‘My enemies are liars, of course,’ he said finally, extending his arms as if he was about to embrace me. ‘Fantasists, every one of them. Heathens. I am a man of God, nothing more, but they portray me as a fellow steeped in licentiousness. They are hypocrites too, for you’ve said it yourself, one moment I am an honourable man, the next I am without virtue. One cannot be a starets and Rasputin simultaneously, don’t you agree? I don’t allow such people to injure me, of course. Do you know why?’
I shook my head, but said nothing.
‘Because I have been put on this earth for a greater purpose than they,’ he explained. ‘Do you ever feel like that, Georgy Daniilovich? That you have been sent here for a reason?’
‘Sometimes,’ I whispered.
‘And what do you think that reason is?’
I thought about it and opened my mouth to reply, before changing my mind and closing it again. I had replied sometimes but in truth I had never considered the matter before; only when he asked me the question did I realize that yes, I did believe that I had been brought to this place for a purpose which I did not yet understand. The notion was enough to make me feel even more unsettled and when I looked up, the starets was smiling that horrible smile once again, the strangest detail of which was that, much as he repulsed me, I found it impossible to remove my eyes from his face.
‘I said earlier that you and I are alike,’ he said, the dark pools around his pupils swirling before me in the candlelight, as malevolent and destructive as the Neva in the heart of winter.
‘I don’t believe we are,’ I said.
‘But you are the protector of the boy and I am the guardian of the mother. Can’t you see that? And why do we care for them so? Because we love our country. Isn’t it true? You can’t allow any harm to come to the boy, or the Tsar rules without an heir of his own issue. And at this time of crisis too. War is a terrible thing, Georgy Daniilovich, don’t you agree?’
‘I don’t allow harm to come to Alexei,’ I protested. ‘I would lay down my life for him if I had to.’
‘And how many weeks did he suffer at Mogilev?’ he asked then. ‘How many weeks did they all suffer – the boy, the sisters, the mother, the father? They thought he would die, you know that. You lay awake at night listening to his screams, just as we all did. How did they sound to you, like noise or music?’
I swallowed. Everything he was saying was the truth. The days and weeks that had followed the Tsarevich’s fall had been nightmarish. Never had I seen a person suffer as he had. When I was permitted to enter his chamber to talk to him I did not see the cheerful, lively boy with whom I had formed an almost fraternal connection. Instead, I found a skeletal child, his limbs twisted and contorted upon the bed, his face yellow, his skin soaked in a perspiration that would return no matter how often cold cloths were pressed to his face. I saw a boy who looked at me through eyes that recognized nobody but yet begged me to help him, an innocent who reached out with what little strength he had and screamed at me, imploring me to do something, anything, to take his torment away. I had never witnessed such distress, had never even believed that the agonies he suffered could exist. How he survived it, I did not know. Every day and night I expected him to succumb to the pain and allow himself to slip away. But he never did. He had a strength which was quite unexpected. It was the second time I had realized that yes, this boy could be a Tsar.
And through it all, through those three weeks of torture, the Tsaritsa, that good woman, had almost never left his side. She sat beside him, holding his hand, talking to him, whispering to him, encouraging him. We were not friends, she and I, but by God, I could recognize a loving and devoted mother when I saw one, all the more so for having never had one myself. By the time it was over and the relief finally came, by the time Alexei began to improve and his strength started to return, she had aged noticeably. Her hair had turned grey, her skin had become blotched with stress. That one incident, for which I had been entirely responsible, had altered her irreparably.
‘If I could have helped him, I would have,’ I told the starets. ‘There was nothing I could do.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, extending his hands and smiling. ‘But you must never blame yourself for what happened. Indeed, that is why I came to visit you tonight, Georgy. To thank you.’
I frowned and stared at him. ‘To thank me?’ I asked.
‘But of course. Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, has been much occupied with the health of her son of late. She is concerned that she might have appeared… unfriendly towards you.’
‘I thought no such thing, Father Gregory,’ I lied. ‘She is the Empress. She may treat me as she wishes.’
‘Yes, but we thought it important that you understand that you are valued.’
‘We?’
‘The Tsaritsa and I.’
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by the formulation. ‘Well, gratitude is not necessary,’ I said finally, confused by his meaning, unconvinced that the Tsaritsa had ever said any such thing or sent him on this mission at all. ‘And please reassure Her Majesty that I will do everything in my power to ensure that no such incident ever takes place again.’
‘You’re not just a handsome boy, are you?’ he asked quietly, taking a step towards me so that only a few inches separated us and my back was pressed against the wall. ‘You’re also a very loyal one.’
‘I hope so,’ I replied, wishing that he would leave.
‘Boys your age are not always so loyal,’ he said, stepping closer still, and now I could smell the foulness of his breath and feel his body beginning to press against my own. My stomach turned; I felt a sudden conviction that he had been sent to murder me, but instead he simply turned his head a little and smiled, a ghastly expression of doom, and held my gaze with those terrible eyes. ‘You are loyal to the entire family,’ he purred quietly, running a finger from the top of my shoulder along my arm. ‘Here, you took a bullet for one,’ he whispered, hesitating at precisely the spot where Kolek’s bullet had passed through my shoulder. ‘And here you would take a bullet for the boy,’ he said, pressing the palm of his hand flat against my chest, my heart pounding quickly beneath his touch. ‘But where will you be when the bullets come in the future?’
‘Father Gregory,’ I whispered, desperate for him to leave me now, ‘please… I beg of you.’
‘Where will you be, Georgy? When the doors open and the men step inside with their revolvers? Will you take the bullets then or will you be hiding like a coward in the trees?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I cried, confused by what he was saying. ‘What men? What bullets?’
‘You’d step in front of one for the girl, wouldn’t you?’
‘What girl?’
‘You know what girl, Georgy,’ he said, his hand flat against my abdomen now, and I waited for the knife to appear, for him to press it into my gut and twist it to kill me. He knew; that much was obvious. He had discovered the truth about Anastasia and me and had been sent to kill me for my indiscretion. I wasn’t going to deny it. I already loved her and if that was to be my doom, then so be it. I closed my eyes, waiting for my flesh to be pierced and the blood to spill from the cavity, drowning my bare feet with its glutinous warmth, but second followed second and minute followed minute and nothing happened, no blade ripped me in two, and when I opened my eyes again, he was gone. It was as if he had just dissolved into the atmosphere, leaving no trace of his presence behind.