Jasper Kent - Thirteen Years Later

At that moment, a silence settled on the crowd. Aleksei looked around and saw a figure on horseback riding boldly towards the centre of the square, where Bestuzhev and Obolensky stood. Aleksei recognized the man immediately – it was Mihail Andreevich Miloradovich, the governor general of the city. Aleksei remembered him from Austerlitz and more recently his heroic efforts to save lives in the floods the previous year. He also remembered that Miloradovich had submitted to Aleksandr a practical plan for the abolition of serfdom – and there was no man working on his own estates who was not free. Was it possible that he was coming here to join the rebellion? If so, Dmitry’s fears would be transformed. This would be a man to lead them.

Aleksei stepped forward and put a hand on Dmitry’s shoulder. Dmitry glanced at him and Aleksei could see in his eyes that sense of hope he had anticipated. They moved closer to hear what the governor general had to say. As soon as they were in earshot, it was evident that he had not come to succour the rebels.

‘And so I implore you,’ he was saying, ‘return to your barracks. You have my word; Nikolai is rightfully tsar. Those of you who have been deceived will not be punished for misplacing your patriotism. I’ve fought alongside many of you. I hope you’ve found me to be a man you can trust. I in turn trust our tsar, as appointed by his predecessor and by God – Nikolai Pavlovich.’

There was no cheer of support, but his speech was met with a thoughtful silence. Aleksei’s heart leapt at the prospect of a peaceful outcome, though the tension in the square remained a physical presence. Obolensky stepped forward to speak. Beside him was that odious figure, the volunteer for the garde perdue, Pyotr Grigoryevich Kakhovsky.

‘You have no friends here, Mihail Andreevich,’ Obolensky said. ‘You may support this despot, but these men love their country. I suggest you leave. If you remain, you may find yourself in danger.’

Miloradovich glanced from man to man of those who had gathered round, avoiding the gaze of Obolensky.

‘Miloradovich is right, Mitka,’ Aleksei murmured to his son. ‘You must leave. Now.’

‘Never!’ whispered Dmitry in response.

The governor general spoke again. ‘I’ll leave you all to consider matters,’ he said. ‘There may not be much time to end this peacefully.’

He turned his horse and rode back through the crowd, which parted to let him pass. There was a movement behind him. Aleksei saw the raised pistol. He threw himself towards Kakhovsky with a shout, but it was too late. The pistol fired with an explosion of smoke. The hole in Miloradovich’s back was small, but he fell forward in an instant. There were shouts all around, some of approval, others of anger. Cavalrymen galloped to rescue the governor general, but Aleksei did not see what happened to his body as the crowd surged forward.

Somebody began a chant of ‘Konstantin ee Konstitutsiya!’, which was soon picked up by the rest. Whatever contemplation Miloradovich might have inspired was quickly forgotten. Now there was no hope of a peaceful ending to the day. There were ten thousand soldiers out there with rifles, horses and cannon. It would be carnage.

Aleksei felt hands lifting him up from the ground. It was Dmitry. Holding his father’s arm, he seemed to notice for the first time the bandage which covered Aleksei’s left hand.

‘That was needlessly cruel,’ said the boy. ‘And you’re no coward, Papa.’

Aleksei had no time to ponder whether the last comment was inspired by his actions or by his latest wound. As he pulled himself up to his feet, the crowd around them thinned, and walking slowly towards them, looking calm and serene in civilian clothing, came Iuda.

Shock and loathing welled up in Aleksei’s stomach at the sight. Of all places and times, this was not one at which he wanted to be concerned with Iuda. But Aleksei’s reaction to the sight was quite different from that of his son.

Dmitry let go of his father and strode over to Iuda, his hand held out in greeting.

‘Vasiliy Denisovich,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘What an honour.’

‘WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?’ THE QUESTION THAT DMITRY spoke was identical to the one on Aleksei’s mind, but he uttered it with none of the bile which Aleksei would have injected.

‘I came to see you, Mitka,’ replied Iuda. ‘Your mother is very concerned.’ He turned his attention to Aleksei, who had now caught up and stood beside his son. ‘It’s good to see you, Lyosha,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘It’s been many years.’

Aleksei’s mind raced to understand what on earth Iuda could mean. Clearly, his words were for Dmitry’s benefit.

‘Good Lord, yes,’ said Dmitry, with a hint of surprise. ‘I’d almost forgotten you two actually knew one another. It must be a long time.’

‘1812,’ said Iuda. ‘You were just a little boy. And a good boy, too – though it was hateful of me to ask you to deceive your father, and for so long.’

‘I think I’ve deceived him no more than he’s deceived me,’ said Dmitry. ‘I saw her, Vasiliy, in Moscow, just like you said.’

‘So it wasn’t only Marfa you introduced yourself to,’ said Aleksei. He couldn’t take his eyes from Iuda, much as he wanted to gauge his son’s reactions.

‘Mama’s told you already?’ asked Dmitry. ‘Vasiliy’s been a great friend to both of us – particularly when you’ve been away.’

Aleksei perceived the slightest shake of Iuda’s head, as if to tell him, no, Dmitry did not know just how close a friend Iuda had been to his mother. That certainly fitted the boy’s tone. No son could speak so lightly of the man who had turned his mother into an adulteress. And what would be the benefit of revealing the truth, even if it were to be believed? Dmitry had clearly been robbed of much of his respect for his father. Would it be fair to take away his opinion of his mother too? But on the other hand, it might be worth it if it would also strip away any regard in which he held Iuda.

‘Almost like a father,’ Dmitry continued. There was no suggestion of any artifice in his voice, but that did not change the fact that he believed what he was saying. Now Iuda’s eyes smiled in victory. Aleksei felt weak.

‘I’m a soldier,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t always be at home.’

‘God no, Papa,’ said Dmitry, stumbling over his words as he realized what he had said. ‘I didn’t mean anything of that kind.’ But it was too late for him to take it back.

Iuda was characteristically two-faced. ‘Nor did your father think it, Mitka. I couldn’t begin to take Lyosha’s place in your heart, any more than I could in your mother’s. I’m just someone who’s kept a benign eye on you when he’s been away. I’m sure you’ll have much less need of me now you’ve grown up and flown the nest.’

Iuda had played it so simply – Dmitry was forced to disagree. ‘No, Vasiliy,’ he said, gripping Iuda’s shoulder, ‘you’ve been far more to us both than that. And always will be.’

Iuda patted Dmitry’s hand and smiled kindly. ‘Thank you for that, Mitka,’ he said. ‘I will try to live up to your expectations. But we have chatted long enough. We must turn to the reason I am here.’

‘Go on.’

‘Your mother has sent me. I’ve told her what you’ve been planning for today.’ Iuda raised a hand as he spoke, as though to stop any objection from Dmitry. ‘I’m sorry, but I hold you both in too much regard to keep it from her.’ With the clear implication that Aleksei did not. ‘She begs you to leave, before you are killed.’

Dmitry did not even need to think about his answer. ‘As does the mother of every man here,’ he explained. ‘No freedom would ever be won if women ruled the world; they all love their sons too much.’