ALEKSEI HAD BEEN IN MOSCOW FOR NINE DAYS, UNDECIDED as to what to do. It was easy to assert that action must be better than inaction, but to do the wrong thing now could bring disaster, and change the future of Russia for ever. Even if he simply went to the wrong place, he might find himself too distant from events when they finally occurred to have any influence over them. True, little was likely to happen in Moscow, but Moscow was at least reasonably central. The seat of government was to the north, in Petersburg; Tsar Konstantin was to the west, in Warsaw, though presumed to be preparing for his return, if he hadn’t already set out; the Southern Society, and its revolutionary fervour, was to the south, around Kiev. Minsk was the city most ideally positioned between those three potential powder kegs, but Aleksei was damned if he was going to Minsk.

And that was the point on which his judgement might have been a little more subjective. Moscow meant Domnikiia and Tamara. They were reason enough to stay, particularly when there was no good reason to leave. He was reminded of the winter of 1812, after Bonaparte’s hasty retreat from Moscow. Then he had lingered in the city with Domnikiia, awaiting events. Then, the event had been a letter from Dmitry Fetyukovich, announcing that he was on the trail of Iuda and the last remaining Oprichnik, Foma. This time, he would be summoned… how?

There was a polite knock at the door. Aleksei opened it. A footman stood outside.

‘A gentleman to see you, sir.’

‘Send him in.’

‘He’s in a great hurry and says you must accompany him,’ the servant replied.

Aleksei put on his coat and grabbed his hat, heading out to the front door. Waiting for him was Lieutenant Batenkov, that young stalwart of the Northern Society in Moscow.

‘I have a message for you, Colonel,’ he said, ‘from Dmitry… from Lieutenant Danilov. You must come at once.’

They walked briskly through the snow, towards the Kremlin and then past the manège and the Bolshoi Theatre before heading up to Lubyanka Square. The club was as busy as Aleksei had ever seen it. He saw Dmitry across the other side of the room, and forced his way through to him, half listening to the hubbub of conversation that filled the air. Three names stood out – the brothers Romanov: Konstantin Pavlovich, Nikolai Pavlovich and Mihail Pavlovich.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Aleksei as soon as he and Batenkov had reached Dmitry.

‘Grand Duke Mihail,’ explained Dmitry. ‘He reached Petersburg five days ago.’

Of the surviving brothers, Mihail, the youngest, was the only one whom Aleksei had met personally. Aleksandr had briefly introduced them six years before, and had recommended the soldier to the grand duke. The news that Mihail should have gone to the capital at this time was no surprise. ‘And Konstantin?’ Aleksei asked. It seemed the obvious question.

‘No,’ said Dmitry. ‘That’s just the thing, but worse than that, Mihail is refusing to swear allegiance to Konstantin.’

‘What?’ That was news – or more likely, rumour. ‘Are you sure?’

‘We’ve heard it from three sources.’

‘Why should he refuse?’ asked Aleksei.

‘It’s a coup d’état,’ said Dmitry. ‘Nikolai is trying to take over.’

‘But Nikolai swore allegiance to his brother days ago – as soon as he heard Aleksandr was dead.’

‘He would do, wouldn’t he?’ Dmitry seemed very sure of what was going on. ‘That way no one suspects him, and he can see which way the wind is blowing. And see what his agents could do in Warsaw.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Konstantin is being held prisoner – that’s why he’s not back in Petersburg.’

‘Oh, come on!’ Even as he spoke, Aleksei wondered if his scepticism was a reflection of his naivety. It would be a very Romanov way of doing things. Both the father and the grandfather had had power ripped from them by other members of the family. Why should this generation be any different? ‘What do our friends in the Polish Society say?’ he asked.

‘There’s no news,’ said Dmitry. ‘I’ll be honest – what we’re hearing from Warsaw is vague so far.’

‘The plan was for them to rise up at the same time as we did,’ said Batenkov, who had been listening intently to the conversation.

‘Exactly,’ said Dmitry. ‘And if they see that Konstantin has been arrested, who are they to know that it’s not as a result of a direct order from us, having taken charge here.’

Aleksei nodded. ‘So what’s the mood here?’ he asked.

‘We have to liaise with Petersburg, but the obvious plan is to back Konstantin. If we ensure he takes the throne, then he’ll have to repay us by delegating much of his power to us.’

‘A constitution, you mean? That’s less than we’d hoped for.’

Dmitry touched his father’s arm. ‘You’re such an old idealist, Papa. We have to grab what we can get when the chance arises. Who knows what may come of it in the end?’ His patronizing manner cut Aleksei to the quick, but not for the obvious reason. What really hurt was how utterly deceived Dmitry was as to his father’s motivations.

‘Why side with Konstantin though?’ Aleksei asked. ‘Why not with Nikolai? He’d be just as grateful for the victory, and he’s younger – maybe more in tune with our views.’ To be honest, it didn’t sound like the Nikolai Aleksei had heard descriptions of.

Batenkov nodded. ‘And he’s in a stronger position,’ he added, ‘being in Petersburg.’

‘That’s exactly why we have to support Konstantin. Nikolai is too strong. He’ll win and be under no obligation to give us anything.’

Dmitry was right, Aleksei knew it. There was another reason too. ‘Plus, we’ll have right on our side – in the sense of supporting the correct succession,’ Aleksei explained. ‘Anyone loyal to the crown will be loyal to Konstantin.’

‘I don’t like standing around waiting, though,’ said Dmitry. ‘We should act.’

Aleksei couldn’t help but agree. His mind was in turmoil. As a loyal Russian, he had to support Konstantin as the next in line to the throne. But if the Northern Society threw its hat into the ring with Konstantin, then whose side did that really put him on? And in his heart, didn’t he believe that a constitutional monarchy – what Aleksandr had seemed to promise in the early days – was best for Russia? On top of all that, there was the question of Zmyeevich and the next generation of Romanovs. Aleksei had already decided that a constitution would be a good way of blunting that threat. If a constitutional monarchy it was to be, Aleksei’s new ambition must be to keep it from descending into a French-style bloodbath.

‘What had you in mind?’ he asked.

‘Go to Warsaw,’ said Dmitry. ‘Free Konstantin.’

Aleksei shook his head. That would be a waste of time, whatever outcome they were seeking. ‘It’s too far. Konstantin may already have left – or may be dead. The Polish Society is best placed to deal with it.’

‘But someone has to communicate with the Poles,’ insisted Dmitry.

‘True – and that communication will have already been sent from Petersburg. They’re in charge and they’ve got a clear picture of what’s going on.’

‘So we go to Petersburg.’

‘Exactly,’ said Aleksei. ‘We have to stop Nikolai seizing power, or at least object to it. That will give Konstantin time to arrive.’

‘And if Konstantin is dead?’

Aleksei considered. If one brother had slain another for the throne, then none of them could be trusted. It would be the end of the monarchy. ‘Then God help Russia,’ he said.

But the thought of fratricide brought the name Cain back to his mind. Power moving from Konstantin to Nikolai brought it one step closer to Nikolai’s son, Aleksandr. That would be in Zmyeevich’s, and therefore Iuda’s interests. Could Iuda have played some part in what was happening? Aleksei dismissed it – it was paranoia. But where Iuda was involved, paranoia was a healthy trait.