by Alma Boykin
Janos waited until the next morning, opting to see his son off. “Be careful,” he cautioned as István mounted. “Especially in Budapest and Pressburg. I don’t like what I’ve been hearing about anarchists in the cities.”
“Neither do I, Pater, which is why I am careful. I won’t change into uniform until I get to Buda, and I intend to stay out of the cafes.”
Janos relaxed a little. “Go with my blessing.”
“Thank you. I’ll write when I can.”
“Do that. Your mother worries.” As do I, Janos thought. You have no experience with bombs in the streets, son. I do. But István was twenty-five and immortal, exactly as his father had once been. Janos sensed the House observing through his eyes, and felt more than a hint of wry agreement. Sarkány-Kárpátok bred active young men, it seemed. István rode off down the drive, the model of a horseman.
“What am I sensing?” Janos spun around at the question, asked in Latin by a puzzled young woman who emerged from the darkness. Barbara pulled her coat tighter as she walked up to him. “What’s watching István, my lord?”
“The spirit of the family,” he replied in German. “You can sense something?”
He could barely see her nod in the predawn darkness. “Yes. Like when I was a child and woke up to find my father standing in the nursery door, watching in the night.” She sounded more curious than worried.
“It is . . . something like that. I suspect that is all you will ever sense, my dear. It simply means that you will fit well into the family.”
“I’m glad, my lord. I’d worried. Aunt Claudia has told me all sorts of stories,” she began, sounding apologetic.
Janos took a deep breath, found his cigarette case and pulled one out. “May I?”
“Certainly, my lord. They do not bother me outdoors.”
“Thank you.” He lit it, shaking the lucifer until it was cool to the touch before dropping it in the dirt. “Claudia’s marriage was, and is, a special case, my dear—special and unfortunate in many ways. Her family’s choice of husbands was singularly limited, with results that I presume you know?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“It is my opinion, and this goes no further, you understand, but it is my opinion that they should have been much more honest about Claudia’s nature. It might not have changed anything, but it would have spared everyone unpleasant surprises.” Because no man, even me, would react well to discovering at the altar that his bride is a True-dragon, no matter how well dowered she might be. Some things do take a bit to get used to, even when you are in love. Which neither Claudia nor Andreas were, or are, or ever will be, I don’t think. The tip of his cigarette glowed red in the darkness and he exhaled a long string of smoke.
She made a sound of agreement. “Mother says Aunt Claudia avoids social events because of shyness and, um, a difficult skin condition.”
“That is close enough to true,” Janos said. “You understand that some of the staff of Nagymatra share in that shyness?”
“Yes, my lord. Mama says it is quaint and rustic that you have so few staff.”
Janos read the undertone of “primitive” and “lower class” in Lady Agatha’s words. “I fear no one short of the Habsburgs or the princes of Lichtenstein can compare with the Schwarzenbergs’ hunting lodge and its appointments.”
She giggled. “Thanks be. I’m not certain I’m ready to face a score of surprise guests appearing at the front gate for a quiet hunting weekend.”
I’m not certain I would be, but you’ll learn. “You’ll learn, my dear. But not all at once.”
“Good. Thank you, my lord.” He heard her walking back into the lodge as he finished his smoke.
She’ll do quite well, I believe. He felt the House agreeing.
István Eszterházy rode into the regimental compound at Lösch, Moravia and reined his horse to a slow walk before stopping to observe the mild chaos unfolding. Men carried loads of fodder and travel equipment, and cases of supplies, back and forth, while the sound of hammering and sawing filled the wagon depot. But everyone in sight wore hussar blue and looked more intent than frantic, for all the seemingly random movement. István relaxed. I don’t see enough spiked helmets and eagles for King Wilhelm to be here, thanks be. He turned the dun gelding and rode to the stables, dismounting in a jingle of spurs and swish of his hussar’s fur-trimmed one-shoulder coat. Pavl, one of the stablemen, took the reins and held the dun quiet as István pulled his baggage off the traveling saddle. Pavl saluted and led the horse away.
