by The Countess
Dmitri became aware his fellow conspirators were leaving and turned to follow.
"Dmitri, I wish you to stay."
He stopped, looking at Catherine in surprise.
"It is late, Highness."
"I am aware of the hour. Come and sit down here with me and help yourself to vodka if my presence is not enough to make you forget her."
Dmitri flushed, but he did not refuse the offer of a drink. It had become his only solace. Catherine knew that when he was alone he drank heavily, yet she had been unable to bring him to task over it. He showed no outward signs of a hangover the next morning, and his behaviour gave no cause for complaint.
"The Countess looked remarkably well tonight. Do you not think so?"
"Remarkably."
"Why don't you find another woman to sweeten you temper?" Catherine laughed softly. "There are many among my ladies who would sleep with you for the asking. When our hopes have been realised there will be many more. You are to play an important part in my future, Dmitri. You and all the others who are willing to risk their lives for me. When I am Empress, you will be able to name your own reward."
"I want only what I consider to be rightfully mine," Dmitri said harshly.
"What if she is in love with the Major? Have you thought of that?"
"He will be dead, and a widow cannot mourn for ever. I have no intention of awaiting her pleasure again, she has too much to answer for."
"It would be better to forget her. I did not say forgive, my friend - but forget. There are other women to give you what you want and be glad to do so. Unless, of course, you are still in love with the girl."
Dmitri swallowed the last of his vodka and replenished the glass. Despite her lovers, Catherine was the only woman he did not despise. Before he had resented her questions, now they no longer bothered him, and he found himself able to talk to her freely. In a way they were alike.
"I am not sure what I feel for her," he returned. "It matters little. I intend to have her, or make sure no one else does."
Catherine nodded understandingly.
"So be it. I shall not question how you take her or what you do with her. She is yours."
Catherine and Dmitri were involved in a game of cards when Alexei Orloff came into the room.
"Get out," he ordered the servant hovering in the doorway.
"Alexei, why so stern? Has your girl deserted you too?" Catherine laughed.
Alexei's voice did not carry beyond the three of them.
"Lieutenant Passek has been arrested. The fool got drunk in a tavern and started saying dangerous things. Krylenko's agents arrested him, and at this moment the Major himself is on his way to question him. Our lives are in danger, Highness; by morning the Czar will know of our plans. We must act tonight."
CHAPTER NINE
In the part of the palace where the Czar had his apartments, a patrolling sentry yawned and paused to gaze out of the window at the lightening sky. It was barely six o'clock in the morning. The flight of a bird from the gardens belowwas the last thing he saw before he died. Gregory Orloff retrieved his knife and motioned to the group of soldiers behind him to come forward and pick up the fallen man.
"Get rid of him. One of you remain here, the rest go upstairs to the Czar's room. Dispose of the remainder of the guards and replace them. Ah, Dmitri, you are here." He turned to greet the uniformed figure hurrying towards him. "Are your men in position?"
"Throughout the rest of the palace. Have you finished here? You must get Her Majesty away before Krylenko returns. I'll cover the escape and follow when I've dealt with the Major."
Gregory gave him a searching glance, but said nothing. Together they made their way to Catherine's apartments. Sergei met them outside the main door.
"Major Krylenko has just ridden into the courtyard."
"Damnation!" Dmitri said fiercely. "We have little time as it is."
"He ordered a fresh horse to be saddled and ready for nine o'clock. The Lieutenant can't have broken," Sergei said.
"Let us hope he consumed enough liquor to dull the pain for a good while yet," Gregory muttered. "I'll wake the Czarina."
He disappeared through the massive door, re-appearing almost immediately with Catherine behind him. She had been dressed and waiting for someone to come, not daring to sleep. She wore a dark jacket and men's breeches. Her hair was hidden beneath a fur hat.
Dmitri dropped on one knee before her. "God go with you, Highness."
"And with you, my Colonel. Follow us as quickly as you can."
