Andreas and Karl led the way as they trotted their mounts along the road to Medeln. It was a brilliant late summer morning, the leaves of the shade trees along the road fluttering in a warm breeze above them and the sun dappling the dusty road below. The scents of high summer, of haymaking and lanes full of flowers, filled their noses and lazy insects buzzed past them, the horses flicking their tails to deter flies over-interested in their rear ends.
‘When we get there, Ando, I’m gonna go ahead alone. I know the place and how to sneak in and around it. I might try to get to the cell I saw the Lady Fenice sitting in, if it’s safe. I think it’s a place where the World Beyond can be reached. So it may be an idea to see if I can talk to her there.’
Andreas frowned. ‘What about the abbess, Lord Serge’s aunt? She might know you’re coming. You revealed yourself to General Dudley. Knowing yer power now, he’ll have had no choice but to run to Medeln and join forces with her. She’ll be on the alert maybe.’
Karl pondered for a while then shook his head. ‘He didn’t recognise me. He thought I was Jonas, I think. “The Horned One” he called me. That’s Jonas alright, with his little blue head spikes. The idea that I might be Jonas really terrified him too. He maybe knows more about the elf than we do, and what he knows scares him so badly he nearly pissed down his leg.’
‘Jonas inn’t an elf, is he.’
‘We never really thought he was,’ Karl said, ‘and he never ever actually said he was one. He just went along with it. But whatever he is, he’s good. And the fear that a wicked man like Dudley has for him tells you that if nothing else.’
‘So what are the rest of us to do when you go in scouting?’
‘Keep yer heads down and keep watch. There’s a way in through the walls by the abbey mill I found when I was there Christmas before last. It’s not used much. There’s a small wood beyond the mill stream and yer can lie low there wiv our horses. Brunhild will keep the others quiet. Don’t look at me like that, Ando. This ain’t one of them times yer can leap in wavin’ yer sword. Well, not yet it ain’t.’
They rode on quietly for some miles, passing nobody but the occasional farm labourer and packman. It was midday when they approached Medeln, and before the road reached the village of Medelnbrücke, which lay on the Taveln a mile from the abbey gate, the riders reined in.
‘So, children, what now?’ Willi asked.
Karl sketched out his idea, and suggested that Wilchin in addition should sneak round to the south of the abbey precinct and observe its main gate towards the village. ‘We needs to know when Boro and the colonel arrive, and Wilchin can scout without getting caught.’
The boy beamed. ‘All they’ll see is a barefoot beggar boy hanging round hoping for alms.’
‘A dangerously useful skill,’ Willi observed. ‘I’ll make sure that your contract of employment forbids the use of it while you’re in my service, unless I say otherwise of course.’
They left the road and took an overgrown lane that led to the west of the abbey and the spinney across the mill race from the abbey walls. After a hug from Andreas the other two boys went about their tasks, leaving him and Willi with the horses.
Willi was anxious and subdued, which Andreas recognised and understood. So after a few minutes he began a subject that had been on his mind for a while.
‘My lord ...’
‘For God’s sake, Andreas, call me by my name. You’re a nobleman and a friend, whatever your origins. I can be Willi to you.’
Andreas grinned and recommenced. ‘Well then, Willi, it’s like this. All the ransom owed me for the pasha is now collected from his family and the remainder’s been promised by Prince Henry. It’s sitting in Herr Ashkenaz’s vault in the Compter of the Neustadt Rathaus. He showed me. There’s three boxes of gold ducats, each of ‘em taking two men to lift. Then there’s a sheaf of sealed papers in his own office in my name which I can exchange for gold at the houses of any of his kinsfolk in any city in the Empire. You can carry them with you with less risk of thieving. So clever.
‘We’ve been having talks, me and him. He says I’m a sensible youth and he couldn’t see me burning through that much money, even when I get round to buying a regiment, which he thinks would be a good investment with Europe the way it is these days. So he’s going to loan out sums at interest for me and add the interest to ... what did he call it?’
Willi raised a brow. ‘The principal?’
‘Yeah, that was it. He’s taking a commission, which seems fair. But he also says I should buy property, which is another way of securing the capital. So what I’m asking is this: can I take a chunk of your property in the Altstadt off of you?’
Willi was intrigued. ‘You’re thinking of building a house?’
‘Well yes, sort of.’
‘What do you mean?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘I’m still thinking it through. But you’d have no objection?’
