Tsar Nicholas II’s reign had been characterised by a growing discontent amongst his people, which he himself had failed to alleviate or quash. The anger, in the most part, had been caused by the distribution of land in the country, most of which was owned by the aristocracy.

The majority of Russia’s deeply religious people attended church on a weekly basis, where it was preached that Nicholas had been chosen as tsar by God. But, as bellies went continually hungry, the congregations slowly began to question why their divine ruler required so much land and power to exercise his duties, when their families had so little. Thus, the social revolutionary movement began to gain momentum. It had culminated in February of 1917, when days of protest and violent clashes gave Tsar Nicholas II little choice but to relinquish the throne. He passed the tsardom to his brother, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich. But the duke had seen which way the wind was blowing, and refused to ascend – stating that he would only do so if warranted through democratic action.

As a result, a provisional government, led by Alexander Kerensky, was formed. The initial solution to the problem of the purposeless monarchy seemed to be exile. After February, opportunities for asylum looked relatively promising. But, after months of debate, Britain and France withdrew their offers of residency, as the tsar’s wife, Alexandra, was regarded as pro-German.

The question of what to do with the family therefore raged on, but during Kerensky’s premiership the Romanovs existed in relative safety. After the revolution, the royal family were escorted to the Governor’s Mansion in Tobolsk, where they were allowed to live in comfort, with a significant government subsidy provided to fund their existence. In addition, several members of the royal household had also been permitted to travel to Tobolsk with the Romanovs, with the tsar and tsarina choosing their most trusted companions to accompany them.

A few months later, the October Revolution came. The people were unhappy with Russia’s continued involvement in the First World War, and the manner in which Kerensky had ruled with an iron fist. Because of this, the Bolshevik Red Army overthrew the provisional government and seized power. They installed their talismanic leader, Vladimir Lenin, as premier.

Suddenly, the situation for the Russian royal family looked bleaker, with their fate fiercely debated amongst Bolsheviks. Some had favoured extradition. Others wished for the family to face life imprisonment. Many wanted a straight execution, to eliminate what they believed to be the cancer that prevented true equality for the Russian people.

After Lenin took power, the amount of time the Romanovs were permitted to spend outside the Governor’s Mansion was policed. The family was even prevented from walking to church on Sundays. Needless to say, the subsidy they had been granted by Kerensky’s government was cut, and ‘luxuries’ such as butter and coffee disappeared overnight.

The leaders of the party eventually agreed that the best course of action over Tsar Nicholas was a show trial in Moscow, so that the Bolsheviks might demonstrate their grip on power. But in order for that to happen, they needed the tsar alive.

This could not be guaranteed. Amongst the lower ranks, discontent about the tsar’s fate was increasing, and in March of 1918, rival factions of Bolsheviks descended on Tobolsk. Fears grew for the safety of the royal family, and the government appointed a special commissar to move the family 350 miles west of the settlement to the city of Ekaterinburg.

Commissar Vasily Yakovlev and his men decided to begin the perilous journey in the dead of the night. Nicholas, Alexandra and their eldest daughter Olga were traipsed out of bed at two a.m., along with several members of the royal household. The party were forced to endure fording rivers, changing coaches and observing the narrow foiling of several assassination attempts. After 150 miles of perilous travel, the family and their entourage arrived in the city of Tyumen, where Yakovlev requisitioned a train to speed them to Ekaterinburg.

‘You will board,’ he barked at the former tsar.

‘Very well,’ Nicholas replied, and took Olga by the hand. Alexandra followed behind.

Lapetus Tanit, personal astrologer to the tsar and teacher to the tsarevich and his sisters, put his arm around his wife, Clymene – herself a lady-in-waiting to the tsarina. Clymene was heavily pregnant, and Lapetus had spent the entire journey fretting about her welfare. Nonetheless, they had no choice but to follow the orders of Commissar Yakovlev. If they had remained in Tobolsk, the Red Guards would have seen to them.

Clymene went to follow Alexandra, but grimaced in pain after a single step.

Lapetus held her arm tightly. ‘Are you all right, my darling?’

‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘He’s very active today.’

