Prince Henry was decisive in his response to his father’s commission to negotiate with the Glottenburger rebels. His reply to their plea for assistance was decided before noon, and his emissaries were saddled and ready in the stable court of the Palais du Bâtard by mid afternoon. Herr von Donauwirth sat his mare frowning to himself next to Freddie as they awaited the third of their party, who when he walked his stallion into the yard may have spoken, looked like and been dressed as Captain Wollherz of the Leibgarde but, as Freddie well knew, was not him.
They were not to carry any letters to the rebels from either Prince Henry or his father, but Von Donauwirth would vouch for the standing of the envoys and the source of the verbal messages they would deliver. Freddie was however sure that Bessie, who had been an hour with Princess Osra, had more messages to deliver than Prince Henry’s.
With a final godspeed from the prince, the three riders clattered out of the yard and headed at a canter past the north of the cathedral precinct and out of the East Gate of the Altstadt on to the Kesarstein road, en route for Hentzau. Once on the high road they spurred the horses into something not far short of a gallop. They were to ride post and through some of the night and, with only a brief few hours of sleep at a post house and frequent changes of mount, they might be at Glottenburg before sunset of the next day, Tuesday the 24th August.
They crossed into the duchy at the small town of Burwald on the river Arndt, taking the ferry which was operating normally. There were no ducal troops at the ferry house on the Glottenburg side, and the watermen had little news to offer other than that passengers had been few and far between for the past two days.
They had fresh horses from the post house at Burwald, but would get no others in the duchy. The final stage of the journey had to be taken at a more sedate pace, though this at least allowed some conversation.
Riding at a trot side by side behind Herr von Donauwirth, Freddie observed to Bessie that she looked even more convincing as a male cavalry officer. ‘And I’d swear you have the shadow of a beard, which is odd as Bastian has none.’
‘Who says I have to take my brother as my model of masculinity? You could do with a shave by the way. You’ll not look respectable in the eyes of the Count of Verheltschjaen and his noble confederates.’
‘You’re enjoying this, Bessie.’
She gave her urchin grin, which made her look yet more male. ‘I was born for such times, Freddie dear. Now here’s a thing. Once we’ve met the rebels and said our say on Prince Henry’s behalf, I won’t be returning to Strelsau with you.’
‘Why am I not surprised, Bessie. And you’re not going to tell me what you’re up to, are you.’
‘The boy can learn. You might get to hear about it later, if you’re good. But if you head back to Strelsau after Glottenburg I want you to cover for me at Engelngasse. Not even my brother must know where I am or what mischief I’m involved with. My parents obviously should not. They think I’m just the princess’s drawing-room companion.’
‘How long do you expect to be away?’
‘Difficult to say. But I have one job to do, and it’ll be as long as it takes. Now, no more of that. Let me tell you what I know of Verheltschjaen and his friends. I got to know some of them during my time at the court of the first John Casimir a few years ago.’
***
They first encountered rebel troops at a hill town called Fenizenburg, where the road to the capital crossed over the Orbeczenwald, the ridge between the valleys of the Arndt and Radeln. The sudden view that opened across the valley was breathtaking, as the vast mountain rampart of the Glottenburg Massif reared up over the horizon, dwarfing the human landscape beneath. The towers of the city of Glottenburg were visible some twenty miles to the east, as was a pall of grey smoke hanging over them, touched by the red of the lowering sun.
A barricade was set across the high road at the open town gate of Fenizenburg, and a company of militia in white uniform coats was camped along the highway. Their officer called on them to halt and declare themselves. Von Donauwirth rode forward and engaged in an earnest conversation with the man, producing his laissez-passer from the rebel leadership. Eventually they were allowed forward and into the town.
Despite the urgency of their mission, Von Donauwirth insisted they stop at the town’s inn for some food and refreshment. ‘This may be the last chance we have for a while, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘You had best take the opportunity to wash and freshen up. I foresee a long night ahead of us, after the long day we’ve already had.’
‘What news, sir?’ Bessie asked, in the androgynous tenor she could assume. She seemed to Freddie to have mastered its timbre. It was indistinguishable now from any young male’s.
‘Well captain, the Army of the Commonalty, as it calls itself, is encamped ten miles north of the city, where we will find the leadership. The duke’s own army has moved south from Ranstadt. Opinions differ as to which is the stronger, though the duchy’s better generals are with the rebels at least.’
‘Is a battle expected, sir?’ Freddie asked.
