Nanowrimo Winner

16. Stilin’s memoirs

If I had felt upset before, after our second conversation I felt sick. The horrid, twisted version of reality which Stilin took such pleasure in retailing revolted me. I could not understand how a man could nurture such poisonous thoughts about the person he spent his life following. On balance, I thought that Stilin was mad. I resolved not to talk to him again. But after I had kept away for a week, a soldier came to the door and presented me with a note from the skeletal secretary and a sheaf of papers. My mother was out, standing hopelessly in a waiting room for the chance of a brief conversation with a clerk about the forms she had filled in to request that the repair of our kitchen window could be upgraded to category three, which would in theory give us some chance of it being done within six months. So I had the opportunity to examine the papers in privacy.

There was note attached.

Lucia, it said, I’m sorry if you find this difficult. These papers are drafts I made a couple of years ago. I hoped then that I would outlive your father, and might be able to publish the truth. I thought it might make some amends for the terrible things I have helped with, or concealed. Please read them, and if you feel able, come and talk to me again.

I began reading, and I was still reading when my mother came home.

“What’s that, Lucia?” she asked, coming up behind me. I wasn’t sure she and I were on friendly terms yet: we had had a tremendous argument when I came back from seeing my father. I blamed her for lying to me just as much as I blamed him; to be honest, I blamed her more.

“It’s nothing,” I said, “Nothing for you to see.”

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Dacsvillin was the turning point. Before that, the situation was not really promising in many respects. Larvartin was still a fairly minor figure and Ursin was only a successful officer with a knack of picking off leftist agitators in brutal style. Neither was all that well-liked or trusted by their own colleagues.

Larvartin, with his constant wheedling attempts to make friends and his apparent lack of serious political opinions, struck his fellow Party members as a lightweight, and many others on the left frankly considered him a fool. He was pleased to let them think so; he had no real ambitions to become a political leader in those days. I think it is an indictment of them all, however, that they never suspected his treachery. Those old leftists saw human beings as little more than economic abstractions; if they had been more curious about their comrades as human beings they might have been suspicious about Larvartin’s feverish solicitude. The truth was that he was a dangerous man to underestimate; the only thing more dangerous was to let him see that you did not underestimate him.

Ursin, also, was not much liked by King Francis. Contrary to what we are told nowadays, the King took an active interest in his own armed forces, and this included careful oversight of the custodes. He himself had noted Ursin’s string of successes; although he found the man’s manners vulgar, he tried to apply meritocratic principles, and was content to agree to Ursin’s early advancement. What really put him off was the brutality of Ursin’s operations. King Francis regarded it as part of his duty to defend the rule of law in Dubitania, and he found Ursin’s habit of gunning down perceived enemies of the regime where they stood in the street to be distasteful and improper. What made it worse was that many active members of the revolutionary parties, the kind of people Ursin was shooting, were not simple proletarians, but progressive members of the upper or upper-middle classes; some of them were even people who were slightly known to the King. It was not good form to shoot workers, but to kill the children of people who had been introduced at Court was really a dreadful error in the King’s eyes.

But then came Dacsvillin. When word first arrived of the rising , the communists held a rambling debate. They all agreed that the rising was not a correct revolutionary proceeding, although there were three different points of view about why: Pavari and his friends held that it was essentially ethnic in character and not proletarian; Misondri and the majority said that its essential character was that of a bourgeois revolution against feudalism; Bertsch agreed that the Dubitanian historical context was not yet sufficiently advanced for Dacsvillin to be a socialist revolution, but also denied that it was anti-feudal in character.

They all took it for granted, however, that for various reasons they would go and join in. Larvartin was the only member to speak against: he actually went so far as to say he would not personally go to Dacsvillin under any circumstances, and it seemed embarrassingly clear that simple fear was playing the major part in deciding his views. He looked pale and his voice trembled as he spoke. To save his blushes, Pavari proposed that he should remain in Sescastri in order to keep channels of communication with Moscow open: and this was readily agreed.

It must have been with some surprise, therefore, that after Cavallin’s siege had been in place for three weeks, the rebels found that Larvartin, Essedrin and I were waiting at the Marien Gate with two wagons full of supplies. Poor Porfri was beside himself; it had cost him dear to stay at home in Sescastri while his comrades were out having revolutionary fun, and only his great regard for his friendship with Larvartin had caused him to stay behind.

In retrospect, I find it hard to understand why the suspicions of the besieged were not aroused at that point. Cavallin’s blockade was admittedly not all that rigorous: I don’t think he really wanted to cut the city off completely. If we had smuggled ourselves in at a postern somewhere, it might have made sense; but surely it was a little odd that we were able to drive two wagons right up to the front door without being troubled by the Royal guardsmen who were clearly visible only two hundred metres away? All I can say is that at the time I did not find it particularly strange myself: I just thought it was another example of our daring and the Government’s lax ineffectiveness.

