by Alma Boykin
István crossed himself and Meciar said, “Thanks be to God.” Sometimes István envied the Calvinists’ bone-deep acceptance of the Lord’s will and the calm it seemed to give them.
“The only things I believe are certain are that the sun will rise in the east, my son will get into mischief, and whatever is decided within the empire will please no one.” István gave the 1914 map a wistful look.
“I suspect you are correct, my lord. All the more reason for us,” Meciar’s gesture took in all the lands on the maps, “to decide for ourselves before the men in Paris carve us up as they have the Ottoman Empire.”
That too. Although István had a suspicion that the self-proclaimed Young Turks were more than happy to be shed of the Arab raiders. Losing the Levant might not go down as easily.
“Well, Mr. Meciar, is there anything you need from Vienna?” Gabor asked.
“More time, my lord, and the service of some of the big beer-dray teams to move my household. I would prefer to stay where I am, but my wife is Hungarian, and we speak Hungarian at home. Our neighbors have expressed doubts as to our safety if we remain, so we’re moving south to Vézprem. I have business associates there.” He sounded philosophical. “But I had no idea how much the household has acquired since I married. Four children, my books and business materials, Suzanna’s plants . . .”
“Wait. You are moving plants?” Gabor blinked, confused.
Meciar smiled a little. “Yes, my lord. Suzanna grows herbs and medicinal plants for the city ladies. And she is not content with taking seeds, my lord, oh no.”
István realized with a sinking feeling that he needed to start seriously considering leaving Kassa. He did not want to, but if the border shifted, or the Social Democrats came to power and decided to attack their parliamentary opponents, he could lose everything. And without Barbara, well, Nagymatra and Budapest would serve well. And held fewer memories of his late wife.
“Let me know if you need a wagon,” he said. “The lumber business has slowed and we have men and teams looking for work.” And he owed Meciar for his assistance in the diet.
“I may do that, my lord, at least to get things to the rail-yard. Thank you.”
Talk shifted to other topics. The next morning, István and Attila Gabor left for Vienna. Both men kept wary eyes on their fellow passengers and the railroad workers, alert for signs of trouble. They caught a few angry looks, but so did every man not in railroad uniform or dressed like a farm laborer. Finally, as the train pulled out of Pressburg for Vienna, Gabor closed his book. “What ever became of the anarchists?”
“Hmm?” István had been thinking, watching the Danube River flowing beside them to the south. “Ah, you know, they did seem to vanish not long before the war started, didn’t they?”
A conductor cleared his throat. “A sirs, I apologize for disturbing you, but I must ask you to speak German, if you can,” he said in heavily accented Hungarian. “The lady behind you is growing concerned and agitated, and demands to know what you are talking about and if she should turn you in for plotting something.”
Before István could reply, Gabor said in careful but very heavily accented German, “Must it be German? I have some difficulty with the language.”
“No, sir, but if you just stop speaking Hungarian, at least for now, please.”
István barely caught the wink. “Very well.” Gabor turned and continued in careful Latin, “Could the war have shown the anarchists just what their world would look like?”
It took a little work, but István cobbled together an answer in Latin, using a little Italian where he needed to. “It may have, given the stories from the west. I suspect they did not like it.”
Gabor’s command of Latin surprised István, given that the man was not a son of the Church. Then he realized that, like the other mid-ranking Magnates of Hungary, Gabor still spoke Latin at home, and probably Hungarian and Romanian or Saxon with his peasants and workers. He’d learned German later, as his accent showed.
After a few more minutes of Latin, the men returned to their reading. The concerned woman got up and made her way past them, and István caught her trying to read their book titles and newspapers. Gabor had the royalist paper from Vienna and István was struggling through a book on German forest law. The square faced, plump woman frowned as she continued on. Ah well, István sighed, they’d be in Vienna soon and she could make a fool of herself if she so desired. His and Gabor’s imperial passes would end the matter, should she decide to report them to the police for some reason.
Nothing surprising occurred until their taxi carriage reached the wall of the inner city. István felt an elbow in his ribs and startled. “What?”
