Cat's headache resolved itself in a few weeks, but there was a month of aches and pains, as all the various stiffnesses and swellings subsided and abraded skin repaired itself. Herr Stocke immediately set Cat piles of work which she embraced without argument. Buried under dozens of arithmetic problems or deep in the study of some ancient back and forth wrangle between warring Electorates, Caterina could, for a little while, forget her heartache.
She did discover a new boon companion. Christoph's cat, Furst, made a sudden decision that Caterina was his. When Elsa and the new cook's girl carried up dinner in the evening, their parade was headed by the black tom, his bushy long tail waving like a battle flag. Furst spent much of each lonely evening on Caterina's lap. Most nights she fell asleep with her hand resting on the warm, fluffy belly which he, flopped in the bedclothes beside her, presented for rubbing.
Chapter Sixteen
Green began to crown the forest. Tall drifts in the lee of the pines sagged, crystallized, sending streams down the slopes. Later than in her Donau valley home, so that Cat was simply longing for it, came spring. Looking out the window at night, she could see the mares standing in the horse pasture, great bellies silhouetted by the moonlight. Among them was her Star.
Christoph wrote to her faithfully. He told her of Vienna, of the mustering of the troops. Later came tales of battle in the lands of the Croats and Slovenes, of skirmishes on the Hungarian plains. There was little news about the state of his heart. Caterina fretted that the letters which Elsa received from her Ekkehard, although short and badly spelled, were a thousand times more passionate. She tried to concentrate upon her studies, but when she couldn't endure sitting for another moment she went to the stables where a friend—no, an admirer—waited.
All through that lonely spring Cat's pleasure in the company of Herr Rossmann had grown. Now a white smile flashed whenever Cat came into view. Star too had grown to trust him while her mistress had been sick. Now, even if the mare was loose in pasture, she'd come when Rossmann whistled. Tossing her five point blaze like a high spirited filly, she'd cheerfully allow Rossmann everything. It was almost funny to remember that once Caterina had thought the horsemaster threatening and taciturn.
These days they had plenty to talk about. Mistress and man compared remedies for worms, bot fly and injured pasterns. He explained how he'd worked his cure upon Brandy, talked about training and breeding, and lamented the loss of so many fine horses from the Graf's stables. They rode out together and he showed her field and forest in another way than Christoph had. Rossmann's interest was in herbs peculiar to the mountain. He even paid her the high compliment of showing her secret places where delicious morels grew.
Suddenly, one day, the thought that Rossmann was actually rather handsome chased through her mind. His dark eyes were full of a high intelligence, and his slender, limber frame was strong and erect. Even his flowing black moustache, which had once seemed so sinister, appeared as fitting and manly, part of what she had come to appreciate as "eastern style."
It was obvious that he admired her, too. Their uneasy awareness of the boundaries that lay between mistress and man, Christian and Orthodox, Slav and German, sounded other notes of uneasy excitement. While Caterina was currying great bellied Star, Rossmann often leaned over the wall and visited. It was during one of those chats that she told him about the day when one of her father's stallions had taken a run at her.
"My friends were scared and I should have been," Cat explained. "He came charging across the pasture at us. He was a big gray Wurttemburg and he just looked so beautiful." Rossmann nodded, apparently imagining the scene.
"He came right up to us and began rearing, smashing his hooves down close to me, threatening and trying to get us to run, but I told my friends not to move a muscle and I stretched out my hand. Finally, he stopped his battle dance and lowered his head so that I could touch him. After, he snorted, whirled around and went high tailing away. Understanding horses is the one natural born skill I have." She paused to tug a burr from Star's creamy tail.
She was thinking of the way the accounting problems which Herr Stocke had set stubbornly refused to reconcile. "I'm afraid I'm a rather poor gentleman's wife."
Rossmann's eyes, jet black and lively, turned towards her with that new respect.
"You make a fine wife for a countryman, Mistress."
