Chapter 19
Blankly, Tanya stared up at the Tsar, her mind refusing to register what he had said. She passed a shaky hand across her eyes and spoke in a pathetic little voice. ‘Would Your Majesty be kind enough to excuse me? I . . . I feel so tired and confused.’
Peter nodded, and Marta sprang up, shepherding Tanya from the room. She kissed her impulsively on the cheek, tears of sympathy in her eyes. ‘Do not despair, you must never give up hope, believe me.’ On these words, she delivered Tanya into the care of a servant and, with a spring in her step, returned to her lover.
Tanya followed the servant up several flights of stairs and was shown the room where she was to sleep. Although she had pleaded tiredness – indeed, she felt weary to the core, she found she could not even lie down. She paced backwards and forwards across the floor, wringing her hands, fear gnawing at her stomach.
Even hearing from the Tsar’s own lips the apparent hopelessness of her ever finding Ivan again, she still could not believe that she would never again see the tall figure of her husband, vibrant with life, his eyes alight with love for her. Even thinking of him was like a knife twisting inside her, and impulsively she flung wide the windows, stepping out on to the tiny balcony that faced out on to the square.
Although sporadic fighting was still going on in the distance, the immediate vicinity was now quiet. The sun was setting, throwing deep shadows across the cobbles, its lurid light giving the twisted bodies still lying in the square a macabre life. How long she stood gazing over the rooftops she had no idea, but eventually, her attention was caught by a dull roaring in the distance. Rather apathetically she wondered what it could be, then, rubbing her tired eyes, was just about to go back into the room when the distant shouting began to penetrate her mind. Stiffening, she was suddenly alert, straining her ears. The shouting was much nearer now, and a figure burst out of a side alley, screaming. It was a young girl, her face distorted with fear. Pursuing her closely were three men, but it was their appearance that riveted Tanya’s gaze. They were all absolutely filthy, their faces bearded and unkempt, their clothes in rags, but it was the chains swinging from their wrists upon which her eyes were fixed. The shouting merged into one terrified cry. ‘They have opened the prisons. God help us all, they have freed the prisoners.’
Tanya froze, unable to move for a moment. Hope and fear fought inside her, and inevitably, hope won. Turning on her heel, she ran back into the room, and snatching a large woollen shawl that lay across the clothes chest, threw it over her head and shoulders. Cautiously she opened the door and peered round. The hallway was empty. With a sigh of relief, she slipped silently along until she found what she was looking for. A narrow, dark stairway led downwards from the servant’s quarters. She flew down it, her feet hardly seeming to touch the ground, her weariness forgotten, and found a small side door, which opened easily enough when she unbolted it. There was no sign of any guards – perhaps the warning of the prisoners’ escape had caused them to move.
Without a backward glance, Tanya ran across the square and dived down the road from which she had seen the first prisoners emerging. For a moment, she thought it was empty, then a dull roar came to her ears, and she saw a solid mass of humanity bearing down on her, struggling, screaming, and fighting. With a gasp of fear, she flattened herself against an alcoved doorway as the human tide swept past her. Somehow she managed to keep her feet, and the mob scarcely seemed to notice her there as it mindlessly surged by. She shrank back into the doorway, glad of the gathering shadows, for she had no illusions as to her fate should one of the convicts’ roving eyes fall on her. Many now clutched bottles of wine and were pouring the contents down their throats as if they would never stop; others were already dragging terrified women along, obviously looking for somewhere away from the mob.
However, her luck held, and the main body swept past her without a glance, until the roaring faded into the distance. Tanya had a feeling of anti-climax, wondering what she was doing here, what she had hoped to accomplish by rushing out the way she had. She stood uncertainly, peering into the gloom. Many bodies lay strewn about the street, some groaning, others lying still, never to move again.
She detached herself from the shadows and walked slowly into the centre of the road, still illuminated by the last rays of the setting sun. Suddenly, no more than a few feet from her, one of the bodies moved and staggered up, swaying on his feet. Unable to resist a scream, Tanya turned on her heel, poised for flight. Even as she started to run, a quiet voice behind her spoke, weak and full of a wry bitterness that wrung at the heart. ‘Please don’t be afraid. I’m sorry I startled you, whoever you are. I assure you I am quite harmless.’
