‘I’m almost afraid to move in case I damage something,’ I remarked to the Tsarevich as we swept past the labourers’ fields and the small hamlets, where the people came out to wave and cheer, although they looked miserable as they did so, their lips curled with distaste, their bodies gaunt from lack of food. There were almost no young men among their number, of course; most of them were either dead, in hiding, or fighting for the continuation of our curious way of life at the Front.
‘How do you mean, Georgy?’ he asked.
‘Well, it’s so magnificent,’ I said, looking around at the bright-blue walls and the set of silks which hung on either side of the windows. ‘Don’t you realize it?’
‘Aren’t all trains like this?’ he asked, looking across at me in surprise.
‘No, Alexei,’ I replied with a smile, for what was astonishing to me was quotidian life to the son of the Tsar. ‘No, this one is special.’
‘My grandfather built it,’ he told me with the air of someone who assumes that everyone’s grandfather was a great man. ‘Alexander III. He had a great fascination with the railways, I am told.’
‘There’s only one thing I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘The speed at which it travels.’
‘Why, what’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s just… I don’t know much about these things, of course, but surely a train such as this can travel much faster than it does?’ I made the remark because ever since we had left St Petersburg, the train had been moving at no more than about twenty-five miles an hour. It was maintaining that speed almost perfectly, neither growing faster nor slower as the voyage continued, which made the journey extremely smooth but slightly frustrating too. ‘I’ve known horses who could outstrip this train.’
‘It always travels this slow,’ he explained. ‘When I’m on board, that is. Mother says that we can’t risk any sudden jolts.’
‘Anyone would think you were made of porcelain,’ I said, forgetting my place for a moment and regretting my words immediately, for he looked across at me, narrowing his eyes in disapproval and offering an expression that made my blood run cold, and I thought that yes, this boy could be Tsar one day. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I added after a moment, but he appeared to have already forgotten my transgression and had returned to his book, a volume on the history of the Russian army which his father had given him several nights before and which had been occupying his attentions ever since. He was a highly intelligent boy, I had already realized that, and cared as much for his reading as he did for the outdoor activities from which his protective parents were constantly trying to shield him.
My first introduction to the Tsarevich had taken place the morning after my arrival at the Winter Palace and I had liked him immediately. Although pale and dark-eyed, he had a confidence about him which I put down to the fact that he commanded the attention of everyone who passed through his life. He extended his hand to greet me and I shook it proudly, bowing my head out of respect as I introduced myself.
‘And you are to be my new bodyguard,’ he said quietly.
I immediately looked across at Count Charnetsky, who had delivered me into the royal presence, and who nodded quickly in assent. ‘Yes, sir,’ I said. ‘But I hope I will also be your friend.’
His brow furrowed a little at the word, as if it meant nothing to him, and he considered this for a moment before speaking again.
‘My last bodyguard ran away with one of the cooks to get married, did you know that?’
I shook my head and gave a small laugh, amused by how seriously he took the offence. He might as well have said that he had tried to smother him in his sleep. ‘No, sir,’ I replied. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘I imagine that they must have been terribly in love to betray such a position, but it was an inappropriate match, for he was a cousin of Prince Hagurov and she was a reconstituted whore. Their families must feel great shame.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I agreed, hesitating for only a moment, wondering whether these were his own words or phrases he had overheard from his elders and which he was passing along now as his own. The frown on his face, however, suggested to me that he had been close to this bodyguard and regretted his loss.
‘My father believes strongly in the propriety of an equitable marriage,’ he continued. ‘He won’t countenance anyone who makes a match below their station. Before him, there was a fellow whom I did not like at all. His breath smelled, for one thing. And he could not control his bodily functions. I find such things vulgar, don’t you?’
‘I suppose so,’ I said, anxious not to disagree with him.
‘Although,’ he continued, biting his lip a little as he considered the matter, ‘sometimes I found it funny too. Like when Uncle Willy came to stay with Father and he made terrible noises when my sisters and I were brought in to say hello the following morning. That was comical, actually. But he was dismissed for it. The bodyguard, I mean. Not my uncle.’
‘It does not sound like very appropriate behaviour, Your Highness,’ I remarked, shocked to think that anyone could refer to Kaiser Wilhelm, with whom our country was at war, as Uncle Willy.
‘No, it wasn’t. It cheapened him in my eyes, but my sisters and I were told to ignore his vulgarity. And then there was the bodyguard before him. I liked him very much.’
‘And what happened to him?’ I asked, expecting another curious story of illicit love affairs or unpleasant personal habits.
‘He was killed,’ replied Alexei without emotion. ‘It was at Tsarskoe Selo. An assassin threw a bomb at the carriage I was riding in, but the driver saw it in time and drove on before it could land on my lap. This bodyguard was seated in the carriage directly behind us and it landed on him instead. It blew him up.’
‘That’s terrible,’ I said, appalled by the violence of it and suddenly aware of how my own life might be in similar peril while I looked after such an illustrious charge.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Although Father said that he would have been proud to have died like that. In the service of Russia, that is. After all, it would have been much worse if I had died.’
Coming from any other child, the remark might have seemed thoughtless and arrogant, but the Tsarevich delivered it with such compassion for the dead man and a thoughtful understanding of his own position that I did not despise him for it.
‘Well, I don’t plan on eloping, farting or getting blown up,’ I said, smiling at him, imagining in my naivety that I could speak plainly, taking into account only his age and not his position. ‘So hopefully I shall be here to guard you for some time to come.’
‘Jachmenev,’ said Count Charnetsky immediately and I turned to look at him, ready to apologize before noticing how the Tsarevich was staring at me, his mouth wide open. I didn’t know for a moment whether he was going to burst out laughing or call the other guards to have me hauled away in chains, but finally he simply shook his head, as if the common people were a source of endless interest and amusement to him, and in this manner we began our new roles.
In the weeks that followed, we developed a pleasant informality with each other. He instructed me to call him Alexei, which I was glad to do, as to spend my day referring to an eleven-year-old boy as ‘Your Highness’ or even ‘sir’ would have been almost too much for me. He called me Georgy, which he liked because he had once owned a pup by that name, until it had been run over by one of his father’s carriages, a fact that I considered a grim portent.