* * *
Doggedly, every day, Caterina returned to doing as her mother had suggested, going to the great room to approve while morning orders were given to the diminished staff by the new housekeeper. Later in the day, before supper, she'd endure her chilly company as she followed up on the progress of the day's work. In spite of the curt replies, Cat began to garner some understanding of the ins and outs of housekeeping at Heldenberg.
When warm weather came, she'd take Elsa and walk after dinner. She particularly loved to stand at the edge of the pasture and look up at the stars. The looming mountain, the pine scented air, reminded her of evenings with Aunt Teresina, who, on similar evening walks, had told her tales about the heroes, goddesses and dragons who battled across the night sky. When she was alone, Herr Rossmann sometimes joined her, always making a sudden, startling appearance at her elbow.
"A beautiful night, is it not, Mistress?"
"Indeed, it is," she replied, with more feeling than she'd intended. "There's the dragon," she added, hoping to cover how glad she'd been to see him.
"Yes. In my land it is called 'dragon,' too."
"Do you know the constellations? My Aunt Tanucci taught me a little, but I've forgotten most of it."
It turned out that Rossmann knew the sky intimately, although here and there he made groups differently from the way Cat had been taught. He even had names for single bright stars, explaining that the Spanish Moors, who had been a very learned people, had named them. They, he said, knew things about history, mathematics and healing that no other Westerners did.
It became a pastime on clear nights to stand at the pasture fence and stare up, Herr Rossmann pointing and Cat sighting along his arm. Elsa would huddle at her mistress' feet wrapped in her cloak, shivering and yawning and wishing for bed. Nights on the mountains were always chilly, even standing in the warm exhalation of the barn.
It was often very late when Cat said good-bye to Rossmann. On their way back to the house, she and Elsa would acquire another companion. Black Furst would emerge, a moving shadow, usually coming from the good hunting ground close to the haystack. He'd growl a throaty meow and wave his fluffy tail in greeting. Sometimes the meow was muffled because his mouth was full of mouse.
"Have you got all your business tended to, Herr Furst?" Cat bent to scratch his round head and give his blocky body a hearty all-over rub. Then the three of them would walk back to the manor together.
She sensed a general disapproval of this star gazing, particularly from Herr Goran. Predictably, Goran had been upset when his master had 'detailed' him to Heldenberg, making no bones about his opinion that Christoph's chances of survival were next to nothing without him. The Hauptmann was always moody and sometimes drunk. He'd go out of his way to pick fights with the guards. Without his master, he seemed at loose ends.
"Why don't you get Hauptmann Goran to give you fencing lessons?" Stocke had suggested one day. "He's not as spry as Heidelburg on that wooden leg of his, but he's far less likely to blood you to make a point. Besides, it would give him something to do."
"It's an idea, Herr Stocke." Cat had been sorely missing the exercise of foil ever since Heidelburg had gone away with Christoph. "But do you think he might be offended?"
"Ask him, my Lady. I have a feeling that he'd be glad of a task. I've heard he was a master of saber in his day."
When the proposition was first put to him, Goran cocked his head to one side and slowly stroked one of his flaxen moustaches with a thick hand. "Well, I'm no stylist, Grafin." Then, with a sudden grin he added, "But there's nobody like me in all of the Osterreich to teach you how to win a real fight."
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At the time of Cat's first fencing lessons with Captain Heidelburg, Goran had been openly dubious about her ability, but, like everyone else he'd been impressed by Caterina's quick reflexes, her determination and her obvious athleticism. Besides, if his master felt it was all right for his wife to learn saber, it was not his place to argue.
Toweling the sweat from her face after the first lesson, Caterina said, "I think you're a far better teacher than Heidelburg, at least in my humble woman's opinion. I swear, I saw so many new things today."
"Thank you, Grafin." Goran too was sweating, his broad leathery face lit by a rare broken- toothed smile. "A woman, even a strong one like you, Grafin, or even half a man like me," he nodded ruefully down at his wooden stump, "will never have the strength to beat a whole man, but we can still sharpen up some tricks that could save our lives, even against a much stronger opponent."
