My Father the Czar Copyright 1998 Library of Congress number: 98-96138 by AUTHOR22@aol.com All rights reserved Chapter Three + + + + + THE ALEXANDER PALACE, Tsarskoye Selo, Russia 1913. + + + + + For the past week papa and I have been planning for today. It will be lots of fun. First, it will be just papa and me. My sisters are NOT included. Then there is the adventure. Beyond the walls of the palace everything we do is pre-planned, and coordinated by others. Today's venture is an inspection of the officers and crew of one of our war ships. That means a trip by rail from Tsarskoye Selo to St. Petersburg, then a short motor trip to the Winter Palace where we will have tea before continuing to the docks by horse drawn carriage. For reasons that I don't understand, there are many people who hate us and even try to do us harm. Papa tries very hard to please everyone, but as Uncle Gregori says: "It isn't possible when you have two different people that want opposite ends of the same teeter-totter." Even though I am only nine, both the security police and papa insist that all members of our family who are traveling must have a thorough understanding of where we are going and know of alternate routes should we find ourselves in trouble. Six months ago, the governor of the St. Petersburg district had come to dine with us. He was a friendly fellow who showed a great deal of interest in both me and my four sisters; however, the purpose of his visit was to discuss problems which the city was having with the district. As governor, he had to wear two hats. The next day, we were shocked to learn that he had been assassinated while returning home from his office. Our security police were adamant that our entire family know all of the details of the killing. Olga, Tatiana, and Maria didn't want to hear, while Anastasia and I were fascinated by the report. But then Anastasia had always been a tomboy, so her interest in this matter did not surprise me. Sisters are difficult to understand. Uncle Gregori says that when I grow older the mystery will disappear and I will then be able to read them like an open book. I am not certain that that is true. Papa is constantly baffled by mama ... especially in matters that concern Uncle Gregori. Yesterday, in preparation for the inspection, Anastasia and I discussed the assassination report with one of our tutors. It is funny how people change the manner of their speech when they decide to "teach" instead of "discuss". He told us that, from the revolutionaries point of view, Russia is lagging far behind Western Europe in implementing reforms. As each succeeding generation of protesters and reformers were further repressed, dissent has turned more and more radical due to their increasing desperation. One of the assassins said that she had joined an organization that believed leaders who oppressed people had to be assassinated. Even though it had been a long time ago, an unfortunate incident in 1905 was well remembered. A priest, by the name of George Gapon, led hundreds of people in a march to the Winter Palace. Father Gapon was carrying a petition to the Czar, pleading relief for the peasants and factory workers of Russia. Gapon's march was peaceful; the crowd even sang "God save the Czar". Our family was not in St. Petersburg at the time and so Papa did not know about the march. When the news reached him that hundreds of peasants and workers in that peaceful march had been shot or mowed down by Cossacks, he was angry with the St. Petersburg police and with the Governor. Even though Papa appointed both a new governor and a new officer of the Cossacks, this was not enough for some of the people. The revolutionaries would not let the incident die; it had too much political power. Our tutor then read to us the confession of the woman who had been arrested for taking part in the assassination of the Governor of St. Petersburg. + + + + "It was New-Year's eve. I sat near the window and looked at the snow- covered road. There was only one thought in my mind: the governor must die! All doubts had disappeared. I knew that it was going to happen. "At midnight, I carefully removed the tube from the bomb, dried the powder and then reloaded it. I put the four-pound tin box in a handbag that I had purchased for the occasion and, to reinforce my anger, again read over the list of names of the peasants murdered by the governor. "I set everything in order, wrote a letter and left money for the landlady. Then I went to bed, and actually fell asleep. "A knock at the door roused me. I opened my eyes and the consciousness of what was going to happen on that day filled my soul. My heart began to beat faster and faster. There was another knock at the door. I slipped on a morning gown and looked out of the window. A group of masked children stood at the door. I understood that they must have come to celebrate the season with me and, according to custom, throw millet seeds all over the house. They were persistent since they knew that they would receive a few kopecks for their efforts. "I admitted them and, in feverish haste, began to hand them any treat which I could lay