Duncan Kyle - The King's Commisar

'We'll take them,' Bronard said, pointing at me. 'He and I will take them, and bury them. Yakovlev's a man for a Christian burial I've no doubt!'

'What of the Letts?' cried Goloshchokin. 'They know.'

'Send them to the front!' offered Bronard brutally. 'You're Commissar for War. Make sure they're killed in action. Or shoot them yourself. But wait until they have scrubbed this place clean!'

And so, at dead of night, when as legend says the blackest deeds are done, it was done; the bodies of the royal servants and the doctor were placed in a truck and driven away by Yurovsky and Goloshchokin. Bronard and I then set to the melancholy task of bringing the remains of the Imperial Family from the room in which Yurovksy had murdered them all.

You may wonder why I did nothing to take revenge for them but there was, in truth, nothing I could do. All were dead! Had there been the smallest chance of aiding them, I should not have hesitated to act at whatever risk, but of course there was not.

Furthermore Bronard's words rang in my mind. The Imperial Family had been deeply devout. A good Christian burial they must have - and only I cared enough to ensure it. That service, the last possible service to them on this earth, must be done for all the Romanovs, and especially for Marie. We wrapped each in a blanket brought from the sleeping quarters upstairs, and one by one they were placed in the truck and by me, at least, with reverence. No one saw us, of that I am certain. When all was done, Bronard summoned the Lettish corporal and ordered that he and his men remain in the Ipatiev house until orders came from Commissar Goloshchokin. They were forbidden to venture out, or to speak to anyone. At last Bronard turned to me and said, 'Get in. We take the road east, and then we turn on to small tracks.'

'The paper,' I reminded him, because I was curious. 'Are you not going to seek it out?'

He looked at me grimly. 'It doesn't matter now. And we must be away.'

We came strangely, and while there was still dark, to a place a dozen miles or so to the east of the city. It was uncanny because abruptly the carbide lamps of the truck picked out a small shrine beside the track and beyond it what seemed to be a great black cross silhouetted against the night sky. Mystified, I stopped the truck and went to look, treading carefully, for I soon found this was marshland. And there was the cross, true enough, though a far from perfect one: made by a big, symmetrical tree, half-destroyed by lightning, but with two great boughs forming the crosspiece. What more could I do, I thought, than see that the Imperial Family be buried, all together, at the foot of a great cross!

Spades we had brought, and as the first of the light began to grow across the sky, Bronard and I bent our backs to the digging. Though the surrounding earth was wet, a little knoll lay beneath the tree, and it was there, in spongy soil, that we made the grave. It was a hard task, and Bronard dug little, but I worked violently, glad of a fierce spell of activity to direct my mind, however momentarily, away from the hates and the horrors of the night. And I swore two vows. Swore them to myself, and swore them upon the grave I dug. I swore to kill Yurovsky, and I swore to kill Sverdlov. The machinations of the one had delivered the whole family to the executioners of the other. They merited death, and more. And then, came a dreadful task; for the bodies had to be carried, one at a time, from the truck to the tree. I fashioned a rough stretcher from birch branches and rope, and we began, working in the same oppressive silence we had maintained ever since leaving the Ipatiev House. When at last all seven lay side by side in the grave, Bronard sank to his haunches beside it and produced cigarettes. I said, 'Not here, man!' He shrugged and moved off a little, and lit up. As he did so he inhaled deeply and with evident satisfaction. Then he gave me that detestable grin of his and said, 'Well, it's over! And we did well, eh?'

I exploded. 'Well?' I said. 'With a dozen deaths! With regicide and assassination! Well?'

'I never have understood,’ he interjected, 'how Zaharoff came to send you.'

'What do you mean?' I demanded. 'Damn you - this is a wretched moment for -'

'Calm down,' he said. 'We've worked hard. We need a rest. I do, anyway.'

I could bear him no longer. I turned away and returned to the truck, for I too had need of tobacco and mine was there. With a cigarette lit, I looked down at the trembling of my hands, felt the pounding of my heart and the pressure in my head. Yet he was so calm! Glancing towards him, I saw he was standing now, with both hands against his face. Mystified, I stared harder, trying to work out what he was doing. And then I realized - he had a camera and was taking a photograph!

But why?

I ran to him, and found he had done yet more. The blankets in which each of the royal corpses had been wrapped had been opened, so that faces and clothes were plainly visible!

As I whirled on him, he was taking yet another picture. I dashed the camera from his hands and he swore at me. 'You damn fool!' His hand was at his pocket, and I saw the butt of a revolver emerging and flung myself at him. Though he was quick, I was quicker and filled now, moreover, with a wild and vengeful fury. In a second, I had him by the throat . . .

Yet even then his nerve held. As I tightened my grip, Bronard used the breath that could have been his last, to croak: 'Don't you want to know why?'

Even then he lied. Had I not seen the Tsar's signature and read the document that now rested in the Finnish Bank in Moscow, I might have believed him, for he was plausible as the devil. He told me the tale as I had understood it first, on my arrival in Moscow from England, as I had gathered it in listening to that conversation in Lenin's office: the money deposited in London for the purchase of arms for the Imperial forces; the promise by Zaharoff that arms worth fifty million would be available to the Bolsheviks provided the Tsar would sign the document.

'What was in the paper?' I demanded. 'And why did you say, this morning, that it didn't matter?'

'It is a disclaimer,' he said. 'But the Tsar is dead. It has no value now.'

That was when I knew he lied; and knew also that he must have lied about many things. To me as to others. To Goloshchokin, for one. 'It was you,' I said.

He looked at me in insolent enquiry. 'Me? What about me?'

I said, 'You told Yurovsky!'

Bronard looked me in the eye. 'Don't be stupid! Why would I do that?'

I said, 'So that all of them would die. As they did. So that even if the Tsar's disclaimer could not be obtained, or could not be taken to London, there would be no Nicholas, and no Tsarina, and no children.'

Even as I spoke it was becoming clearer. I knew why, at that moment, the corpses of the doctor and the servants were being destroyed at the mine.

I said, How much was it? How much had the Tsar sent?'

He stared at me. I said angrily, 'Zaharoff volunteered fifty million to the Bolshevik leaders. Half, was it? Half of the hundred million Nicholas sent to London. If they're dead, it can't be claimed. If they've disappeared -' And then it hit me like a blinding light!

Oh, they'd been clever. So damned murderously clever. Zaharoff more than Bronard, as you would imagine - you who read this now.

I killed him with my own hands. I completed the burial of the Imperial Family, and made a rough sketch-map of where the grave lay. Bronard's body I dragged into the marsh and left to be devoured by predators less evil than himself.

There is little left to tell. I left the forest bearing with me the map and the camera - and a new vow. Yurovsky was to be first to die; and he died, within a month, at my hands in Moscow, where he had fled with many royal valuables.