Chapter 18
Tanya awoke several hours later, stiff and chilly, and, for a moment, could not think where she was. Panic swept through her, then her memory returned, and she gave a sigh of thankfulness. For a moment, she thought she had lost her memory again!
A half moon had now risen and gave enough light to see by, so as she was cold and hungry, she decided to move. She walked steadily for about an hour. A couple of times, far off in the distance, she could hear what she thought was a thrashing sound and had the uneasy feeling it was Christian and his men searching for her, if he had returned already. Either that or the black bears that roamed the forest. Each time, she quickened her pace, forcing her tired legs on, away from the sound, hoping desperately that she was not walking in circles. At last, she began to notice that the trees were thinning out a little, and with renewed energy, she walked on. Finally, with a gasp of relief, she realised that the forest was behind her. There was no sign of any road, just unbroken grassland stretching off into the distance. Tired out now, she stumbled over towards the nearest clump of bushes and, curling up, slept again.
When she awoke this time, the sun was quite high in the sky, and she groaned, trying to ease her tired, aching muscles. She was now extremely hungry and thirsty, very dirty, and decidedly weary. As she sat there, slumped dejectedly, she became aware of a very welcome noise in the distance. She strained her ears, then brightening visibly, set off in the direction of the sound. Ten minutes walk brought her to the banks of a broad, tumbling river, and with a cry of sheer delight, she ran down the slope and, falling to her knees, buried her head and shoulders in the clear, cold water.
She drank her fill and washed herself down, bathing her tired legs, then fixing the sun to her left again, began to follow the river in what she hoped was the direction of Petersburg. Now she had something to guide her, she did not feel so lost and managed to still the worst of her hunger by eating berries that grew along the banks. Setting her face resolutely to the west, she walked on, still following the winding banks of the river. She took frequent rests throughout the day and managed to continue until the light failed. Tired out, she slept deeply, not stirring until the rising sun shone on her face, waking her. Lying on her back for a moment, watching a bird swoop across the pale blue sky, Tanya found herself wishing that she could grow wings and fly too. She had no real idea where she was, for the exact situation of Christian’s camp was unknown to her. In what direction had she been taken after the crash, and how far? As she lay there, dawn breaking around her, a sound other than the singing of the birds gradually impinged on her consciousness, a distant, booming sound, and she sat up, frowning, trying to place the noise. Where had she heard that noise before? It was synonymous with unease, and she knew that at some time the sound had frightened her. Suddenly, realisation dawned. Once, back when she was just a small child, the Russians had besieged a town along the border from their farm, and the guns they had used had sounded just like this! She sprang to her feet, straining her eyes towards the far horizon. As far as she knew, there was only one city likely to be under attack at this time and place. Narva! At the very thought of that name, she broke into a run, in the direction of the distant booming. She need not go to Petersburg at all, if the attack had already begun, the Tsar would be at Narva, all she had to do was reach the city and find him, then perhaps she could find Ivan too. Lack of food, however, had made her weak, and she had to lapse into a stumbling walk.
For two long hours, she forced her tired legs to carry her on until reeling with exhaustion; she reached the crown of the hill she had been toiling up and, dropping to her knees, feasted her eyes on the sight below her.
There, spread out beneath her like some gaudy tapestry was Narva, surrounded by the Russian army. The Russians had built an encompassing wall to cut off the besieged city, which lay in a sharp bend of the river that had led Tanya here. The wall crossed the river from bank to bank to frustrate any attempt to surprise the Russians from the rear. Behind the wall, like some strange growth, spread the tents of the Tsar’s army. From the drab tents of the Kalmuck Tartars to the crude gaudy tents of the Cossacks, they seemed to threaten the city, crouching behind its thick, grey walls. Just below her were the tents of the main Russian Infantry, on the higher ground among the gun emplacements. The roar from these guns was shattering, but they had obviously been firing for some time, for one part of the city wall was crumbling. Even as she crouched there, the deafening salvo suddenly ceased. Before her bemused eyes, Tanya saw a column of what appeared to be Swedish cavalrymen galloping towards the gates of the city. Miraculously, they seemed to be unharmed by the infantry fire crackling through their ranks. They had almost reached the gates when they were set upon by a troop of Russian infantry. The blue and red uniforms met with a clash of arms, yet still the Swedes broke through. Tanya felt herself holding her breath at their sheer bravado, then the massive gates were opening to admit them. But now she felt confused, for the Swedes appeared to be turning the tables and fighting to keep the gates open. The ‘dead’ Russians were springing to their feet and joining in the desperate, frantic struggle to hold the gates. It had been a trick!
A mindless roar arose from the Russian ranks, as with one accord, the yelling hordes thrust forward, and slowly the great gates yielded under the onslaught. The slaughter was dreadful, the bodies piled high so that those behind had to clamber over mountains of their own dead to gain access to the city.
