“Comrades,” Lenin said. “The Revolution has never faced more danger. We must do everything, everything to stop them. Right now as our enemies squabble among themselves, they give us time to prepare. A Romanov figurehead could unite them. This cannot happen.”
If only you had listened to us earlier, Ilyich.
“What are your orders?” Sverdlov said.
“Convene the Central Committee, meet me there,” Lenin said, reaching for his coat. “We will bring the full might of the Revolution against these imperialist traitors.”
Later, Lenin looked at Trotsky’s proposed deployments in and around Tobolsk for only a few seconds before handing the map and papers back to the Commissar for Military Affairs.
“I trust your judgment, Leon,” Lenin finally said. “But give your commanders one order directly from me—if they do not return with the Romanovs, they are not to return at all.”
“My judgment,” said Trotsky, “may be sound… at least when not dealing with rapacious Germans. The problem is that it takes information to have judgment and I don’t have much information. One small party of the town’s ruling soviet escaped, with a tale of monstrous airships, enemy battalions, incredible firepower, and a lot of killing. They had no idea how many of the Romanovs survived, only that some did and some didn’t. Oh, and that among those who didn’t was the small boy and one of the girls.”
Lenin felt an immediate tightening in his gut. Dead, sick boys and dead, beautiful girls were extremely bad propaganda for the cause.
Trotsky continued, “I’ve halted the battalion from Yekaterinburg before they could leave for Tobolsk and ordered the expansion to a regiment before they move. But will a regiment be enough? I don’t know. Nobody knows but the commander of the enemy at Tobolsk… whoever he may be.”
“How soon will that regiment leave?” asked Ilyich.
“If there were any competence there,” Trotsky answered, “they’d have moved out long before my halt order reached them. Obviously there isn’t much. So… a week? Ten days? Two weeks? Even a month? It’s impossible to say. I can say I’ve sent three trains with roughly two-thousand tons of food, arms, ammunition, sleighs, and horses to try to speed them on their way.”
As the rest of the Central Committee carried out the business of the Party, Lenin stood alone in a corner of the room, eyes fixed on the embers of the slowly dying fire on the hearth.
It’s too late. I should’ve listened to Sverdlov. Now the Whites have their figurehead and the bourgeois abroad have their propaganda coup. We’re not merely murderers, but bungling murderers, which is far, far worse. What future for the Revolution now? What future for Russia?
Chapter Twenty-eight
Tobolsk: The Coronation
A Russian coronation was a blend of the religious and the political. The ruler was believed to have been chosen by God, anointed by God, thus to be the link between the divine and the secular. It is also something of a marriage between the ruler and the Russian people.
Accordingly, the bells of all the roughly two dozen churches in the town rang out, but this time with joy, not with alarm. Tobolsk had never been a pro-Bolshevik city and could now, once again, revel in the fact.
From the Governor’s House, now well-heated, cleaned out, and guarded by Dratvin’s company—soon to be renamed as First Company, Semenovsky Regiment—Tatiana stepped out followed by her sisters and her makeshift retinue. On the frozen street east of the building, Fourth Company stood in ranks, still wearing their white camouflage smocks and helmets, and bearing their arms. Between the late lieutenant Collan’s platoon and Molchalin’s a space had been left. In this stood one of the sleighs and a brace of Yakut horses, all done up for the occasion, with ribbons and gilding, fragrant pine branches and a golden cloth canopy held on a frame lashed to the sleigh. A single seat in front held Sergeant Kaledin. Behind him a somewhat grander seat was tied in for Tatiana. Behind her, a bench for the two sisters completed the arrangements. Natalya, as a newly minted lady in waiting, would walk immediately behind the sleigh.
One of the Icons was of the Blessed Virgin. Ordinarily, a coronation would be held in Moscow and the first stop of the tsar’s party would be the Chapel of Our Lady of Iveron, home of the Icon of the Blessed Virgin of Iveron. Instead, in these constrained circumstances, a priest held forth the Icon, as Sergeant Major Blagov placed a kneeler on the ground for Tatiana to use, to avoid soiling her white dress.
Solemnly, Tatiana crossed herself, knelt, and crossed herself again. The icon was moved forward close enough for her to kiss it, then removed. She stood, crossed herself a third time, then proceeded into the sleigh.
The rest of the entourage fell in behind the sleigh, except for Kostyshakov, who stood to the left of it, Sergeant Major Blagov, to the right, and, just ahead of them, a color guard of three men, bearing and guarding a hastily done “Banner of State,” in this case mere painted cloth, as there had no been time for embroidery.
Ahead of the color guard and Banner of State, Father Khlynov stood, censer hanging by a chain from his right hand, with the slack of the chain taken up by his left. Behind the priest stood several other religious personnel, one bearing a cross on a staff, a “ferula” it would have been called by Roman Catholics. Still others bore icons of saints and relics in cases.
As far as I can tell, thought Daniil, nobody in this town has ever been to a coronation. What that means is we’re probably not doing it quite right, even accounting for not being in Moscow, but, on the plus side, who knows enough to criticize?
Cherimisov faced to the rear, watching for the signal from Kostyshakov. When it came, in the form of a deep nod of the head, he turned about and ordered First Sergeant Mayevsky to “March the men to the Cathedral.”
That Mayevsky could do this with a complete lack of invective surprised no one as much as himself. “Fourth Company of the Guards, Forward at the slow step… march!”
The procession began to move south to the intersection of Great Friday and Tuljatskaya. The slow march had the soldiers swaying left to right and back with each pair of steps. As they moved, the bells of the town were silenced, one by one.
Daniil mused, I wonder how the church arranged that.
At the intersection they turned left, following Tuljatskaya all the way to Archangel Michael Street. With another left-hand turn at Archangel Michael, they moved toward, and then stopped at the beginning of the long, long staircase leading into the town’s kremlin, which also held the place of the coronation, the Cathedral of Saint Sophia.
From before the first step the people of the town, in unprecedented numbers, had lined the way. They crossed themselves and knelt as Tatiana’s sleigh passed, bringing tears to her eyes. I am unworthy. I know I am unworthy. All I can do is try to become worthy. Even so, Tatiana, keep your head up and try, at least, to project confidence.
Soldiers from Third Company, arrived early the day before, were interspersed amongst the crowd, armed and ready to stop any assassination attempt by a hidden Bolshevik. Tatiana and her sisters, with the example of how well jewels sewn into clothing could serve as body armor, wore their own. Natalya wore Olga’s, tied in places to provide a snug fit on a thinner girl.