The King's Commisar

. .'The old voice wavered and fell away uncertainly.

The King nodded and took a seat. 'Sit down, please, gentlemen.'

We were grouped round a low table, the King in an armchair, the rest of us on small, high-backed and rather flimsy and uncomfortable chairs of gilt.

'Tell me about yourself, Commander,' the King instructed me.

I cleared my throat. 'In what respect, Your -'

'No Majesties,' he said. 'Sir will suffice! I want a brief summary of your life.'

It is not an easy thing to give. 'From birth?'

He nodded.

'I was born,' I said, 'in St Petersburg in Russia, in 1893. My late father was a merchant in the fur and timber trades, and my late mother the daughter of an officer of the Royal Navy.'

'You have brothers and sisters?'

'No, Sir.'

He nodded and I went on. 'When I was a child, my family moved from St Petersburg to the town of Perm where my father was for some years the British Consul. I was educated there, in the main by private tutors, until the time came for me to return to Great Britain and enter the Royal Naval College at Osborne as a cadet.'

The King smiled a little at that. Osborne, as was well-known, was always close to the Royal heart.

'I became a midshipman in 1909, Sir. Sub-Lieutenant the following year, and Lieutenant -'

He raised a hand to stop my discourse. 'How good is your Russian?'

'It is a second tongue, Sir.'

'Good as your English?'

'If anything,' I ventured, 'it is better.' And wondered: where the devil is this leading? Already I was beginning to harbour premonitions.

'Have you visited Russia since?'

'Yes, Sir. For two years I was on the staff of the naval attaché in St Petersburg.'

He was looking at me in a speculative way. Then he asked suddenly, his voice gruff, 'You know of the plight of my cousin?'

'I do.' As who did not, I thought.

'And where they are - the Imperial Family?'

'What I read, Sir - in the newspapers.'

George the Fifth sighed heavily. 'The reports are all too correct. We ourselves know little more. Tell me this, Commander: have you at any time, in St Petersburg or elsewhere, come into contact with any one of the leaders of these - Bolsheviks?' He spoke the word as though it were a vile expletive, as well he might.

'I have not, Sir.'

He brooded for a time and I glanced briefly at the other two. Zaharoff sat still, and watchful as an eagle, the startling eyes half-hooded. Poor little Clark, on the other hand, appeared entirely preoccupied with the handle of his stick, twisting it this way and that, prey to extreme nervousness. At length the King said, 'I can trust you, Commander?'

'My life, Sir, is at your service.'

'Good.' He became abruptly brisker in manner. 'You will know, since the newspapers have discussed the matter at length, that the imprisonment of my Imperial Cousin is not merely a matter of personal injustice, but also a high affair of State. The Bolshevik leadership is even now treating with the Germans, thus freeing German armies to fight against ours on the Western Front.'

'Yes.'

'Forgive me, Sir,' Zaharoff cut in, speaking for the first time since I had entered the room. Since he had not been addressed, the interruption showed a measure of the man's nerve. 'There are sufficient German troops still on Russian soil to menace the Bolsheviks. That, you will recall, Sir, is the basis -'

The King raised his hand, himself interrupting the interrupter. 'I was about to say to the Commander that strictly political and military considerations enter further than one could wish into the question of negotiating the release of the Imperial Family.'

Zaharoff bowed his head a little. I had the distinct impression such a movement did not come easily to him. Perhaps the King felt it, too, for he at once went on. 'I cannot and must not interfere with the deliberations and decisions of the War Cabinet, though I am certain you will understand my anxiety for the safety of the Tsar, the Tsarina and their family. But the possibility appears to exist of a private negotiation which has a chance of achieving their release. Before I tell you more, have I your word that nothing of this will be spoken beyond these walls?'

'I swear, Sir.'

(I am solemnly aware that I am now breaking that oath sworn to my Sovereign, but I do so in the knowledge that no harm can now come from my personal treachery. In any case, I was to have so much of treachery and so soon that I could legitimately regard any oath as void. Except one: and that, an oath to myself, I am keeping as I write.)

'Very well,' said the King, continuing, 'It appears that if the Imperial Family is to be rescued and brought to safety, it is necessary, however distasteful it may prove, to treat with this Bolshevik, this Lenin. And to do so privately.'

I stared in astonishment. The notion of the King of England himself engaged in clandestine negotiation with the bloodstained leader of a revolutionary mob, was so unlikely I could scarce believe my ears.

'Fortunately,' he continued, 'the means to communicate informally with this Lenin is to hand. And also, it seems, the possibility that there exists something to be offered -' He broke off, quite abruptly, and it was apparent that King George was under deep emotional stress. When he continued, his voice was very low, not much more than a whisper, '-to be offered to Lenin, in exchange for the persons and the safe conduct of the Imperial Family.' He coughed and his voice strengthened as he asked me: 'You will do all you can to further this?'

'Of course, Sir.'

He rose then, and all of us rose also. 'It would be entirely improper,' the King then said, 'for me to know what is to happen. I can only give my blessing to the brave and generous men who may yet save the Imperial Family.'

He walked to the door. 'I thank you, gentlemen. And wish you Godspeed.'

The door was no sooner closed than Zaharoff took instant command. From beside his chair he took up a small attaché case and carried it across the room to the table at which, earlier, the King had stood. He pulled out a chair and then, from the case, produced stationery, pen and ink.

'Sit down, Clark,' he said, 'and write as I dictate. This letter -'

'But I really don't see that I can,' Clark protested, his voice high and even squeaky with trepidation. Zaharoff ignored him and turned to me. 'Clark is about to write a letter to his friend Lenin, which you will -'

'Hisfriend?'

Zaharoff said evenly, 'During his half-century in the Reading Room at the British Museum, Clark befriended and served first the German Jew, Marx, and his jackal Engels, the men who wrote the creed, and then their follower Ulyanov, now named Lenin, who is putting it into practice.'

'I can't, don't you see?' The little man protested again, with some vehemence, and I could see the tears start in his eyes.

'For the last time, Clark,' Zaharoff said, 'think of your wife!”

Clark shivered. And to tell the truth, so did I, for in Zaharoff's quiet voice lay such a wealth of command, of threat, of power, that it is impossible to describe. He then said mildly to me, 'Clark is entirely persuaded by these men. But he has a wife, and she is ill and I am able to help her. Still, he appears to have difficulty in reconciling his wife's great need with his own loyalty to the Bolshevik cause. But he will write the letter - won't you, Clark? - and you, Dikeston, will deliver it to Lenin in Russia!'

I felt as though I had been sandbagged. First the introduction to His Majesty's presence, then the grave courtesy of hicconversation, and now this blatant brutality, and the King barely out of the room ! Not to mention the news that I was to be sent as emissary to Lenin! I had suspected for some minutes that I was bound, willy-nilly, for Russia, but hardly for that purpose.