Chapter 13
Leonid
August, 1937
The Okhrana agent could see the cell door through the gray thickness of his cigarette smoke. He was reclining against the wall, hands in pockets, with one leg bent up, his foot against the cold stone. The only way to see into the cell itself was through the small window slit at eye-level on the door, but Leonid didn’t need to peek through it to see inside: he knew full well who was inside.
Yakov Yurovsky. The man who had served in the Bolshevik army, who had been in command of guarding the Tsar’s family, and who had overseen their murder and secret burial. (Though the Whites had uncovered the bodies after the war and given them a proper burial.) Okhrana agents, accompanied by the army, had arrested him at his home in Yekaterinburg, and taken him to Petrograd. Leonid had met him, of course, that fateful night when he received the identity of the “little sparrow” Stalin’s men had been pursuing. Now the two men were reunited, though for very different purposes. Yakov was to stand trial for his crimes against the royal family and the Russian state, and everyone expected this was certain death. Leonid’s role? He was to assist with the guarding of the prisoner and make certain no one killed him before the state could. “We mustn’t cheat the hangman’s noose,” as the saying went.
A small troupe of soldiers marched into the dank, dark room, led by a captain. Leonid met eye contact with him, and the officer remarked, “They’re ready for him.”
“Alright.” Leonid dropped the cigarette and snuffed it under his shoe. With the soldiers, he marched over to the cell and waited for the captain to unlock the gate. As soon as the door was unlocked and opened, the captain swung the door wide open. He didn’t enter first – instead, he motioned with his arm for Leonid to enter first. The agent did and looked into the dimly lit corner of the cell.
There sat Yakov Yurovsky. He was as he had remembered him from their meeting in Yekaterinburg: a large mustache, a beard on his face, and tired, bloodshot eyes surrounded by darkened flesh. When the man looked up, it made the agent’s heart sink. There didn’t seem to be any will within the man’s spirit – it was as if he was resigned to die, and knew there was no way around this. When Yakov’s eyes met Leonid’s, his lips grimaced for a moment in the only display of emotion. “It’s you.”
“Yes. We meet again.”
Yakov coughed. “Are you to execute me?”
“No, I’m escort you to the trial, as your personal guard.”
Yakov chuckled. A hard, bitter laughter. “Alright… let’s go… the angel of death for Judas…”
Leonid stood beside Yakov as the two men marched along the dark halls of the building. The captain and two soldiers led the way before them, while the rest of the force took up the rear. They continued down the dark, dingy halls until the captain reached a door. As soon as he opened it, they were suddenly bathed in light. Before them lay the court room proper: a large crowd of nobles, government officials, and members of the press sat in the pews on one side of the room, while a line of military judges sat atop a dais on the other end. As the troupe marched out, a quiet murmur came from the onlookers, and all eyes were clearly on them. Leonid took note of the Empress Anastasia herself, seated with the Tsar-Consort against one of the halls, and flanked by soldiers.
Leonid also noticed that, among the press corps, were two radio operators. One of them was a young man. The other, much to his delight, was a voluptuous young blonde woman.
What was her name? wondered the agent. She had headphones over her wavy hair, and was speaking into a microphone. “They have just entered now. Yakov Yurovsky, the assassin of the Tsar’s family, flanked by soldiers and Okhrana agents.”
Hey, she noticed me, thought Leonid.
The younger man beside the blonde quietly remarked, “I’m so happy they finally bought us this new system…”
Yakov was escorted to a large chair and made to sit in it. The soldiers took spots along the wall around him, while Leonid stood not too far off, albeit against the wall. It was there that all he had to do was stand there and make certain no one assaulted Yakov during the trial. Not that there was any concern. Everyone was dead silent as they watched the trial unfold, and no one seemed to want to bring it to an abrupt conclusion.
Bit by bit, the testimonies and evidence came forward. Accounts by those who had lived near the home where the family was assassinated. Photographs of the murder scene, including the walls riddled with bullet holes. The report by White forces who took Yekaterinburg and subsequently investigated the matter. Communications between Moscow and Yekaterinburg plotting the fate of the royal family. Discovered journal entries by those who took part in the assassination – including Yakov himself. They were all brought forward over the hours that the trial took. The judges listened impartially, but Leonid took notice of the expressions from the Empress. Anastasia would listen stoically for a while, then, on occasion (especially as harsher details were given), turn her head towards the floor. The Tsar-Consort would reach over and pat her knuckles, after which she would raise her head to observe the trial again.
Yakov made no effort to defend himself. The entire time, his head was low, his tired eyes downcast. His arms rested on his lap, and his hands drooped between his knees. He looked like he was on the verge of passing out. Leonid truly felt pity for the man, for despite his sentence having not been read yet, it was obvious that he was like a man awaiting the trip to the gallows. There were many men in Russia that Leonid believed deserved the noose, and yet fate and history were calling this one to be the sacrifice for the sins the nation had endured during the Civil War.
At some point, Patriarch Peter of Krutitsy, sitting among the government dignitaries and flanked by deacons, leaned over to one and muttered, “When God confronted the serpent in the garden, he didn’t offer a defense like Adam and Eve did. The devil knows his guilt…”
At long last, the evidence was used up. The chief prosecutor arose from his place high above the room and looked down at Yakov. “Yakov Yurovsky, in the face of such damning evidence, have you anything to say in your defense?”
Yakov did not even lift his gaze up. His head simply shook back and forth.
