The Lightstep

by John Dickinson

  It went on, for page after page. Lanard must have been before the War Commission for the best part of the day. Wéry skipped forward, familiar with the details of the story but eager to see how the Frenchman had told it.

  . . . At ten o'clock the head of a column of [ enemy ] Imperial troops was sighted emerging from the woods on the opposite bank . . .

  Such a sentence might have been dictated by any Imperial officer. It took a soldier to read beyond the bald words and know the horrible, crawling thrill at the sight of those distant uniforms. The enemy!

  . . . instructed to cross the river, under a flag of truce, to ensure that the commander of the force was aware of the ceasefire, and to establish his intentions.

  At this point in the narrative there must have been an interruption, for the next few lines were half-completed jottings in the clerk's hand, most of which appeared to have been written hurriedly and had subsequently been crossed out. Then there followed an exchange in which Lanard appeared to have played no part at all.

  On being granted permission to address the Inquiry, Count Balcke-Horneswerden asserted that the testimony of Major Lanard could be given no credence. The Observation was made that Major Lanard had not yet said what had passed at the parley, and the Question was put to the Count: what grounds he had for his assertion. The Answer of Count Balcke-Horneswerden: that the word of an officer of the so-called Republic could not be trusted.

  The Question was put: whether Count Balcke-Horneswerden would not believe the word of such an officer. The Answer. He would not.

  The Question: whether this would be true, even if the officer brought Count Balcke-Horneswerden news that might be of very great importance to the men under his command. A further Question was put: whether Count Balcke-Horneswerden would, on receiving such news, take steps to find out whether it were true. The Answer of Count Balcke-Horneswerden : that the actions of the revolutionary forces and their government over a number of years made it plain that they did not recognize the concept of honour.

  The Observation was made that this point had been considered by the Representatives of the War Commission before Major Lanard had been permitted to give his testimony. Major Lanard was invited to continue.

  Wéry skipped on hurriedly down the page.

  . . . that he had informed the senior Imperial officer, Count Balcke-Horneswerden, of the ceasefire, that he had repeated this several times, and that he had offered to return to his lines to bring back the message they had received from their brigade. To which Count Balcke-Horneswerden had replied that he should return to his lines and remain there.

  On being granted permission to address the Inquiry, Count Balcke-Horneswerden asserted . . .

  Poor Old Blinkers. All he had achieved had been to turn the interrogation away from Lanard and onto himself. Wéry could well picture the scene: the three inquisitors, the quick-witted Frenchman, and Balcke, red-faced, battering vainly away at points which the Inquiry had no intention of granting him. There was no doubt who had come off worst.

  And then, lower down:

  . . . conference of French officers, at which one of the company commanders, a Major Bretonne, proposed to the senior officer that the 2nd Battalion should itself withdraw to a distance until the Imperial forces could be persuaded of the ceasefire. Major Lanard further stated that the French officers were still debating this possibility when the Imperial cannon opened fire. Major Lanard wished the Inquiry to record that Major Bretonne was subsequently killed in the action . . .

  Skatt-Hesse and the others had been right. The army had been crucified.

  'It looks bad,' he said, handing it back over the desk.

  'Yes,' said Bergesrode shortly. There was a pause, as though he was waiting for Wéry to say something.

  'Thank you for showing it to me.'

  'I thought you should see it.' And then:'So why did you do it?'

  'Do what?'

  'Bring that man here!'

  So they had come to it, now.

  'I did have a hand in the arrangements,' he said slowly. 'It was rather against my will. But the price was something we needed badly.'

  'What?'

  'A safe link to the Rhine.' He said it as stoutly as if he still believed, to the very heart of his heart, that Maria von Adelsheim could keep a promise.

  Bergesrode's face hardened, as if nothing that could possibly come from the Rhine could have been worth allowing an officer of the revolution into Erzberg.

  'The reports could be very valuable,' Wéry added.

  'Yes?' said Bergesrode. And he slammed his desk and screamed, 'Where are they, then?'