She crouched there, stupefied, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the battle raging below, and the hot sun was high in the sky when at last she saw the blue and gold emblem of Sweden torn down and knew that the city had fallen.
As if awakening from a spell, Tanya shuddered and eased her cramped limbs, staring around her dazedly. Then her eyes returned to hungrily fasten on the city below, and the thought that somewhere within those walls, God willing, was her husband, made her set off down the hill like a sleepwalker.
She knew instinctively that it was madness to set foot inside that inferno, but the way she felt now, after so many tortured, weary months of being alone, of struggling on towards the faint hope of finding Ivan again, she could wait no longer. She hurried through the almost deserted Russian camps, inhabited now only by the women who had followed the army and by the wounded who had crawled or been carried back to their tents.
No one took much notice of her, and had she caught a glimpse of herself in her torn and ragged dress, her skin caked with sweat and dirt, she would not have been surprised.
A group of camp followers were wending their way towards the city gates, giggling amongst themselves, lifting their skirts disdainfully as they trod unconcernedly over the dead and dying alike. Tanya tagged on behind, hoping to lose herself amongst them, and apart from a casual glance, they ignored her, obviously fearing no competition from the sorry figure.
Tanya kept her eyes averted from the bodies spread everywhere, but when she slipped in a patch of blood and fell on to a soldier who had had half his face blown away, she screamed and retched violently, although her empty stomach had nothing to throw back. Trembling violently, she caught up with the women again, and at last entered the gates with them. No one took much notice of them as they were obviously known to be Russians, no doubt by their dress. Swedish women did not stain their teeth black or paint their faces with beetroot juice and white paste as these women did.
Tanya was still following along behind them when a sudden surge forward by a crowd of panicky citizens, trying to escape from their assailants swept her away, carrying her along with them. She managed to drag herself away and took refuge in a doorway, staring at the carnage which was taking place all around her.
The Cossack cavalry were still galloping through the narrow cobbled streets, burning houses to right and left, shouting their battle cry ‘Netchai, Netchai! Cut! Stab!’
Hundreds of innocent, unarmed men, women, and children were being burnt alive in their homes, or driven into churches, which were promptly set alight.
Tanya’s horrified eyes saw a young woman carrying a baby shot full of arrows as she tried to escape from the conquerors; she saw another young girl dragged along behind a galloping Cossack, screaming as her body banged sickeningly over the cobbles. The sight took Tanya back to another day and another time, and the gorge rose in her throat. Everywhere was blood-lust and death. Almost swooning, Tanya cowered back against the door, which gave way under her weight. She staggered backwards into the room and pushed the door closed, shutting out some of the dreadful screams and yells echoing through the streets.
The room was empty apart from the body of a man, crumpled in a heap over the table. Where the women of the house were, Tanya could only surmise.
That the Russians had already been through was obvious. The dead man and the smouldering torches, which luckily had not caught, were evidence of that. Perhaps they would leave the place alone now. At all events, she was as safe here as anywhere for the present. It would be madness to leave just now. Feeling like a thief, Tanya rooted through the larder, and on finding bread, cheese, and milk, she wolfed them down, for her stomach felt raw with hunger, and she would need all her strength for the coming ordeal.
She stayed in her temporary refuge for about two hours, only having to hide once, when two drunken soldiers staggered in. On seeing the body and the ransacked house, however, they lost interest and wandered off, swearing loudly and laughing uproariously.
At last, Tanya could stand the waiting no longer. The main sounds of fighting had faded into the distance, so she decided to take a chance and try to find her way to the Tsar. She peered cautiously round the door, and on seeing that the street was deserted, she slipped out and hurried towards the sound of distant shouting. Apart from numerous bodies scattered around, some dead, some merely in a drunken stupor, she met no one. However, as she drew nearer to the centre of the city, she had to dodge into hiding several times to avoid groups of soldiers, both on horseback and on foot. Her luck held, and turning the corner, she found herself on the edge of a large square, packed tight with people. On a balcony, shouting furiously, trying to make himself heard, stood the Tsar. Clinging to his arm was a young, pretty girl, and even from where she stood, Tanya could see the distress clearly on her face. The dreadful carnage was still going on all around, the faces of the soldiers stamped with the lust to kill. Either they had not heard their Tsar or were deliberately ignoring him.
