HS02 - Days of Atonement

by Michael Gregorio

  What could I say? Even in my own house, Lavedrine seemed to be the master of the situation. He set the cage down on the floor, pulled out the peg, and raised the door. A head appeared, then a body followed circumspectly. Like a man long imprisoned in a dungeon, the cat emerged from the confines of the cell, sniffing at the air, wary of the dangers of the place and its inhabitants.

  I poured two glasses of cider. My eyes were on the door, my ear on the ceiling above my head. Had Helena gone back to bed? Had she heard the Frenchman’s voice? Was that the reason she had not come down?

  ‘Take heart, Stiffeniis! I see the question hanging from your lips. What is this damned Frenchman doing at my door at dawn? And what is he doing in the company of a cat? I received my marching orders last night,’ he announced with a smile. ‘A coach will call for me here as soon as they have finished loading it. Military accoutrements only, I’m afraid. The rest I shall have to jettison,’ he said, offering his fingers to the cat, which purred loudly, and licked his hand as if it were a bit of beef. ‘I’ve been ordered East. I hope to make a decent start, and sleep tonight in a comfortable inn somewhere along the way. I mean to take no risks, seeing as I will not be travelling alone.’

  I thought he was referring to his cat.

  I offered the flagon, and refilled his glass. I drank some more, relieved at the news. The cat made its way about the room, looking curiously into every corner, its bushy silver tail raised like the sail of a fishing boat that was being driven forward by a gentle wind.

  ‘He is a most handsome creature,’ I offered, holding out my hand as the animal came close, expecting to be rebuffed. But the cat deigned to stop for a moment and sniff at my fingers, licking them with a rough, dry tongue, before proceeding with its minute inspection of the kitchen. ‘Where are you bound?’

  ‘In the same direction I was heading when we met at Dittersdorf’s feast,’ he replied. ‘I said goodbye to you and your wife that night, you may remember, never dreaming that events would throw us into such close and continuous proximity. I must attend upon the army, which is gathering close to the Russian border. Our engagement in the coming Spring will probably be with the Czar. Unless the emperor changes his mind, as he often does. I will have much to occupy me in Bialystok, no doubt.’

  I drained my cider in a single draught. The light-headed inebriation that I felt was not caused by the acidic warmth of the alcohol alone.

  ‘I read the papers you left last night with Mutiez,’ he went on, his eyes never shifting from his beloved cat, which had completed its inspection of the room, and settled itself comfortably on the kitchen mat close to the warmth of the fireplace. ‘What a tale of terror and persecution! I hope the new emancipation law will save others in the future. I countersigned your report, of course.’

  ‘I am pleased,’ I said. ‘But Dittersdorf will not be.’

  ‘I admire your honesty and courage,’ he added quietly. ‘A French contingent will set out for Kamenetz within the week. Given the importance of the expedition, a detachment of your Prussian forces has been requested to assist our men. Dittersdorf will have no choice but to authorise the attack. You won’t be eating roast pork at his table for quite some time, I fear.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘All sensible Prussians will be glad to rid themselves of such a danger. Kamenetz is a sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. If Katowice rebelled, and failed, the consequences for Prussia . . . Well, you know what they would be.’

  I recalled the ritual solemnity with which the officers in Kamenetz saluted the Grunfelde Standard, the fierceness of Rochus Kelding, his bayonet pointing at my throat, the raging nationalism of General Katowice, his belief in the ultimate survival of Prussia’s finest.

  ‘They will fight,’ I said, my heart battering painfully in my chest.

  ‘Not while their general is away,’ he countered. ‘He will be detained in Berlin. There could be no better moment to attack.’

  I closed my eyes and said a silent Amen. Whatever happened in Kamenetz, I would have to live with the consequences.

  ‘I gave orders to Mutiez to bury Frau Gottewald. He will tell you where, in case you decide to make some better arrangement.’ He drained his glass, and set it down on the table.