Will laughed. ‘None at all. I need cash too, and that would be a good start to having my own box in Herr Ashkenaz’s vault. I need servants, real ones, not just that rascal Wilchin, and I can’t go on living at the Sign of the Angel with Serge or in my old room at the Marmorpalast. Property up on the Altstadt is cheap they tell me, and a lot of my estate there is pretty much run down, so it won’t set you back much. It pays me rents though, and I can use some of it to secure a loan. Then maybe I can start thinking about building my own house up there.’
‘Great! We’ll be neighbours, Willi.’
‘Well, there you are. Let’s make the Altstadt fashionable between us.’
***
Serge discovered with some relief that his major could do most of the routine tasks associated with commanding a regiment, and could be trusted to get on with it, indeed he expected no less. He was also discovering a sense of pride in the Prinzengarde and their turnout. As he watched his men mounting up and efficiently breaking camp outside the fortifications of Vorplatzenberg he observed no hostility amongst the men or officers towards him, despite the fact that Barkozy had not been an unpopular commander. Serge was known to be close to their colonel-in-chief, the Crown Prince, and had previously made several friends amongst the company officers, the newest of whom was sitting astride a stallion next to him; Ensign Piotr Welsch, formerly sergeant of the life company, promoted to a commission at Andreas Wittig’s recommendation and given that morning the favour of bearing the colonel’s guidon.
A party of three riders cantered towards him. Serge had no difficulty recognising the Pasha Mehmed in the lead, still in western dress. Behind him rode a more exotic character in small turban and oriental trousers, a tiny embroidered waistcoat barely covering his nipples, but otherwise apparently naked. It was Hans Blicke, his long fair hair shaved off, an iron collar round his neck and cuffs banding his thin wrists. The smile beaming from his pretty face and kohl-fringed eyes indicated he was living his dream. The third rider was a stranger, a heavy-faced oriental gentleman, though also in western dress.
‘So infidel, this is goodbye. I could not leave without expressing an overdue thanks for your hospitality, and regret that we never got around to that fuck I owed you and which you would have assuredly enjoyed. Your loss of course. I shall take this stupid German boy with me as I promised him. He has his uses, and I foresee some hours of amusement as he comes to know what it really is like to be a white slave in the Ottoman lands.
‘May I also present my good brother’s emissary, who summons me to Constantinople. I am not to return to Bosnia, which is good news for your Christian princelings I suppose. Instead His Sublime Majesty under the advice of the Grand Vizier has created for me a new post in the Diwan, the Imperial council. I am to be now the Amedi, his adviser on dealings with the infidels and the Muslim states outside the empire. My despatches to my dear brother Numan have been shown to the Reis ül-küttab, the chief of the imperial civil service, and not unnaturally, their wisdom and depth of knowledge have so impressed him that an entirely new department of state is to be mine, where I may plot the downfall of the West.’
Serge laughed. ‘Then I suppose some measure of congratulation may be offered you, though hardly good wishes. I shall miss you, Mehmed. You were a good friend to me once you got over your desire to run me through with your sword. Once I’m free of the cares of state I plan to return the visit and one day see for myself the antiquities, minarets and palaces of your great city.’
‘Make it soon, infidel! Or you may encounter my emperor’s armies marching the other way to bring the Faith to Vienna and Strelsau.’ Then Mehmed turned his horse and rode off towards the East and home, without a backward glance.
***
Karl Wollherz was becoming aware of his powers, and more willing to trust them. His confrontation with Dudley had demonstrated to him quite how much he could now do. He had routed the elemental Dudley had called Mammon the Insatiable with greater ease than even Ando had the last time it had threatened them, and without the benefit of a magic sword. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that the elemental had seemed to have much less power in the material world than it had in the World Beyond. Yet it was a victory and it had done his confidence a lot of good.
With this in mind, he carefully opened his mind to what he could sense, the way he did when he communed with Brunhild and entered the thought world of her imperial herd. But this time he was searching for any feeling of power in the vicinity. He paused in the trees on the bank of the abbey mill race, and let his mind drift free, like the leaves on the green waters sliding past him.
He could certainly feel a strong presence ahead of him beyond the walls of the abbey, though he did not have enough experience to recognise its origin. Was it the abbess? Or was it Lord Willi’s captive mother, who he assumed must also be a person of power. Did whoever it was sense him too? There was no way to know, and Karl had to get to the church.
