Duncan Kyle - The King's Commisar

'He will go by train from Tyumen,' Ruzsky said, smiling. 'As you will.'

'Very well,' I said, as calmly as I could. But inside I was fuming, knowing what the creature intended. When I put the Imperial Family on the train at Tyumen and started for Moscow, the train would have to pass through Ekaterinburg. Yankel Sverdlov had warned me of the likely conduct of the Soviet leadership in the city and Ruzsky, having underlined the warning, was clearly intent upon mischief. This matter now required much careful thought, but did not get it at that time, for I became too busy. The excellent Koznov and his men were doing their best, but to load and organize a substantial convoy of horse-drawn koshevas is no light matter, and there was some confusion. It was hard work, bringing order to bear, but gradually it came about, and soon after three o'clock in the morning the baggage was all loaded and I was able to go back indoors to summon the family. They awaited me in the hall, the ex-Tsarina and Marie wrapped in furs, and Nicholas between them, in a top coat that came down no further than mid-thigh.

Seeing that the time for departure had come, they exchanged kisses and goodbyes with those who were to stay behind, and followed me outside into the cold, blowing snow. I saw no tears.

'Commissar!' A woman's voice and I turned. 'I will ride with my husband.'#

I saluted the former empress. 'I regret that that is not possible. I must myself accompany him. I have arranged that you occupy a kosheva with your daughter.'

She was disposed to argue, but Marie intervened. 'Come, Mama, the arrangements are already made. The commissar can hardly leave Father alone!'

She was German, the Empress, and I saw signs of German truculence then in her face, but such was her daughter's persuasiveness that she gave way quite easily and took her seat as I guided her. We were ready to go. Yet the cold was bitter, and Nicholas Romanov wore only that light coat. I sent for another.

He said, 'It's what I wear. I'm all right.'

I said it was out of the question. I had been sent to bring him alive from Tobolsk. He gave a quiet chuckle and said he was glad to hear it.

And so, at four o'clock, after a few last frustrating delaysa s a harness broke and sled runners collided and became locked, we were off on the hundred and thirty miles to Tyumen and the train. We went fast; there had never been time for delay and now, with Ruzsky's messenger ahead of us and bound for Ekaterinburg with his warning, there was less than ever.

The falling snow, this late in the year, was set, and the snow on the ground became slushy during the day; a thaw was upon us, and the journey became accordingly harder. I will not attempt to describe it, save to say that no time was wasted, that changes of horses were waiting for us as I had arranged, and that the entire affair took almost exactly twenty-four hours.

During that time I had little conversation with Nicholas. It may seem strange that two men thrust together at close quarters in enforced companionship should exchange no more than a few words occasionally, but so it was. The back of a running sleigh is no place for idle pleasantries. Inevitably, though, there were moments when we talked, as when Nicholas asked: 'What is the true purpose in moving me?'

It seemed a good moment to ask him about the Zaharoff document. He smiled. 'My signature still seems in demand. It was wanted at Brest-Litovsk, you know, in March. Having given so much away to the Germans, they wanted my imprimatur upon it. Perhaps to blame me later. I refused, of course.' He glanced across at me. 'This document of yours needs more consideration. You will give me a few hours?'

I nodded. 'Of course.'

So at last we came to Tyumen. Weariness lay heavy upon every man and beast in the sled convoy, but there was no sickness and no injury.

I was naturally exceedingly anxious to know if the instructions I had left with the railway authorities had been carried out, and therefore drove direct to the station to find with satisfaction that they had been obeyed to the letter. The train I had demanded upon Sverdlov's orders had not only been marshalled, but waited in a siding with a full head of steam. Quickly I got the Romanovs aboard. Then I left Koznov superintending the loading of their possessions into two baggage cars while I went to speak to the station controller to inform him that departure of the train must be delayed until I had received new instructions from Moscow. I went from there immediately to the telegraph office, taking with me one of Koznov's men who, luckily for me, could operate a telegraph. Luckily because I disliked the look of the operator: a shifty, small fellow with a cast in his eye and a furtive air. I sent him from the room and composed my message to Sverdlov.

It was lengthy, for there was much to say. I had to report not only our arrival, but that the Ekaterinburg Soviet would soon be aware of the removal of the ex-Tsar from Tobolsk and might well take action. I badly needed advice now. And support, too, if Sverdlov could provide any. I spent most of the day and half the night awaiting his answer, and when it came it was in many ways most dispiriting. Sverdlov required me to bring my charges to Moscow right enough, as I had expected. It was clear, though, that Moscow's writ did not run in Ekaterinburg, for he instructed me to make a long and roundabout journey in order to avoid that city. To reach Moscow meant travelling west, but since the rail line west went through Ekaterinburg, I was therefore to begin by heading east out of Tyumen, in the direction of Omsk. From Omsk ran a great loop of the Trans-Siberian which passed far to the south of Ekaterinburg as it headed for Moscow and the West.

In the warmth of the telegraph room I sat and smoked and considered this. To Sverdlov, in his Moscow office, it would make good sense. Danger came from the men of Ekaterinburg; therefore avoid the city. But how was I to do so when the man Ruzsky, who could no doubt tell east from west, would be with us on the train?

Kill him? I thought of it and thought hard, and not a day now passes but I wish with all my heart it had been done; but it was impossible then, in that little telegraph office, to know anything of what was to come. My central thought then was the avoidance of bloodshed. If Ruzsky died, I thought, it would not end there: the man was of too much consequence.

I therefore conceived a stratagem. Ruzsky was a drinker, that much I knew. If I could get him befuddled

. . .

I ordered the station's liquor store opened to obtain two bottles of vodka: one of lemon flavour, the other of plum. They vanished into the deep pockets of my Guardee greatcoat. I walked then to the train in its siding and went at once to the wagon-lit I had reserved for myself, placed the bottles conspicuously upon the cover of the washbasin, and went to look for Ruzsky. He was not difficult to find: the man had installed himself in the attendant's alcove at the end of the special carriage in which the Imperial Family now rested. An empty bottle lay on the floor at his feet.

'Got your orders?' he said thickly.

'Moscow,' I said, and shrugged. Then I stretched. 'God, I'm tired!' I said, and looked at the bottle.

'Anything left in that?'

'No,' he said.

'I need a drink,' I told him. 'How about you? I have some back there.'

He looked at me in a puzzled way, as though to say: why are you offering drink to me? But he was half-fuddled already, and he followed me without arguing.

The plum was his; it makes me sick. The cleaner-tasting lemon seems not to affect me greatly. It never did, not even when, as a boy, I occasionally helped myself to my father's. Ruzsky sat on my bed with the bottle in one hand and the glass in another. We drank to Russia, to Marx, to the Revolution, all quick and in succession and he had such a head start on me that by then he wanted only to sleep. As consciousness slid away from him, I put my hands beneath his heels and lifted, lowering and turning him on to the bed. He was already beginning to snore as I left and made my way forward, turning on electric lights as I passed. At last I reached the engine and gave my instructions to the driver. He and I descended together to the track to lean upon the points lever.