Fall of Giants (The Century Trilogy)

by Ken Follett

  "Mutiny?" he said, playing for time, trying not to let fear weaken the assertive tone of his voice. "When a sacked general marches on the capital, but his troops refuse to attack their legitimate government, who's the mutineer? I say it's the general--and those officers who attempt to carry out his treasonable orders."

  The colonel drew his pistol. "Get out of here, Sergeant." He turned to the others. "You men, go into the school and assemble in the hall. Remember, disobedience is a crime in the army--and the death penalty has been restored. I'll shoot anyone who refuses."

  He pointed his gun at the corporal.

  Grigori saw that the men were about to obey the authoritative, confident, armed officer. There was now only one way out, he saw in desperation. He had to kill the colonel.

  He saw a way. He would have to be very quick indeed, but he thought he could probably do it.

  If he was wrong he would die.

  He slipped his rifle off his left shoulder and, without pausing to switch it to his right hand, he thrust it forward as hard as he could into the colonel's side. The sharp point of the long bayonet ripped through the cloth of the uniform, and Grigori felt it sink into the soft stomach. The colonel gave a shout of pain, but he did not fall. Despite his wound he turned, swinging his gun hand around in an arc. He pulled the trigger.

  The shot went wild.

  Grigori pushed on the rifle, thrusting the bayonet in and up, aiming for the heart. The colonel's face twisted in agony and his mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he fell to the ground, still clutching his pistol.

  Grigori withdrew the bayonet with a jerk.

  The colonel's pistol fell from his fingers.

  Everyone stared at the officer writhing in silent torment on the parched grass of the playground. Grigori unlocked the safety on his rifle, aimed at the colonel's heart, and fired at close range twice. The man became still.

  "As you said, Colonel," Grigori said. "It's the death penalty."

  { V }

  Fitz and Bea took a train from Moscow accompanied only by Bea's Russian maid, Nina, and Fitz's valet, Jenkins, a former boxing champion who had been rejected by the army because he could not see farther than ten yards.

  They got off the train at Bulovnir, the tiny station that served Prince Andrei's estate. Fitz's experts had suggested that Andrei build a small township here, with a timber yard and grain stores and a mill; but nothing had been done, and the peasants still took their produce by horse and cart twenty miles to the old market town.

  Andrei had sent an open carriage to meet them, with a surly driver who looked on while Jenkins lifted the trunks onto the back of the vehicle. As they drove along a dirt road through farmland, Fitz recalled his previous visit, when he had come as the new husband of the princess, and the villagers had stood at the roadside and cheered. There was a different atmosphere now. Laborers in the fields barely looked up as the carriage passed, and in villages and hamlets the inhabitants deliberately turned their backs.

  This kind of thing irritated Fitz and made him bad-tempered, but his spirits were soothed by the sight of the timeworn stones of the old house, colored a buttery yellow by the low afternoon sun. A little flock of immaculately dressed servants emerged from the front door like ducks coming to be fed, and bustled about the carriage opening doors and manhandling luggage. Andrei's steward, Georgi, kissed Fitz's hand and said, in an English phrase he had obviously learned by rote: "Welcome back to your Russian home, Earl Fitzherbert."

  Russian houses were often grandiose but shabby, and Bulovnir was no exception. The double-height hall needed painting, the priceless chandelier was dusty, and a dog had peed on the marble floor. Prince Andrei and Princess Valeriya were waiting beneath a large portrait of Bea's grandfather frowning sternly down on them.

  Bea rushed to Andrei and embraced him.

  Valeriya was a classical beauty with regular features and dark hair in a neat coiffure. She shook hands with Fitz and said in French: "Thank you for coming. We're so happy to see you."

  When Bea detached herself from Andrei, wiping her tears, Fitz offered his hand to shake. Andrei gave him his left hand: the right sleeve of his jacket hung empty. He was pale and thin, as if suffering from a wasting illness, and there was a little gray in his black beard, although he was only thirty-three. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you," he said.

  Fitz said: "Is something wrong?" They were speaking French, in which they were all fluent.

  "Come into the library. Valeriya will take Bea upstairs."