Karl picked his way over a fence and across a plank bridge to find himself within the mill chamber, full of the sound of rushing water. The mill was not working and the great stones were still. The door beyond, as he knew, was kept unlatched. Through it was a weed-grown yard from which a cobbled lane led to the abbey’s outer court, but he also knew that a small Gothic door next to a gardener’s shed opened into the nuns’ cemetery. It was locked, but Karl found the key where he knew the gardener kept it, under an upended flower pot.
Slipping in, Karl stood a while in the solemn, quiet and empty space beyond, getting his bearings. Then he picked his way along the lines of stones to the great north transept and its west door. He chose not to go around the transept to the three anchorite’s cells but to scout out the centre of the trouble, the shrine. He removed his hat and slipped inside.
Within the church he found that the midmorning office was just ending. The choir nuns were filing out into the transept opposite, the few lay people present bowing as the ladies passed. All seemed very peaceful and normal. Karl stayed unobtrusively in the shelter of one of the piers of the central tower, leaning against it like a tired servant boy escaping his tasks in the world outside for a quiet moment of rest. In reality he was straining his new senses to pick up any clue as to the supernatural currents around him.
One was close at hand – the abbess he assumed – bringing up the rear of the procession of her nuns out of the church. His mind portrayed these powers by colour, and the abbess’s was a deep and savage crimson. Another was further away and dim, a sad sort of pale blue. Was that the princess, Willi’s mum? The most distant and weakest was a sickly green, which might be the approaching aura of General Dudley he supposed.
But underlying all these he began to realise was something else in the abbey, and his mind interpreted it as the way a mountain bore up the crown of a city built upon it. It was present and it was tremendous, but his mind simply couldn’t take in its immensity. It was not aware of him, and though he knew he had the capacity to engage with it he dare not. It would be even more foolish than leaping out of hiding, shouting, into the way of a gigantic bear that was passing him by otherwise oblivious.
Of the Lady Fenice he could sense no trace at all, which seemed to preclude any conference with the friendly powers she represented. So he concluded it was Willi’s mum he had to find. She had to be an ally, and for Willi’s sake he had to find her in any case. He took a fix on her aura, closing his eyes and turning his head from side to side slowly as if he were trying to sense the place of the sun in the sky by the heat as it beat on his skin.
She was beyond the church to its east, so much he could determine. Karl quietly left the transept and went out once more into the cemetery. He passed the anchorite’s cells and resisted the temptation to look into the middle one where he had encountered Fenice. Perhaps a new nun was now closed inside it.
Beyond the anchorite’s cells and choir began the great rounded chevet of the abbey, with its jutting radial chapels. Once past them he was confronted by another wall. He saw an open doorway to his right and, with little choice open to him if he was to proceed, slipped cautiously through it. He was now in a part of the abbey where a wandering boy would be instantly noted and questioned. He found himself in a passage which to his right gave on to a small paved cloister, surrounding a pretty little garden with a statue of the Virgin Mary in its centre.
Karl took shelter within the garden, perching on a rustic seat largely hidden by a stand of shrubs. He pondered the local currents that were stirring his mind. As he did so it came home to him again how his relationship with Jonas Niemand had fundamentally changed his nature. The elf had himself admitted that he had used Wilchin as an experiment in blending the nature of human and elf and had partly succeeded, to Wilchin’s own delight. But what were his intentions with Karl?
It seemed to Karl that the elf had found in him someone in whom the Lady Fenice’s people had already taken an interest, for it was clear that the Dead had offered him some compensation for the bereavement of his family. But then Jonas had gone further and poured more magic into his being than any human had ever absorbed, at least since Fenice’s day. Why? Jonas Niemand had a deep scheme in his head which he was not sharing and it concerned the fate of humanity, not just Karl. He shook his head. His clear sight could be irritating at times.
Karl turned his attention to the west end of the building in front of him beyond the other side of the cloister. It looked like a miniature abbey, without the tower, and its door was opposite his perch. He felt around it. The door was not just closed. It was sealed by a spell of great power. Maybe it could be broken but Karl had the distinct impression that to do so would sound an instant alarm to people he’d rather avoid at present.
***
Considering the distractions weighing on his mind, Boromeo von Tarlenheim surprised himself with a feeling of homecoming as he and Barkozy left the town of Giebensmuth, sited at the inflow of the Taveln into the Starel, and headed north west up the Tavelnerdaal. It wasn’t so much that he was heading for Tarlenheim and the family home, for which he felt no particular affection, but rather the familiarity of the valley’s vineyards climbing up its gentle slopes, heavy now with the grape harvest, and the neat little riverside villages clustered round their churches.
