The Girl Who Fought Napoleon: A Novel of the Russian Empire Read Online Free PDF Page A

trip stretched into the late afternoon. Winter night comes early in Russia, and by four in the afternoon it was already dark. His father put his arm around Alexander’s shoulders, pulling him deeper under the furs to protect his skin and tender lungs.
    “It is brutally cold,” Paul said. “You do not want chilblains. And you will need your lungs strong for war, my son.”
    Alexander popped his head up from the coverings. He pressed his mittens to his face to block the wind.
    “Oh, but Father! I want to see everything. I want to see the torches of Gatchina! Our home, yes, Father?”
    His father gave him a rare smile, pulling his son close.
    Gatchina was Paul’s world and his joy. The grand duke despised the Winter Palace, where his father, Peter III, had been murdered by the Imperial Guards of his own wife, Empress Catherine. Haunted by that bitter memory, the Winter Palace reminded Paul of a lonely childhood with a mother who ignored him, then later came to despise him.
    Now the grand duke squeezed his son to his breast, kissing the top of his head. “ Horosho , Alexander. Good. Gatchina is our sanctuary. Do not forget you are my son, no matter what happens in the future.”
    Alexander felt the warmth of his father’s body, impregnated with the scents of cologne, leather, and cognac. The tsarevitch breathed in both manly warmth and piney cold of the forests, an intoxicating infusion, the aroma of Russia.
    “What does sanctuary mean, Father?”
    Paul heaved a great breath into the winter night, enveloping him and his son in a heavy mist.
    “A place where you won’t be murdered in your nightshirt, son.”

Chapter 6
    Sarapul, Russia
    May 1795
     
    When I was twelve, my father rode into our gated compound one evening on a black Circassian stallion. The young horse snorted and leapt, the muscle in his neck shining in the flickering lights of the stable master’s torch.
    “This wretched beast!” shouted my father.
    I ran to my papa, embracing him. “Is he mine, Papa?” I said, stretching my hand out toward the stallion.
    “No, Nadya. You stay away from this one. He is a brute. He could slice your head open with his hoofs. He bit me as I put on the bridle, the bastard!”
    “Why did you buy him then?” asked my mother, coming out of the house. Her voice was shrill and agitated. A maid wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. My mother would not walk a step further from the front door. She hated horses.
    “This beautiful stallion? He is a gift. A gift from Astakhov, my old orderly. He is stationed now in the Caucasus Mountains. No horse is more hardy or able on rocky terrain.”
    “Astakhov!” I said. “Then surely he is a gift for me.”
    My father squeezed me tight in his arms.
    “Astakhov sends his loving regards to you, Nadezhda. He loves you as his own daughter. But this horse is untamable. I am not sure he is such a fine present after all.”
    I stared at the stallion, extending my hand. He backed away, snorting. His nostrils quivered as he drew in my scent.
    “Nadezhda! Enough of that!” called out my mother. “Come into the house this minute!”
    Since our cavalry days, my mother would not allow me to even walk down to my father’s stables. I turned my back on her, approaching the horse.
    “What is his name, Father?” I said. The horse took a step toward me, still sucking in my scent.
    “Alcides,” he said. “The birth name of Heracles.”
    “Alcides the all-powerful,” I whispered, the horse’s warm breath on my outstretched hand. “The strongest of all mortals!”
    “Nadezhda! At once!” cried my mother.
    My father watched me drop my hand and turn away. He nodded for the stableman to take Alcides but stood for a long time rubbing his chin before he followed us in.
    I think he knew already I was in love with this new horse.

    I waited until I heard my parents’ bedroom door shut before I crept from my room to the kitchen. I had only a candlestick with a brass handle crooked around my