The Golden Portifor - 5. Chapter 5

‘So you’ve been given leave from the Hofburg, master?’ Jan Lisku was surprised to find Serge amongst his books in their rooms at the Red Rose when he returned from his business about the city.

‘Just for a few days, Sancho. My father being in town was the excuse to ask, but there were other reasons. Where’s Karl?’

‘He has to have Sunday off, sir, not that the little heathen will use the day of rest for what the Lord intended. So I imagine he’s hanging round the Platz and showing off to his former vagrant friends the fact that he now possesses shoes and no lice.’

‘Seriously?’

‘I have no real idea, sir. He does love walking the streets and lanes though. His knowledge of the city and its peculiarities is really quite remarkable, I’ve found. We’ve been spending the last few afternoons looking at properties in various wards, and striking up conversations with possible landlords. I assume you’re still determined on finding longer term accommodation in Strelsau?’

‘Very much so.’

‘Then perhaps we may use your temporary liberty to view possibilities.’

‘We’ll do that tomorrow. In the meantime sit yourself down Janeczu, our past has come back to haunt us. Let me explain about something I saw after leaving my father yesterday ...’

Jan listened seriously to what his master had to say. He sniffed. ‘The man Barkozy clearly is bound up in secrets, sir, especially considering what you told me after we first met him. But what more do we know?’

‘He works for Colonel Dudley, who works for the Prince Eugene, who works for the Emperor, so I would say that our suspicions should point in the direction of Vienna. Willi – excuse me, Wilhelm von Strelsau – says the Imperial ambassador, the Count Waldburg, has built up quite a faction in the Hofburg. But so has the French ambassador, the duc de Meulan. I would guess that Waldburg is working to bring His Majesty into the Grand Alliance and Monsieur le Duc is working to keep him out of it.’

‘Where does His Royal Highness stand, sir?’

‘Good question, Janeczu. I don’t think he favours one side or other, it’s the Turks he wants to fight. He’s not interested in the western war, other than what the newssheets have to say about the military manoeuvres. He likes me to read them out over breakfast and he uses the crockery to stage the campaigns on the tablecloth for us. But there is one significant personality at his court who might influence him one way or another. His mistress, the Lady Ulrica, has a mind of her own, and my good friend Black Wilhelm believes she’s engineering the fall of Graf Aloysius, who he tells me is under the thumb of the French. So there’s a possible clue.’

‘So you’re just observing, sir? There doesn’t seem much call for you to do more than watch the way the tide flows ... that and keep your grandfather up to date with how things are playing in the Hofburg.’ He brightened. ‘Oh sir! I’ve just realised. We’re a faction at the Hofburg too! The Glottenburgers! Now I feel sinister. I shall buy a mask.’

Serge chuckled at the look on his valet’s face, and then sobered a little. ‘There’s some truth in what you say, Sancho. Whether we like it or not we’re caught up in the politics of the Hofburg, and if I needed a guiding light to keep me on some sort of moral course then the interests of the lordship of Olmusch should be it. But then, of course, I’m a sworn member of the household of His Royal Highness too, and my duty in the palace is clearly to him.’

‘So we shall watch and wait then, sir?’

‘Indeed, and I think we shall collect information that will assist Prince Henry should he ever ask my counsel, which he has not done yet. I rather think that Wilhelm von Strelsau and the Lady Ulrica are the people he turns to in that regard, with both of whom he has deep ties of affection.’

‘He loves his bastard cousin then?’

Serge thought about it. ‘Y’know, I believe he does. They’ve lived all their lives together and from what I’ve observed of families, they seem closer than most brothers. Wilhelm ... no, I’ll call him Willi ... Willi may defer to the Prince, who’s utterly wilful, but he snipes at and makes fun of him, and the Prince tolerates from him what he would accept from no one else, which can only be because deep down he knows how clever Willi is, and how devoted to him.’

‘I look forward to meeting the Black Bastard of Strelsau all the more then, he seems quite a study, sir.’

‘That he is, Sancho. Now, let’s sit down and make a list of possible new lodgings to view. This copy of Messinger’s Geschichte der Stadt Strelsau has a street map which folds out: very clever.’

***

Karl Wollherz took a while to understand the concept of the map spread out on the parlour table. But when Serge asked him to imagine that he was a raven flying far above the city looking down from the clouds, with the map as the picture he would see below him, the idea clicked.

‘Oh sir! I see, so things below would look far smaller, just like the people do when you look down on them from a high tower.’

‘There you are, child, you have it. Now imagine you, young raven, are flapping high above the city. Hah! You smile. You like the idea. Good, now you have the sun on your back and one wing is towards the sunrise – the east – and the other to the sunset, the west. With me? Good. Now you’re staring down with your beady black eyes on the roof of the Hofburg, that’s this shaded block here on the map. So, point out to me the Salvatorskirche ... Excellent! Janeczu, the boy’s a prodigy.’

