‘Gack, gack!’ Dolgoruky smacked his lips, eyes fixed on us in warning before he bent to pick at some seeds that were scattered on the cage’s floor. I gave him a tight nod. Anna and de Biron had been swallowed up among the new arrivals, who spoke loudly and gesticulated. The courtiers, too, shouted as if spurring somebody on. I craned my neck: a miniature racecourse had been set up on the ground by positioning some goblets and string. Half a dozen crayfish crawled for their lives towards the crudely drawn finishing line. A young man who struck me by his pale, affected beauty – his cheeks and lips were painted crimson – observed the race, fists clenched. He roared at the top of his lungs, jumped up and punched the air, jubilant, before picking up his crayfish. ‘Mine won! Your wagers, please,’ he demanded. His footman collected the dues from the other players and shocking sums changed hands; gambling for such amounts made courtiers sell entire villages to pay their debts. It was a death sentence for the people in a surrendered mir in days of famine.
‘Well done, Count Lynar,’ my cousin Christine called, pushing her way through the crowd, ‘I knew you would win!’ She had blossomed: the shine of her dark braids was enhanced by strings of pearls and her once flat chest swollen into a perfect aristocratic handful.
‘What is to happen to it?’ Christine asked sweetly, pointing at the crayfish. ‘Shall we set it free in the ponds?’
‘No need to tamper with the workings of fate.’ Count Lynar handed the crayfish to his servant. ‘Cook it for supper with a couple of dozen more. It will be delicious. Perhaps Her Highness would like to join me?’ He bowed to Christine as the Tsarina and de Biron stepped up to them. Anna Ivanovna’s arrival made the onlookers scatter.
‘Her Highness is too busy, Count Lynar. And you should be, too. I hear you have eighteen illegitimate children at home in Saxony, whose wet-nurses you also put in a condition to look after them? That should be enough to keep a man permanently occupied, I’d say.’
‘Eighteen illegitimate children? And their wet-nurses pregnant? Really?’ De Biron sounded impressed.
Count Lynar flushed and bowed, his mop of white-blond hair falling over his sled-dog eyes, cleverly hiding his utter lack of embarrassment.
‘Where is Julie von Mengden, your lady-in-waiting?’ Anna asked Christine, who looked dejected: how astonishingly bad at hiding her feelings she was, given that she had spent her life at court. ‘Count Ostermann, where is your niece when I need her?’
‘Here I am, Your Majesty.’ A young woman curtsied. I had never heard her name before: her pointed nose and the narrow set of her grey eyes gave her the look of a pine marten. Ostermann’s niece! God, there were more of them at court now, breeding faster than rabbits.
‘Enough amusement for the evening. The Princess needs rest,’ the Tsarina decided.
Christine’s gaze turned longingly to Count Lynar, but Julie von Mengden linked arms with her and led her away. I watched it all, astounded. In my short absence I had missed significant changes at court: new, foreign-sounding names risen to importance and the good Russians, whose families had served the Tsars for generations, slipped into poverty and oblivion. Behind me, Dolgoruky clucked in his cage, pretending to peck at a worm, his eyes rolling.
‘Lovely Lizenka has returned,’ de Biron said warmly as he stepped up next to Anna.
I faced a wall of bodies and disapproving glances and was made to feel like an intruder in my former home. Inside I bristled, but I curtsied as low as my breeches and riding boots allowed. Anna Ivanovna herself wore a vast, unlaced green housedress that clung to her thighs and breasts, yet she was covered in jewellery. De Biron nodded to her slightly, making her open her arms to me in welcome. Her mouth smiled but her gaze was flinty.
‘Who is this handsome stranger?’ the Tsarina cooed. ‘Ah! It is you, Elizabeth. Forever playing at dressing up.’
‘My Tsarina and cousin, please do excuse my clothes, but I find it easier to ride this way.’
‘Granted. I appreciate that you came straight to Izmailov to be our guest,’ she said, hitting bull’s eye. Of course, Izmailov that I had begun to consider my home was hers by birthright. I was destitute once more, but took heart: soon, I should be her heiress, both by birthright and by bloodline.
‘You come just in time, Elizabeth, to meet my company of actors,’ said Anna.
