She knew him completely and with every fibre of her being: they were not truly separate people any more. And yet here he was in his separate flesh, a tired middle-aged man in mud-splashed boots who had fallen asleep by the fire. She studied the long, mobile face, the humorous mouth fallen at the corners in sleep, the fine mesh of lines around the eyes, the soft light-brown hair, greying now, receding a little from the temples. His chin and cheeks were lightly stubbled since that morning’s shave, and the stubble, she noticed with a pang, glinted silver like frost; the cheek muscles were growing a little slacker, and there was a fold of loose skin under the chin.
She looked down at his hands, lying unconscious in his lap – strong, long-fingered hands; neat, smooth nails; large veins across the backs of them, and skin beginning to be loose. A man’s hands, not a boy’s. Hands skilled to wield a sword or a pen, to control a horse, to cradle a child; hands that knew how to kill, and how to seek out pleasure for her; hands skilled to love.
She shivered, and returned her gaze to his face. This was the flesh of the man, the warm, human, vulnerable body, in which he lived, and knew pain and hunger and pleasure and weariness; the body which slept, and ate, and grew old and would one day die; the body which created her physical delight, which touched her and longed for her and possessed her and transformed her. She loved this body: and it was not profane love, it was not less than loving the mind or the soul, for this poor human flesh was the manifestation of those things. And more, it was the frailness of human flesh which bound all human creatures together in one love and one pity and one understanding; which made it so easy to kill one other, and, in that knowledge, still to love and forgive. The flesh was the humility of humankind, and in transcending its frailty, the great, humble pride.
Fragments of old religious teaching passed through her mind in a tenuous cobweb of understanding. God made man in his own image – made the flesh to resemble the spirit, strong as the air, frail as the earth; Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God, and everyone that loveth, knoweth God. The sacred and the profane; but it was the intention which made the difference, not the act.
Nikolai! She had known from the beginning, from the first moment she saw him, that he would be important to her. How young she had been; how untried! Her experience since then had changed her – inevitably – but that one thing had remained constant. He was human, with humanity’s faults – selfishness, indolence, greed, self-interest – but also with its great strengths – humour, courage, compassion. A flawed image, but an image all the same, of the Maker. She loved him; and she thought that perhaps to know and love one human being completely was the best and greatest thing life could teach.
The door opened, and Nikolai woke with the suddenness of the old campaigner. Mikhailo came in with the tray, and placed it on a low table by him, and withdrew.
‘I’m sorry, did I sleep? Too bad of me!’
‘You were tired,’ Anne said. ‘Now have your supper – but first, let me make you comfortable.’ She slipped to her knees in front of him, and took hold of his boot, smiling up at his mute protest, ‘Oh yes, I did it many a time for Papa. My wrists are quite strong, you know.’
He let her minister to him, seeing that she wished it. She pulled off his boots, poured his wine, arranged napkin and knife and plate within his reach, and then continued to sit on the floor in front of him in the firelight, and watched as he ate. Mikhailo had brought bread and cold chicken, cheesecake and dried figs, almonds and apples.
‘Let me pour you some wine, too. I hate to drink alone.’
She consented, and sipped while he took his supper, and told her the news.
‘The Emperor is going tomorrow to Lithuania, to the field headquarters at Vilna. I tell you this in confidence, however: the bulletin will say that he has gone on a routine inspection of military camps. That’s partly to calm the public, but mostly I suspect to throw dust in de Lauriston’s eyes. His Majesty’s taking Rumiantsev with him, and Kochubey -Arakcheyev, too, and Bennigsen.’
‘And General Tolly?’
‘Of course. Tolly and I are going on ahead, leaving tomorrow morning. The Emperor and his staff are to go in the afternoon, after a special service of blessing at the Holy Mother of Kazan. The travelling will be bad because of the thaw, but it’s important the Emperor moves now. I’ve heard from Kurakin that Napoleon is still in Paris, but there are four hundred and fifty thousand men on the move towards our border, and there’s no time to lose if preparations are going to be complete before they are all assembled along the Nieman.’
‘Four hundred and fifty thousand,’ Anne said blankly. The number was colossal, unimaginable. She’d had no idea before then of the scale of the operation Bonaparte was intending to stage against Russia. It was impossible to imagine an army of such a size.
‘That’s not including the crack troops he’ll bring with him. It will be more than half a million men, when all’s told.’
‘Half a million!. He’s mad, quite mad! How can food be found for half such a number?’
Kirov looked grim. ‘That’s partly why we must move now. Napoleon’s way has always been to live off the land – that’s what’s made his soldiers so hated throughout Europe. In this case, it will be more than ever essential. Imagine the size of a supply train for such a horde; imagine the numbers of men and horses needed to move it; imagine how far it would have to bring the supplies, how slowly it would travel, how vulnerable it would be! No, Napoleon must make his men live off the land – and so we must get there ahead of him, remove everything that might be of use to him. Burn the crops in his path, herd off the animals, evacuate the people, destroy the buildings.’
‘That’s Tolly’s plan?’
‘An important part of it. My job, as always, is to try to persuade the Emperor not to change his mind. He is going to be surrounded by hotheads and fanatics and Old Russians, who will all argue that the good advice Tolly gives him is cowardly, even treacherous.’
‘That will be your job, then,’ she said carefully. ‘Simply to advise?’
He smiled a little, reading her mind. ‘There will be nothing for you to fear yet awhile, Annushka. I shall be helping to implement Tolly’s plans – there’s bound to be some resistance amongst the peasants to having their houses destroyed, but I shall have a troop of cavalry to help me persuade them of their duty. I’ve told you before, love, that Napoleon won’t invade before June.’
‘Because he needs the crops for his horses – but you will have burned them.’
‘And what he does manage to find will not be ripe, because of the late thaw.’
‘June,’ she said. She picked a crumb of bread from his plate and rolled it unhappily between her fingers. He looked down at her bent head, and the firelight on her hair, and loved her so consumingly it was like a spasm of hunger. She was all he had ever wanted. ‘And when will it all be over?’ she asked, and then shook her head at her own foolishness. ‘I suppose you can’t know that.’
‘Annushka, come with me,’ he said suddenly. She looked up, relief and doubt in her eyes. ‘Vilna is a pleasant town, and lots of people will be going. It will be quite safe there for six weeks, maybe two months, and when Napoleon finally crosses, we can think of somewhere else to send you, somewhere safe, but near enough for me to reach you. Come with me! I need you, doushka.’