“Look!”
The wall now sported large holes where sections had been removed. The gateways stood empty, the gates missing or leaning against the walls, off their hinges. István realized that his mouth had sagged open and he closed it. “You don’t think the Entente?”
Gabor’s face went hard. “I suspect so. His Majesty will not be able to lock himself inside the walls and defy the Entente if he has no walls to hide behind.”
The Hotel Sacher swarmed with men in foreign uniforms, speaking French and what sounded like Dutch. One of the soldier’s tunics bore an unfamiliar flag along with that of Britain. Sounds Dutch, but with a British insignia? South African colony, that must be it, István realized. He did not care to share the building with the enemy, but he obviously had no choice.
“It could be worse,” Gabor said under his breath later that night, as they walked to St. Stephen’s Cathedral square. “The French seized General Lord Schwarzenberg’s residence, the one not far from the Belvedere, and are using that as their so-called embassy instead of the one within the walls.”
István managed not to swear.
He did not bother to hide his anger the next morning, letting his eyes shift as he listened to Duke Ernest Jindrich Zibulka z Kolovrat explain the situation to the other House heads. «His Grace Archduke Rudolph sends his apologies for his delay. It seems the Italian delegation has begun making threats about seizing the Tirol as well as demanding the Adriatic coast and Trent. He is speaking with General Schwarzenberg and several others about what, if any, options his people have. His Grace hopes to join us soon.» The indigo-and-black noble did not look or sound optimistic.
Prince Arnaulf von Taxis took up the task of addressing the other House Heads and Guardians. “My lords, His Majesty and the I Council have, after much prayerful consideration and debate, agreed to accept the Entente’s demands as they become known. However, they have also insisted that, in turn, the Entente accept the decisions of the residents of the empire should they vote for self-determination and any borders that result from those votes. The Entente has already said that they do not recognize Russia’s claim to half of Poland, and you are aware of the loss of Silesia?”
Angry mutterings showed that the twenty or so men, women, and True-dragons had indeed heard, although a few hisses and growls suggested not everyone agreed with His Majesty’s thoughts on the matter.
Prince Taxis continued, “At present, barring intervention by the Entente and Americans, it appears that the empire will break into three countries and two provinces: a German-speaking Austria that will include the crown lands, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and the provinces of Kraina and Galicia. His Majesty has dissolved the Imperial Council and devolved the appropriate powers to the diets of Austria and Hungary, and waits to hear the decisions from the Czech lands. Thus far, the residents of Kraina and Galicia have shown little desire to join Russia or Serbia—or Italy.” He looked across the room, trying to find someone. “Frau von Brixen, have you heard otherwise?”
Leona von Brixen, clad in black and with dark circles under her eyes, stood. “Your Highness, my lords, I have not. House Brixen has decided to remain with Austria and the rest of the Tirol if at all possible, understanding that we may not be given the option. Although it seems that the Italians have some difficulties of thei
r own in the north, as Venice has expressed the desire to secede from Roman Italy over economic favors done for Naples and the southern quarter of the peninsula.”
A few quiet chuckles and murmurs of “I’m not surprised,” followed her words.
“Count Starhemburg, your thoughts?”
Felix Starhemberg rose. All István could see of him was the back of his head, and it appeared that he’d begun losing his hair, if the faint sheen under the blond strands told the truth. Felix looked thinner than he had the last time they’d crossed paths. “Your Highness, my lords, I must regret to inform you that House Starhemburg has split into three factions. Two remain within the House and have agreed to cooperate, but a quarter of our members, all humans or HalfDragons, opted to move south or east in hopes of joining an independent Croatian state. They expressed no concern about the Entente’s threat to split Kraina off and give it to the Serbs along with Bosnia as part of a greater South Slav state.” His shoulders rose and fell in either a sigh or a shrug. “I am sorry Your Highness, my lords. I tried to keep them with us, but they refused.”