It was early morning and they would be at Medeln abbey by late afternoon. So far as Boromeo knew, he was on his own. He was pretty sure the others knew the crisis had come, but could not be confident they would seek him out by way of Strelsau. So he had to play things by ear.
He had been quite impressed by Barkozy’s ability as a storyteller. His poignant account of the defeat of the Ruritanian army above Mittenheim and the heroic death of Crown Prince Henry was actually quite moving, even if it was a pack of lies. As Barkozy told the prince’s last moments in the tap room of last night’s inn, Boromeo gave it the tribute of a tear and did his best to dedicate his life to seeking the doom of the Elector Max with conviction. Barkozy didn’t make the mistake of awarding himself a heroic part in the action, which would have been a cause for suspicion. No doubt he had been uneasy that news of any such fictional defeat had not apparently reached Giebensmuth, but he covered it by urging reticence on Boromeo, to keep their ‘mission’ discreet. So when asked by locals of the progress of the hostilities they had protested ignorance.
‘Tell me, Colonel,’ Boromeo asked as they took the Tarlenheim road at a fast trot, ‘what d’you think happened to General Dudley?’
‘Er ... what?’
‘D’you think he escaped the disaster, sir?’
‘Why, one can hope of course.’
‘You and he were really good friends, I know. It would be sad to lose him. I suppose he’ll be returning to the Imperial service if he comes safe through this. There won’t be much further opportunity here in Ruritania under Bavarian rule, if it comes to that. Or maybe he’ll want to return to England where I hear their Dutch king proposes to fall on Flanders and take the war into France. Plenty of opportunities for soldiers there these days, I’d say. Would you go with him?’
Barkozy shook his head. ‘I don’t believe the general’s ambitions lie in that direction.’
‘Ah yes, I recall my brother telling me that his concern was to secure his legitimate inheritance from the Elector Palatine.’ Boromeo affected a sad little laugh. ‘Money does family feeling no favours, as I’ve learned to my cost. So tell me, what might the general do if he gets his inheritance? I hope he won’t forget the many services you’ve done him, sir.’
Barkozy frowned. ‘Dudley’s not one to forget a favour ... or an injury.’
‘How so, sir?’ Boromeo gave an earnest and guileless look that would have done credit to Wilchin. ‘He seems an equable enough man in company.’
‘Well, Boromeo, when a man has suffered as many reverses in life as has the general, and he being of royal blood as you know, then it sits hard with him. It’s not just the Wittelsbachs, who were his father’s family, there’s his cousins the kings of England as well, and then there’s the emperor himself. They made him into a suppliant, and in a man with such consciousness of his great lineage that’s a hard thing. No wonder he’s resentful.’
‘He’s fixed on some very high targets for his resentment then, colonel. Beyond the reach of any weapon he might possess, I’d say.’
‘You may think so, Boromeo. But Dudley’s a man of unusual talents, believe me. Now what time would you estimate we’ll reach the gates of Medeln abbey?’
Boromeo was left with some respect for General Dudley’s evident ambitions to do great havoc in this world, should he get hold of the Golden Portifor and put its secrets to use. It seemed gold was not the issue as it had been with the Graf Oskar, Boromeo’s grandfather. Dudley wanted blood and vengeance.
***
Wilchin took a pause to have a pee around the side of the abbey gatehouse. When he returned from that essential task, it was to see a rider approaching from the direction of the village. He promptly cloaked himself in his favourite disguise of a tired and ragged beggar boy and nestled inconspicuously into a space next to the broad buttress to the west of the great gate, as if he were napping. So he was unnoticed by the rider as he dismounted at the gate and rang the porter’s bell. It was General Dudley.
Wilchin listened to the exchange as the general requested an interview with the Lady Abbess Maria, and was left cooling his heels for quite some time. Occasionally Wilchin heard the man muttering to himself as he paced up and down in front of the gate. Then with a click the wicket gate of the great doors opened and the abbess herself emerged, alone. Dudley bowed.
‘So Mister Bard, you have come back,’ she said with a tinge of amusement in her voice. ‘How long has it been since I expelled you by force from my precinct? Old Clothilde had just died and I had just been elected: yes ... it must be five years now. And now you wish to return? You know I would be taking a risk allowing you back through these gates.’
