Young Karl brought the post bag down from the Altstadt Raathaus office at midday. The packet addressed in his grandfather’s hand, though welcome, still seemed something like an accusation to Serge. He had been in Strelsau less than a month and already he was soliciting extra funds. Never mind that none of this was to do with any extravagance on his part. Debt, as Jan Lisku was fond of observing, began with circumstances, deepened with miscalculation and was a first step on the road to perdition.
The old Baron’s long letter was as kind and forthcoming as Serge expected, and included a draft to be produced at the chamber of the Olmusch agent in the Neustadt. Before doing anything else he took his pen and wrote a letter of thanks and an update on circumstances at the Hofburg. He wrote in Greek which, though not a code, he hoped would deter all but the most determined of King Rudolf’s agents. Jan had observed drily that it would more likely raise their suspicions. But there was nothing in the letter other than what was generally known in the city. If he ever had more sensitive information Serge resolved he would find alternative ways to communicate back to Olmusch.
Serge scrutinised the address of the sealed draft. It was to Herr Moses Simonis Ashkenazh. Sign of the Golden Lion. Judengasse. Neustadt v. Strelsau. His call down for Karl was rapidly answered by the clatter of his page’s shoes on the stairs.
‘My lord?’ The boy was breathing heavily.
‘How well do you know the Jewry down in the Neustadt? Do your explorations reach there?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘Do you know the Golden Lion in Judengasse?’
The boy nodded. ‘It’s the fifth tenement north of Herrengasse on the west side of the street, sir. Next door to the Jewish church.’
‘Our Catholic Church calls them synagogues, Karl, a word of Greek origin, but in the language of the streets it is shul, from the Latin schola, for our ancestors were impressed by the bookish nature of Jewish worship.’ The boy looked up at Serge, more than a little bemused. Quite oblivious, Serge continued ‘You and I will need to take a stroll down there after Margrit fixes us some lunch. By the way, you need a proper winter coat. It’s getting chilly outdoors. I’ll have Master Jan sort that out’
‘I have a scarf, gloves and wool hat sir. The waistcoat is quite warm.’
‘Don’t argue with me, lad.’
‘Certainly not, sir.’
‘Has Jan been moaning to you about our descent into poverty, Karl?’ The boy looked embarrassed and was tongue-tied. ‘Rather as I thought. A child’s coat will not send us into the debtor’s prison, Karl, believe me. It is not necessary to fret yourself.’
Perhaps because of the relief represented by his grandfather’s letter, Serge allowed himself to feel relatively happy as he descended Domstrasse to the Starel bridge, his page dutifully two paces behind carrying his rapier. He had assumed one of his better coats for the coming interview, a concession to his insecurity with the situation. He had even examined his face to see if the state of his upper lip justified a shave. His chin was still virginal in that regard. But he had a shaving set ready for just such an eventuality, a gift from his grandmother.
The Golden Lion was in a new-built row of brick houses, their gables towards the street. As Karl had said, the next door house had a stone plaque above the door in Hebrew and Latin proclaiming it to be a house of prayer of the Strelsau community. In the street just outside a group of gaberdined and bearded men were engaged in heated discussion. Knowing a little about Jewish practices he looked and found the container for scriptural verses that ought to be on the doorposts of the Golden Lion. His grandfather Olmusch, he knew, corresponded widely with Jewish scholars, while his late grandfather Oskar had been notorious as a student of Jewish mysticism.
His knock was answered promptly and a pale, head-scarfed girl listened to his introduction, and then disappeared without a word. The passage behind her was promptly filled by a dark, robed figure in a skull cap, his face moustachioed and beaming.
‘Come in, my lord! Enter please. Any son of the house of Olmusch will find welcome in this community, for your venerated grandfather’s sake if nothing else. Do come in. Your boy can sit on the bench there. Now what can I do for you?’