Tanya froze, and for a moment, it seemed to her that her heart had stopped beating. Slowly, slowly she turned, hardly daring to look at the tall, emaciated figure standing uncertainly before her. Her tongue was cloven to the roof of her mouth, and her heart seemed to be leaping out of her breast. She took a hesitant step nearer, and the dying sun lit up the face before her. She felt faintness sweep over her, then joy was coursing through her veins like wine, and the tears began to pour unheeded down her cheeks. At last, at last, fate had taken pity on them, had reunited them in this unexpected way. She had found him! All the hardships, misery, and suffering she had endured over the past months were forgotten, as if they had never been. They were together again, she had found him!
Forcing her legs to move, Tanya walked right up to him, and raising her face to his, kissed him tenderly on the lips, oblivious of the beard straggling around his chin, of the dirt and blood encrusted over his filthy rags. Ivan jumped as if he had been stung, and backed away, holding his hands out before him. ‘Why . . . why did you do that?’ he cried hoarsely. ‘Who are you?’
Shocked, Tanya stared at him. Surely he had not forgotten her? No, no, of course, that was impossible. He just had not recognised her – she was the last person he would be expecting to see in this place. She threw back her shawl and stepped forward. For the first time she spoke. ‘Have I changed that much, my dear love?’ she said quietly, her eyes devouring the tired features of the man she had travelled so far to find.
For a moment he did not move, staring unseeingly above her head, then he took another step away from her, shaking his head. ‘What are you trying to do to me?’ he cried in a loud, anguished voice. ‘Have I not suffered enough, that you must taunt me like this? Oh God, if it could only be true. Tanya, Tanya.’
Even as his fevered voice called her name, Ivan’s legs gave way, and he pitched forward. Tanya half caught him as he fell and pillowed his head in her lap, sobbing. ‘Oh Ivan, Ivan, what have those devils done to you, my love, my love.’
She was still kneeling there, sobbing, when Peterkin found her. He had been working in his study on some of the Tsar’s papers when Peter, suddenly remembering him, had sent for him. He had been informed that the Countess Dostoyevskiy had turned up here, tired but safe, and was at the moment resting. Hardly able to believe his ears, filled with jubilation and relief, he had stammered his thanks and rushed off to enquire which room the Countess had been allocated. She had no idea that he was here, the Tsar having forgotten his existence when he spoke to her, and resting or not, Peterkin knew that Tanya would be overjoyed to find that he was safe, for she must believe he had died in the coach when it was attacked.
Finding his way to her room, he knocked on the door. There was no answer, and when he had knocked several times, he had cautiously opened the door, expecting to find Tanya fast asleep on the bed. On finding the room empty, he felt distinctly uneasy and made enquiries all around the house but to no avail. No one had seen Tanya; everyone had thought she was asleep in her room. Really worried now, Peterkin had been standing undecided in the great entrance hall, when he had heard the news going around that the prisoners had been released. Immediately he was sure he understood. If he knew Tanya – and surely he knew her as well as anyone – the minute she had heard that the prisoners were free, she had rushed off in her usual, impulsive manner with wild plans of finding Ivan. Peterkin knew quite well that the chances of her doing so were practically nil, but that would not weigh with Tanya. And now, God knows what had happened to her. Pausing only to strap on his sword, he called two soldiers lounging around outside to come with him, then set out to look for her. It was not difficult finding the way the prisoners had come, one had only to follow the bodies. A couple of times a woman’s body was passed, crumpled up in a pathetic heap, and each time, Peterkin’s heart leapt into his mouth until he saw it was not Tanya.
When they turned the corner, and he heard a woman sobbing, he beckoned the soldiers and hurried forward. Darkness had fallen, and he could not see clearly, but with a feeling of unutterable relief, he recognised the pale face turned up to him as Tanya’s.