my hands on. An uncontrollable desire to remain a little longer with these innocent children seized me and I begged them to take off their masks and have tea with me. The samovar was steaming merrily on the table, the children were laughing noisily, the sun shone brightly in my window. For a minute, I forgot what was going to happen in a few hours. Suddenly, a Cossack galloped past my house, followed by a carriage. I recognized the carriage. "The children continued to laugh, but I no longer heard them."'Go, go children! It is time! But first let us bid good-bye." They looked at me in surprise. Their cheerful little faces clouded with regret and their thin, unwashed hands extended to me. "'Don't forget me, children!" They made the sign of the cross, wished me a happy New-Year and quietly went away. I dressed hastily, took my handbag, and went into the street. "The day was bright and cold, the sky cloudless. The street was almost deserted, with only an occasional passer-by hurrying to church. "Four blocks from my house was a bridge on which a guard stood on fixed post. Holding the bag in my hand, I passed him and he bowed low, wishing me a happy New Year. Soon, however, I came back from the bridge and began to walk up and down not far from my house. A few minutes later, from afar, I saw Comrade Astovitch walking toward me, with slow and measured steps. In his hand he held a box tied with a red ribbon. I knew that it contained a bomb. "He crossed the bridge and stopped about seventy or eighty feet from me. It was our understanding that he would throw the bomb from where he first stopped. I continued to walk back and forth in the direction of the governor's house. Comrade Astovitch overtook me and whispered while passing: 'I saw him. Remember, keep farther away from me, lest an accident should happen to your bomb when mine explodes.' "I whispered 'alright', then Astovitch quickly returned to his former position. "Hardly moving now, I followed him with my eyes. The street still remained deserted. Suddenly a mounted Cossack appeared, and behind him came a carriage. Comrade Astovitch immediately stepped down from the curb. At that moment the vehicle came near to where he stood. "He raised his hand and threw the bomb under the rig. It fell softly onto the snow and did not explode. A police officer, who was riding behind the governor, sprang at Astovitch and I heard the report of a pistol. "The carriage stopped for an instant; but, evidently taking in the situation, the coachman began to whip the horses and drove at full gallop straight in my direction. I stepped into the middle of the road and, with all my might, hurled the bomb against the carriage window. A terrific force instantly stunned me. I felt that I was lifted into the air. "When I regained consciousness and opened my eyes, there was nobody around. I lay on the road amid a heap of debris. Blood was streaming down my face and hands. I tried to lift my head and lost consciousness." + + + + Despite the vivid memory of that confession, I was excited about today's inspection of the naval vessel; it would be lots of fun. I would wear my sailor suit. While it is not a traditional naval officer's uniform, it was designed just for me. It looks a lot like a seaman's dress uniform: white, with that long collar that hangs from the back of the neck. The flat cap is also white, but it has the word "Tsarevich" embroidered in gold across the front. Eagerly, papa and I finished breakfast and made our way to the waiting automobile. We stepped into it and closed the door. It was always at that precise moment when I ceased to be my fathers son and became "Tsarevich Aleksey Nickolaevich Romanov, future emperor of all of the Russias". We sank back into the soft leather upholstery as the car moved forward. Before we reached the gates of the palace, we had picked up our security police. Both ahead of and behind us were two motorcycles and also an open car containing soldiers dressed in plain clothes. The gates were open and the motorcade swept on to the road leading to the train station. Unlike St. Petersburg, where a crowd was always present, here, there were few spectators. A barricade of guards surrounded the Czar and I as we exited the car, walked through the special entrance and boarded one of the two imperial trains. Even on this short trip, each train consisted of eight cars, painted blue, which bore the imperial coat of arms. In the name of safety, both trains would make the trip. No one would know which train we were on. It took less than an hour for us to reach St. Petersburg. I wanted to watch the landscape roll by, but it was forbidden to open the curtains. We knew that this time there would be crowds of people to watch our arrival. Again amongst a wall of plain clothed police, we moved from the train to the waiting car. Once within the protection of the vehicle, we sped toward the Winter Palace. There were crowds of people lining the streets, applauding, and shouting: "Long Live the Czar". The vehicle entrance into the palace was protected from the outside world; yet there were six armed men who escorted us into the