The journey itself passed with little incident; it was simply five days of riding, resting, with little or no conversation to relieve the tedium. Only on the second-to-last night did one of the soldiers, Ruskin, show me a little sympathy as I sat around our campfire, staring into the flames.
‘You look unhappy,’ he said, taking his place beside me and poking at the burning sticks with the toe of his boot. ‘You aren’t looking forward to seeing St Petersburg?’
‘Of course,’ I said with a shrug, although in truth I had given it little thought.
‘Then what? Your face tells me a different story. You’re scared, perhaps?’
‘I’m afraid of nothing,’ I snapped immediately, turning to stare at him, and the smile that crept across his face was enough to dilute my anger. He was a big man, strong and virile, and there was no question of dispute between us.
‘All right, Georgy Daniilovich,’ he said, raising the palms of his hands before him. ‘No need to be so angry. I thought you wanted to talk, that was all.’
‘Well I don’t,’ I said.
A silence lingered between us for some time and I wished that he would return to his friend and leave me alone, but finally he spoke again, quietly, as I knew he would.
‘You blame yourself for his death,’ he began, not looking at me now but staring into the flames. ‘No, don’t be so quick to deny it. I know you do. I’ve been watching you. And I was there on that day, remember, I saw what happened.’
‘He was my oldest friend,’ I said, feeling a great wave of remorse building up inside my body. ‘If I hadn’t ran across to him like that—’
‘Then he might have killed Nicholas Nicolaievich and he would have been executed for his crime just the same. Perhaps worse. If the Tsar’s cousin had been murdered, perhaps all of your friend’s family would have been killed too. He had sisters, did he not?’
‘Six of them,’ I said.
‘And they live because the General lives. You tried to stop Kolek Boryavich from committing a heinous act, that is all. A moment earlier and none of this might have happened. You cannot blame yourself. You acted for the best.’
I nodded my head, able to hear the sense in what he said, but little good it did. It was my fault, I was convinced of it. I had caused the death of my dearest friend and no one could tell me otherwise.
My first view of St Petersburg came the following night as we finally entered the capital. What I would soon recognize to be the glory of Peter the Great’s triumphant design was diminished somewhat by the darkness of the evening, although that did not prevent me from staring in amazement at the breadth of the streets and the number of people, horses and carriages that travelled past me in all directions. I had never seen such activity before. Along the side of the roads, men stood by caged wood fires, roasting chestnuts and selling them to the gentlemen and ladies who passed, each of whom was wrapped in hats and furs of the most exquisite quality. My guards appeared to be oblivious to these sights – I suppose they were so accustomed to them that they had lost their power to impress – but for a sixteen-year-old boy who had never before travelled more than a few miles outside the village of his birth, it was dazzling.
A crowd was gathered in front of one such fire and we stopped next to an elaborate carriage, pulling up our horses as the people parted to allow the guards through. I hadn’t eaten in almost a day and longed for a bag of chestnuts, my stomach rumbling in anticipation of a warm supper. Around us the people were laughing and joking; at their head was a middle-aged lady who bore a severe expression, and next to her stood four identically dressed girls – sisters, obviously – each one a little younger than the next. They were quite beautiful and despite the hunger that pressed upon my stomach, my eyes were drawn to their faces. They were entirely unaware of me until one, the last in line – a girl of about fifteen, I imagined – turned her head and caught my eye. Typically, I might have blushed at such a moment, or looked away, but I did neither of these things. Instead I held her gaze and we simply stared at each other, as if we were old friends, until she became suddenly aware of the warmth of the bag she was holding and she let out a cry as it fell from her grip, half a dozen chestnuts rolling along the ground towards me. I stooped to gather them up and she ran over to collect them, but a stern rebuke from her governess halted her in her tracks and she hesitated for only a moment before turning back to join her sisters.
‘Madam,’ I cried, beginning to walk towards her with my prize, but I managed to cover only a few feet before one of my escorts grabbed me roughly by my injured arm, causing me to cry out in pain and drop the chestnuts once again. ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, turning furiously towards him, for, without knowing why exactly, I hated for her to see me weakened by something so simple as another man’s grip. ‘They belong to her.’
‘She can buy some more,’ he said, dragging me back to our horses, as hungry as I had been when we had stopped. ‘Know your station, boy, or you will be taught it quickly enough.’
I frowned and looked over to my left, where the woman and her charges were entering the carriage once again and driving away, the eyes of all the crowd upon them, as well they might have been, for each girl was more beautiful than the last, except the youngest one, who outshone them all.
A few moments later and we were riding along the banks of the Neva River, my eyes fixed upon the granite embankments and the cheerful young couples who were strolling along the paths engaged in conversation. The people seemed happy here, a fact which surprised me, for I had expected a city torn apart by the war. It appeared, however, as if none of that unpleasantness had come to St Petersburg, and instead the streets and squares were filled with laughter, joy and prosperity. It was all that I could do to control my mounting excitement.
Finally, we turned into a magnificent square, where stretched out before me stood the Winter Palace. Despite the darkness of the evening, the full moon overhead allowed me to observe the green-and-white-fronted citadel with widened eyes. How anyone had constructed such an extraordinary edifice was beyond my comprehension, and still I seemed to be the only one of our number to be taken aback by its splendour.
‘This is it?’ I asked one of the guards. ‘This is where the Tsar lives?’
‘Of course,’ he said gruffly, shrugging his shoulders and displaying the same lack of interest in talking to me that he and his partner had shown throughout our journey. I suspected that they had taken it as a great indignity to be left with such a mundane task as escorting a boy to the capital, while their fellows continued on in the retinue of the Grand Duke.
‘And am I to live here too?’ I asked, trying not to laugh at such an outrageous idea.
‘Who knows?’ he replied. ‘Our orders are to deliver you to Count Charnetsky and after that, you can make your own way.’
We passed by the red granite of the Alexander Column, which stood almost twice as tall as the palace itself, and I stared up at the angel who presided at its summit, clutching a cross. Her head was bowed, as if in defeat, but her pose was one of triumph, a cry to her enemies to make themselves known, for the power of her faith would ensure her safety. Following the guards, I stepped below an archway which led directly into the body of the palace itself, whereupon my horse was taken from me. I was met by a portly gentleman who looked me up and down as I straightened myself from the long journey and seemed entirely unimpressed by what he saw.
‘You are Georgy Daniilovich Jachmenev?’ he asked as I approached him.