Serge produced his draft. The man examined it and bowed Serge though a side door. Beyond was a small room with a seat and desk set behind rails. ‘This is where I do business, my lord. Do take the armchair there. Now, the draft is substantial, but I am very happy either to pay over the full sum or in instalments. You may wish to open your own account for the sum with the house of Ben Shimon; many young men of the court do so, though I have to say that most of those accounts are in deficit, and I would think your good grandfather had rather that you did not get into such a situation where you might be tempted to borrow at interest.’
Serge acknowledged this. ‘I have in any case nothing to offer in collateral other than my salary.’
‘That does not, I’m afraid, prevent some young men borrowing against their names and future prospects or even signed bills of guarantee from gulled third parties. The house of Ben Shimon does not do that sort of business, I can assure you.’
‘Then sir, thank you. I will take the draft in several portions. I have to say I’m not too happy with having large sums of gold and silver around my house, and I’m sure you’ll have better means of keeping it safe. I’ll take a bag sufficient for my immediate purchases, and leave the balance with you. And, if you please, I’ll deposit my quarterly salary at your office.’
The man smiled. ‘That is very pleasing. Any strengthening of links with the lord of Olmusch is greatly welcome to us here.’ He rang a bell and the maid entered. A bottle of wine and two glasses were ordered up.
‘Now young sir, a glass to conclude our business.’
Serge looked around. ‘Tell me, Master Moses, much though I, as many others, venerate my grandfather, I’m a little surprised as to the warmth you and your people have for him.’
‘Really? But are you not familiar with your grandfather’s tract, Contra Thomam? I know it was published quite some time before you came into the world, but amongst the Jewish communities of these Christian lands it is fêted, even as far away as England and France, I hear. No? Well it was the first published and rational attack on the centuries-old calumny against the Jewish people, that we kidnap and sacrifice Christian children in a mockery of the Crucifixion. Since the Baron Olmusch is who he is, it has received much attention amongst scholars. So the name of Olmusch will always open certain doors to you across Europe, I can assure you.’
‘I had no idea, Master Moses. I did know that as Chancellor he has lifted the penal statutes against the Jewry of Glottenburg.’
‘Indeed, and we have hopes that the remaining penalties in Ruritania may one day be likewise abolished.’
‘As you may know sir, my other grandfather also had an academic interest in the Hebrew world.’
‘Ah yes, that would be the Graf Oskar of Tarlenheim, called by some Askarius Magnus. He had a lot to do with one of our communities in Strelsau, the Kabbalic synagogue that used to meet on Geldengasse. Strange people. They were Sefardi expelled from Prague. They did no credit to the Jewry of Ruritania while they were harboured here. They were finally sanctioned and banished by the rabbinic council of Strelsau some three years ago. Their practices strayed far into the heretical.’
‘You may not know the answer to this, Master Moses, but I’m curious as to what it was that interested Count Oskar in that branch of Judaism.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t in fact help you much there, young sir. The Kabbalic scholars were, and indeed still are, mystics passionately interested in the patterns and structures that underpin God’s creation, whether it be in numbers, holy words or prophecies. But the Strelsau community had their own particular mania, which was the angelic orders, their names and powers. That is where their beliefs led them into deep error. All power in the Universe is God’s and angels are but His signs and messengers, as both Christian and Jews, and even Turks would agree. But the Partsufim Synagogue, as they called themselves, believed that you might conjure power in the names of angels, not just in the Name of God. And like one particular angel, their arrogance led them into fatal error.’
‘That would be the angel called Satan or Lucifer, sir?’
‘Best not to say the name, young man,’ the older man said. Serge saw that he made a sign with his right hand, making horns of his little and index finger.
***
‘So this is Engelngasse,’ Willi observed, with one eyebrow raised. ‘Fine prospect back over the river but really, Phoebus, it is hardly fashionable. Indeed, since the Elphbergs moved out this whole Altstadt could be said to be decidedly unfashionable.’
‘I believe there’re some dead ones left behind in the cathedral. I went up to sketch a few of their tombs in the aisles two afternoons ago. There is also a crypt you might visit, y’know, just to say a friendly hello to your relatives. Through the iron gates you can see all their lead coffins lined up in rows. I need to get permission to make an inventory of who’s actually there.’
