Chapter 9
Tanya faced Ivan Dostoyevski defiantly, trying to still the rapid beating of her heart. Her breasts rose and fell convulsively, partly from the chase, but mostly from her close proximity to this man who held her heart, this man who, had he known, would probably have crushed it unheedingly in his fingers and flung it aside in contempt. He reined in his horse, holding the snorting, nervous animal with an iron hand. He swung himself out of the saddle and grabbed her arm with a vice-like grip that made her cry out in pain, pulling her roughly towards him.
‘So, Princess, we meet again,’ he said mockingly, smiling a smile that did not reach his eyes. Tanya thought she had never seen a pair of eyes that were so hard, like tempered steel. Once, she had seen those same eyes laughing down into her own, those lips, set now in a line of grim determination, had kissed her own lightly, then passionately as she had responded. But that, of course, had been before he had realised who she was. She shook herself mentally, pushing the dear image to the back of her mind. She needed all her wits about her now; she must not stand here mooning over this man who hated her. She must treat him as an enemy, fight with every weapon she possessed.
‘You are hurting me, sir.’ Detached, she was surprised at the coldness of her voice, at the fact that it did not shake. ‘I have no intention of running away again I assure you. I have done no wrong before God or man and am not afraid of anything anyone can do to me. My conscience is clear.’
For a moment, a look of reluctant admiration flashed across his eyes, then they were cold again. He bowed insultingly and let go of her arm. Tanya forced herself not to rub the place where his fingers had surely bruised her flesh and stood quite still, pale but calm.
‘Then will Your Highness do me the honour of accompanying me to the Kremlin. The Tsar has expressed a desire to interview you as soon as you were detained.’ His mocking tone made Tanya’s fingers itch to slap his face, but she merely inclined her head and walked silently beside him towards the dark, towering walls of the Kremlin. She could not help wondering when, if ever, she would leave them.
The sight of the small, crumpled body that had only a few hours ago been the proud man who had been her husband was too vivid in her mind for her to have any illusions about the fate which awaited her.
When they passed through the outer gates, at a word of command from Dostoyevskiy, two soldiers fell in on either side of her, and in this manner, she was escorted through the huge chambers she had traversed in such different circumstances, in what seemed now to be another life. Fittingly they were no longer magnificent and glittering with rich tapestries and hundreds of candles, but rather looked dark and a little shabby. She was led into a small bare room, and the two impassive soldiers stood on either side of the door as Count Dostoyevskiy left without another glance at her. Tanya wandered restlessly up and down the room, wondering what her fate was to be. She felt tired and drained of all feeling, yet somehow quite detached. Surprisingly, she felt no fear, only a dull ache in her heart at the thought of Ivan. But even that she pushed to the back of her mind and sank listlessly into a chair, where she sat staring vacantly ahead, her hands resting idly in her lap. Time slipped by unheeded – it might have been minutes or hours, then there was a clash of arms as the two soldiers sprang to attention as the Count entered the room.
‘Come with me,’ he ordered briefly and stepped aside to allow her to pass. Two more soldiers were waiting outside, and the first two fell in behind. She was escorted through a twisting maze of corridors and finally to the doors of a small room, somewhat similar to the one she had just vacated, although better furnished and with a fire burning that cast shadows over the darkening walls. She heard the door shut behind her and turned, expecting to see Ivan standing there. With a start, she realised she was alone, and swung round again, straining her eyes to pierce the gloom.
‘So, Princess, you grace us with your presence at last.’ A great, booming voice came from the depths of a huge wing chair by the fire as it swung round to face her. There, looking at her with narrowed eyes was the giant figure of the Tsar. This, then, was to be the audience Ivan had spoken of. Somehow she had imagined it would be in the huge chamber where such audiences were usually conducted. She sank into a low curtsey, her unconscious grace belying the shabby clothes she wore.
‘So, you have changed somewhat since I saw you last.’ His eyes ran over her in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. ‘You are looking a little less dignified than when I saw you last, with your – er – late husband. We must have more light.’ He rose out of his chair and lit two candles, their light making his huge shadow dance grotesquely on the wall behind him. He stepped forward and took her hands, raising her from the floor where she had remained, head bowed.
