Twelve (43 page)

Tarasov laughed the laugh of a man who did not, in his heart, understand my sentiments. 'Well, good for you,' he said.

'So what is the French disposition at present?' I asked.

'They're pretty much trapped at Borisov,' he explained. 'They were hoping to cross the Berezina there, but Admiral Tchitchagov got in before them from the west and burnt the bridge.'

'Do they need a bridge?' I asked. 'Surely the river must be frozen pretty solid by now.'

'Ah, no. They may have Bonaparte, but we have God on our side. Haven't you noticed the thaw?' I looked at him in his heavy greatcoat, hat, scarf and gloves. He was more sensitive than I if he could notice any thaw. 'The river was frozen, but it's flowing again now. They'll never get across.'

'So we're going in for the kill?'

'Well, we can't leave them there, can we? Kutuzov is coming in from the south as well. They're trapped.'

'And who's in charge here?'

'Wittgenstein,' said Tarasov proudly.

'So will Bonaparte fight?'

'He doesn't stand a chance. He'll have to surrender.'

'That doesn't sound like him. Maybe he'll head south.'

'It won't help him. The river just gets wider downstream. He won't find anywhere to cross.'

'Until it freezes again,' I put in.

'Then he'll freeze too.'

We had come to a tent. Tarasov went inside and then soon returned to beckon me in, announcing me at the same time.

'Captain Danilov, sir!'

'Thank you, lieutenant,' said the lieutenant-colonel who sat behind a makeshift table inside the tent. Around him, a number of other officers were standing or sitting. The relaxed atmosphere of the officers' mess filled the tent. 'Sit down, Danilov,' he continued, indicating a bench opposite him. 'I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Chernyshev, by the way.' I saluted him before sitting. 'Drink?' he asked.

'Thank you, sir,' I responded.

'Wine or vodka?'

'Vodka, please sir.'

'Good man.' He handed me a glass of vodka and also offered a cigar, which I took and lit from the candle on the table.

'So tell me, Danilov, who's your commanding officer?' asked Chernyshev.

'Major Savin.'

'Savin? Vadim Fyodorovich, you mean?'

I smiled. 'That's right. A friend of yours?'

'Oh, yes. A great friend – Petersburg man, like myself.'

'Me too,' I told him.

'Really?' His interest seemed to waver a little. 'Splendid.' Then, returning to the subject that interested him more, he added, 'So how is Vadim Fyodorovich?'

'He's dead, sir.'

'Ah!' Chernyshev took the news with the numbed resilience that I have seen in many experienced army officers. Through all his bluster and bonhomie, the death of each man under his command was felt deeply. The accumulation of deaths made it more painful, but gave him more experience of hiding that pain. Some feel they can never leave the army, for fear that the sorrow of all those accumulated deaths will be released if they do. For those who do leave, the failure of civilians to understand what they have been through can be the cause of even greater pain.

'So tell me, Captain Danilov,' continued the lieutenant-colonel, his brief mourning absorbed into the mass, 'why have you come to join up with us?'

I took a deep breath in preparation to give an answer that I did not know myself. Before I could begin, one of the other officers bent down and whispered into Chernyshev's ear. Chernyshev whispered back and nodded at the reply he got.

'Well, Captain Danilov,' said Chernyshev, 'it seems we have been struck by something of a coincidence.' He waited for me to respond, but there was little that I could say. 'I am told that there is someone in this camp who claims he knows you. A prisoner, no less. A Frenchman, no less!'

He seemed particularly aghast at the fact that the prisoner should be French, though it was well within the realms of likelihood. It suddenly struck me why he should have got on so well with Vadim.

'Did he give a name?'

'No. Tell him the details, Mironov.'

The officer who had just whispered to Chernyshev now addressed me. 'He came in about an hour ago. They caught him up on the hills to the north-east. He didn't bother to put up any kind of a fight at all. He gave no name. He's wearing a French uniform, rank of c
hef de bataillon
. All he would say was that he wanted to speak to Captain Aleksei Ivanovich Danilov.'

'He knew I was here?' I asked.

'Evidently,' shrugged Mironov.

I had been in the camp less than an hour myself. It could only be that I had been followed. 'What does he look like?' I asked.

'I'm afraid I haven't seen him myself,' replied Mironov. 'Do you want me to take you to him?'

'No, not yet,' I replied, taking another sip of vodka. 'What time is it?'

'Just gone midnight,' Mironov told me.

'And when's sunrise?'

'Around eight.'

'I'll speak to him at seven. Where are you keeping him?'