‘Oh, we’re calling the baby he now, are we?’ Lapetus asked, mustering a smile.

‘Stop!’ Yakovlev cried as the couple approached the train. ‘Family only.’

‘What would you like us to do?’ Lapetus asked.

‘You will go in this carriage.’ Yakovlev pointed to a separate train car with no locomotive.

‘Is . . . His Majesty aware of this?’

Yakovlev laughed. ‘It matters not what he is aware of. Now,’ he said, raising his weapon. ‘Get in that carriage.’

Lapetus stood firmly. ‘Is it necessary to point a gun at a pregnant woman?’

‘Absolutely, because, like you, she blindly serves an evil autocrat.’

Lapetus felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, my friend. Let’s go.’

Cronus Eszu was a Prussian count, and had been a loyal member of the royal household since the ascension of Nicholas’s father. He was responsible for teaching the royal children languages and foreign culture. As Lapetus was responsible for Music and Classics, their lessons often shared aspects, and Cronus and Lapetus had become firm friends over the years. Cronus was married to Rhea – also a lady-in-waiting to Alexandra – and together they had a four-year-old son, Kreeg.

It had been speculated by many that Tsar Nicholas II was not as fond of Cronus as his father had been, but had elected for him to remain in the household post-revolution due to his young son, to whom he did not wish to pass on a death sentence.

‘You’re right, Cronus,’ Lapetus replied. ‘What choice do we have?’

He helped his wife up into the neighbouring carriage, which was dark, damp and altogether miserable. Lapetus took Kreeg from Cronus’s arms and lifted him up inside. ‘There we go, little man.’ Lapetus surveyed the surroundings. ‘Good Lord, it’s biting in here, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Somehow it’s worse inside than out,’ Clymene replied.

All in all, there were seven members of the royal household ordered into the carriage, including Alexandra’s dressmaker and two other ladies-in-waiting. Once the last of the party had climbed in, a guard slammed the door shut.

From outside, Yakovlev screeched, ‘Let’s go!’

The locomotive hissed as it built up a head of steam. Both the Tanits and the Eszus watched through a carriage window as the large wheels began to turn, and the Romanovs were moved on from Tyumen station.

‘Do you really think they’re going to Ekaterinburg?’ Rhea asked.

‘Who knows, my darling,’ Cronus replied. ‘They’re all so busy fighting and disagreeing amongst themselves.’

‘Will we see them again, Lapetus?’ Clymene asked her husband, a hint of a tear in her eye.

‘I fear not, my love. I fear not.’ He took his wife’s hand.

‘Those poor, innocent children, Lapetus. I can’t even comprehend it.’

Suddenly, the occupants of the carriage were thrown from their feet, as a great force hit them from behind.

‘What’s happening?’ Rhea cried from the floor.

‘They’re shunting us!’ shouted Cronus.

After an uncomfortable few minutes, the carriage came to rest against a buffer, and the door was wrenched open by a soldier. ‘You will remain here,’ he said.

‘Is there any chance of some food for my wife?’ Lapetus asked. ‘Or a blanket? As you can see, she’s pregnant. You might not approve of our association with the tsar, but you cannot blame an unborn child.’ The soldier rolled his eyes, but returned moments later with some coarse woollen throws and a few pieces of bread. ‘Thank you,’ said Lapetus sincerely.

After a few hours with no further Bolshevik instructions, the occupants of the carriage resolved to get some sleep. Each was exhausted after their marathon journey. They huddled in the corner of the carriage and packed themselves in tightly against one another to share the little bodily warmth they had.

Soon enough, the Eszus began to snore, as they were often prone to doing.

‘Lapetus?’ Clymene whispered. ‘Are you awake?’

‘Of course, my love. Are you all right?’ He reached for her hand.

‘Yes. But I have something to tell you. Do you think everyone is asleep?’

Lapetus craned his head to observe Cronus and Rhea, whose chests continued to rise and fall slowly. To double-check, he gave a low whistle, which received no response. ‘Yes. You can speak freely.’

‘All right. The night before we left Tobolsk, the tsarina tasked me with something. It is a mission which I now worry I will be unable to fulfil.’