‘Why, your hands are like ice. Come nearer to the fire, my dear.’
He led her over to the fire, and a little disconcerted by the unexpected approach Tanya absent-mindedly rubbed her hands together and held them out to the blaze. Her thick, tawny hair tumbling around her shoulders caught the light from the fire and seemed to glow with a life of its own. The Tsar’s eyes fixed hungrily on her pure profile and slipped down to linger over the curves of her body, outlined clearly in the simple dress.
‘So,’ his voice was thick, and sounded strange to Tanya. ‘We meet again at last. I have thought of you often since we last met. No, that does it no justice. I have dreamed of you constantly, you are always in my thoughts. No other woman ever plagued me so, not even my Anna. She is like chaff, and you the corn. So beautiful.’ His voice shook, and he reached out his hand and touched her hair almost timidly, as if he feared its fire would burn his fingers. ‘See what a clumsy oaf you make of your Tsar.’ He laughed loudly. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you all that so quickly, but you bewitch me, and now I have told you, Tanya, Tanya.’ This last was a groan, and taken completely unawares, Tanya found herself pulled into his great arms, and lifted effortlessly off her feet. He began to rain hot kisses on her face and neck, and she felt paralysed, as much from shock as fear, but when his fingers began tearing at the bodice of her dress she gave a choking gasp, and quite oblivious of the fact that this man was her Tsar, that he had all rights of life or death over her, began to hit out with all her strength, struggling madly. Pure rage overcame all prudence, mostly because she had been stripped of her dignity, and the detachment that had been holding her together. One of her small fists caught him a stinging blow on the ear, and with a grunt of surprise, he set her down, rubbing it and looking both foolish and angry.
‘Well, here’s a little fishwife,’ he cried, then his great laugh rang out suddenly, unexpectedly. ‘Took you by surprise, did I? Should have bided my time with a great lady like you, I suppose, should have showed off all the farradiddles of western society eh? Well, I’ve nothing against ’em, nothing at all. I’m all for being civilised – when it suits me.’ The laugh left his face, and he stared at her searchingly. ‘I want you, Tanya. I want you, so much it pains me. No other woman can relieve that pain, though God knows I’ve tried enough. It’s got to be you. I must have you, I can’t wait any longer.’ He took a step towards her, arms outstretched, then stopped dead as Tanya shrank back, unmistakable revulsion on her face.
‘Don’t come near me,’ she hissed between clenched teeth. The thought of this brute of a man touching her made her feel physically sick, and it showed in her face. She had no thoughts that this was the Tsar facing her – that he was no ordinary man to be pushed aside. The thought that to give in to him, to enslave him, would solve all her troubles and guarantee her life and wealth never entered her head. If she felt love for a person, or if it could have saved the life of someone she loved, she would have unhesitatingly given her body, but not to save her own life. Not with Ivan perhaps standing outside this very door, contempt in his eyes as he pictured what was happening here. She would never give him the satisfaction of finding himself proved right about her. He thought her cheap and a traitor. Well, if being traitor meant not giving herself to this man, she would be a traitor – but cheap, never. She wouldn’t sink that low. Still backing away from the Tsar, she bumped into a chair and pressed herself back against it.
‘Do you think I would give myself to the man who has just murdered my husband – the man who has had me brought here, yet has laid no charges against me? I am not a serving wench to be mauled around. What do you take me for, a whore like your precious Anna Mons? I will never give myself to you – do you hear me, never!’
The Tsar’s brows had drawn together during this speech, and his cheek began to twitch alarmingly. He let out a crashing oath and grabbing her roughly, flung her to her knees. ‘I am your Tsar,’ he roared. ‘On your knees, girl – how dare you speak to me in such a way! I have control over whether you live or die. My commands are to be obeyed, do you hear me?’
‘Sir, I cannot stop you from forcibly taking me,’ Tanya replied quietly. ‘But if you do, I shall kill myself at the first opportunity I get.’
Once before she had spoken those words, and meant them. Then, she had been offered marriage as an alternative, and had accepted, but there was no alternative this time. The very calmness of her words convinced the Tsar that she meant what she said, and his shoulders slumped. He turned away from her, the anger draining from his face. His voice was quiet now, but more deadly somehow.
