“And I am expected to be grateful for your actions?” Hero demanded, then grabbed his hand. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I’m behaving so dreadfully. I wish I knew what makes me—”
He lifted her hand, opened it, and kissed the palm. “You know why you struggle—you’ve told me. It is hard for you to take this on, and I know you will need time to come to terms with your emotions.” His dark eyes rested on her amber-brown ones. “You are a capable and intelligent woman, Hero, but at present you are locked in self-condemnation.”
She nodded, her face somber as she listened. “Comte—”
“I know you want to gather your sons around you and give yourself to them and to enshrining the memory of Annamaria, but that is unlikely to happen.” He waited while she considered this, then went on. “You are a most resourceful woman, and able to shoulder burdens many another would not. But that does not mean you must mourn for all of your family, or believe you have failed if their grief is not equal to your own.”
“That was never a question,” she protested.
“No?” He stroked her hair. “Dear Hero, you have taken on the unhappiness and sorrow of others since you were a child. Did you not deal with all the arrangements when your mother died, so that your father could heal himself through work?”
She looked perplexed. “That was what was needed.”
“You took it on,” he said, and let her pull him down beside her on the bed. “You never asked for so much as a single hour for yourself, did you?”
“I didn’t need an hour to myself,” she said, her voice brittle.
“No; you needed days and weeks to restore your frame of mind,” he said, continuing before she could argue the point. “Your father approved of what you did, and that, you decided, was all you required. But that was not true then any more than it is true now.”
“Someone had to help my father. He had work that had to be done, and he was filled with sadness for my mother. They had been married sixteen years.” Her sigh quivered.
“And you did well by her memory,” said Ragoczy, “little though you may think so.”
Hero leaned against his arm. “I could have done so much more,” she whispered. “I should have done more—then and now.”
“No one but you thinks the less of you for what you have done.” He could not see her face, but the tension in her body revealed much to him.
“I haven’t thanked you for putting the household into half-mourning. That was very kind of you.” She moved so she could look directly at him. “Don’t despise me for my weaknesses, Comte, I beg you.”
“How could I despise you.” He took her face in his hands. “I love you; you are willing to be loved, at least most of the time, and that banishes all contempt.”
She moved toward the kiss he offered, and this time she did not feel that the pleasure that sparked within her was perfidious, aspersing her child’s memory. There was solace in his hands and anodyne in his presence: why had she not noticed before? Why had she refused him when he could provide consolation? In spite of all she had said, he had remained steadfast. She wrapped her arms around him, and indulged herself in his kisses. As she felt her unexpected passion well, she broke away from him long enough to ask, “You will stay with me, won’t you?” She very nearly held her breath waiting for his answer.
His promise was like the low strings on the guitar which he played so well, and his ardor all she could wish for. “As long as you like,” he told her.
Text of a letter from Augustus Kleinerhoff in Sacre-Sang, to Egmond Talbot Lindenblatt, Magistrate, in Yvoire, Switzerland; dictated to the clerk of the court in Yvoire and carried by him from Sacre-Sang to Yvoire.
To the most excellent Magistrate, Egmond T. Lindenblatt, sitting in Yvoire, the greetings of head-man of Sacre-Sang, Augustus Kleinerhoff, on this, the 20thday of November, 1817,
My dear Magistrate,
In regard to your inquiries concerning the various incursions experienced in and around this village, it is my duty to report to you that we here have established a patrol made up of local men and their guard-dogs, the better to deal with the highwaymen and thieves who have taken to preying upon travelers and villagers alike. We have sentries in the village square every hour of the day and night, in groups of three men and a dog, so that if any miscreants are discovered, the alarm may be given without exposing the sentries to danger. This is just a first step, but it does initiate our determination to end the reign of lawlessness that has marked our region for the last year.
With two hard winters behind us, we are beginning to hope for a bountiful spring and harvest this year, and therefore it is essential, in my opinion, that we prepare to defend our fields, our farms, our roads, and our markets from those who would plunder them. I have ordered that all farmers keep at least two guard-dogs on their properties, on long chains so that they will not run wild and damage crops and livestock themselves. Most of the farmers of Sacre-Sang are willing to try this in the hope that the worst depredations will be averted.
It is generally agreed that the culprits are a company of former soldiers who have turned to outlawry now that the army life is no longer possible for them. This is the most likely explanation for the problems we endure. Some believe that this company is in the pay of one or more of the major land-holders in the area, and they point from one noble to another. Baron d’Eaueternel is one who is mentioned in this regard because he supported Napoleon but escaped being punished for the support he provided, and Comte Franciscus because he is a foreigner. Neither man has been proven to have any association with these thieves, but the rumors continue.
I am persuaded that putting guards on the roads in small companies might lessen the amount of trouble the thieves can cause. We know from tales told by travelers that ours is not the only region so afflicted, and that the miscreants are often former soldiers. Perhaps, if there were a concerted effort throughout the country to apprehend these men and set them to some useful occupation, not only to provide them the means of earning a living within the law, but to require a level of restitution from those given a living, then much might be gained for all of us. We could even employ them as guards against other bandits.
