‘Just you wait!’ He came up to me, seizing me and kissing me again. His lips sought mine with shocking passion. We devoured each other, limbs entwined, laughing and kissing even more. ‘You’ve won!’ he whispered, coming up for air.
From outside we heard heavy steps and a woman cursing under her breath, fumbling with keys.
‘It’s Vasilisa. She’ll have our hides!’
‘Run! She’s much too fat to catch us.’ He took my hand and we darted out of the back door, racing up some steps and crossing the courtyard, only stopping once we were well beyond the stables.
‘Is it soon you must leave?’ I asked, catching my breath. There was no time for playing games. I fought back tears when he drew me in, holding me warm and close, cupping my face. ‘Tomorrow. At dawn.’
I saw tears in his eyes, too, and swallowed hard: any time would have been too soon, be it now or in twenty years.
‘Promise to forget me,’ he said, holding my hands to his chest.
‘I promise,’ I lied, choking on tears.
‘Do you? Well, I won’t manage to do the same,’ he said, stroking my hair. ‘I have nothing to offer you, Lizenka. Go, meet a good man and have a dozen strong, healthy sons who adore you. May God bless you.’ I let him kiss me for what we thought was the last time, deeply and desperately. I was sure the memory of this beautiful moment would stay with me forever.
When I was a child, my father took me to the Kunstkamera, his collection of nature’s misfits and miracles, such as a foetus with a fishtail, a puppy with two heads, the beheaded and preserved skull of one of his mistresses, the Scotswoman Marie Hamilton, as well as the skeleton of a hunchbacked giant. What I remembered most, though, was an iron that drew another piece of metal close, irresistibly so: Father called it a magnet. I could have left things there with Alexis Razumovsky: a brief chance encounter, sweet but soon over.
Instead, still drawn to him as if magnetised, I sought out Lestocq.
Lestocq and Abbess Agatha sat in her study, sampling last autumn’s ham. He spoke with his mouth full. ‘The smoked ham has merits over the cooked one for flavour, but I like the fleshiness of the latter… ’
‘Let me taste it, too!’ Agatha giggled, washing down each bite with a sip of fortified wine. Her cheeks were blooming. Both of them looked up guiltily when I appeared on the threshold. Lestocq rose, taking in the sight of my flushed face.
‘What is it, Tsarevna?’
‘I am ready to return to court.’
‘When, Tsarevna?’ He angled for another piece of ham, filling the Abbess’ glass anew while eyeing the almost-empty bottle. ‘Do we have more of this, Abbess Agatha?’
‘Lestocq!’ I ordered sharply.
He sighed. ‘All right, all right. There is the impending war in Poland to consider. Travel is not safe. Also, nobody really knows how far the Chinese have advanced. The Shah’s brother might never come. Haste is the worst adviser.’
‘We ride at dawn,’ I said curtly, leaving them to it. ‘I have found another traveller who is going the same way.’
68
Lestocq had the good grace either to fall behind Alexis and me or to canter ahead, scouting for highwaymen and other dangers. The summer had grown much too hot, making both men and animals moody and unpredictable. He was armed to the hilt, looking like a weapons dealer in the gostiny dvor: pistols, daggers and blades were concealed in his jacket and waistcoat, as well as stuck in his belt and even the ribbon of his hat.
Alexis had accepted my explanation for Lestocq’s presence as easily as the excuse I gave him for our journey: ‘How good of your Moscow cousin to send her quack to accompany you. So you will work for her? What an unexpected turn of fortune that we can ride together,’ he said as our horses cantered side by side. ‘What is Moscow like, do you think?’
‘Huge. And wild. Or so I have heard. Not that I would know, of course,’ I added hastily, not wanting to blow my cover. ‘I believe that the Kremlin, where the Tsarina lives, is at its very heart.’
‘That is where I will work. I will sing in the Imperial chapel. Just imagine its splendour and glory.’
‘I wish I could.’ Was this taking things too far? The moment to tell him the truth was fast approaching, but I could not bring myself to alter the mood between us by telling him my real identity. I decided to trust to the same fate that had sent him my way. The right time to tell him the truth would soon be upon us. Until then… He reached across, tenderly stroking my gloved hand. ‘I shall tell you all about it when we meet in Moscow. I pray to God that will be often.’
He kissed my hand without halting his horse.