‘Then, madam, you leave me no choice but to do the job for you. I take no woman against her will, but no other shall ever have you, if I cannot. Apart from your treasonable activities in the past, the words you have just spoken have condemned you.’ He rang the bell on the wall, and they waited in silence until the door opened to admit Count Dostoyevskiy.
‘Take her away,’ the Tsar commanded, his voice expressionless. ‘I leave her fate in your hands. She has been convicted of treason and is to die. I do not wish to lay eyes on her again.’ With these words, he turned away, his great shoulders bowed, and the Count grasped Tanya’s arm and pulled her from the room. His eyes slid over her contemptuously as he took in her dishevelled appearance, as she vainly tried to hold together the torn bodice of her gown. He spoke a few curt words to the guards, who exchanged looks of surprise, then turned on his heel and strode away without a backward glace. Tanya craned her neck to watch his tall figure disappear, but she was hustled away by the guards. She was led away from the reception area of the palace, down the corridors that gradually changed from bright paint and tapestries to cold bare stone. They were descending rapidly, and soon, the walls were running with moisture and icy to the touch. On and on they went, until the guards had to light a torch, so dark had it become. Now the doors on each side had bars and from behind them came the moans and cries of the miserable inmates, chilling Tanya’s blood. Finally, they came to a door that blocked off the end of the corridor. One of the guards took a huge bunch of keys down from a nail on the wall and, shooting back the bolts, unlocked the door. It creaked open, and another guard suddenly gave Tanya a violent push. Taken unawares, she landed on her hands and knees in icy water. The door clanged shut behind her, the bolts shot home, and the faint light of the guard’s torch disappeared, leaving her in total darkness. Tanya struggled up to her feet, sobbing now, all her pride and defiance gone, her only feeling, blind panic. She stumbled ahead, arms outstretched, but her shins hit hard stone, and she fell again. Groping, she discovered it was a low step and struggled thankfully out of the icy water, shivering. She pressed her back against the wall, arms outstretched. The step was only a few feet wide, just wide enough to lay on, but at least it kept her out of the water. She began to explore the cell, groping her way around the walls until she reached the door. Carrying on round for what seemed an eternity, she came to what at first she thought was another door, then she realised it must be the same one. The cell was round, and must be situated at the foot of one of the giant towers. Cold despair clamped over her heart, and she began to cry, hopelessly as the will to live and fight drained out of her. Never in all her life had she felt so low, so devoid of all will to live. Cradling her head in her arms she huddled, shivering, beside the door, and eventually fell into a doze, interspersed with vivid, frightening dreams and pictures that flashed across her mind. Gradually, however, complete exhaustion took over, and she sank into a deep sleep.
She was awoken rudely by a loud bang almost in her ear and jumped violently, staring frantically round at the inky darkness until memory came flooding back. She groped with numbed fingers and found a plate had been pushed through a hatch in the bottom of the door, together with a bowl of icy water. She drank the water avidly, for her throat was parched, then cautiously tasted the mess in the bowl. It appeared to be some sort of greasy broth, with a hard lump of bread floating in it. It was almost cold and not very pleasant to taste, but she ate it nevertheless. Her hunger somewhat appeased, she stood up and tried to warm her cramped, frozen limbs. She would have given anything just for a little light and warmth, for she felt half dead with the cold. Finally, she decided to walk ten times round the cell, going as fast as she dared, and when she got back to the door the last time, she felt a little warmer. She knew, though, that if she was left in here for very long, they would not need to execute her, for she would die of the cold, her body was unused to such abominable conditions, and her proud, fighting spirit had deserted her. With a feeling of deep shame, she knew that if she was suddenly transported back to the Tsar’s presence, she might react differently. She had said she would willingly die first, and she had meant it. She still meant it, but not this way. Not here in the dark, like a rat in a sewer, without any vestige of dignity left. They might at least have left her that.
