I had guessed. He had the stance and way of relaxing of a regular soldier; a way of economising on his own energy and that of others. God knows what passions really slept in him. But he would not allow them to wake up. It was his training. He was doing his job as best he could. Having no cause, no Tsar, no God, he desperately rationalised the situation by looking about for the most likely Tsar. That, at least, was my belief.
It now strikes me how narrowly we missed achieving the founding of a new dynasty in Russia. I imagine we should have had a Tsar Grigori of one family or another. Rasputin, perhaps, or Hrihorieff. Or a new Peter, in Krassnoff. I suppose none of them allowed themselves to admit the fullness of their ambition. But they would have let their supporters proclaim them Tsar. Rasputin: Theocrat of All Russia. What might he have achieved? An Enlightenment? Or an age of terror to match Lenin’s? Was he Lorenzo the Magnificent or Savonarola? Did we need both in one? Evidently we did. The theological student from Georgia, Stalin, became Priest-King in the end. He widened and extended the Russian Empire. Kerenski baulked at using the whip. He screamed like an hysterical mother at her children, begging us to be good. Stalin proclaimed that Russia should be orderly, and it was orderly. We have had ages of greyness and we have had ages of silver in Russia. In the distant past we have had fleeting ages of gold. We long for those golden ages. But when they come, they are like the gold of an Arctic autumn, seen for a single day. Then Winter falls.
I asked Yermeloff, as he went to sleep, why Grishenko had not waited for the second train of which I had spoken.
‘If it was a Bolshevik train, he would have had to wipe everyone out: all witnesses; passengers, soldiers, drivers. The lot. It wasn’t economic. He got the best he could. Loot from the Jews and a mechanic to fix our transport. You were quite a coup. I’m honoured to own you.’
‘What fuel was in that truck?’
‘Moonshine,’ said Yermeloff, ‘in all likelihood.’ He turned his back and began to breathe deeply.
I did not sleep. I went out into the yard again. I wished I could ride. I considered stealing the truck. But it would be hard to start and it might be low on fuel. I did not dare risk Grishenko’s anger. I would wait until we got to Alexandriya and look for Bolshevik ‘comrades’. Politicians were easier to deal with than wolves, and Yermeloff was merely a comfort to me, not an ally. He served his own private Tsar: the Emperor of Destruction, the God of Despair. It was almost traditional: to ally oneself with the Devil in the belief that God had given up the world.
MUSIC IS MEANT to soothe us. Even the Cossacks understood that. They had their drinking songs; their mournful ballads of death and love; and their lullabies. A Cossack, his rifle on his back, his sword at his side, singing a lullaby to a child, is one of the most beautiful sights and sounds in this world. I saw this when we camped on the way to Alexandriya. I had been dumped into the booty truck and, ahead of the entire squadron, driven through the grim February snow. With Kiev captured, Antonov was now heading south, Yermeloff said. We were all supposed to be fighting for socialism.
In this age of the Ego, I was to learn, ‘socialism’ can be anything one wants it to be. These bandits were all Catholics. Catholicism is the last rung in the ladder to Communism. Socialism or freemasonry, call it what you will, it is all tainted with the same false pride. Only the Greek Orthodox religion is free of the taint. In our religion, Christ rules. There is no such thing as an independent conscience. It is the only religion which can save us from Carthage. The Arabs do not question their Koranic law. That is their strength. God will protect the innocent. Let the Dark Age come, the Age of Iron, so we may be shown the Light once more; a new dawn granted to us by God, who is always merciful. We must not betray His trust. I speak from experience. I thought God’s gifts to me were enough. But they were taken away because I accepted them, without Faith. That is why the world now has its Polio alia Kiev, its Boeuf Stroganoff, its Strawberry Romanoff: because the generals, the politicians, the lawyers, betrayed God’s Faith. They had to become waiters, porters and chefs all over the world. It is why I am selling second-hand clothes in the Portobello Road, to Germans who push me off the pavement to get at some mock-silver Indian bracelet to take home to Munich; to French girls who laugh at me and talk amongst themselves, not knowing I understand every filthy word; to Americans with their terror-struck condescension.