Agatha had provided us with hard cheeses, cured meats and pickled vegetables and fruit. Alexis was a brilliant fisherman as well, so we never went hungry. While Lestocq tended to the horses and I stoked a fire with kindling, Alexis struck up our tents, then set out with his spear and returned with salmon, eel or perch. He sliced both fish and flesh very thinly – whistling while doing so, finding happiness in the smallest of things – and we ate it raw. ‘Salt instead of sugar, eh?’ He winked at me, chuckling. ‘Thank God you have plenty of other qualities!’
Lestocq ate in silence, watching us with his dark, assessing eyes.
Not far from Moscow, we pitched camp for the night in a clearing. The fire was burning bright and Alexis had spiked a fat salmon on the spit. We had finished Agatha’s provisions bar some preserved Crimea lemons; their acerbic sweetness blended with a rub of salt, pepper and wild garlic for the fish’s skin. Already there was a heavenly scent coming from the roasting fish, the salmon’s glazed eyes popping, showing that it was ready to be eaten. Our last bottles of the monastery’s famous beer were cooling, stuck in the muddy riverbed. The sky’s silver-grey edges were darkening to charcoal. The brightest of the White Nights were over now. Our campfire lit the men’s faces eerily.
‘Care for a partie?’ Lestocq asked, gaze challenging as he flicked his Tarot cards.
Alexis, who had guarded sheep against predators since childhood, sensing their approach in the darkness, recognised the change in atmosphere between us. He frowned. ‘What are those? I abhor games of chance.’
‘Amazing that a shepherd’s boy who spent time in a priest’s household would know any of them,’ said Lestocq.
‘Priests, too, are mere men. Father Gregory loved a good card game, even if we played for pieces of mouldy cheese. That was the extent of the sinfulness in his household,’ Alexis chuckled.
‘Tarot is not a game of chance, boy. It’s the game of life.’ Lestocq fanned out his cards, looking rapt. ‘Choose three and turn them over,’ he goaded. ‘Let us see what fate has in store for our handsome nightingale.’
Alexis picked three cards. Do not! I wanted to plead in sudden fear, just as he snatched them up, saying in a voice laced with contempt, ‘Look what I do with these cards. Devil’s work!’ Disgusted, he flung them into the fire. Lestocq leaped at them as the flames curled the cards’ edges black and their bright colours fell to ashes.
‘My voice is a gift from God.’ Alexis touched his throat. ‘What else than His blessing would I need? Send me a demon who tempts me to know my fate and I’ll kick its furry arse.’
I stared at him: yes, that was what a man like him would do to the Leshy, if the evil spirit dared to show its ugly face and mutter its terrible prophecies to torment him. Crazy laughter broke from me but Lestocq was furious. The Tarot pack was one of his greatest treasures. ‘How dare you, farmer’s boy!’ He slung his coat around his shoulders. ‘I am not hungry. You can eat your stolen salmon on your own.’ Nobody held him back, which infuriated him even more: he stomped into his tent, pitched away from the fire, facing towards the forest.
‘Very well.’ Alexis shrugged with a bright smile. ‘How about a cold, sweet beer?’ Before I could answer, he slipped off his boots and waded in to retrieve a bottle. Back at the fire the golden, foaming drink matched my mood. ‘To fate’s gifts,’ I toasted, and he raised a bottle, eyes gleaming. After we had feasted on the
fish’s pink, fat flesh, Alexis dispersed the smouldering coals. In the hot weather wildfires could spring up suddenly, devouring acres of land in no time. A full moon rose and in the reeds a frog concert started. The fire burned down, bathing us in its warm glow.
‘Your skin looks like fresh smetana,’ he said, close to me, his voice sleepy. ‘I wonder, will you taste as sweet?’
‘Why not try? It’s worth the gamble.’
‘Nothing to lose.’ He leaned in, our breaths mingling sweetly, before our lips touched. How I had longed for this. As he kissed me, a current seared me, as when I had seen lightning striking a tree, setting the brittle wood aflame. His lips were soft and I loved his warmth. My whole being dissolved as he pushed back the collar of my riding shirt so he could kiss my throat. ‘Ever since that day in the kitchen, I have dreamed of doing this,’ he whispered. I dissolved under his tenderness and longed for his next touch.