I have been told that many former soldiers have gone to the New World, which has more than enough room for them, and ready employment. I would be willing to support a program that would send any captured outlaw to the Americas, with the provision that he not return to Europe for at least a decade. This solution would have the additional advantage of dispersing Napoleon’s soldiers so that there can be no repeat of his Hundred Days if he ever returns to France. Without an army, he is just another fallen tyrant. How unfair that his men must suffer because of their loyalty to him, but that is the fate for those who fight on the losing side.
Thank you for providing your clerk to me, for he writes far more facilely than I do, and can turn my awkward scrawl into elegant and eloquent periods. If you require anything more of me, you have only to ask, and I will make every effort to accommodate you.
Yours to command,
Augustus Kleinerhoff
head-man of Sacre-Sang
7
“If I take two mules, I should be able to make the journey as handily as possible at this time of year,” said Otto Gutesohnes as he paced around Ragoczy’s study, ending up in front of the chair in which Ragoczy was seated, his fur hat in his hand, his muffler loosened and hanging around his neck. “The snows are not yet so deep that the roads are lost. Most of the damage done to the main roads last winter has been repaired, which will make for an easier passage.”
“Take the two largest mules,” said Ragoczy, “and if the passes are blocked, return here. I do not want you to endanger your life, and the mules, for my convenience: it is not convenient to lose dispatches, animals, and men.” He cocked his head toward the windows. “It will rain in a day or two and that rain will soon be sleet, and then it will be snow.”
“That means there will be ice at dawn, whet
her or not the skies are clear. If I leave an hour after sunrise tomorrow, I should have the best of light and warmth for my journey. Unless the wind rises, I should be able to travel ten leagues tomorrow, assuming the skies stay clear. I am not being overly optimistic; those mules are hardy beasts.” He slapped at the front of his double-breasted travel-coat with its claw-hammer, knee-length tails. “I have enough warm clothes to keep me from freezing, no matter what the weather may do, and I will put full-body sheepskin saddle-pads on the mules. They will be able to stay warm.”
“And once you arrive there, you will remain in Amsterdam until the end of winter if the weather requires it. Take no unnecessary risks,” said Ragoczy firmly. “It will avail me little if you deliver the material entrusted to you and then are lost with news and books dispatched from van der Boom. Err on the side of circumspection, I beg you.”
“As best I can,” said Gutesohnes, for whom the thought of a month in Amsterdam was most appealing. “But if I start back and encounter hard weather on the way, do you want me to wait on the road at a posting inn or try to continue on?”
“I want you to remain alive, and if staying at a posting inn will accomplish that, then do it. You need not worry about making a lengthy stay—I will provide you with gold enough for such a necessity and a vial of my sovereign remedy, so that you need not succumb to illness, should you take a fever from other travelers.” He had been making this concoction from moldy bread for centuries and found it truly effective against fever and infection.
“I do not plan to become ill, but then, few men do. Yet travelers often bring diseases with them; I have seen it in my journeys. Very well, I will take your vial, and any other preparation you advise. If you have an ointment for sores on the mules’ legs, that would be useful, too. You know what cold can do to mules and horses.” He shoved his big, square hands deep in his pockets. “It is fitting that you and I agree so that no disappointment is possible.”
“An admirable goal,” said Ragoczy with sardonic amusement.
“You make mock of me, Comte, but I am serious,” said Gutesohnes, still inwardly amazed at how liberal Ragoczy was in allowing his staff to express their opinions. “I know you have expectations, and I know it is my work to fulfill them, therefore the greater my understanding of what you want, the likelier you are to be satisfied when I have completed my mission.”
“I realize that, and I meant nothing to your discredit: I was thinking of some men I have known in the past.” He did not mention that his past stretched back nearly four millennia, and that not all the men he recalled were as punctilious as Gutesohnes. “Some of them were not inclined to fret about disappointments.”
“More fools they,” said Gutesohnes. “I know that most men in my position would rather be prepared for … for any eventuality.” His slight pause and too-easy smile made his remark seem glib.
Ragoczy wondered what Gutesohnes had actually been planning to say, but decided not to pursue the matter for now. “There are two small chests for van der Boom; they contain books and a pair of manuscripts with my translations into German and French. He is expecting them for the publishing program, and although I have made fair copies of all, having to deliver them a second time would delay publication by several months; your circumspection will be welcome for the sake of the works you carry.” He saw anxiety in Gutesohnes’ eyes, and went on in a more urbane manner. “If you want to remain in Amsterdam through the New Year, no matter what the weather, by all means do so; you will deserve time to recuperate from your travels. But while you are there, I urge you to inquire regularly about road conditions so that you may plan your return. I estimate now that, unless you are delayed by a storm, you should be in Amsterdam two or three days before Christmas. You may stay at my house there—I will give you an authorization that you may present to Kuyskill. Make the most of your opportunity, so that you will not leave with regret. As long as you are prepared to deal with bad weather, I believe you should have an uneventful journey. There are posting inns in Amsterdam which should have the most recent information on the weather, and the roads. Be wary of heavy rains; they can be more dangerous than snow.”