Like a flash in the darkness, a sudden thought occurred to her, and if possible, she felt colder than ever. She hadn’t realised before, but it was Ivan who had ordered that she be incarcerated here, and not the Tsar. The Tsar had said quite clearly that her fate was in the Count’s hands. So this was what he thought of her. It was a crushing blow, and she covered her face with her hands and began to sob again, wildly, then springing to her feet, began to pummel on the door, screaming at the top of her voice. She continued to beat and claw at the door, until a thin trickle running down her wrist made her stop. She became aware that her hands were bruised and bleeding. She stood against the wall, shuddering, then slid down to her knees in a faint.
Tanya lay where she had fallen for what might have been hours or days, for there was no way of telling day from night here. All she wanted to do was to die, for nothing could be worse than the cold, wet squalor of this dungeon, or the dark despair in her heart. Suddenly, she was blinded by a dazzling light and, for a moment, thought that she had indeed died and was being transported she knew not where. Struggling to her feet, she shaded her eyes, blinking at the glare. As her eyes became accustomed to the light, however, she realised it was in fact, only the flicker of a torch, through the grating in the door. She could hear footsteps outside in the corridor, and her heart began to thump unevenly as hope sprang up inside her. Were they coming for her? Please God, don’t let them go away again and take that blessed light with them. She stood quite still, not daring to move. There was a jangle of keys, and the bolts were shot back on the door. She blinked in the light of the torch as the door swung open. She could not make out the figures, they were just huge silhouettes. Then a voice spoke.
‘So, Princess, you have enjoyed your stay in the Kremlin, I hope? No? Hardly surprising, I suppose. I should never have recognised the beautiful, glittering creature who was last in our midst, on the night of the ball. You have changed, my dear – for the worst I am afraid.’
Such a feeling of rage shook Tanya that she audibly ground her teeth, and Ivan’s mocking laugh rang out.
‘Cross with me, Princess? Well, never mind, you’ll have plenty of time to think of a suitable revenge. Two days, in fact. After that you are to die. Because of this, and because of your position, I am having you moved to more, er, comfortable quarters. Follow me.’
Wordlessly, head held high, Tanya stepped from the filthy hole, then turned and looked back down into the well of darkness.
‘Had I eighty years, instead of two days, I should never forget that place. May God have mercy on the souls of the men who permit such atrocities as these.’ She turned to face her persecutors and gave a sad smile. ‘Death can hold no terrors for one who has just emerged from hell. Lead on, gentlemen.’
No one spoke all the way to her new prison. Her words seemed to have struck the coarse soldiers dumb, and Ivan strode alongside her, scowling deeply, glancing down at her every now and again with a puzzled frown. They went a different way this time and were now climbing a spiral stairway, deeply pitted and worn by the feet of the thousands of unfortunate souls who had trodden them. Tanya stumbled, for she was weak with cold and hunger and would have fallen had not Ivan caught her. She pulled away proudly and continued to climb, but now her head was on fire, and her legs felt like cotton wool. She sank to her knees again, bowing her head and trying to regain her senses. One of the soldiers prodded her with the end of his halberd, but Ivan pushed him aside and, bending down, lifted Tanya up into his arms.
‘Go on,’ he said briefly to the soldiers. As if through a golden haze, Tanya felt his beloved arms around her and could hear his heart beating as her head rested on his shoulder. She gave a deep sigh and snuggled her cheek against his coat. What bliss, to be held so, in his arms! She willed death to come to her now, for here was a fitting place to die, against the breast of her love. The fact that he obviously hated and despised her, she completely discounted, for he had misunderstood her from the first and had believed her to be deeply in league with the plotters who had planned to depose the Tsar. She had not been completely blameless, of course, but had certainly done nothing wrong enough to die for. Somehow she must make him understand before she died.
All too soon they had reached her new cell, and Ivan was laying her down on a rough pallet. He turned to the guards.
‘Leave the keys and go,’ he ordered.
Exchanging knowing looks, the guards obeyed, shutting the door behind them. Tanya lay with closed eyes, hardly conscious. She felt, strangely, gentle hands brush her hair back from her face as he began to sponge her with warm water. Then a sharp exclamation broke from him, and against her will, her eyes flew open.
‘Who dared to do this?’ he demanded, indicating her torn and bloody hands. ‘Did someone come in and mistreat you whilst I was gone?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I did it to myself, beating on the door.’ She turned her head away from him, and he did not reply. He washed her hands gently in the water, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see his expressive face working, as if some inner battle was raging inside him. At last he spoke.
