Rebel Princess by Evelyn Anthony Page A

and the whole court was ordered to prepare for a pilgrimage to Kiev.
    The journey took three months, for the pace was set by the Empress, who walked at the head of the procession, murmuring endless prayers, covered from head to foot with dust, while her courtiers rode in comfort. It was an extraordinary sight, that vast procession of carriages and litters crawling in the wake of the weary, footsore Elizabeth, and her company of chanting priests.
    Watching the endless landscape, the hundreds of villages and towns, Catherine gained an everlasting impression of the vastness of Russia, of the sweep and power of Elizabeth’s domain, broad and barrenly magnificent, like its ruler, indelibly marked by the Orient, neither truly East nor West.
    The people fascinated her; they came in droves to do homage to their Empress, kneeling in an endless line along the roadside, and the sight of their rags and faces gaunt with hunger stirred Catherine with strange tenderness and indignation.
    Elizabeth did public penance for her sins, an exhibition which struck Catherine as foolish and undignified, when the Empress thoughtlessly squandered millions of roubles, paid for by the sweat of those dumb, nameless crowds who worshipped her.
    Again and again Catherine turned to Peter, hoping for some sign of interest or enthusiasm similar to her own, but the Grand Duke spent his time quarreling with his tutors and jeering loudly at the whole affair. Otherwise he made fun of the luckless Johanna, whose disgrace with Elizabeth made her a safe target for his malicious tongue. Catherine found herself wondering what evil star had chosen to deliver Russia into such hands as Peter’s.
    On their return to Moscow there followed months of comparative quiet, pleasant enough for the young Grand Duchess, for all contact with her erring mother was discouraged by Elizabeth and the only trial put upon her was an hour or two each day of Peter’s presence.
    These interviews were compulsory, and their object was to perpare the way for the more intimate relationship that the two young people would soon share.
    Day by day Peter sat sullenly in her room, gazing morosely out of the window, while Catherine worked at her embroidery frame, miserably aware that the atmosphere between them was growing more and more strained.
    Steeling herself, Catherine determined on a last effort to gain his friendship. He had a weakness, and one which was heavily punished by his aunt if she discovered its indulgence. Catherine knew that weakness; she had seen it to her horror, and the memory served her purpose now.
    During the Grand Duke’s daily visit they were left diplomatically alone, and one afternoon she got up from her embroidery frame and walked over to the window where he slouched in boredom.
    â€œPeter,” she said quietly. He continued to stare out of the window as if she had not spoken.
    â€œThere is little to amuse you here, I know,” she went on, “but since you are kind enough to visit me, perhaps … perhaps you could bring your dolls and we might play with them together?”
    It was her only bribe, and she waited anxiously for his reaction. Peter turned round and looked at her, his protruding eyes sharp with suspicion.
    â€œWe would be punished,” he stated cautiously.
    â€œOnly if we were found out!” amended Catherine coolly. His expression changed to one of almost feminine longing, and her hopes rose as she watched his face.
    â€œI should like to play with them,” he muttered wistfully, and for a moment Catherine glimpsed the utter pathos of his unhappy, twisted nature, feeble-minded and warped by the weight of his destiny. “If I could smuggle them in tomorrow.…” He looked broodingly at her in mixed uncertainty and delight. “You will not tell anyone?” he demanded.
    Catherine held out her hand. “I promise not to say a word.”
    Gingerly, Peter touched her fingers, for he disliked all physical