building. Once those outer doors slammed closed, we ceased to play the "imperial" role and the all-powerful Czar became my papa. We sat down in the smallest dining room, the one in the south wing, and waited for tea to be served. "Alex, I want you to be very careful today when we are on board the ship. We don't want you to fall and hurt yourself. I don't think your mother would ever forgive me if Yalta happened again." I had not forgotten that ill-fated trip. Our entire family had looked forward to that vacation. We were to first enjoy the seashore and then travel to Poland where we would stay in our hunting lodge at Spala. Papa did not know that mama had invited Uncle Gregori to come along. He didn't find out about it until shortly before our train was to pass through Moscow. There had been rumors about mama and Uncle Gregori and, even though papa knew that there was no truth in them, he felt that Gregori's presence was unwise; so, instead of passing through Moscow, we stopped and Uncle Gregori left the train. He was not angry about having been asked to leave; he simply said he had planned to visit his home village in western Siberia and had changed his plans to please mama. Now he would continue with his original plans. Shortly after we arrived at Belovezhe, I had the accident. The place that we always stayed was in Belovezhe, near Yalta. I particularly liked it because my bathroom had a large sunken bathtub. It was almost a tiny swimming pool. I had been careless and had slipped as I climbed out of the tub, knocking my knee against a ledge in the process. For any other boy, this would have been a minor incident; but, I had been born with a disease of the blood. It had been passed down to me through my mother all the way from Queen Victoria. My blood lacked the ability to clot. Even a pin prick might cause me to bleed to death, so everyone was always very cautious around me. A few moments after knocking my knee, I fainted and was carried to my bed. Mama called the house physician who treated me with cold compresses. Mama was so upset that she canceled the lunchtime concert. The next day I felt much better, so we decided to continue our journey to Spala. As we left Belovezhe, papa commented that he was looking forward particularly to next year's shoot as the guest of honor was to be the kaiser. I was still unable to walk, and was carried everywhere by my sailor, Derevenko; but now came a second disaster: In the course of a rather bumpy drive with mama, I had a relapse. The inner bleeding started again and caused a large tumor to form in my groin. It was very painful. The doctor said that it was dangerous and that it might turn into blood poisoning or peritonitis. The pain was so severe that I screamed until I was so weak that all I could do was to emit a hoarse wail. It was then that I knew that I would likely die. I asked mama if death would make the pain stop. I beseeched her for a little headstone to be placed over my grave and that it say, under a blue sky: "in the light". Papa immediately summoned two surgeons from the capital: Dr. Fedorov and Dr. Rauchfuss. After examining me, they left the room with mama and papa. Later, I learned that they had said that there was nothing they could do for me. Dr. Fedorov refused to open the tumor since I might easily bleed to death. For the first time, bulletins were issued about my condition. Guarded though they were, they grew increasingly pessimistic until the evening when Dr. Rauchfuss and Dr. Fedorov concocted a text that would work as a suitable preliminary to the announcement of my death. Only a miracle, said Dr. Fedorov, could save me now, by which he meant the spontaneous resorbtion of the tumor. In the meantime, a priest came to me and gave me the last sacraments. In her despair, mama turned to Uncle Gregori, ordering her secretary to send a telegram to him in Pokrovskoe telling him that I was dying. He received the message during lunch. Immediately he entered the chapel and began to pray earnestly before his favorite icon, the Virgin of Kazan. He spoke to God for a long time. His face was gray and streaked with sweat when at last he finished and had crossed himself. He went to the telegraph office and sent the following telegram to mama: "The illness is not serious. Don't let the doctors tire him." Later he sent a second one saying that God had heard his prayers and that I would recover. The next morning I was better and soon the doctors said I was out of danger. We returned to Tsarskoye Selo. Immense care was taken by the commandant of the Western Railways to ensure that the train would ride smoothly. The brakes were not used once during the entire journey. Mama spoke harshly to papa about Uncle Gregori and insisted that he stay with us in the palace until I had fully recovered. It was during my recovery that a fantasy began to form between Uncle Gregori and myself, a fantasy that evolved into a plan, a plan that was even now being put into affect. I knew it was unlikely that I could live many more years and I also knew that I was the last hope for the survival of the house of Romanov. Uncle Gregori and I had talked