He dropped to his knees beside her. ‘Thank God, I have found you. Whatever possessed you to come out here, just as you had reached safety?’ he scolded.
A small voice answered him unbelievingly.
‘Peterkin?’ said Tanya incredulously. ‘Peterkin? Is that really you? I thought you were dead. I don’t understand anything any more, all I know is, I have found Ivan. He’s here, look, Peterkin. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. He must be delirious, because he didn’t recognise me at all. Oh, Peterkin, help me get him back to safety, I mustn’t lose him again now, not now I have found him at last. Help me, Peterkin.’
From her voice, Peterkin realised that she was very near breaking point. Probably it was she that was delirious, for how could she possibly have found Ivan amongst all the teeming masses that had burst out of the prisons. Prising her loose gently, he knelt down beside the still figure, cursing himself for not bringing a torch. It was so dark now in this narrow street, he could see nothing. He ordered the two soldiers to pick up the body, and they walked back towards the square, and the Tsar’s headquarters.
‘It’s best to humour her anyway,’ he thought, as he looked anxiously at the tired figure stumbling along beside him. She has obviously been through a tremendous ordeal herself – he knew how she had arrived at the headquarters, and how the Tsar had saved her life. She had been through more than any woman should have to bear; now she must be nursed back to health.
He got his charges inside without further incident and had the soldiers carry the inert body up to Tanya’s room, as she showed signs of succumbing to hysteria when he tried to talk her out of the idea. It wasn’t until the unconscious man was laid on the bed that he looked at him again, for his thoughts had been too taken up with Tanya. He had thought her little changed, although still far too thin, and sadder too, somehow. Now, however, he walked over to the man on the bed and looked hard at him. Despite the unkempt beard and the dirt, it was undoubtedly the face of Ivan Dostoyevskiy! He turned unbelievingly to Tanya.
‘It’s really him,’ he said in an awed voice. ‘You really found him. How did you do it?’
‘Of course it’s him, you fool,’ snapped Tanya. ‘Do you think I don’t know my own husband?’ Then her face softened, and she ran up and hugged him impulsively.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Peterkin, what a shrew you must think me. I haven’t even said how glad I am to see you, but I am, you know that, don’t you? I thought you were dead too. It was really a chance in a million, finding him like that – in a way he found me. He just stood up before me when the mob had passed. I couldn’t believe it myself. I think for the first time in my life, the fates were for me instead of against me. But, Peterkin, he . . . he isn’t dead, is he? I don’t think I could bear it.’
Peterkin turned quickly to the injured man.
‘No, no, Tanya, I can see him breathing, and his heart is beating too, quite strongly. He has a wound here, in his side, that’s where the blood must have come from, but it’s only a flesh wound. He has a very strong constitution, he must have to have survived for months in prison, he’ll come through, never fear. We must send for Peter’s physician, get hot water, and bandages organised.’
‘Yes, yes, of course, what am I thinking of? And the Tsar must be informed that he has been found.’
The next few hours were trying ones for Tanya, despite the physician’s assurances that her husband had no fatal injuries but was merely exhausted through lack of food and the loss of blood from the wound. When he was bathed and bandaged, they tucked him up in Tanya’s bed, and she had a small cot put up by the fire for herself to sleep in, for she refused to be parted from him. They managed to get a few drops of wine between Ivan’s lips, but the doctor insisted that at the moment, sleep was the best cure. One by one, the well-wishers trickled away. Marta came to see Tanya and hugged her, so pleased that she had found her husband, and the Tsar himself looked in for a moment and said he would be back in the morning, when hopefully Ivan would be awake.
At last, there was just the three of them left, and Peterkin stood up and stretched wearily.
‘I wish you would let me stay and look after Ivan,’ he scolded. ‘You are tired out yourself and need a good night’s sleep.’
‘Thank you for offering, my dear friend,’ smiled Tanya. ‘Perhaps you would like to sleep in the little closet next door, then you can pop in and check on us if you feel worried. I couldn’t leave him now, I feel as though if I leave this room, when I come back in, it will all have been a dream, and he won’t be here at all.’
