they would be informed of my purpose, and then said no more for a while.

  The man Ruzsky was plainly still suspicious of me and he did not hesitate to say so. If, as Sverdlov had told me, the Bolsheviks of Ekaterinburg were more militant than most, it was clear that Ruzsky was among the most virulent of them. 'Papers can be forged,' he said, looking hard at me, and speaking in a quiet voice but with great emphasis. 'Who among us knows Comrade Sverdlov's signature?' The man was chronically suspicious and went on about plots to save the lives of the Romanovs, about lurking traitors to the Revolution, some of them there in the house, and many swarming in Tobolsk. As he talked, others came into the room and it became possible to sense dissension, Omsk against Ekaterinburg. Ruzsky's statements were received by some with head-shaking and pursed lips. He wanted the Tsar killed, and quickly, before somebody - the Whites, the Germans, or maybe the treacherous leadership in Moscow - liberated them. 'The family too. They must all be wiped out,' he insisted.

  'The Revolution doesn't kill women and children,' he was promptly told by one of the Omsk men.

  He came back at me then. 'Who is this supposed Commissar? He says he is here on Comrade Sverdlov's orders, but he will not tell us what they are!'

  I judged it time to speak. 'There is such a thing,' I told him, 'as a telegraph. Send a telegram to Comrade Sverdlov.'

  'No telegraphs here, Comrade,' he said. 'You're in the wilds here, not Moscow. The nearest is at Tyumen.'

  'Good,' I said. 'Go there. We'll find you a horse.'

  This observation, for some reason, was greeted with loud laughter from the Omsk men and when Ruzsky began again to speak they hissed at him. Soon, to my surprise, he withdrew from the room.

  Since it was clear most of the men remaining were now fairly disposed toward me, J chose that moment to tell them of Sverdlov's authorization of an increase in their pay, and that I would like to address their committee. Five men then sat at the table with me. Kobylinsky tactfully went out. The rest withdrew.

  I said, 'You are right that I am here because of Nicholas Romanov. Right, too, that I am to take him away.'

  They frowned at me then, all of them, even the Omsk men.

  I said, 'Has he any value to Russia now? Tell me!'

  Heads were shaken. 'None, none.'

  I said, 'You are right. But he has value to others. In exchange for his person we are to receive enough weapons to equip an army.'

  'Yes,' demanded one of the remaining Ekaterinburg men sourly, 'but will it be an army to put him back on the throne?'

  I shook my head. 'An army to smash the Whites. To defeat the Czech Legion. An army to win the revolutionary war! Once he's away, Russia will never see Nicholas Romanov again. He can safely be forgotten for ever!'

  Somebody said, 'Where's he to go?'

  'Omsk first,' I said.

  'Why?' This was an Ekaterinburg man. 'He's ours. We have jurisdiction.'

  'No, we have.'

  I said, 7 have. And I am under orders that I am powerless to alter. Comrade Lenin and Comrade Sverdlov want him moved. I'm to move him. And now I must see this enemy of the people who is to equip the people's army!'

  There were smiles at that and they rose from the table. My mind went winging briefly to London, to Zaharoff, who, whatever one's thoughts about him, had so accurately divined the assorted wishes of different men and seen where they came together.

  Much has been made of the hardships and gross indignities suffered after the abdication by the Imperial Family, and I for one can testify to the truth of such stories as the year 1918 drew on. But in the Governor's House at Tobolsk they were far from uncomfortable. They had wintered warm and well fed. Bored maybe but nothing worse.

  Colonel Kobylinsky having gone upstairs to inform Nicholas Romanov of my presence and my requirement to meet him. I took up position in the hall of the house, near the foot of the stairs, and waited. Only a few moments passed before I heard footsteps and, looking up, beheld the former Tsar of all the Russias descending towards me. I did not at that moment see him clearly, for the hall was high and ill-lit, with coloured glass in small windows. Still, even in drab he was recognizable, and as he reached the foot of the stairs and came towards me, he was more than that: for this was the absolute double of the King George to whose presence I had had the honour to be summoned a mere three weeks before. The same eyes, the same hair, the same beard and moustache; it was the same face, even to expression, for the gravity of his eyes was identical with that of his royal cousin.

