The Red Tide

by Christopher Nicole

  “I am as interested in them as they are in me,” he replied.

  “But...you cannot mean just to squat here forever?”

  “Why not?” He squeezed her bottom. “I have everything I need.”

  “There is no medicine.”

  “You’ve been talking with Geller, have you? So we’ll manage without medicine.”

  “But there isn’t enough food.”

  “There is never enough food, in the winter. It’ll soon be spring. Then we’ll get some food in Poltava to tide us over to the harvest.”

  “What are you going to use for money?”

  He grinned, and gave her another squeeze. “We’ll use you and Sonia, on the streets of Poltava if necessary.”

  Geller shared her fears and her misery. He was doing the best he could, but without any medical supplies he had a hopeless task. “I suspect Rotislav wishes all the old people to die off,” he told Priscilla. “Well, they are doing that.”

  “If only we had some news of what is happening, somewhere, anywhere,” Priscilla said. “Even in Poltava. They must know we are here.”

  “They know Rotislav is here,” Geller said. “I imagine they assume we are all dead. You at the, least, Your Highness. As for Rotislav, as they know he is supported by fifty armed men, they are probably happy to leave things alone.”

  “But what about things like laws, and taxes. All governments need those things. Won’t they come here eventually?”

  “I am sure you’re right, whenever next there is a government. There’s not much suggestion of anything more than anarchy, at the moment.”

  With the first promise of spring, Priscilla walked across to look at the snow-covered mound which had been the house. She had not done this before; the memory of that terrible day was too fresh. But now the snow was melting, and the gaunt timbers were pushing their way up. The gates still stood, but the gardens and the orchard were a mass of weeds. Worse yet, the cemetery behind the house, where the Bolugayevskis had been buried for three hundred years, had been desecrated, the coffins dug up and torn open, the skeletons thrown about as heaps of bones. Thank God Grandmama had never been interred there, Priscilla thought, and wondered what had happened to Dagmar, or if she was dead in a gutter in Poltava?

  She heard a footstep, and turned her head. Sonia stood behind her. “They’ll rebuild it,” Sonia said. “When this is over. You’ll rebuild it, Your Highness.”

  “You will help me, Your Highness,” Priscilla replied.

  They smiled at each other, and even moved towards each other, and heard the sound of hooves. They turned together to stare at the lone horseman, coming down the road from Poltava. Insensibly they now did move together, holding hands. He drew rein, looked at the gate posts and the trampled earth, the wreck of the house. “Where is Colonel Rotislav?”

  “In the village.”

  “Take me to him,” the horseman commanded. “Haste, women. This is urgent.” Priscilla and Sonia exchanged glances, but they had become used to taking orders. Besides, this man wore uniform, was armed with both sword and revolver, and had an air of authority; there was a little red star in the front centre of his schlem. They led the horseman into the village, at times having to run to keep up with his trotting horse. But at the first houses he drew rein.

  “There are no sentries or lookouts.”

  “No,” Priscilla agreed.

  He kicked his horse forward. One or two people came to their doorways to look at him. “I was told there were fifty soldiers here,” the man said.

  “There are,” Sonia said.

  “Where are they?”

  Sonia waved her arm. “Around.”

  “Fools. Where is this so-called colonel?”

  “This is the house,” Priscilla told him, and opened the door.

  The horseman dismounted and stamped inside. Priscilla and Sonia followed him. Rotislav was reclining on the bed they all shared. He had not yet dressed himself for the day. Anna and Alexei played in the corner, but looked up with interest at the appearance of a stranger. So did Grishka, who was making tea. Janine was in bed with Rotislav; she sat up in alarm, the sheet held to her throat. Rotislav also sat up. “What the devil...”

  “You may well say that, Comrade,” said the stranger. “You are he calling himself Colonel Rotislav?”

  “I am Colonel Rotislav,” Rotislav said, with an attempt at dignity.

  “Then act like a colonel. Get up and get dressed. Summon your people and put this village in a state of defence. There is a regiment of White cavalry not fifty miles away.”

