The Bloody Meadow (38 page)

Korolev nodded again.

‘Very good. The conspiracy was led by that fellow Damienko, a Ukrainian exile who had returned to the country from – ’ the colonel paused to think – ‘Budapest.
Fortunately the efforts of Comrade Lenskaya and her fellow loyal Party members to bring the conspirators to justice were ultimately successful and resulted in the seizure of a large quantity of
weapons and the death and arrest of all the conspirators, but at a terrible price. Comrades Mushkina, Les Pins and Lenskaya laid down their lives so that the Revolution might be preserved. They
have joined the pantheon of Bolshevik heroes, along with Militiamen Gradov and Blumkin, of course. And we should never forget Major Mushkin. Especially not Major Mushkin. A Chekist hero of the
highest valour. I shouldn’t be surprised if his mother and he weren’t buried in the Kremlin wall itself. Oh, and that journalist Lomatkin. He was a hero as well.’

‘All of their lives?’ Korolev couldn’t stop himself from asking the question; as far as he knew Blumkin, Mushkina and Lomatkin were still alive.

‘Yes,’ Rodinov said, drawing a finger languidly down the fogged-up window beside him. ‘All of them. Their selfless sacrifices for the Socialist Motherland will be an example to
us all. They will be awarded the highest honours, of course. Posthumously.’

Rodinov seemed lost in thought for a moment and Korolev sensed his own fate was hanging by the narrowest of threads.

‘Which brings us to you and Sergeant Slivka.’

‘We’re happy to do our duty, as you direct.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Slivka is a Party member?’

‘Komsomol, I believe.’

‘I see, but you aren’t – isn’t that right?’ The colonel’s eyes were boring into him now, but Korolev sensed no hostility as such – not yet, at any
event. He hesitated, considering how best to respond.

‘I’ve never thought myself worthy of being considered for an active political role in the Revolution, Comrade Colonel.’ Korolev spoke carefully.

‘Yes, I think you should focus on what you are good at, Korolev – digging out answers for people like me.’

There was a hint of irony in the colonel’s voice, but there was no trace of it in his expression.

‘You, Korolev,’ he said after another pause, ‘you will go back to Moscow and resume your duties.’

Korolev felt relief well up in him, but the colonel wasn’t finished.

‘I understand there are vacancies in Moscow CID that haven’t been filled. Semionov was a junior lieutenant, wasn’t he?’

‘That was his Militia rank.’

‘Then we shall promote Sergeant Slivka. You work well together. I’ll explain it to your chief. You may give her the good news. The People’s Commissar believes you may be of use
to him again, sometime in the future.’

‘Thank you, Comrade Colonel.’

The colonel waved a hand in acknowledgement.

‘Now these forensics men you worked with – are they reliable?’

‘I put my life in their hands, Comrade Colonel. And they came through.’

‘Well, we shall look after them as well.’

Korolev’s face must have revealed his fears because Rodinov raised a reassuring hand.

‘Don’t worry, Korolev, they served the State loyally – they have nothing to fear.’ Rodinov’s expression was still cold, but Korolev sensed that the danger had
passed. ‘What did I tell you again and again during this investigation, Korolev?’

‘That discretion was vital, Comrade Colonel.’

‘Be sure your new colleague knows it as well as you do. The Party is grateful for your contributions to the successful outcome of this matter, but you must never speak of it
again.’

‘I understand.’

Rodinov studied him. ‘You have a son, Korolev, haven’t you?’ he said in a detached voice.

‘Yes. He’s eleven now.’

‘He lives in Zagorsk, doesn’t he?’

Korolev said nothing, fear paralysing his vocal cords, wondering how Rodinov knew about Yuri, and whether the threat in the question was intended, and then certain beyond doubt that it had been.
He found himself trying to swallow, but there was no saliva in his mouth, wondering should he say something, assert his complete reliability, his devoted loyalty to the Party, his dedication to the
revolutionary cause, but instead he just looked into the colonel’s cold eyes and kept his face as expressionless as he could.

‘You still have ten days before you need to be back at work, Korolev. Go and visit the young lad. The permits will be arranged for you. You deserve it.’

§

A few moments later Korolev found himself outside in the sun, in something of a daze, the freezing air sharp on his face and unexpected tears icy on his cheek. He turned away
from Rodinov’s car and walked towards the Orlov House, his feet moving of their own accord and his mind not concentrating on anything much except the fact that he’d made it through this
mess after all and that he’d be seeing his son. His glance fell on the ruined church and for an insane moment he found himself walking towards it, fully intent on going inside to thank the
Lord for his good fortune.

But instead he pulled a hand across his eyes to dry them and then over his unshaven chin, and felt the tiredness of the last few days like a weight on his back, and with the last of his energy
he turned, smiling at Slivka as he walked back towards her.

Author’s Note

The Bloody Meadow
is a work of fiction, but I’ve tried to ensure it has a sound basis in fact. There have, however, been some compromises, particularly with regard
to place names – the Orlov House, for example, is loosely based on the Kuris Manor near the village of Petrivka, not too far away from Odessa. Sadly it burnt down in 1990, but I’ve
posted some photographs of it in its current condition on my website, www.william-ryan.com, for those who might be interested. Likewise the village of Angelinivka and the town of Krasnogorka can
also be found near Odessa, but they bear no resemblance geographically or otherwise to the way I’ve described them in the book.

The film
The Bloody Meadow
, from which the novel’s title derives, bears some resemblance to Eisenstein’s lost masterpiece
Bezhin Meadow
– from which it can
reasonably be assumed that the character Savchenko has a very slight connection to the great Russian film director. As it happens, the writer Isaac Babel was involved with the screenplay for
Bezhin Meadow
and, as he appeared in
The Holy Thief
, it seemed a good idea to set the novel on a fictional version of the filmset. Unfortunately for Babel and Eisenstein, the concerns
about the political soundness of
Bezhin Meadow
meant that it was never shown publicly. It’s believed the only copy of it was destroyed by a German bomb in 1941.

For more detail on the historical background to the novel, I’d encourage readers to visit www.william-ryan.com, where I have given a more detailed description of the research I undertook
for the novel, including a bibliography of sources, photographs and other material.

I’m in debt to a large number of people for their support and assistance during the writing of
The Bloody Meadow
.

Elena Andreeva and Anna Andrievskaya showed me round Odessa and the surrounding region – Elena, in particular, managed to spirit me into places I really wasn’t supposed to go, which
was both stressful and invaluable.

Larisa Ivash was a source of very useful suggestions and was a careful and helpful reader of an early draft, as were Ed Murray, Barney Spender, Kelley Ragland at Minotaur, Nina Salter at
Éditions des Deux Terres and my wife, Joanne.

My agent Andrew Gordon and his colleagues at David Higham Associates, particularly Tine Nielsen, Ania Corless and Stella Giatrakou, have been brilliant, as has George Lucas at Inkwell in New
York.

Finally, I’m grateful to everyone at Macmillan – Sophie Orme, Katie James, Liz Cowen and Eli Dryden in particular, but most of all Maria Rejt for her consistently to the point and
accurate editing. The novel wouldn’t be whatever it is without her.

Also by William Ryan

THE HOLY THIEF

First published 2011 by Mantle

This electronic edition published 2011 by Pan Books
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Copyright © William Ryan, 2011

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