‘Who are they?’ And what else was going on at this frenzied court usurped by foreigners, next to Russian princes pretending to be chickens and crayfish making a dash for their lives? In the background, watching us, I saw Count Ostermann.
‘Italians freshly arrived from Warsaw. The Elector of Saxony sent me one of his five troupes. Five! How could I have none?’ Anna looked at the men and women whom soldiers had herded into a corner, their captain barking orders, shoving and prodding the strangers. They cowered like chickens facing a fox. ‘Remember? Staging an opera is my utmost priority.’ Anna frowned at de Biron. ‘Why do the actors look so disturbed?’
‘They are artists!’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ She looked at a loss.
‘Captain Birckholtz has chased them like cattle, all the way from Warsaw. But in Italy artists are treated like indulged children. Even Augustus of Saxony caters to their every whim. Yet on their way here, their trunks were pilfered, their food stolen, and their clothes drenched. Worst, Madame Lodovica’s chocolate has disappeared. Without chocolate she can’t sing.’
‘Ah! I’ll make up for it.’ Anna snapped her fingers. ‘They will stay in the Kremlin until the first performance for the Chinese delegation. Madame Lodovica will have Petrushka’s apartment. Madame Cosima, Katja Dolgoruky’s rooms.’
‘Katja?’ I looked up. ‘Is she well?’
Anna shrugged. ‘Why not ask her? A dove will only take a week or so to fly to Beresov. That’s where all the Dolgorukys have been banished to hard labour.’
‘Beresov in Siberia?’ Katja’s slender, fine-boned beauty was not the type to withstand the privations and hardships of the Arctic. The thought gave me no joy.
‘Exactly. Beresov, where you sent Menshikov.’
‘And all the Dolgorukys are there?’ I heard the disbelief in my voice. A Tsarist court without this oldest of Russian noble families, who had founded Moscow and built the Kremlin, was unthinkable.
‘Indeed. They went too far with their plotting against me. Katja might still be alive, but most of the others are not. Our fine bird in the cage over there was the only lucky one.’
‘What are you saying? The Dolgorukys are one of Russia’s oldest families.’
‘Which does not exempt them from just punishment.’ A sombre figure joined us then, standing between the Tsarina and de Biron: Count Ostermann.
‘What happened to them?’ I asked, my voice thick with fear.
‘Whatever was necessary. De Biron advised me, but the decision was Ostermann’s.’ The Tsarina smiled at him. ‘Beheading. Quartering. Broken on the wheel.’
De Biron shrugged, looking vaguely flustered, his hair ruffled and face flushed. Ostermann returned my gaze unblinking; if he could order the demise of one of Russia’s oldest and most noble families, what else could he do?
‘Are de Biron and Ostermann forming the new Privy Council then?’ I kept my voice low.
‘There is no more such nonsense as a Privy Council. I rule as an absolute monarch, as is my due. I am advised though by a Cabinet. Ostermann counselled me to let Alexis Dolgoruky live, as a fine example of what will happen to those who oppose me. My little pet here can count himself lucky.’ She glared at the clucking Prince Dolgoruky: ‘If you stop just once, Alexis Grigoryevich Dolgoruky, I will shoot you and feed you to the pigs. They will rejoice when they find the pellets in your limbs. It’s a sign of luck.’
I met Lestocq’s eyes, who shook his head slowly in a clear warning. If the usurper Menshikov had been fended off and Dolgoruky sat perched in a cage, Anna was pursuing a policy of Westernisation of her own, which would throw Russia to the wolves.
‘Bang! Bang!’
D’Acosta cheered, hopping forward, pretending to shoot at the prince. Then the dwarf lowered himself on all fours, scouring the floor as a pig might searching for a truffle beneath rowanberry bushes. The court roared with laughter.
Prince Dolgoruky crowed and flapped frantically.
For myself, I would have preferred a clean shot.
70
After Maja had barked at the translator and shooed the offensive Captain Birckholtz away, the actors’ voices rose in happy cacophony. Any threats or hardships they had suffered morphed rapidly into adventures. Servants offered pitchers of Burgundy and platters of hot, steaming pierogi. D’Acosta started to imitate Captain Birckholtz, which made even Anna giggle. How many Tsars had the cunning little Portuguese entertained? Four, so far. How many of their secrets did he know? Countless. I watched him, and as he turned, he met my gaze with bottomless eyes and a knowing smile.