  “A regiment...” Rotislav scratched his head, clearly not understanding. “Who are you?”

  “I am Commissar Denovich. I am from General Trotsky’s army.”

  Priscilla heard a sharp intake of breath from Sonia. “General Trotsky?” Rotislav asked. “Who the hell is General Trotsky?”

  Commissar Denovich advanced to stand beside the bed. “Are you for the Revolution?”

  “I am for the Revolution.”

  “Because if you are not, I will have you shot. I may have you shot in any event. I may shoot you myself.” He rested his gloved hand on his revolver holster. Rotislav attempted to back across the bed, and bumped into Janine, who had lain down again, the blanket still held to her throat. “As you appear to be totally ignorant of the world in which you live, Comrade,” Denovich said. “I will give you a last chance to prove that you deserve to live. Listen very carefully. The Tsarists and dissidents calling themselves the White Army are advancing from the Crimea, and as I have told you, there is at least one of their cavalry regiments not fifty miles south of here. They will arrive here tomorrow at the latest.” Sonia’s hand stole into Priscilla’s. “Coming down from the north,” Denovich went on, “is General Trotsky’s Red Army, under the personal command of the general. His train will be in Poltava the day after tomorrow. It is his intention to smash this White advance, and he will do so, because they have no idea that he is anywhere close. It is therefore vital that they do not find out until it is too late for them to retreat. If they reach Poltava before the General, they will surely learn of his advance. Therefore it is the General’s orders that you and your men hold this village against them, and prevent their further advance.”

  Rotislav gulped. “But...you spoke of a regiment.”

  “Six hundred sabres.”

  “I have only fifty men. We must be reinforced if we are to hold.”

  “There can be no reinforcement until the day after tomorrow.”

  “Then we will all be killed.”

  “If you are killed, you will have died for the Revolution. There is no finer end. Remember, you must hold out for at least twenty-four hours. Then you may retreat. Do you understand me?”

  Rotislav swallowed. “Yes, Comrade Commissar.”

  “Very good. I will report to General Trotsky that the village will be held.”

  “But...suppose this regiment bypasses the village, Comrade Commissar?”

  “It will not. It will come here before advancing on Poltava.”

  “How can you know that, Comrade Commissar?” Rotislav’s voice was almost a whine.

  “Because the commander of the White regiment comes from this village, and will certainly wish to return here. He calls himself Prince Alexei Bolugayevski.”

  The Commissar left immediately, unaware of the psychological bomb he had just tossed into the bedroom. Sonia followed him, and they spoke for some moments before he mounted his horse and trotted out of the village, watched by an increasing number of people. Then Sonia returned into the house. Rotislav appeared to be quite speechless, which Priscilla supposed had to be a blessing: if he had told the Commissar who they were they might have been shot on the spot. But then, she was speechless herself. Alexei was after all, alive, and coming towards her. And what would he find? A woman who had been raped and beaten. But he would also find...she glanced at Sonia. Sonia’s face was stony. She had not expected ever to have to face her ex-husband again.
/>
  They both looked at Rotislav, who was slowly getting out of bed. Now he looked at them in turn. He was trembling as he pulled on his pants. “You think your knight in white armour is going to come galloping up to your rescue,” he said. “We’ll see about that.” He buttoned his shirt, walked to the door, pushing them to one side. “Up, up,” he bellowed. “Everybody up. We have a battle to fight.” Now people poured from doorways; the last thing any of the soldiers had anticipated was having to fight a battle, on Bolugayen. They gathered around Rotislav, everyone talking at once.

  “What are we going to do?” Priscilla asked. “Alexei…”

  “The Prince!” Grishka said, eyes shining.

  “Daddy!” Anna jumped up and down. “Daddy’s coming!”

  Little Alexei gazed at his sister with enormous eyes. “They will murder us,” Janine said. “Before they let us be rescued. You heard what he said.”

  Priscilla looked at Sonia. “We will have to see,” Sonia said. “We must first of all discover what Rotislav plans.”

  Her calmness was quite startling, and almost frightening. Priscilla could not help but wonder if she was planning some kind of mass suicide. How the wheel does turn, she thought; now she was the one who would resist that.

