This was not the innocent, bewildered boy she had seen at the end of her last visit. Nor the eloquent gentleman of just the moment before. She gasped.
Fury sparked in Marketa’s father’s eyes, and his hand let go of the next leech. It slipped with a splash back into the murky water of the bucket.
“Work more quickly,” Mingonius said under his breath, his own hands attaching the leeches to the patient’s torso. “Pay no attention to what he says or does. You know his condition.”
But Pichler would bear no more.
“Marketa, leave at once!” he ordered.
“No!” shouted Don Julius, wrenching at the ties. “If she leaves, you will pull all these worms from my flesh!”
“Come now, Don Julius,” said Doctor Mingonius. “Surely, you can do without the girl’s presence. We are half finished as it is.”
“No! No!” he roared. He threw his body side to side until the chair tilted and crashed to the ground, splintering the armrest. Don Julius groaned, his cheek already bruising from the fall.
He heaved and struggled against the two burly guards who restrained him. They untied him from the broken chair, brought him across the room, and tied him in an ornately carved chair, its armrests wrought as lion paws.
Mingonius stooped to the patient’s ear and whispered to him.
“Calm yourself, man. Let the leeches do their work. They will drink up your rage and purge the ill humors.”
Don Julius looked at him, his eyes narrowing in rage.
“You will obey the rules of this sordid game, Mingonius,” he hissed. “You agreed to let me see her, for her to hold the pans of my blood. That was the condition, or you may go to the devil!”
Mingonius glared back at the bastard prince, the muscles of his face stiff and cold. He nodded.
“She stays,” he said.
“But, Herr Doctor—” protested Pichler.
“Enough!” said Mingonius. “This is a Hapsburg, Herr Pichler! You do not want King Rudolf as an enemy.”
Pichler had no answer to that.
“Come here, girl,” said Doctor Mingonius.
Marketa approached, her hands trembling on the pan, making the blood creep from one edge to another.
“Do you have the will to stay, Marketa?” Mingonius asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.
She looked at the wild-eyed prince.
“Yes, of course,” she said, swallowing hard. “He is our patient.” Then she added, “Just do not untie him and I will remain.”
Mingonius nodded. He glanced down at the enormous erection of the young prince, the head of his penis peeking crimson over the rim of his laced breeches. He threw a white linen cloth over the sight.
“Control yourself, man,” Mingonius said, disgusted. “Have you no shame at all?”
“Pichler,” Mingonius said, “I think I can apply the rest of the leeches without assistance. Would you be so good as to wait in the hall?”
Pichler stared at the doctor.
“But—”
“I think I can finish this best if you leave,” Mingonius said coolly. “Marketa will remain here to assist me and finish the treatment.”
“But, Herr Doctor—”
“Please,” he implored. “Trust me. I will let no harm come to your daughter. But I need her and it will be easier for all if you wait outside.”
Pichler looked from Mingonius to Marketa and back again. He nodded curtly and left the room.
“So we are almost alone at last,” sighed Don Julius. “Your père is gone.”
“And her guardian is here, may I remind you, sir,” said the doctor.
Julius’s lips pressed together in scorn. He snarled.
“Then you must leave as well—and let her apply the worms,” he cried. “Let her hands touch those eager mouths that suck at my flesh, seeking her own.”
“That is out of the question,” said Mingonius.
Once again the chair lurched.
“Guards!” shouted Mingonius.
“Let her! Let her!” cried Don Julius, twisting in the chair and making it rock wildly.
“What is the matter?” cried Pichler from the hall, trying to push past the sentry. “Marketa! Come here at once!”
Marketa looked coolly from her struggling father to Mingonius to Don Julius. She thought of the lonely darkness of the convent, the oppressive incense, and the sad look of the young novice. Her father had wanted her to stay there, to become one of them. He was ready to trade away her life, her hope, in order to keep her from witnessing the raging of an insane man. It was as if his lessons in science and reason meant nothing.
Then she thought of how her virginity would one day be traded to the fat old brewer.