By then of course, anyone who brought fresh supplies was sure of a welcome, and no-one took it ill when Larvartin announced that he intended to ration their distribution. Rationing and bureaucracy came only too naturally to most of those inside the ancient walls. I remember the vigorous nodding along the rows of delegates as Larvartin made his speech about how the rebels were themselves the embryo of a new republic and should exemplify amongst themselves the equitable distribution of resources which the new regime would surely usher in. They were, you might say, suckers for that kind of thing, as I knew when I wrote it.

Some of the rebels, it is true, raised an eyebrow when they found that in order to qualify for a ration they were required to supply rather a lot of details about their revolutionary and true identities, their affiliations and even their normal addresses. Any who objected, however, were easily won over by an appeal to comradely co-operation, and Larvartin’s theatrical gesture of tearing up their details as soon as they had been recorded. This bizarre gesture was meant to show that while rectitude required him to record the information, comradely feeling made it impossible for him to keep it if he felt they had any reservations. This illogical business (in fact he palmed the actual details and ripped up a blank form) seemed to evoke warm feelings in all of them. Probably the only sensible one among them was a saturnine anarchist called D’Issigny, who said little and filled in Larvartin’s form readily with details which I later discovered with a certain admiration to be entirely fictitious.

On the morning of the day after we completed our first issue of rations, Larvartin woke me at five o’clock in the morning. I had been pleased to get a room of my own, even though it was a small one at the top of a run-down old house near the walls, but in the grey light of the early morning it looked cold and severely uninviting. The bare floorboards and white-washed walls suggested that this had been a maidservant’s bedroom before the occupiers had fled: the only remaining sign of the former occupant was a picture of Enrico Caruso in a ridiculous medieval costume, cut from a newspaper, which had been pinned to the wall.

“Come on, Lucas,” said Larvartin, impatiently, “No time to lose. We’re going home.”

“Home?” I asked stupidly. I thought at first he must have quarrelled with Pavari or with one of the other leaders, but it appeared that it had never been his plan to stay long in Dacsvillin. Porfri, he told me, was staying behind, but we needed to get back to Sescastri to give Moscow news of our progress.

“Will we be able to get through the besiegers?” I asked, but he merely smirked at me.

Once again, instead of using an obscure postern, we left by the Marien Gate. As it happened, Porfri was on duty there, otherwise I think it might have been difficult to persuade the guards to open the gate for us. As on the way in, we found we could walk away down a minor road in full view of the besieging troops without anyone taking a pot-shot or riding up to see what we were doing. In fact, Larvartin actually waved at the Royalists: at the time I took it for a piece of reckless bravado, but now I realise it was in all probability a pre-arranged signal.

With Larvartin’s ration list, Ursin was in a position to identify and wipe out the majority of serious revolutionary activists; but more to the point, he was able to provide evidence of the extent of revolutionary sentiments, and create the alarm he needed to justify his activities. It was not a foregone conclusion that Dacsvillin would be followed by a clamp-down. It is not widely known, but I have seen documents which show that Francis I was actually on the brink of abdicating at the time.

The King had prepared a speech in which he declared that although he was King, he was not himself a Royalist. He regarded himself as merely holding in trust a sacred responsibility to manage Dubitania’s inevitable transition to democracy. He had thought that the people of his country understood that he was simply trying to steer the ship of state through a turbulent period until a stable new regime could be put in place. But the rising in Dacsvillin made him think that perhaps he had become an obstacle to progress. He was prepared, therefore, to step down from the throne and call together a National Assembly which would debate a new constitution.

I don’t know whether Francis was completely sincere in all this, or whether he was merely indulging his pique over the uprising, but he seemed serious enough to alarm his courtiers and the Royalist party very considerably. With Ursin’s information, they were able to persuade the King that his abdication would plunge the country into bloody conflict, and that it was his duty to remain on the throne for a few more years. He was also persuaded that Ursin alone could restore the ship of state to an even keel, and it was therefore agreed that he should at last become Director of the Custodes Regin.

I know now that Larvartin was also at this time thinking of throwing in the towel. I have seen a letter to Ursin in which he points out that with the virtual elimination of the opposition, their goal is achieved. He no doubt expected to be able to drop the façade, and take up the rewards Ursin had promised him – a dukedom, a political sinecure, and fifty thousand denari.

But Ursin was thinking of his own career. If he took out all the radicals in one fell swoop, he would enjoy a moment of glory, but then he would have nothing to do. He was aware that King Francis did not like him very much, and was afraid that unless he continued to demonstrate his usefulness, the King would soon get rid of him, as he had done with many previous Directors. He therefore arranged the assassination or imprisonment of all the revolutionary leaders who seemed to him to be immediate dangers: but he retained a selection of the others for future use.

In the much reduced pond of radical opinion, Larvartin found himself now to be one of the bigger fish, and much the boldest – why shouldn’t he be bold? His impatience with Ursin was qualified by a growing enjoyment of this leading role, and perhaps even then some half-serious idea of turning the tables and becoming a revolutionary in earnest might have occurred to him.

