HS02 - Days of Atonement

by Michael Gregorio

  I hesitated for a moment.

  ‘I am not sure,’ I whispered. ‘General Katowice told me that Gottewald died as the result of an accident, nothing more. As you guessed, my movements have been severely hampered since I arrived. No one will speak to me. I know no more than you reported of his death.’

  ‘What more is there to know?’ the doctor murmured.

  I had the impression that he wished to cut short the conversation. He had taken a risk in speaking to me, but he had mistaken his man. Now, he feared the consequences.

  ‘That must be obvious, Doctor Korna. It did not sound like an accident to me. You reported what you saw, but I would like to know what was going through your mind as you examined the body. Wouldn’t you describe the death of an officer in such dramatic circumstances as being suspect? He was resented for some reason, I gather, though what he might have done I cannot say. Your report had been fouled with excrement, for one thing!’

  A strange rumbling sound came from the man.

  ‘Ah, you met Rochus,’ he replied, trying to suppress his laughter. ‘Didn’t the little patriot tell you what it meant?’

  ‘A mark of cowardice,’ I said. ‘But what was cowardly in such a death? That is what I do not comprehend. I suspect that Gottewald was murdered.’

  ‘Silence, sir!’ he hissed. ‘This place is dangerous. We might not be alone for long. Pull up your breeches, and follow me.’

  He tugged me up roughly from the bench, and waited while I adjusted my clothing. In silence he led me out into the corridor, turning away from the stairs that I had used to descend to the latrines. At the far end, there was another staircase, which we began to climb in the dark without the help of any light.

  Up one flight, then another, then a third.

  We stopped on a landing, and I heard a key being turned in a lock.

  ‘We are in the highest tower of the north-west bastion,’ he whispered. His hand touched my arm, guiding me into a room which was dimly lit by moonlight. I watched attentively as he locked the door behind us. There was a peculiar odour in the room, as if it were a store for meat or butter. If it was a larder, I thought, the meat had turned, the butter had gone off.

  ‘We are safer here,’ the doctor said, ‘but keep your voice down. We must not be seen together. If I help you, perhaps you can do something for me.’

  Again I did not understand what he was hinting at. But the fact that he was willing to speak was enough for me. ‘If I can help you, I will,’ I promised.

  ‘Fair enough, sir,’ he said, as if a bargain had just been driven between us. ‘Tell me what you wish to know about Gottewald.’

  ‘You reported severe lacerations to the man’s face, crushing blows to the body, damage to his sexual organs,’ I replied. ‘Were such wounds compatible with a training exercise out in the woods?’

  ‘Do you know anything about the deer hunt?’ Korna asked.

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘They take it very seriously here. I’ve seen many soldiers who have died while running in the forest, and some of their injuries would surprise you. Gottewald was not the worst, by any means,’ he said with a deep sigh. ‘If you believe he was killed, Herr Stiffeniis, I can provide no medical evidence to support your claim.’

  I was silent for some moments. The physician had put paid to my hopes of ever convincing Lavedrine that my theory was correct.

  ‘What sort of man was he?’ I asked.

  ‘A Prussian officer,’ he replied quietly. ‘One of the best. One of Katowice’s own. Wherever the general went, Major Gottewald was sure to follow. They had been together in Königsberg, I believe. Gottewald was carrying important despatches for the general when he got caught up in the battle at Jena. He fought valiantly, by all accounts. When the battle was lost, he made his escape alone by night, and managed to return through the enemy lines all the way to Königsberg castle, where Katowice still held out against them.’

  ‘Quite a deer hunt!’ I commented.

  ‘When the Armistice was signed, the men of Königsberg garrison were allowed to march out bearing arms, and Katowice withdrew to Kamenetz. Gottewald followed him here a short time later. Always at the great man’s heel. They say he saved Katowice’s life when the general’s hand was severed during the fighting, making a tourniquet out of his own shirt.’ He paused, as if to add weight to what was to come. ‘If Katowice is bent on training the next generation of Prussian heroes, Bruno Gottewald shared his ideals, and assisted him to the utmost. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were up above the clouds at this very moment, petitioning God to bring an army of angels to the aid of General Katowice and Prussia.’

