“You shouldn’t talk so much, Captain des Louveteaux,” Babette said. “It is bad for your wound. As a medical practitioner, I advise rest, clean water, copious amounts of silence.”
“Will that make me feel better, Doctor?” Alfonse asked dismissively.
“It will certainly make your company more tolerable,” Babette said.
* * * *
William poured himself a glass of brandy and took a drink. He slowly turned to face Babette and Iosef, who sat away from the window. They were in William’s study. He had drawn the curtains when they entered, leaving the room lit only by the gaslights.
“Tell me again,” William said.
“Alfonse discovered me in Sedan,” Babette said. “He…assaulted me. I defended myself.”
“You tried to kill him,” William said.
“I defended myself,” Babette repeated. She took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, I was prevented from finishing him.”
“And now he has threatened to accuse you of espionage,” William said.
“Yes,” Babette answered.
William drained his glass and refilled it. This was a disaster.
Joining a military hospital disguised as a man? Good God, Babette, what were you thinking?
“Lord Shashavani, what do you make of all this?” William asked. “Of our little family disaster.”
“Having met Captain des Louveteaux,” Iosef replied, “I think it is a pity he did not die.”
William chuckled a little at this.
A pity indeed.
“I suppose you feel that our family troubles are no concern of yours,” William said.
“I feel quite the opposite, in fact,” Iosef said. “After all, if Doctor Varanus and I am to be married, this concerns me as well.”
Babette looked at him and smiled quizzically.
“After all this, you still wish to marry me?” she asked.
It was a question that William had as well.
“More so than ever,” Iosef said. “The only thing regrettable about your actions is that you were interrupted before you could finish him. There are men in this world who ought to die, and he is one of them.”
Babette smiled at him, then looked back at William.
“What are we to do, Grandfather?” she asked. “Will the police believe him?”
“They might,” William said. “These are uncertain times, and the des Louveteaux have influence. The courts may just be inclined to seek a sacrificial lamb for the shame of Sedan.” He thought for a moment and made up his mind. “Alas, it is a risk we cannot take.”
“Grandfather?” Babette asked.
“You must leave the country,” William said, “at least for a few years, until the shock of defeat has passed and things are more settled.”
Babette stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You cannot mean that, Grandfather!” she cried.
“I do,” William said. “We must take precautions.”
“If I leave now, will it not appear that I am fleeing?” Babette asked. “It would be an admission of guilt!”
“After the police become involved, perhaps,” William said. “But if we act quickly, we can preempt Alfonse’s plot.”
“If I am not here, I will be accused and tried in absentia!”
“Better than being accused, tried, and punished in person,” William said. He turned to Iosef. “Lord Shashavani, what is your commitment to my granddaughter? You say you still wish to marry her?”
“I do,” Iosef replied. “If asked, I would marry her today.”
“You intend to take her to Georgia, correct?”
“Yes,” Iosef said.
“Good,” William said. “You will leave first thing tomorrow.”
“Grandfather, you cannot be serious,” Babette said. “You want me to leave now? Just like that?”
“I know that this is difficult, Babette, but it must be done. I cannot risk your safety to the whims of public opinion. You will leave the country at once, and I will contact you when it is safe to return.”
Babette was silent for a time. Finally, she nodded.
“As you wish, Grandfather,” she said. “As you wish.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Svaneti, Georgia
They departed at first light, as Grandfather instructed. Babette was inclined to agree with his decision, and anyway there was no arguing with him. It was a tearful goodby—particularly for Father—but although Babette felt a sense of remorse at leaving her childhood home behind, she was filled with a sense of hope. She realized that all her life she had been searching for a change, something to release her from the constraints and frustrations that had been, all too clearly, thrust upon her. Studying abroad and becoming a doctor was supposed to have been that change, but she had found that the boundaries of her sex were drawn just as boldly by the intellectuals as by Society.
Not that she harbored any pre-conceived illusions about Iosef and the life that he offered her—if, indeed, he spoke the truth. Babette would know that once they arrived in Georgia. But there was something wonderfully final about leaving home in such a definite way. She had been cast into the wild, and this time she did not have to worry about the lambs constantly trying to call her back into the flock. It was a realization that warmed her as much as it caused her apprehension. Now, for the first time in her life, the only way she could go was forward.
Grandfather had somehow secured them passage on a ship bound for Lisbon. It was a miraculous thing to have managed in less than a day, but Grandfather was the sort of man who purchased miracles daily with the anticipation of future rewards.
They remained in Portugal for two weeks before departing for the Mediterranean. They stopped briefly in Italy, again in Greece, enjoyed a brief visit to Istanbul—which Babette found to be most charming—and finally reached Georgia via the Black Sea port of Poti.
Babette fell in love with Georgia the moment she laid eyes on it. The land was lush and fertile, a beautiful green but touched with a gilded tint as if golden. Iosef made for the mountains almost immediately. They traveled by horse, winding their way up into what seemed the remotest, most majestic part of the whole world. They passed small villages protected by ancient stone towers, like something from a medieval fairytale. Babette saw lush forests, open fields, vineyards, and gorges blanketed with mist and shadow.