‘When is the Chinese delegation expected?’ I asked. Whenever they arrived, the choir would be on stage together with the opera singers. The choir – and Alexis. My thoughts cartwheeled: I did not want to be left behind in Izmailov once Anna moved to Annenhof in Moscow. I must work towards becoming her heiress.
‘Are you taking an interest in the affairs of All the Russias?’ Anna asked. Count Ostermann listened intently. There was no right and no wrong answer: showing no interest made me a flighty young woman, showing too much could be lethal.
‘What is good for Russia is good for my Tsarina. Nothing is closer to my heart than her well-being,’ I said smoothly. Ostermann blinked. He appreciated a worthy opponent. Anna weighed my words, wobbling her mighty head. ‘So be it. And do you wish to take up residence in Izmailov again?’
‘I would love nothing more than that,’ I lied. The court had wrecked the place: it would take years to recover.
‘Well, you can’t,’ Anna decided. ‘Once Annenhof is ready, we all move there.’
I lowered my gaze, as if fighting tears, to hide my triumph. Off to Moscow I was going in the meantime, together with the court.
‘The Chinese delegation shall be my first guests in Annenhof: our grandfather, and both our fathers, sent ten trade missions altogether to Peking, as well as eleven different ambassadors. Yet never – never – was there a delegation in return.’
‘How so? There is trade, isn’t there?’
‘Well, some. Russian merchants in China are confined to caravanserais. If they dare to wander outside, they are executed. They sit and sit, until all the food is eaten and all the vodka drunk. Then the Chinese bring them a little tea of the worst quality, even less gold, coarse porcelain and second-rate raw silks that splits after a couple of uses,’ Anna said with a frown.
‘Sounds like they offer us their warehouse refuse?’
‘Exactly. Worse still, once our merchants have packed up, no further stay in the country is permitted to them. Any dawdling is prosecuted by death. But why are you interested in all this? It is me they are here to meet, not you, nosy little thing,’ she scolded me.
De Biron laughed, making amends: ‘All women are curious. By the way, the Elector of Saxony also sent a dozen Stradivari violas to accompany the choir.’
The choir. Alexis. How I longed for him to be here, all true, tender words and strong arms. He lived a world away from the terror in Anna’s tent. Was being the struggle to become her heiress worth any of this? The thought alone tired me.
‘Wonderful.’ Anna beamed. ‘Everybody will be amazed to listen to my choir. My messenger found me this incredibly gifted singer close to Kiev. He is to be my soloist.’
Her choir. Her soloist.
Alexis had neither an idea of her true nature, nor a clue as to my identity. The idea of his reaction to the truth filled me with more dread than Anna’s entourage ever could.
I needed advice, or more than that: the wisest and warmest counsel Russia ever had to offer.
71
‘How good of you to come and see an old man, my dear child!’ Feofan Prokopovich welcomed me and I could not help but fly towards him, before kissing the panagia that gleamed on his simple black robe: if anyone could tell me how to save Alexis and myself, it was this man. His wisdom had enabled him to leave the Trubetzkoi Bastion unscathed. Now his enemies were dead, banished or confined to a cage, clucking for their life, while he had turned the tables on them and was heading the dreaded Secret Office of Investigation. His clever pug’s eyes sized up my simple cloak of undyed linen as well as the dark, unadorned skirt and neat white blouse. My earlobes, wrists and fingers were bare. The only jewellery I wore was, as always, the icon of St Nicholas.
‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said, turning to indicate the vast stone house rising proudly from a walled courtyard, lit by the fading October sunshine. It was constructed with utmost care and complete disregard for cost. Anna cared as little for what Feofan spent as my father had. The courtyard was all hustle and bustle: carts arrived to restock his kitchens. Men lugged bags of oats, groats, barley or wheat and rolled countless barrels of beer and wine towards trapdoors leading to the cellars. Feofan had many mouths to feed and countless staff, ranging from valets and cooks to craftsmen such as carpenters, clerks and copyists, as well, of course, as equerries, coachmen, grooms and harness-makers, not to mention his gardeners. In one corner of the courtyard artists sat cross-legged, sketching birds who picked at carefully arranged crumbs. Two Greek Orthodox priests were about to mount their carriage; two Rabbis waited for another, their long black cloaks billowing in a fresh wind. Feofan saw each group off with a farewell in their own language.