  ‘It is a shame,’ he continued, ‘that your attempt to reconstruct her appearance yielded nothing. I would have liked to include a portrait in the paper I intend to publish in Paris. It will make good reading. No names, of course, but Helena will be given the credit she deserves, together with the remarkable Frau Böll. I’ll post you a copy. In the future, I mean to study the utility of physiognomy in criminal identification. In all this time I have never ceased to wonder what she looked like.’ He shrugged. ‘Frau Gottewald, I mean.’

  I thought he was going to demand to see the drawing that I had begun with Aaron Jacob and completed to Helena’s specifications, but he skipped nervously from subject to subject, his eyes never far from the door.

  ‘I have also given orders for the soldiers to keep a closer watch on your house,’ he went on. ‘Until Kamenetz has been secured, you may be targeted.’

  The cat stood up suddenly, and began to stretch, raising himself up on the points of his paws, arching his back, yawning hugely. Then, he settled down again and began to clean his coat with his tongue.

  Lavedrine laughed quietly. ‘Our chatter does not interest Lionel. A warm hearth, a rug, a hand to feed and stroke him, and all his needs are met. The Stoics learnt a lot from cats, don’t you agree?’

  The cat came across at the sound of his name and began to rub his shoulder gently against the Frenchman’s leg, purring as loudly as a bumblebee. Lavedrine stroked the animal for quite some time without saying a word.

  ‘One thing torments me,’ he murmured.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I hope it torments you as well,’ he reproached me. ‘The Gottewalds—each one buried in a place where he or she does not belong. Isn’t that, somehow, wrong?’

  His eyes followed the cat, as it returned to the fireplace, and slowly sank down on the rug again. ‘You have acted correctly throughout this affair, and I commend you for it. I begin to see what Professor Kant saw in you. You do your duty without any compromise, disregarding all dangers. I realise that it has not been easy. After all, Prussia is your country, your hands were severely tied. I may sometimes have been over-hasty, and I apologise for not always taking you into my confidence. I gave less credit to your intuitions than was fair.’

  I had been thinking similar thoughts as I walked home from the cottage the previous evening. I had hampered him at every twist and turn, refusing to see what was obvious to him.

  He ran his hand nervously through his hair. ‘I was wondering,’ he said. ‘Might I say a word to Helena? There is something that I wish to ask her. If you don’t mind, of course.’

  ‘What do you wish to ask me?’

  We turned as one towards the kitchen door. Lavedrine shot up from his chair as if a trumpet had sounded the charge. He held the empty cider glass in his hand, looking more sheepish than I had ever seen him.

  Helena stepped into the light. She had thrown a heavy shawl of red wool over her nightdress, and was wearing the leather riding boots that I kept in the bedroom. They were large and heavy on me. On her they looked like wrinkled tree trunks; I marvelled that she had managed to come down the stairs without giving herself away. Her hair was a tangle of unruly curls which fell about her cheeks, and cascaded to her shoulders.

  ‘You glow like a sunflower, Helena!’ he exclaimed, his eyes bewitched.

  He made no attempt to hide his admiration.

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen one of those,’ she observed, a trace of colour in her cheeks. ‘In Prussia, there aren’t any sunflowers.’

  ‘In that case, you are the first, and the finest,’ he parried gallantly.

  The scene was more like a farce at the theatre than real life. A Frenchman was in my house, gazing fervently at my wife, paying her extravagant compliments, while I, the
husband, stood speechless, looking helplessly on. Helena, dressed up in a gigantic pair of boots, smiled back at the interloper.

  ‘I really came to speak to you,’ he said again.

  He turned to me, then looked away, but not in Helena’s direction. His glance darted here and there around the kitchen. ‘Where in heaven’s name is he?’ he asked.

  Helena skipped three paces to her right, as if those boots were ballet pumps. She bent beneath a chair, and came up holding a bundle of fur. ‘This, I take it, is Lionel,’ she said, hugging the cat to her breast.

  ‘I found him here in Lotingen,’ Lavedrine said. ‘I must always have a cat about me, and I always call him Lionel. In memory of the first kitten that I ever had. Cats do not like travelling, and I must journey far and wide. I did not know who else to ask. Helena, might you take care of him for me?’

  My wife cuddled the cat. Lionel responded by licking the tip of her nose.

  ‘The children will be delighted,’ she said. Suddenly, she frowned. ‘There are mice in my attic. Is he a good hunter?’