Peterkin laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ll say goodnight then, Tanya, and for the first time for a long time, I’ll go to sleep with an easy mind.’
He disappeared through the door, and Tanya undressed slowly, never taking her eyes from the still figure on the bed. She could still hardly believe that it was really Ivan lying there, that this was not some beautiful dream from which she would awaken to find herself back in that dreadful prison of Father Stevanov’s, or back with the bandits in the forest. Slipping into her wrap, she pulled a chair up to the bed. Ivan was looking a little feverish, tossing his head on the pillow, his thin hands clenching and unclenching on the coverlet. Tanya took one and held it between her own, tenderness welling up inside her, and it seemed to calm him. Once she thought she heard him whisper her name, and she kissed his hot forehead, murmuring, ‘I am here, my love, I’ll never leave you again, never.’ He sank into a deep slumber, and Tanya sat by his side, still holding his hand.
When Peterkin came to check on them a couple of hours later, she was still there, holding his hand, although she had slipped slightly in her chair, and was fast asleep. He managed to lift her on to her bed without waking her and covered her over. He felt Ivan’s forehead and was relieved to find it quite cool.
He checked on them several times during the night and sat with them as morning drew into afternoon and still they both slept. Instinctively he knew that this was nature’s way of healing and was the best medicine either of them could have.
He was sitting by the window, writing, when the man on the bed stirred and opened his eyes. Tanya was still sleeping peacefully, which was not surprising considering all the walking she had done to get to Narva, and what she had been through. Peterkin rose at once and hurried over to the bed.
‘Ivan, can you hear me?’ he whispered. ‘You’re safe now, back in the Tsar’s headquarters. It’s all over now, you’re among friends again.’
Ivan’s head turned on the pillow, and he stared up at Peterkin. ‘How did I get here?’ he asked in a puzzled voice. ‘Is the Tsar here?’
‘Yes,’ answered Peterkin, smiling. ‘Narva has fallen and is now in the Tsar’s hands. We all thought you were dead except Tanya, she wouldn’t believe it.’
‘Is that you, Peterkin?’ asked Ivan and reached out a groping hand. ‘I know your voice. It is you, isn’t it?’
The smile faded from Peterkin’s face, and he felt a cold hand close around his heart. He leaned over Ivan, a sense of foreboding creeping through him. ‘Of course, it’s me,’ he whispered. ‘Can’t you see me?’
Even as he asked the question, he somehow knew the answer. Ivan shook his head. ‘No, I can’t,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m quite blind. Didn’t you know? You have only got half of me back. My sight I left in that stinking dungeon they flung me into.’ He laughed, a mirthless sound that made Peterkin flinch. ‘Do you know, I didn’t even know I was blind until someone came and unlocked my door and told me the prisons were open, we were all free. I had been in the dark so long, my eyes just didn’t function any more. I thought the whole prison was in darkness until I got outside and felt the sun on my face.’
Peterkin stared down at the bitter face of the Count, and something within him rebelled against the injustice of it all.
‘I . . . I don’t know what to say, Ivan,’ he began. ‘But it may not be permanent. The Tsar will get the best physicians in the land to look at you – your sight may yet return.’
Ivan shook his head. ‘Perhaps, but meanwhile, what do I do? I can’t spend the rest of my life a helpless hulk, dependent on others. I should rather be dead.’
‘No!’ The word was flat and final, and both men turned their heads as Tanya sat up on the cot. She had awakened at the sound of voices and had heard the last part of their conversation. She looked pale, but quite determined. ‘Don’t ever say you would rather be dead than dependent on me, Ivan.’
‘Tanya!’ He struggled to sit up in bed, his whole face lighting up at the sound of her voice. ‘So it was you, last night. I thought I had dreamed the whole thing, I couldn’t see how it could possibly be you. What are you doing here?’
‘I came to look for you,’ she said simply and ran over to the bed, flinging herself into his arms. Peterkin tiptoed out of the room, although both of them had, for the moment, forgotten his existence.
