Twelve

'Yeah, I saw him last night,' I replied to Vadim. 'You're happy with his plan?'

'His plan?'

'For them to hide in the city. Wait until the French arrive and then demonstrate to them that Moscow can be… inhospitable – for an unwelcome guest. Isn't that the plan Iuda explained to you?'

'No,' chuckled Vadim, 'that's the plan that I explained to him. Iuda wanted to keep attacking their supply lines. That's not unreasonable, but he can't see what it will mean to have them in Moscow.'

'It's odd for them to fuss about who gets the credit for the plan. They don't seem like the sort to worry much about their social standing.'

'That Iuda is different,' wheezed Dmitry, 'very different. When I was with them in Wallachia, there were only ten of them – and, like I said, only four of those are amongst these – but all of them had that same subservient quality that these have; with the exception of Iuda. That's what makes them such good killers – like cannonballs – you aim and you fire, and anything that doesn't get out of the line of the shot is ripped apart. But not Iuda; he has his own desires – even vanities. He takes his own aim. I'd have thought it would lessen his ability to kill, but it makes him better. He can choose when to care and when not to. That's the most dangerous combination of all.'

We sat quietly and considered Dmitry's words. There was little comment to be made on them.

'So are we happy with the plan?' pressed Vadim.

'Yes, of course,' I said. Dmitry nodded. There was, once again, silence for a while.

'There's another odd thing about Iuda,' I said.

'And what's that?' asked Vadim.

'Well,' I said, 'Iuda seems to take all the decisions, but I thought Pyetr was supposed to be in charge.'

'Funny,' responded Vadim. 'I thought I was.'

Vadim was always in charge – always utterly in charge – when he needed to be. As Bonaparte had taken Vilna, we – the Lifeguard Hussars under General Uvarov, along with the whole of the First Army of the West – had retreated to Drissa. As they took Drissa, we retreated to Polotsk. Two months earlier, during a hot, sticky July, I had been lying on my bed in a room at an inn in Polotsk – a room which I was sharing with four others – when I heard a familiar voice.

'On your feet, Captain Danilov!'

He stood, leaning against the doorway, his face neither smiling nor stern, but his eyes confidently expressing the affection that we both knew existed between us. I raced over to greet him.

'Vadim! How are you? It's good to see you. Where have you been?'

He smiled. 'I've been a bit south of here, with Bagration.' He spoke the great general's name as though he knew him personally, which was quite possible. Vadim was the kind of officer who seemed to know everyone. He had connections in Petersburg society that most could only dream of. But unlike many other well-connected officers, Vadim chose to use those friendships to genuinely achieve military objectives, not simply to advance his own career. The favours he would quietly ask of Bagration would be for more rations or more arms for his men, not for promotion or a safe posting, well away from the front line.

'So how did he manage to get rid of you?' I asked.

'I told him I had some work to do. Speaking of which, are you busy?'

'Busy retreating,' I said bitterly. 'What did you have in mind?'

'Saving Russia.'

'As easy as that?'

He shrugged, taking my agreement as read. 'I'll meet you here tonight at eight. Oh, and see if you can bring Maksim Sergeivich along.'

I knew where Maks was billeted. He was easy to find, but surprisingly difficult to persuade to join us.

'It's been a long time since we worked together, Aleksei; back before Austerlitz, and I didn't manage too well then, did I? I think I'd do better just to stick with regular soldiering. I'd be putting you at risk.'

I realized now exactly how he, as a traitor in our midst, could see himself as a risk, but at the time it seemed quite uncharacteristic.

'You, Maks? A regular soldier?' I laughed as I spoke. When I had first met him, he had seemed the most unlikely of warriors.

Only once he had joined up with Dmitry, Vadim and me that first time did he really begin to fit in. 'You'd be bored rigid.'

'True enough, but that doesn't make it the wrong course of action.' This was more like classic Maks.

'But we need you.'

He said nothing. He looked torn. I could tell that in his heart there was nothing he would like more than to rejoin the old team, but something in his head held him back.

'Vadim told me to bring you,' I said.

'He ordered you?' A fleeting look of pride crossed his face at the mention of Vadim's name.

I pulled a face. 'You know Vadim,' I said.

'I'll see you at eight, then,' replied Maks.

Maks arrived first that evening, soon followed by Vadim, who had brought Dmitry with him. Dmitry was also in Polotsk with the First Army, so Maks and I had seen plenty of him. The only reunion was between Maks and Vadim.

'Back to the fold then, eh, Maksim?' said the latter, shaking his hand.

'With you the watchful shepherd?' I asked, looking at Vadim.

'More the wolf than the shepherd,' murmured Dmitry.

'We'll all be wolves, and pity the poor little French lambs,' said Vadim.

'So it's more like back to the wolf pack?' asked Maks.

And so, seven years after we had first formed, the wolf pack had regenerated. Soon Polotsk had fallen, and we had once again retreated. It wasn't until Smolensk was taken that Barclay de Tolly had spoken to Vadim (or perhaps the other way round) and we had been set on our present course. And now in Moscow, in September, the pack of four was down to three. Maks no longer suffered any risk of being bored.

Standing beside the Moskva river in the heart of Moscow, the three of us – Vadim, Dmitry and I – made a few more detailed arrangements. During his earlier discussions with Iuda, Vadim had selected seven meeting places from our list of those within Moscow itself. The easiest arrangement was to have a different rendezvous for each day of the week. The time would always be the same; nine in the evening.

'And we meet every night?' I asked.

'Iuda said that at least one of them would try to be there every night,' replied Vadim. 'As for us; I think we should all three try to make it whenever we can. We won't be seeing each other the rest of the time.'

'Why not?'

'We all need to stay under cover – and stay separate. It's up to you what you do. You can be a French officer or an escaped Russian convict – I don't need to know. We've got to be the eyes and ears of the Oprichniki. We need to see where the French are going and what they are doing. Then we need to tell the Oprichniki where to strike.'

'Or strike for ourselves,' I put in.

'No!' said Dmitry with sudden vehemence. Vadim and I both looked at him. 'That's not their style,' he added. 'They'd rather we left it to them.' I would have pressed him, but Vadim agreed with his conclusion, if not his reasoning.

'Dmitry's right,' said Vadim, 'regardless of their "style", our style is not to get ourselves killed. To put it crudely, the Oprichniki are more expendable than we are. I'm sorry, Dmitry, I know they're your friends, but that's the way it is.'

Dmitry smirked painfully. 'Oh, you know me, Vadim. Everyone is more expendable than I am.'

'So do we start meeting from tonight?' I asked.

'No,' said Vadim. 'Well – not necessarily. We can wait until the French actually arrive. I don't think that will be tonight. Take these.' He handed Dmitry and me each a purse. Inside was a small fortune in gold coins. 'This is not your money or even my money – it's the tsar's money. We may encounter expenses in the course of the next few weeks. If you don't need to spend it then don't. I'll be expecting most of it back once we've kicked out Bonaparte.'