A Sojourn in Bohemia

by G. D. Falksen

  “Truly?”

  “Absolutely!” Ekaterine said. “Now, you must tell me all about Chromoluminaries.”

  Varanus as about to explain the error in the word, when she saw Friedrich appear in the doorway. Leaving Ekaterine and Zoya to the painting—thankfully just as Zoya began to launch into a rather disjointed lecture about “color, light, and truth”—she hurried to her son and gave him another looking over. He was still exhausted and starved, dangerously thin, but at least he had shaved off his dreadful beard, and he looked much better for it. His cheeks were a little hollow, and his face was certainly showing its age—a fact not at all helped by his lack of food and rest—but at least he was clean and tidy now.

  “Hello, Mother,” Friedrich said, kissing her on the cheek. “Have you met everyone?”

  “I have seen everyone,” Varanus replied.

  Friedrich quickly pointed around the room. “Erzsebet you have already met. With her is Stanislav, the violinist. And Zoya. Then Karel, our resident poet. And finally our Marxists, Wilhelm and Ilya. Ilya’s just arrived from Siberia, I am told.”

  He exchanged a wave of greeting with Ilya.

  “So I heard,” Varanus said. She lowered her voice and said, “Friedrich, I…I am worried.”

  “Worried?” Friedrich asked.

  “About you, Friedrich,” Varanus explained.

  “But why? I mean, I know I haven’t slept much recently, but still—”

  Varanus took Friedrich’s hand and asked, “Has something happened to your estate?”

  “Fuchsburg?” Friedrich seemed confused at the question. “Not at all. It’s being perfectly well managed. The servants are quite capable of keeping it all under control in my absence.”

  “Do you need money?” Varanus asked.

  “Money?” Again, Friedrich sounded confused. “Aunt Ilse may have taxed the family funds a bit while she was managing them, but I’ve had ten years to rebuild them. I am comfortably well off.” He laughed. “I could hardly have traveled into the heart of Asia otherwise, could I?”

  “But then why are you here?”

  “Prague?” Friedrich asked.

  “In this place!” Varanus exclaimed, softly so that the others could not hear them. “Friedrich, this is one of the poorest neighborhoods I have seen since my stay in London, and this house is a shambles!”

  Friedrich shrugged. “It’s very reasonable. And the neighbors don’t complain about my work or the hours that I keep.”

  “Friedrich, there are rats!”

  “Rats are very good animals,” Friedrich replied. “And they’re very useful for my work.”

  “And what is your work, precisely?” Varanus asked.

  “I…” Friedrich hesitated. Then he smiled. “I can’t tell you, Mother. Not yet. Not until it’s finished. But once I have achieved what I am trying to achieve, I will tell you everything.” He grasped her hands tightly. “And Mother, you will be so proud of me!”

  Varanus sighed and said, “Friedrich, I am proud of you already. And I will be even more proud of you when you tell me what you are doing in your laboratory.”

  Friedrich laughed and embraced her.

  “Oh, Mother,” he said. “It is almost ready, I am sure of it. And when it is, I will show you the fruits of my Great Work.” He clapped his hands. “Now, let’s join the others and have a little wine, ja?”

  Varanus hesitated and eyed the arguing Marxists. “If it will make you happy, Friedrich, then yes.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You are very generous with strangers,” Iosef noted, as Mordechai refilled their glasses. The Cognac was quite good and certainly expensive. Did the bookseller hope to impress visiting nobility with the quality of his cellar?

  “It is not any stranger that comes to me curious about the Kara Keçi and their Black Goat,” Mordechai replied. “I consider myself a scholar of the esoteric, and I know one of my fellow scholars when I see him. I would consider it beneath my honor to welcome you with any less hospitality.”

  “All the same, my thanks,” Iosef said.

  “Of course.”

  Iosef took another sip of his drink and then said, “Now then, Herr Mordechai, tell me of this ‘Horned Serpent’ you mentioned.”

  “Surely you are familiar with Veles,” Mordechai ventured.

  “The Slavic god of the underworld, yes,” Iosef answered. “Though I do not understand its connection to either the Black Goat or the Dark Faun.”