  Alexei was not fifty miles away, and coming towards her!

  Rotislav was giving orders, and the men were reluctantly gathering their weapons, rusting now it was so long since they had been used or oiled. Sonia went outside. “Why did you let that man order you around?” she asked. “He was one man. You had fifty at your call. Yet you obeyed him like a slave.”

  He gave her an impatient glance. “He was a commissar. You do not understand these things. Commissars are the rulers of Russia under Lenin and Trotsky. They have powers of life and death. No one can oppose a commissar. Except perhaps Lenin and Trotsky.”

  “Is Trotsky that powerful?”

  “You heard the Commissar. Trotsky commands the Red Army. He is the most powerful man in Russia. Only the fact that he is a Jew prevents him from being more powerful than Lenin.”

  “I see,” Sonia said thoughtfully. “So you will fight and die, at his command. You will die, you know, Rotislav. You cannot hope to defend this place against a regiment of cavalry.”

  Rotislav grinned. “Maybe not. But I have resources the Commissar knew nothing of. I know things that no one else knows. Your husband is coming.”

  “Not my husband,” Sonia said. “Not any more.”

  “Do you think that matters? When we were in prison together, he told me, how much he loved you, how much he hated what he had had to do. How much he regretted it.” He looked past her, and Sonia turned, to see Priscilla standing in the doorway, her face pale. Now he laughed out loud. “But he loves you too, Princess. He adores you. He dreams of your body every night. There is a confused fellow, eh? But his confusion is my power. I hold the two women he loves, and I hold his daughter. And I hold his son and heir. Oh, yes, he told me about that, too. Your babe is his heir, Priscilla, because he has no Jewish blood. So he will never take Bolugayen, if it would cost your lives. Rather will he turn back when I tell him to, and I will be congratulated by Trotsky, and perhaps made a general myself, eh?”

  Priscilla but her lip, and looked at Sonia. But Sonia’s expression had not changed. “Back in the house,” Rotislav told them. “In there, and stay there. You and you,” he bawled. “Mount guard on this house. Let no one in or out save on my orders. The rest of you, come with me.” Sonia was pushed inside and the door shut.

  “Isn’t Daddy coming?” Anna asked.

  “Yes, sweetheart, he is coming,” Sonia assured her.

  “We are going to be killed,” Janine moaned. “I know it. I feel it in my bones.”

  “We should have been killed six months ago,” Sonia reminded her. “And we are still alive.” Grishka fell to her knees and began to pray. Priscilla sat on the bed, and Sonia sat beside her. “I would not let what Rotislav said upset you,” she recommended. “You are Alexei’s wife.”

  “I doubt that, in the eyes of God.”

  Sonia sighed. “I’m afraid it is difficult to believe in God any more, after what we have seen and experienced.”

  “Do you want to see him again?”

  Sonia considered. “Yes,” she said at last. “I would like to see him again. But I wish to see Colin more.”

  “I know. To have him so close, and yet...are we going to die, Sonia?”

  Sonia’s smile was grim. “Not if we are sufficiently determined to live.”

  Rotislav had apparently determined that only the village was capable of being defended, and instead of attempting to create a position to the south, he placed his men in the houses commanding the road. The women watched from the window of their prison. “He is laying a trap,” Priscilla said. “They will all be killed.”

  “I do not think Rotislav is laying a trap,” Sonia said. “He knows this rabble of his cannot stand up to a regiment of professionals, even if he manages to kill a few in an ambush. He wants to be close to his trumps.” She smiled at them all. “Us.”

  Priscilla could not doubt that Sonia had determined upon a course of action, she was so composed and relaxed. The thought terrified her, because it could only be violent, and perhaps fatal. But as Sonia would not confide in her, she could only do the same as everyone else, and wait. Food was brought to them, but they were at least spared a visit from Rotislav. Priscilla spent the afternoon playing with Alexei, who was as usual totally oblivious that there was a crisis — the poor little boy had lived just about all his life in an atmosphere of crisis.

