Far Flies the Eagle by Evelyn Anthony

of her slanting eyes; bewildered by her own reaction. Alexander thought how beautiful she was, how tremendously alive. Everything about her radiated vitality, her shining black hair, the glowing healthy skin, her magnificent body in the revealing Empire dress. No wonder Bagration loved her; no wonder that any man who came in contact with her must be suspect, even her own brother. Perhaps God had forgotten to give His creation a soul, he thought suddenly; vain, cruel, treacherous and without moral values, the discovery of a fundamental decency in her feeling for Bagration had wrought havoc in her. He wanted to laugh at the irony of his sister falling in love with the most honourable and chivalrous soldier in Russia. And he pitied her, because for the first time she was defenceless, far more so than when he had tricked her and forced her into marriage. He also pitied Bagration, the recipient of such a woman’s passion. If he abandoned her she’d kill him.
    â€˜Catherine Pavlovna—of us all she is the true Romanov; somewhere, in spite of all the German inter-marriage, the strain of Peter the Great, of the Empresses Anna and Elizabeth Petrovna has come out in her,’ he thought. ‘She belongs to a past century. A hundred years ago she would have been Empress of All the Russias by now and I would have been dead.…’
    But aloud he said, “All that’s past, Catherine, I spilt our father’s blood and let that be the last crime to disgrace the name of Romanov. Everything happens according to God’s will; had He wished you to reign instead of me, you’d have been born the eldest son. You’ve forgotten the wine,” he added gently.
    She pulled a bell cord and then sat down on the opposite side of the enormous marble grate.
    â€œGod’s will, eh? Don’t tell me it’s true that you’ve become religious!”
    â€œI’ve discovered the need of Faith, if that’s what you mean. If you bore on your conscience what I bear on mine, you would need it too.”
    She shrugged, and the diamonds circling her throat blazed with the movement. “You shouldn’t brood on Father’s death, Alex. All that is past, you’ve just said so yourself. Then let it be. Forget it. We’re a bad family; Constantine’s a monster, Nicholas a heartless blockhead, I make no excuses for myself, God knows, and as for you, my dear brother, you’re probably worse than any of us if the truth were known!”
    He stared past her without answering; it was a mannerism that annoyed her because it baffled; it was impossible to deduce from his expression whether he had even heard her last remark.
    At that moment a footman entered, and she ordered wine and supper to be brought to her rooms. If anything, her dislike of Alexander had increased during the last four years, but it was now tempered with a grudging respect; she realized at last that the brother she had dismissed as a weakling had outwitted her in the most subtle way.
    The idol of the salons, she thought, watching him as he sipped his wine, his fine profile outlined by the firelight; equipped with every fashionable grace of bearing and accomplishment, ready with a soft word even for his enemies. As a result he was always underestimated, and, by God, what a mistake that was.…
    â€˜No one really knows him,’ she decided, ‘I least of all. Perhaps Marie Naryshkin does, but even that I doubt. He knows I hate him and hoped to overthrow him, but he’s kind and generous to me, and God knows why, for he asks nothing in return.’
    She put down her wineglass and said, “What other news have you, brother?”
    â€œWe shall be at war with France in a few months,” Alexander answered quietly. “And that leads me to the second thing I have to tell you. It will gladden your heart to hear that I intend to dismiss Speransky.”
    She sat upright. “At last! At last you’ve listened to