“Very well. In light of the plain evidence and eyewitness testimony, which you cannot even deny or contradict, this court finds you guilty of high treason against the Empress’ family, and the murder of the family of Tsar Nicholas II and many of his loyal servants. As such, you are hereby ordered to be executed by firing squad. Your sentence is to be carried out-”
“NO!!”
The spectators gasped as they turned towards the door. An older woman, dressed in plain clothes, was rushing through the door. Two soldiers were on her, gripping her arms tight and struggling to keep her from going forward. Leonid could tell, by the way Yakov looked at her, that he recognized her.
“No! Please! Let him go! Please!”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked the judge.
“He’s my husband! Please! Please, he’s ruined himself because of that night!” She turned her eyes towards Anastasia now. “Please, your majesty! Please, spare him! It’s eaten away at him!”
The murmurs and gasps in the room came to a pause as Anastasia stood up. She held a hand out, and at once the old woman stopped struggling against the soldiers. Turning towards Yakov, she took some steps down from her platform, came into the middle of the courtroom, and stopped. “Bring him to me,” she said.
Leonid walked forward with another soldier and helped Yakov to his feet. They walked him down towards Anastasia. Two of Anastasia’s guards came forward and flanked her, their bayonets pointed at Yakov. The soldier guiding the assassin pushed him down to his knees before the Empress. Yakov did not say anything – all he did was stare up at Anastasia, his tired eyes gazing almost lifelessly.
“Yakov Yurovsky,” Anastasia said, “is what she said true?”
At last, a low, stuttering voice left Yakov’s throat. “Your majesty…” He swallowed, then looked down. Tears filled his eyes. “Every night, your majesty. Every night, I relive that moment. Even when I close my eyes, I see it. I can see your father falling down. I can hear the screams of your sisters. I can see the look of terror in your eyes. I can smell the blood that came from your bodies. I think of the look of sadness in your brother’s eyes before I pulled the trigger. The smell of that shaft that we dumped them in. The laughter and mockery of the men with me. The knowledge of what I had done. It all floods back to me, like I’m back there. It pains my heart. It makes me want to die. I want to kill myself and be rid of the pain. So I drink. And I drink. And I drink. I drink to numb the pain, to make me not care. But then I sober up, and it all comes back. And then it happens again. The blood… the screams…”
Yakov was crying now. Weeping. Bawling. He fell to his knees and gripped the ends of Anastasia’s dress. Tells dampened in the fabric. “Please, your majesty! Please, forgive me! Even if you send me to die, please forgive me… I can’t go to my judgment with this guilt on my conscience…”
In the past, Leonid had heard people talk about a moment being so tense you could cut it with a knife. He had never understood that saying until now – for the room seemed so thick with the emotions of the moment that, indeed, if one of the soldiers had sliced through the air with his bayonet, he just might have cut through it. The only sound in the room was the sobbing of Yakov, and all eyes were focused on the scene. Even the radio woman said nothing, but stared at the scene with wide blue eyes.
At last, Anastasia said, “Yakov Yurovsky… stand up.”
He did, without hesitation, though his eyes did not dare lift up to make contact with hers. His shoulders shook as he continued to weep. At last… Anastasia held up her hands and placed them on his shoulders. “It has been a long time, Yurovsky… my wounds have healed, but I see that yours have not. The grief I have felt about that day has been unbearable. I would have never imagined, however, that you would share the grief with me. I remember that day that you seemed to hesitate giving the order. I can see now why – you knew what you were doing was wrong. Yet we all must make choices that will be difficult… and I can see you have regret yours ever since.”
Yakov still said nothing, but continued to sob.
“That is why, Yurovsky… I am forgiving you…”
The entire room broke out in gasps and awes. Yakov jerked his head up, eyes wide. “Y-your… your majesty…”
“I am forgiving you, and absolving you of all charges.”
Yakov’s wife let out a cry of glee and fell to her knees, weeping in joy.
Anastasia continued. “However, I must ask, in return, that you forgive me.”
Yakov looked up, a look of uncertainty on his face. His reddened eyes blinked twice. “You? You want
me… to forgive
you? What… what do I need to forgive you for?”
Anastasia smiled. “When my family was in Yekaterinburg… there was time when you gave us an order, and I didn’t like what you had to say, so when you turned your back… I stuck my tongue out at you.”
Silence fell upon the room… and then… a slow, gradual rise of laughter. Soon the entire room was breaking out in raucous delight. Yakov glanced about in confusion, then looked at Anastasia, and he too laughed. She joined with him in that, and brought him into a hug. At that, the room stood, and all began to clap. Government officials, military personnel, church dignitaries, all began to applause.
Anastasia turned and held up a hand to silence the room. When the noise had dimmed, she said, “By decree of the Empress of All the Russias, Yakov Yurovsky is hereby forgiven of all charges of murder. He is to live in peace. Let no man dare hurt him or seek vengeance upon him. If any man should harm him, justice shall be on that person’s head a thousandfold. Let it be known that, under my reign, all the wounds of the past must be, and shall be, healed. Let it start today.”
She turned and walked towards the Tsar-Consort. Taking his extended arm, the two of them left out a side door, accompanied by soldiers. Yakov Yurovsky rushed towards the railing separating the court room from the pews, and it was there that he embraced his wife.
Leonid let out a whistle. “Well. That I didn’t see coming.”
Ludmila stepped forward. Leonid hadn’t even been aware that she was in the room. “Rather clever of her. I think I can see what game she’s up to.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s just forgiven the Communist who murdered her entire family. She’s shown that she can forgive old enemies and bring them to her side. All of Russia will be hearing of this news, won’t they?”
“Yes, I suppose they will.”
Ludmila gave a curt hum. “And so will Trotsky…”