‘You’re morbid for a sun god, Phoebus,’ Willi pronounced with distaste. ‘I may have to start calling you Hades ... oh, and I can be Persephone. I look seriously good in black.’
‘Come and have a look at the stabling. What the ...!’ A small figure in a red waistcoat raced out of the boxes with a vociferous and much larger boy in pursuit. ‘C’mere yer little cunt. You’re gonna get that hiding I promised yer! Oh fuck ... ’
Willi, narrowly missing a collision with Karl Wollherz, skidded on a slick patch of cobbles and went down on his back. Karl, looking scared, ran out of the yard and off down the street. Willi sat up, looking more amused than otherwise. ‘Damn me, what was that red thunderbolt that struck me down? What’s the back of the coat look like? I don’t think horse-shit will do it much good.’ The apologetic stablehand offered him a hand up. ‘My, you are a sturdy young man. Who’s this, Phoebus? Good heavens! The look on your face, are you going to smite this poor lad with fire from heaven?’
‘What’s going on, Gottlieb!’ growled Serge at his newly-retained stablehand.
‘My lord, sorry and all but I’d had it up to here with Wollherz. I told you I won’t have him mooning about the stables, especially with the two stallions arriving later this afternoon. The things he called me when I caught him playing with Brunhild! Never heard the like from a kid his age. There I was fitting up the stalls for the new arrivals, and I swear he got the mare to kick me in the arse, begging your pardon, sir.’
Willi stifled a laugh. ‘Phoebus! The poor boy, look how he limps. I think we should check out his rear, don’t you?’
‘I’ll leave that to you Willi. I need to go find my page.’
Jan Lisku emerged from the house at just that moment and stared at what he found in the yard. ‘Master Lisku, a word!’ Serge called.
Though rare, Jan recognised the expression on his young master’s face. It had never been directed at him, but there was no mistaking when it appeared that Freiherr Sergius Josef von Tarlenheim-Olmusch was the descendant of centuries of warriors and not a man to be crossed.
‘What in God’s name is going on with Karl?’ he demanded. ‘The boy’s at war with Gottlieb and causing chaos. Here is my lord of Strelsau on his first visit to my home and the boy knocks him to the ground while being rightly pursued for foul speech, acts of disobedience and violence.’
‘Ah, sir. I’m so sorry. It’s been brewing for days since he was excluded from the stables, as you ordered.’
‘Of course I did. A small boy can’t be allowed to hang around full-grown warhorses, especially with mares in the same building. Far too dangerous. That’s why we have Gottlieb, a sturdy lad of seventeen years of age and able to take care of himself.’
‘I understand sir, and you were quite right to do it, but the boy has adored taking care of the mares and has developed quite a bond with Brunhild.’
‘No excuses. I want that boy found and brought to me to account for himself. Understood?’
Jan bowed mutely. Serge left him in the yard and called over to Willi to join him indoors. ‘Sorry for all this, Willi. It seems that if I’m two days away from the house everything falls apart.’
‘Don’t mention it, Phoebus. Your Gottlieb was quite a compensation. I all but persuaded him to remove his lower clothing and let me feel around inside him for any damage, on the basis of my professed medical training at Bologna, you understand. I did get to see his fine rump; very muscular, if likely to be discoloured for a while.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t confuse my servants, Willi, if it’s all the same.’
‘Tsk. It’s got you rattled hasn’t it. I have a nasty suspicion you’re one of those masters who feels concern about his domestics and enters into their sordid little lives. My dear, you should resist it. Leave them to your young Master Lisku. Not much of a looker but he seems a sensible sort.’
‘Here, give me that coat. I’ll see what Margrit can do to clean it up.’
‘By all means. Now let’s get on to the main business, which involves the removal of more than just one’s coat. Is that your bedchamber? Very good. I’ll get myself ready. It’s been a while since that particular part of my anatomy was put to use for purposes other than what God thought He was intending it for.’