  Wéry jumped. With another man he would have expected fits of rage, but not with Bergesrode. This was not Bergesrode. This was a wounded animal.

  And he had nothing to say. There was no way he could defend himself. The reports had not come. He had gambled – gambled grotesquely – and lost. Was it dismissal, at last?

  The two men glared at one another. The silence between them lengthened. Wéry sensed a struggle in Bergesrode's eyes as the priest mastered himself. He sensed exhaustion (Heaven knew what hours the man slept!). He remembered what Balcke had said about the tensions between the Prince and the Ingolstadt set, and how Bergesrode might be affected. And none of that would help him now.

  Bergesrode looked down at Wéry's report again. 'They are still reducing, then,' he said coldly.

  'So it seems.'

  'What does it mean?'

  'For us, not much. It would be natural to pull some strength back across the Rhine – there must be an endless list of tasks for them to do. But what they have left is more than enough to move against us – supposing they have the guns.'

  'And have they?'

  'I don't know.'

  'You don't know. That's always the answer, isn't it? Maybe this, maybe that, but we don't know. We just don't know. There is no information!'

  'I'm doing what I can!' said Wéry. Now he wanted to scream. He wanted to shout back at Bergesrode – to demand how, since the Prince's Treasury could afford no more than a bare dozen informants scattered across middle Germany, he was to steal the secrets of high policy, and whether he was expected to measure each muzzle of every gun in the camps of the Armée d'Allemagne at the same time! And also why he should bother, since every report only provoked more questions! But it would be pointless, pointless . . .

  'So this is the best you can do, is it? After what we – and you – have paid?'

  The Frenchman again.

  'I told you, I'm still . . .'

  'Still waiting. So am I. And on the Illuminati? Nothing on them either, I suppose. This is not . . .'

  'Yes!' Wéry exploded. 'Yes, I have had something on your precious Illuminati!'

  'You have? What?'

  Instantly Wéry regretted his words. 'It was an unconfirmed report,' he said.

  'So you should confirm it. What did it say?'

  'There was a meeting, in Erzberg,' said Wéry reluctantly. 'It was attended by an Illuminatus from Nuremberg, who may have been trying to recruit for his order. The report came from a man who was close to someone who attended the meeting.'

  'When was this?'

  'In October, when we all thought we were about to be attacked. There was no evidence of French involvement, so . . .'

  'You should have reported this at once! Were there any Illuminati from Erzberg at the meeting?'

  'The report did not say. But . . .'

  'What?'

  Wéry shook his head.

  'But what?' insisted Bergesrode.

  'A claim was made, apparently, that there is at least one Illuminatus in Erzberg, and that he is in the palace. That's all it is,' he said hastily. 'A claim. All of this is unconfirmed . . .'

  'You have said that already!' Bergesrode snapped. 'I will be the judge of it. But I must know everything – who was at this meeting, where was it held, what was said. Names, above all. You had no right to keep this to yourself!'

  'The name of the man
from Nuremberg was Doctor Sorge,' said Wéry.

  'Sorge,' repeated Bergesrode, making a note. 'Good. But who is this man in the palace?'

  'We don't know. It was stated that he was highly placed, but how much credence . . .'

  'I will be the judge of that. Who else attended the meeting?' His pen was poised.

  Wéry squirmed inwardly. 'I – I will have to consult my notes. And perhaps re-interview the informant . . .'

  Notes? He had none. Interview Uhnen again? Hardly. He was stalling for time. But what could he do with time, if he got it?

  Slowly, Bergesrode put the pen down again. He put his hands together under his chin as if he were about to pray. His eyes never left Wéry.

  'Very well,' he said at last. 'Let me have a proper report, as soon as possible. In the meantime I will see what can be found out about this Doctor Sorge. But this is not satisfactory, Wéry. His Highness expects better.'

  He gathered papers from his pile and got to his feet. He must be about to go into the Prince with the morning's business. Wéry's report from Wetzlar remained on the desk.