Suddenly, she screamed loudly as a pair of brutal hands caught her around the waist, pulling her backwards. Fear lent her a superhuman strength, and tearing herself free, she began to fight her way through the melee in the square, her one thought to get to the protection of the Tsar. Miraculously, she reached the Mansion House where she had seen Peter unscathed, but as she reached the doorway, her luck ran out. A huge, bearded Cossack, his tunic open revealing a blood spattered chest, lunged towards her. Tanya screamed with pain as he grabbed a handful of her hair, snapping her head back and pulling her off her feet. She fell with a bruising thud, and with a bellow of amusement, he grabbed the neckline of her dress and pulled. There was a rending sound and the material gave way, ripped from top to bottom. The ruffian licked his lips at the sight of her naked skin and hesitated for a moment, fumbling with his trousers. Tanya took her opportunity and rolled quickly away, scrambling to her feet. Clutching the remnants of her shift together, she threw herself towards the doorway, only to be brutally lifted off her feet. Tucking her under his arm like a doll, the man drew his sword, then dropping to one knee, bent her backwards across his legs. Half fainting from pain and fear, Tanya saw his short sword raised above her, shining in the sunlight. Now, surely, was the time to make her peace with God. Ironically, the only thought that flashed through her mind was that of Ivan and a fierce anger that fate had robbed them of all the years of happiness they should have had together.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the cruel face leering down at her, unable even to struggle against the iron grip holding her immobile. Dimly she heard a loud, forceful voice shouting and opened her eyes. Towering over them, sword in hand, was Tsar Peter. He was ordering the man holding Tanya to let her go, but the Cossack seemed not to hear and continued to paw at her, a glazed look in his eyes. With a roar of rage, the Tsar raised his sword, there was a swish as it flew through the air, and before Tanya’s horrified gaze, the Cossack’s head, severed from his shoulders with one mighty blow, fell on to her legs and rolled sickeningly on to the cobbles. Blood gushed over her naked skin, and with a high animal scream, she sprang to her feet, staring round wildly for somewhere to run. The Tsar pushed her behind him, and she found herself face to face with the young girl she had seen with the Tsar on the balcony.
Gently, the girl put her arm around Tanya, oblivious of her gory appearance and led her past the stupefied senior officers crowding behind their Tsar.
‘Come inside, you poor thing,’ she said in a soft gentle voice. ‘You will be quite safe here, it is the Commandant’s house, which Peter has made into his headquarters. Listen, that is the ceasefire sounding again. Now that Peter has made an example of that dreadful man, the men will obey this time. It will soon be over. Such senseless slaughter. Never, never, must it be said that the Tsar allowed such dreadful things to happen when he is trying to bring enlightenment to his country. He will stop it now.’
As she was speaking, the girl was leading her trembling companion up the main staircase to the rooms above. Tanya stared at her blindly, hardly able to believe that she was safe, back under the protection of the Tsar.
‘Who are you?’ she asked hoarsely, brushing her tangled, dirty hair out of her eyes.
The girl blushed, lowering her eyes. ‘Oh, no one in particular,’ she answered in her soft attractive voice. ‘My name is Marta Skavronsky.’
‘Marta,’ echoed Tanya, and no presentiment told her that she was speaking to the future Tsarina, who was to convert to orthodoxy to become Catherine Alexeyevna, Peter’s second wife, later becoming the first Empress of Russia. Generous, courageous, and abounding in good health and good humour, she was to be an ideal wife for Peter. She would bear him twelve children, but none of six sons, and only two girls, Anna, and the future Empress Elizabeth would grow to maturity.
‘Are you the Tsar’s . . . ?’ Tanya bit back the words, blushing at her rudeness.
Marta laughed, a sweet happy sound. ‘Yes, I am,’ she smiled. ‘And very, very happy too.’
Tanya looked at the young girl sharply, surprise in her eyes. ‘You love him.’ It was a statement, not a question.
Marta nodded, her eyes shining.
Slowly, almost painfully, a tear squeezed its way from Tanya’s eye, and she smiled sadly, ‘You are very lucky.’
‘You sound very unhappy. Here, we have arrived, these are my rooms. I will order hot water to be brought up so you can bathe and feel more comfortable.’ She waved a waiting maid off to do her bidding. ‘We are about the same size, although I believe you are a little taller, but nothing to signify. I shall find you something to wear, then you will feel much better.’
Tanya looked at Marta gratefully. ‘You are so kind,’ she said wonderingly. ‘Why do you do this for me, a complete stranger?’
Marta smiled sadly. ‘Because I know what it is to be cold, hungry, and frightened – all the horrors of this world I have known to the full. Until Peter came along and lifted me up out of the dirt, my life had been nothing but misery.’ She looked at Tanya shrewdly. ‘You, I believe, are different. Oh, you have suffered, I can see that in your eyes, but you are a lady, that stands out a mile. Where are you from? What is your name?’
Tanya had no option but to tell the truth. She was quite sure the Tsar had not recognised her when he had rescued her from her attacker – indeed, had not acted from chivalry at all, merely blind anger at not having his orders obeyed. That he would recognise her later, when face to face, she had no doubt. Anyway, she had come to throw herself on his mercy, to enable her to find her husband, and he had, after all, given his permission for her return to Moscow.