  “You see the Dark Faun and the Black Goat as different gods?” Mordechai asked, his tone sincere in its curiosity.

  “They must be,” Iosef answered. “We know from Ibn Fadlan that the Kara Keçi Turks were making sacrifices to their ‘Black Goat’ as early as the tenth century, but they did not make contact with the Eastern Romans until some hundred years later. Even assuming that the Dark Faun cult of Imperial Rome survived the Christianizing of the Empire, the Kara Keçi could not have encountered it until well after Ibn Fadlan’s mission to the Bulghars, who were very clear in their tales of the sacrifices made to the Black Goat. Whatever similarities exist between the two must be coincidence.”

  Mordechai nodded and took another drink. “A reasonable supposition,” he agreed, “and one that I ascribe to myself, though one must confess the occasional moment of paranoid speculation. What if the two were the same?” He asked this question mirthfully, clearly disbelieving it even as he presented the possibility.

  “Then the Black Goat would have to be real,” Iosef replied, chuckling. “And as we can safely dismiss that possibility.…”

  “Quite so,” Mordechai said. He lounged back in his chair, enjoying the company of another scholar. “But surely you accept that the Slavs may have made contact with the Kara Keçi during the earliest era of the Middle Ages?”

  Iosef sighed. “Taking into account that the Mordvins and the other tribes of the Volga region presented some barrier between the two, I suppose I can accept the possibility, yes. With reservations.” He paused. “Do you suggest that Veles is somehow connected to the Black Goat? A Slavic offshoot of the Kara Keçi cult?”

  “Or perhaps a Slavic origin to the Turkic god…” Mordechai suggested playfully. He spread his hands. “We cannot know for certain, but there are…similarities between the two.”

  “I hardly consider horns and beards to be of particular uniqueness,” Iosef noted dryly. “The Kara Keçi worshipped a goat. The Slavs associated Veles with cattle. The two are not the same. And what is more, we are told that Vladimir of Kiev erected a statue to Veles, along with the other Slavic gods. Hardly an indication of some foreign transplant.”

  Mordechai raised a hand and replied, “Ah, but do not forget: the Veles statue was kept separate from the others. I think it very much suggests an uncertain relationship between the Slavic gods and their Chthonic cousin. But that aside, we are speaking of the Horned Serpent, not of Veles proper.”

  “And what is the difference?” asked Iosef.

  Mordechai considered his answer for a few moments. He took another sip of Cognac and explained:

  “Veles, as you clearly know, was the ancient Slavic god of the underworld, cattle, and wealth. The enemy of great Perun the sky god, and a god of trickery and magic. Now as far as is known, the worship of Veles was quite mainstream among the Slavs. But you see, there is evidence of a cult within the Slavic faith that worshipped Veles as the Horned Serpent, a dragon-like creature depicted with the horns and beard of a goat, who was feared and worshipped as a sort of demonic force demanding blood and sacrifice in exchange for his great riches.”

  “Pagan blood sacrifice to a god of agriculture and gold?” Iosef mused. “Unsettling, perhaps, but surely nothing too unexpected.”

  “It is said,” Mordechai explained, “that the Cult of the Horned serpent chose the icon of a goat’s head—a goat, not a cow—as their centerpiece of w
orship and that they bled their victims when they sacrificed them. There are stories written down about whole villages put to the sword, of men and women slaughtered like cattle to the glory of Veles, who is called the Horned Serpent.” Sipping some more Cognac, he added, “Of course, much of this is relayed to us by Christian missionaries who say that both Veles and the Horned Serpent were manifestations of the Devil, so the authenticity is dubious.”

  Iosef chuckled softly. He had suspected as much. The image of the Devil as a horned god had been inherited from the early days of the Church, when it had struggled against such imagery among the pagan Celts. No wonder that Veles, so often depicted as a man with the horns of a bull, had been perceived as such. And no wonder that the missionaries would have related tales of bloodletting and death among the pagans they so ardently hoped to convert. It was a simple thing to murder a man over a question of faith when one believed him guilty of atrocities.