He gently lowered me on his cloak, its fabric warm against my back. My boots and breeches came off, and I lay there offering myself to his hungry eyes. ‘How beautiful you are, Lizenka. Another gift that God has made me.’ He tasted every inch of me, sending shivers over my pale skin. I gave a muffled scream when his tongue flicked over my sweet, slippery flesh. ‘Shh,’ he cautioned with a smile, ‘we don’t need that snooty Frenchman back here!’ It was the sweetest torture: I bit my lips, helpless with lust as he parted my thighs further and let a finger slip into me. Starlight danced in my eyes; my blood seared my veins as I came, rearing and carelessly shouting out, Lestocq or not. I sighed as he lifted me up, his hands digging into my flesh. I sat astride, slipping on to him, gasping as I felt him, bit by bit, his adoring gaze mirroring the stars above us.
‘Now,’ I sighed. ‘Please—’
He let me slide backwards. In the dying light of the flames – eyes closed, naked chest broad, tapering to slim hips – he looked to be moulded from bronze. Desire washed over me anew as he seized me. My back arched and my head tilted as he made me move: slowly at first, but then ruthlessly, my body stretching towards him, until he buried his face in my breasts, their skin luminous. Each of his moves made me plead for more, and I whispered words I had not thought possible, not caring what he would think. When he came, he held me pressed against him, both our skins drenched. I hung on his neck, utterly sated, until we lay, panting, our eyes closed. The earth had opened, swallowing the world as I had known it.
‘Come here, Lizenka’ Alexis said tenderly and wrapped me in his coat when I shivered. He sat me up by the fire, pulling me close. As we gazed at the night sky, a shooting star lit up the darkness, so bright and so big that even the fireworks at Anna Ivanovna’s Coronation paled by comparison.
‘Quick, make a wish,’ I said. ‘But you mustn’t tell me what it is.’
‘I need not,’ he said, his gaze earnest, kissing my forehead. ‘You know what I wish for. I pray that this wish be granted.’ I snuggled up to him while he caressed the nape of my neck. I started to cry then, and he kissed the tears from my cheeks. ‘What is it, Lizenka?’ he whispered.
‘I am so happy. I never expected to live like this.’
‘Me neither. Ever since you poisoned the kulich and just laughed, I knew that you were the sweetest thing – ever.’
‘One question though,’ I said with a naughty smile.
‘Yes?’
‘Where does a shepherd learn to make love like that?’
His hand slid down between my thighs, brushing my pubic hair. ‘From the sheep.’ He grinned. ‘Their coat is just as fair and curly.’
I giggled, but he said: ‘A question back.’
‘Yes?’
‘Where does a sweet parlour maid learn to speak like you?’
‘Oh, you know. Butter wouldn’t melt and all that,’ I smiled.
He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes, then he kissed my fingers. ‘But I do worry. We must not do this again for as long as we are not married. What if I shame you?’
‘You won’t. A doctor once told me I am barren.’
There was a moment of silence. What man did not want children, and, best of all, a son? He might end things now, I feared.
‘Good,’ he said instead. ‘My mother died in childbed. It should not happen to the woman I love.’
‘Love?’ I whispered, wide-eyed.
He cupped my face in his hands. ‘Yes. I am falling in love with you, Lizenka. Deeply, truly.’
‘Me too.’
‘I will find a way for us to be together in Moscow even when I live in the Kremlin. Trust me.’
‘I do,’ I said, knowing full well that it was I, and not he, who needed to find a way to join the court in the Kremlin. If it were up to the Tsarina, I should live isolated and shunned in Izmailov. We slept, bodies entwined, warmed by the last embers, and woke with the first light.
‘Good morning.’ Alexis kissed the tip of my nose. ‘This is the first day of our new lives. If it were not for that chap in his tent, I’d show you the best way to start it.’
Lestocq brewed strong coffee for us without a mention of the night before. I did not care that he knew what had happened. This was my life. As I mounted the saddle, I was sore from Alexis’ lust and sought his gaze. He smiled and blew me a kiss. I could not wait for the evening. All I wanted was to lie with him forever. After a lifetime of struggling in quicksand, I had finally stepped onto firm ground.
69
We reached the Sparrow Hills two evenings later. Far beneath us, Moscow stretched out along the horizon, its thousand spires piercing the skies, thin smoke rising from countless chimneys, the Kremlin a dark heart in the coiling labyrinth. Alexis looked awe-struck: he was riding to meet his fate. Lestocq barely hid his delight at our parting, merely nodding to Alexis when the two of us rode off to Izmailov. I forbade myself from turning round to see him disappear; his horse’s hooves retreating was the saddest sound.