‘I . . . I am sorry for the hardship I caused you.’ The words seemed torn from his lips, then he scowled again. ‘But you made me so furious, you were so proud and disdainful. I wanted to humble you – to make myself realise that you are the same as other women, that you too could be brought to your knees. Then, after you made love to the Tsar, it was the last straw.’
Tanya pulled her hand away sharply and sat up, her cheeks flushed, eyes snapping. ‘How dare you,’ she cried. ‘Are you mad? I, make love to the Tsar? You forget to whom you speak. I had to fight him off – in fact, I told him I would die rather than submit to him. Why do you think he handed me over to you in the way he did? I would still be with him had I given in!’
He looked at her with derision. ‘You don’t expect me to believe that, surely? Even if what you say is true, you can hardly expect me to believe you spoke to the Tsar in such a way. You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Well, I did dare,’ she flashed back at him. ‘And if you ever say anything like that to me again, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .’ she stuttered in fury, then seeing him begin to laugh, swung out at him, catching him a stinging blow on the ear. ‘I did that to him too,’ she hissed. ‘Ask him, if you don’t believe me. And I’d do it again, too. I am a woman, true, but I have a soul as well as a body, and I’ll not sell one to save the other.’
‘You little vixen,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve a good mind to put you over my knee.’
Tanya sprang to her feet defiantly. ‘Just try it,’ she said through gritted teeth.
He rose too and stood looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, they faced each other, then, like a sleepwalker, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, his lips coming down on hers, hard and demanding, and she felt the blood begin the drum in her ears. The old, delicious feeling burned through her, and with an inward sigh, she melted into him, flinging her arms round his neck, returning his kiss with the pent-up passion of months. He held her closer and closer, until it seemed that he would crush her, then with a groan, he flung her from him and wiped his hand insultingly across his mouth. Tanya staggered and nearly fell, for her head was reeling from his kiss.
‘Little liar,’ he grated. ‘Whore. Is that how you fought him off too? Is that how you tried to seduce him? And to think I almost believed you?’ He groped for the keys and began to leave. Tanya, her heart breaking, held out her arms to him blindly, scalding tears streaming down her face.
‘No, Ivan, no,’ she cried pitifully. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘I understand very well, madam Princess,’ he sneered, then the door slammed shut, and he was gone.
Tanya stood like a stone for several minutes, her tears falling unheeded; then her arms dropped slowly to her sides, and she turned away hopelessly and sat down on the bed. Her tears dried, and she felt her heart go hard, arid cold within her. Very well, let him think ill of her. She would never, now, let him know she loved him. She was glad that she had not blurted out her true feelings, for to have had her love flung back in her face would have been more than she could bear.
Gradually, she began to take vague notice of her surroundings. Her new room was quite luxurious compared to the one she had just left. There was a large, barred window set high in the wall through which filtered hazy sunlight; there was a rough table and chair and, heaven of heavens, a large tub of water in the corner. Bestowing fervent blessings on whoever had ordered it placed there, she threw caution to the winds and stripped off, oblivious to the cold. She stepped into the water, which was only just tepid and, shivering a little, crouched down in it, bathing herself as best she could, for lack of soap and the inability to sit down made it rather difficult. However, she managed very well, even rinsing through her hair, and, tearing a strip from the hem of her petticoat, tied in back in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. No one had thought to provide a towel, so, grimacing a little, she dried herself as best she could on the petticoat, then crumpled it and threw it in the corner. She then washed out her filthy shift, hanging it from the bars to dry, then shook out the torn and dirty gown and shawl. She could do nothing more to improve them. Wrapping herself thankfully in the rough but relatively clean blanket, she lay down on the bed to stop herself from shivering. Her mind was in a whirl from all the events of the past hour, and she felt physically and mentally exhausted. She had meant to stay awake until her shift was dry, but her eyelids felt like lead, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
When she awoke, the room was in darkness, although it was not the terrible darkness of the dungeon, for the moon was filtering through the window, laying a silvery path across the floor – a path interspersed with the black shapes of the bars. She felt cold, cramped, and very hungry, and wondered if her shift was dry. She threw off the blanket and stretched, stepping into the shaft of moonlight. There was a stifled groan from the dark corner of the room, and a man stood up, staring at her in awe. She gave an involuntary cry and ran back to the bed as the man came forward into the room. It was Ivan! Tanya was frantically trying to wrap the blanket around herself again, but he stepped over to her and gently took it from her, his eyes devouring her.