  ‘The apotheosis of a hero,’ I said, astounded at this singular description. ‘He had a wife and children, though he did not bring them here.’

  ‘Could not,’ Doctor Korna interposed. ‘The general won’t have them in the fortress.’

  ‘So I heard,’ I admitted, ‘but didn’t Gottewald ever speak of his wife? Did he never talk of his boys? Didn’t he want them to follow him into the army?’

  ‘This may surprise you,’ the doctor began, ‘but I can tell you absolutely nothing about Major Gottewald. Nor can anyone else in Kamenetz.’ He hesitated for an instant. ‘Except for General Katowice . . .’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gottewald was a loner,’ Korna replied. ‘He sought solitude, and the general, for reasons known only to himself, allowed that man to have a private room. I am obliged to retire to my infirmary when I want peace and quiet. Like many others, I asked for similar privileges, but Herr General was his usual, inflexible self. Gottewald was his favourite. I had no idea he even had a wife and family. Isn’t that odd? I thought he was wedded to the army. You asked General Katowice, I take it?’

  ‘It didn’t get me far,’ I said. ‘He referred me to your report.’

  Doctor Korna let out a long thoughtful sigh.

  ‘Which takes your enquiries nowhere,’ he said at last.

  We stood in silence, face to face in the stench and the gloom.

  In retrospect, it seemed as if both of us were waiting cautiously for the other to make some offer, or suggest some compromise, like hungry men bartering fish for flesh in a meagre market.

  ‘I may be able to point you in the right direction,’ he said, but he did not say what he had in mind.

  ‘Which direction is that?’ I asked.

  ‘You must help me, sir. You are a magistrate. You’ve been sent here on an important mission. You must have important friends.’

  I thought of Dittersdorf, and even Lavedrine, though I was wise enough to wait before I spoke of the Frenchman.

  ‘What of it?’ I said.

  ‘Friends with friends in Berlin, perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I echoed.

  ‘To be frank,’ the doctor said, moving closer, placing his hand on my arm, ‘I must get away from this place. I am being slowly poisoned here. The air . . . Can’t you smell it? The air in Kamenetz is foul! They can send me east or west, north or south, I do not care. However, Potsdam would be nice . . .’

  ‘If you have any information that can assist my investigation,’ I said, ‘I will do everything in my power to help you. I can give no guarantees, but I hold a promise to be a serious matter.’

  ‘Well said, Herr Magistrate!’ he replied, but he added nothing, waiting for me to state the conditions of our complicity.

  ‘What information can you add to what I know already?’ I insisted.

  The doctor looked around, as if he feared some spy might be lurking behind the three metal-hooped vats that filled the far end of the room. Even by moonlight I could see that they were large.

  ‘Gottewald was second-in-command to General Katowice. Have you stopped to ask yourself what he was doing, running from the hounds on a cold winter morning? Such an exercise is not meant for an officer, not even the least of them. In the name of God, what was First Major Gottewald doing, racing half-naked at dawn over dangerous ground with a pack of
trained men chasing at his heels?’

  I considered this for a moment. ‘Rochus told me that there’s nothing difficult or dangerous about it . . .’

  ‘Those men were not raw recruits!’ he interposed.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ I said, ‘but the boy said it is a game, and nothing more.’

  ‘Take everything that Rochus tells you with a pinch of salt,’ the doctor warned. ‘A pinch? A shovelful! The officers at Kamenetz study theory, tactics, logistics, the strategy of warfare. They sit at tables and drink tea. They leave the “deer hunt” to Rochus and the other boys.’

  He said no more, but seemed to be listening for any sound that might suggest that we had been discovered. Suddenly, turning back to me with decision, he said, ‘Come, sir. For my part of the bargain, I’ll show you the treasure of Kamenetz.’

  Turning away, he pointed to the vats at the far end of the room.

  ‘We must be careful,’ he warned, leading me towards them. ‘We’ll need light. One minute, no more. An enemy can spot the glimmer of a candle a mile away.’