When the German ultimatum arrived, Ursin was of course able to brief Larvartin. He told him that the Germans had insultingly demanded that as the price of their accepting Francis’ submission, he must deliver unanimous agreement at the Assembly. With Pavari in jail and many others dead or in exile, Larvartin was in command of the handful of communist delegates, and felt able to demand a high price. If Ursin would not deliver, he could get what he wanted from Francis himself.

I went with Larvartin to the Agraci palace. After waiting for what seemed like hours in a dusty anteroom, we were taken into a grand room with large paintings on the wall, where King Francis sat behind a table with three advisers. There was only one chair on our side of the table: Larvartin sat and I was left to stand behind him like a footman – perhaps I deserved it.

The King remained silent while Larvartin explained his demands, only raising one eyebrow. In return for delivering the communist votes, Larvartin demanded that he should become Duke of Septen, Head of Posts for Andrania Province, and receive an emolument of fifteen thousand denari.

The King paused and looked at his counsellors.

“Well, Mr Washer,” he said, “I think that’s all clear. Yes, all very clear. There’s only one thing that puzzles me. You see, you ask quite a high price, but tell me – haven’t we bought you already?”

The counsellors laughed loudly.

“Thank you, at any rate, for coming in,” said Francis, sarcastically, “But you see, we’ve found a cheaper contractor – a Mr Pavari?”

“Pavari? You’re going to release Pavari? But I’m the representative,” protested Larvartin.

“Not any more. Good day!” The King smiled and the courtiers laughed again.

I have never seen anyone as furious as Larvartin as we were unceremoniously bundled out of the Palace. He found that he was now suddenly isolated: Pavari had been quietly released the day before and had already re-established himself with the Party. I was the only communist who remained loyal to Larvartin. In addition his status as a member of the Assembly had been questioned and unless he could do something quickly he would find himself rejected by all parties and in severe danger. It happened that Ursin was away at this time and could not be contacted: Larvartin, in a panic, assumed that he had been abandoned, but in fact Ursin was merely ingratiating himself with the Nazis. If he had been available, there is no doubt in my mind that Larvartin would have followed his lead and become a collaborator. As it was, and luckily for us, that option did not seem to be open.

There was one last desperate card Larvartin could play. It was known that Obertin, Sprentin, and Manumin were attempting to organise resistance to the Germans’ demands: he went to them and asked to join their party.

We met them, rather ominously, in the upstairs room of the Grand Café. This time there were plenty of chairs around the table.

“Personally,” said Obertin languidly once the preliminaries were out of the way, “I’ll take anyone who wishes to join us. This is not a time to be choosy. But you must admit, Larvartin, this is a little strange. Your party takes its orders from Moscow, and Moscow has signed a friendly pact with the Nazis. Have you broken up with your own party?”

“I think he has,” said Manumin, without waiting for Larvartin to reply, “They have filed a request for his status as a representative to be revoked in favour of the old Chairman, that Italian fellow. Luigi Pavari. I imagine that’s why Mr Larvartin is here. He wants us to uphold his status. Legally, I think it would be correct to do so: the members of the assembly are not delegates but elected individuals. However, I see no reason why we should bale him out unless he is sincere, which seems doubtful in the circumstances.”

“The case is actually debatable, Lodovi,” said Sprentin, who was a lawyer, “Your interpretation of his status is based on recent Assemblies, but historically Dubitanian Assemblies have followed many different rules, and there are prima facie precedents for a member being replaced. I think if it came to it the High Court might take the view that the Assembly was a Royal creature anyway and that the principle of “Le Roi le veut” might prevail. Why do we want these people, anyway?”

“A vote is a vote,” said Obertin, “I have no desire at this juncture to begin making windows into men’s souls. Anyone who will fight Nazis is qualified as my friend just now.”

“I have a principled objection,” said Sprentin, “I will work with any Dubitanian of good will – that goes without saying. But atheistical terrorists are another matter.”

“I’m not a terrorist,” said Larvartin desperately, “I’ve never killed anyone. And… and I’m not an atheist. Not exactly. Not really.”

Sprentin raised his eyebrows.

“Is that so?” he asked, and seemed lost for further words.

Larvartin dropped his head into his hands.

“Look,” he said, “I’ll be frank. If you don’t take me, they’ll kill me. I don’t know whether the Royalists or maybe the communists will get to me first, I can’t say when, but one of them will kill me. Please take me. Please. I’ll do anything you say. Anything.”

“It would be useful to have one communist, at any rate,” conceded Manumin.

“Two, Lodovi. Two communists,” said Obertin, and looked at me,” What is your view, Mr Stilin?”

“We act together in this,” said Larvartin, gruffly.

“I see that,” conceded Sprentin, “But it did cross my mind to wonder whether we were addressing ourselves to the organ-grinder or the monkey.”

The following day Sprentin – yes, it was Sprentin – made the famous speech, and Twentyland was born. Larvartin wasn’t even there – he was still too afraid of being assassinated.

44,340 words. This was the toughest section yet – I hope it doesn’t show.