about the possiblities if only I had been a twin. It was that "what if" that had developed into our fantasy. For the past month Uncle Gregori had been on a pilgrimage. He was looking for a boy who could be made to look exactly like me. If he could find someone like that, the "twin" could stand in for me at times when I was tired. He would need to be trained to walk and talk like me. Then, if I should die, he could replace me. But, secrecy was of the utmost importance. No one, other than Uncle Gregori and myself, could know that there were two Aleksey Nickolaevich Romanovs. If he found the right boy, he would be disguised as a girl and be brought into the palace. Making it work would take time, patience and much effort for all three of us. "Alex, it is time to go." My father's voice brought me back to the present. The review of the officers and crew was still ahead of us. We were escorted back to the vehicle entrance where we stepped into the horse-drawn, open carriage that was used for ceremonial occasions. Just outside of the palace gates, there were ten armed soldiers on horse back. The street had been cleared of all other vehicles, so we all pulled into the center of it. Four horsemen rode on each side of the carriage with another one at the rear and one just before us. The ceremony seemed pretty silly since the ship was docked across the bridge on the island less than a mile from the Winter Palace. Never- the-less, the streets were crowded with people who seemed to take great joy in watching us pass. I started to stand up so that I could wave at the crowd, but papa reached over and pulled me back into my seat. There were barricades set up at the gangway to the ship, with many armed sailors and soldiers lining the way. Everyone clicked to attention as we passed. When we stepped out of the carriage, our party was flanked by armed sailors and then we proceeded onto the ship. On the quarter deck, a senior officer clicked to attention and saluted each of us. "Your imperial majesty, the officers and men await your inspection. Afterwards, will you have lunch with us?" The officer that spoke was either the commanding officer of the Yaroslav or the admiral of the fleet. Father nodded "yes", then we followed him toward the bow of the ship. Leading the entourage was the senior officer, side by side with his assistant. Next were papa and I, again side by side. Behind us were my sailor Dervenko and one of our bodyguards. Following them were another ten men. The officers and crew of the Yaroslav stood at attention in double ranks, one man standing behind another. I had to keep myself from laughing as papa looked at each man sternly, as though he had some idea of what might or might not be correct attire. He would pause before every fourth man and ask some inconsequential question like: "how long have you been on this ship?" or "where are you from?" We were halfway down the line of men when I heard a very distinct fart. My head jerked around automatically. Everyone was pretending they had not heard it, that is except for one young sailor in the second row. His face had suddenly turned very red. He was staring ahead trying to ignore my gaze, but he couldn't. For just a moment, we locked eyes and he blushed even more. I winked at him and turned back toward papa who was now about a yard ahead of me, waiting for me to catch up. After we completed the review, we retraced our steps, apparently enroute to lunch. The men were still at attention. The young man that I had winked at had regained his composure, but still we exchanged glances of recognition as I passed. On closer inspection, I was surprised at his age; he must have been the youngest man in the ship's crew. He didn't look much older than me, even though he was a few inches taller. He had curly, dark brown hair that could not be contained by his cap and his eyes were a brilliant emerald green. Lunch was to be served in the crew's dinning area. All of the tables, except for one, were long wooden ones with attached benches for seating on both sides; very much like picnic tables. The one exception had obviously been moved in from the officers' dining room. At this table were placed comfortable, upholstered chairs with arm rests. Papa was seated at one end of this table, and I at the other. There was a great deal of noise as the crew passed through the food line and then found a place to sit. I glanced to my left and noticed the young sailor with the green eyes. He glanced at me and I waved. He smiled and sort of halfway waved back. I leaned over and spoke to Derevenko. "Do you see that young sailor over there?" He chuckled, "You mean the one that farted in ranks?" "Yes. Would you mind asking him to trade places with you. I'd like to talk with him." "Of course Tsarevich." As soon as Derevenko called me by my formal title, I knew he was not pleased with the task that I had assigned him. Never the less he spoke to the boy who then brought his tray over and seated himself in Derevenko's place at my right. Papa looked at me oddly, but he was at the other end of the table. Under the circumstances, I would have to do something pretty