  Lavedrine laid one hand over his heart, and raised the other.

  ‘The best,’ he declared. ‘I solemnly swear in the presence of this magistrate.’

  ‘I hereby witness this solemn oath,’ I replied in mock seriousness.

  A heavy weight seemed to fall away from our hearts and spirits, a sense of oppression that I could neither describe, nor name. We laughed and crowded close together, fussing over the cat as the children would, the instant they saw him.

  A coach and horses pulled up outside the gate.

  ‘Time to go,’ Lavedrine announced with a farewell stroke of Lionel’s warm coat.

  He offered me his hand, and his eyes fixed on mine. He held my gaze, and I felt a warmth which appeared to be genuine.

  ‘Thank you, Hanno,’ he said. ‘You have helped me more than you know.’

  Then, he turned to Helena. He did not try to embrace her, as I thought he might. Instead, with a quick gesture, he raised his hand to the back of his head and unclipped the white bone ring which held his long hair in place. I had noticed it the day before at the Gottewald house.

  ‘With your permission, madame,’ he said, placing one steadying hand on her shoulder. His other hand caught the wild tresses of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This useful object’, he said, as he fastened the clip at the nape of her neck, ‘came back from Polynesia with a friend of mine. It is carved from a real whale’s tooth, and bears a native symbol signifying Love and Fortune.’

  His hands fell away and came to rest on Helena’s shoulders.

  ‘I hope that you will long enjoy those gifts.’ He looked at me. ‘Both of you. Now, sir, with your permission, may I chastely kiss your wife?’

  There was nothing sensual in his kiss. It was the fond salute of a dear friend, taking his leave, as if for ever. I made no protest, though Lionel did. Crushed between Lavedrine and Helena, the cat miaowed loudly and raised a paw, his claws snagging in the fabric of the Frenchman’s cloak. As Lavedrine drew back, the cat leapt lightly from Helena’s arms to the floor, then walked calmly across to the fireplace. He sat down on his haunches, watching us from the mat, as if the kitchen belonged to him, and we had intruded upon his domain.

  ‘Bravo, Lionel!’ laughed Lavedrine. ‘You are no longer master and mistress in your own house, my friends. His claws are sharp. Remember, Stiffeniis,’ he said, lightly tapping the pocket of his coat.

  I recalled the strange ring with a sharp short blade which had probably saved our lives the day that we were surrounded by the mob on the quay. ‘I sincerely hope that you will not need to use it where you are going,’ I said, as we made our way into the garden. That ring would hardly be a match for the bayonets, sabres, and muskets of the desperate Prussian rebels out in the East.

  Pale day had come, a cold wind was getting up.

  A compact two-wheeled carriage was waiting in the road, a young soldier sitting up in the driver’s seat. At his back, the roof was stacked high with an incredible array of trunks and boxes.

  Inside the darkness of the carriage, behind the glass, the profile of a person was barely visible.

  ‘You have a mountain of luggage,’ Helena noted wryly, her eyes narrowing as she took careful stock of the heavily laden vehicle, and especially of the human cargo carefully stowed away inside.

  Lavedrine shrugged helplessly.

  ‘Books and scientific instruments for the most part. The other bits and pieces’—he glanced my way, smiled apologetically, then turned back to my wife—‘do not belong to me. I don’t know when we will meet again, Helena, but I want you to keep a watchful eye on this fellow you have chosen as your companion.’ He waved a finger at me. ‘I have still not got the measure of him. Indeed, I am tempted to be poetic. Hanno’s soul is as vast, as dark, and as truly impenetrable as the night sky over East Prussia. Take good care of him!’

  ‘I shall,’ she promised, paying no attention to his poor poeticising or his fine sentiments. Her eye was fatally attracted by the presence in the coach. The pallid rays of the early morning sun were just sufficiently strong to reveal the outline of a large yellow bonnet and a high black collar.

  Lavedrine stepped up and opened the carriage door.

  We stood by the gate, shoulder to shoulder, watching him go. He might have been a relative or friend who was setting out on a long journey. But he was neither one, nor the other. Until very recently, I had thought of him as an enemy and a rival, an upstart Frenchman who had conquered my country, but not my affection.