‘It was my youthful rashness, my lady, for which I now apologise,’ Dudley replied. ‘I was eager to visit the site where your father, my master, had his great triumph and met his regrettable end.’
‘I think we both know that pilgrimage was not your purpose in breaking into this abbey, Mister Bard. You were after my father’s notebook, which I fortunately was able to retrieve from the wreck. If that is what you seek, you’ve come in vain. Should you not be with the Crown Prince defending the kingdom, by the way?’
‘I’m not seeking the book, my lady. I seek sanctuary. We are all undone. The Horned One himself is at large in our world. I know not how, but as I was attempting a summons of a spirit, not just the spirit appeared but the Great One Himself on his heels, in His guise of a child. His power was immense and the glance of His eye terrible. I was lucky to escape.’
‘And why do you think you’ll be any safer here?’
‘You know why, my lady. That power hidden here which made your father’s triumph possible depresses all other powers about it, even that of the Horned One. Between us we may have a chance to resist Him.’
The abbess pondered a while. ‘I’m not sure I fully believe you, Mister Bard. I cannot imagine why that creature whose name we must not speak might be interested in this place at this time. Unless, of course, there is something you’re not telling me?’
‘Your wisdom, my lady, humbles me. In a few hours I will be in a position to offer you a gift, a blood sacrifice which will enable us both to complete your father’s work.’
‘Fool!’ the abbess burst out in anger. ‘You bring your danger with you. How do you know that I’m ready for this? That I wish it? Which of my nephews have you kidnapped or duped?’
‘The younger one, my lady. As for whether you wish this, I know you do. What else is there for you but to complete the work your great father began? And once complete what would you not be able to do? You could be the immortal queen of this world, not merely the ruler of this ancient pile of stones and keeper of its secret, a power you cannot reveal or dare even to employ. The Horned One would be powerless against you.’
There was a long silence. The abbess let out a sigh. ‘Enter then, Mister Bard, but be warned. This precinct has more secrets than you are aware of, and I’m beginning to suspect my father’s great adventure has left us here with some unexpected and troubling consequences.’
They entered the gate and it clicked shut behind them. Wilchin pondered a moment, then raced off to find Willi and Andreas.
***
Karl sat frowning, staring at the building opposite him. A lay sister of the abbey had just emerged from it on to the cloister, supporting a very aged and arthritic nun, and the pair had slowly moved off together through an arch on his right. Whatever her health problems neither the nun nor her helper had apparently any difficulty with the door, and neither was a person of any powers that he could detect. It occurred to him that the building was the abbey’s infirmary with its own church and its cloister, in which he was sitting.
Whatever the dangers, Karl had to try to gain access, even though his inner senses told him that the barriers surrounding the infirmary would resist him. They were devised to stop a person of power leaving it, but would work as well against such a one attempting to enter. He stood and walked purposefully across the garden directly towards the door. When he got to the central statue of the Virgin he began to feel resistance, as though the air was congealing around him. By the time he was approaching the cloister walk opposite every step was a labour, and sweat was breaking out on his brow. The arthritic nun had been quicker on her feet than he now was. It was hopeless. No need to worry about triggering an alarm, he could not make so much as a dent in the barrier. He retired back to his hiding place, the pressure easing every step he took away from the infirmary.
Hanging around here would do no good. Willi’s mother was inaccessible to him, or for that matter to Andreas and Wilchin, who would be resisted too. And then he realised why Willi was here. The barrier would not prevent his approach. He had no powers at all, Karl realised, other than a sense of humour that was a bit beyond his comprehension. He cautiously felt around him and detected no other person nearby, so he slipped out of the cloister and headed back to the mill house.
***
To Serge’s relief the Prinzengarde was not one of the cavalry regiments selected by Prince Henry to remind the Elector Max that his lands were defenceless against the Ruritanian army now deploying within his province of Straubing. Very soon Bavaria on this side of the Donau would be aflame, its fields and villages wasted. The Elector had no forces east of Landshut that could resist. This was the grimmer part of warfare that he wanted nothing to do with if he could avoid it. The prince on the other hand went about it with no apparent care for the misery about to be inflicted at his command on thousands of innocents. Serge knew Prince Henry had a kindly side, but for all that he was not gentle. Those he identified as the enemies of his land and obstacles to what he wanted to achieve would receive no mercy from him, and their sufferings would trouble him not in the slightest.
