Protopopov was rumoured to be making food shortages worse by driving all food to the military, with the rumours suggesting this was deliberate, to provoke uprisings. It was Protopopov, the general assured me, who had arranged all the letter-writing from plain people to the Emperor and Empress declaring undying allegiance. The letters were from the police, whose wages Protopopov had increased significantly. At the same time as these affirmations were pouring in, tied in their bundles, Protopopov was mounting machine guns in the belfries of cathedrals, ready for an uprising in the streets below.

‘All this and a war requiring the Emperor’s undivided attention,’ the general said, using it to bring the conversation around to what he took to be my mission. ‘We are two men with the experience of years,’ was how he began discussion of it. ‘We are both a long way from home. I think we can speak frankly, don’t you? You understand we want you in by the spring thaw?’

He was referring to naval involvement, to the United States joining the war and, very likely, to our navy servicing Russia’s northern ports, once they were free of the ice that would soon close them. I chose not to respond, and he confirmed my assessment when he said next that the new rail line from Romanov-on-Murman could be relied upon, for he had travelled it himself. Relied upon to carry the weight of munitions, I assumed, to supply the eastern front of the war.

That such a role might be played by the United States was not news to me, as the British ambassador in Washington had already proposed it to the President, but this was the first mention I had heard of the spring thaw. While that was months hence and we were building ships like never before, it would require some planning, and that planning would need to happen soon. That was his message.

I told him I understood, and I appreciated his observation concerning the timing, but at that point I said little more. I anticipated the United States would indeed service those ports, but I was in no position to reveal our full intentions.

I knew I liked him from that second conversation. He was right to say there is a directness two men can share when they are both a long way from home and with the fate of nations in the balance. I felt this even as I was not disclosing all to him, nor he to me. But there we were, a dreadful distance between us and our homes, Russians and their intrigues all around us on that cold night, speaking our plain English and finding a kind of kinship.

He and I would be allies. I realised it then, even as we waited for our countries to decide to be. I could not, that evening, understand what being his ally would mean.

What exactly did it mean?