‘Difficult to say. Myself I doubt that the loyalist regiments are sufficiently loyal for Duke John Casimir to count on them. He may not even be with his army. He was never much of an enthusiast for the military life other than its haberdashery. One of his last edicts was to lay down the uniforms which were to be worn by every rank and grade of male and female courtier or attendee at his court: the colour and the amount of fur and lace strictly stipulated by degree, as was those ranks who were allowed the privilege of a wig, whether coloured or powdered. The Sumptuary Book, as he called it, was to me his first step into insanity. He planned to extend the regulation of dress to every condition of person and trade in the duchy, uniforming the entire populace from elementary schools to almshouses.
‘It was the reason I joined the rebellion and, though it might seem petty as a motive, it was to me an unforgiveable disgrace that a prince of the line of Ruric could so treat the free Rothenian people! As if Glottenburg was some petty German statelet! I was brought up in the days of Willem Stanislas IV, who set high the standard of what a Rothenian ruler should be.’
Freddie was a little bemused both by the sudden surge of passion in this sober and lawyerly emissary, and by the reflection that the man after all carried a rather Germanic name for a son of Ruric the Rothenian. It brought home to him how complicated was the land in which he had made a home for himself.
It was well after dark when they finally reached the pickets of the rebel army. There was a moment of peril as they approached a bonfire burning beside the road, around which were a nervous group of soldiers under a sergeant. But Bessie rode forward calling out in Rothenian, a language Freddie had not got much of a grip on, and offered some sort of reassurance, as the men visibly relaxed. They dismounted and were held while an officer was fetched. When he arrived he proved to know Herr von Donauwirth, and gave the papers of his companions only a cursory inspection before informing them that His Excellency the Count of Verheltschjaen was with the army and would be roused to meet them.
Oskar Jonas, baron of Olmusch and third count of Verheltschjaen, was the nephew of the former chancellor of Glottenburg, Sergius. Freddie had got sufficiently used to the way noble families in Central Europe effortlessly crossed frontiers not to be surprised that Count Oskar was of the great Ruritanian house of Tarlenheim, and a second cousin of the Marshal Prince. The count was in his early sixties and a distinguished figure of a man. Unlike his father, the second count, who was a hero of the Turkish wars and had retired as a major general in the Ruritanian service on his succession to his brother, Count Oskar was not a soldier, though he had assumed military gear in the present crisis.
The count gave a hearty handshake and embrace to Herr von Donauwirth. It appeared they were good friends. Then he cordially welcomed the two young envoys from Strelsau and indicated they should take camp chairs around a table on which was set a lamp.
‘I understand, gentlemen, that you have messages from the court of Strelsau, which I imagine will be non-committal,’ the count said.
Freddie, who had been delegated to reply, smiled a little. The count it seemed was a realist. ‘Of course, your excellency, King Rudolf and his council cannot be seen under any circumstances to support a rebellion of his subjects against their prince. This particular prince is also his nephew, as you will recall. The best you may expect is his public silence. However I am instructed at least to tell you that there will be no assistance of any sort from Strelsau to the party of Duke John Casimir. The Ruritanian ambassador to Vienna will be making representations to the empress that Glottenburg be left to find its own solution.
‘However a proposal we do carry is that the dowager duchess, the Princess Osra Madeleine, is ready to act as intermediary between her son and your party. King Rudolf urges that you enter into talks with the duke so as to end this uprising peacefully, and the king’s sister is ideally situated to help. She is now shifting her court to the frontier town of Wendel, where I will take your response. The princess will also bring what material assistance she can to the people of the city of Glottenburg. A subscription is being raised for their relief in all the Ruritanian cities.’
The count nodded and sat silent for some moments. Then he said, ‘We are of course ready to send envoys to meet Her Royal Highness at Wendel. I have no idea whether the duke will do the same. He will not look upon his mother as a friendly arbiter, which tells you something of the nature of the man. He sees the whole world as his enemy and trusts none but the most sycophantic of his court, who are usually the ones with no principles to give their advice any worth.’ He sighed. ‘How will this be communicated to the duke?’
Bessie spoke up. ‘I carry a personal letter to the duke from His Majesty, and will take it to him if you’ll make arrangements to let me ride through the lines under a flag of truce.’
The count nodded. ‘That can be done, of course. We have our agents in his camp, and they tell us the duke is presently housed at the castle of the Baron Malbisse between his army and the city of Ranstadt. Very well. I will meet tomorrow morning with our council and frame a reply and some heads of discussion you may take to the princess dowager, Herr Winslow. At first light the captain will find an escort ready to take him onwards in his mission.’ He stood, thanked them courteously and told them quarters had been prepared so they could take some overdue rest.