Serge’s orders were to stay in garrison at Vorplatzenberg and await the arrival of the allied army. ‘You get on with young Staszek, Phoebus, so I’m attaching you to his command. You speak his lingo and you’re half a Glottenburger. He’ll take from you what he might not from a Ruritanian officer of rank.’
‘And what would that be, your royal highness?’
The prince grinned. ‘That I don’t want him meddling in my campaign. He and his men are here for show. To have both Rothenian realms allied against Bavaria is a warning to Max. We’re a bigger dog than he can safely tease. I’m going to underline this for him, and then it’ll be a very long time before Bavaria tries it on with us again.’
The glimpse into the prince’s mind intrigued Serge. ‘You still intend marching on Constantinople, don’t you? So you want no threats behind you.’
The prince burst into laughter. ‘My God, Phoebus, you do read me like one of your books. The Pasha Mehmed and I had quite a few chats while he was with us. I long to try my chances in battle with him again. He’s a worthy adversary, worthier I would say than that jackal of an elector across the Ebrendt. Max was only a man of honour when he was in the field against the Turk. Now he’s the puppet of French Louis, and where’s the honour in that?’
Serge went to check accommodations within the barracks of Vorplatzenberg with his major, and stopped for a discussion about the necessity of promoting one of the captains to be second major.
‘Of course, the Freiherr von Bernenstein might very well claim the promotion on grounds of aptitude, distinction and nobility, my lord.’
‘But you’d advise against it?’
‘He’s in his fifteenth year, my lord, and already a brilliant soldier adored by his men. He’ll be buried with a marshal’s baton on his coffin I have no doubt, if the chances of battle spare him. But there’s a right order to things. If he were here I think the young man himself would prefer that such a position went to someone of more seniority in service. Besides that, I rather think the Freiherr only sees his time in the Prinzengarde as an apprenticeship. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t buy his own regiment before he reaches the age of seventeen. I understand that the spoils of Basovizza gave him ample funds to do it too.’
‘I see your point, major. We’ll talk again about this. Would you know where my servant might be?’
Serge found Jan Lisku making up his bed in the handsome quarters reserved for field officers in the fortress. ‘Where’s Karl, Janeczu?’
‘I sent him back home after his injury, sir. He rode off in a party with Andreas and my lord Strelsau.’
Serge’s mind shied away from the subject of Willi. Their argument still hurt and he could not escape the suspicion that he had been out of order in provoking it. ‘We need more servants, Janeczu,’ he observed.
‘That’s the fifth time you’ve said that, sir. Perhaps when we get back home after this latest adventure we’ll actually do something about it.’
***
Karl listened intently to Wilchin’s report of the arrival of Dudley at the abbey and gave his own on the spell that bound Willi’s mother.
‘You can call her the Princess Sophia Charlotte if you wish,’ Willi remarked tiredly.
‘Bit of a mouthful, my lord,’ Wilchin grinned, ‘so “Willi’s mum” will have to do for the moment.’
‘Anyway, my lord,’ added Karl, ‘none of us can approach the infirmary ...’
‘...‘Cos we’re special, Willi,’ Andreas interjected.
‘Er yes ... so it’s on you.’
Willi quirked up a smile. ‘Then that’s as it should be.’
Karl pondered a moment. ‘You’re right, my lord. Maybe that’s how the Lady Fenice always wanted it to happen too. She knew that the prison your mum was put in couldn’t be broken by the likes of us, so who better to do it than the princess’s own abandoned son?’
‘Hah!’ exclaimed Andreas, ‘then we’re on the right track, Karlo! So we go back in all together. Our troops are marshalled and the battle commences!’
‘The Conduit for ever!’ cried Wilchin.
Karl remained pensive however. ‘There’s one thing to do before this battle begins,’ he said. ‘I read in one of my lord Serge’s books that warriors of olden days made vows before they drew their swords. This is the most holy war anyone’s ever fought, so we need an extra special vow.’
‘You’re dead right, Karlo,’ responded Andreas, ‘and this is what it’ll be. If we get through this you, my lord Willi, will give us a site in your estate on the Altstadt, besides what I’m gonna buy from you to live in, and on it I’ll build a house for the poor and abandoned children of the city, the best that ever was. They’ll have good food, clean beds and clothes, a school and training to make their living.’
‘And lots of love too!’ Karl cried.
‘That’ll be up to you,’ Andreas added. ‘Cos you will be its Governor and run it so the children will get the sort of attention and affection they need. Who better than you to make sure of that?’