  As he spoke, he dropped on one knee and sparks exploded on the floor, throwing dramatic shadows onto the wall. He stood up clasping a peculiar little device in his hand, shading a tiny, flickering flame.

  ‘Hold it, would you?’ he said, offering me the short length of what looked like a shorn-off gun barrel. A flint had been secured to one end with a clamp, and a length of tarred hemp passed inside the metal tube and out at the bottom. It was an ingenious little lamp.

  Those vats might have been bathtubs, except for the fact that they were chest-high and covered with metal lids. Doctor Korna prepared to open one by pulling on a hinged lever. But first, he stared at me with great intensity.

  ‘One glance,’ he warned as he pulled, ‘then douse that flame.’

  The lid came up, I looked inside, and my head began to spin.

  Suddenly, the light went out. The smell of aqua vitae was overwhelmingly strong. Doctor Korna had blown out the flame none too soon. ‘The whole place might explode,’ he hissed.

  Still, I had seen what I had seen.

  ‘Heads?’ I breathed.

  ‘The private collection of General Katowice. Frenchmen, for the most part,’ he whispered. ‘An occasional Prussian traitor. Now you’ve seen them, let’s get out of here.’

  I reached for his arm in the dark, and held him back.

  ‘What does this mean, sir?’ I asked.

  ‘It means that we are in the hands of maniacs, Herr Procurator. The general pays von Schill a bounty for each French body that he brings in. Then I am required to do the dirty work.’

  ‘Major von Schill comes to Kamenetz?’

  The threat that the major had pronounced as he robbed me took on new meaning: ‘Betray the general,’ he had snarled, ‘I’ll search you out in hell and have that head off your shoulders!’

  ‘He is an honoured guest whenever he brings a trophy of war. For fear of being branded a traitor, I have been obliged to use my surgical instruments on numerous occasions. I must escape from here!’

  ‘Did Gottewald know?’ I asked.

  ‘So close to Katowice? Of course, he knew. And he approved. The Prussia they want will be a fearsome place. A better place, or worse, I do not know. But it will be free of the French and their sympathisers.’

  ‘Is this why you wrote to Berlin? You thought I’d come to investigate?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Korna replied. ‘But I was wrong. No one will come. Katowice will build a vat that’s big enough for all the French in Prussia. And I will probably join them. Help me, sir. For the love of God, help me leave this mad-house. I pray at night that the enemy will come and end this nightmare.’

  THE BURAN WAS howling like a dirge the following morning.

  Flakes of snow flew like scraps of paper in wild flurries.

  Though relieved to be going home, I prepared myself to face the dangers of the road, the risk of meeting Baptista von Schill and his brigands again. I took a final look back, wondering what had happened to the boy. I had expected to find Rochus waiting outside my door that morning, but he was not there. I thought to see him standing in the yard as we boarded the vehicle. There was no sign of him. As Egon Eis cracked his whip and the horses pulled away, I almost hoped that he would run to curse me out of the fortress.

  But even there, I was disappointed.

  As the coach rolled down the hill and into the woods encircling the fortress, I spotted flames among the trees. I wiped the condensation from the window with my glove, but the rapid motion of the vehicle made it difficult to see what was going on. A group of figures stood in a circle holding torches, with two more in the centre—one very tall, the other short, face to face. A man, and a boy.

  I opened the window and leant out, but the scene had already disappeared behind the trees. Suddenly, a strangled cry broke the silence of the woods. It was not unlike the howling of a wolf, but I was certain that the voice was human.

  I pulled the window up to avoid hearing more, and felt guilty as I did so.

  I could not shake the boy soldier from my thoughts.

  Was that the vision I would carry away from Kamenetz?

  Rochus being whipped for his failure to watch over me through the long, cold night?

  17

  WE HAD BEEN travelling in a frozen daze since dawn on the second day.

  A rose-coloured sky and the pale lemon ghost of a winter sun heralded my approach to Lotingen. But long before the coach entered town, the wind blew up a gale and a mass of dark storm-clouds came charging in from the coast, wiping out the changeling beauty of that brittle winter evening.