“That I will,” promised Gutesohnes. “I dislike mucking through mud more than I dislike wading through snow.”
Ragoczy smiled faintly. “Neither makes for easy travel.”
“I suppose not,” said Gutesohnes, then added a request he feared might be refused out of hand. “May I take a small keg of brandy with me—to keep off the chill at the end of the day?”
“Certainly,” said Ragoczy. “I will ask Balduin to select one from the cellar.” He rose from his chair and went to the bell-pull. “Is there anything else you want?”
“Grain-mash for the mules, with oil.” He nodded emphatically. “In cold weather, they’ll need it.”
“So they will. You may have as much as you think is wise to carry.” He considered for more than a minute while Gutesohnes resumed his pacing. “I will see you have a wheel of cheese and a bag of raisins as well.”
“The cheese will be most welcome, but I am not especially fond of raisins,” Gutesohnes said.
“The mules are,” Ragoczy said.
“That they are,” said Gutesohnes, surprised that Ragoczy knew such things. “Very well.”
“And a sack of nuts, for you,” said Ragoczy. “In case you should hunger and not be able to reach an inn or a tavern for a meal.”
Gutesohnes bowed a bit. “Danke, Comte.”
“I know what it is to travel hungry, and I prefer to avoid it,” said Ragoczy. “You will want one or two summer sausages, as well.” He tugged the bell-pull twice, alerting Balduin to come, but not just yet.
“Very generous, Comte,” said Gutesohnes.
“More practical than generous,” said Ragoczy. “If you need help packing your case, tell Rogier, and he will assist you. He has a genius for such things.” In the seventeen hundred years Rogier had been with him, the manservant had honed his packing skills beyond anything Ragoczy had seen before or since. “You may find his help instructive whether he assists you or not.”
“I am able to fend for myself,” said Gutesohnes, stung by the implication that he did not have such basic skills.
“Very well,” said Ragoczy. “But I have found his help invaluable over the years.” He let it go at that, trusting that good sense would prevail over stubborn pride.
“I will keep that in mind,” said Gutesohnes, aware that he ought to accept the Comte’s offer as a matter of respect.
Ragoczy went back to his chair. “You’ll want a brace of pistols, too, I think.”
“With the highwaymen about, it would be best,” said Gutesohnes.
“Pistols it shall be. Inform Balduin of all your needs, and he will have them ready for you tonight. He should appear shortly. I will have the cases and chests for van der Boom loaded and closed in an hour; they will be taken to the stable to be put on the pack-saddle at first light. There will also be letters of instruction to you and to van der Boom ready to go into your dispatch-case.”
“I will carry it on my person for all my travels. No one shall take it from me while I live,” Gutesohnes assured him.
“It need not come to that,” said Ragoczy. “But keep them with you unless your situation merits making a trade. I would rather have you alive to travel another time than thrown into a ditch as food for foxes.”
“Put it that way and I understand you.”
“Excellent,” Ragoczy approved as a rap sounded on the door. “Balduin, you may enter.”
The steward came into the study, a canvas apron tied around his waist over his knee-pants and high stockings; he had hung up his jacket and instead had a knitted jacket over his white-linen shirt. “What may I do for you, Comte?”
“You may gather together the items Gutesohnes shall specify. Then you may devote an hour to readying such necessities as he may require when he departs shortly after the next dawn. He will want sufficient amounts for a month on the road.�
� He rose. “I am going to prepare the things he is to carry for me.”
“If that is what you want,” said Balduin with a nod to Gutesohnes to indicate his willingness to help.
“Meet me in this room in an hour and all should be ready.” Ragoczy went to the door and let himself out of the study before Balduin could hold the door for him. He climbed the steps to his laboratory on the top floor, his energetic step alerting Rogier to his arrival.
“My master,” he said in Imperial Latin as Ragoczy came through the door.
“I believe most of Gutesohnes’ questions have been answered,” said Ragoczy. “I need to prepare a small case for him.”
“The sovereign remedy, bandages, astringent lotion of witch hazel, anodyne solutions of camomile and of powdered rose-hips for skin and internal doses, an ointment of olive-oil and angelica root for chapping and hives, a lotion of camphor against coughs, clarified wool-fat with willow-bark for abrasions, tincture of willow-bark and pansy for sore joints and heads, a poultice for drawing infections, a tisane of feverfew, and a tincture of milk-thistle to relieve the guts and muscles.” He held out a large leather wallet suitable for being worn on a belt. “I have also put in a list of uses and cautions.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Ragoczy said in the same tongue, putting his hand on the wallet. “I should have known you would anticipate the needs of the journey.”
“This is a reasonable precaution, especially in winter.” Rogier gestured his accord as he went on, “The two cases of manuscripts and books are packed but I haven’t yet closed them and locked them.”
“You have left me with nothing to do but carry the lot downstairs,” said Ragoczy, amusement flickering in the depths of his dark eyes.
“The lessons of experience,” said Rogier.
“Indeed,” said Ragoczy, his attractive, irregular features revealing only irony, not the dismay that much of his experience had produced.
Saint-Germain 21: Borne in Blood: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 22