Karl beamed up at Serge and then pored head down over the map, answering and asking questions of the young men looking over his shoulder. Once they were sure he had the concept of topography firmly in his shorn head, it was their turn to pursue their enquiries.

Serge assumed his leather travel coat and gave his baldric and rapier to Karl to carry behind him, as the custom was for a gentleman. Jan Lisku was in his sober black suit, which as Serge endlessly reminded him made him look like a clergyman.

They headed into the maze of streets in the south-east quadrant of the Neustadt, across whose grid cut the former Roman road that was now the line of Gildenfarhbsweg, a long commercial street. Karl directed them through some narrow lanes and brought them out on to a small city square, dominated by a church of St Anthony which jutted high up above the surrounding half-timbered gables. Children were skipping and playing under the lime trees of the square and at first sight it looked the pleasant neighbourhood Jan had suggested it was.

‘So is this the place you want me to look at?’ Serge asked.

‘Yes sir. We’re just south of Herrengasse. Fleischergasse and the meat market is a short walk and the Conduit is conveniently close. It’s well-situated for the Hofburg too, a lot closer than the Red Rose, and just unfashionable enough to depress the rent of that house there, the sign of the Green Man. That’s the one we’re viewing, if the good widow who rents it is at home.’

‘Any comments, Karl?’

‘Well sir, what Master Jan says is true and all. Though there is no stabling for Jennet and Brunhild. That shuttered tenement across there is a whore house and behind the property next door to the Green Man is a line of cottages over a foul drain where the fever broke out earlier this year and killed dozens; they’re empty now of all but rats I think. But the Antonplatz is cheap for a reason, if you please sirs.’

They ended their inspection of the Green Man with a determination to come back there only if nothing better suggested itself.

‘So sir, across the bridge we go,’ Jan announced.

‘Do your explorations take you over to the Altstadt, Karl?’ Serge enquired of the boy.

‘Oh yes, sir. Though it’s a very different city, of course.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Well sir, it has all the big, old churches and there’re lots of priests and friars and such. Not that they’re any more charitable than the ones down in the Neustadt, but the almonry of St Waclaw’s good for bread if you join the queue before dawn and pretend your mother sent you for your starving family. The abbey’s beadle drives off the street kids if he recognises them, unless we offer him half pfennigs to stand with the others.’

Serge looked over to Jan. ‘There’s a sermon there, you think?’

‘I’m sure Our Lord might have something to say to that beadle, if that’s what you mean, sir.’

Karl was still musing on the nature of the Altstadt. ‘They use the country speech more over the bridge, too.’

‘The country speech?’ Serge said. ‘Oh, you mean Rothenian. Do you understand it, Karl?’

‘Some words, sir. We didn’t speak it much in Ostberg, and in the Neustadt all use German of course. I hear you and Master Jan speaking it a lot.’

‘Out in Glottenburg, where we grew up, most people use Rothenian, Karl, even the gentry. Jan and I have always used it together ever since we were young boys playing in the fields and woods. And in Husbrau, where I was born, you don’t hear much German outside the towns, though German is the language of the great houses, such as Tarlenheim. Master Jan had some learning to do to bring his German up to a sufficient standard.’

‘Yes sir,’ Karl chuckled. ‘You can tell sometimes.’

‘You’re overdue for that beating I promised you, little rascal,’ Jan huffed. Serge noticed how the boy seemed indifferent to the threat, and indeed he smiled up at the valet, quite untroubled by any thought he might mean it.

Once across the great bridge over the Starel they began the climb up Domstrasse and soon were above the roofline of the Neustadt, looking back across the river. After a further climb Karl indicated they needed to take a left turn along a narrow cross street, which had a line of low cottages on its west side and more substantial and taller stone and brick houses on the east, backing into a terrace cut into the hill of the Altstadt, the Domshorja as it was called.

‘This is the one, I think,’ Jan announced, scrutinising a paper bill he had. The house was an old one, but very substantial and solidly built in the same honeyed limestone that was the material for the city’s churches and public buildings.

‘Look sir!’ cried Karl, pointing upwards. ‘An angel, there in the niche.’

‘So it is, child,’ Serge replied, damning himself for forgetting his sketchbook. It was not at all uncommon for images of saints, most often the Virgin Mary, to be set in niches in the upper floors of the older houses of Strelsau, such as this evidently was. The more ambitious of such statues were to be found as often as not overlooking prominent street corners.

‘That may well account for this house being called the Sign of the Angel,’ Jan commented drily.