“Hela Stefán, perfect timing,” a friendly voice called, and he turned to see Major Felix Starhemberg riding up, followed by half a dozen of his troopers. “You have enough time to sneeze twice before we load for Lemberg.”
“You’d better be joking, Felix.”
The tall, lean officer dismounted and grinned. “OK, maybe a little. You have two days and we’re not going all the way to Lemberg. How was leave?”
“Fine until I got the message. Any news?” István stood back as Felix dismissed his men, handed the horse over to a groom, and turned to walk to their shared quarters.
“The usual. The good news is that,” he glanced back for an instant and continued a bit more loudly, “His imperial Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm of the united Germanies will not be observing the exercise, I’m sorry to say. His presence is required elsewhere.”
István nodded and matched his friend’s tone. “Ah, that is too bad. His comments and observations are always useful.” As guides on what not to do in real battle, that is.
“However, the rest of the action is as discussed prior to your departure, except that we will take the field earlier than planned. A good test for the supply and transport officers.” Felix climbed two steps onto the porch of their quarters, István three paces behind. The door sprang open and Karl, Felix’s servant, saluted as they strode in.
István’s valet, Balthazar, straightened up from pouring steaming water into a basin. He stammered, “My lord Major, I apologize! I will have your water ready at once.”
“Do so,” István growled. The corporal finished filling Felix’s washbasin and ran off, the empty water buckets banging against his legs. Lazy clod. I sent word I was arriving today.
“Full mess tonight in honor of our guests from the north,” Felix warned. He stood still as Karl removed his sword belt and holster, then took off his coats and handed them to the servant before untying his neck cloth. Felix sat down and let Karl take off his boots, setting them aside to be cleaned before tomorrow’s staff meeting. István had shed boots, coats, and shirt before Balthazar returned, huffing and puffing. As his manservant got the wash water ready and set out István’s shaving kit, Felix wrinkled his nose. “Fair warning. Capt. von Martinsburg says the observer assigned to our section is very Berlin-ish.”
István rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. He concentrated on shaving before letting Balthazar trim his hair and rinsing off the road dust. Freshened and tidied, he dressed for a guest mess. Once he and Felix were more or less ready, he asked, “So, any major changes to the original plans?”
“No. We’re defending against a Russian attack in Galicia.” Felix lit his pipe, an affectation that made István shake his head. “We’re doing that by attacking before they can get into position, as we’ve planned for. We’ll also be keeping the Bear busy, in case the Tsar decides to do something foolish here to distract the Empire from the trouble to the south. The jackals just couldn’t go another year without challenging each other or the Empire again.”
“Ah. I’d wondered, once I read the papers. The Bulgarians and Serbs have short memories.”
“That they do, more’s the pity. At least you Magyars can learn from other people’s mistakes.”
If he hadn’t known Felix as well as he did, István would have challenged him to a duel on the spot. Yes, because we Magyars have been here since before you Slavs left the swamps, legendary ancestress notwithstanding. And my House is far older than yours, and I will be Head. As it w
as he thumped Felix on the arm, a stinging lick that made Felix’s pale eyes bulge. “Damn, man, easy there!”
István just glared at him. The two majors let their valets finish adjusting their mess jackets and hats, then made their way to the officers’ mess. The air smelled damp, and István wrinkled his nose. Just once can we have cool, dry, clear weather for maneuvers? I hate dealing with mud.
They stopped to let Col. Marbach and Lt. Col. Greenberg enter the long, sturdy, stone building that housed the regiment’s officers’ mess, library, infirmary, and main supply offices. Col. Marbach was deep in conversation with a man in Prussian field gray. István noted the perfect shine on the man’s boots and belt, the sharp creases in his tunic and trousers, and the precise needle points at the ends of the stranger’s mustache. His dark brown hair shone with pomade or oil—he might have been an illustration from a field manual. The Imperial officers exchanged weary glances, at least those not caught up in the fad for all things Prussian. István noted one of his lieutenants hovering behind the man, an almost worshipful look on his face, and made a note to have a word with the younger man if he got too voluble praising the Prussians.