  It was this, perhaps which affected my behaviour. I had intended formal propriety, no more, addressing him as Comrade. But the words escaped me involuntarily, and I responded to his polite 'Commissar Yakovlev?' with:

  'Your Majesty.'

  I saw his quick frown, the surprise in his eyes, and thanked my Maker that, Kobylinsky's apart, there were no other listening ears. Those words, overheard by such as Ruzsky, might have had me shot!

  I told Nicholas of the intention of the Central Executive Committee that he and his family be moved from Tobolsk within twenty-four hours.

  His body stiffened. 'Moved? Where to?'

  I said, 'The intention is ultimately to take you and your family into safety abroad.'

  He shook his head. 'We go nowhere without prior knowledge of the means and conditions. I ask you again: where?'

  I lowered my voice. 'Your Majesty. I am acting under orders from the highest. I am to remove you from the hands of these people here. My own life depends upon your safety.'

  'I repeat: I can not go,' he said. 'My son is ill and cannot safely be moved and I will not abandon him.'

  'It is important for you to understand,' I said, 'that my orders are that you must go from here. The preference is that you should go voluntarily, but it is only a preference. For go you must.'

  'If it means force, Commissar Yakovlev?'

  'Those are my orders.'

  He looked at me thoughtfully. This, I suspected, must in all probability be the first threat of actual force against his person, and no doubt it was a shock. He said, 'Will you tell me what you know?'

  I nodded. 'At Tyumen a train is to be waiting.'

  'Where is it bound?'

  'We shall not know that until we reach Tyumen. Further orders from Moscow will await me there.'

  He closed his eyes. 'What is your guess, Commissar Yakovlev?'

  'Probably a return to Moscow. It is my belief you are to be sent abroad quickly. I know such action to be the wish of Comrade Sverdlov.'

  'Sverdlov? But if he wishes it -'

  I nodded, and still keeping my voice low, said, 'Sir, there is a train. Whether it goes west to Moscow, or east to Omsk and beyond, I shall not know until I receive further orders. But I and my men are here to ensure your safety.'

  'East to Shanghai, perhaps?'

  'I cannot say, Sir. It is a possibility. I know only that Comrade Sverdlov wishes your family to leave the country in safety.'

  Nicholas drew himself up. He had much simple dignity as he spoke. 'You leave me no alternative but I beg you not to move my son. To do so would be to inflict much needless agony upon a young boy.'<
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  'He can remain here,' I said, 'and others of your family, if necessary, to be with him.'

  'Thank you for that.' He made a little inclination of the head. 'I must discuss this, of course. There are family decisions . . .'

  I nodded. 'We leave in the early morning - at four a.m.'

  'At four? So early?'

  'The train is scheduled.'

  He left me then, and Kobylinsky with him, to talk with his family. I watched him walk heavily up the staircase and felt a deep regret that I was unable to tell him more. But what could I say that was true? Beyond Tyumen I knew nothing. Upon reaching the railway telegraph there I was to send a signal to Sverdlov and await his reply. The matter of Zaharoff's document now concerned me greatly, for in addition to getting it signed, I must get Nicholas away. If he read the document and knew as a consequence what he was being required to sign away, might he not suspect that in doing so he was sealing his own fate? He might indeed -and then refuse to leave, and what then would I do?

  I did not, in any case, have reason to believe anything was intended other than that the Imperial Family should leave Russia for England.

  Sir Horace Malory, engrossed in Dikeston's narrative, did not at first hear the ring of the telephone on his desk. When it rang a second time he muttered at the interruption, picked it up and briskly instructed Mrs Frobisher that he would accept no calls.

  'But it's the man from Oxford,' she said. 'You were most anxious -'

  'Very well, put him on. What's his name?'

  'Dr Felix Aston.'