And now, here was the great Doctor Mingonius, known throughout the Holy Roman Empire, who pleaded for her help, who needed her help to treat the king’s son.
It was the first time in her life she had a taste of power. She was the one Don Julius wanted. She was the one who could finish the treatment and please the great Mingonius. Her father should be proud of her because she could accomplish what no one else could.
“Leave us,” she said, lifting her chin. “Both of you. I will finish the treatment.”
“Marketa! You will leave with me this minute!”
“No,” she replied calmly. “I shan’t. I know exactly where to apply the creatures. Leave me alone with him. The guards shall stand by and protect me. Please, Father.” She thought, for an instant, of Jakub Horcicky. Now she would truly be a doctor, like him.
Mingonius studied her, listening as if hearing her for the first time.
“Is it true she knows the system of veins and the points of application?”
“As well as I,” replied her father, grudgingly.
“Then let her, Pichler,” said Mingonius quietly. “She is right.”
“But his behavior, his intentions—”
“I know men’s intentions, Father,” said Marketa, her voice strong and clear. “I was raised in the baths. I know men’s urges, their bodies, their nakedness. Nothing he can say will shock me. And he cannot touch me, no matter how hard he tries. Unlike the bathhouse, I have control now.”
Pichler dropped his gaze. It had not occurred to him that his wife’s bathhouse had so educated his daughter. He had taught her science, literacy, anatomy. The bathhouse had taught her other subjects he could only guess at.
The thought made him suddenly sad.
“She’s right,” said Mingonius. “And he must be bled, at all costs! We can wait in the hall. We will hear any screams for help should he frighten her.”
“He will not frighten me,” Marketa said, looking calmly at both of them. “He is my patient. And if he does not comport himself properly, I shall leave immediately.” Looking into Don Julius’s eyes. “Is that understood, Your Highness?”
The young Hapsburg nodded acquiescence, eyes round with wonder.
“Leave us, I command you!” he ordered suddenly. He sat up in his chair and straightened his back. “As son of King Rudolf II, I command you to leave at once!”
Marketa turned her back on the two older men, knelt down next to the bucket, and fished out another leech, firm and meaty between her finger and thumb. It wriggled wet and cold in her grasp, its mouth already open to suck.
“Recline your head, Don Julius. I will apply a worm to your forehead to drain the bad humors and make you rest in peace from your anguish. You are my patient, and I will care for you.”
“I am yours, good angel. Please never leave me again,” said Don Julius, his voice suddenly high and trembling. “The demons retreat at the sound of your voice.”
As the two men retreated into the hall, they could hear the contented sighs of King Rudolf II’s son.
There were no more screams.
CHAPTER 18
THE CODED BOOK OF WONDER
Alone with Don Julius, Marketa continued to apply the leeches. He winced, not at the nip of the leech, but at his awkward position.
“This chair is damned uncomfortable,” he complained, grimacing. “I have an ache in my back that consumes me. A deep pain has dug into my shoulder blades. But those men—they do not care about my torment!”
Marketa moved quietly behind him, slipped her hand between his shoulders, and eased him as far forward as the ropes would allow. She dug her strong fingers into his aching muscles, loosening them with her experienced touch.
“Oh, oh!” Don Julius groaned. “What healing hands you have, fräulein!”
Marketa said nothing, but continued softening the knots on his back, her brisk movements warming his muscles and encouraging blood to return into his stiff body. Under her fingers she could feel his vertebrae and ribs, and she realized that he was growing leaner more swiftly than she thought.
“Mein Gott!” he sighed. “How you give me comfort!”
“We must have the carpenter build you a proper chair for bleedings,” murmured Marketa as she rubbed, melting the pain. “One that reclines so you may lie comfortably on soft cushions. Your spine needs to be supported. And an armrest that splays wide.” Marketa’s mind conjured up the details of the chair as she continued to massage Don Julius. “An elevated leg rest, so you can recline and we can reach your inner thighs. And slats to allow my hands to touch your spine, unimpeded.”