'He's with the other prisoners.'

I thought for a moment before saying, 'Keep him apart from them. Make sure he's bound hand and foot. Put him outside somewhere, by a fire – keep him warm – but definitely outside.' I was imitating Maks' plan of months before. 'And be very, very careful with him. He's dangerous.'

'You know who it is then?' asked Lieutenant-Colonel Chernyshev.

'I believe I do,' I replied, puffing at my cigar.

Once again, I slept well. I was woken up around six o'clock and had time for a leisurely breakfast before Lieutenant Mironov led me to where the mysterious prisoner was being guarded.

'I hope you're not going to spend too long with him, Captain Danilov,' the lieutenant told me as we walked across the camp.

'The word is that Bonaparte is heading south. The French are trying to build a bridge.'

'And we're to follow?'

'Absolutely. Admiral Tchitchagov is shadowing him, on the other side of the Berezina. We're already beginning to break camp. We'll be on our way within four hours.'

'I assure you, lieutenant, I'll be finished with the prisoner by dawn.'

'I hope so, sir.'

We were now some way away from a large campfire which warmed me even at a distance.

'There he is,' said Mironov, nodding towards the fire.

Beside it stood two guards, weary from their night's vigil, but still alert enough that their prisoner had not escaped. Between them, sitting on a bench next to the fire, a tall man with his wrists bound was slumped forward, his elbows on his knees. His long blond hair, straggly and dishevelled, hung forward to cover his face. Even so, he was unmistakable.

'Is it who you thought it was?' asked Mironov.

'Oh, yes,' I replied.

'G
OOD MORNING, IUDA,' I SAID, SOFTLY
.

Iuda lifted his head. He looked decrepit. His hair was unwashed and matted, his chin was unshaven and his complexion was sallow – I doubted whether he had 'eaten' for days. His jaw was swollen with the bruise of a recent, heavy blow. Yet still he smiled.

'Good morning, Aleksei Ivanovich.'

'Has he tried anything?' I said to one of his guards.

'Nothing, sir. He kept asking when you would come, but I shut him up.' He mimicked the action of a blow with the butt of his musket. Iuda winced at the appropriate moment, joining in the mime so as to mock it. He glanced momentarily up at the guard's face, then averted his eyes.

'Was he armed?' I asked.

'Just this.' The guard reached into his knapsack and handed me the double-bladed knife that I had seen in Iuda's hand before. 'It's an odd thing, don't you think, sir? I can't see the practical use for it.'

'That's one of the things I intend to find out.'

'Do you want us to stay close, sir?' he asked. It was refreshing to be once again amongst men who were so trustworthy and so steadfast, though his suggestion might also have been motivated by self-interest. Keeping close to us would mean keeping close to the fire. Both guards looked pale and deathly cold, their greatcoats ' buttoned tight up to their chins to keep in what warmth they could. Even so, my own concerns overcame my sympathy for them.

'Not too close,' I said. 'For reasons you'll understand, it's best that you don't hear what we discuss.' He nodded earnestly. I had no doubt that he would stand just on the far side of earshot, but I would speak to Iuda in French to be on the safe side. 'But if he does turn nasty, you'll need to be ready – for your own sakes as well as mine.'

All around us, the camp was in turmoil. Tents were being taken down. Horses were being harnessed to guns. Baggage was being loaded on to wagons. The activity of all was enough to keep them warm despite the frozen night air, but for Iuda and myself, and the two guards who stood apart, both at some distance from us, the fire provided the only heat.

I sat down opposite Iuda as his guards moved warily away. I pondered how to start, hoping that he might say something, but he remained silent, looking at the ground. Despite his circumstances, he still had an air of victory about him. Then I realized why. As far as he knew, his trick with Margarita had worked – I had believed Domnikiia to be a vampire and had killed her.

'Aren't you going to tell me that Domnikiia was never a vampire?' I asked him. He frowned briefly. The name was unfamiliar to him. Then he made the connection to Dominique.

'It seems you're already aware of it,' he replied.

'She's alive and well, you know.'

'I don't doubt it,' he said, nonplussed.

'Oh, come on, Iuda. I'm sure you have your pride, but I think you can be honest now. These are your last moments on earth – don't waste them. I know you intended me to see your performance with Margarita.'

'I won't waste them, Lyosha. Neither should you. You're right, though, I did know you were watching at the window.'

'And you expected me to march right in there and ram a stake straight through Domnikiia's heart, and then regret it for the rest of my life.'

'Do you play chess at all, Lyosha?' he asked.

'Some,' I replied.