Cupping his face in her hands, Tanya stared hungrily down at him, then bending her head, she kissed him long and lingeringly on the mouth. For a moment, he tried to resist, then with a groan, his arms went around her, and he crushed her to him with a strength he hadn’t known he still had. Tanya felt as though she were consumed with fire and strained herself to him, murmuring his name between kisses. His passion began to mount, and with a shaky laugh, she pulled herself away from him, trying to calm the pounding of her own heart.
‘What am I doing?’ she gasped. ‘You are ill, you have been wounded, and you must eat, sleep, and get well for me. I mustn’t exhaust you like this.’
He still had hold of her wrist, and he pulled her back towards him, his fingers finding her face. Gently he traced the pure line of her features, then he pulled her down to him and kissed her gently. Holding both her hands, he sank back on to the pillow with a grimace. ‘By God, I’m as weak as a kitten,’ he complained. ‘So, Tanya, you heard what I said. I’m blind – helpless. You can’t want to be saddled with me as I am.’
Tanya laughed, a clear, joyous sound that brought a look of wonder into his face. ‘You don’t think I have struggled across half of Muscovy, suffered so much, all in the hope of finding you, to just give you up over such a trifle, do you?’ she said lightly.
‘A trifle?’ he repeated harshly. ‘Do you realise what it will mean? Tanya, I can’t ask it of you, you deserve better.’
She squeezed his hand fiercely. ‘There is no one better for me than you, were I to search the world for the rest of my life. You shall not get rid of me so easily. Besides, one day I know your sight will return, and you’ll be able to look at me when I tell you I love you, as I shall every day for as long as we live.’
He pulled her towards him again, cradling her against his heart, his hand stroking her hair. ‘Then I don’t believe there is another man in the world as lucky as I. Oh, Tanya, Tanya, I have thought of nothing else but you the whole time I was in that stinking prison, worrying about you. Did you come here with Peterkin and the Tsar? He should never have allowed it, you might have been in danger.’
She laughed a little shakily. ‘No, my sweet, I came alone. In fact, I nearly didn’t get here at all. I am going to order you food and drink, then perhaps if you feel strong enough later, I shall tell you all that has happened to me since I saw you last. And you, you must tell me. I thought I had suffered, but I believe it must have been far worse for you, shut up alone in the darkness.’
When he had bathed and eaten and drunk his fill, Ivan told her of his adventures, how he had gained access to Narva and had managed to send out all sorts of valuable reports to the Tsar before he was captured. Why he had not been executed he was not sure, although he wondered whether he might not have been offered as hostage or for ransom at some time. He had been thrown into a deep, pitch-black hole, where the floor was sometimes flooded when the river was high. The only thing that had kept him alive all those months had been the thought of her and the fierce desire to hold her in his arms again.
Exhausted now, he slept, and when he awoke again, seemed much stronger, and demanded to hear Tanya’s story. She was just about to begin when the door burst open, and the Tsar strode in. Without ceremony, he crossed to the bed and grasped Ivan’s hand, shaking it wordlessly, tears standing out in his eyes. Tanya was moved to see him so upset for Ivan, and curtseying low, she crossed over to the fire, leaving the two men together. The Tsar stayed for about half an hour, talking of the battle and the war in general. He showed great tact, which surprised Tanya greatly, and it was with genuine warmth that she returned the handclasp he gave her as he left.
‘Tanya, Tanya.’ Ivan’s voice brought her back into the room, to his side.
‘Yes, my love?’ she asked softly.
‘I thought you had gone. Stay here by me, I want to hear your story.’
Then, before she could begin, he asked abruptly, ‘Tanya, do you really think there is a chance my sight may return?’
‘Of course, there is a chance. The Tsar’s physician is coming to see you soon, when he has finished with the wounded. I am sure he will say the same. Besides . . . ,’ her voice faltered a little, ‘you have to get your sight back, for there is someone I particularly desire you to see.’
‘Who is it?’ he asked, looking puzzled.
‘His name is Nicholas,’ she said softly, her eyes fixed on his face. ‘And I love him very, very much.’
‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’ Anger was vibrant in his voice. ‘Are you making fun of me? By God, if you are . . .’
