It was a joy to watch the Tsar and the Tsarevich together during this time, for I had never seen a father and son who revelled in each other’s company quite so much. In Kashin, this kind of affection would have been frowned upon by all. The closest we came to any degree of filial warmth was the respect shown by my old friend Kolek towards his father Borys. But there was a natural warmth and friendliness between man and boy that made me envious of their relationship and it was only enhanced when they were removed from the austerity of palace life. I thought of Daniil often at such moments, and with regret.
The Tsar insisted from the start that Alexei not be treated as a child, but as the heir to the Russian throne. No conversation was considered too private or too serious for his ears. No sight was to be withheld from his eyes. When Nicholas rode out to visit the troops, Alexei rode alongside him, with Sergei and me and the other bodyguards following closely behind. At troop inspections, the soldiers would stand to attention and answer their Emperor’s questions while the boy would stand quietly by his father’s side, polite and attentive, listening to all that was said and digesting every word.
And when we visited the field hospitals, which we did frequently, he did not display any signs of squeamishness or horror, despite the terrible sights which were laid out before us.
At one particular encampment, our entire entourage stepped into a grey-canopied tent where a group of doctors and nurses were tending to perhaps fifty or sixty wounded soldiers, who lay in single beds pressed so close together that it almost seemed as if one long mattress had been stitched together for them to die upon. The smell of blood, decomposing limbs and rotting flesh lingered in the atmosphere and as we entered, I longed to run back outside to the fresh air, my expression contorting in disgust as my throat fought against a natural tendency to gag. The Tsar himself displayed no such signs of revulsion; nor did Alexei allow himself to be overcome by such sensory horrors. Indeed, looking in my direction as I coughed, I perceived a definite expression of disapproval on his face, which embarrassed me, for he was just a boy, five years my junior, and was acting with more dignity than I could summon. Humiliated, I fought against my disgust and followed the Imperial party as they moved from bed to bed.
The Tsar spoke to each of the men in turn, leaning down close to their faces so that their conversation would have a semblance of privacy. Some of the men were able to whisper replies to him, others had neither the strength nor the composure to engage in conversation. All seemed thoroughly overawed that the Tsar himself was among them; perhaps they thought that in their fever they were simply imagining things. It was as if Christ himself had stepped inside the tent and begun to offer a benediction.
Halfway through the room, Alexei let go of the Tsar’s hand, stepped across to the beds on the opposite side and began to talk to the men there in imitation of his father. He sat down beside them and I heard him telling them how far he had travelled, all the way from St Petersburg, to be with them that day. How his horse was a charger but we rode at a slow pace in case any danger came to him. He talked of small matters, inconsequential things that must have seemed tremendously important to him, but the patients appreciated the simplicity of his conversation and were charmed by him. As they reached the end of their respective lines, I noticed the Tsar turn to observe his son, who was placing a small icon within the hands of a man who had been blinded by an attack. Turning to one of his generals, he made a quiet remark that I could not hear, and the other man nodded and watched as the Tsarevich completed his conversation.
‘Is something the matter, Father?’ asked Alexei, turning around and seeing that all eyes were now focussed on him.
‘Nothing at all, my son,’ said the Tsar, and I was sure that I could hear the words catch in his throat, so overwhelmed was he by the mixed emotion of sympathy for the men’s suffering and pride at his son’s forbearance. ‘But come, it is time to leave now.’
I didn’t see the Grand Duke Nicholas Nicolaievich, whose life I had saved and whose appreciation had brought me to my new life, until more than a week after we arrived at Stavka. When we did meet again, he had just returned from the Front, where he had been leading the troops with varying degrees of success, and had come back to Mogilev to consult with his cousin, the Tsar, and to plan the autumn strategy.
I had entered the house from the garden, where Alexei was constructing a fort among some trees, when I saw that great giant of a man marching along the corridor towards me. My initial instinct was to turn and run back outside, for his huge stature and girth suggested a most intimidating presence – almost more intimidating than the Tsar himself – but it was too late to make my escape, for he had seen me and was raising his hand in greeting.
‘Jachmenev,’ he roared as he came closer, practically blocking out the sunlight from the open doors. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
‘It is, sir,’ I admitted, offering him a low, respectful bow. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’
‘Is it?’ he asked, sounding surprised. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. So here you are then,’ he added, looking me up and down to decide whether he still approved of me or not. ‘I thought it might work out. I said to Cousin Nicky, there’s a boy I met in this little shithole of a village, a very brave lad. Not much to look at it, it’s true. Could do with a few extra inches of height and a few more pounds of muscle, but not a bad fellow all the same. Might be exactly who you’re looking for to take care of young Alexei. I’m glad to see he listened to me.’
‘You have my gratitude, sir, for the great change in my circumstances.’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said dismissively. ‘Bit of a difference from… where was it we encountered each other?’
‘Kashin, sir.’
‘Ah yes, Kashin. Dreadful place. Had to hang the fool who tried to shoot me. Didn’t want to do it, really, he was just a boy, but there’s no excuse for such mischief. Had to be made an example of. You can understand that, can’t you?’
I nodded, but said nothing. The memory of my part in Kolek’s death was something I tried not to dwell on, for I felt tremendously guilty about how I had profited from it. Also, I missed his companionship.
‘Friend of yours, was he?’ asked the Grand Duke after a moment, sensing my reticence.
‘We grew up together,’ I said. ‘He had strange ideas sometimes, but he was not a malicious person.’
‘Not so sure about that,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘He did point a gun at me, after all.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, it’s all in the past now. Survival of the fittest and all that. Speaking of which, where is the Tsarevich anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be by his side at all times?’
‘He’s just outside,’ I said, nodding my head in the direction of the small copse, where the boy was dragging some logs across the grass to aid in the construction of the walls of his fort.
‘He’s all right out there on his own, is he?’ asked the Grand Duke, and I couldn’t help but sigh in frustration. I had been attending to the Tsarevich for almost two months now and had never known a child who was wrapped in cotton wool quite as much as him. His parents behaved as if he might snap in two at any moment. And now the Grand Duke was suggesting that he could not be left alone for fear of injury. He’s just a boy, I wanted to shout at them sometimes. A child! Were none of you ever children?
‘I can go back out to him if you’d prefer it,’ I replied. ‘I was only stepping inside for a moment to—’