  It was a young voice with a jaunty note in it. Malory had a mild impulse to ask whether Aston were wearing jeans but forbore. 'You're an expert on the Russian Revolution, is that so?'

  'It's a foolish man who pretends to expertise, Sir Horace,' the voice said cheerfully. 'I've made a study for some years. Written a book.'

  'Name Yakovlev mean anything to you?' Malory asked.

  There was a pause, then, 'Yes, it does - if it's Vassily Yakovlev. If he was a commissar.'

  'That's the chappie. Tell me.'

  'Well, it was post-Revolution, of course. But Yakovlev was the man who went off with the Tsar and all the jewels, then vanished.'

  Malory said slowly. 'The jewels?'

  'Trainload of stuff.' Aston's voice was positively chirpy. 'Tremendous mystery man, Commissar Yakovlev. Have you come across something about him?'

  'Hmmm?' said Malory, with sudden caution. 'Oh no, no, no, nothing like that. Sorry if I raised a hare. But thank you, thank you.'

  He put down the telephone, then pressed Pilgrim's button on the intercom. 'Laurence, anybody with you?'

  'Just Graves.'

  'Well, he'll be interested, too. Our man Dikeston went off with all the Romanov treasure.'

  'All of it - what's that mean?' Pilgrim demanded.

  'A trainload,' said Malory, and took his finger off the button.

  I was far from idle as I waited while the Imperial Family made its decisions. My trusty hussar Koznov was set to scouring Tobolsk for the largest koshevas he could find and horses to draw them.

  'Will the owners give them up?' he asked me. 'What do I do if -?'

  'The threat of death should suffice,' I said grimly. 'If any man refuses, bring him to me.'

  None did. The Commissar from Moscow was evidently to be obeyed. As the day went on, the courtyard of the Governor's House began to fill with sleds of many kinds. I sent for Kobylinsky, who had spent hours closeted upstairs with the Family, and instructed him to arrange the packing of all the Romanov possessions. Only the essentials of living were to remain in Tobolsk with those who stayed behind.

  My work was interrupted many times, not least by the odious Ruzsky, who came smirking to me and said, 'I hear you're taking him away.' His expression surprised me. He seemed almost pleased. 'To Moscow, I believe?' he went on. He was half-drunk.

  I told him I awaited further orders from the capital and the Central Executive Committee.

  He smirked yet more. 'The way to Moscow lies through Ekaterinburg,' he said, and turned and sauntered off. That was his way, to deliver an unpleasant thrust and turn his back. As I watched that back retreating I wished more than anything that I could put a bullet in it.

  He came again, later. It was dark and the room lit by candles. He stood before me, a bottle in his hand, and said, 'Keep a place for me.'

  I said, 'What do you mean?'

  'What I say. I go with you to Tyumen. And on from there, too. Comrade Romanov -' and he laid rough emphasis on the 'comrade' - 'is ours and we mean to keep him.'

  'Ours?'

  'You know what I mean - the Urals Soviet.'

  'I cannot permit -'

  He banged his fist on the desk. 'You cannot prevent,' he said. 'I go, or Nicholas doesn't.'

  'You have no authority,' I told him, and he laughed sharply. •

  'Authority? You mean bits of paper from Moscow? Listen to me, Yakovlev. We are letting you go - we are letting you take Nicholas, as a courtesy to Moscow! It is not your pretty face or your fancy papers. Oh no, my friend. If I kill Nicholas, here, now - and I would most willingly, believe me -1 would be a hero in Ekaterinburg! Be grateful tome.'

  'Very well.' I shrugged. 'It makes no difference. Come with us. I fail to comprehend the reason for your rancour, Comrade.'

  'And I don't like your airs,' he said. 'Don't force me to doubt your loyalty.' With which, again, he departed.

  I dined with Kobylinsky, the two of us alone. He was tired. He had been labouring all day at the packing of the possessions of the Imperial Family but he ate little. Often I sensed his eyes on me, and at last I said, 'It is my belief they will be safe.'