Outside the count’s tent, Freddie turned to Bessie. ‘Anything else you’re not telling me?’ he asked. She laughed and did not reply.
***
Prince Henry had accompanied his aunt to Wendel, a large town on the lower reaches of the Radeln river, fifty miles from the city of Glottenburg. It was across the river from the duchy, reached by a broad bridge. The town was unfortified, and had not been much troubled by any tension between the kingdom and duchy for over two centuries. But when he crossed over the bridge Freddie was not surprised to find a company of blue-coated regular infantry stationed on the Ruritanian side. Their captain checked his papers and saluted, informing him that the princess dowager was presently at the Rathaus. Uniforms were very much in evidence on the town streets, and a guard was mounted at the Rathaus by troopers of the Royal Leibgarde. With a grin, Freddie recognised the officer in command. It was Sebastian.
They embraced and Bastian asked after his sister and counterfeit. ‘Did you know she had another mission?’ Freddie queried by way of a response.
‘It was when I caught her stealing my best uniform. I knew she was doing more than riding escort on you,’ he said. ‘I always know when she’s hiding something. I just don’t know what, other than that it was exciting her a good deal.’
‘So it’s not just carrying a letter to Duke Dreadful you think?’
‘I couldn’t say. But she had that look she has when mischief is in the air. Get a move on, Freddie. Princess Osra and your lord and master are upstairs in the Staroman’s parlour. Come and find me when they’ve finished with you. I have a room we can share at the Sign of the Unicorn on the other side of the market place. You need a shave by the way. Stubble like that makes you look like a bandit. I’ll send a trooper over to the inn and get them to heat up some water. You need a bath as well.’ He grinned at the thought. ‘Maybe I do too.’
Freddie was admitted into the parlour, where he found Prince Henry and his aunt at one of the tall Gothic windows looking down on to the wide market square. He made his bows and the princess directed him to take a seat, thanking him for his efforts in completing his commission. He made a thorough report as to the personalities and views he had encountered in the duchy, as well as what he had seen of the damage done to the city of Glottenburg, through which he had passed on his journey to Wendel.
‘The ducal castle in the city has been sacked and gutted, ma’am,’ he reported. ‘I was told around a third of the city to its east was in ruins. The cathedral barely escaped the conflagration.’
The princess sighed. ‘This will take a lot to repair: time, effort and money. Ah well, sooner begun soonest mended. So Count Oskar Jonas believes I should enter the duchy and call together the parties?’
‘And where does he think this should happen?’ Prince Henry chipped in.
Freddie could only shrug. ‘I think he’s leaving that to Her Royal Highness to decide, sir.’
‘The north of the duchy is my son’s and the rebels hold the south,’ the princess mused. ‘The bishop of Bielstadt-am-Radeln is a friend and a friend to peace, so perhaps his little city might be a good place to hold any meeting that can be arranged. Very well. If I may borrow Mr Winslow again, he can take the message back to Count Oskar Jonas and his associates. Tell them I will cross into the duchy tomorrow. A troop of the Leibgarde can ride with me without causing too much of a diplomatic incident. Obviously I can’t ask for protection from either of the warring parties. Very well. I’ll have letters prepared for you to collect within the hour, Mr Winslow. I do hope you’ll find time to refresh yourself.’
Freddie bowed himself out, reflecting that the refreshment, such as it was, would be pretty much rushed. He headed over the cobbles briskly to the Sign of the Unicorn.
***
Freddie lay back in the warm water of his tub in Sebastian’s room at the inn, while a tantalisingly naked Sebastian shaved him. Since his lover had no beard worth mentioning it amused Freddie to suggest that Sebastian found the daily duty more exotic than most men did. He was also very good at it. Finally he kissed Freddie, told him he was done and told him to submerge to get rid of the soap. When he emerged from the depths and stood, Freddie towelled himself until he couldn’t withstand the sexual urge any longer and took Sebastian on the bed with vigour and passion.
The pair didn’t have long for post-coital conversation, but Freddie gave Sebastian a full account of his sister’s doings in the duchy.
‘What’s she up to, Bastian?’
‘Living her dream, I think,’ came the reply. ‘There was never a woman more contemptuous of the controls men put on the female sex than our Bessie. I think she’s actually even more ferocious on the subject because she has to sidestep them by posing as a man, rather than directly confront them.’