  They left the women and went into a dusty room full of leather-bound books that looked as if they were not often read. "I've ordered tea. I'm afraid we've no sherry."

  "Tea will be fine." Fitz eased himself into a chair. His wounded leg ached after the long journey. "What's going on?"

  "Are you armed?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. My service revolver is in my luggage." Fitz had a Webley Mark V that had been issued to him in 1914.

  "Please keep it close to hand. I wear mine constantly." Andrei opened his jacket to reveal a belt and holster.

  "You'd better tell me why."

  "The peasants have set up a land committee. Some Socialist Revolutionaries have talked to them and given them stupid ideas. They claim the right to take over any land I'm not cultivating and divide it up among themselves."

  "Haven't you been through this before?"

  "In my grandfather's time. We hanged three peasants and thought that was the end of the matter. But these wicked ideas lie dormant, and sprout again years later."

  "What did you do this time?"

  "I gave them a lecture and showed them I'd lost my arm defending them from the Germans, and they went quiet--until a few days ago, when half a dozen local men returned from service in the army. They claimed to have been discharged, but I'm sure they've deserted. Impossible to check, unfortunately."

  Fitz nodded. The Kerensky Offensive had been a failure, and the Germans and Austrians had counterattacked. The Russians had fallen to pieces, and the Germans were now heading for Petrograd. Thousands of Russian soldiers had walked away from the battlefield and returned to their villages.

  "They brought their rifles with them, and pistols they must have stolen from officers, or taken from German prisoners. Anyway, they're heavily armed, and full of subversive ideas. There's a corporal, Feodor Igorovich, who seems to be the ringleader. He told Georgi he did not understand why I was still claiming any land at all, let alone the fallow."

  "I don't understand what happens to men in the army," said Fitz with exasperation. "You'd think it would teach them the value of authority and discipline--but it seems to do the opposite."

  "I'm afraid things came to a head this morning," Andrei went on. "Corporal Feodor's younger brother, Ivan Igorovich, put his cattle to graze in my pasture. Georgi found out, and he and I went to remonstrate with Ivan. We started to turn his cattle out into the lane. He tried to close the gate to prevent us. I was carrying a shotgun, and I gave him a clout across the head with the butt end of it. Most of these damn peasants have heads like cannonballs, but this one was different, and the wretch fell down and died. The socialists are using that as an excuse to get everyone agitated."

  Fitz politely concealed his distaste. He disapproved of the Russian practise of striking one's inferiors, and he was not surprised when it led to this kind of unrest. "Have you told anyone?"

  "I sent a message to the town, reporting the death and asking for a detachment of police or troops to keep order, but my messenger hasn't returned yet."

  "So for now, we're on our own."

  "Yes. If things get any worse, I'm afraid we may have to send the ladies away."

  Fitz was devastated. This was much worse than he had anticipated. They could all be killed. Coming here had been a dreadful mistake. He had to get Bea away as soon as possible.

  He stood up. Conscious that Englishmen sometimes boasted to foreigners about their coolness in a crisis, he said: "I'd better go and chan
ge for dinner."

  Andrei showed him up to his room. Jenkins had unpacked his evening clothes and pressed them. Fitz began to undress. He felt a fool. He had put Bea and himself into danger. He had gained a useful impression of the state of affairs in Russia, but the report he would write was hardly worth the risk he had taken. He had let himself be talked into it by his wife, and that was always a mistake. He resolved they would catch the first train in the morning.

  His revolver was on the dresser with his cuff links. He checked the action, then broke it open and loaded it with .455 Webley cartridges. There was nowhere to put it in a dress suit. In the end he stuffed it into his trousers pocket, where it made an unsightly bulge.

  He summoned Jenkins to put away his traveling clothes, then stepped into Bea's room. She stood at the mirror in her underwear, trying on a necklace. She looked more voluptuous than usual, her breasts and hips a little heavier, and Fitz suddenly wondered whether she might be pregnant. She had suffered an attack of nausea this morning in Moscow, he recalled, in the car going to the railway station. He was reminded of her first pregnancy, and that took him back to a time he now thought of as a golden moment, when he had Ethel and Bea, and there was no war.

