As I left the brothel, a group of junior officers, about eight of them, none yet twenty years old, was loitering outside. They clearly knew what kind of establishment it was and were searching for the courage to go in. Like many young men, and perhaps particularly young soldiers, they seemed to be considering the issue in terms of their relationship with one another, rather than the more stimulating relations that they might be having with the young ladies inside. I had been about their age on my first visit to a brothel, but the difference was that I had gone alone. I had enjoyed the experience very much, but even then I had not thought it the sort of thing to discuss with my friends.

But for these boys it was about how they would be viewed by one another; a rite of passage to manhood in which it mattered what was seen to be done rather than what was actually done or how much pleasure they got from doing it. Those of them who seemed most keen still held back to keep with the crowd. Those who were reluctant went along anyway rather than be left behind. They spoke of what they were going to do in there and laughed about it, giving the distinct impression that the talking about it both before and afterwards – not even the recollection, but the talking – was where the real enjoyment lay.

It was reminiscent of something I had encountered very recently, but could not place. Then it struck me that this was exactly the same sense of hungry anticipation that I'd noted in the Oprichniki the previous night; the same way that they were all eager to go to war, but eager also to be seen by their comrades as wanting to go to war. Every soldier fights, when it comes down to it, for his brothers-in-arms – for his friends – but some, like these, do it to be accepted by their comrades, to be proved as men in the eyes of other men.

Of course the boys on their first visit to a brothel would, most likely, grow out of it. For the Oprichniki, it was too late.

Vadim, Dmitry, Maks and I met up privately a little before our appointment with the Oprichniki. We had nothing secret to discuss, but I think we all shared the same sense of foreboding and, since we were unlikely to meet again for several days, it gave us all a chance to say our goodbyes. It was typical of both me and Vadim to make something of these occasions, but even Dmitry, with his façade of jaded unconcern, and Maksim, with his of intellectual detachment, did not hold back in embracing the rest of us.

We mounted our horses and set off to the square where we had arranged to meet them. As the four of us rode side by side, the thought of another four horsemen flashed into my mind. It was laughable to decide which of us was War, Famine or Pestilence, but I felt a shiver when I noticed the pallor of Maks' horse.

As we headed through the darkness towards the western boundary of the city to our rendezvous at the Dorogomilovsky Gate, the wooden buildings that lined the streets loomed and crowded around me in a way that I had never before perceived.

The twelve men with whom we were about to meet were not so mysterious as to make me afraid, but for some reason I felt that the city I so loved was itself trying to warn me of what was to come. Approaching the gate, I strove to make out from the shadows the figures of the Oprichniki, and I felt sure that I could clearly see twelve dark forms on horseback, waiting in a semicircle for our arrival. With each step closer, I tried to see if I could recognize individuals from the group, but suddenly, as we were almost upon them, I realized that it was an illusion of the shadows. There was no one there.

'Excellent!' murmured Vadim sarcastically, turning to Dmitry for a reason for the Oprichniki's absence. There was nothing that Dmitry could say, but as he took a breath to offer some form of explanation, all our heads turned sharply to the sound of a horse's hooves, back in the direction from which we had come.

Out of the gloom, a lone horseman approached. At first, we didn't identify him as an Oprichnik, but as he grew closer it became clear that his height and his general demeanour had fooled us. It was Iuda who had come to meet us.

'There has been a change of plan,' he announced. 'We travel faster alone, and so we're going to make our own way out to the front. There's an inn just outside Gzatsk that you marked on the map as a meeting place. We'll see you there in three days.' There was no discussion to be had. After Iuda had informed us of the new arrangements, he rode off without another word.

Vadim was, I could tell, silently furious, but there was nothing to be said that could change matters, so he remained practical. 'They may like to travel by night, but that doesn't mean we have to. We'll stay here in Moscow tonight and set off at first light. Two and a half days is plenty time enough for us to get to Gzatsk.'

'I looked up Tugarin Zmyeevich, by the way,' Maks announced as we cantered along the road to Gzatsk.

'And?' I asked.

'Turns out he was the villain,' Maks continued.

'And so I presume he got his comeuppance,' said Vadim.

'Oh, yes,' replied Maks. He turned to me. 'At the hands of an Alyosha; Alyosha Popovich. Shot him dead with an arrow.' I was called Alyosha even less frequently than Lyosha, but I wasn't going to split hairs.

'So I guess our Zmyeevich is some kind of relative,' said Vadim, concealing a smirk.

'I don't think so,' responded Dmitry with a note of scorn. 'It's pure coincidence.'

'It's quite a coincidence that he should have a Russian name at all,' said Maks, 'given that he's not Russian.' Dmitry did not rise to the bait, though it was clear to us all the leader was in truth no more named Zmyeevich than his followers were named after the apostles.

'I just hope our Lyosha isn't going to kill him. That's no way to treat an ally,' laughed Vadim.

'Mind you,' continued Maks, 'Tugarin Zmyeevich was carried around on a golden bench by twelve knights, so the story goes. Twelve of them, Dmitry.'

It would have been better if it had been Vadim who was Zmyeevich's friend. Dmitry was no fun to tease. He just sat tightlipped astride his horse as we rode on.

'I expect the Oprichniki just left the bench outside the other night,' I said. 'It would have been tricky to get it up the stairs.' Maks grinned and Vadim snorted a laugh.

'It's just coincidence!' snapped Dmitry, and spurred his horse on so that he could continue his journey away from the rest of us. I don't think the others really noticed, but for me it was just one more reason to be concerned about him – one more reason that led back to his 'friends', the Oprichniki.

Two and a half days proved not only time enough for us to get to Gzatsk, but almost enough for Bonaparte to get there too. As we reached the inn, soon after nine o'clock on the evening of the nineteenth, we had already made our way through a throng of people escaping the town. The rumours were that the French would be in occupation by the following day.

This time, the Oprichniki kept their appointment. They seemed in no mood to exchange pleasantries and keen only to get on with the job at hand. We split into the groups we had determined back in Moscow. I said a far more cursory goodbye to Vadim, Dmitry and Maks than previously. I led my team of Iuda, Foma and Matfei out of the town to the south, before turning westwards towards the right flank of the advancing French.

The journey proceeded mostly in silence. Those attempts that I made at conversation with Foma and Matfei were not even rebuffed, simply ignored. Iuda was marginally more talkative, but even then only on matters directly related to our mission. It was, I suppose, wise of them. We were travelling through darkness in a direction that we knew would take us to the enemy's lines, but we had little idea of precisely where those lines were situated. It was best that we remained silent and did not reveal ourselves through unnecessary chatter. We rode on for several hours, looking and listening for any sign of Bonaparte's armies.