Work Text:
Yalta, summer of 1830
The unassuming droplet of sweat, which suddenly fell from the top of his nose onto the paper he was reading – that did it for him. The heat was unbearable, not here, in the still, scorching air of the closed-off office. Emperor Nikolai Pavlovich threw the court transcript onto his desk. It was dreadfully boring, anyways… Had these people really no way of expressing themselves clearly, not even when their life depended on it?
He approached the window slowly, his hand going through his reddish hair. The royal court had only voyaged to the royal residence in the south, by the Black sea, for a few fleeting days. The Romanov family will stay for the summer – he can’t. Just two, three more days and he’ll be back to Petersburg and his duties. Now, he was of course still working – the crown doesn’t allow levity, not even for a second! At least here, by the sea, he had the poetic salty breeze, the whisper of the waves, the bright sun, so unknown far in the north..! No, today was far too beautiful a day to let it go by, unnoticed, behind a desk. An idea suddenly popped into his head.
Then his ear caught a noise. In fact, he had gained conscience of a noise that had been repeating itself for quite a while. It was a voice, a powerful voice, shouting. When he listened in, he caught that particular cadence with which one shouts commands – elongating the first syllable, then stressing the last, contrary to normal intonation. Here it was again. Shortly after, a far away echo of gunshots. He leaned on the windowsill, looking into the sunlit courtyard. Little soldiers, in perfect unison, practicing their shots. What for? Their uniforms a deep, dark shade of blue… The Gendarmerie. Count von Benckendorff enforcing a drill out in the open sun… How likely of him. His Imperial Highness smirked. Yes, now he recognised Alexander Christoforovich’s rasped, still voice, giving out commands like it was breathing.
He walked out into the long corridor, hands clasped behind his back, looking curiously into the courtyard, descending down condignations. He observed the Head of the Gendarmes, and he was certain Benckendorff noticed him as well. The count didn’t look up, but it was obvious that he knew. His voice echoed the white marble cloisters. A row of soldiers shot at their targets. One word, and they went back, another word, and another row emerged, rifles in place.
– A drill, at this hour of day? Your eagerness is admirable, count.
Benckendorff, still turned away, didn’t say anything. By his serious look the men knew to stand straight, guns presented on the arm, chins up. He turned towards the emperor and bowed deeply.
– Your Majesty. I’m honoured.
– I trust that you are. How did they do? – Nikolai signaled to the men with only his eyes.
– Almost tolerable.
– I suppose part of the training is the resistance to high temperatures? I cannot imagine those dark uniforms are bearable in this weather – and as if to confirm his words, the tsar held out his hand and lightly put the back of his palm against the rough material on Benckendorff’s chest. As expected, it seemed like it was burning.
– They must manage – said the count slowly, eyes locked on the hand.
Nikolai Pavlovich raised his eyebrows and smiled in his particular way, which many consider condescending.
– You are a cruel man, Benckendorff.
The count did not try to object. He looked directly at the tsar, expecting something else to be said. He already knew that light, half-mocking attitude.
– I’m afraid I must take you with me, we have much to discuss. Dismiss the soldiers.
The count bowed again, with the utmost respect, then turned and looked at the perfectly still formation for a few seconds. Seeing as no one dared to move, he finally dismissed them with half a hand gesture. At once, all the soldiers relaxed, put the rifles on the ground, started murmuring and wiping the sweat from under their hats. Most of them, seeing as their boss was called on by the tsar himself, immediately escaped into such desired shadow.
– Quite a year we are having, aren’t we? I’d be a liar if I said the European rebellions don’t seem concerning to me. I’d hate to see this become some widespread movement.
– My men are working on ensuring it doesn’t spread to Russia, Your Majesty. We’re keeping tabs on troublesome individuals.
The tsar and the count were slowly walking side by side, out of the residence and towards the many picturesque paths around. The grey cliffs of the sea shone in the bright daylight, the calming song of the sea woven into the whispers of the chilly wind.
– Good. I expect you to prepare detailed reports of the events in Belgium as well as in France, with names of any of our citizens that might have been involved – Benckendorff nodded his head strictly – Any news as of now?
