Yuri turns to me. “Thankfully, I noticed that those machine guns the cadets had in the windows aren’t loaded anyway. They may have some rifles though, and there’s a risk that one of those drunken boys might imagine he’s a hero and take pot-shots. But there’s nothing we can do about that. Let’s try to find the hospital staff, and warn them about what is happening.”
We run back along the passageway. Glancing through the windows, I see that the figures in the courtyard are closer: the moon illuminates caps, jackets and faces. The crimson color of their sashes glows in the gloom, and the moonlight glints on the metal of hundreds of rifles and bayonets. The figures are approaching steadily, like a tide; there’s nothing we or anyone can do to stop them.
Yuri runs much faster than me, and I’m hampered by my nurse’s uniform, but he doesn’t leave me behind. “Come on, Agnes! There’s not much time left to warn anyone.”
We race along the passage in the darkness, without knowing where we are going. Finally we reach the end of the corridor. A marble staircase leads upwards, and we climb it hastily. Above us, I see light: the upper floors still have electricity.
At the top of the stairs is a wide landing, carpeted in scarlet and lit by huge chandeliers. After the darkness I’m almost blinded by the glittering glare. In front of us is a door that appears to be made of pure gold. It’s ajar, and I hear voices inside. Yuri pushes it open.
I have an impression of overpowering magnificence: amid a forest of gold scrollwork are Corinthian columns that appear to be made of green jewels. But I hardly look at the room, because I see that we’ve walked into the middle of a meeting. A dozen faces turn to stare at us. The group of soberly-dressed elderly and middle-aged men sit around a huge table made of the same green crystal. Each man has a pile of papers in front of him. They all look at Yuri as if they’ve been expecting him.
“Are the cars here, officer?”
“I know nothing about cars. I’m here to warn you that a hundred or so Red Guards are trying to enter the palace. They are heavily armed. And there may be many more of them, that we didn’t see.”
I see expressions of dismay, although I also hear sighs, as if some of the men are resigned to the situation. Yuri continues.
“I’ve talked to the cadets defending the palace, and advised them not to resist the attack. Fighting back will only lead to unnecessary bloodshed. The Red Guards are superior in both numbers and weapons.”
The men don’t reply to Yuri: they look at each other. It’s as if they have already forgotten our presence. Several of them speak at once, all looking at a man with glasses and a stand-up collar.
“Vice-president Konovalov, this is what we’ve been expecting.”
The man pushes his seat back, stands and looks at them all. Despite his old-fashioned looks, he is brisk and direct. “Indeed. This is the end of the Provisional Government. Let’s go into the private dining room and discuss what we should do.”
All the men push back their chairs, get up and go through another door into an ante-room. Yuri shakes his head. “I think we’ve done all we can here. Let’s see if we can find some other way back through the palace to the hospital wing.”
He and I go back through the door onto the landing. A corridor leads along this upper floor, but it goes in the opposite direction from the hospital wing. We go back down the stairs, out of the glare of the chandeliers into the gloom of the ground-floor corridor. As we reach the bottom, I see a shaft of moonlight illuminating a doorway that I didn’t notice before.
“Is there a way through there?”
We take two steps towards the doorway. Then I see, under its arched frame, a man’s face, lit by the moon.
“Look, Yuri! Is that another government minister standing there?”
Yuri answers briefly. “I don’t know if he has become a minister or not. But, I do know him.” He calls out.
“General Aristarkhov! It’s me, Captain Sirko!”
I recognise the strong, white-haired figure who steps silently out from the shadows. Yuri explains quickly to him.
“General – the Red Guards are trying to enter the building. I think their intention is to depose the Provisional Government, so that Lenin’s Bolsheviks can take control of Russia. The only defenders of the Winter Palace appear to be a group of young cadets and a women’s battalion.”
“So do you recommend talking to the Red Guards, Captain Sirko, like you did back in February with the demonstrators on the Nevsky Prospect? Or do you think that the Winter Palace can be defended against an armed attack?”
“No; the attackers are too many, and they are well-equipped. The Provisional Government is finished.”
Aristarkhov nods sagely, but Yuri carries on.
“The palace also houses a hospital, sir. The patients and staff need to be protected from violence. So I think that representatives of each side should meet and discuss what is to be done, for the safety of all. We must speak to the doctors in charge of the hospital wing, and agree who should go out to parley with the attackers. Would you, sir, be happy to be one of our representatives?”
Aristarkhov looks sharply at Yuri, who continues to explain.
“So our priority, General, is to get back to the wards. Does this doorway lead to the hospital wing?”
“No, Captain. It leads directly outside, onto the Palace Embankment. The view from that doorway would alarm you: there are hundreds of Red Guards and other Bolshevik supporters all along the Embankment, just outside the palace walls.”
“So we are surrounded.”
“More than that. Across the river, the Peter and Paul Fortress is flying a new red flag to declare that all soldiers of the St Petersburg Garrison support Lenin. And the battle cruiser Aurora, manned by Bolshevik sailors, has sailed up the Neva and is anchored near the Embankment. All its heavy guns are trained on the Winter Palace. It could demolish this place with a few shots.”
Yuri’s face is set: he knows the situation is hopeless. The general, too, is stern-faced; he shakes his head grimly, and turns towards the doorway. Yuri grips his arm.
“Don’t go out there, sir! The Red Guards will get you.”
Only now, as the moonlight catches it, do I notice Aristarkhov’s uniform. He wears the plain outfit of an ordinary soldier, distinguished only by a crimson arm-band. Scrawled on it are the words “Comrade Aristarkhov.”
The general smiles. “The Red Guards won’t get me, Captain Sirko. They got me months ago.”
13
The wrong sort of communist
Behind Aristarkhov I now seen others; Red Guards with rifles and fixed bayonets. He raises an arm to halt them, then gives his orders.
“Comrades, the reports I’ve received say that the ministers of the Provisional Government are meeting in the Malachite Room. Go up that staircase and through the gold door: arrest them all. Avoid violence if you can, but make sure you get every single one of them. I will follow you with Captain Sirko and this nurse.”
The troop of men stamp noisily up the stairs. Aristarkhov, meanwhile, points Sirko and me to the stairs too. Oddly, he even makes a little courteous bow to me. “After you, Miss.” I start to climb. Behind me, I hear the general speaking to Yuri.
“You’re a good officer, and I need loyal men. Why don’t you join us? The Bolsheviks are the future of Russia, Sirko.”
“I have no political views, General.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“I’m sorry, General.” Sirko runs his uninjured arm down the plain serge of his jacket. “I am a Cossack cavalry officer, and my people are the Astrakhan Cossack Host. They are a traditional people. Like them, I am perhaps not very forward-thinking.”