radical to receive a verbal reprimand in public. My guest looked decidedly uncomfortable and just sat there, not eating his food. "My name is Alex, what is yours?" His face turned red as though he were strangling, but he finally got the word "Piotr" out of his mouth, gasped a breath of air and then added: "Piotr Veliky my Tsarevich." "May I call you Piotr? I would prefer you call me Alex." I took a page out of papa's book and asked him: "How long have you been in the naval forces?" "Less than a year, your imperial majesty ... Uh, Alex, ...sir, your highness." "Where do you come from? Where are your parents?" I asked. "Poland, sir." "Oh. That is beautiful country. We have a hunting lodge there that we visit at least once a year. I love it. Do you know where Spala is?" "Yes sir. We live in Spala." Piotr hesitated for a long time, then added: "My father is third assistant game keeper at the Imperial Estate. It was through his position that I was given the opportunity of joining the navy." Quite suddenly Piotr seemed to have lost his reticent's and just kept talking. "Who is the fellow that I traded places with? He is in the navy isn't he? Is he attached to the Imperial house? Does he live at the palace?" I started to laugh. "Give me a chance to answer your questions. "Yes, Derevenko is my naval aide. He has been with me for as long as I can remember." I noticed the boy eyeing the black caviar on my plate and then saw that his own portion was the inexpensive red kind. "I don't care for caviar, would you like mine?" Before he could reply I took the bowl and placed it next to his. "Thank you Alex. Real sturgeon caviar is my favorite." Authoritatively I said: "The very best appetizer is herring, served with a little onion and mustard sauce--then, follow that with a bit of caviar. It is really delicious and about the only way that I enjoy fish eggs." Then I asked him: "How long will the Yaroslav be in St. Petersburg?" "Not long, we are supposed to join the Mediterranean Fleet next month." Piotr relaxed and I spoke of the game in Spala. "Last time we were at the hunting lodge, we had roast goose. It was very good." "Goose is good, but it does not compare with our ducks or woodcocks. The goose lacks tenderness and delicacy." The boy spoke from experience. We talked about many things during the balance of the meal. Everyone at our table had finished eating. Derevenko returned and spoke to Piotr, "I think we are getting ready to leave. We'd better change places again." The young sailor laughingly joked: "If you ever get tired of your job, let me know." I stood up. The boy jumped up and snapped to attention. "Thank you for the opportunity of speaking with you my Tsarevich." "I enjoyed meeting you too. Maybe we will see one another again." Papa asked me what I had found that was so interesting about the young sailor. He was quite surprised when I told him that he was the son of one of our gamekeepers at our hunting lodge. All of the activity had tired me, so I slept all the way back to Tsarskoye Selo. Mama was quite elated. She had received a telegram from Uncle Gregori. He would be back within a few days and he was bringing his niece with him. Then she added, he said that "God had told him that the girl must live at the palace and be taught by our tutors." Papa didn't seem too happy about that, but agreed--as long as her bedroom was in the servant's section of the second floor and he added that Uncle Gregori should find quarters outside of the palace gates. I was over-joyed. That telegram was really a secret message to me. A boy had been found! The charade could soon begin. + + + + + GYPSY CARAVAN - just outside Syumsi, Russia, 1913. + + + + + The wagon had been lumbering along the dusty road for half the day. Maria had retired to the back of the wagon leaving Katrina and myself to guide the horses. In as much as we were the third wagon in our train, the horses simply followed the wagon in front. All three of us could have gone to sleep in the back and the horses would have still kept us in line. Since today would be my last day with my gypsy girl, we spent this time hugging and kissing, but we seldom talked. I had whispered something in her ear and noticed a chill run through her body. I created a reason to whisper again, but this time, I breathed into her ear. A trembling followed. It seemed to me that my breathing in her ear triggered an emotional response. Timidly I whispered, "I will miss you." Then I licked her ear. Katrina shuddered with a sudden passion, pushed me back onto the seat and then laid full length on top of me, her mouth covering mine, her tongue seeking entrance. It was then that I heard the gallop of a horse. Before I could dislodge myself from Katrina's embrace, I heard Uncle Gregori's voice: "Alex! Come! We must be in Kazan before night-fall." Reluctantly, I slid out from under Katrina and sat up. "Come, come Alex! Don't dally. We have no time to waste." While my gypsy girl was rearranging her clothing I swung from the seat and onto the back of the passing horse. "Goodbye my love. Goodbye." I shouted. I turned to look behind me. Already we were a hundred yards