– We’re observing Warsaw closely. I’ve been receiving reports from your brother, Grand Duke Konstantin Pavlovich.
– Oh God, the Poles… We’ve given them the constitution, what else do they demand of us? Ungrateful brats… – he scoffed – Enforce more intensive searches in the institutions, especially military bases and schools. And of course, anything they publish goes right to the censor’s desk. You know how they are about their poets.
– Of course, Your Highness.
Despite appearing bored and dismissive in his tone, Nikolai Pavlovich was looking around playfully. His idea might work. He kept talking of politics, of ambassadors and correspondence, and Benckendorff responded with his level-headed calmness. But at the same time Nikolai was leading them farther and farther from the residence. While nonchalantly commenting on the failures of Charles the Tenth, he trailed his favourite path – feeling like a kid who’s going to get away with something. They kept going, from the wide park alley to a narrower path, to a stony passage leading gently downward, towards the cliffs. If Benckendorff noticed an ulterior motive of this walk, he diplomatically didn’t comment on it.
Finally, when they discussed all of interior policy in light of these turbulent European events, and when they crossed multiple turns and pathways, His Imperial Highness found a water-carved passage in stone and went through. Finally – there it was. The cove he remembered from his childhood days – days much happier, much freer. He heard Benckendorff go through behind him. He was in the middle of some thought, something about the Greek independence fighters publishing in Russia, when he stopped himself and looked around, concerned.
– Your Majesty… If I may ask. Where are we? We’ve strayed far from the residence now.
– Excellent observation, Alexander Christoforovich! You shall be delighted to hear that was my goal. I remember this place from my boyish days… Looks decent, doesn’t it?
The cove was nothing short of spectacular. The cliffs, almost magical in their delicate grandeur, hugged around the bay. They stood on a small, completely secluded beach of pristine, white sand. Half of it was dipped in a cooling shadow, half exposed to the scorching sun. The water was crystal clear, with only small waves breaking through. It should have been a painting, it didn't belong to dull reality.
Benckendorff traced it all with his gaze, unable to understand what it is that he’s doing here. When his eyes shifted back to the tsar, he had already taken off his imperial uniform and was unbuttoning his waistcoat. The count furrowed his brow.
– So, I have deceitfully taken you with me so I can get something out of this lovely weather and go for a swim. For that you must forgive me. And for the trouble of getting here, I invite you to join me – Nikolai said with his confident smile and a raised eyebrow.
– I must object, Your Majesty, there isn’t anyone around. It would be highly irresponsible for the emperor to risk getting injured in such circumstances.
Nikolai Pavlovich kept undressing. Benckendorff averted his eyes, as the emperor’s pants and white shirt landed on the sand. The sacred figure of His Majesty was now only clad in his linen underpants, wrapped around the waist and buttoned just above the knee. This was inappropriate. He shouldn’t be a witness to this. Nikolai stepped towards him with a sly smile and raised eyebrows.
– Are you saying you’re going to let your emperor drown, just like that?
– No, never. That wasn’t-
– Then that’s settled.
Benckendorff still fought with himself not to look up, to remain tactful. He clasped his hands behind his back, in an official pose, still looking to the side. A second passed in silence.
– Why didn’t you take your personal servants or your guards with you, anyone to assure your safety, Nikolai Pavlovich? – “Why am I here?”, he didn’t add.
– Lord, always so proper… I’m supposed to not get a second to myself, no frivolity allowed. But a discussion and promenade with you definitely counts as working. Besides, I simply didn’t wish for anyone to know this place – besides me, my dear brothers, and now you – he reached out and briefly laid his hand on Benckendorff’s shoulder – Regardless, I’m going to enjoy the water now. You’re on watch, if you choose to stay here. And hereby, I officially allow you to take your uniform off. Don’t risk a heat stroke over etiquette, count.
The wind whistled above their heads. He silently watched the emperor stretch his arms and followed the golden light, reflecting on the slim outline of his faintly muscled back. He allowed himself, only today, only now, to admire the tsar’s lean calves, the lines of his narrow waist, his strong, but slender shoulders… Benckendorff turned away, buried by a terribly hungry feeling in his chest.
