He was beset from all sides of the political spectrum and had survived a dozen assassination attempts in the past three years. Since he had freed the serfs by manifesto in February of 1861, Alexander II's reforms had been slowly changing the character of the Russian Empire. But to many, the wheels of reform moved too slowly; to others, reform was anathema, and malcontents of every political persuasion had sought to kill him. Only last month a bomb had destroyed his dining room. Had he not arrived late because of his son's illness, he would have been killed. Alexander had become wary of who was friend and who was not.
Stefan was relying on his years of devoted service to the Empire and his friendship with the Tsar as support for his presentation, but he realized his position as cavalry commander and his popularity were themselves suspect. Most of the palace coups over the centuries had been initiated in the officer corps by ambitious men trading on their celebrity and fame and on their control of the elite regiments of the army.
By the time the equerry returned and said, "The Emperor will see you now," Stefan was tense and agitated as well as increasingly gloomy about his prospects of success. Vladimir cultivated his political alliances on a daily basis while Stefan had not.
The Tsar's welcome was cordial, though. Seated at his desk, he gestured Stefan to an adjacent chair and smiled in greeting.
It was at least a friendly beginning. Stefan took a steadying breath as he seated himself. They exchanged social pleasantries first-Alexander asking about Militza and Stefan admiring the new photos of his young family on his desk. The Tsar's desktop was half-covered with framed photos, the ones closest to his work space those of his new children. Framed portraits of his father and mother were prominent on the wall above his desk; even his wife's portrait was in evidence, although it was set back in the second row behind those of his young mistress.
Over tea, brought in on a solid gold tea service, the state of the war was discussed in some detail. Alexander had recently returned from the environs of Pleva, where the Turks still held out, and he was visibly tormented by the thousands of soldiers who'd lost their lives to date. The question of the reinforcements of men and artillery in the Asian campaign was dealt with. Stefan described which divisions were up to strength and which were still waiting for the new troops; he related the progress of the telegraph lines being constructed and described his hopes for victory.
When eventually the reason for his sudden appearance in Saint Petersburg was broached, Stefan answered honestly. "Since the campaign is on hold and I'm totally obsessed with the Countess Lazaroff, I came north to see her."
"When did you arrive? "
"Yesterday."
"And you'll be returning?"
"Tomorrow."
The Tsar smiled. "I see."
Stefan felt the heat rising to his face and he smiled ruefully. "She's most remarkable."
"I agree," Alexander warmly said, "as does the entire male population of the soirees she's attended here in the capital. Did you find the competition formidable?"
"I didn't notice."
"She's amenable then to your interest."
"After," Stefan softly said, "some persuasion."
"She is certainly worth persuading," the Tsar cordially replied. "She's not only beautiful and charming but brilliant, as well. Do you find her education intimidating?" He leaned back in his chair and surveyed Stefan.
"I find everything about her intimidating," Stefan retorted, adding with a smile, "in a most refreshing way. And I'd like to thank you for her sponsorship into society."
"I was more than happy to comply with your request. She's very entertaining.''
Stefan's glance went steely for a suspicious moment and they were no longer Tsar and Commander but only two men.
"I meant that in the most benign sense," Alexander II said mildly. He stroked his heavy sideburns for a second or two and then quietly declared, "I'm no longer young, and Catherine and my small family are my comfort."
"Forgive me," Stefan apologized. "As you can see," he said with a sigh, "I'm beyond sanity when it comes to the Countess." Taking a deep breath he plunged on. "Which point, in fact, brings me here today." He went on to describe his current problems with Vladimir and his rather sudden termination of his engagement.
Alexander was quiet throughout Stefan's recital, asking questions only twice, both having to do with the Sesta incident.
"Vladimir threatened to see you tonight," Stefan finished, "and suggest my involvement."
"We'll see that he's detained for a time at the chancellery," Alexander said.
Greatly encouraged by the Tsar's reaction to his story, Stefan dared to add, "But there's something about him that doesn't seem quite right. He and his daughter both made remarks along the lines of 'just until the end of the war.' I don't have the time to find out what he's involved in-if it's anything. You know I have to get back to Kars. But perhaps, sir…?" He hesitated.
Alexander stroked his chin meditatively. "I've never liked Taneiev. Perhaps he should be looked into." He stared at the photo of his two young sons. "Trust is so difficult these days," he said, his voice sad and introspective. He'd become more isolated and suspicious over the past few years, distrustful of friends, appalled by the dissensions and intrigues among his chiefs of staff in the course of the war, aware of the venality of his bureaucracy. He was a man under siege.
"The war's unpopular in some quarters," Stefan said. "Perhaps when it's over things will get better." Stefan might be the Tsar's best field commander, but he had spent years fighting the timid protectionist policies of the general staff, the incompetence of the Grand Dukes who had power in the war councils. He knew indignant voices were often raised in Saint Petersburg against him, against the Tsar and the war.
"I won't give in to the reactionary forces," Alexander declared in his deep, weary voice. "This war must be won or all the lives lost in the Turkish atrocities will be in vain." Russia had been the only country willing to come to the aid of the Christian minority in Turkey.
"We're in a much better position now with reinforcements and supplies almost in place, and the Turks are having problems in Istanbul, too. Various factions are demanding a ceasefire. The war is costly to them, as well. Perhaps if Kars can be breached, it will accelerate their surrender. Bezna-Pasha took his Turkoman troops home last month and vowed not to return. All of the border tribes are restive because they haven't been paid by the Turks. No gold, no Circassians, is a proverb the truth of which can't be denied," Stefan said with a quick grin. His face sobered in the next instant. "The fall campaign could be decisive." Then he smiled again, because he felt on familiar, secure ground. "With the border tribes melting away, the Turks have no cavalry, no scouts, no way of knowing our plans. We can take them this time, Excellency."
"Thank you, Stefan," Alexander gently said, "for your encouraging news, and for all your victories in this war. Your father would have been proud of you." The Emperor still missed his old friend, the Field Marshal; they'd remained in touch until Alex Bariatinsky had died, vacationing together occasionally at Plombières, Ems or Baden-Baden.
"He was Russia's greatest Field Marshal," his son said. Stefan's father's conquests had never been matched before or since, and his sense of honor and duty had been passed on to his son.
"Some say you'll surpass him." The Tsar's smile was benevolent.
"Never, Excellency." Stefan's voice was softly emphatic and he looked away briefly to suppress the wetness welling in his eyes. Whatever soldiering he knew, he'd learned from his father; whatever capabilities he had as a commander, he'd inherited from him. All his skills and talent and aptitude he owed to the man who'd loved him most in the world and had taught him that the measure of one's worth was in one's deeds. And despite the passing years and the sorrow of his disgrace, his father had always been Stefan's only hero.