  'Will you show that to him?' asked Wéry, nodding towards it.

  'There's nothing new there,' said Bergesrode curtly.

  He walked to the inner door, knocked softly, and passed inside. For a moment Wéry glimpsed the rich blues of Heaven on the walls of the Prince's office, lit with the gold glory of the winter sunrise. Then the door closed, shutting them away from his sight. And he was left in the antechamber, with his fists clenched in anger.

  He looked at them. He almost put them in his mouth. Then a sound behind him made him turn.

  Fernhausen had entered, and was sitting nonchalantly on the edge of his desk. He was in his shirtsleeves. A month ago he would not even have unbuttoned his tunic in the antechamber. He had taken his time about reaching his desk this morning, too.

  'He likes to be consulted, our priestly friend,' he said, with a little yawn. 'Especially about bringing revolutionaries into the city.'

  Wéry let out a long breath. Instincts began to twitch in his head. Something was happening in the Prince's office. Here was the representative of the army, and the reformers, looking surer of himself while the secretary from the conservative clergy was sounding harassed. Some balance was shifting here, even as outside the palace the Ingolstadt set appeared to be on the point of bringing down the army's most senior officer.

  'He was right, though,' Wéry confessed. 'I made a bargain. It may not have been a good one.'

  'How very intriguing,' said Fernhausen. 'I have to tell you that the Prince was not pleased when he heard what you had done. But our priestly friend took your part. He told His Highness that we must be seen to give the War Commission all the help it needs. There was a bit of a drama between the two of them about it. His Highness thought that Bergesrode was carrying on the old feud on behalf of the Ingolstadt set; but it wasn't that. Bergesrode was protecting you. He's still hoping you'll strike gold somewhere, you see.'

  'If I strike it anywhere, now, it will be on the Rhine.'

  'Ah, the Rhine, the Rhine. Doesn't it seem strange that France and the Emperor can spend months agreeing a peace treaty, and yet no one seems to know what is to happen about the Rhine? Worrying, for everyone. Did you know the Adelsheim daughter was over there?'

  'What! In the Rhineland?'

  'Oh yes. She's visiting the relatives of a friend, or some such. That's the story, anyway. I myself suspect that she's gone to hunt for some new French fashions.'

  Wéry stared at him. Of all the things that had been said to him this morning . . .

  'I didn't know,' he said hoarsely. 'I've been in the barracks for a fortnight.'

  'Ah yes. I heard about that, too. So dull for you. But probably best to let tempers cool. Although in fact she went off at least a week before that. I had to sign the passports myself, because after your little coup Bergesrode insists that anything that looks or even smells as if it is anything to do with France has to be approved here. Are you going to challenge someone when you get the chance?'

  'No.'

  No of course he would not. That had all been weakness. None of that mattered now. But . . .

  'That's good. It would upset my priestly colleague again, and he can be so tiresome.'

  'I must go,' said Wéry. And he fled.

  He fled down the long, soft-carpeted corridors of the Celesterburg, with his mind a daze of thoughts. She was in the Rhineland! Why? For him? A crazy thought! She was with the relatives of a friend. That must be the Jürichs. He must speak with her as soon as she returned. Maybe he could at least learn from her how things stood, and why there had been no news. But when would she return? And how would he manage to see her if she did?

  "Why hadn't she spoken to him before going?

  Because she could not. Because she was the child of aristocrats, chaperoned and supervised and tied to the round of balls and levees and soirees that he loathed. He had engaged her as a go-between, and had never thought that a noblewoman in Erzberg might have difficulty communicating with just whom she chose. So it was his fault! Damn, damn, damn! Now she had gone off into the very Rhineland itself, marching to the last order given like her brother to Hersheim! What a stupid thing to have happened!