Nikolai jumped in the water and quickly swam away. His movements were full of youthful energy, of joy he had rarely displayed anywhere else. He kept diving, sprinting, laying on his back, letting the waves drift him away, then once again cutting across the water. Benckendorff watched him, feeling something quite like… anticipation. He closed his eyes for a moment. This shouldn’t be happening. He did not allow his thoughts to wander into places where they should never go. Away from the curved nook of the emperor’s neck, where the skin must be so unimaginably soft…
Enough. He slowly took off his uniform, folded it perfectly on the ground. Now in his white shirt and black waistcoat, the heat was definitely easier to bear. He took in a deep breath of the salty breeze.
When he opened his eyes again, a completely soaked Nikolai Pavlovich stood right before him. Droplets of water elegantly raced down his wet hair and farther down, onto his athletic body. His arms were shaking, unused to such intensive physical exercise at once.
– God… That’s quite tiring, I’m not going to lie… See, I’ve finally found a way to climb that cliff – he gestured to a raggedy stone wall, descending down into the sea at the end of the bay – I’ve come out here to rest for a second and to inform you that I am definitely jumping from it. And thus I remind you of your duty to the safety of the crown.
– Nikolai Pavlovich! – he shouted, but the tsar had already jumped back into the water, swimming straight towards the cliff.
“O Father in Heaven, what for?” he thought, but in just a few moments he stripped from his boots, waistcoat, suspenders and shirt, remaining in his underpants. Another moment passed and he was fully submerged in the cooling, blessed water of the Black sea. He quickly caught up to Nikolai, feeling the rush of satisfaction from physical activity. They swam towards the rocks in silence, feeling finally alive, feeling human. Nikolai had dreamt away many nights desiring something like this – to forget, for one singular moment, about the groundbreaking weight of the crown on his head. To not have every muscle clenched painfully, anticipating something. To not have to have the answer for everything, to decide, to give out orders to others. He selfishly wanted to not be Nikolai Pavlovich Romanov, for one day, for one hour.
The rock of the cliff was rugged and sharp. They climbed out of the water onto a stone platform, now looking up at the way upwards. Nikolai stole a quick glance at the impressive body of the Head of the Gendarmes, of his gendarme. His subtly, but densely muscled back was marked with thin, worn out battle scars. In some other world, he would trace his fingers along them and ask where they came from. There were times when he wanted nothing but to hide himself in Benckendorff's strong arms and forget the world. To rest his head on the count’s chest, hearing his rough voice whisper into his ear… He wiped his face from the water and the thought.
– I’m going first – he said in his usual, calmly amused tone.
His muscles were still trembling from the swim here. He managed to crawl to another bigger rock, now standing on a slim, slippery step. From there he had to do a full pull up to get to a handy crevice. With no hesitation, he jumped, forcing his muscles into a desperate clench. Damn it! His arms and legs were burning with overflowing pain. He couldn’t do it.
– Alexander Christoforovich? – he got out through gritted teeth.
– I’m here – he heard the raspy voice from below.
– I could use some help here, if you will.
Normally, Benckendorff wouldn’t dare touch His Majesty. But this situation was an exception, he thought. The emperor had asked himself. He firmly grabbed Nikolai’s ankles and laid his feet on his own shoulders. Using as much strength and as little movement as possible, he pushed Nikolai upwards, resisting the urge to slide his hand up the calf. God. He had to stop this.
Still shaking from the effort, Nikolai climbed to the flat surface on top of the cliff. Benckendorff watched him disappear behind the edge, safely. He then pulled himself up, his muscles dancing under his skin, and crawled to the top.
– Finally caught up, grandpa? – Nikolai tried to sound nonchalant, but he was still lying, arms outstretched, on the ground, breathing heavily.
The sun shone brightly, rushing to vaporise the water drops off of their wonderfully tired backs. Benckendorff sat up comfortably, next to his tsar. He dared to look once again at Nikolai’s spectacular frame, lean and elegant. It was hard to remember he’s a sacred, unreachable being, now that his young, exposed body lay so close within reach. He watched the royal chest rise desperately, his mouth open, grasping for air – and a terrible, hungry thought flashed in Benckendorff’s mind. He looked away.