Don Julius swallowed hard and purred to her, “Think how much easier it would be to administer the leeches were I untied and lying in my own bed, with you beside me.”
Marketa stopped the back rub and dropped her hands to her side. “I will speak to Doctor Mingonius today about commissioning the carpenter to construct the chair.”
“So that your hands can more easily reach my groin,” whispered Don Julius. “How could I not beg for such a chair!”
Marketa felt the gaze of the smirking guards. She reminded herself she was practicing medicine. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin.
“You will not speak to me in that fashion or I shall leave. You must understand that. Now, with your permission, my lord, we shall continue treatment.”
“By all means, Fräulein Doctor,” murmured her patient, drowsily. His flesh had melted under her hands, and he still felt the flush of heat in his back.
Marketa moved around to face him. Her hands dipped into the bucket, and she retrieved a torpid leech. She warmed it in her hands, letting it smell the blood that lay close to the fine skin of her fingers.
“Pray tell, Don Julius,” she said, to keep his mind engaged as she rolled the mouth of a leech to the thin skin of his ankle. “What is the Coded Book of which you and Doctor Mingonius speak?”
Don Julius leaned back, savoring her touch as she held the leech to the prominent vein above the sole of his foot. It bit and he flinched, smiling slowly.
“You pretend you do not know the book, and yet you are one of its principal players! As you are in the bathhouse below.”
Marketa’s skin prickled. She did not like that Don Julius knew anything about her life, but the bathhouse was in plain view from his window. Clients arrived rumpled and dirty and emerged wet and clean.
“What does my mother’s bathhouse have to do with an enchanted book?” she demanded.
“Ah,” said Don Julius. “When you stepped from its pages, you must have lost your memory, your mind is befuddled. You have always been a bathmaid, and a most seductive one. You are the one of slim hips with a cherub hiding behind you, peeking around your waist.”
Marketa pressed her lips together tight in frustration. “I have a perfectly good memory, and I have never seen or heard of any such Coded Book, nor of bathing angels and cherubs. This is a delusion, a product of the humors that swirl unbalanced in your head.”
Don Julius sighed, a sad look overtaking his face. “Pity to forget your origins. Still, you must hold the secrets, if only we could persuade you to remember.”
This conversation is not going well, thought Marketa as she moved a leech to another point on his leg. He does not follow reason; he lives in his own fantastical world. She took a deep breath. She needed to know more.
It was she who would play mad now.
“Perhaps you are right—I have forgotten my origins,” she said. “But if I were to see the pages, I might remember.”
Don Julius straightened and looked down at her.
“You are so clever! Yes, I will procure the book and share it with you! You will help me decode it, once you see your world again in its pages. And then my father the king will find favor in me once more and we will return to Prague together to be married!”
Marketa fished another leech from the bucket. The king indulged his eldest son generously, even if he was mad as a rabid dog. His fine clothes, his stable of horses, a dozen servants. His own castle and estate. What would he give his son were he to behave as a normal man? The stars in the heavens above, all manner of riches. But marry a common bathmaid? The thought was, itself, a symptom of his madness.
Marketa knew better than to argue with a madman.
She realized that his behavior at this point was beyond his control, but perhaps if he had some objective clearly focused in his mind, his behavior could change. After all, they were wringing the bad humors from his blood, drop by drop.
“I want you to pretend that I have never seen or lived in the book,” she said. “Imagine you were speaking to a stranger and explain the contents of the magical book in all of its splendor.”
“Ah!” he said. “A game? But you will laugh at me, because I cannot know its depths—it is undecipherable to man.”
“Ah, but that is what I want—to know what a mortal perceives. While the leeches purge your humors, tell me your story.”
Don Julius looked down at the leeches at his legs and ankles, and then back to Marketa’s face.