ahead of the lead wagon. Within minutes, the only reminder of my gypsy caravan was a cloud of road dust marking their whereabouts. In silence, we continued to gallop along the Post Road for about half an hour. "Has your will-power grown stronger?" "Yes, Uncle." "That is good. I have much to tell you." Uncle Gregori slacked off on the reins allowing the horse to slow to a trot. I pressed closer to him, making certain I could hear his every word. "You know, Alex, that humans differ from other animals in their ability to work together. When two people have something in common, like you and Katrina, you develop common goals. You want the same things. You choose to work together to get what you both want. "Two people joining together is the most basic element in what we call civilization. If those two people have children, the existence of those children creates stronger bonds and more common goals. This is what we call a family. "When families live close together they too will begin to develop common goals. These groups of families become villages, and cities. When cities and villages work together they become countries like England, France, Germany, and Russia. "The Czar is at the top of this pyramid in Russia. It is his responsibility to make certain that all of those groups below him can live together in a way that benefits everyone. That is a very difficult task. Our Czar Nicholas was born to be the head of all of the Russia's, as were his father and his father before him. "The world has shrunk in size. The railroad, the telegraph, the newspaper have all brought the world to the door of every citizen. People are vying for power and some even want to wrest control from the Czar. You hear of assassinations, of bombs being thrown, of people being shot; all in the name of breaking the power which Nicholas holds. "The Russian people are different from the French, German, or English. A Russian has a big heart. He is at once both private and compassionate. To me a Russian reminds me of a big bear, ferocious in his love and his hate. He will protect his children at all costs, yet give away his last crust of bread to a starving stranger. "The Czar must be strong willed. He must maintain total control. To do that, he sometimes makes enemies among the population, some of whom may become violent in their wish to depose him. Nicholas married the granddaughter of England's Queen Victoria and she bore him five children; four girls and a boy. We call the boy Tsarevich, which is a title meaning that he will be the next Czar. His name in Alex and he is about your age. "The boy was born with a disease of the blood called hemophilia. That means that his blood cannot clot. The slightest bruise, cut, or even a pinprick could result in his death. "He is a good boy and full of fun but, he knows that it is unlikely that he will ever live to become Czar; he will be the last of the Romanovs. He almost died a few months ago. He had an idea that I should find a boy who looked exactly like him, one who could replace him in public when he was too tired, or too sick. He even thought he might be able to replace him in his family and become Czar of all of the Russia's. "Accomplishing this monumental task will require much hard work, constant study and total secrecy. First you will need to learn to speak Russian like the aristocracy. Then you must learn to speak the other languages that Alex speaks. You must also learn to look like him and to act like him in every detail. To achieve this lofty goal, I have arranged for you to live in the palace and to attended classes with Alex. But as far as everyone but Alex is concerned, they will believe you to be my niece Catherine." "Will you be living there too?" I asked. "No little one. I will live close by. I will see you almost every day. Only three people on earth will know that there are two Aleksey Nickolaevich Romanovs: you, the Tsarevich and myself. "Tonight we will sleep somewhere along the road. Tomorrow morning you will become Catherine. But be not overwhelmed, you and the Tsarevich will become close friends and both of you will take turns being Catherine." Again we rode in silence as I digested all that Uncle Gregori had said. Despite his caution my mind was in a whirl. Looking back I realize that I had not the slightest understanding of the magnitude or impact that their proposal could have on me, Russia, or the entire world. Yet it is unlikely that any ten year old boy could understand that significance. There was now a gentle upward slope to the road, then it leveled off into a plateau. Our mount picked up its pace as the now flatter road required less effort. We had ridden perhaps an hour when the road sloped downward and there, far off in the distance, was a large river curling like a snake across the distance horizon. The snake soon became a running river with a few buildings located along its banks. Uncle brought our horse to a stop before a small unpainted wooden structure. "Come little one, we will bathe." We stepped into a small room. Seated behind a counter was a man with snow-white hair, wrinkled skin and a scraggly beard. Above him was