***
By the time Jan Lisku returned from scouting Karl’s old haunts his lord and Willi had enjoyed an hour and more of mutual amusement, which had left the bedsheets in something of a mess.
‘Don’t get apologetic about it, Phoebus. Leave the servants to make what they will of it. They won’t dare say a word. Of course, I’d have less sangfroid were we people of any importance around the place: Meulan, Waldburg and Landsberg pay servants of the greater figures at court to collect and deliver discarded papers and tattle on their assignations and suchlike. But you’re not in that class yet, and of course I possess not a single servant. All my needs are met by the palace comptrollers. I want a horse, and one’s brought round. I’m hungry and food appears. I need a coat and a tailor turns up. So it’s always been for the Bastard of Strelsau. It’s a strange sort of privilege.’
‘Don’t you get a salary as Third Groom?’
‘What! Me? Of course not. My appointment was at the prince’s insistence, and it was grudging on my uncle’s part. I have no powerful relations who need to be ingratiated by His Majesty. That was always understood. I rather think His Majesty is hoping I’ll run off to be a soldier, like Prince Eugene did from Versailles to spite King Louis. But you should be careful for what you wish. I rather think His Most Christian Majesty will end up regretting that particular bird having flown his aviary.’
Willi was sitting up in bed with Serge laying out beside him, stroking his fingers up and down his lover’s spine. Serge stretched and sat up himself. Time to get up and deal with present problems. He gave Willi a kiss on the cheek.
‘Come on. The dealer’s going to be here in an hour or so. I want your opinion on my purchases. Maybe the boy Wollherz has turned up by now.’
‘A good caning of his bare backside will sort him out. That’s my advice. One of the naughtier boys in the Hofburg will volunteer if you want to try out some trial strokes. Hans is his name. A pretty boy. It gets him very excited.’
‘Really? Y’know Willi, the longer the time I spend with you, the weirder the world becomes.’
Jan Lisku returned as the horse dealer was leading the two black stallions into the yard. They were as handsome a pair of beasts as had been promised and which the price justified. Willi was amusing himself thinking of appropriate names.
‘My dear, they’re as sooty as the pit of Tartarus: how about Erebus and Charon? Suitably grim don’t you think?’
‘Erebus might do, but Charon is about as ill-omened a name for a warhorse as I can think of,’ Serge responded.
‘Very fine beasts, masters,’ Gottlieb pronounced. ‘Amongst the finest I’ve seen, sirs. Trained for war, you can tell. They’ll not just carry you, but fight along with you.’
‘What do you think, Janeczu?’ Serge asked.
‘Very handsome animals sir, and the devil to manage and feed no doubt. I need to have a word with Gottlieb about a bulk order that’ll tide us through Christmas. We might also think of renting a close of pasture out in the Altstadt fields. The animals would probably appreciate the space from time to time.’
Gottlieb nodded wisely. ‘A good idea, Master Jan. It’ll keep them distracted from developing stable vices, and when the mares start coming into heat next spring you’ll want somewhere to keep them separate from the stallions. Your mares are good creatures, but they’re not for covering with such as these two, I think.’
‘Our landlord has common pasture rights in the town fields and out on the Strelsnerwald. He may have some ideas,’ Jan commented.
Eventually Gottlieb led off the horses and went to water them and make them comfortable in their stalls.
‘I’m off back down to the Hofburg, Phoebus. I will see you later.’ Willi turned to Jan. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Master Lisku. It’s nice to find that the Freiherr is in such good hands.’
Jan bowed low as he left. ‘So that’s the Black Bastard of Strelsau, sir. Quite the gentleman. Not what I expected.’
‘Everyone finds Willi unexpected in one way or other,’ Serge replied. ‘Now, did you find the boy?’
‘Gone sir, quite gone. I went down to his usual haunts at the Conduit, and spread some coins around his former associates with promise of more if they’ll report any sightings. The problem is that Karl knows the city and its byways better than anyone. Should he choose to run away for good, he’ll not be found. I was afraid of this.’
‘And why so, Sancho?’