‘An odd thing I noticed,’ Freddie mused, ‘was that though she was the usual effortless facsimile of Bastian Wollherz, to my eyes there was something different to her this time. I don’t know whether it was the artful application of make-up, but she appeared to have a male beard and what’s more she was less androgynous and more masculine in her swagger and confidence.’
Bastian laughed. ‘Leaving me the more sexually dubious of the pair, is that so?’
‘No, idiot. Though you do fit so naturally under me, it’s true.’ There was a long pause as the pair tussled on the bed and Freddie found himself forced into the position Bastian had just occupied. ‘No time!’ he gasped fruitlessly as Bastian proved his assertiveness, and then shut up as the younger man took his pleasure of his backside.
‘Gah! And I just had a bath,’ Freddie complained as he got up and applied a towel to his overflowing rear. They rapidly dressed while the Rathaus clock clanged the hour across the square. A fresh horse had been found for Freddie and was being held for him by a Leibgarde trooper. Prince Henry came down from the Rathaus with a packet containing his letters of accreditation from the Princess Dowager, letters for Count Oskar Jonas, his rebel council of the Army of the Commonalty and for the Bishop of Bielstadt. He was then to seek out the court of Duke John Casimir and deliver his mother’s charge to him.
‘Needless to say, Freddie,’ the prince affirmed, ‘you must destroy this packet if it’s likely to fall into the wrong hands, and defend it with your life, though don’t be too alarmed at that possibility. You’re a foreign national and under the protection of the Kingdom of Great Britain, which is no small thing these days. It’s what makes you a perfect emissary, that and your facility with French and German. I could wish you had some acquaintance with Rothenian, but maybe in time you will. When your mission is complete, you’ll find me waiting on events at Burwald across the Arndt, where you’re to seek me out. If I’ve moved on instructions will be left at the Starostnjia.’
‘Er ... the what, sir?’
The prince gave a laugh. ‘The Rothenian word for the office of the local Staroman, the mayor of the district. There, that’s a word for your glossary of the Rothenian language.’
***
Freddie’s journey to Bielstadt was not without incident. He was riding alone, and soon enough realised quite how disturbed the villages and towns of Glottenburg were becoming. The duke may not have been popular with his people, but had not been their ruler long enough to be hated despite all the sudden demands he had made for money. The insurrection was led by the nobility who had a better idea of quite how wilful, tyrannical and incompetent the duke was, and who had got used to a very different standard of public life.
Freddie found the Glottenburgers suspicious of travellers wherever he went, which was not perhaps surprising as rumours flooded this troubled land even where there had not yet been military conflict. He skirted the capital and made it safely to the rebel army. There he delivered his letters and was cautioned that he should take an escort for his next mission, but remembering the prince’s comments he refused it. After that the road to Bielstadt took him through a no man’s land. The entries to some villages were barricaded and policed by men armed with shotguns, on one occasion with bows and arrows. He had his first taste of hostility when an unfriendly group of peasants decided he ought to be detained. He spurred through them, and after that gave settlements as wide a berth as he could.
He found the bishop of Bielstadt a friendly soul. It was Freddie’s first close exposure to a Catholic prelate, and for an agent of dark medieval superstition he found the old gentleman pleasant and intelligent, and not particularly troubled by being in close proximity to a Protestant schismatic.
His little city was in fact not much more than a market town. The cathedral did not have the Gothic grandeur of the huge and monumental churches of the archbishops of Strelsau and Glottenburg. It took up one side of the market place, and Freddie had been in larger parish churches in his native Norfolk. It was a plain building of the twelfth century, with round-headed windows and arches and bare, whitewashed aisles, if fuller of religious statuary and canvases than suited Freddie’s tastes. The episcopal palace was a modern brick house north of the church, which the bishop said he had built with money made from selling off the much grander medieval palace and park outside the town.
‘Really, young sir, it was too much for an old man of simple tastes. Half of it was shut up and resigned to owls and mice. Here I have space for my books, my chaplain and a couple of servants. The roof does not leak and the chimneys take smoke out of the house as they’re supposed to.’
Freddie and the bishop chatted amiably about his publication projects, and the result was several crammed pages in Freddie’s notebook. He also benefitted from the bishop’s wisdom on the matter of the insurrection, for it seemed that he was not by any means a pious recluse but well-read and alert to the feelings of his fellow-countrymen, with a wide acquaintance amongst the powerful of his land. It was clearly not for nothing that the Princess Osra Madeleine was heading for his little city.
