The czar was no longer addressing Jamal Eddin but haranguing the assembly of officers. He chose his words carefully. He wanted everyone here to remember them and to spread them far and wide. He spoke forcefully, mistaking his adoring audience for the judgment of posterity.
“Russia will defend Christianity against all the countries fighting on the side of the crescent.”
Now he turned to Jamal Eddin, who stood at attention before the unoccupied desk.
“For you see, my boy, among the traitors and hypocrites, the Turks are not the worst. No, the worst are not those who advise the sultan and his hordes of fanatics. The worst are the faithful who betray God.”
The czar’s words made Jamal Eddin uneasy. This invective against hypocrites and the traitors, these words so familiar to him, upset him deeply.
“Actually, the worst ones are the Christians.”
Now was clearly not the moment to ask to convert to Christianity.
The czar was so perturbed at the mention of this European alliance with the Muslims, this monstrous and incomprehensible choice—against him—that he dropped one of his dossiers.
Petrified, Jamal Eddin did not move. He remained standing, heels together, arms at his sides. His heart was beating as though it would burst.
All the aides-de-camp scrambled to their knees to gather up the sheets of paper scattered on the floor.
After a brief silence, the emperor returned to the question that obsessed him.
“Is it conceivable that Russia can find no allies among her Christian brothers? That the king of Prussia and the emperor of Austria are capable of adopting Mohammed’s cause as their own?”
He straightened his shoulders and roared again, “If they dare to do that, then so be it! I place my hope in God and in the justice of the cause I defend. Russia alone will raise the holy cross, and Russia alone will follow its commandments.”
He turned back to Jamal Eddin and repeated, “I’ll be with you in a moment, just let me finish what I’ve begun.”
But he broke off again, leaving the window to walk to the chair behind his desk, where he sat down heavily.
“At ease, my boy, sit down, sit down. I’m glad to see you. You, my dear children, are my consolation and joy. What brings you here, my lad, what can I do for you? You would like to join the army of the Caucasus, to go and fight the Turks, is that it? You would like to take the occasion of this war to see the mountains again? Unless—”
A glimmer of bitterness flashed in the czar’s eyes.
“Unless you have come to ask me to send you back to your father? To take up arms against me, like all the others. You’re all the same. You come to walk all over Russia before stabbing her in the back without regret!”
This last wounded Jamal Eddin so deeply that he replied in nearly the same tone, with anger and disdain.
“My father does not need me to fight you, Your Imperial Majesty. He has designated a successor more to his liking to command all his naïbs—my younger brother, who is much more capable of serving him than I.”
The czar frowned.
In the confusion of recent months, he had only glanced at his captains’ reports concerning Shamil. He vaguely recollected having read a few sentences about a transfer of power in Dagestan. It came back to him now. The “heir,” who would become the fourth imam, was said to be made of the same stern stuff as the father. An incomparably courageous djighit, a magnificent horseman and a formidable warrior, he was a fervent partisan of the holy war and as religious and violently anti-Russian as Shamil. The designation of this twenty-year-old chieftain, much loved and admired by the Montagnards, had complicated the czar’s projects for the Caucasus. Though the plan to install Lieutenant Shamil as the legitimate successor may not be totally nullified, it would be, at the very least, much more difficult to achieve.
The czar chose to dismiss this new annoyance.
“What are you talking about?” he said curtly.
“About my loyalty to Russia, Your Imperial Majesty!” Jamal Eddin answered passionately. “Nothing more stands in the way of my love for her. My father’s choice has freed me from”—he took a deep breath, searching for words to express what he had felt as a fundamental deliverance—“from the conflict that has been tearing me apart.”
He weighed his words carefully and repeated, “My father’s choice has released me from the duty of answering your kindness with hatred.”
A torrent of words followed.
Jamal Eddin confessed that, at last, he could love his country without reservation, that this sense of belonging was so real and so deep that he was asking his benefactor, to whom he owed everything, permission to adopt his faith, to convert and to marry a Russian.
The czar deciphered the meaning of his words instantly. Conversion, marriage. Why, the young man was in love! The empress’s fears, during all those summers that Jamal Eddin had spent at the cottage, had been confirmed. He was smitten with some lovely creature in his entourage. It was entirely predictable. La Potemkina had finally achieved her objective. Did that matchmaker have anything to do with this? Yes, quite probably. Baptism and marriage. Bravo!
The czar gave him a blank look, as though he had not heard or understood. His silence plunged Jamal Eddin into a state of anguish. Perhaps he hadn’t explained himself clearly enough. But how could he clarify himself now if His Majesty did not grant him permission to speak?
Impassively, the czar summoned the orderly officer and asked him to escort the other men out, dismissing him as well. The officers left the salon.
When the door had closed behind them, the czar leaned forward on his desk and said severely, “Is it up to me, Jamal Eddin Shamil, is it up to me to remind you of the meaning of apostasy for a Muslim?” He exploded in anger. “I was under the impression that I had provided you with a religious education from the mullahs! In Islam, apostasy means death! If you were to convert, it would be the duty of the first Montagnard who crossed your path to kill you.”
“As it would be to kill any Russian, Your Majesty.”
“No, Jamal Eddin, not any Russian, and not any giaour. A renegade! Do you understand the gravity of the act you are asking me to approve? You would be useless in any negotiations for peace. On the contrary, the worst possible interlocutor! You speak of serving me. Of what use is an intermediary who can only inspire hatred and mistrust among his own people? I could never send you back to the Caucasus!”
“Send me to the Caucasus, Your Majesty, and I will serve you. Send me to Turkey, and I will serve you. I am not afraid of death.”
“But you are afraid to live without love, is that it?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty. I love a young woman.”
“Her name?”
“Elizaveta Petrovna Olenina.”
“Piotr Alexeyevitch’s daughter?”
“The same, Your Imperial Majesty. When I met Elizaveta Petrovna, when I fell in love with her, I thought of you and your family.” He lowered his gaze. “I thought of you and the empress.”
“Good God, what does that have to do with it?”
“Because of your example, Your Imperial Majesty. You taught me the meaning of happiness.”
Jamal Eddin went on to describe Lisa, her grace and her virtues, the kindness of her parents, and his own feelings. He confided in the czar, admitting everything. He said that Lisa was the wife God had chosen for him, and that with her by his side, he could accomplish his duty and face any trial.
The czar had professed nothing less, felt nothing less toward Mouffy, throughout their entire life together. In a startling flash of intuition, he had known she was his soul mate the very first time they had looked at each other.