‘Tell me.’

Clymene took a deep breath. ‘She knew that Yakovlev was going to move us that night. I asked if there was anything she wished to take that would remind her of her past, and her rightful position as ruler. She crossed to her dresser, where she removed a small box from the drawer and unlocked it. Then . . .’ Clymene was interrupted by a grunt from Cronus, who resumed his snoring after a few moments. ‘Then she produced the largest diamond I have ever seen in my life. She told me that it had been in the royal family for generations, and was her favourite piece. She said that she could not transport it herself, as in all likelihood it would fall into Bolshevik hands. So she . . .’

‘Gave it to you.’ Lapetus completed his wife’s sentence for her.

‘Yes.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘Safely sewn into the lining of my skirt.’

Lapetus sighed. ‘I can only pray that you are given an opportunity to return it to her.’

‘No one can find out about it.’

‘I understand, my love.’ He squeezed her hand harder. ‘And no one will.’ Eventually, exhaustion caught up with the Tanits, and Lapetus and Clymene descended into sleep.

When Clymene woke, a shooting pain surged through her stomach. It felt as if someone had gained access to her insides, and was scraping and scratching at them. She cried out in agony.

Lapetus sat bolt upright. ‘My darling. What’s wrong?’

‘It’s the baby,’ Clymene groaned.

He put a gentle hand on her belly. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘I don’t know. It hurts . . .’ Another jolt of pain passed through her abdomen, and she cried out once more.

‘What’s going on?’ asked a bleary-eyed Cronus.

‘The baby,’ Lapetus replied, aware that his midriff had become wet. ‘My love, I think the baby is coming.’

Clymene looked panicked. ‘But he is not expected for another month!’

‘I think your waters have broken. Cronus, could you bring an oil lamp?’

‘Of course, there’s one by the door.’

The whole carriage was now awake and sitting up. Clymene screeched again. ‘It’s going to be all right, my darling, you’ll see. I am here,’ Lapetus comforted her.

Cronus returned with the lamp, and after scrabbling around in his pockets for a match, handed it to Lapetus. As he peeled back his own blankets, and then turned his attention to Clymene’s, to his horror, the liquid he observed was not clear, but red.

Clymene saw the look of shock on her husband’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, my love, nothing,’ said Lapetus, flustered.

‘Rhea!’ Cronus cried.

His wife threw off her blankets and made her way over to Clymene. Lapetus pointed to the blood, and Rhea nodded. ‘Vera, Galina!’ she screeched at the other two ladies-in-waiting. ‘Your assistance is required.’ Both women obliged.

‘Mama?’ came a high-pitched voice. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s all right, Kreeg,’ Cronus said, lifting his son into his arms. ‘You’re going to come over here with me, and we’re going to play a game of cards.’

‘I’m sleepy,’ Kreeg replied.

‘I know. But you won’t be soon.’

‘Lapetus, gather as many blankets as you can. We will need them for the blood. Vera, I require water, too.’

‘But we barely have enough to drink . . .’

‘Damn it, Vera, are you unaware of our surroundings?’ Rhea snapped. ‘Find a way to melt some snow.’ Vera scuttled out of the carriage.

Rhea felt her way under Clymene’s skirt, checking for any sign of the baby. What she found alarmed her.

‘Clymene, you’re going to be all right. Your baby is coming, but it is the wrong way round. It will come feet-first.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘This will not be easy, but we will all help you through it.’

‘Is that why there is so much blood?’ asked a worried Galina.

Rhea nodded. ‘The feet have ripped her.’

Lapetus returned with a bundle of blankets. ‘What can I do?’ he asked.

Rhea turned her head so only he could hear. ‘Hold her hand. Stroke her hair. Pray.’

Lapetus nodded and assumed his position.

The labour was long and painful. Many times, Rhea was convinced that Clymene would pass out, which would mean the end for her and her child. But, against all the odds, whenever it seemed that she was close to giving up, the new mother found another surge of life within her.