One never left Feofan without feeling a little bit better, a little bit wiser.
‘You time your visit well,’ he said. ‘I have taken delivery from Novgorod.’ He patted his belly, frowning. ‘I despair at the cost of my table. Are six barrels of anchovies too much, I wonder?’
‘I’d make that seven next year,’ I laughed. ‘Don’t ask me. I am as greedy as you are.’
‘A woman who eats is a gift from God.’ He winked at me, comfortable in his celibacy. ‘I have also received wine from Italy. It’s a stunning colour – almost green – and it smells of cut grass.’ On the threshold he enquired, ‘Now, do you come as a Tsarevna or as a friend?’
‘Both.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘I should hope so.’
‘In that case there are some men who would like to meet you.’
At a nod from him, a couple of soldiers rose from the courtyard’s slabs, straightening their dark green uniform jackets, gold buttons and toggles gleaming in the sun. I hesitated: the presence here of soldiers of the Preobrazhensky Regiment did not bode well. Nobody was safe from sudden arrest or prosecution by them. If I could not trust Feofan, who could I trust?
He sensed my unease: ‘Do not fear. These men, too, have come to see you as a Tsarevna, but also as a friend.’
Buturlin had belonged to the Preobrazhensky Regiment. The soldiers dashed towards me, impatient as young colts. ‘Tsarevna Elizabeth, what luck!’ The first of them to draw level with me kneeled to kiss my fingers and the other men followed suit.
‘Once I told them you were coming, I couldn’t hold them back. And as head of the Secret Office of Investigation, I need to be informed of all your meetings.’ Feofan winked at me. ‘Though as luck has it, just now I really ought to check on the kitchen.’
‘Matushka! Our Little Mother! What a pleasure to have you back,’ another officer greeted me. I furtively scanned the busy courtyard. Little Mother. That was the customary way to address the Tsarina, not an outcast such as me. Behind him lingered a groom, ears flapping. Was Feofan, the leading spy, being spied on? De Biron was no fool.
‘I, too, am happy to see you here. Are your barracks still close?’
‘Not any more.’ The man had cautiously lowered his voice.
‘Let us walk.’ I ducked through an archway into Feofan’s walled garden, a refuge from Moscow’s stench and noise. Fruit trees grew next to rows of berries and
vegetables. No mole stood a chance here. The crisply raked gravel cut through the thin soles of my slippers. ‘Why have your barracks moved?’ I asked. ‘Yours is the foremost Imperial regiment, founded by my father.’
‘The Tsarina has founded a new regiment, the Izmailovsky Guard. She gave her men our barracks while we moved to makeshift buildings.’
‘Who is its colonel? The Tsarina herself?’
‘No, upon de Biron’s advice she has appointed a German, Count Loewenwolde.’
A German as colonel of an Imperial regiment? What an insult to any good Russian soldier. The soldier drew closer. ‘Matushka, we come to ask for a favour from you. Already our age is known as the Bironyshkchina, the age of the German Yoke. There are foreigners everywhere. Who has the strength to save this country? Who will be the Tsarina’s heiress? You must be Tsesarevna once more.’
Bironyshkchina, the age of the German Yoke. The mythical bond between people and Tsar, knotted from ancient threads, was these days reduced to rags, replaced by a shiny cloth so garishly new it unravelled everything I knew, lived for and loved. They were right: the only way to change this was to be Anna’s heiress, the Crown Princess and Tsesarevna once more.
‘I have no influence,’ I warned.
‘We want no influence. We want your love. We know who you are.’
‘And who is that?’ I looked up at him, my heart pounding, tears welling up.
‘You are Russia – the Tsar’s and Tsarina’s daughter. We beg you: our wives have had children in the past weeks. Do us the honour of being their godmother? Then we will feel that not all is lost.’
Feofan appeared at the back door of the house. One hand gripped his pectoral cross, the other shielded his eyes. His gaze was as impenetrable as God’s Will. Nothing here happened by chance. I held out my fingers for the soldiers to kiss once more. ‘It will be my greatest pleasure. Let me know when and where the christening is taking place. We shall wet the children’s heads together.’
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