‘Oh Nikolai,’ she said faintly, ‘it was so terrible!’
‘Yes, darling, I know.’
‘Basil – he – he tried to stop them… He had no chance… They just – just–’
‘Yes, darling. Don’t think about it.’ Pauline came in with a bottle of brandy. She had forgotten to bring a glass. Kirov nodded his thanks and waved her away, uncorked the bottle with his teeth, and gently turned Anne’s head, putting the neck of the bottle to her lips. ‘Drink some of this, doushenka. Take a big mouthful and swallow.’
She obeyed him like a child. The brandy made her gasp and cough. She looked at him with surprised, wet eyes; shut her eyes and took another mouthful, and then pushed the bottle aside.
‘I’m all right now,’ she said. The last cobwebs of shock were passing from her, and the full realisation of horror and pain was beginning to dawn. He would have liked to spare her that; but she was his likeness and his equal, and he had no right to choose for her. ‘Oh God!’ she said, ‘Oh Basil! I should have stopped him! I should have saved him!’
‘You are not to blame.’
‘But I am! I am!’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I never loved him. I shouldn’t have married him. He’d be alive now if I hadn’t married him – instead of…’
‘I know. I felt that way about Irina. When she died, I felt so guilty. But there’s no time for those feelings now, Anna. Later, when we have time, we’ll talk about it all. I know you’ve suffered a terrible shock, but you must be strong now. We have to leave Moscow.’
‘Leave? Have you – have the French–?’
He took her hand and chafed it. He saw how exhausted she looked now that the numbness was gone. ‘There isn’t going to be another battle. We’re retreating, leaving Moscow to the French. Listen to me, darling.’
‘Yes. I’m listening.’
‘It’s the only thing left to do. We must preserve the army intact. The men are marching through the city this moment, and the French won’t be far behind. They’ll probably get here some time tomorrow. I’ve sent Pauline to pack you a valise. You won’t be able to take much, I’m afraid.’
The brandy was making her sleepy now. She made a huge effort, drawing from the deepest wells of reserve. ‘How will I leave? I have no horses. The looters who killed–’ She swallowed. ‘They took the last of the horses.’
‘Yes, I know.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Listen, love. I have to report back to Kutuzov. Then I’ll find some horses, and come back for you. Don’t be afraid. It will take all night for the army to march through, and the rearguard will hold off the French until they’ve all passed. Pack your valise with whatever you need. Take your jewels, if you can, and any gold you have about the house. And when you’ve got everything ready, try to get a little sleep. I’ll be back for you early in the morning.’
He stood up, setting her on her feet. She swayed wearily, and turned towards him, clinging to him.
‘Nikolasha–’ she said desperately.
He gripped her shoulders hard. ‘I have to go now. But I’ll be back. Do you trust me?’
She looked up at him, gathering herself together out of scattered fragments. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ He was all there was now; in a way, he was all there had ever been. Her focus, her anchor – nothing else mattered. She would go with him wherever he led her. ‘I’m all right. You can go now.’
He smiled. ‘That’s my brave girl.’
He was at the door when he remembered, and turned, almost shyly, to say, ‘Anna – Pauline said – is it true? Are you with child?’
A slow smile came into her eyes which strengthened him, fed him as nothing had these months past. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.
‘When–?’
‘At Vilna.’
He smiled too, and then he was gone.
Once he had reported back, it was not easy to get away again. There was a great deal to be done, and Kutuzov seemed to find him just one more and just one more task. Shortly before dawn, he was sent off to find General Miloradovich, who was still holding the Hill of Salutation with his rearguard Hussars, and a company of Cossacks.
‘What does the Prince say?’ the General asked anxiously. ‘Murat’s cavalry are just over the ridge now. I don’t want to be fighting a desperate rearguard action that’s going to cost me all my men, and lose me my horse artillery into the bargain.’
‘His Excellency agrees, sir, to your negotiating a cease-fire or a truce with the French, while we get through Moscow. If they hesitate, you are to tell them we’ll destroy the whole city and leave them with nothing but a heap of ruins.’
‘Thank God for that! I was afraid he’d say – but the sooner the better. We’ll go and do it this minute. You’d better come with me, Nikolai Sergeyevitch, and then you can report back what they say to the Prince. Akinfov! Over here, man! You’ve got a white handkerchief about you, haven’t you?’
As soon as they reached the crest of the hill, they saw a detachment of French light cavalry riding cautiously up towards them, evidently nervous about the possible presence of Cossacks. The King of Naples himself was amongst them, easily recognisable by his splendid feathered shako, and the quantity of gold embroidery on his uniform. The French party halted. Akinfov rode forward, waving his white handkerchief. They saw Murat say a few words to the cavalry commander, and then come cantering forward alone to parley.
There was no difficulty. It was plainly in the French interest to take Moscow without resistance, and to receive it intact. Murat felt confident in pledging his Emperor’s word, and when Kirov rode back to report to Kutuzov, he had an unexpected bonus to offer: Murat had suggested that the Grand ArmCe should delay its entry into Moscow until seven the next morning, in order to allow the Russians time to get clear, and to remove some of the wounded if they wished.
‘Good. Excellent. That’s just what we need. He’s a decent fellow, Murat. Wasted on the French. Pity he’s not a Russian,’ said the Prince. ‘Eh? What’s that? Yes, yes, take a few hours by all means! No hurry now we know we’ve got the whole day. You should get some sleep, Kirov – you’re looking all in!’
Getting hold of horses was the hardest part. Kirov had to resort to a mixture of bullying and bribery to persuade two young, wealthy officers from the Prince’s own suite to part with their spare mounts. Most of the field officers had lost theirs already, either in one of the two battles or on the long, punishing march.
When he and Adonis finally rode over the crest of the Hill of Salutation, heading for the city again, they paused in sheer surprise to look down at the extraordinary scene on the road below. The advancing French were so close to the retreating Russian rearguard, that they seemed to be all part of the same army. Now and then the French had to halt to allow stragglers and the last of the Russian baggage train to stay ahead of them, and when they did, the Cossacks rode back to stand beside their opposite numbers, chatting in a friendly way and exchanging stories. Even as they watched, they saw four Cossack riders canter up to Murat’s suite and circle it for a better look at the legendary King of Naples; and Murat himself raised a friendly hand to them in greeting.
‘All going according to plan, Colonel,’ Adonis remarked.
‘Yes. I hope they don’t overdo it,’ Kirov said.
Kutuzov had given orders to Ataman Platov that his Cossacks were to get friendly with the French advance guard, express their admiration for Murat’s leadership, and convince them that they were angry and disillusioned with the Russians, owed them no loyalty, and were on the point of changing sides. Having lulled their suspicions, the Cossacks would then let slip to the French that the army was making for Ryazan.