‘All right, Clymene. One more push and your baby will be here. But it will need to be a big one. You must give it all the strength you have.’ Clymene nodded through her panting. ‘Good.’ She turned to Lapetus. ‘When the head appears, the cord will be around the neck. When I pull the child out, act as quickly as possible and unravel it. Are you clear?’ A shaken Lapetus did his best to nod affirmatively. ‘Then we are ready. Here we go, Clymene. Ready?’

‘Yes,’ managed Clymene.

‘Three, two, one, push!’

Clymene’s screams pierced her husband’s very soul. Suddenly, the baby was propelled forward, but skilfully handled by Rhea. Lapetus was in shock, staring down at the grey-blue infant which had just made its way into the world.

‘Lapetus!’ Rhea cried. ‘Now!’ After her instruction, he didn’t hesitate. Lapetus grabbed the fibrous cord, which was entangled around his child’s neck. ‘No need to be gentle. Just get it off, quickly.’ Against his instincts, Lapetus forcefully unwrapped the baby until he was free.

‘Why . . . is there . . . no crying?’ Clymene stammered.

Lapetus and Rhea stared down at the little body, which had failed to take its first breath.

‘Oh God . . . Please . . . not this,’ Lapetus whispered.

Rhea grabbed the baby by its leg as if it were a newborn calf, and gave it a firm smack on the bottom. Suddenly, the child seemed to stutter into life, and as first light broke over Tyumen, the cries of a newborn baby were heard from the railway carriage.

Rhea handed the child to Clymene. ‘There we are. Well done, Clymene. You were superb.’

Clymene stared down at her new baby, her husband by her side. ‘Hello, little boy.’

‘You knew it would be, Clymene,’ said Lapetus. He found his eyes filling with tears. ‘I am so very proud of you.’

His wife smiled at him, as she had done when their eyes had first met across the ballroom at Alexander Palace. ‘You weren’t so bad yourself. I could not have done it without you.’

‘You have made something so very perfect, Clymene.’

‘We have.’

‘No. He is perfect because he came from you.’

Cronus approached, carrying Kreeg in his arms. ‘Congratulations, my friends. The more the merrier in this railway carriage. And good news, Lapetus . . .’ He pointed towards a storage cupboard. ‘Our countrymen have not let us down. There is a bottle of illicit vodka stashed away over there. I will fetch us a glass to wet the baby’s head!’

‘You will do no such thing, Cronus Eszu! Bring it here now. Clymene needs her wounds sterilised. It’s just what we need,’ Rhea asserted.

Cronus chuckled. ‘Oh well, Lapetus. It was worth a try!’

As the Siberian sun rose in the sky, a deep silence descended on the carriage. All but the new parents had collapsed with the exhaustion of the previous five hours, and the baby suckled contentedly at Clymene’s breast.

‘He’s being so good,’ Lapetus whispered.

‘He’s hungry,’ smiled Clymene.

‘I know we haven’t allowed ourselves a moment to discuss names, for fear of what fate might befall us,’ Lapetus said. ‘But now he is here, what shall we call him?’

‘Didn’t you promise your mother that you’d name her first grandchild after her?’ Clymene giggled.

‘That’s true, I did. But I don’t think our son looks much like an Agatha.’

‘Augustus?’ Clymene asked.

‘A little pompous, don’t you think?’ Lapetus replied. ‘Augustus Tanit. I’m not so sure.’ He craned his neck as he thought through potential names.

‘It would be nice for it to start with “A” though. Alexei? Alexander, in honour of the tsar?’

Lapetus stared at his wife. ‘Do you wish him to have a death sentence?’

Clymene shook her head. ‘I’m only teasing you, my dear.’ Suddenly, she winced. ‘Ouch.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘I’m so sore . . .’ Clymene put her hand down to feel the source of her pain. When she removed it from under her skirt, it was covered in blood.

Lapetus’s face dropped. ‘You’re still bleeding . . .’

Clymene swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’

‘What do I do, Clymene?’

She looked into her husband’s eyes, and put a tender hand to his cheek. ‘I love you, Lapetus. With all my heart. It is the only thing I have been truly certain of in my entire life.’

‘And I love you, Clymene.’