‘The boy gained a taste for freedom after he went on the streets. Children find they can survive on the margins and suit themselves how they want to live without adults to persecute and beat them. Bringing them back under discipline is not easy, unless they want to be. Oh, he was happy enough in our little family of three where he felt special and valued.’
‘He was valued, and he is special.’
‘Yes, but then we got the house and our little circle became bigger and he couldn’t cope with all the change and new relationships. He adores you, sir, but like all children – especially those who have lost loved ones – he’s jealous of affection. He thought the new people made him less your friend, and Gottlieb in particular was a rival not just for your affections, but those of his adored Brunhild.’
‘Damn me, Janeczu, but people are so complicated. You and Willi do have this talent for highlighting my ignorance of what makes the world tick.’
‘There you are, sir. Books are fine things, but there are better, if harsher, teachers. In my case it was growing up as the oldest of eight children, in a small cottage.’
***
Night fell over the Neustadt and Karl Wollherz wormed his way through a broken fence into an abandoned backyard he knew, in which was a derelict kiln. It was dry inside and its sandy floor was clean. The older boy who had shown him it had disappeared over the summer, no one knew where, but he had kept quite a pile of firewood still stacked ready for kindling. It was how he had survived the last winter, as he told Karl, for the flue was unblocked and still functioned to draw off smoke. It was getting colder and this little refuge could be the difference between life and death for Karl over the next few months. For he was not going back to Engelngasse.
He checked his pockets and found several pfennigs, which was a start. He had shoes and warm clothes. In a week or so, when he reckoned his masters would have stopped looking for him, he’d recommence his old life with the boys at the Conduit. Or maybe he’d join the new gang he’d met up with near the Leibgarde barracks next to the Hofburg. Angry and tired out by his emotions, he slipped into a doze.
When Karl awoke he was immediately aware he was no longer alone in the pitch dark; he could sense and hear someone breathing next to him.
‘Who’s that? Is that you back, Wenzel?’
A boy’s voice answered after a pause. It wasn’t that of Wenzel. ‘No. He’s gone.’
‘Did he show you this place too?’
The stranger chuckled. ‘Sorta. He won’t be needing it again anyways.’
‘You telling me to get out cos it’s yours.’
‘Me? No. You’re welcome to this hiding hole ... if that’s what you want.’
‘Do I know you? What’s your name?’
‘Don’t have one.’
‘Everyone has a name, even street kids. Don’t be silly.’
‘Well, I don’t. Or if I did, you wouldn’t want to know it.’
Karl, puzzled, reached out towards the stranger. His hand encountered the warm skin of a bare arm. He felt around and met the ribs of a naked torso. He ran his fingers downwards till he reached a flat, warm belly, crotch and thighs. The boy giggled; it struck Karl that the stranger had a happy, friendly voice. ‘That tickles!’ he cried.
‘You got nothing on. Someone steal your clothes? Aren’t you cold?’
‘Cold? No. Don’t like clothes anyway. Hate wearing them. They’re silly and take too much effort.’
‘Not so silly when the winter comes, Herr Nobody.’
‘Herr Nobody? Is that what you’re calling me?’ The boy giggled again, then laughed out loud with delight. ‘I like you, you’re funny.’
‘Why haven’t you asked my name?’
‘Don’t need to, Karl Wollherz.’
‘Who told you that? Was it the boys at the Conduit?’
‘Maybe. So why did you come back here? You left to take up service with a fine gentleman ... so they say. Did he beat you?’
Karl sighed. ‘No. He was kind and nice.’
‘You must have run away for a reason.’
Now he was asked to rationalise his actions, Karl found anger was no longer much of a reason, but he tried. ‘Wasn’t working out. They wouldn’t let me play with Brunhild, who’s my best friend. The new stable boy was horrible.’
‘Horrible? Really? Wasn’t he just doing his job?’
‘But ... anyway, you don’t know, you weren’t there. They don’t like me any more. Not the way they used to. It’s all gone wrong.’
The strange boy was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. ‘Grown-ups just don’t understand.’
‘No, they don’t.’
‘But you liked your master, you say.’