Things proceeded as they normally did, at least until the officer in charge for the night signaled for the stewards to serve liquor as well as beer to those who wanted it. Major Johann Georg von Fischerbach, the Prussian guest, seemed to be quite fond of kirsch schnapps, and after three glasses narrowed his eyes and looked at István and Felix with more disdain than before. “Are you Bavarian, Major?” he demanded of Felix, who was sitting across from him.
“No, Major Fischerbach. My family is the Bohemian line, descended from Fürst Rudiger Starhemberg.”
“Humf.” Fischerbach toyed with his glass. “Your family has property in the Empire?”
István, on Fischerbach’s right, watched Felix hesitate as he tried to sort out the guest’s meaning. “If you mean within the German Empire, no. The Bavarian and Styrian line is a cadet branch that split off a century and a half ago.”
“Pity.” The man lowered his voice before continuing, “It puzzles me why you Bavarians and Saxons refuse to see reason about where your best interests lie. Why should Protestants support an overlord who bows to Rome and who demeans the natural rights of all Germans in favor of less civilized peoples?”
István’s fist clenched and he struggled to keep his temper. Mess rules forbade challenging guests to duels without the colonel’s permission, and István doubted Col. Marbach would allow it, no matter how much the arrogant bastard deserved to be taken down. We need the Prussian’s military support to keep the Russians from being stupid, but I want to thrash this cad. He wasn’t the only one, judging by the throbbing veins in Felix’s forehead and Capt. Florian Báthory’s reddening face. I hope no one else heard that statement. Especially since the Bavarians in this regiment remain in the true faith.
“I believe that the Princes of Bavaria and Prince Elector of Saxony are well able to decide what they believe to be their best interests,” Felix managed to grate, not quite gritting his teeth. “And German is the language of the Empire, as you no doubt are aware, Major.”
“Of course. Because the German tongue is the only civilized thing in the Habsburg lands once you pass south of Budapest,” Fischerbach replied with a sniff. Capt. Radovan Stulich looked as if he wanted to come over the table at the Prussian, and judging by his dilated eyes and the empty schnapps glass in front of him, he just might, István realized.
Felix saw it too. He gave István a look, eyebrow raised in question, and tilted his head a fraction in the direction of the main door. István nodded a hair, just enough to signal understanding and agreement. They needed to get Fischerbach out before disaster ensued.
“We Germans are the more civilized and energetic race, so of course our language is the language of empire. Even those sailors on their island, as weak as their flirting with India makes them, know that.” Fischerbach signaled for another drink but both István and Felix gestured to the steward not to refill the Prussian’s glass. He’d already started to glaze, and Felix gave a curt nod. The time had come.
István started, “Herr Major, you seem a touch tired. Perhaps your devotion to duty has drained you more than anticipated.”
“Indeed, adapting to a new unit, even as an observer, can be very wearying,” Felix agreed, his serious expression showing nothing but solicitous concern for their guest’s health.
Fischerbach gave István a cold look. “I am perfectly capable of carrying out my duties, Major. Are you challenging me?” The blue eyes lost focus before snapping back to István’s face.
Right, I’m smaller but I think I can lever you out if I have to. “No, Major von Fischerbach. I am merely suggesting that perhaps retiring for the evening might be in order, given the long days coming.” Not that I can’t stay out all night and then ride maneuvers all the next day, but I don’t care to break up a fight if I don’t have to.
Felix must have gotten permission to leave, because he appeared on the Prussian’s other side as Capt. Báthory scooted out of the way. István got to his feet. Fischerbach lunged up and staggered. Felix and István caught him under the arms before he could fall. “Damn, he’s drunk,” Felix hissed in Bohemian. Fischerbach tried to resist but couldn’t seem to get his legs under him.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Col. Marbach inquired from the head of the table.