  The church bells were chiming six o’clock as the carriage pulled up outside the shadow of the Rossbach Gate. Night had fallen like a heavy curtain over Lotingen. As I took off my gloves to lower the window-sash, my fingers seemed to attach themselves to the brass frame. Thrusting my head out of the coach, looking for the guard, eager to be admitted, the cold nipped viciously at my nose and ears. A knot of French soldiers were huddling around a brazier outside the guardroom. The fierce wind toyed and tugged at the raging flames, forcing the men to pull their hands away for fear of being scorched.

  I was so relieved to be home, I smiled at the gendarme who grudgingly left the warmth and the firelight and came across to inspect my papers. That Frenchman stared at me with bulging eyes from beneath the visor of his sweat-stained shako, growling something that was not intended to be welcoming as he pulled a percussion pistol from his belt and cocked the hammer, snatching the travel documents rudely out of my hand.

  ‘Where are you bound?’ he growled.

  I wanted to say that I was going home, but decided against this in an instant, and gave him a different address. He nodded sourly, thrust the papers back into my hand, and looked at me with evident mistrust.

  ‘One hour, Herr Magistrate, then get off the streets. You’ll find yourself locked up in a cell if you don’t.’

  Egon Eis cracked his whip at the horses, and the carriage passed noisily beneath the medieval gate and onto the cobbled streets of town. Looking out as the vehicle made its way along Frederikstrasse, I was suddenly struck by the oddness of everything. Not one single shop was open. All the houses were closed and shuttered, too. There was no sign of life, no hint of commerce, though we were passing through the heart of Lotingen. I tried to dampen down my fears: the wind was freezing, the curfew almost upon us, and heavily armed French patrols on every corner were not good for trade. Even so, something was out of kilter.

  ‘Can you go no faster?’ I shouted up to Eis.

  My wife and children had been left alone in a city where a massacre had taken place. I had abandoned them. Just like Gottewald . . . The thought struck home with force. In Kamenetz I had been so busy, I had not had time to think of private concerns. Now, I was anxious to conclude the business and hurry home. In the meantime, I could only pray that Lavedrine had kept his promise to look out for the safety of my family.

  As t
he hooves of the horse clattered loudly, echoing off the dark walls in the tomb-like silence, I realised that the only light in the whole street was our carriage-lamp. None of the lanterns had been lit that night. As I gazed out of the window, mentally urging Eis to go faster and faster, the shadow of my driver rippled along the walls in a broken silhouette. He might have been the only soul left alive in the entire town. Then again, I thought, he might have been the Angel of Death, scurrying from house to house, striking down the first-born.

  Had there been another murder? Had another family been massacred?

  The carriage skidded violently, turning left, then speeded up again.

  After a quarter of a mile, the holly hedge and kitchen garden of my home appeared. All closed, all shuttered, not a single light was shining to welcome me. Then again, they did not expect me, and I was not going home. Not yet. I looked the other way with pangs of regret as the house fell behind.

  At last, the carriage wheels crunched along familiar gravel, then drew to a halt.

  The building was steeped in darkness. Eight graceful Corinthian columns and a triangular pediment above, a broad flight of shallow stone steps below. As I glanced out of the window, I noticed that not all of the shutters had been closed. There was a glimmer of light in one of the rooms on the ground floor.

  ‘Give me your lamp,’ I said as I jumped to the ground.

  ‘Stopping long, sir?’ Eis asked wearily.

  His voice was hoarse, weak with exhaustion. He had set his sights on a hot meal, strong ale, and a warm bed.

  ‘I won’t keep you much further,’ I replied.

  The iron knocker was cast in the shape of a Prussian eagle. I let it fall three times on the front door. My attention was caught, as it always was, by signs of rude entry which a French axe had left in the oak panels the year before. Like every other inhabitant in the town, I puzzled over why the damage had never been set to rights. The householder was not short of money. Our more malicious neighbours claimed that the damage had been left untouched to remind the world that the victim of this outrage was a Prussian. That scar was meant to prove that he was not a traitor, but was only doing his duty as a public figure.