"Within the hour. Come, there are horses waiting below."
They were almost to the staircase at the far end of the corridor when someone began to ascend from the lower floor. Dmitri moved back against the wall, motioning his companions to do likewise as Vladimir Krylenko appeared.
His face grew bleak. Now was as good a time as any to settle old scores.
"Take Her Majesty to safety," he whispered to Gregory. Sword in hand, he stepped out to confront his enemy. "Good evening, Major."
"What the devil! Varanov - let me pass, you fool."
"I am going to kill you," Dmitri said quietly. "Draw your weapon, man, or I'll cut you down where you stand."
Vladimir caught sight of a movement in the shadows and started forward. Dmitri's sword slashed across his cheek, drawing blood, and as he wheeled about, unsheathing his own blade, Gregory led Catherine behind him down the staircase to safety.
Dmitri fought as if the very devil possessed him, slashing with a vigour that drove Vladimir Krylenko along the corridor. The newly installed Cossack guards moved back as the men fought nearer, waiting expectantly for their leader to deliver the fatal blow.
Dmitri lunged forward, but with unexpected swiftness his opponent side-stepped and thrust upwards. He felt a pain sear his ribs, his vision blurred and he fell against the tapesty-covered wall, blood soaking the front of his shirt.
He saw his Cossacks stealing forward and straightened with a tremendous effort.
"Stay back, this man is mine," he shouted. "I need no help to kill swine."
Vladimir's eyes glittered and a smile flittered across his face at the sight of the pool of blood at Dmitri's feet.
"I have no time to waste here with you," he sneered and raised his sword again. "I have preparations to make for my wedding."
The taunt struck home. Dmitri gave a terrible cry and hurled himself forward, possessed with superhuman strength. A savage blow almost cleaved Vladimir's sword-arm in half, another sent his weapon clattering to the floor.
"Mercy, for pity's sake -" Krylenko cried.
"I'll give you the same brand of mercy you gave to your prisoners," Dmitri said hoarsely, and he was thinking of Andre Bruckner as he spoke. He stabbed his blade into the other man with such venom that it went clean through.
The effort almost rendered him unconscious, and he fell forward on to his knees, a hand against his wound. Immediately his men were beside him, helping him to rise. The moment he was standing, he shook them off.
"One of you find Sergei and bring him here. Someone help me."
It was not help for himself that Dmitri wanted, but assistance to drag the body of Vladimir Krylenko along the adjoining corridor to where Alexandreya had her apartments.
There were no guards on the door, he had made sure of that. He kicked it open, ordered his companions to stay put, and limped painfully across the drawing room, dragging his burden. His senses were dulled by pain, yet enough were left to urge him on to this final act of revenge.
The noise of furniture being overturned had awakened Alexandreya. She was sitting up in bed clutching the sheets high around her shoulders. At the sight of the bloody, wild-eyed figure in the doorway, she had screamed and crossed herself before realising who it was -and the man he lifted and dumped unceremoniously on the end of the bed.
Breathing heavily, Dmitri clung to one of the bedposts for support and stared at the woman he loved. There was no denying it, he still f
elt the same and because he did, he could not take her by force as had been his intention.
"I've brought you your betrothed," he sneered. "With my compliments."
Alexandreya's mouth was dry with fear. He looked mad in the flickering candlelight, and she wondered if she might become his next victim. Slowly she relaxed her hold on the sheets and stretched out a hand, her eyes transfixed by the blood seeping through his jacket.
"You are hurt! Let me help you," she pleaded.
"For love of you, I killed him. I wanted you that much -now you are no longer important. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you," Dmitri threatened.
He turned and staggered out of the room, leaving a red trail from the door to where Alexandreya sat, her face stricken with both shock and grief.
"Dear God, why didn't he kill me now?" she moaned, and fell back on to the pillows in a dead faint.