Damn, that must hurt. And hurt to have to report, István thought, wincing a little inside. Murmurs rose and fell among the House Heads and Guardians.
“Thank you, Count Starhemberg, and be assured that none of us feel anything but sympathy and respect for your efforts,” Prince Taxis assured Felix.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Felix bowed and sat.
A hand waved, and Prince Taxis nodded. Zoltan Szecheny got to his feet. “Your Highness, can you give us any news about the status of the eastern border?”
Taxis hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I believe Prince Rozemberk is better able to address that topic than am I.”
The sunrise-and-peach True-dragon stood, nodded a little to Prince Taxis, and turned so he could see the group. The light glinted off the glasses perched on his muzzle. «Lords of the Houses, red war is raging in Transylvania. Count Gabor, it began this morning very early, shortly after midnight. The Romanians have pushed us back several kilometers, but for the moment the Army appears to be holding fast. That is all they are trying to do: hold the line, while His Majesty’s government and the Hungarian Diet are protesting to the Entente powers.»
Attila Gabor blanched, his face turning sickly greenish-white. “Thank you, Your Highness.” He wrote furiously on a small notepad, as if composing a telegram.
«You are welcome. The larger news is confusing, to put it mildly. Colonel de Estang Guiscard, the French liaison from the Paris meetings, claims that our forces must pull back to the Tisza. However, the British and American military advisors have no knowledge of such a requirement, so His Majesty’s government is ignoring the claim. The Romanians have also attacked Serbia, which is in the process of trying to annex Fuime. There are rumors, though nothing firm, that an Italian adventurer is also attempting to seize Fuime, in which case His Majesty may opt to wait for the two to exhaust each other and then retake the city.» Prince Rozemberk rolled his eyes and draped his tail over his forefeet. «But do not speak of any of this outside this chamber, and even here telepathically if possible.»
István sat up at that. Did they not trust the servants? No, he realized, they could not be certain what the Entente might do and did not want to raise the enemy’s ire by revealing too much. And the news could encourage nationalists to take actions that everyone might regret. If the expulsions in Romanian Transylvania spread, István could only too well imagine the results. Although it would serve the Entente bastards right, he growled behind his shields, to step into a smoking wasteland and find themselves taking sniper fire from all sides. I believe that is called “marching through the Balkans.”
As the House leaders discussed things quietly, István heard hinges squeak. Part of the ornately papered wall behind Prince Taxis and Duke Zibulka z Kolovrat began to open, and István felt an all-too familiar mental presence. He shifted his weight so he could stand. A lean, brown-haired man with odd, almost tan-colored eyes appeared, a slight smile on his lips. He wore travelling clothes and looked a little tired. István, Prince Heiko Windischgrätz, and a few others got to their feet as Archduke Rudolph Thomas Martin von Habsburg stalked into the room. He nearly got within touching distance of Prince Taxis before most of the group noticed him. The surprise, and the surge of bows and salutes, spread Rudolph’s smile wider. “Thank you. You may rise and then be seated.” He sounded hoarse, as if he was recovering from a cold, or had been shouting.
“I apologize for not being present to greet you, but events in the Tirol demanded personal attention. For that reason, Count Drachenburg sends both greetings and regrets. The Galician situation further complicates matters, although certain aspects of it appear to be resolving.” Rudolph took a deep breath, exhaled, inhaled, and continued, “His Majesty sends his greetings as well. He is en route to Prague to meet with the Archbishop and others.” Rudolph caught István’s eye and gave him a significant look. “And to speak with a group from Lemberg concerning the matter of Galician governance.”
Prince Windischgrätz raised one hand, a hand that trembled ever so slightly. “Yes?” Rudolph said.
“Ah, Your Grace, we have not heard from the three Houses formerly in Galicia. Does Your Grace have any knowledge of their status?” The man sounded very young and a little scared. Well, István could understand the first part.