Although I was ready to undertake many things, I had no idea how to reveal my identity to Alexis. Lestocq was right: if Tsarina Anna made me her heiress, things might be easier. I knew what I had to work towards. I had to be the Tsesarevna once more.
As we arrived in Izmailov we were met by a shocking scene. The orchards, in which the trees had recently been carefully pruned so as to encourage larger fruit, lay sawn down and ransacked, goats gnawing at the stumps; the branches had recently served for firewood. The neighbouring fields and flower beds had been trampled, the earth deeply rutted by vehicles. Some of the cattle that had been crossbred to obtain a stronger strain were running free; the rest had ended up on the spit. The carefully cleared brooks had been turned into open sewers. Fish drifted belly up, their corpses caught in a web of wilting water lilies. The path to the once magnificent ‘Babylon’ maze was so trodden down it looked like an alleyway. All the ancient yews had been felled.
‘Oh my God!’ Lestocq reined in his horse. Those were as good as the first words he had spoken to me since we had parted from Alexis. I had been silent, too: fearing what might come, while smiling at what had been.
I stood in my stirrups, shielding my eyes. Izmailov Palace still rose dreamlike from its island, which was separated from the parkland by a moat and a hundred-foot-long bridge. Yet all around, countless tents were pitched and fires glowed in the early evening’s blue hour, tarnishing the air with smoke and the stench of cabbage or pea soup. Voices rose – laughter, squabbles, curses, songs. We rode on, towards the middle of the busy encampment, where one tall, wide tent rose proudly above the rest. Its brightly patterned flaps were stunningly embroidered and the timber posts carved. Persian rugs lay on the ground and exquisite furniture stood carelessly dotted about: graceful marquetry desks and sofas and chairs covered with furs and velvet throws. Servants swarmed about, looking like birds of paradise in their livery of silver cloth with green trimming. They served food and drink or lugged more firewood to feed the huge pit in the middle of the tent, all the while hurrying as if a stern, invisible eye were watching them.
&nbs
p; ‘What is going on, Lestocq?’ I had become used to him knowing everything.
‘Schwartz sent me a messenger pigeon to the monastery, but I thought it was a joke! The Tsarina is camping out here until her new palace at Annenhof is finished. The building site has been ravaged by fire twice already, but the builders restarted from scratch each time.’
Izmailov had been my last refuge from the madness of court. What else could she take from me? My chest tightened. I must keep Alexis safe from her.
A servant pinned back the Imperial tent’s flap further, revealing a giant birdcage complete with a man-size perch on which we saw a human figure, dressed up as a bird. Who was that? Beyond him, courtiers in astonishing finery formed a circle while Anna and de Biron welcomed a group of about thirty men and women, travellers from the look of it since they were dustier even than us. The man in the cage swung on his perch, making pecking motions, while the gossiping courtiers took absolutely no notice of our arrival.
I clicked my tongue and eased the reins. No one could ever take the past weeks away from me. If I had been broken before, Alexis had mended me. I owed him.
A sentry led my horse away as servants stuck torches in cast-iron holders before Anna’s splendid tent, shedding golden light into the gathering dusk. The guard eyed us suspiciously: Lestocq was right. I had left it too long to make clear who I was – a Tsarevna of All the Russias.
‘Gack, gack! Gack! Chirp! Peep, peep… ’ I took a proper look at the giant cage and recoiled, aghast. Locked inside was Prince Alexis Dolgoruky, whose ancestors had founded Moscow, who had survived my father’s fury when he had supported the usurping Regent Sophia’s claim, as well as when he had been a staunch Old Believer and Petrushka’s godfather, seeking to promote a new form of government that might befit Russia. Yet attempting to curtail Anna Ivanovna’s powers had been pushing his luck too far. His hair had been torn off and he lacked a couple of teeth. His face was bruised and his body, in its bright, feathered costume, looked withered. I stared as he flapped his arms like wings. Then he beat his head against a large, round mirror that dangled on a chain from the top of the cage, sending it spinning with each movement. I was appalled by the sight. As much as I disliked him for the humiliation he had made me suffer, and what he had wanted to do to Russia and my father’s legacy, there was something too sinister for words at work here.
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