  But he said nothing about this, and instead remarked, “Indeed, the source is, alas, dubious. A chilling tale, surely, but one must doubt its authenticity when related by German men speaking about the Slavs they hoped one day to conquer.”

  “Oh, but it was not only the Slavs…” Mordechai said, raising a finger. He leaned forward into the flickering firelight. “Indeed, there are tales that came out of Poland regarding the Germans of the Teutonic Order, who were invited to conquer the Baltic Coast on behalf of the Polish King and who then decided to stay and would not give up their conquests.”

  “Oh?” Iosef asked curiously.

  “Oh, indeed,” said Mordechai. “They say that there was a secret order within the Teutonic Knights that made sacrifice to the head of a goat and that they prayed to it in the name of God to grant them victory over their pagan enemies. And moreover—”

  Mordechai paused as the bell over the door rang. He smiled in surprise and quickly finished his Cognac.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed. “That will be my client. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me for just a moment.”

  “Of course,” Iosef replied.

  Mordechai withdrew from the office and vanished into the narrow passage between the bookshelves. From the front of the store, Iosef heard him greet the new arrival:

  “Ah, My Lord! Welcome, welcome, do come in! There is some Cognac waiting in the back room.”

  There was a pause as the front door closed, and then a man could be heard to reply, “Thank you, Mordechai. Your hospitality is appreciated on this bitter night.”

  The voice was crisp and precise, and while it resonated with a typically Prussian tone of authority, the man sounded genuinely friendly in the way he addressed Mordechai. A curiosity, for what nobleman spoke in friendly tones to a shopkeeper?

  “I would have arrived sooner, but…the Christmas holiday,” he continued.

  “Of course, My Lord,” Mordechai replied.

  There was a pause and then the newcomer asked, “You have guests?”

  “A scholar from Russia and his secretary,” Mordechai said. “We were sharing some conversation and a glass of Cognac while I waited for you, but if you would prefer, I can send them away.…”

  “No, no, quite unnecessary. You know me, Mordechai: I enjoy meeting new people.”

  As he spoke, Iosef heard the footfalls of the two men returning through the bookshelves.

  “And you have the artifact?”

  “Yes, as I said in my telegram,” Mordechai said. “The Hoffmann family seems to have had little faith in the salability of a number of items in the late Herr Hoffmann’s collection. The Polish amulet was one of them.”

  “Splendid!”

  Mordechai appeared in the back room again, followed by a tall gentleman in a snow-dusted overcoat. He was in his mid forties, quite handsome and distinguished, with pale blond hair and penetrating eyes. He carried himself with the customary Prussian dignity, but even so he smiled warmly at Iosef and Luka.

  “Gentlemen, if I may make introductions…” Mordechai said. “Prince Shashavani, Count von Raabe.”

  The Prussian clicked his heels together and bowed to Iosef.

  “Your Highness,” he said.

  “Please…Iosef,” Iosef replied, returning the nod but extending a hand. “What cause is there for such formality among scholars?”

  “Wisely reasoned.” The Prussian gentleman touched a hand to his heart and said, “Julius,” before shaking Iosef’s offered hand warmly and with a firm grasp.

  “And Herr Luka,” Mordechai said, indicating Luka, who had resumed his seat without waiting for the others.

  “Evening,” he said, taking another drink.

  “My secretary,” Iosef explained, as he and Julius sat.

  “Is he?” Julius asked, giving Luka a skeptical look. “Well. A gentleman is always in need of a good secretary.”

  Mordechai quickly poured another glass of Cognac and handed it to Julius before returning to his chair.

  “Prince Shashavani and I were discussing the matter of the Horned Serpent when you arrived, My Lord,” he said to Julius.

  “Is that so?” Julius asked, sounding sincerely intrigued. “A subject of great interest to me, I must confess.”

  “I in turn must confess that I knew nothing of the Horned Serpent before tonight,” Iosef replied. “Though Mordechai tells me that he regards it to be an offshoot of the Turkic Black Goat.”