‘No, no, Ivan, let me finish. He is just six months old. He’s your son, Ivan – our son!’
For a moment he didn’t answer, and half afraid, Tanya took him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘Did you hear me?’ she cried. ‘That’s what you have to fight for, my love. Our son.’
‘But . . . how is this possible? I don’t understand.’ Suspicion and bewilderment chased each other across his face.
‘I knew even before we were married,’ she said quietly. ‘Yvette knew too, but I swore her to secrecy. I didn’t want you to ask me to marry you just because of the child, don’t you understand? I wanted you to marry me for myself, because you thought I would make you a worthy wife, because you loved me, I don’t know. Then, when you asked me to marry you, I was so happy, but you were leaving to make your peace with the Tsar, and I knew if I told you I was pregnant, you would never have gone, and I would never forgive myself for stopping you, you might even have come to blame me for being the cause of your never being able to return to Russia again, and I would rather have died than have that happen, so.’ She shrugged her shoulders fatalistically. ‘Now I think perhaps it would have been better if I had told you. We might now be living in comfort in France, and my son would have been born in luxury instead of on a filthy straw pallet, in freezing conditions. It almost cost my son his life too, that decision. As for me, I am lucky to be here talking to you at all.’
She felt a little angry and hurt, for she had seen the suspicion on his face, but when she looked back at him, his face was alight with such as expression of joy that she drew a sharp breath. ‘My son. I have a son!’ he repeated in an unbelieving voice, then with a whoop, pulled her into his arms. This time, no resistance would hold him back, and in spite of her half-hearted protests, he took her again to that place where only he knew how to lead her, making love with a fierce demanding passion that left her breathless and ecstatic.
They were lying locked in one another’s arms, whispering endearments, when there was a light tap on the door. Tanya leapt up hastily, rearranging her disordered garments and was trying to tidy her hair, which was half way down her back when the door opened, and Peterkin peered round. His glance took in the rumpled bed, and Tanya’s blushing face, and he grinned. ‘I won’t ask if I’m disturbing you, because it’s obvious I am. Shall I go to the devil?’
‘No, no, Peterkin, come in,’ cried Tanya, trying to cool her hot cheeks. ‘We . . . I, that is, I’m just going to order some food for Ivan.’
She rushed from the room, and Ivan laughed, a joyous sound that made Peterkin stare at him in surprise.
‘Have you seen him, Peterkin? My son? Have you seen him?’
‘Yes, sir, I have. My wife, Yvette, is looking after him now, at your estates. He’s a fine lad, just fine.’
The Count’s eyebrows went up. ‘Your wife, eh? So you married the little French lady? Congratulations. You must be missing her. We must go home. I shall speak to the Tsar and get his permission for us all to go home. That, at the moment, is all I want. That – and my sight.’
At that moment, Tanya returned.
‘Oh yes, Ivan, please let us go home. I am so tired of wandering about, searching and struggling. All I want now is to be with you – you and Nicholas. We will be so happy, won’t we, Ivan?’
There was an urgent question in her voice that made Peterkin look at her in surprise. Ivan smiled and held out his hand. ‘Yes, we will be happy,’ he answered softly. ‘I think we have earned a little happiness, don’t you? I want to know everything that has happened since I last saw you, every little detail. No, no, stay, Peterkin, you are as involved as anyone.’
So, in the peace and quiet of the bedroom, in the flickering firelight, Tanya re-lived all the terrors and privations of the past months. Soon she forgot the other occupants of the room, forgot even that she was talking to Ivan. Her voice showed again the terror she had known whilst in the clutches of Father Stevanov – the joy when she had found her son alive, and lastly, the aching loneliness she had known after she had escaped from the brigands and began to walk to Narva, to find Ivan.
Dawn was creeping in the window when she finished speaking, and her audience, who had been sitting spellbound, shook themselves and seemed to waken as if from a dream. Without a word, Ivan drew her into his arms, and almost immediately, she fell asleep, like a child, her head pillowed on his chest.
Peterkin left them there, together, as they were meant to be.