a hand painted sign that read: "Steam and bath 50 Kopecks". Without a word Uncle Gregori placed a one Ruble note on the desk. The man shoved two towels across the counter and motioned toward a door. We stepped into a room containing two large, round, wooden tanks. Water vapors rose from one of them, creating fog. Uncle was already removing his clothes and hanging them on wall hooks. "What are you waiting for Alex. We are going to enjoy the baths." He grabbed a pole with a padded piece of cloth wrapped around it. "Here, you scrub me and then I will scrub you. After that, we go to the steam room." There were several boxes placed alongside of the tank so that one could easily climb into the hot water. Uncle's bulk caused the water to slosh over the rim. After I had thoroughly scrubbed him, he returned the favor and then we moved from the tank, through a heavy door, into a room which was so full of hot steam that it rushed against my face and body, robbing me of my breath. I bent low toward the floor, peering ahead of me, trying to see what was in the room. My eyes adjusted to the heat and moisture; soon I could see that there were wooden tiers of shelves all around. On one side, next to the door, was a stove that held a dozen red-hot stones. "Sit little one, sit." Gingerly I placed my bare bottom on the hot wooden planks, then I laid back. He moved toward the stove, grabbed a bucket of water and doused it over the rocks. A gush of steam exploded upward. My body was wet. Sweat was flowing down my face and into my mouth. I started to cough, but the steam roasted my lungs. In desperation, I ran to the door and stuck my head into the cool air of the bath. "Come back, come back. You are letting all of the steam out. Lay on a lower tier and tell me about you and the gypsy girl. I want to know all." Katrina had taken my heart so that I could not bring myself to tell all. I am certain that he knew there was more. He seemed to be content with descriptions of our sexual contact. I was tempted to tell him about Sergi but thought it would be a distraction from uncles' primary interest. "Uncle, how much longer must we remain in this steam. My lungs are bursting and I feel like I am shrinking into nothingness." "Then it is off with you to the cold tub. I will be there shortly." I needed no further excuse and dove for the door. As it swooshed closed I heard the explosion of water hitting the stones. With no hesitation, I hopped from a box, over the edge of the second bath, instantly sinking to my chin. The water sloshed back and forth. I was in instant shock. My breath had evaporated and my skin seemed to burn with the harsh coldness that assaulted my body. My reaction was spontaneous; my legs bolted as though a coiled spring had been released. My feet touched ground only twice before I was submerged in the hot water of the other tank. A few minutes passed before I heard the door to the steam room open. "Little One, you are in the wrong tub. Come join me. You need the cold water to close your pores before we resume our journey." His hot hand grasped my hair as he prompted me out of the warm water. He laughed at me as I stood. "'Little One'. That is a good name for you." He pointed toward my shriveled penis. "We will be in the cold water for just a minute, then we will be on our way." I looked at his manhood comparing it with mine. While it was not inflated, it did look like it might have been on the way. It was then that I noticed a wart close to the head of his penis. "What is that?" I asked as I pointed to the wart. "That is God's special gift to women. Come, come. We must yet find a forest where we may spend the night." Knowing what I was in for, my movements were slow and reluctant. He was already sitting in the cold water as I stepped into it. There was no gradual way to enter. Almost as soon as I had become used to the temperature, he said: "Enough". We spent the next few minutes vigorously toweling each other until our skin was red. The road took us through the village of Malmyzh. It was large enough to attract the gypsy band. Secretly, I wished that we might see them again, but my hopes were dashed as our horse transitioned from a trot to a gallop. As though he had read my mind, he said: "We have no time for gypsies. You have much to learn and little time to do so. Tonight we need to play a game. Once you learn, you will play it often. "Remember what I told you in Perm. The pleasure that hangs between your legs is a key to a woman's lock. You must use it only for a purpose." Minutes seemed to tip-toe by before he continued: "However, before you can use the key, you must learn to use it well. But that must wait until you have matured." "How will I know when I am old enough?" I could not imagine abandoning these newly discovered passions. "Remember when you told me how it felt when you reached the peak; -- when it felt like you were shooting something out of your penis? Sometime within the next year or two, something really will shoot from it. It may happen while you are sleeping and dreaming of Katrina or it may happen as a result of your washing it. You must promise to tell