‘It has all come apart far sooner that I had reason to suspect,’ the bishop sighed. ‘We none of us had much hopes of John Casimir after his return from the court of Württemberg. I was one of his tutors when he was a child, and I have to say I found him bright and amenable enough. It was his father’s foolish decision which spoiled his potential. The old duke maintained the boy needed exposure to the greater world away from Glottenburg and to proper court manners, but where did he send him? To the court of the most reprobate and profligate prince in Europe. His former valet confided to me the boy came back to the duchy with the pox, and I wonder if the disease has contributed to his mad actions. I half suspect the duke’s animus towards his mother comes deep down from a feeling of betrayal that she did not prevent his removal from Glottenburg. My sources tell me his duchess, having presented him with an heir, will have nothing to do with him. Considering his open resort to mistresses I can hardly blame her. So what prospect of amendment is there?’
‘How can it be resolved your ... er ... reverence?’ Freddie stumbled over how to address a papist bishop. The old man caught his hesitancy and smiled benignly.
‘The nobility won’t work with him, so it would be best that he abdicate, though how he is to be persuaded and what to do with him once he resigns the duchy is itself a puzzle. I do not see him going quietly and inexpensively. He may yet try the chance of battle, and of course he has the trump card of his possession of the little Prince Willem Stanislas, his heir. So I rather fear that the Army of the Commonalty will have to force him from his throne, and that will not earn them friends abroad. King Rudolf may well have little choice in the end but to march across the Arndt to restore order, and how will Vienna and Potsdam regard that aggression? Europe these days is a dangerous place, young sir.’
The conversation then shifted to the Anglican church and its politics, on which the bishop was remarkably well informed. It appeared that the Vicar Apostolic of the London District had been one of the bishop’s tutors and they still corresponded. He was most pleased to be able to talk to the son of an Anglican clergyman and a Cambridge graduate in theology.
The next morning Freddie resumed his journey, and its most dangerous stage. His host suggested that it would be best to seek out the nearest units of the duke’s army. He insisted that to be on the safe side Freddie must ride with his chaplain as guide, who could offer him the protection of Holy Church. He proved to be a young Ruritanian priest who had been born and brought up on the Altstadt of Strelsau, so as they rode north the two young men found much to talk about. His companion did indeed disarm the suspicions of the communities they passed through, and locals were willing to tell the good father that in the next village there was a picket of loyalist dragoons covering the road to the Schloss Malbisse, where Duke John Casimir’s court resided.
Sure enough, around midday they encountered picketed green-coated cavalry at a crossroads. The sergeant challenged them in Rothenian, but Freddie’s response in German was understood. There was a wait while a trooper galloped off to find the officer, at which the bishop’s chaplain made his excuses and departed with no attempt by the dragoons to stop him, indeed a couple asked for a blessing before he left.
‘So sir!’ the senior officer demanded, when he arrived. ‘Who might you be?’
Freddie introduced himself and his mission, presenting his papers and letters of credence. The major pursed his lips as he scrutinised the documents. ‘Well sir, you are not an emissary as such, merely a carrier of letters. So I see no reason to let you proceed any further, though I shall relieve you of your packet for His Serene Highness.’
Freddie bridled. ‘Excuse me sir, but that would not be to my honour. The letter is addressed to the duke and it is my responsibility to see that it gets to an officer of his court, which you are not.’
‘That may be your understanding, Herr ... whatever your outlandish name is. But it is not mine. For all I know you may be proposing to spy out our dispositions between here and the Schloss. So sir, hand over the packet.’
Freddie grew stubborn. ‘I have a letter of protection from the Princess Osra Madeleine, in whose service I am. Would you insult her royal highness?’
The major drew his pistol, red faced. ‘The lady is not here, sir. But I and my company are.’
‘Under protest only then, major,’ Freddie said as he complied. ‘Please to inform me with whom I am dealing, so I may convey your opinion of the princess to her when I rejoin her.’
The pistol was cocked with an ominous click. ‘That sir, is not something I would be so confident will happen. Ride now and let’s see your horse’s tail.’
Freddie was beginning to realise he might be in some real danger from this oaf when the thud of horse’s hoofs came from the road leading from the direction of the village and the schloss, and a rider appeared heading towards them at a brisk canter.
The major turned his attention to the new arrival. It was another officer, but this time under his cloak could be seen the olive green, gold and red of an aide-de-camp of the duke of Glottenburg. He was riding a very fine stallion. He reined in and scanned the tableau in front of him. The man had a commanding and austere air about him that perhaps explained the sudden fear and indeed panic in the major’s face.