So did Rudolph. “First, Prince Windischgrätz, allow me to express both my and His Majesty’s condolences on the death of your mother, the dowager princess, and our congratulations on your accession.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, and please convey my thanks to His Majesty. As Your Grace is aware, her passing came as a surprise.” He paused and added, “Not the least to Mother, I’m sure.” A faintly wry smile appeared then faded, and many in the room nodded their agreements. Privately, István harbored doubts that the dowager had been anything other than appalled to discover herself deceased. He’d always regarded her as immortal and unchanging, as well as slightly terrifying.
Rudolph nodded. “As to your question, yes, I do. I must regretfully inform you that House Kasparowicz and House Davidov have dissolved.” He took another deep breath before adding, “House Davidov left no survivors.”
István sat back, shocked to his core. Whispers and murmurs turned into a dismayed hum, and someone asked, “Your Grace, does anyone know what happened?”
Silence fell as Rudolph raised his hand. “It appears, though I do not have absolute confirmation of this, but it appears that the leadership of House Davidov approached a group of Russian soldiers to order them to depart House lands and return across the border. The remains of the Head, his Heir, and several other House members were found, all killed by bullet wounds, and the bodies of the True-dragons had been mutilated. Of the others I have not heard, but their main residence and the estate buildings were looted and burned, by whom it is not known.” Rudolph closed his eyes before continuing. “As you know, House Davidov suffered a great deal from the initial Russian attacks, as well as from the influenza that swept the region, and the cholera outbreak before that.
“House Potoki relocated into the reconstituted Poland from Lemberg and are waiting for the situation to stabilize. They may remain inside the new Poland, since their holdings within Galicia were never that large and no House members remain within the Galician borders.”
Rudolph let the men and women talk for several minutes. István caught his eye and tapped very lightly on Rudolph’s shields. Rudolph sent, «What?»
«Galicia’s still odd, Your Grace?»
«Yes. More so.»
The exchange took a fraction of a second and Rudolph dropped the contact. István sat back and considered the news, wondering what to do next and if there was any way to help the Matra prepare for what might happen.
“However, my lords and ladies,” Rudolph began. He stopped, a look of profound surprise on his face. He stepped to the side of the group, moving behind Prince Taxis and Duke Z
ibulka z Kolovrat. István caught a hint of motion in one of the decorative mirrors behind Rudolph, and saw a door behind them opening. Thus warned, he started rising to his feet.
A heavy weight thumped the floor three times, and a stentorian voice called, “Your Highnesses, Your Graces, my lords and ladies, gentlemen, His Majesty Josef Karl von Habsburg.”
As if by magic, the group moved in near unison, dividing, pulling chairs and benches out of the way, and turning to face the newly-created aisle. All bowed as His Majesty walked through the assembly to the front of the room. He stopped and turned to face them. “You may rise.”
Josef Karl looked old. Grey streaked his temples, wrinkles marked his eyes and lines around his mouth aged him, giving him a gravitas that belied his years. He wore his uniform and the order of the Golden Fleece, but no other signs of his rank. Only the Order, the elaborate signet ring on his right hand, and the air of age and dignity surrounding him, revealed who stood at the head of the meeting chamber. “Thank you for your presence here today. We know of your concerns, and those of you with families in the way of danger, we give you our deepest promise that our army is doing all it can to hold our lands safe.
“It was with great reluctance that I dissolved the Imperial Councils and devolved power to the diets and parliaments, with the exception of the Imperial Army. As you well know, the circumstances are such that attempting to break apart the army would be negligent to the point of sin. The rest I have put in the hands of the people of the empire, and in the hands of God. I would it were otherwise, but for the sake of the peoples of my empire, and for the Houses in all my lands, it must be done.”
I know who I trust to be wise, and it is not the people. But István bit his tongue and nodded. At this point, given the vendetta the Entente seemed to have against the empire and House Habsburg, unless he wanted the entire population between the lower Danube and Warsaw to die of starvation or massacred by Communists, well, István could understand what drove His Majesty to this point. We survived Napoleon, we survived the Turks, we’ll survive this. He let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the gold and blue, crystal and glass, and the ornate patterns inlaid into the parquet floor. This too would pass.