Caterina's days were full. There was studying with Herr Stocke, making the rounds with the housekeeper, riding the land and now her saber practice.
* * *
One night as Cat walked back from the barn arm in arm with Elsa, who was lighting their way with a small lantern, she noticed a man leaning against a shed. It was a vantage point, she knew, that would allow the watcher a clear view of the little rise where she and Rossmann customarily went for their star-gazing.
"Come out," she cried, exercising those new tones of command she'd been practicing. "I see you perfectly."
The peculiar rolling gait as the man obeyed instantly betrayed who it was.
"Herr Goran, what is the meaning of this?"
With his wooden leg tapping over the uneven ground, he approached.
"I am watching over you, Grafin."
"Well, I've Elsa with me. Surely Herr Rossmann is protection enough."
"Begging your pardon, Grafin, but my orders are to watch you."
"Why?" Caterina experienced a wave of anger, for suddenly she thought she understood. "You are spying on me, aren't you, Goran? Skulking and spying."
"Oh, Lady Caterina..." A protest came from Elsa, who had a genuine fondness for the older man.
"Hush, Elsa. Hauptmann Goran can speak for himself."
Goran repeated, "I must keep watch over you, Grafin."
"By Mary and all the Archangels!" Inwardly Caterina damned Christoph. "Is this my husband's order?" Did he imagine she was as dishonest as he was?
"I am always the Graf's man, Lady."
"Indeed? Well, sir, I think your action insults me."
"Lady von Hagen." The command ringing in another male voice made both Goran and Caterina spin to face the newcomer.
"Do not be angry with Herr Hauptmann, Mistress. I have enemies here who would say anything to get me dismissed. As do you, still, Grafin." Rossmann, materialized out of the darkness, drawn by the sound of voices.
"I am not one of your enemies, Grafin," Goran rumbled. "No matter what this clever heathen says."
Elsa gasped, stumbled backwards. She saw, as her mistress did, the flash of Goran's steel. Next, as if in a mirror, flashed Rossmann's dagger.
"Stop it! Both of you!" Bravely, if not too wisely, she stepped between them.
"Of course, Grafin," said Rossmann, bowing and backing in order to keep a safe distance between him and the Croat. "Herr Hauptmann," Rossmann said formally, squarely facing his enemy, "you mistake me. I am saying that as long as you watch, no one will be able to tell the Graf any lies."
Goran growled, but slammed his steel back into the sheath.
"I'm sorry to offend," he mumbled.
Caterina could tell by his wooden tone that his feelings had been hurt.
"I do whatever I do by the Herr Graf's orders." With an awkward gesture of gallantry he waved her forward. "Will you go in?"
She looked around, but Rossmann had melted away into the night like a spirit, no doubt heading for his meticulously kept cottage. There was nothing else to do but walk on in silence.
Just as they reached the front door, Goran observed tautly, "Herr Rossmann is no company for you to keep in the night, Grafin."
"Why? Because you imagine he's a Muslim?"
"Grafin, I do not wish to quarrel. I know you admire his learning just as the Graf does, but you shouldn't trust him too much."
"And should I trust you more? You who watch me in secret?"
There was no reply to her jibe. At the door Goran stepped forward and opened it, bowing the two women inside. The doorman, who'd been dozing on the bench in the hall, leapt to his feet, groping for his sword.
"Is this how you guard the house?" Goran pushed past Caterina and dealt a blow to the man's head. "If I were a bandit, you'd be dead now, damn you! Here is the Graf's lady, safe and sound, no thanks to you."
"Hauptmann!"
"Discipline must be maintained!" Goran shouted back.
He was right, of course, and the doorman was rising to his feet without help. Cat knew Christoph would have been just as angry. To sleep on duty was to put the entire house in danger. The doorman tugged a forelock in Cat's direction, looking profoundly guilty.
"Herr Lenker, you must do better."
"Yes, Grafin. It will not happen again."
