The Girl Who Fought Napoleon: A Novel of the Russian Empire by Linda Lafferty

your knees and swear by Archangel Michael!”
    Paul pointed to the open door, looking down onto his private chapel.
    Alexander dropped to his knees, facing the image of St. Michael painted on the vaulted ceiling.
    “I swear my allegiance to you, my father, Tsar Paul! I swear it!” He bowed his head and repeated, “I swear my allegiance to our most gracious Tsar Paul, ruler of all the Russias!” He crossed himself according to the Orthodox tradition.
    Will he never have faith in me?
    Paul looked his son up and down, as Alexander rose to his feet.
    “No,” he said, closing the door to the chapel. “No, Alexander. You haven’t the guts to be an emperor. A tsar must make impossible decisions quickly and decisively. Fearlessly, Alexander! Your sail would flap in the wind, as you stood weighing this result against the other until the beating canvas was torn by the gales.”
    Alexander’s face burned. He ventured a glance at the three officers. All three lowered their eyes in embarrassment at the browbeating of the young tsarevitch.
    And the Tsar was not yet done.
    “Your blood is too thin, Alexander, your conscience too brittle to command this mighty empire.” Paul snorted a derisive laugh. “Your younger brother Nicholas should wear the Russian crown. Now there is a military man in the making!”
    Alexander flinched under the comparison.
    Nicholas is a child! Four years old! Given to tantrums, breaking toys, and striking out at anyone who defies him. Is this the son my father prefers?
    Alexander said nothing.
    “There are changes in the wind, Alexander,” said the Tsar, taking a deep breath. “I have ordered the British ambassador Lord Whitworth home with his tail between his legs.”
    Alexander sucked in his breath, aghast.
    “Lord Whitmore sent back to London? But the British have been our allies, our international trade depends on—”
    The Tsar cut him off with a gesture. “The British are no longer our friends. We will sign a pact with Napoleon. Then we shall meet the British, defeat them, and then on to Constantinople. Napoleon will rule the West and Russia the East. Russia and France! There will be no defeating us.”
    “Napoleon? But—But what of our allies?”
    “The devil take them! We shall rule the East.”
    Alexander heard boots shuffle and sensed Panin’s uneasiness just behind him.
    Panin worked hard to establish diplomacy with England. What can he possibly think of my father’s ravings?
    “You are dismissed, Alexander,” said the Tsar, with a flap of his hand.
    Alexander bowed to his father. General Pahlen escorted him out the door.
    “We must talk, Grand Duke,” whispered the general.

Chapter 18
    Sarapul, Russia
    September 1806
     
    I gave Alcides his head and we galloped in the moonlight toward the Cossack camp. He needed to expend his restless energy from not being ridden—and I needed to put my home and my parents behind as quickly as I could. There was no time for second thoughts, no time for turning back. The autumn wind stung my face as we raced through the dark.
    Freedom! A precious gift from heaven.
    The road to the Cossack camp led through a dense forest. I slowed Alcides to a walk as we entered the dark silence of the woods. A frigid north wind began to blow and I tucked my chin under the rough wool of my tunic. My fleece hat was pulled down so low I could barely see where we were going. But Alcides was sure-footed and he followed the road. Hours passed. At last, at dawn, he smelled the horses of the encampment and broke into a trot.
    In a few minutes, I could smell the toasted warmth of kasha steaming in kettles over the fire. The colonel and officers were gathered in front of the headquarters tent, eating the hot porridge. They were talking intently when I rode up.
    Silence fell as they looked up at me. They took in the colors of my Cossack uniform, not blue like that of the Don Cossacks, but the red of the Zaporozhian, from the steppes of the Ukraine, my mother’s