‘I am Tanya Dostoyevskiy,’ she said simply.
Marta’s eyes widened. ‘Why, then, you must be Count Ivan’s wife,’ she said in surprise.
Tanya spun round, grasping Marta by the arm. ‘What do you know of him?’ she cried, her eyes alight with hope. ‘Tell me quickly, please. I have journeyed halfway across Russia to find him, I have to find him!’
Marta hugged her, her eyes warm with pity.
‘Oh, you poor thing, no wonder you look so unhappy. No, no, I have heard nothing, don’t look so frightened. It’s just that I have heard the Tsar speak of him so many times. I believe he said that he had questioned Count Horn, the enemy Commandant about him. When you have tidied yourself, perhaps you can see Peter, and he will tell you what he has found out. Look, here is your water now. We will fill the bath before the fire. See, I have some scented bath oil, it is beautiful. I bathe every day now, you know. When you have never had a hot bath in your life, it is a luxury you cannot bear to forego.’
Tanya stripped off the remnants of her clothing and stepped into the hot scented water, sinking into it with her usual feeling of delight.
‘I know just what you mean,’ she said, her spirits rising unaccountably. So Peter had been asking questions about Ivan! What had been the answers? Almost, she was afraid to find out. She had travelled so far, struggling against so many obstacles, to be told now that he was dead would surely be the end of her. But he could not be dead! If it were so, her heart would cease to beat too!
Suddenly impatient, she sprang out of the tub, accepting the warm, soft towel handed to her by the servant. Tanya had asked Marta to find her a plain gown and was soon dressed in a severe, high-necked gown of deep burgundy, which became her admirably. Whilst she dried her hair, she answered Marta’s eager questions about Moscow, the fashions, and all the details interesting a young girl of seventeen, trying to instil some enthusiasm into her voice. Marta’s eyes widened when she heard how many Russian ladies of fashion blackened their teeth and stained their cheeks and lips with beetroot, having first plastered their faces with a thick, white paste. Both girls agreed the result was ludicrous, to say the least, and were soon chatting away, each pleased with the other.
Tanya had just finished braiding up her hair, when the door burst open, and the Tsar strode in, immediately dwarfing the small room, bringing in the rude, masculine world that for a few moments had been banished.
He stopped on the threshold, eyes narrowing a little as recognition dawned. For a moment he stood, his frowning gaze fixed on Tanya’s face. The two women exchanged apprehensive glances. As Peter’s eyes moved to Marta’s face and saw the urgent appeal in her eyes, he suddenly gave a roar and slapped his thigh, the noise sounding like a pistol shot in the small room.
‘Would you believe it?’ he cried. ‘So the lovely Tanya turns up again. I would never have recognised you outside, but it seems I did you a service, hmm?’
Tanya, who had sprung to her feet on his entry, sank into a deep curtsey.
‘Indeed, I owe Your Majesty my life without a doubt,’ she murmured. ‘I am most grateful.’
The Tsar laughed and bounded across the room to Marta, and snatching her up in his arms, tossed her in the air like a doll.
‘And my Krasavitsa has been making you comfortable, I see.’
Tanya was bursting with impatience, interested only in finding out about Ivan, but she knew better than to rush her fences with the Tsar, so stood quietly waiting. Her eyes widened a little in astonishment as she looked at Peter, still holding Marta in his arms and smiling down at her. She would hardly have recognised him, so softened had his rather harsh features become. Of the persistent tic that pulled at the side of his face there was no sign, and the thought crossed Tanya’s mind that the young girl could be very good for the Tsar – and consequently, for Russia.
At last, Peter set Marta on her feet and swung round towards Tanya, a speculative look on his face.
‘So, what brings the lovely Countess Dostoyevskiy to Narva?’ he asked abruptly. ‘And in such circumstances, may I add!’
‘Surely, Your Majesty must know the answer to that question,’ she cried. ‘Forgive me for speaking plainly, but I cannot help but see that you and Marta are very much in love. You both know the feeling, and it is just that that has brought me halfway across Russia to find my husband.’ Her voice broke, the tears suddenly coursing down her cheeks, as tiredness swept over her. ‘Oh, Your Majesty, have you heard anything of him? Have you any news at all?’ Peter hesitated for a moment, then saw Marta’s face, full of pity.
‘Come and sit down,’ he said in a much kinder voice. ‘I have been making enquiries about Ivan, for not only is he a loyal subject, but he is also my friend. I pumped the Commandant here, but can get nothing out of him. I believe him to have been thrown into prison many months ago, and no doubt forgotten. I do not believe he was executed, for everyone here denies it. What has become of him since, I do not know. I must be frank with you, the state of most prisons is very grim – I would not hold out too much hope – in fact, I can offer you very little hope at all!’