  Sonia spent her time with Anna. They were both, Priscilla felt, saying goodbye to their children even if they would not admit it, even to themselves.

  It was late afternoon when Grishka, who was at the window, said, “They are here, Your Highnesses.”

  All the women joined her. From the window they looked straight down the village street, and beyond, to the road which wound its way into the distant trees.

  And along the road there came a body of five horsemen, walking their mounts, carbines drawn from their scabbards and hafts resting on their knees. Each man was also armed with a sword. “If only we could warn them,” Priscilla muttered.

  “They do not need warning,” Sonia assured her. “Rotislav knows his only hope is to negotiate.”

  “Look there,” Janine said.

  The advance guard was almost up to the houses. Now the rest of the regiment debouched from the wood, a splendid body of men, similarly ready for a fight. At their head rode several officers. “Alexei,” Priscilla breathed, and hugged her son to her breast. Alexei looked, as always, handsome, dignified and totally confident. Sonia said nothing, but she rested her hand on Anna’s shoulder to prevent the girl from crying out.

  The door of one of the houses opened, and Rotislav stepped on to the street. At the sight of him, the sergeant commanding the advance guard held up his hand, and the horsemen drew rein. “Who are you?” the sergeant demanded. The women could hear his voice quite clearly in the still afternoon air.

  “I am Colonel Stanislav Rotislav.”

  “Serving with which army?”

  “I serve the Red Army of General Trotsky.”

  “Then you are under arrest. Throw down your weapons.”

  Rotislav grinned at him. “I have fifty men armed with rifles in these houses.” The sergeant looked left and right, and several rifle barrels protruded from the various windows. Priscilla found she was holding her breath, and Alexei so tightly that he was beginning to squirm. “Do not be afraid,” Rotislav said. “I would speak with your commanding officer.”

  Alexei had been walking his horse forward while the parley was going on. He was followed by a youthful cornet. “Colin,” Sonia breathed. Priscilla had to bite her lip to stop herself from precipitating a crisis by shouting.

  “Rotislav?” Alexei asked. “By God, man, but it is good to see you. What nonsense is this?”

  “No nonsense,
Prince Alexei. I am for the Reds.”

  “Then you are a fool, and a traitor, and I will have to hang you.”

  “I would ask you to reconsider, Prince Alexei.”

  “Because of your fifty men?” Alexei asked, contemptuously.

  “Because of my prisoners,” Rotislav said.

  Alexei frowned. “Prisoners?”

  “Your family, Prince Alexei.”

  “My family are dead. Murdered by the Reds. Murdered...” he checked as the penny dropped.

  Rotislav half turned, and gestured at the prison house. “In there, Prince Alexei, I hold both your wives, your son and your daughter.”

  Alexei stared at him. “Both my wives. And my son?”

  “Oh, indeed, my lord prince. I have a full hand.” Alexei almost glanced at Colin, whose face was rigid.

  Then he looked straight again. “Do you expect me to believe you?”

  “I expect that you will wish to see for yourself,” Rotislav said. “I offer you free entry into my village for that purpose. But you will tell your men to cease their advance.”

  “You will return to the command, Cornet Bolugayevski,” Alexei said. “And hold your men until further orders.”

  “But, sir...” Colin protested.

  “That is an order,” Alexei said, and walked his horse forward, accompanied now only by his standard bearer.

  “Will you not dismount?” Rotislav invited. Alexei dismounted, handing his reins to the trooper. “This way,” Rotislav said, with the utmost politeness. They walked up the street together. “Ladies,” Rotislav called. “Will you please come out. All of you. Including the children.”

  Sonia glanced at Priscilla; both women were terribly aware that in their torn and stained gowns, bare and dirty feet and wearing their bandannas, they looked less like princesses than the peasants they had been forced to become. Equally she could tell from Priscilla’s pink cheeks and quickened breathing that the younger woman was every bit as nervous as herself. But this was the moment for which they had both forced themselves to survive. She held Anna’s hand, in her left hand, and walked through the door. The guard stood to attention. Priscilla took little Alexei in her arms, and followed. Grishka and Janine brought up the rear.