‘What in damnation is going on here,’ the newcomer snapped. ‘Were you threatening this gentleman, major? And if so account for yourself.’ The major merely stammered in reply.
‘Then sir, perhaps you can explain it,’ he addressed Freddie directly, who described what had just happened.
‘Very well. Major, dismount,’ the aide commanded. ‘I waive your privilege as an officer of His Serene Highness. Sir, you may challenge the man, as a dishonourable rogue and a disgrace to his uniform. Unless of course he wishes to abjectly apologise for his behaviour.’
The major looked around in panic, and Freddie could not miss the grim smiles of his troopers as they saw their bully of a commander in a trap of his own making. He stumbled out an apology on the verge of tears.
‘Now sir, you are relieved of your command,’ the extraordinary officer commanded. ‘Report to your commander at the park of the schloss and explain the reasons. You may tell him that a report from Colonel Tedorovic will follow you, so were I you, I would be honest as to what you do tell him.’
He looked around. ‘You sergeant! Call up your lieutenant and inform him of his good fortune in succeeding to command of this outpost.’ The colonel turned to Freddie. ‘Now sir, would you object to my taking possession of your despatch in the name of His Serene Highness? May I introduce myself as his principal aide and the marshal of his court.’
Freddie lifted his hat and bowed from the saddle. ‘Not in the least, colonel. You are clearly a fit and proper person to receive it.’
‘Very well, and I thank you sir. Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you some way along your return road as my business takes me in the direction of Bielstadt. Travelling in company is rather safer than travel alone these days.’
The pair jogged off down the road side-by-side. After a few minutes, Freddie complimented the colonel on the quality of his mount.
‘Why thank you sir,’ he replied. ‘He’s a Wollherz horse, from the line of Brunhild sired by Erebus, if you know anything about stock breeding.’
‘I have some acquaintance with the house of Wollherz,’ Freddie admitted. He was then startled to hear a piping child’s voice coming apparently out of nowhere.
‘Can I stop hiding now? It’s hot in here.’
An astonished Freddie reined in, as did his companion. The colonel pulled aside his riding cloak, to reveal a grinning little face peering out. A small boy had been clinging to his waist under the cloak. ‘Hello!’ the child said. ‘Is this your friend, Bessie?’
‘Bessie!’ cried Freddie, ‘What the ...!’ And when he looked again at the man’s face it was no longer that of Colonel Tedorovic, but that of Sebastienne Wollherz in full mischief.
‘You’ve been very good, Staszek,’ she pronounced. ‘This is Freddie. He’s our friend. Freddie, may I introduce Willem Stanislas Ruricic, hereditary prince of Glottenburg.’
***
The charming little prince was clearly one of those children able to sense which adults were fun and sympathetic. He decided Freddie was just that sort and not incorrectly; Freddie was an indulgent and kindly big brother to young Charlie Winslow. By the time the houses of Bielstadt were in sight, little Staszek, as he called himself, was perched in front of Freddie. They had been talking ten to the dozen for the past hour, and Freddie tried out on him some observation games that had delighted little Charlie, though they proved more complicated in German.
Freddie was pretty sure Bessie had consented to put the prince on his horse to deflect him from the questions her appearance had raised, at least one of which was unanswerable: how had she counterfeited a leading personality of Duke John Casimir’s court so convincingly as to utterly change her own appearance and fool those who knew and obviously feared him?
They were in the little city before Freddie had a chance to challenge Bessie on the subject, and when he turned to make an attempt he was disconcerted to find her usual facsimile of Bastian riding next to him.
Staszek gurgled with delight. ‘You’re him again! She does magic! My friend Jonas said she could.’
‘Jonas?’ Freddie asked weakly.
Sebastienne shrugged and raised an eyebrow. ‘One of those imaginary friends children invent?’ she suggested.
‘Jonas is a big boy ... he’s my big friend. He does magic too.’
When they were dismounting at the cathedral precinct, Freddie finally remembered that Bessie still had the letter he was supposed to deliver to the duke. He agonised to her, but she just laughed.
‘It’s no longer necessary, Freddie. Who d’you think sent me to get Staszek? Now the game has changed. The princess’s original letter to her son is no longer relevant. She’ll be redrafting it, I think.’
Freddie looked around the courtyard. A coach was parked in one corner, its horses being led off by Leibgarde troopers to the stables. It seemed Princess Osra had been hard on his heels and, though difficult to believe, all this had been arranged by her. She clearly knew all about the mystery that was Sebastienne Wollherz.