‘A good omen, Sancho?’

‘Excuse me, my lord,’ Karl piped up, ‘but why do you call Master Jan “Sancho”, is that his name in country speech?’

‘No, Karl, it’s a reference to a character in a Spanish story that I’m quite sure Master Jan will be happy to read to you one day. In his telling, Sancho is the hero, isn’t that so?’

‘I do believe so, sir. It tells of the feckless and fantastical behaviour of noble lords and the quiet dignity and wisdom of servants. A truer tale was never told. Young Karl can learn a lot from it. And, if he makes good progress, one day he can read it for himself.’

The Sign of the Angel had no door opening on to the street. The entry was off a cobbled courtyard, reached by an arch through the house front. The yard within had a barn up against the terrace to the rear of the site, with stabling to the right and a well in the centre of the court. A large knocker in the shape of a grinning goblin produced a hollow echo in the house beyond. Eventually a grey-haired old servant appeared, wiping his hands on a cloth.

‘Can I help you, young sirs?’

‘My lord here is inspecting properties in the city with a view to a lease,’ Jan replied.

The old man bowed his head at the young lord. ‘My master is not at home, my lord. He will be sorry to have not been present to greet you. The bills were only printed two days ago. I will do my best in his absence.’

They entered, and the servant led them through the principal rooms: the great chamber, withdrawing room and parlour on the ground floor, the several bedchambers on the first floor and the dormer rooms looking over a parapet to a view across the majestic bend of the Starel and the Neustadt, so spectacular as to take Serge’s breath away. The servant noticed his gaze. ‘Ah, sir. Master says that this house gives you an angel’s view of the city below, hence its name.’

‘Really?’

‘I don’t think so, sir. But I believe it was once a property of the chantry and guild of the Holy Angels in the Domkirche. There may even be an annual rent still payable to the masters of the guild. It’ll be in the particulars.’

‘Karl and I will go and look over the offices and kitchen, sir,’ Jan announced. ‘You can stay and enjoy the view.’

Serge nodded and did just that. He had already decided that with a room like this available for a study he wanted this house, never mind its age and distance from the Hofburg. There was something in the fine stonework and solidity of the walls and the smell of its seasoned old timber that reminded him of the great house at Tarlenheim, where he had spent his life till his seventh birthday and his fostering at Olmusch.

It was Jan Lisku who broke the meditative silence as they walked back along Engelngasse to the main road. ‘Well sir, it’s off the beaten track, and a long uphill walk to the Altmarkt. The stabling is by no means perfect, with tiles missing off the roofs. I can’t answer for the kitchens, but they resemble the medieval ones in the priory at Olmusch.’

‘No church or house of religion within a short walk either,’ Serge contributed with a pointed look.

‘Indeed sir, but you’re going to take it if it’s possible, aren’t you. I saw that look in your eye.’

‘What look?’

‘Sort of dreamy with a half smile. Just like when your honoured grandfather handed you a new book from France or England. You’re in love with the place.’

‘And what about you, Karl?’

‘Oh well sir. I don’t know much about how you run a house, but I felt it was happy.’

‘Happy?’

‘Yes sir, like ... I don’t know, not a place you have bad dreams in, maybe. It’s got its own well, sir, and everyone says the springs on the hill are sweet.’

‘So there you are, young Karl. I’ll get on it tomorrow, my lord.’ Jan sighed. ‘I’ll take your offer to the owner and then find a notary to draw up the indentures. I know how much we can afford, so you’ll have to trust me if say it’s probably beyond your present purse. I’m afraid it’ll need a large part of your reserve of thalers and ducats to close the deal. But your good father is in town. He can seal the indentures before he goes back to Tarlenheim, and his security should reassure the owner, if he’s willing. Then there’s the definite need for a cook, a maid and a laundress.’

‘There’s a launderer just up the Domstrasse, Master Jan,’ Karl piped up.

‘Well, that’s one item less, then. Leave it to me. That’ll be a lot of running about town for you and me tomorrow, Karl.’

***

The coucher on Thursday was delayed by the Prince’s sudden desire for there to be music and dancing for the ladies of the court, after apparently a prod in that direction from the Lady Ulrica.

‘He dances rather well, actually,’ Willi commented. ‘But not these days by preference. He and I were given the two leading roles in the court masque for Shrove Tuesday in ’88 at the Marmorpalast. He was Cupid and I was Psyche.’

‘Seriously?’

‘We wore masks, idiot. Besides, I was a willow-slim fourteen-year-old. I didn’t have to shave my legs, as I would these days. He was ... astounding. No, really. There is a part of him that adores performing. You saw it at the grande levée last week. My, were his Mittenheimers impressed. But that morning of course he was in the role that really excites him these days: the lord of men. If I may say so, I was a suitably adoring Psyche.’