  He was about to tell her that they had to leave tomorrow when he glanced out of the window and stopped short.

  The room was at the front of the house and had a view over the park and the fields beyond to the nearest village. What had caught Fitz's eye was a crowd of people. With deep foreboding he went to the window and peered across the grounds.

  He saw a hundred or so peasants approaching the house across the park. Although it was still daylight, many carried blazing torches. Some, he saw, had rifles.

  He said: "Oh, fuck."

  Bea was shocked. "Fitz! Have you forgotten that I am here?"

  "Look at this," he said.

  Bea gasped. "Oh, no!"

  Fitz shouted: "Jenkins! Jenkins, are you there?" He opened the communicating door and saw the valet, looking startled, putting the traveling suit on a hanger. "We're in mortal danger," Fitz said. "We have to leave in the next five minutes. Run to the stables, put the horses to a carriage, and bring it to the kitchen door as fast as you can."

  Jenkins dropped the suit on the floor and dashed off.

  Fitz turned to Bea. "Throw on a coat, any coat, and pick up a pair of sensible outdoor shoes, then go down the back stairs to the kitchen and wait for me there."

  To her credit, there were no hysterics: she just did as she was told.

  Fitz left the room and hurried, limping as fast as he could, to Andrei's bedroom. His brother-in-law was not there, nor was Valeriya.

  Fitz went downstairs. Georgi and some of the male servants were in the hall, looking frightened. Fitz was scared too, but he hoped he was not showing it.

  Fitz found the prince and princess in the drawing room. There was an opened bottle of champagne on ice, and two glasses had been poured, but they were not drinking. Andrei stood in front of the fireplace and Valeriya was at the window, looking at the approaching crowd. Fitz stood beside her. The peasants were almost at the door. A few had firearms; most carried knives, hammers, and scythes.

  Andrei said: "Georgi will attempt to reason with them, and if that fails I shall have to speak to them myself."

  Fitz said: "For God's sake, Andrei, the time for talking is past. We have to leave now."

  Before Andrei could reply, they heard raised voices in the hall.

  Fitz went to the door and opened it a crack. He saw Georgi arguing with a tall young peasant who had a bushy mustache that stretched across his cheeks: Feodor Igorovich, he guessed. They were surrounded by men and a few women, some holding burning torches. More were pushing in through the front door. It was hard to understand their local accent, but one shouted phrase was repeated several times: "We will speak to the prince!"

  Andrei heard it too, and he stepped past Fitz and out into the hall. Fitz said: "No--" but it was too late.

  The mob jeered and hissed when Andrei appeared in evening dress. Raising his voice, he said: "If you all leave quietly now, perhaps you won't be in such bad trouble."

  Feodor shot back: "You're the one in trouble--you murdered my brother!"

  Fitz heard Valeriya say quietly: "My place is beside my husband." Before he could stop her she, too, had gone into the hall.

  Andrei said: "I didn't intend Ivan to die, but he would be alive now if he had not broken the law and defied his prince!"

  With a sudden quick movement, Feodor reversed his rifle and hit Andrei across the face with its butt.

  Andrei staggered back, holding a hand to his cheek.

  The peasants cheered.

  Feodor shouted: "This is what you did to Ivan!"

  Fitz reached for his revolver.

  Feodor raised his rifle above his head. For a frozen moment the long Mosin-Nagant hovered in the air like an executioner's axe. Then he brought the rifle down, with a powerful blow, and hit the top of Andrei's head. There was a sickening crack, and Andrei fell.

  Valeriya screamed.

  Fitz, standing in the doorway with the door half-closed, thumbed off the lock on the left side of his revolver's barrel and aimed at Feodor; but the peasants crowded around his target. They began to kick and beat Andrei, who lay on the floor unconscious. Valeriya tried to get to him to help him, but she could not push through the crowd.

  A peasant with a scythe struck at the portrait of Bea's stern grandfather, slashing the canvas. One of the men fired a shotgun at the chandelier, which smashed into tinkling fragments. A set of drapes suddenly blazed up: someone must have put a torch to them.