  Lavedrine was halfway into the coach, when he suddenly spun round. ‘I almost forgot,’ he called back. ‘Mutiez will give orders to satisfy those particular requests you made in your report. He will respond to me if they are not carried out to the letter. He’ll be in touch the instant there is any news.’

  ‘If there is any news,’ I said.

  He waved his hand in the air. ‘There will be, I promise you.’

  I did not reply.

  I had been distracted by a hand catching hold of Lavedrine’s as he disappeared inside the coach. White, manicured, gloveless. Too long, too large to be feminine. I recognised those eyes that flashed in my direction from beneath that strange yellow, turban-like hat. As Lavedrine sat down on the far side of the vehicle, the white hand came up again, playing nervously with the long dark curls that fell shimmering to the shoulder and beyond.

  ‘A woman?’ Helena whispered, slipping her arm through mine.

  Her eyes were glued to the coach as the driver cracked his whip and the vehicle slowly pulled away.

  ‘A person,’ I replied. ‘To make the journey less tedious, I imagine.’

  41

  CHRISTMAS CAME, CHRISTMAS went.

  The most joyless Christmas ever known in Lotingen. The curfew was still in force, house-to-house visiting was restricted to the hours of daylight. The weather was unbearably cold. The Buran brought snow in the morning, freezing winds in the afternoon, more snow that night. Children were glum for Yuletide stockings hanging empty at the foot of their beds. Adults were grumpy for the lack of decent food on the festive table. Everything worth the eating had been carried off by the French quartermaster. But we fared better than most. Manni and Süzi had Lavedrine’s cat to distract them from the lack of treats, and Lotte had, somehow, managed to lay her hands on a pheasant.

  ‘Somehow?’ Helena echoed.

  ‘There’s a poacher in my village,’ the maid reported shyly.

  ‘Are we going to lose you, Lotte?’

  Lotte blushed, rolling out pastry for a pie that was large enough for ten, and lasted all the way through till New Year’s Eve.

  I heard the banter, and played my part in it, but the holiday washed over me, and left me untouched. My thoughts were in a far-off, distant place.

  It was Tuesday, 7 January, the day after the Epiphany, when I reopened the Procurator’s office. There was nothing of interest in the official despatches on my desk. As usual, K
nutzen was nowhere to be found. I was making up the fire when Lieutenant Mutiez appeared.

  ‘Bonne année, monsieur,’ he greeted me, waving a sheet of paper in his hand, smiling as if he had brought me a belated Christmas present. ‘The morning he left, Colonel Lavedrine informed me of your requests, instructing me to let you know what went on in Kamenetz. All seems to have gone according to plan.’

  He excused himself in the name of urgent duties, and I made no attempt to detain him, knowing that he would be able to tell me nothing more than the report contained. I sat down the instant that he left me alone. My hand was shaking, the paper trembled. Whatever had happened out there, I had caused it to happen.

  The battle in Kamenetz had raged for three days and nights before the rebels finally surrendered, throwing open the gate, allowing the combined force of French and Prussian besiegers to march in. It had taken another two weeks to decide what ought to be done with the men of the garrison. Most of them had been sent to ‘work under supervision’ (which meant forced labour) in French military installations scattered along the Baltic coast, though fourteen had died in the fighting.

  I found the news that I was looking for towards the bottom of the page.

  Until the end, Rochus Kelding had defended the fortress valiantly against the assault. Then, as night fell, he had led a group of boys out of the garrison by way of an underground tunnel known only to themselves. They had entered the nearby wood, and burrowed into the snow. Their plan was to surprise and slaughter the French troops and the Prussian ‘traitors’ as they attempted to withdraw from Kamenetz. But the Buran had brought an unexpected storm that night. Freezing winds and deep snow had trapped the French inside the fort for two days. When they did emerge, they found one of the boy soldiers wandering all alone. Wounded, black with frostbite. He recounted disobeying their leader, Rochus Kelding, digging himself out from beneath the icy crust with his bare hands. That boy had survived. The others had not. Including Rochus.