Excited bats traced endless circles above the green outdoor room. Though he could find nothing to say to his father, he refused to give in to his own impatience. He would stay here in his company for as long as it took him to regain control of himself.
“What do young people dream of on a moonless night like this?”
The emperor’s voice.
Jamal Eddin started.
“Don’t get up. I’m pleased that this place is still alive, that of all the benches in the garden, you have chosen this one.”
Instantly recognizable, the czar’s deep voice conveyed its usual authority but lacked its usual composure. He hesitated.
“This is where my daughter loved to come.”
Jamal Eddin was embarrassed by his own ignorance and lack of tact as he suddenly understood: the bust of the young beauty between the benches was a memorial to the dead girl. How could he ask forgiveness for sitting in so sacred a place? He stood up, immobile before the powerful mass of a man who sat down in his place. The shadows were so deep that he could not make out the czar’s features, not even the shape of his face.
“She used to read here, she—”
His voice broke.
Jamal Eddin had known him only in strength and triumph. The sorrow of this capable and powerful man upset and intimidated him.
It was the same as long ago at Akulgo, when he had seen Shamil suffer, hesitate, then crumple in pain when he was to surrender his son. He would have liked to have relieved him of his burden, taken on his suffering on his behalf.
He wanted to express his love to the czar.
However, he dared not and said nothing.
“You never met her?”
Jamal Eddin shook his head. It was not entirely true; as a child, he had seen the grand duchess several times. He remembered her as a wonderful, distant vision. But he sensed that the emperor expected only the briefest of answers.
“Unfortunately, no, Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Alexandra. Her brothers called her Adini. Adini said that, from here—” The czar stopped, inundated by memories. “She said that the view from here—”
Overwhelmed by sadness, he could not go on.
Powerless and unhappy, Jamal Eddin stood still before him, the bust of the young woman barely brushing his shoulder. He was afraid to move and disturb the czar. For a long while, neither one of them spoke.
The emperor finally broke the silence, his voice full of sorrow and regret.
“She was an incomparable singer, such a musician. Of all my daughters she was the one who most resembled her mother. And she so loved—” He choked on his words, regained his composure, and repeated, “so loved life.”
At these words, the czar finally broke down.
It was then that Jamal Eddin made an incredible gesture. In a surge of sympathy, he knelt on one knee, clutching his benefactor’s hand in his own, and embraced him.
They clasped each other for a long moment.
The older man finally let go with a sigh, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“We are all in God’s hands. Our souls are not our own. He makes use of us according to His will.”
Finding consolation in this thought, the czar repeated, “I am the means he has chosen, that His will be done.
“And you?” he asked briskly, the tone and register of his voice changing abruptly. “What’s new with you? I’ve heard that the princess Potemkina is planning a big party in your honor at Gostilitsy?”
The warmth of his tone suggested that the news pleased him.
Disconcerted, Jamal Eddin did not know what to think or feel. At a loss for words, he rose to his feet.
The czar was well known for his mercurial changes, this manner of passing from one emotion to quite another in the same conversation, without any transition or warning. His interlocutors always found themselves baffled as he plunged them into another of a series of contradictory states. Some—the opponents he sent to Siberia—said Nicholas changed moods the way one would a mask; his contrasting expressions were merely the grimaces and poses of an unfeeling manipulator. Others—his loyal subjects—maintained that Czar Nicholas had such self-control that he prevailed in every situation, through his intelligence and moral strength.
“So, she has performed a new miracle, our good nun?” he exclaimed. “It’s true, she knows how to guide the most impenetrable souls to the path of love. I’m glad she succeeded in touching your heart, better than I, better than all of us.”
Jamal Eddin withdrew slightly. He stepped backward toward the bench.
“I respect the princess Potemkina’s faith, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said politely.
He could see it coming. He would stand up to the czar and incur the displeasure of the one man whose will no one opposed. The prospect terrified him.
With all the poise he could summon, he continued, his voice trembling slightly with apprehension. “I admire the princess’s generosity toward me, and I am grateful to her, but—”
“And so you should, my boy, for you owe her your salvation.”
The czar pretended not to understand where all this was leading.
A short while ago, the empress had spoken of Jamal Eddin’s future, his crushes, and the need for him to be baptized if he wanted to pursue a career, eventually marry, and settle in Russia. The czar found such prospects disturbing. He admired his protégé’s exceptional faculty of adaptation and realized better than anyone the extent of his intellectual acumen. He even thought, without bitterness, that Jamal Eddin might outshine Nicky or Mischa to become a more brilliant and better-read officer. But to imagine that this Cherkess would exceed the objectives for which he had been educated for the past eight years, deny his origins, renounce his religion, and become a Russian soldier, identical to thousands of other Russian soldiers? It was out of the question.
He knew the mind of his “brave nun.” The princess was not only a mystic, but a great romantic, the keenest matchmaker in Petersburg. Many, many aristocratic unions had budded under her auspices. For the good of the families, of course. Whether divine love or human love, love was her primary concern. She was so wealthy and generous that she would even provide a dowry for young girls who confided in her so that they could marry their chosen suitors. Or rather, the suitors that she herself had chosen, in her salons, having ensured that they measured up to the highest standards. Once, and only once, she had dared to provoke imperial fury by arranging the marriage of two of her protégés at her parish of the Holy Trinity, at Gostilitsy, without parental consent. The czar had made sure she would not do it again.
But when she had a heathen in her sights, he knew that she could be tenacious. Who could tell? She might even succeed with Jamal Eddin.
Under other circumstances, he would have been pleased that this child, to whom he was sincerely attached, should find the truth. Unfortunately, the situation demanded that this heart be prevented from seeking the path of light. Nicholas was sounding him out, preaching falsely to discover the truth.
“Only in answering the call of God, of what He expects of you, can you do what is right.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Imperial Majesty, but—” the adolescent began to insist more vehemently, only to be interrupted again.
“All your happiness today, Jamal Eddin, your future here on earth and in eternal life depends upon your positive answer to the call of Our Lord Jesus Christ.”
This time, the young man could no longer contain himself. Defensive and almost threatening, his words were also full of pain.
“I would give my life for you, but this you must not ask of me.”
“I demand nothing, my boy, I simply thank the heavens for the grace you have been granted.”