In the dark, Karl nodded. ‘I suppose. Although he’s a Freiherr he treated me like a friend. He’s really handsome and clever and brave.’
‘But that’s not the one that you really miss, is it.’
Karl squirmed. He had a conscience and it was troubling him about Jan Lisku. ‘I didn’t mention another master,’ he finally said.
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘Well ... there’s Master Jan. He’s funny and kind and is ... was ... teaching me my letters. We have ... we had ... fun and laughs when we were working. He listens to me. He’s like my big brother.’
‘Seems to me you have more you liked than what you disliked about your house up on the hill.’
‘I didn’t say anything about our house.’
‘The House of the Angels.’ The voice of the boy next to him changed to something less boyish, not deeper, but possessing an authority boys do not usually exhibit. ‘Now listen to me, Karl Wollherz, you may choose to stay here and run the streets in freedom, but you’ll also run them in regret, and I foresee no good end to that life. Yet if you do the painful thing and swallow your anger, go back to the hill and humble yourself in apology to those to whom you owe gratitude, all sorts of pathways will open up and many of them are sunny and full of laughter, and you will see and do greater things than you ever thought possible. Ask for love and you’ll be given it, son of the streets.’
‘Who are you ...?’ Karl asked in a whisper, but as he said it he realised he was alone in the kiln house.
***
Serge preferred to walk the streets of Strelsau, but he admitted that the onset of the cold weather and the muddiness of the roadways and lanes was not good for either his health or his footwear and stockings, so he rode down to the Hofburg, left his mount in the palace stables while on duty then rode back up to Engelngasse.
That morning he had been detained for breakfast with an exalted Prince Henry, who was bursting with news. ‘Fellows! Here’s something which will delight us all. The court of the Crown Prince is to move to the Marmorpalast for All Hallows, and though that’s good in itself, there’s more. There will be a muster in the Great Park the week after that. And then, for the first time, the Prinzengarde will parade before its colonel, so those of you who hold commissions get your servants polishing your breastplates and topboots. The regiment will then be added to the establishment of the new Arsenal fortress and not be quartered on the city, which means it will be able to mount the daily guard at the Marmorpalast.’
The gentlemen and pages of the household were suitably congratulatory, even the ones who had not been issued commissions. Graf Almaric trumped all present by announcing that he would present a set of silver kettledrums to the regiment as a gift to mark its raising.
‘And the Lady Ulrica and her ladies are making a guidon to present to the regiment,’ the prince announced. ‘Damn me if it’s not like knights of old carrying their ladies’ favours as they ride against the infidel.’
Several heads looked up at that. It was the nearest the prince had yet come to openly acknowledging his relationship with the lady in question.
A lot was going around Serge’s head as he trotted Brunhild across the Platz. He gave the crowd around the Conduit a close scrutiny as he turned towards the Altstadt, but saw no tow-headed boy resembling Karl amongst them. He urged the horse to a canter as he crossed the bridge, ready to take the incline. She responded well and maintained a good pace till they reached the corner of Engelngasse when she abruptly pulled up without any direction from him. She looked back at Serge and snorted. And there in a doorway he saw a skulking boy.
‘Karl!’ he called out. ‘For the love of God!’ He leapt down from Brunhild and ran to gather up the lad in his arms.
When he had hugged him and put him down, he was aware the boy was in tears and babbling. ‘S-so sorry, my lord. I was bad, please forgive me. I’ll come back and work for nothing. Just please forgive me.’
Serge gripped the boy’s hand and took him over to Brunhild, who nuzzled him and licked his face. ‘It’s this lady you should say sorry to. She missed you so much. We could hardly get her to leave the stable yesterday, she was waiting for you to come and brush her down.’
‘Oh sir, could I just visit her sometimes? I know I mustn’t go there, but just as a favour every now and then.’
Serge shook his head and smiled down at the boy. ‘That’s something you’ll have to take up with Brunhild’s new owner.’
Karl was horrified. ‘Oh no, sir! You can’t sell her!’