  Mordechai quickly held up a hand and corrected, “Of common origin, surely, whatever that origin may prove to be. And likewise, I do not think we can readily exclude the Antlered Maiden of the Ugrians from that evaluation.”

  “Oh, God preserve us,” Julius said with a laugh. “Let us avoid that particular question, Mordechai, or else you and I shall argue about it and nothing else until dawn!”

  “I suppose that is true,” Mordechai agreed.

  Julius turned to Iosef and said, “Prince Shashavani, if you will pardon a moment of business.…”

  “Of course.”

  “Mordechai, may I see my purchase?” Julius asked, holding out his hand.

  Mordechai quickly retrieved the amulet from his pocket and handed it to Julius, whose face lit up at the sight of it. Julius took the amulet and raised it to the light, examining it carefully.

  “Beautiful…” he whispered. After a few moments of study, he quickly closed his fingers around the object and tucked it into his coat. “Do forgive me: I am fascinated by pagan antiquities. I could stare at it for hours.”

  “I quite understand,” Iosef said. He paused a moment and then decided to make a calculated admission. “In fact, I had hoped to purchase it myself, but Herr Mordechai would not relent on the matter. I wonder if you might be inclined to sell it now that you are the owner.”

  Julius smiled politely but shook his head. “Out of the question, I fear.”

  “I have possession of considerable means,” Iosef added. “I am certain there must be some arrangement.”

  “No, I must refuse,” Julius said. “My interest is not financial, you see. I am not only a scholar, I am also an archaeologist. I have made a lifelong study of the pagan cults of Europe, and the Slavs and their Horned Serpent are of particular importance to my work. I hope one day to write quite the extensive book about it. And to that end, I have made it a point never to relinquish any of the texts or artifacts I have acquired. I should rather be a pauper in a shepherd’s hovel than sell any article of my work before it is completed.”

  Having spoken so forthrightly to Iosef, Julius cleared his throat and took another drink. Iosef must surely appear young enough to be Julius’s son, and however seriously Iosef might carry himself and form his words, it was inevitable that older men would address him in such tones. It was a point of irritation for Iosef, but one that could easily be managed.

  “Then perhaps you might permit me to study it in your company for my own research,” Iosef said.


  “Ah, I see!” Julius exclaimed. “You wish to examine it for your studies?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I see no reason why not,” Julius said. “Perhaps we could even compare notes.” This was spoken rather like a teacher offering guidance to a young student, which was to be expected. He took another drink. “What is your interest, may I ask? I thought you were not acquainted with the Horned Serpent.”

  Iosef placed his hand in his pocket for a moment, and his fingertips brushed the smooth metal surface of his amulet with its sharp-cut letters and symbols. An ember in the fireplace crackled, and it seemed to whisper “Sophio.… Sophio.…”

  “I have one of my own,” he said. “Acquired from a tomb on the shores of the Aral Sea. I am curious to compare it with any others of similar design.”

  Julius’s expression lit up, and he grinned at both Mordechai and Iosef.

  “Ah, ha! Now it becomes clear! A tomb for one of the Black Goat Turks, no doubt!”

  “Yes,” Iosef said, after a moment’s hesitation.

  Julius turned to Mordechai and exclaimed, “You see, Mordechai! The Black Goat and the Horned Serpent. There is a connection!”

  “That has never been in dispute,” Mordechai reminded him.

  “You and your Siberian origin theory,” Julius scoffed. “Until an amulet is found in Perm or Yugra, I will not believe it!” He looked back at Iosef and asked, “So you are a scholar of the Black Goat, then?”

  Nearby, Luka coughed a little too loudly. Iosef glanced at him and only barely hid a smile. Luka, even more than Iosef, was an ardent realist. The very suggestion that some nonexistent pagan demon was a subject worthy of study was the sort of thing to make him laugh—or to choke on his wine, as had nearly been the case.

  “I have…recently come to study the Kara Keçi Turks and by extension some aspects of their faith,” Iosef answered. “But I am more intrigued by the curiousness of the amulet itself.”

  “You mean that it is aluminium,” Julius noted, “a metal not available to the ancient world.”