Fall of Giants

Fitz said: “Is something wrong?” They were speaking French, in which they were all fluent.

“Come into the library. Valeriya will take Bea upstairs.”

They left the women and went into a dusty room full of leather-bound books that looked as if they were not often read. “I’ve ordered tea. I’m afraid we’ve no sherry.”

“Tea will be fine.” Fitz eased himself into a chair. His wounded leg ached after the long journey. “What’s going on?”

“Are you armed?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. My service revolver is in my luggage.” Fitz had a Webley Mark V that had been issued to him in 1914.

“Please keep it close to hand. I wear mine constantly.” Andrei opened his jacket to reveal a belt and holster.

“You’d better tell me why.”

“The peasants have set up a land committee. Some Socialist Revolutionaries have talked to them and given them stupid ideas. They claim the right to take over any land I’m not cultivating and divide it up among themselves.”

“Haven’t you been through this before?”

“In my grandfather’s time. We hanged three peasants and thought that was the end of the matter. But these wicked ideas lie dormant, and sprout again years later.”

“What did you do this time?”

“I gave them a lecture and showed them I’d lost my arm defending them from the Germans, and they went quiet-until a few days ago, when half a dozen local men returned from service in the army. They claimed to have been discharged, but I’m sure they’ve deserted. Impossible to check, unfortunately.”

Fitz nodded. The Kerensky Offensive had been a failure, and the Germans and Austrians had counterattacked. The Russians had fallen to pieces, and the Germans were now heading for Petrograd. Thousands of Russian soldiers had walked away from the battlefield and returned to their villages.

“They brought their rifles with them, and pistols they must have stolen from officers, or taken from German prisoners. Anyway, they’re heavily armed, and full of subversive ideas. There’s a corporal, Feodor Igorovich, who seems to be the ringleader. He told Georgi he did not understand why I was still claiming any land at all, let alone the fallow.”

“I don’t understand what happens to men in the army,” said Fitz with exasperation. “You’d think it would teach them the value of authority and discipline-but it seems to do the opposite.”

“I’m afraid things came to a head this morning,” Andrei went on. “Corporal Feodor’s younger brother, Ivan Igorovich, put his cattle to graze in my pasture. Georgi found out, and he and I went to remonstrate with Ivan. We started to turn his cattle out into the lane. He tried to close the gate to prevent us. I was carrying a shotgun, and I gave him a clout across the head with the butt end of it. Most of these damn peasants have heads like cannonballs, but this one was different, and the wretch fell down and died. The socialists are using that as an excuse to get everyone agitated.”

Fitz politely concealed his distaste. He disapproved of the Russian practise of striking one’s inferiors, and he was not surprised when it led to this kind of unrest. “Have you told anyone?”

“I sent a message to the town, reporting the death and asking for a detachment of police or troops to keep order, but my messenger hasn’t returned yet.”

“So for now, we’re on our own.”

“Yes. If things get any worse, I’m afraid we may have to send the ladies away.”

Fitz was devastated. This was much worse than he had anticipated. They could all be killed. Coming here had been a dreadful mistake. He had to get Bea away as soon as possible.

He stood up. Conscious that Englishmen sometimes boasted to foreigners about their coolness in a crisis, he said: “I’d better go and change for dinner.”

Andrei showed him up to his room. Jenkins had unpacked his evening clothes and pressed them. Fitz began to undress. He felt a fool. He had put Bea and himself into danger. He had gained a useful impression of the state of affairs in Russia, but the report he would write was hardly worth the risk he had taken. He had let himself be talked into it by his wife, and that was always a mistake. He resolved they would catch the first train in the morning.

His revolver was on the dresser with his cuff links. He checked the action, then broke it open and loaded it with.455 Webley cartridges. There was nowhere to put it in a dress suit. In the end he stuffed it into his trousers pocket, where it made an unsightly bulge.

He summoned Jenkins to put away his traveling clothes, then stepped into Bea’s room. She stood at the mirror in her underwear, trying on a necklace. She looked more voluptuous than usual, her breasts and hips a little heavier, and Fitz suddenly wondered whether she might be pregnant. She had suffered an attack of nausea this morning in Moscow, he recalled, in the car going to the railway station. He was reminded of her first pregnancy, and that took him back to a time he now thought of as a golden moment, when he had Ethel and Bea, and there was no war.