'When you form a plan of attack – equally, when you plan an attack in a real battle – do you see it through (in your mind) to a single end, or does your plan branch with the varying assumptions about how your opponent might react?'

'It branches, of course – though I'd always assume it most likely that my opponent would make the best move.' I was surprised at how quickly Iuda had managed to take the reins of the conversation.

'Exactly. And it's disappointing, isn't it, when he doesn't play the best move – when he falls into some trivial trap you threw in his way, not with any real intent of entrapping him, but simply to force him along the path you had chosen? He doesn't in the end rob you of the victory, but robs you of the pleasure of demonstrating the full brilliance of your plan.'

'I think that depends on whether you're the sort of person who prefers the game or the victory,' I said.

'Clearly, without the victory, the game is nothing,' he replied, nodding in agreement. 'But the reverse is also true. And don't tell me that you don't enjoy the game, Aleksei Ivanovich. You've had many opportunities to go for the swift conclusion, but you've not taken them.'

'Haven't I?'

'Perhaps it's just caution on your part.'

I felt the same sense of unease in myself and the same confidence in him that I had done during our meeting at the crossroads. Here, though, I could see no reason for him to be confident. This was my territory. There was no hanging cadaver that was going to spring to his aid. Perhaps he was expecting something of the sort. Perhaps he was unaware that Foma was dead. That was it. This was part of a plan where Foma would come to his rescue. It would be a pleasure to see how he reacted to news of Foma's death, but for now I chose – as one cannot in the game of chess – to keep that card up my sleeve. In chess one can disguise one's plans, but not hide them.

'And so your scene with Margarita was just a sideshow – one of these little traps that I didn't fall into?' I asked.

'You have always played the better move when you've been given the choice. Only an idiot would kill the woman he loved without being sure she was a vampire.' It was the very word Domnikiia had used. As he spoke he smiled as if he knew how close I had come to doing what he described.

'So what's your real plan, from which that was just a diversion? To get captured here and to die in the morning sun?'

'There are more moves to make before you will see it.'

'Chess isn't a game of bluff, Iuda. A gentleman will resign once he sees he cannot win.'

'I am, I assure you, a gentleman.'

'And all your pretence at planning,' I went on, realizing that much of what he said could be only bravura, 'it all relies on so much luck. How could you be sure I would come back to Moscow to see Domnikiia that night?'

'Because I told Pyetr and Iakov Zevedayinich I was going to see her,' he said simply.

'And you asked them to tell me, I suppose?'

'No, I instructed them not to tell you.'

'So you knew I would get it out of them?'

'There were two of them in the barn, you outside. Either they would defeat you – which would have been a disappointment, but still a victory – or you would defeat them and probably get the information from them. Which one was it that talked, by the way? I would suspect Iakov Zevedayinich.'

'It was Pyetr. I didn't give Iakov Zevedayinich the opportunity. How did you know I was there?'

'Where else would you be? I never saw you after the coach crashed, but I knew you wouldn't run away. We were not particularly stealthy in our return to the barn.'

'And no concern at all for the others. You set up Pyetr and Iakov Zevedayinich for me to kill, just to further your own ends. Are all vampires like that, Iuda, or is it just you?'

'They all had as little concern for each other as I did for them. Clearly, there are times when it is convenient to work as a pack, and sometimes it's worth making an issue over the fate of one's comrades, as we did with Maksim Sergeivich, but it's mostly for show. There is no brotherly love that would make one sacrifice himself for another.'

'It's hard to see why there's any need for your soul to be damned,' I said contemplatively. 'To feel like that must be a living hell.'

'On the contrary, it is one of the vampire's most desirable attributes. I have no idea why it is that most humans possess these feelings of affection for other humans, nor why vampires suddenly lose them. I'm sure one day some great scientist will explain it. Myself, I suspect it's something to do with the different methods of reproduction.'

I looked at him blankly. He still did not believe that these were the last minutes of his life. I picked up his knife, which I had jabbed into the snow between my feet, and inspected it. It was a simple construction – precisely as I had conceived it to be when I first saw it. Two identical, short knives had been fastened together at the handles. The handles were bound up with a long strip of leather. The bond was very firm – I could not make the blades move relative to one another. Beneath the leather there must have been something that fixed them more solidly. The blades were smoothly sharp on one side, and serrated on the other – the teeth pointing slightly backwards towards the handle – ideal, in a single blade, for cutting the fur away from an animal's carcass. Each ended in a sharp point that could be used to stab. The gap between the blades was wide enough for me to comfortably fit two fingers.