‘Now,’ she said. ‘I am so tired. So . . . tired.’ Clymene closed her eyes, and her husband began to stroke her hair.

‘Rest now, my darling. You are safe, and our baby is safe, and we are here together.’

Soon after, mother, father and baby drifted into an unbroken sleep.

They awoke to shouting. ‘Stand up!’ The new family blinked in the bright light which streamed from the open door, and focused on the Bolshevik guard, with his rifle swinging in front of him.

It didn’t take long for the occupants of the carriage to obey his instructions, all save for Clymene, who looked deathly pale.

‘My darling?’ Lapetus asked. Clymene blinked slowly.

‘I said stand, by order of the Red Guard!’

The newborn child began to cry. ‘Please, my wife is sick. She only gave birth last night. If you have any compassion, you will fetch a doctor,’ Lapetus pleaded.

The guard slowly approached him. ‘Compassion? Where was the tsar’s compassion as his people starved in the fields?’ he hissed quietly. ‘She. Will. Stand.’

‘It’s . . . all right,’ Clymene breathed. ‘Here, Lapetus, take the baby.’ Her husband did so, and Rhea Eszu rushed to help her to her feet.

‘I have a list of names,’ barked the guard. The following will accompany me: Vera Orlova. Galina Nikolaeva. Clymene Tanit.’

‘What do you want with the ladies-in-waiting?’ Cronus asked. ‘Are they to be reunited with the tsarina?’

The guard smiled slowly. ‘One might say that, yes.’

Vera and Galina held on to one another, and began to sob.

An electricity began to course through Lapetus’s veins. ‘Sir, as I said, my wife gave birth to our child only last night. The baby needs his mother.’

The guard looked at Clymene and nodded. ‘The child can come too.’

‘No!’ Clymene cried. ‘No!’

Lapetus dropped to his knees. ‘Please allow her to stay here. What harm can we do in this railway carriage? I beg you. Keep our family together.’

‘Your precious Nicholas did not care about families, and neither do I. She will come.’

‘Take me in her place.’

The guard began to laugh raucously. ‘No, I don’t think so. The men would be very displeased.’

Lapetus’s muscles constricted. ‘Please. She is sick.’

‘Do you see this face?’ the guard asked Lapetus quietly. ‘Take a good, long look at it. This is the face of a man who does not care.’ He moved towards the door. ‘The choice is simple. You will come now. Or you will be shot.’

Lapetus returned to his feet and embraced Clymene. Unending tears started streaming from his eyes. ‘Clymene . . .’

‘It’s all right, Lapetus,’ she whispered. ‘It’s all right.’

‘This can’t happen,’ he sobbed. ‘We’ve come so far, my love. So far . . .’ He gripped her tightly.

‘You and I both know that I am not long for this world anyway. I cannot stop the bleeding.’

‘If we can just get you to a doctor . . .’

‘There is as much chance of that as our child standing up and walking today. To these people, we are an embodiment of everything they hate.’ Gathering as much strength as she could, she grabbed her husband’s head and kissed him. ‘I have to go now, Lapetus. Be brave. For our child.’

‘I will be,’ Lapetus whispered.

‘Protect him.’

‘Always. I love you, Clymene.’

‘And I love you, Lapetus. Now then, little one.’ She focused her attention on her baby. ‘We only knew each other for a short time. I’m sorry for that, for both of us. Your mummy loves you more than anything.’ A single tear fell from her eye onto her son’s cheek. ‘I only have time for one lesson. Be kind, little one. It is the secret to happiness.’ She placed a gentle kiss on her baby’s head.

Then Clymene Tanit took a deep breath and staggered towards the door. She and the other two women were marched outside and bundled into a horse-drawn carriage. Lapetus watched on, holding his son in his arms and weeping desolately. The driver whipped the stallion, and the carriage lurched away, taking Clymene and the other girls away and out of sight.

Lapetus looked down at his son, who mewled gently in his arms. ‘I am sorry, my son. So very sorry.’ Then, for the first time, the baby opened its eyes, revealing two deep brown pools. ‘You hold the weight of the world on your shoulders, my boy. I shall call you Atlas.’