Serge picked the boy up and placed him in the saddle. ‘You’re Brunhild’s new owner. I give her to you. Now Gottlieb can’t say a word to stop you visiting her, and we’ll ride out every day to the palace, you and me, weather permitting of course.’
***
Jan Lisku and Serge looked in through the door of Karl’s bedroom. In the candlelight the boy’s sleeping head could be seen burrowed into the pillow of his truckle bed, quite possibly the only bed he had ever slept in, at least on his own.
‘Such a relief, sir,’ Jan sighed. ‘For a while there I thought we’d lost him. But Reason won out in his stubborn little head and we have our page back. Just before he went to sleep he told me an odd story, sir: a dream he must have had in his last night’s refuge, about a ghostly boy who visited him and told him to return to us.’
‘Really?’ Serge replied. ‘In his state of mind, I’m not surprised he had such a dream. Who did he think the ghost was?’
‘He didn’t know, sir. And for a ghost his night visitor seemed rather solid.’
‘The mind does strange things, Sancho. Wise Aristotle had it that such forms exist only in the psyche and are brought into being at need. I imagine the boy constructed a protagonist to persuade him to do what he knew he had to do, but feared doing. If so, I’m much obliged to the phantom.’
‘Me too, sir. The boy damned near broke my heart by running off like he did. I still think you should have caned him as a reminder of the pain he’s caused others. But instead, you gifted him Brunhild. A very generous impulse, sir, but hardly practical. He cannot afford to maintain her. But no doubt that didn’t occur to Karl.’
‘That’s not the point, Sancho. I don’t want him running off again, and now he has a reason to stay. I’d better have a word with Gottlieb and reassure him that he did nothing wrong, that we’re not ignoring him and have full confidence in him. I rather doubt he and Karl will ever be friends. However, if he can tolerate an arrangement where the boy has access to Brunhild but doesn’t go near Erebus and Acheron, things will go better between them. What about constructing a separate stall for her in the barn?’
‘I imagine she’ll miss the others if you exile her across the yard, sir, but I’ll have my own words with Gottlieb. He may lack social graces, but he knows his business well and is good-hearted, if quick-tempered.’
The two quietly closed the door of the little garret which was Karl’s own space and went down to the parlour. Serge poured Jan a glass of wine and invited him to sit.
‘Now, Sancho, the court is on the move and my military career, such as it is, is about to commence.’
‘The items you ordered are coming in, sir. The bale arrived from the tailor this afternoon, and I suppose we’d best try the fit. The cuirass and gorget are still awaited from the smithy and the silversmith, but they should arrive in a couple of days.’ Jan grinned. ‘You’ll be quite the sight, sir. I can’t wait to see it, truth be told. You’re not to be given a troop to command, at least. Not that you couldn’t if you set your mind to it, young though you may be. But that’s best.’
‘I think so too. From my father’s tales and what I’ve heard from Colonel Dudley, I think I’m more than content just to sit on Erebus next to His Royal Highness and look the part of an adjutant. If I’m ever to be more than an ornamental soldier, I think it’ll be some time in the future, when I’ve stopped growing.’
‘So what do you and my lord of Strelsau make of the move to the Marmorpalast?’
‘Willi expects that His Royal Highness and the Lady Ulrica will be more open in their attachment once he’s out of the king’s direct control. Willi’s happy about the return to the Marmorpalast, he more or less grew up there. But he warns that court politics will change once Prince Henry is set up on his own, and that foreign ambassadors and his father’s domestic opponents will all be seeking to use the prince against the king.’
‘Surely the king knows this?’
‘I think so, and I think they underestimate Prince Henry. He doesn’t seem to dislike his father particularly and it’s the army not politics that engages him. My belief is that His Majesty knows his son better than most, and is giving him liberty to do what he no longer has the energy to do himself.’
‘Which is?’
‘To ready Ruritania for war. It’s no longer possible to safely ignore the aggressions of King Louis. Sooner or later French armies will march into Bavaria, the way they devastated the Rheinpfalz, and then King Rudolf will need to choose sides.’