'You don't all carry these, I noticed, do you?' I asked Iuda.

'No, just me.'

'Why do you need it? Your teeth no good? Too much sugar in your diet?'

He smiled, but did not grin, and it occurred to me that I could not recall ever seeing him grin. Perhaps I was right. Perhaps he was that most pitiful of creatures, a vampire with rotten teeth.

'Not quite,' he said.

'Useful, I suppose, for cutting your chest open when you create another one of you.'

'Then, and at other times.' He was more reticent on this matter than he had been on others. Another question raised itself in my mind, and the image of my own hand driving a stake into a young woman's chest.

'Did I need to kill Margarita?' I asked. 'Was she dead when we found her, or had you made her . . . one of you?'

'She was dead,' he said calmly, his eyes fixed on mine. '
I
killed her.'

'But why? Why waste the chance of turning her into a vampire?'

'I killed her because I enjoy it. But as to turning anyone into a vampire, I am sadly incapable of that.'

'And why is that? I'm sure you must far outstrip the others in your ability to persuade people to willingly take the step.' I didn't like to compliment him, but as I had long ago discovered, he was the only one of the Oprichniki who showed any real personality.

'Certainly – and that, for me, is one of the most pleasurable parts. The problem, though, is a physical one.'

'What do you mean?'

'As we have discussed before, I am not a doctor. I cannot explain how these things work. I can go through the motions but it simply does not happen, any more than it would if you were to attempt it.'

'Except that I wouldn't even want to attempt it,' I added vehemently.

'That may be the difference between us,' he smiled.

'So in the end, despite what you both did, despite her willingness, Margarita did not become a vampire. When you killed her she died as a mortal human.'

He nodded thoughtfully and then looked towards me with an intent gaze, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers, indifferent to the inconvenience of his bound hands. I was reminded of the discussion of chess he had introduced earlier. He was a player who had made a move and was now trying to determine whether I, his opponent, had seen the full ramifications of it.

'What were you doing when you were captured?' I asked.

'Spying for the French.'

'Really?' I laughed.

'Really. I need to leave Russia. They are leaving Russia, or at least trying to. I can help them while our interests coincide.'

'It can't help you or them much for you to be captured. I presume that wasn't part of the plan.'

'No, you're right, it wasn't. Not until I happened to see you trotting down the road towards the camp. Then I knew I just had to see you one more time.'

So – assuming that he was telling the truth – he had not been following me. It had simply been luck that we had found each other again, though a luck that we had both been trying to manufacture. That he had not been following me made it all the more likely that he did not yet know about the death of Foma. I felt sure now that there was no escape for him.

'One more time before you died,' I added.

'One more time before I left your country,' he countered. 'Being the only one of us left, I feel it my duty.'

'The only one left?'

'Well, you've told me about Pyetr and Iakov Zevedayinich, and I presume that Dmitry has killed Foma by now.'

I nodded. 'Foma's dead.' I was deflated, but I had to hide it. If Foma was not part of Iuda's escape plan, then what was? I recalled the possibility that he might have some human collaborator. If he did, and he was a Russian, then the man would have had little trouble infiltrating this camp. Was that the basis of Iuda's confidence, or was it mere bluff? He glanced at the two guards, some way away on either side of him, as if judging how far he could run before they could catch him.

'Dmitry Fetyukovich proved to be a startlingly brave man,' Iuda continued. 'To kill a vampire is one thing, but to take one alive is quite another.'

'You saw it happen?'

'Oh yes.'

'And you did nothing to help Foma?'

'Why should I? It wasn't worth risking my life. Dmitry believed that I would come and rescue Foma, but he really didn't understand. As I said to you, even a vampire would not risk his life to save another vampire. I take it, then, that you've seen Dmitry. Is he here with you?'

'No, he's not here,' I replied. 'Just tell me, Iuda. How do you plan to escape?'

He deliberately misinterpreted the question. 'Well, as far as I understand it, Napoleon's move to the south is a feint. Already Tchitchagov has set out to follow him on the far bank of the Berezina, and Kutuzov will soon be heading that way too.'

Although it wasn't what I had been trying to find out, it was vital information nonetheless. I followed the line that Iuda had begun. 'Whereas Bonaparte's real plan is what?' I asked.

'Ah!' said Iuda with a smile. 'See how the wily interrogator tricks his quarry into revealing all!' He leaned forward and winked with an air of conspiracy. 'Between you and me, Lyosha, he's found a ford, upstream at a place called Studienka. It'll still need bridging of course, but it should get them across.'

'Get
him
across,' I responded cynically.