Sergei bound Dmitri's wound and tried to make him rest, without success. Dmitri had given Alexandreya an ultimatum, and he did not want to stay and see her leave lest he relented and had her taken to the hunting-lodge to await his pleasure. It was still a tempting thought. With the Tartar riding close beside him, he galloped after Catherine and the others.
He caught up with them on the outskirts of St. Petersburg. The ride sapped his strength dearly, and the wound was bleeding again.
"My friend, you are hurt." Alexei Orloff drew rein beside him, peering into his tortured face. Catherine heard and wheeled her horse about to come level.
"A scratch - it is nothing." The weakness of Dmitri's tone gave away the lie.
"You must return at once," Catherine said. "Sergei will go with you."
"I must respectfully decline, Highness. When the Archbishop proclaims you Empress of Russia, I will be there."
"You have that right," Catherine said softly. She looked at the faces around her. "So do you all, my friends, and I will not forget what you are helping me to do this night. If you are sure, Dmitri, let us ride on."
The barracks of the Ismailpvsky Regiment lay ahead. Catherine rode past the startled sentry before he could utter a challenge and when he recognised the interloper, it was never called. Instead he ran shouting for the drummer boy to rouse the sleeping soldiers.
Tired-eyed, half-dressed men came stumbling out of their quarters and were confronted by a sombrely-dressed woman on a black stallion who look at them with pleading eyes and said she had come for their help. From that moment, each and every man was under her command. She was no longer just their Czarina, but also a woman -frail and helpless - who told of the inhuman plan her husband had conceived to be rid of her. And that was not all - her murder would be superseded by the death of her beloved son, Paul, their future ruler.
"I beseech your help." Catherine stretched out her arms appealingly. "Save us."
She was beauty in distress - a defenceless woman under sentence of death by a madman. The soldiers were convinced. The sentry who had been the first to see her was standing close to her horse. Suddenly he knelt and kissed her dusty riding boot and then let out a cry.
"Long live our little Mother, Catherine!"
A cheer ran through the crowd and the cry was taken up simultaneously. Catherine had deliberately played on their sympathies, realising that once one regiment joined her, the others would follow. She had expected and been prepared for success, her plans did not allow otherwise, yet the way the soldiers took her to their hearts caused bright tears to spring to her eyes.
"She has done it," Dmitri whispered. "Thank God."
"There is a finishing touch yet," Gregory Orloff said with a smile. "Had you forgotten?"
Had the soldiers been hard to convince, he was prepared. From one of the outbuildings a priest emerged, crucifix in hand. The sight of him caused a murmur among the soldiers. Any doubts were dispelled by the knowledge the Church was behind Catherine. They knelt while the holy man prayed and solemnly proclaimed Catherine, Empress of Russia. The first victory was theirs.
When Catherine rode on to the quarters of the Semionovsky Regiment, she had a following of almost forty soldiers. Word had gone on ahead and there were more willing to join her. They came running to greet her, most of them still only half-dressed. Peter's reign was quickly drawing to its conclusion.
Surrounded by nearly seventy soldiers Catherine and her officers turned their horses towards the quarters of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. They were met, not by smiling faces and cheers, but by a column of armed soldiers, with one of Peter's most loyal officers in command.
"Trouble," Alexei murmured, and his hand fell to his sword.
"Where is Menshikov, he was supposed to have these men ready," Gregory Orloff looked about him in some alarm.
"We have a fight on our hands," Dmitri said, and as he too reached for his sword, so did every man behind him.
"No, wait." Catherine laid a hand on his arm.
Prince Menshikov was riding slowly towards them. The ranks of the Preobrazhensky Regiment opened up to allow him to pass. With a contemptuous glance at the officer in charge, he rode straight to Catherine's side.
"You have been filled full with the Czar's lies, now hear the truth from me," he shouted. He pointed to the soldiers from the other regiments. "These men are known to you, many are friends. Will you kill them? Will you kill me? Here is our chance to help free Russia from the yoke of a madman. Join us - join your Empress. Long live our little Mother, Catherine, Empress of Russia."