Putting away her dislike of such scenes, Caterina walked towards the stairs. Goran accompanied her. She knew he'd walk her to the door of her chamber.
At the foot she paused to survey the man beside her. In the light of Elsa's lantern she saw the lines that tragedy and profound reserve had etched. She was now ashamed she'd accused him of spying. No doubt it was just as he'd said and he was following her husband's orders—to the letter.
"Herr Hauptmann."
"Yes, Grafin."
"Outside—I misunderstood. I thank you for such attention to your duty."
"I follow orders." His fair, balding head inclined, but in spite of her apology there was absolutely no change in the severity of his tone or the disapproving expression in his eyes. He hated her friendship with Rossmann and that was all there was to it.
"I wish you could like Herr Rossmann better, Hauptmann. Like my husband, I need you both, your loyalty and your wisdom." Knowing that the stiff necked fellow wouldn't give an inch, she retreated up the stairs.
* * *
On the eve of Saint Brigitte's day the entire household went down to Heldenruhe to Mass and then to join in the feast and dancing. Caterina had a steer driven down, a gesture of largess towards the peasants.
Among the few who didn't go were Caterina and Herr Rossmann. Ordinarily, Caterina would have, for lately she'd been a regular church-goer. There was Wili to pray for and now the welfare of her absent husband. Of course, Cat would have loved to watch the dancing and bonfires, but on this May eve she suspected Star was about to deliver her long awaited foal. The mare had restlessly moved to the highest reaches of the north pasture and flatly refused to let either Caterina or Rossmann take her back to the barn.
"In this she isn't wise, my Lady. Wolves were seen here last week."
"Well, go get your gun and come back. I'll stay with her."
Cat was a little surprised when Rossmann, without a murmur of protest, did as she asked. For awhile she looked around, eyes straining beyond the circle of lantern light into the darkness.
Did the clump of boulders shining in the field below conceal Herr Goran? And did Rossmann know he was there and say nothing out of a belief that his watchfulness was a kind of protection for both of them?
After the night of the uproar, Cat had not detected Goran again. Nevertheless there was a constant prickly sense that someone was watching her.
* * *
Almost as soon as Rossmann was out of earshot, Star went into labor. Caterina did not waste another thought on anything else. About an hour later, the moon just rising over the dark shoulder of Heldenberg, a slice past full, the foal emerged. The mare had gone down to do it, and Cat, sitting beside her and stroking her head, was relieved. It had gone perfectly. A surge of joy shot through her as she pulled the foal's wet caul away
and massaged her wet heaving sides. Star had made another filly!
As she did that, the mare staggered to her feet. Caterina gazed at her, silhouetted against the starry night. Trees loomed beyond the pasture; spines of mist like dragon's breath rose from the creek. The mountain made a rough black triangle beneath the waning moon. The mare was still licking the steaming gangly heap when Rossmann returned, leading one of the ponies. "A beauty, Grafin," he said cheerfully. "After she stands and nurses, we'll put her over the pony and Star will follow us back to the stable. I don't think she'll argue with us anymore."
Star's elegant head began to angle back and forth, nervously scenting a freshening wind. Her fine ears swiveled, then pricked. The night had been dead still, but now a cold blew down from the heights.
A strange sound, a kind of wailing, came with it. The forest shook and sighed. Caterina had felt quite brave, even alone in the thin moonlight, but at this eerie noise every hair on the back of her neck stood up.
"Ready the gun!"
"No need, Mistress." Rossmann added something under his breath, something not in German. "Star will catch your fear. It's not wolves. See?"
He lifted an arm, pointed up the dark flank of the mountain. Cat, following his gesture, saw a slim rising tongue of fire.
"They won't bother us. It is hexerei. Witches."
Cat's jaw dropped, but Rossmann was matter-of-fact.
"On May Eve they dance. They sing and drink." Contemptuously, he spat. Cat couldn't tell whether it was witches who elicited his disgust or the notion of drinking alcohol. His abstinence made another strong argument for those who believed him to be Muslim.
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