‘I was asleep on the chair,’ his voice was soft and wondering. ‘I came in to apologise. The Tsar is roaring drunk and confided in me. You told me the truth, and I didn’t believe you. Perhaps you have been telling the truth all along, and I was too blind to see. You were asleep when I came in, and I sat down to wait, I hadn’t the heart to wake you. I must have fallen asleep, then something awoke me, and there you were, like an angel. How lovely you are!’
Tanya opened her mouth to speak, her cheeks burning, but he checked her, putting his hand over her lips. ‘No, don’t say anything. Don’t break the spell.’
Then for the second time that unforgettable day, she was in his arms. His lips were gentle, questing at first, then, as the passion rose between them, their kisses became wilder, their breath came faster. Her head on fire, Tanya felt the bed against the back of her knees, and then, somehow, they were lying on it together, and at last, the great consummation of her love was fulfilled, as she gave herself shamelessly and passionately. How different was this union, this oneness with the man she loved, from the purely carnal satisfaction she had known with Erik! She found it quite incomparable, as he transported her to delights such as she had never dreamed of, and when at last it was over, and they lay quietly clasped in one another’s arms, she began to weep softly. Ivan raised himself up in consternation, brushing the tears away.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked softly, gazing down at her with eyes filled with wonder.
‘It was so beautiful.’ She smiled mistily through her tears and snuggled up against his warm chest. He did not answer, and she felt a shadow pass across her heart. He had not told her once that he loved her – had indeed uttered no endearments at all, apart from some at the height of their lovemaking. But then again, she had not told him of her love either. She started to open her mouth, to tell him, when, abruptly, he unclasped her hands, and stood up. Pulling on his clothes quickly, he looked down at her, a strange expression of decision on his face.
‘I must go. I have much to do. Don’t be afraid, I will return.’ On these words, he was gone.
Tanya sat up indignantly, all her old irritation returning. Men! They were the most exasperating creatures. Here she was, condemned to die in two days – two days? No, surely now it must be only tomorrow left, for she had slept a whole day through. A feeling of panic swept through her, and she sat up shivering, suddenly feeling very cold and alone. Rebellion flared in her blood. Die? No, she must not die, not now that she had found her love, now when life had everything to offer. She could not die. Slowly, she got up and dressed, then pulled the chair over to the window. Standing up on it, she could see over the dark rooftops of Moscow. Dawn was just breaking in the east, and somewhere a cock was crowing. Was this the last dawn she would ever see? Fear crawled with cold fingers up her back, and jumping down from the chair, she began to pace furiously up and down the room, vainly searching for some way to evade her fate. What had he meant, not to be afraid, he would return? Hope sprang up in her. Could he mean to save her somehow? But then her heart sank as she thought of his almost fanatical loyalty to the Tsar. He would not go against him in such a serious matter as this – anyway, he probably did not even love her a little, he had certainly never said so. Her body, yes, perhaps he had loved that, but herself? A different story!
When the sun was well risen, a guard brought in a large plate of steaming stew and a cup of wine. Better fare this, than before. She fell on it ravenously, and ate every bit. As she drank the wine, she could feel the strength returning to her cold body and felt considerably better. She spent the day prowling up and down her cell, or standing on her chair, peering through the window at the buildings outside. Her view was somewhat restricted, but at least it was outside these grim walls – there lay freedom, but not, it would seem, for her.
The hours dragged by interminably, but as the shadows lengthened, she began to feel more and more frightened, although determined not to show it. Another meal was brought to her, but she had no appetite now and merely picked at it, although she drank the wine. At last, it was dark once again. Tanya felt a strange sort of release, for surely this waiting would be worse than the actual happening, to die was, after all, such a little thing, over so quickly. She wondered when they would come for her – it would not be a public execution if it took place that night or at dawn, and somehow