Steve Berry
The Romanov Prophecy
Russia-a country in which things that just don't happen happen.
- PETER THE GREAT
A year shall come of Russia's blackest dread;
Then will the crown fall from the royal head,
The throne of tsars will perish in the mud,
The food of many will be death and blood.
- MIKHAIL LERMONTOV (1830)
Russia: mysterious dark continent, "a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma" in Winston Churchill's phrase, remote, inaccessible to foreigners, inexplicable even to natives. That is the myth, encouraged by Russians themselves, who would prefer that no one discover who they really are and how they really live.
- ROBERT KAISER, Russia: The People and the Power (1984)
For all its trials, for all its mistakes, the story of Russia at the end of the [twentieth] century must be counted as a kind of revival, a resurrection.
- DAVID REMNICK, Resurrection: The Struggle for a New Russia (1997)
TIMELINE OF RELEVANT EVENTS OF RUSSIAN HISTORY
FEBRUARY 21, 1613
Mikhail Feodorovich proclaimed Tsar
OCTOBER 20, 1894
Nicholas II ascends the throne
APRIL 5, 1898
Nicholas II presents Lilies-of-the-Valley egg, created by Carl Faberge, to his mother
DECEMBER 16, 1916
Rasputin murdered by Felix Youssoupov
MARCH 15, 1917
Nicholas II abdicates his throne; he and his family are arrested and held
OCTOBER 1917
Bolshevik Revolution; Lenin takes power
1918
Russian civil war begins; Whites fight Reds
JULY 17, 1918
Nicholas II, his wife, Alexandra, and their five children are murdered in Yekaterinburg
APRIL 1919
Felix Youssoupov flees Russia
1921
Russian civil war ends; Reds, led by Lenin, triumph
SEPTEMBER 27, 1967
Felix Youssoupov dies
MAY 1979
Grave site of Nicholas II and his family is located outside Yekaterinburg
DECEMBER 1991
Soviet Union dissolves
JULY 1991
The remains of Nicholas II and his family are exhumed; two of the imperial children are not found in the mass grave
1994
The remains are positively identified, but no evidence of the two missing children is ever found
ALEXANDER PALACE TSARSKOE SELO, RUSSIA OCTOBER 28, 1916
Alexandra, Empress of All Russia, turned from her bedside vigil as the door swung open, the first time in hours her gaze had been diverted from the pitiful child lying prone beneath the sheets.
Her Friend rushed into the bedroom, and she burst into tears. "Finally, Father Gregorii. Thanks to precious God. Alexie needs you terribly."
Rasputin swept close to the bed and made the sign of the cross. His blue silk blouse and velvet trousers reeked of alcohol, which tempered his usual stench, one her court ladies had said reminded them of a goat. But Alexandra had never cared about any odor. Not from Father Gregorii.
She'd sent the guards to look for him hours before, mindful of the stories of how he loved the Gypsies on the outskirts of the capital. Many times he would exhaust the night there with drink, in the company of prostitutes. One of the guardsmen even reported that the dear father had paraded across tabletops with his trousers down, proclaiming the delight his ample organ bestowed on the ladies of the Imperial Court. Alexandra refused to believe such talk about her Friend and promptly had the guard reassigned far from the capital.
"I have been searching for you since twilight," she said, trying to get his attention.
But Rasputin's focus was on the boy. He fell to his knees. Alexie was unconscious and had been for nearly an hour. Late in the afternoon, the boy had been playing in the garden when he fell. Within two hours the cycle of pain had started.
Alexandra watched as Rasputin peeled back the blanket and studied the right leg, blue and swollen to the point of grotesqueness. Blood was pulsating out of control beneath the skin, the hematoma now the size of a small melon, the leg drawn up against the chest. Her son's gaunt face was devoid of color, except for dark smears beneath both eyes.
She gently brushed the child's light brown hair.
Thank God the screaming had stopped. The spasms had been coming every quarter of an hour with morbid regularity. A high fever had already made him delirious, but he'd continued to sound a constant wail that ripped her heart.
Once he became lucid and pleaded, "Oh Lord, have mercy on me," and asked, "Mama, won't you help me?" Then he wanted to know if the pain would stop if he died. She could not bring herself to tell him the truth.
What had she done? This was all her fault. It was well known that women passed on the trait for hemophilia, but were never affected. Her uncle, brother, and nephews had all died from the disease. But she never considered herself a carrier. Four daughters had taught her nothing. Only when the blessed son finally arrived twelve years ago had she learned the painful reality. Beforehand, not one doctor had cautioned her of the possibility. But did she ever ask? No one seemed willing to volunteer anything. Even direct questions were many times avoided with nonsensical answers. That was why Father Gregorii was so special. The starets never held back.
Rasputin closed his eyes and nestled close to the stricken boy. Flecks of dried food littered his wiry beard. The gold cross she'd given him hung around his neck. He grasped it tight. The room was lit only by candles. She could hear him muttering, but could not make out the words. And she dare not say anything. Though she was Empress of All Russia, the tsarina, she never challenged Father Gregorii.
Only he could stop the bleeding. Through him God protected her precious Alexie. The tsarevich. Sole heir to the throne. Next tsar of Russia.
But only if he lived.
The boy opened his eyes.
"Don't be afraid, Alexie, everything is all right," Rasputin whispered. The voice was calm and melodious, but firm in its conclusion. He stroked Alexie's sweaty body from head to toe. "I have driven away your horrid pains. Nothing will hurt you anymore. Tomorrow you will be well, and we will play our jolly games again."
Rasputin continued to caress the boy.
"Remember what I told you about Siberia. It is full of huge forests and endless steppes, so large no one has seen the end of it. And it all belongs to your mama and papa and, one day, when you are healthy, strong, and big, it will be yours." He clutched the boy's hand in his. "One day I will take you to Siberia and show it all to you. The people there are so different from here. The majesty of it all, Alexie. You must see it." The voice stayed calm.
The boy's eyes brightened. Life returned, as quick as it had left hours ago. He started to raise himself from the pillow.
Alexandra became concerned, afraid he would inflict a fresh injury. "Take care, Alexie. You must be careful."
"Leave me alone, Mama. I must listen." Her son turned to Rasputin. "Tell me another story, Father."
Rasputin smiled and told him about humpbacked horses, the legless soldier and eyeless rider, and an unfaithful tsarina who was turned into a white duck. He spoke of the wildflowers on the vast Siberian steppes, where plants have souls and speak to one another, how the animals, too, could speak and how he, as a child, had learned to understand what horses whispered in the stable.
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