  Fernhausen was no fool. He must have guessed something, or why would he have mentioned her name? People were always guessing at what he was doing, and their guesses struck very close. He went busy, busy, busy like an ant, imagining that all the things he did were seen by him alone. All the time they were peering down on him, watching from all around. Could he never keep anything safe? If Erzberg guessed and gossiped, then the enemy might guess too, and might learn names that he did not want them to learn. And that could be dangerous: dangerous for the Jürichs. Dangerous, too, for her.

  He thought of his man Kranz, and that distant puff of smoke. And his heart lurched, and he felt sick.

  He had seen her twice – only twice in his whole life! He had trusted something important to her, had thought she had failed him, and had now discovered that she was being faithful to her promise after all. That was hardly enough . . .

  Hardly enough to explain what he felt, as he hurried out into the palace courtyard, and sunlight burst around him.

  He had only seen her twice. But she had been with him for such a long time – in Albrecht; in Albrecht's words of her, and of his home; in his thoughts after he himself had seen her, and since that day in the barrack room, in the tantalizing feeling, day in, day out, almost unnoticed beyond the horizons of his brain, that there was something more than he saw and did, something more to the world, there for him to wonder at the moment he could drag his mind from what it was doing!

  The long windows of the palace, heavy-eyed with their carved sills and cornicing, looked down upon him, and told him she was beyond the Rhine.

  There was nothing he could do to help. Messages would only increase the danger. He could warn the frontier dragoons to look out for her coach – for any coach – but that was all.

  And he had, this very hour, promised Bergesrode a report on a conspiracy in the city. Bergesrode would not forget that. The report would have to be delivered. He could stall, delay, claim to be following up clues; but sooner or later he would have to deliver it. He would have to name names. One of the very few names he had was 'Adelsheim'.

  XXIV

  The Path from the

  Liberty Tree

  The Jürich household prepared for Christmas in a spirit of determined optimism. Maria and Anna sat together by a low fire one long, wet afternoon, and with two serving-maids to help them they made more garlands than Maria believed could possibly be necessary. Emilia Jürich came to join them, and exclaimed over how much they had done. She seemed happy, and pleased with herself, and eventually she said, 'Well, I have news. I own I have been concerned but it is going to be well. It is a great relief to me.'

  'My dear! Please tell!' said Anna.

  'No, Anna,' said Maria. 'Let us see if we can g
uess. It will be diverting. Let us guess, Emilia.'

  'Very well. In twenty questions?'

  'Indeed. And you must answer precisely, or it will not be fair.'

  'Go on, then,' said Emilia, with her eyes sparkling.

  'Is it an idea, or is it a thing that I may touch?'

  'It is a thing you may touch – and indeed I hope you will.'

  'No, you must give us no clues, Emilia, or it will be too easy.'

  'I do not care. I love the thought and I want to share it with you. Indeed you are cruel to me, to put me off so!'

  'Hug it to yourself a moment more. Is it alive?'

  'It is – for now.'

  'Is it . . . Oh, no. Anna dear, you should have a turn.'

  Anna blinked. She looked at Emilia. 'Is it,' she asked slowly, 'something concerned with Christmas?'

  'It is indeed. I am astonished you have not guessed it already.'

  'It must be – ah, it must be some provision for Christmas,' said Maria. 'I know it has been weighing on you, and really it should not. Is it the Christmas lunch?'

  'Ah yes!' said Emilia. 'But you must guess what!'

  'Very well,' said Anna. 'Has it four legs or two?'

  'It has eight!'

  'Eight? There are more than one, then. Very well, are they flesh or fowl?'

  'Flesh.'

  'It is calf, is it?' cried Maria.

  'Or pig?' said Anna.

  'It is pig!' cried Emilia, and clapped her hands. 'My man Bauer has been hiding a sow and a litter of sucking pigs in the woods, and I knew nothing of it until today. But I am promised two, if they are not discovered and taken before next week. And he has been so clever and close with them that I do not think they will be. Oh, I am so relieved!'

  'Oh, but well done!'

  'Now let Christmas come,' said Emilia. 'For I am prepared.'