They traveled into the mountains, which were still touched with snow in places. The air was fresh and pleasant. Far from feeling the exhaustion of the road, the further they traveled the more invigorated Babette felt. She remarked about this to Iosef. This made him smile, though he did not say why.
The journey took several days, especially once they began traveling the rough highland roads. At the villages they passed, Iosef would stop and speak to the people in a language that Babette could not understand—but one, her ear told her, that Iosef had not used with the Georgians of the lowlands. Though quiet at first—doubtless suspicious of strangers—the villagers displayed tremendous hospitality. They ate good, honest food each night and listened to the beautiful songs of the highland people. The Svans, Iosef called them.
Finally, on the fifth day, they passed into a broad valley ringed with trees and surrounded by the high walls of the mountains. From their raised vantage point at the mouth of the pass, Babette could see several villages dotted about the vale, and at its center, alongside a clear rushing river, she saw a great castle.
The sight of the castle made her stop and stare with wonder, for it was unlike anything she had ever seen. It was a relic of an ancient world left standing in defiance of time. It had high, straight walls and many towers, all constructed in strong, simple geometric shapes, like the village towers. Everything was heavy and reinforced, leaving Babette with no doubt that the building had withstood the might of armies in ages past. But it was beautiful as well as strong, with many windows in the upper reaches and vantage points. The brutal shape of the walls was smoothed by an array of embellishments in the Byzantine s
tyle, with domes and arches and mosaics of multi-colored brick.
“It is beautiful, is it not?” Iosef asked, looking out over the valley. “I have traveled the world for many years, but I have never found a place as beautiful as this.”
“Never?” Babette asked. She could believe it. The majesty of the mountain valley was breathtaking.
“Never,” Iosef said. “Though I did find Iceland to be most remarkable.”
What a peculiar thing to say.
Babette looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Iceland?” she asked, somewhat incredulously.
“Have you ever been there?” Iosef asked.
“No,” Babette admitted.
“You must,” Iosef said.
Babette was about to reply when she sensed movement above them. Looking up, she saw a pair of towers overlooking the pass, their masonry built directly into the rock. They were nearly invisible, even when viewed from only a dozen or so paces away. It was a clever trick to be sure.
Babette saw a trio of men standing on a wide balcony beside the tower. They were armed with rifles, and they all wore chokhas—long coats closed in front, akin to a cassock, with pouches for holding ammunition sewn across the chest. Babette had seen other Georgians wearing such garments during their journey. One of the men raised his hand and called down in Iosef’s unfamiliar tongue. It was Luka who answered, calling back and motioning to Babette as well as to Iosef. Babette could not deduce the content of the exchange, but at the end, all three watchmen laughed with joy and bowed low to Iosef. Iosef nodded in reply and smiled at Babette.
“What are they saying?” Babette asked.
“The watchmen have inquired after your identity,” Iosef said. “You see, visitors are not common these days.”
“What has Luka told them?”
“Only that you are a Frenchwoman and my new student.” Iosef smiled at her. “The watchmen are most excited. We have not inducted a foreigner into the order for a very long time.”
“Oh?” Babette asked.
“Indeed. Until now, I was the last.”
“You? A foreigner?” Babette studied Iosef carefully. “But I thought you were Georgian.”
“I am,” Iosef said with a chuckle. “But I am not a Svan.” He motioned to Luka to continue on and said, “Come, let us make haste to the castle. It is nearly dusk, and Sophio will be expecting us.”
“Sophio?” Babette asked.
“The head of our order,” Iosef said, “my teacher, and my wife.”
* * * *
“You did not tell me you had a wife,” Babette said, as she followed Iosef into the front hall of the castle.
“It did not seem pertinent at the time,” Iosef replied. Now free of the oppressive sun, he removed his hat and sunglasses and handed them to Luka. “One does not often discuss wives with young ladies that one intends to marry. It often misleads the conversation.”
“I take it we are not to be married,” Babette said.
“A difficult question,” Iosef replied. “In the eyes of the Church, I am already married. In the eyes of the Law, I am already dead. And the dead cannot be married.”
“Can’t they?” Babette asked.
“Indeed,” Iosef said. “Or else widows who remarry become polygamous. And I think that is illegal.”
Babette stared at him. “You think it is illegal?”
“It has been some time since I cared about the laws of mortal men,” Iosef replied.
Babette followed him along the hall, past ancient mosaics and finely woven tapestries, statues and furniture, and gilded adornments. They passed through a side corridor lined with portraits. Babette looked up at the faces cast in oil paint that looked down upon her from on high. The images were old, none younger than a hundred years old, and many of them dating back to the Renaissance.
Beyond the corridor lay a great hall adorned in polished marble. Its vaulted ceiling rose three stories to a glorious dome covered by intricate mosaics. Balconies and galleries looked out into the chamber from above.