  When I looked up, it was to see a tear in his eye. He brushed it away and said with great sadness, 'All my life I have served my country and the Imperial Family, and now I can serve no more.'

  'You can serve those who remain here,' I told him. 'Has the choice been made?'

  It had. Young Alexei, the former Tsarevitch, whose claim to succeed had been waived a year earlier when Nicholas abdicated and who was therefore merely a sick boy of thirteen instead of a Crown Prince, was to remain in his sick bed. Three of his sisters, all of whom had nursed him devotedly, Anastasia, Tatiana and Olga, were to remain with him. The ex-Tsarina, Alexandra, and the third daughter, Marie, aged nineteen, were to accompany Nicholas.

  'What is to happen,' Kobylinsky then asked of me, 'when the boy has recovered? Will you come back for him?'

  'If I can.' I could promise no more, but could hardly promise less. The position of this stricken family bore down upon me more heavily with every passing hour. I had made a private resolve that somehow I would contrive to accompany them until the exchanges were made, until Zaharoff accepted a paper and a family and gave in return the means of war.

  'Then will you,' Kobylinsky asked me, 'come with me to reassure the Grand Duchesses - I beg your pardon, the Romanov daughters - that it is intended the Family be brought together again.

  Though I had no instructions to that effect, I gladly agreed. It is always better for people to live in hope. Accordingly I accompanied Kobylinsky to an upstairs sitting-room where the Imperial Family was resting preparatory to parting and departure. The feeling of strain among them was obvious, yet so too was a sense of strong unity and affection. The boy's bed was in the room and he lay propped on pillows, his sisters all around him. I noticed particularly that as I entered, both his hands were being held by one sister or another, and their smiles were directed at him.

  Seeing me, Nicholas rose and made again the formal motion of the head that was half-nod and half-bow. He was simply-dressed in a plain, belted tunic and his manner en famille was also one of simplicity.

  There was little to discuss, nor did I wish to take up time he could spend better with his children. I simply asked him to confirm who would go and who would stay and this he did.

  It was then I thought of the letter. Nicholas could as well read it here as anywhere, and perhaps if I w
ere to leave it with him and his family so that it could be discussed, less suspicion might attach to it, and to me.

  'One word more, your Majesty, if you will?' I moved away from the rest, towards the window, taking the missive from my tunic. He hesitated, then followed me. 'Well?'

  I held out the envelope. 'For you to read, sir, and - I believe-to sign.'

  'What is it?' He had not yet taken the envelope and his eyes were not upon it, but upon my face.

  I shook my head. 'I am the messenger, no more than that. But my instructions are that it is concerned with your release."

  He took it then and placed it on a small table. 'Thank you.'

  I turned to leave, and found my wary barred by one of the daughters. Preoccupied as I had been with Nicholas, I had barely so much as glanced at the girls, or at the boy Alexei, but the upraised face before me now fully caught my attention, for it was striking indeed.

  'I am Marie,' she said, 'and I am to accompany you, Commissar Yakovlev.'

  I saluted.

  She was very pale; she had wide, dark eyes. It was a face of symmetry and, one can fairly say, of beauty. She was quite tall and perfectly slim, and I can see her now, as I write this, see her standing between me and the door, looking at me with that composure that bespeaks courage. 'Will you,' she asked me, 'answer the question which most concerns us all?'

  'If I can.'

  'We are to be separated for the first time,' Marie said. 'Is it true we are to be brought together again before long?'

  As I said earlier, hope is easier to live with than despair. 'Yes,' I said. 'That is the intention.' It seemed to me impossible that if Nicholas were freed, the girls would not be set free also.

  She stood aside at once. 'I thank you for that reassurance.'

  I saluted again, and left. As I descended the stair I found she lingered in my mind. From time to time one meets an individual whom one recognizes on the instant to be of superior mettle to the rest of humankind. She was one such, and there was no mistaking it, however brief the encounter.

  Downstairs, Ruzsky awaited me. 'Well?' I asked him. 'What now?'

  He still wore that smirk of his. How I ached to wipe it from his unpleasant countenance!