Finally, Nikolai Pavlovich sat up and both of them remained unmoving, like statues. They were alone, far from the court, the state, solitary in this magnificent, foreign world. Their skin was getting pleasantly warmed, the gentle wind caressing their faces, with their hair slicked back. The only noises were the muffled heavy breaths and the call of sea birds, somewhere far, far away. Benckendorff noticed Nikolai take a few deep breaths with a pensive expression.
– Alexander Christoforovich?
– Your Majesty – there was another silence. He looked to the horizon, then back to Benckendorff.
– Avez vous de l'amitié pour moi?
Benckendorff almost let himself be taken aback.
– L’amitié?
– Oui. Nous avons déjà passé quelques années en équipe. Cela ne s'égale à rien, non? – he leaned back on his hand, adding almost rushedly – je suis justement curieux, c’est tout.
The count looked into the deep, amber eyes, forgetting that he really shouldn’t. Was this a test of loyalty? Was there a correct answer? He suddenly felt himself tense up, his body remembering who he was. A man of the State. He had a duty to fulfill.
– Be assured, Nikolai Pavlovich, I have the utmost respect for you… as I did for you brother, Alexander, before you. Vous tenez fièrement le bon nom de l’Empire.
– I am aware, yes – he said slowly – but I meant… a condition which makes one actually likeable, amicable. That is difficult to achieve, I’ve experienced it countless times. Especially with… – he almost said “this burden”, but stopped himself in time. He couldn’t say such things in front of his most pious servant – …with these responsibilities.
– Benign feelings such as these don’t have a place in the throne room – Benckendorff was looking away, his raspy voice flat – What counts is loyalty and fearful, decided respect, and I can guarantee you all the ministers, every official serving under your command is full of that.
After a pause he felt compelled to add:
– Amity is found within your family, Your Majesty. With your wife, personal friends. I’m sure you have plenty of them. You are a charming man.
– Yes, you’re right, yes. Thank you – he looked down. The sun started setting, its large, golden shield dipped gently in the endless ocean. Orange, yellow and gold spilled all over the waves. The day was starting to wear off.
– You know, Alexander Christoforovich, I’ve heard rumours that Pushkin tried to escape the country by boat, during his exile in the Caucasus. He didn’t succeed, obviously. But what an interesting vision to ponder.
– What a shame he didn’t, then. It would be one problem less to manage.
– I’m, in some particular way, glad that plan failed. I think Russia makes his works what they are. It’s part of him.
None of them acknowledged what was really said, for it was too painful. In some other world, where they weren’t bound by the golden shackles of their lifetime servitude to the Empire, something different may have been possible.
– Well, are you going to jump first? I must know if I’m about to throw myself onto some sharp, hidden rocks. I am the emperor. I cannot afford to take uncalculated risks – he said with an exhale.
Benckendorff stood up and looked at Nikolai Pavlovich the last time. At his face, half smiling, at his hair darkened by the salty water, his body sprawled over the hot rock underneath. The tsar sent him his signature sly smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
He jumped. When he hit the surface of the crystal water underneath, it felt strangely cold. Soon, after looking wistfully towards the horizon, Nikolai plunged right next to him. The furious, ecstatic flow of air as he fell marked the last moments of true, too good to be true, freedom. They accidentally brushed against each other when he swam back to the surface. None said anything. The sun was sinking into the water, casting deep, dark shadows on everything. It was high time to get back.
When they returned to the residence, the stars had already come out, it was already night – a bright, whimsical, crimean night. Everyone was anxiously looking for the tsar, everyone had to see him at this very moment. So it was officially over – the short moment of bliss. He straightened his back.
– Quiet. All the reports shall go to my desk to be considered by tomorrow evening. I’ll meet the ambassador on Monday, eleven o’clock sharp. The act, leave that for now. We’ll consult with my economists in Petersburg – and then, when he heard the complaints and demands, he laughed briefly, properly – Come on, dear gentlemen. Cannot an emperor make use of a rare beautiful day?