He had the feeling that the second man would have held out: there was a calm defiance in his eyes. But the first man was more nervous, and evading his companion’s warning eyes, he cried hastily. ‘Incendiaries, master. Mining houses. Thousands of us, let out on purpose by the Governor. The whole city’s going to go up, as soon as the French are in.’

‘You bloody fool!’ the second man snarled.

‘Good God,’ Kirov said. So that was Rostopchin’s ‘plan’. Then, ‘You’ve mined this house? Answer me, damn you! My wife’s in there!’

‘No, master, not this one. We were taking a short cut back to headquarters to get supplies. We haven’t done this one yet – God’s truth!’

Kirov wasn’t sure whether he believed him or not, but this was not the time or place to argue. He waved his pistol peremptorily. ‘Very well. Go on, get off with you. Adonis – the gate!’

The two men scuttled past and disappeared round the corner. Kirov’s mind was seething: incendiaries? The whole city? It would finish Napoleon, finish him completely. But it would also finish Moscow. Moscow, the holy city, would burn! He ought to report back – but the most important thing now was to get Anne out to safety. The men might have mined the house after all – he couldn’t trust their word. Sly Rostopchin! Determined, too. Who would have thought it?

While Anne made her final preparations, Adonis instituted a search of the cellars and outhouses to make sure no incendiary devices had been planted. It seemed the men had told the truth; and the servants who were staying on were now alerted to the danger, and could be trusted to look after their own interests. Some of them, resentful at the turn things had taken, remained in their quarters, and would not emerge even to see the mistress leave. For the others, there was a tearful farewell in the courtyard.

‘The French won’t harm you,’ Anne assured them. ‘You should have enough to eat, with all the stores in the cellars. Keep yourselves safe at all costs. We’ll meet again, when all this is over.’

Mikhailo, his eyes red, spoke for all of them. ‘Yes, Barina. The good times will come again.’

The servants who had been with her in Koloskavets shook her offered hand shyly. Old Nyanya sobbed and begged her to take care of the little Countess, and make sure she had her hot oil treatment every day. Despite the few hours of sleep she had had last night, Anne was numb with weariness, and that was good, for it prevented her from feeling too much sorrow. She mounted the horse Nikolai had brought her and looked briefly at the Greek façade of Byeloskoye, and was sure she would never see it again; yet she felt no emotion. It was already a part of the past. What the future might hold, she could not imagine; but she had everything that mattered – with the new life inside her, and Nikolai beside her, they were going to join Rose.

Pauline, very doubtful about riding cross-saddle, had been helped to mount; the valises were firmly strapped on behind the saddles and covered with blankets; the gate was swung open, and they were off, clattering out into the road under the hazy morning sun. It was September the 14th, and there had been a slight fog that morning. Autumn had definitely come.

When they reached the stone bridge over the Yaouza river on the east side of the city, they found General Tolly sitting on horseback watching the soldiers marching over, and pulled out of the columns to join him at his vantage point. For the last part of the route, the road had been lined with cavalrymen, evidently posted to stop the soldiers from deserting. Tolly, however, greeted Kirov with a shake of the head and the words, ‘God knows how many we’ve lost. I even sent my own aides back to the main intersections, but you can’t keep your eye on everyone. I could have used you earlier. Rostopchin didn’t provide a single policeman, as far as I could see.’

Kirov now had a fair idea what those policemen had been doing, but he said nothing. The fewer people who knew about the plan the better: word had a way of getting around.

‘We saw plenty of signs of looting back there,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s inevitable.’

Tolly shrugged. ‘Not our problem now. Here, Khastov! Turn those carts aside! Civilians must wait for the infantry to pass over first!’

‘Has the Commander-in-Chief come through yet, sir?’ Kirov asked.

‘Not yet. He’s only going as far as Panki today – that’s where the new headquarters will be.’ He glanced with mild curiosity at Anne and her maid, and said, ‘You can go on, if you like. It might be better for you to get your party settled before the staff arrive – make sure of a decent lodging. There’s going to be quite a crowd later on.’

‘Thank you sir. I’m sure you’re right.’

‘All right. Khastov – let the Colonel’s party through.’

They were about to ride forward to join the column at the bridgehead, when there was a distant loud explosion behind them, from somewhere near the centre of the town. The horses snorted and laid back their ears, and the soldiers faltered and looked back over their shoulders.

‘Keep ’em moving, sergeant!’ Tolly called out. A column of black smoke climbed up vertically into the sky, growing thicker even as they watched. Tolly snapped his fingers for a telescope; and after a moment he said, ‘It looks like a fire in the Kitai-Gorod section. I suppose some looter or deserter’s been careless. Nothing to do with us, anyway.’

Kitai-Gorod was the merchant’s section of the city. Kirov thought they could hardly have chosen a better site for the first incendiary: it was a tightly packed area of wooden buildings, shops and warehouses full of oil and wool and rope and candles and paint and spirits – everything that would burn most readily. He said nothing, and escorted Anne forward to cross the bridge. At the highest point of the span, he turned in the saddle to look back at Moscow and salute it inwardly, for what he knew, now, was the last time.

Once they were over the bridge and outside the city walls, they were able to slip out of the column and overtake the slow-moving infantry and wagons. Further towards Panki, they caught up with a convoy of oddly shaped covered carts, and it was only as they were passing them that Kirov recognised them belatedly as the municipal fire-fighting pumps. Rostopchin must have ordered them to be taken out of the city that morning. He had certainly, Kirov thought, done his job thoroughly.

The Roads out of Moscow

Chapter Thirty-Two