The order of Peter's officer to arrest the traitors was drowned by the sound of cheering. When he tried to escape, he was dragged from his horse by his own men and stabbed to death.
Catherine rode into St. Petersburg to the peal of bells and the excited cries of her followers. People poured from their houses and ran alongside the horses; thousands followed her into the Kazan Cathedral where the Archbishop waited to receive her, trampling each other in their excitement. Four hours after leaving the palace at Peterhof and only nineteen miles away, Catherine was proclaimed Empress and Autocrat of Russia amid the jubilation of soldiers and peasants alike.
Standing beside the Orloff brothers, Dmitri was deafened by the cheers of the crowd. Someone slapped him heartily on the back. He groaned and coughed blood, and fell unconscious to the marble floor.
Catherine was busy with a sheaf of papers on the desk before her. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since the triumphant proclamation in the cathedral, yet already she was engrossed in affairs of state. Her husband had been removed to Robshak in the care of the Orloffs and all his household sent back to the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg. She intended to follow in a few days, after a brief rest, realising that she might not have the chance again. Complete power was hers. The throne of Russia - it was not a postition she intended to abuse.
She glanced up from her work as a servant entered.
"Yes, what is it?"
"The Countess Romanova requests an audience, Your Imperial Majesty."
Catherine's blue eyes hardened.
"Does she, indeed? Tell the Countess I will see her, and make sure we are not disturbed."
Alexandreya slowly crossed the mosaic-tiled floor of the study to the desk. She was wearing a riding habit and carried a small hat. She curtsied.
"I have come to beg Your Imperial Majesty's permission to leave the palace," she said in a quiet voice.
So the wretched girl wanted to go home, Catherine thought contemptuously. Aloud she said:
"You have it - after all, there is nothing to keep you here now your betrothed is dead."
Alexandreya bit her lip.
"I was wondering if you had news of Colonel Varanov. I know he was wounded."
When Catherine had returned to Peterhof and found Alexandreya still in the palace, she had confined her to her apartments. From her maid, Alexandreya had learned of Peter's arrest, and the celebrations for the new Empress had been loud enough for her to hear upstairs in her rooms. Her questions about Dmitri's whereabouts had been met with blank expressions
. No one had seen him since his departure from the palace- he had not returned.
"He is - is not dead?" Somehow she forced the words out.
"No, but he is badly wounded. The Tartar took him to the hunting-lodge. Why do you ask?"
"I must go to him."
"He told me what happened here. He will kill you if you do, he is a man of his word."
"I love him," Alexandreya said. In a quiet voice, she related the threat Vladimir had held over her head. "I didn't realise Dmitri cared for me until the other night. I pray it is not too late to make him understand. I would rather he killed me than sent me away."
She left the palace with Catherine's blessing and an apology for misjudging her actions. As she rode at a fast gallop towards the hunting-lodge, Alexandreya found herself praying Dmitri would listen to her as readily as the Empress.
Towards midday she reined in before the lodge and dismounted, conscious of the curious stares directed at her by the Cossacks busily grooming their horses outside the stables. Hesitantly she pushed open the door and went in.
The room was as chaotic as the first time she had visited the lodge, perhaps even more so this time, and there was a heavy odour of fermented beer in the air. As she stood in the doorway, Sergei came out of the bedroom carrying a bowl and a handful of bloodstained bandages. They stared at each other in silence. The Tartar's eyes began to blaze with anger. The things he carried were tossed aside and with a swiftness that took her completely by surprise he crossed the space between them and slammed the door behind her, barring it with his massive back.
"Colonel Varanov, is he badly hurt?" Alexandreya stammered.
"The wound is bad, and he refuses to have a doctor attend him. He cares little for his life, thanks to you."
Sergei reached for his knife. It was in his mind to kill her now and dispose of the body; his master need never know she had even been beneath his roof. In time his wound would heal, both wounds, and there would be no fear of her presence to upset him.