“It is the work of a magician, a sorcerer, a hermetic,” he began, closing his eyes. “The symbols speak of the marriage of the moon and sun, the polar opposites, as in the Kabbalah or the Hermetic Principles of Egypt. The first section deals with all sorts of plants, flowers, and herbs used for medicines. A catalog collected by witches and sorcerers. Recipes conveyed from an ancient’s toothless mouth to the tender ear of the next generation through the ages.
“The next quires are dedicated to the zodiac and the stars, a study of the heavens. You and your sisters mark the twelve signs of the zodiac—bathmaids crowded into the circle, your breasts and nipples erect above the barrel’s rim. All are pregnant, except you. You appear slim-hipped, by far the most beautiful and the most seductive. You are the only virgin.”
Marketa blushed but was too fascinated for the color to remain in her cheeks for long. What was the point of being modest in front of a madman?
“It is you who hold the deepest secrets,” he went on. “You protected me.” He fell silent for a long moment, then spoke in a smaller voice. “You kept away the evil voices. You saved me from them. And then...” His voice tapered off, halting, uncertain, as if it came from far away.
And then, silence. Don Julius slumped in his chair in a swoon, tears running down his cheeks, as the bleeding finally took its toll.
CHAPTER 19
A CHANCE FOR PEACE
In the hunting lodge near Katterburg, Austria, torches flickered in the darkness. Here, amid the dense foliage of pine and beech, not far from the front lines of the war against the Ottomans, lay the sanctuary of Matthias, archduke of Upper and Lower Austria.
Matthias’s father, Emperor Maximillian II, had inherited a hunting lodge on this spot, but it had burned to the ground. One day when Matthias was hunting, he had seen the charred remains of the lodge and, near it, the clear waters of a spring. The bubbling fount pooled against the green grass and rocks, shaded by a canopy of great beech trees.
The waters sparkled innocent and pure. Matthias tied his horse to a nearby tree, removed his riding boots, and dangled his bare feet in the cool waters.
He called it Schönbrunn—beautiful spring.
And though the Katte
rburg property lay within the domain of Rudolf’s empire, it was Matthias who fell in love with the spot and swore to restore it.
Being one of sixteen children, Matthias did not have a close relationship with his father, and really only knew him by gazing at the oil portraits of the emperor in Hofburg Palace. Emperor Maximillian had brought peace to the kingdoms of Moravia, Austria, Bohemia, and Hungary. Though he had no time for his many children, he had found time to cultivate tulips in his beloved hrad gardens in the city of Prague.
How Matthias longed to behold a tulip now, a sign of peace and tranquility. Only with respite from war could one occupy oneself with planting bulbs and pruning fruit trees.
Matthias spat on the ground, thinking of the lush beauty of his brother Rudolf’s hrad gardens, cultivated by a royal physician no less. What was his name—Horcicky? A physician should leave the pruning shears to a gardener and instead administer to the ranks of the dying soldiers littering the countryside of Hungary. But Rudolf kept the doctor tending orchids in Prague.
How could his brother dare breathe such sweet perfumes as lilacs and jasmine when the borders of his own kingdom burned!
Their father had brought peace during his reign. He had turned a deaf ear to the pope and had given Protestants equal rights, stifling the beginnings of the Reformation. Maximillian had paid tribute to the Ottomans to purchase peace in Hungary. He ruled a far-flung empire without the fires of war.
Matthias felt a connection to his father in Schönbrunn that did not exist during the emperor’s lifetime. The peace and tranquility of the Austrian countryside gave him strength and clear vision after the stench and smoke of war. He longed to find a way to bring peace to the Holy Roman Empire, just as his father had once done.
On that first day by the spring, Matthias had stared down at the clear waters, untainted by battle, greed, and power. Upon his return to Linz, he had commanded that the lodge be rebuilt, so he could enjoy his solitude in the green hills of Austria.
Matthias had grown weary of war. As a young man of twenty, he had joined forces with the Protestants against his own uncle, Felipe II of Spain, in the battle for control of the Netherlands. It was a reckless adventure that enraged the entire Hapsburg family, but it branded him as the Soldier King, distinguishing him indelibly from his hermit-like brother Rudolf.
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