me when that time comes, because then your training will take a different course. The game that we will play tonight I call Pantomime. We do not speak to each other, instead we use our bodies to convey the message. "Tomorrow afternoon I will visit with the Bishop of Kazan. You will be with me. I do not think you will understand the words that we will speak as the dialect in Kazan is heavily influenced by the tartars. For our purposes, that is good because I want you to 'listen' to our movements and the intonation of our voices. Afterward, you are to tell me what you think we talked about and what you think his motives are. "In the years to come, you will learn that when people speak to you, they tell you what they want you to believe and that is not always the truth. If you watch their body movements and their expressions, and listen not to their words, you will then be able to ferret out the truth. After the meeting, we will board the train. We should arrive at the Alexander Palace in two days." "Is the palace in St. Petersburg, Uncle?" "No it is sixteen miles distant from the city in Tsarskoye Selo. It is has its own rail spur, but only the Imperial Train uses that so we must motor from St. Petersburg. Tomorrow I will wire the Czarina of our planned arrival. Perhaps they will have a car waiting for us." Again Gregori grew silent as the miles evaporated behind us. The shadows were growing long, sunset was not far away. We had passed two miles beyond the tiny village of Arsk where we found a small grove of cypress trees. "That looks hospitable. Tonight we will have only the cold hard ground as our bed." We found a stream on the far side of the grove. It was there that we made camp. He drew two packages from his saddle bags: one was the blue dress, the other was the wig made from my own hair. The dress had been carefully folded and was not wrinkled. He laid it carefully over a tree limb. Then he placed the wig on my head, adjusting it carefully. "You can pass for a girl just as you are. I think tomorrow we will wait until we reach Kazan and have checked into a hotel before we use the dress; riding will be easier if you continue to wear the trousers." The rest of the evening, we played the pantomime game. Without using words, at his request, I gathered firewood and fetched water for our tea. Dinner was simple: cheese, and fruit. Our "Conversation" was interesting and we did not bed down until late in the night. I rested very little. Hazy dreams which had no connection drifted through my sleep: Beautiful golden palaces, marble swimming pools and cheering crowds which changed into shouting mobs and exploding bombs. It was still dark when I dipped fresh water from the stream and set a fire for a new pot of tea. My teacher was snoring softly as I sipped cup after cup till the pot was dry. As the first rays of sunlight broke through the trees, I refilled the pot to brew a another batch. "Catherine, that smells very good. I am glad you are up and about, we must leave soon. Kazan is still two hours ahead of us." "Uncle Gregori, I have tossed and turned all night. I don't think that I can do all you wish of me. Are you certain that you understood God and that it is I and not one of my brothers who is the chosen one?" He chuckled softly as if to himself then facing me he said: "I understand your fears. You are overwhelmed by the scope of our plan. But you do not need to be. I want you to listen to me very carefully. There is no such thing as a problem or plan that is too complicated or difficult. They appear to be because they are composed of smaller plans; smaller problems. While it is important that we keep our eye upon the ultimate goal, we can only walk along today's path. "What are we to do today. Do you remember?" "Of course Uncle. We are to ride into Kazan, check into a hotel and keep an appointment with that churchman. I am to sit quietly, paying close attention to your conversation while appearing to be bored. Later I will tell you what I thought the conversation was about and my impression of the man. Then, this afternoon we will board a train for St. Petersburg. Is that not correct?" "Yes, little one. That is correct. Now what part of that do you think you will be difficult for you?" I giggled, "Only pretending to be a girl, I guess." "From this moment on, you will never remove the hair piece unless you are in a locked room. The long hair will help you remember that you are a girl. You will be like an actor upon a stage who becomes the character he is playing. "Come here and let's put your wig in place." ------------------------- Definitions of Russian words used in this chapter, not previously defined: Kopeck : A coin. There are 100 Kopecks to a Ruble. Ruble : Money the equivalent of a half dollar. Samovar : A spigoted urn with heating device. Used to make tea. Cossack : Russian Cavalryman Tsarskoye Selo : Village of the Czar All author22 books are available in paperback from Amazon.com, and are also available as with colorful illustration in html format for viewing on your own PC, or in Franklin Rocket-eBook format. Contact author22@aol.com for further information.