  Fitz had been on the battlefield and had learned that gallantry had to be tempered with cool calculation. He knew that on his own he could not save Andrei from the mob. But he might be able to rescue Valeriya.

  He pocketed the gun.

  He stepped into the hall. All attention was on the supine prince. Valeriya stood at the edge of the throng, beating ineffectually on the shoulders of the peasants in front of her. Fitz grabbed her by the waist, lifted her, and carried her away, stepping back into the drawing room. His bad leg hurt like fire under the burden, but he gritted his teeth.

  "Let me go!" she screamed. "I must help Andrei!"

  "We can't help Andrei!" Fitz said. He shifted his grip and slung his sister-in-law over his shoulder, easing the pressure on his leg. As he did so a bullet passed close enough for him to feel its wind. He glanced back and saw a grinning soldier in uniform aiming a pistol.

  He heard a second shot, and sensed an impact. He thought for a moment that he had been hit, but there was no pain, and he dashed for the communicating door that led to the dining room.

  He heard the soldier shout: "She's getting away!"

  Fitz burst through the door as another bullet hit the woodwork. Ordinary soldiers were not trained with pistols and sometimes did not realize how much less accurate they were than rifles. Moving at a limping run, he went past the table elaborately laid with silver and crystal ready for four wealthy aristocrats to have dinner. Behind him he heard several pursuers. At the far end of the room a door led to the kitchen area. He passed into a narrow corridor and from there to the kitchen. A cook and several kitchen maids had stopped work and were standing around looking terrified.

  Fitz's pursuers were too close behind him. As soon as they got a clear shot he would be killed. He had to do something to slow them down.

  He set Valeriya on her feet. She swayed, and he saw blood on her dress. She had been hit by a bullet, but she was alive and conscious. He sat her in a chair, then turned to the corridor. The grinning soldier was running toward him, firing wildly, followed by several more in single file in the narrow space. Behind them, in the dining room and drawing room, Fitz saw flames.

  He drew his Webley. It was a double-action gun so it did not need to be cocked. Shifting all his weight to his good leg, he aimed carefully at the belly of the soldier running at him. He squeezed the trigger, the gun ban
ged, and the man fell on the stone floor in front of him. In the kitchen, Fitz heard women screaming in terror.

  Fitz immediately fired again at the next man, who also went down. He fired a third time at a third man, with the same result. The fourth man ducked back into the dining room.

  Fitz slammed the kitchen door. The pursuers would now hesitate, wondering how they could check whether he was lying in wait for them, and that might just give him the time he needed.

  He picked up Valeriya, who seemed to be losing consciousness. He had never been in the kitchens of this house, but he moved toward the back. Another corridor took him past storerooms and laundries. At last he opened a door that led to the outside.

  Stepping out, panting, his bad leg hurting like the very devil, he saw the carriage waiting, with Jenkins in the driver's seat and Bea inside with Nina, who was sobbing uncontrollably. A frightened-looking stable boy was holding the horses.

  He manhandled the unconscious Valeriya into the carriage, climbed in after her, and shouted at Jenkins: "Go! Go!"

  Jenkins whipped the horses, the stable boy leaped out of the way, and the carriage moved off.

  Fitz said to Bea: "Are you all right?"

  "No, but I'm alive and unhurt. You . . . ?"

  "No damage. But I fear for your brother's life." In reality he was quite sure Andrei was dead by now, but he did not want to say that to her.

  Bea looked at the princess. "What happened?"

  "She must have been hit by a bullet." Fitz looked more closely. Valeriya's face was white and still. "Oh, dear God," he said.

  "She's dead, isn't she?" Bea said.

  "You must be brave."

  "I will be brave." Bea took her sister-in-law's lifeless hand. "Poor Valeriya."

  The carriage raced down the drive and past the small dowager house where Bea's mother had lived after Bea's father died. Fitz looked back at the big house. There was a small crowd of frustrated pursuers outside the kitchen door. One of them was aiming a rifle, and Fitz pushed Bea's head down and ducked himself.