“No, sir,” István assured him. “Just showing our honored guest where things are located.”
“Ah, very well.” Marbach returned to his conversation with a Prussian colonel and Felix and István half-dragged Fischerbach out of the room. Once in the corridor, two of the mess stewards took over, assisted by one of the sergeants on duty, and they carried the now insensible Fischerbach to his quarters.
“Jesus, Mary, Joseph, but how much did he have to drink, sirs?” the sergeant asked as they bundled the Prussian up the steps.
“Two beers, wine, another beer and three glasses of schnapps. He didn’t eat much of any course besides the chicken.” István glanced at Felix, who nodded his agreement.
“What? Oh, oh my, what is going on?” Fischerbach’s servant demanded, his clipped accent even harder to understand in the rush of words.
“The major worked, perhaps a bit too hard,” Felix explained as the enlisted men carried Fischerbach into his quarters. “And I fear the carp soup disagreed with him.”
The Prussian corporal gave him a hard look but didn’t press for more.
István and Felix returned to the mess and passed on Fischerbach’s apologies to the officer acting as master of the mess that night. Someone must have noticed, because the chairs had been rearranged, removing Fischerbach’s so as not to leave a hole.
After István dropped into his chair and accepted a third beer, Báthory leaned forward. “What’s this I’ve heard about the diplomats changing things again?”
“What now?” Felix asked.
“My brother-in-law read in the papers that the Brits are dropping their alliance with France over the latest mess in Africa and the French colonies in Asia. Says he thinks Tsar Nicholas will drop the French as well and go back to working with the Prussians.”
Felix snorted with derision but didn’t stop sipping the water that chased a nip of plum brandy. Two of the Croatian-Hungarian officers looked intrigued and faintly concerned, both. “That could be a problem, if the Tsar lets the pan-Slav men keep trying to stir up the Serbs and Bulgarians.”
“What else do you expect?” Felix set the glass down and leaned forward, “They’ve swallowed most of Poland, and if his Imperial Majesty continues beating the Turks and building railways in Kraina and south into Bosnia, and making the area more prosperous and orderly, the pan-Slavs won’t be able to keep bleating about how all Slavs are one soul even if they don’t know it yet and that they should all join Serbia and worship the Tsar.” Felix leaned back again, shaking his head, arms folded. “There’s Slavs and Slavs, and if the Tsar thinks Bo
hemians want to surrender our rights and privileges under the crown of St. Wetzel to become his serfs just because our languages are related then he’s a fool and more than a fool.”
Báthory recoiled in mock horror. “What? You dare question the sacred mission of Mother Russia, or whatever the latest foolishness is.”
“As much as I question the majestic nobility of the Magyar hordes.”
István put one hand on Báthory’s sleeve before he could react. “Magyar tribes, Tatar and Turkish hordes,” he corrected. “And when it comes to the heart of the matter, Slav, Magyar, Bohemian, or German, our oaths and allegiances count for more than does the mystical past.” Over half the House speaks a Slavic language as their birth tongue, but we prosper together and fall together. Just like the Empire, and this regiment. He’d worked with single-nation units and was not impressed.
“If, sirs,” Captain Eggenberg opined for the first time that evening, “and it is an enormous if—if the Prussians and the Russians go back to being friends, it will be to make the British nervous so the Russians can get more concessions about Persia and the Prussians reach naval equality. And I don’t think the imperial cousins can get along, blood-kindred or not.”
“Prussia and the German states are land powers, after all.” István mused, “A reasonable-sized navy is certainly important for all major powers, but really, to try and challenge Britain? And for what? To seize India?”
A few thoughtful looks met his words, followed by headshakes and rolled eyes. “At least when Russia was stalking India, they had a land bridge that could possibly be a border,” Capt. Stulich said. “Perhaps Kaiser Wilhelm wants a ring around Africa, from Tanganika down to catch the Cape and then up to Southwest Africa.”