At the far end of the chamber stood a high dais, which bore a great throne of polished wood, surrounded by brocade carpets and upholstered in padded silk. On the throne sat a vision of unearthly beauty: a woman, black of hair and fair in complexion, with dark eyes that seemed to demand possession of all that her gaze fell upon. She wore a gown and headdress of black and white, decked with jewels and pearls and golden thread.
The woman looked at Babette as she and Iosef approached, and Babette, try as she might, could not bring herself to meet the woman’s eyes. She struggled with each step as she felt her vigor falter, and she cast her gaze toward the floor in frustration.
“Do not speak until she gives you leave,” Iosef whispered. “Answer her questions truthfully, but do not say what has not been asked. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Babette replied.
A dozen paces from the dais, Iosef stopped and knelt. Babette followed his example, still unable to look upon the mysterious woman. The harder she tried, the more impossible it became, and the more it angered her.
The woman spoke something in Iosef’s tongue and Iosef rose. He responded in a long statement that seemed so eloquent and descriptive that Babette wished all the more that she understood the words. The woman smiled coldly and nodded her head.
Iosef turned to Babette and said in French, “My lady Sophio, Eristavi of the House of Shashavani, has deigned for us to speak in your native tongue.”
“I am most grateful, my lady,” Babette said. She quickly caught herself and fell silent.
“Iosef, my beloved,” Sophio said, seeming to ignore Babette’s interruption, “who is this one that you have brought before me? This creature of the outside world cursed by ignorance and death?”
She spoke French easily, though accented. But the manner in which she spoke, the way in which the words were pronounced, seemed archaic to Babette. It was as if Sophio were speaking French for the first time since the days of the Ancien Régime.
“She is a sojourner among the living, my love,” Iosef replied. “One who looks but cannot see. One who lives yet fears. One who will fade and die.”
“And why have you brought this one here?” Sophio asked. “Why have you brought death among the living?”
“Though born under the shadow of death, this one seeks the path of life,” Iosef said. “She has been born into ignorance but wishes to embrace the light of wisdom.”
“The gift of life is not to be granted lightly,” Sophio said.
“I believe that she is worthy, beloved,” Iosef answered. “She is wise beyond her years, strong and upright, and moral. She will bring honor to the House of Shashavani.”
“And you, supplicant?” Sophio asked. “Do you come before me of your own accord?”
Babette suddenly found that she could look up again and did so.
“I do, my lady,” she said.
“And do you reject ignorance and superstition?” Sophio asked, her tone indicating a degree of skepticism. “Do you embrace knowledge as the greatest glory of mankind?”
“I do, my lady,” Babette said firmly.
“Very well.” Sophio looked back at Iosef. “She is in your custody, husband. Let her be observed for the passage of a moon. If she proves of quality, you may take her as an apprentice and give her the cup.”
“I thank you, mistress,” Iosef said. “I shall attend to her as if she were my own.”
“You must be weary from your long journey, husband,” Sophio said. “Have the supplicant taken to her new quarters.”
“Yes, my love,” Iosef said, bowing.
He motioned to Babette to follow him, turned, and withdrew.
Sophio raised a hand and called after him, “Before you depart, husband, tell me: what of the outside world? What news from Europe?”
Iosef halted and turned back.
“The Germanies have united, my love,” he said. “They have defeated France in open war, and the French Empire ha
s collapsed. It is a remarkable redress of the balance of power in Europe.”
“Is that so?” Sophio asked. “So the Holy Roman Empire has remade itself. Remarkable.” She stared off into the distance, looking at nothing in particular—or so it seemed to Babette. “I wonder what effect this shall have on Russia.”
“Who can say, my love?” Iosef asked. “Who can say?”
Sophio was silent for a time. She stared off into the distance without speaking for several minutes, as if watching something of great significance. Babette knew better than to break the silence, but she glanced at Iosef uncertainly, hoping that he might give her some sign of what to do. He looked back at her out of the corner of his eye and slowly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Babette looked back at Sophio and waited in silence.
Finally, after almost five minutes, Sophio looked back at Iosef and replied:
“We must be cautious, husband. You recall the betrayal of the Russians.”
“I do,” Iosef replied.
“They covet all the world,” Sophio said, “like the Mongols of old. You recall the invasion of the Khans?”
Iosef cleared his throat and said, “You will remember, beloved, that was before my time.”
This seemed to surprise Sophio for a moment.
“Oh,” she finally said. “Yes, of course. No matter. Svaneti has never been conquered. The lands of Shashava have never been conquered.”
“Indeed, my love,” Iosef said.
Sophio slowly nodded. “When time permits, husband, send men into the west to investigate these newly united Germanies.”
“As you wish.”
“You say that they defeated France?” Sophio asked.
“They did,” Iosef said.
“Then perhaps they will be strong enough to break the Tsars,” Sophio said. “See to it.”
Iosef placed his hands together and bowed deeply.
“As you command, my love,” he said.
“That will be all, husband,” Sophio said, waving him away with a flick of her hand. “Take the supplicant. Let her be studied.”
“Yes, beloved,” Iosef said, bowing again.
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