Jasper Kent - Twelve

'Your wife's.'

'Didn't Maks tell you that?'

'He didn't mean to tell me any of it.'

'She's called Marfa Mihailovna. And we have a son – Dmitry Alekseevich.' I sounded more annoyed than I meant to. I just wanted to get the details over with as quickly as possible so that I at least could forget that I had a wife and child.

'Another Dmitry,' she observed.

'We named him after Dmitry Fetyukovich.'

'Why?'

'Because he saved my life.'

'I see,' she said, cuddling close to me. 'I think I'd like to meet Dmitry.'

'Which one?'

She made no reply, but simply smiled up at me. Unwanted, the memory of Maks interrupted my thoughts. He would have been waiting alone in the discomfort of a woodsman's hut in Desna for two days. I despised myself for lingering.

'I have to go,' I said, beginning to dress. 'I have to see Maks.'

'I understand,' she replied.

For the first time, it didn't occur to me to pay her. It didn't occur to her to ask.

Stepping out into the square, I saw Vadim marching briskly towards me.

'What the hell are you doing in there?' he growled with genuine anger. 'You're supposed to be looking for Maksim Sergeivich.'

'I was looking for him.'

'In there? That may be where you get your entertainment, Aleksei, but it's not the sort of place I'd expect to find Maks. Mind you, I'm learning an awful lot today that I wouldn't have expected from Maks. So was he in there?'

'No, but I found out where he is,' I replied, unable to fathom Vadim's unusually bellicose manner.

'Good, let's go there then.'

'Why the rush, all of a sudden?'

Vadim looked at me as if he thought he was about to break my heart. His tone softened, but only a little.

'Because Maksim Sergeivich is – and for all I know, always has been – a French spy.'

I REMEMBER MY FIRST MEETING WITH MAKSIM SERGEIVICH LUKIN. It was in 1805, maybe two months before Austerlitz. We were sitting in the mess, eating lunch, and I heard a confident, young voice from across the table. I looked up to see Maks, then only eighteen, in earnest conversation with Dmitry, whom I already knew quite well.

'In America, they have no king, but they have slaves,' Maks was explaining. 'In England, they have a king, but no slaves. In France, they killed their king and created an emperor, just so that they might not be slaves. In Russia, we have an emperor and we have slaves.' He paused for a moment. 'Of course, most Russians would say we have an emperor and we are slaves.'

'The serfs themselves would say that, you mean?' Dmitry had interjected.

'Exactly.'

I was instantly taken with Maks. I had no idea what argument he was following or what point he was trying to make, but the fresh, youthful passion of the way he expressed his ideas was striking.

'I'd hardly compare the serfs with the Negroes,' I said, entering the conversation for the first time.

Maks didn't falter in his intellectual stride. 'Well, no; we didn't have to travel so far to get the serfs.'

It was a statement of the sort that I later found to be typical of Maks – ambiguous, detached and made with an arch glint in his eye. Was he taking a swipe at the Americans or the Russians? I remember asking him about it, or some similar issue, years later.

He told me that he had no interest in nations, only in ideas.

'Aren't nations founded on ideas?' I'd asked him.

'Some,' he had nodded, 'but not many.' At the time I could think of only two: France and America – and we weren't at war with America.

Outside the brothel in Tverskaya, with Bonaparte virtually at the city gates, I remembered all this and looked blankly into Vadim's eyes.

'How can he be a French spy?' I asked. 'He fought against the French at Austerlitz with us. And he's been fighting them here.'

'Has he?' queried Vadim. 'That's not what I've been hearing. According to Dmitry, as soon as we got out to Gzatsk, Maks handed three of them straight over to the French. They were executed within hours.'

'Three of whom?'

'Three of the Oprichniki: Simon, Faddei and one of the Iakovs – I can't remember which one.'

'And how does Dmitry know all this?'

'Because Andrei told him. Andrei was with the other three when Maksim betrayed them, but he managed to get away.' Vadim could see from my raised eyebrow that I was about to doubt the word of Andrei, a man we'd known only a few days, in condemning an old friend such as Maks. 'And Dmitry spoke to Maks himself,' Vadim countered before I could speak. 'Maks admitted it to him.'

Not long before, Maks' last message to me had said not to trust Dmitry. Now the word from Dmitry was not to trust Maks. Maks had gone into hiding – not the behaviour of an innocent under any circumstances – and had said that only I should go and see him. Was that for his protection, or was it a trap for me?

'When did Dmitry hear of all this?' I asked Vadim, but there was no need for an answer as at that moment Dmitry himself appeared on the far side of the square. He came over to us.

'You told him?' he asked Vadim.

'The gist of it, but I think you'd better tell us both again.'

'How long have you known?' I asked. I was concerned at what Dmitry might have been keeping from us up to now.

'I found out right after I left you at Goryachkino. Andrei found me and told me.'

'Told you what, exactly?' I was still deeply suspicious.

'As soon as they got near to Gzatsk, Maks and his Oprichniki became separated, which is to say – as it turned out – that he gave them the slip. They searched around and found that he'd been captured by the French. Of course he hadn't been captured. He'd just marched straight into the French camp.'

I was about to ask how they knew, but Vadim raised a hand to indicate I should let Dmitry continue.

'They rescued him, still not realizing he was a traitor, and pretty soon he gave them the slip again. They met up with Faddei somewhere along the way, and then went on to meet us all at Goryachkino. They showed up the day before we did and there was Maks again. He told them he'd found a big, undefended French encampment, a few versts away from the main formations at Borodino. It was a sitting duck, he said, and they trusted him.

'So all four of them – Andrei, Simon, Iakov Alfeyinich and Faddei – wandered innocently into the French camp and were instantly set upon and killed. Except Andrei – he managed to escape, luckily for us – or we'd never have heard a thing about it. I guess the damned French were only expecting three of them – that's all that Maks had thought he was betraying.'

'And Andrei told you all this?' I asked.

'Yes. After I'd left you, Andrei found me and told me what had happened. He told me he'd been following Maks, and knew where he was camped. When I confronted Maks, he confessed to everything – exactly what Andrei told me. We all know how he likes to talk about France and the Revolution, but I never thought he meant it for real.'

'How long has it been going on?' asked Vadim.

'I don't know,' replied Dmitry. 'What does that matter? The point is we've got to find him and deal with him. Have you found out where he is?'

'Aleksei knows,' said Vadim, and he and Dmitry turned to me.

I thought for a moment. If Dmitry on his own had denounced Maks, then I might have trusted him, but the fact that it was Dmitry and Andrei – one of the Oprichniki – made me doubtful. Since their arrival, Dmitry's allegiance had seemed far more with them than with us. Of course, they were supposedly on our side, but now was the moment when we had to know that for sure.

'I'll go and find him myself,' I said. 'I'll bring him back here.'

'You damned well won't,' Dmitry told me. 'We're all going to go and make sure he comes with us.'