‘Ah ... your role, Willi! Spurned lover.’

‘My dear, you are coming on too fast. But – where was I? Ah yes. We were schooled in la Belle Danse from the age of ten, and we made quite the couple. But alas, his obsession with martial affairs grew greater and greater, and he was lost. Still, it paid off for him as a fencer.’

‘It’s true, he’s very graceful.’

‘Did you do much of that sort of thing in Glottenburg, Phoebus?

‘My grandmother made sure I could perform on the floor with credit if I was called upon. But I only ever attended one ball at the ducal court, and I stayed close to the wall throughout.’

‘You’ll have your chance this evening then. There! His Royal Highness claps his hands, and we must process to the Great Chamber, where the musicians await.’

The Great Chamber of the Hofburg was a marvel of gilded plaster, coffered and painted ceilings and mirrored walls, inspired by King Rudolf’s visit to Versailles after the Truce of Ratisbon. Musicians were already playing in its east gallery as the Prince’s court entered, commencing proceedings with a sedate allemande, a dance in which Serge was reasonably confident. He was paired with the Lady Dorothea von Bielefeld, one of the Lady Ulrica’s confidants.

‘Madame, your very humble servant.’ He bowed as they commenced the line.

‘I’m much obliged to you, my lord,’ she dimpled at him. She was a small and very pretty woman, and like all the court ladies, as it seemed to Serge, she gave off the air of being in possession of secrets and information denied to him and other male inhabitants of the court, with the possible exception of Willi. He was beginning to think it was a way of keeping the men of the court off balance. The Italian ladies of two centuries ago he had met through the writings of Castiglione seemed much the same: self-assured, unapproachable, judgemental and situated at the centre of the court as its arbiters. He also remembered what Castiglione said about these qualities being necessary for women as their only defence against the gossip and slander with which the court seethed.

‘And are you making friends at the Hofburg, my lord?’ she asked him, and as usual the question seemed to be asking more than appeared on the surface.

‘I’m rather hoping I’m making one at this very moment,’ he smilingly replied. Two could play at that game, he thought.

She smiled in turn at the clumsy sally. ‘Well, sir, that’s to be seen. You seem to have been confined to the Watching Chamber since you arrived. We don’t see much of you around the Hofburg otherwise.’

‘I’m learning my duties, madame, such as they are. I also have to find myself more permanent lodgings in the city, and that’s taken up a good deal of my time to date, but I hope to be in a position to be more sociable soon.’

‘Good! The ladies of the court will be reassured. I would recommend the salon held at the hôtels of Monsieur le Duc de Meulan and the Count of Landsberg, on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons respectively. I would be happy to introduce you.’

‘Er ... the French and Bavarian ambassadors, am I right madame?’

‘Indeed sir.’

‘Anything else you would recommend to a stranger in Strelsau?’

‘There is always riding in the park of the Marmorpalast and I myself enjoy the promenade along the western Lines and out to the University precinct, which is popular on Sunday afternoons. I for one would be very glad to see you at either.’

The set ended and Serge bowed low to the lady, thanking her and promising to give her suggestions serious consideration.

He watched Willi dance the following gigue with considerable style and energy. It seemed his friend was not exaggerating his capacities as a dancer.

‘Such a show-off,’ said the voice of the Lady Ulrica, who had suddenly materialised at Serge’s elbow.

‘He has a talent, for sure, my lady, and I wouldn’t grudge him the opportunity of indulging it,’ Serge commented. ‘I understand His Royal Highness is also quite the dancer.’

‘So he is, though getting him on the floor to demonstrate it is not easy these days. But he shall not escape me tonight. He is pledged to partner me in the sarabande. And you, sir?’

‘Me, madame? I have little talent that way. But for the honour of the Tarlenheims, I shall take the floor in support of my prince.’

The Lady Ulrica laughed and fluttered her fan. ‘Come sir, you must be introduced to my friend the Gräfin Clementia, a woman of amazing tolerance of inept young gentleman on the dance floor.’ She laced arms with Serge and walked him along the chamber to meet the lady in question, in what Serge calculated was a proprietary gesture intended to signal to the court that he was to be counted among her friends.

***

The Graf Ruprecht looked around his son’s new lodgings. He’d stayed on longer in Strelsau than he had originally intended, which had been useful to Serge as he negotiated his lease for the house in Engelngasse.

‘It’ll do, Sergius,’ was his verdict. ‘It’s solidly built, like those old merchants’ houses always were. I’m glad you didn’t hanker after one of the grand new houses on the Platz. Your grandfather would have had to help you out on that. We’re still far from clear of your other grandfather’s debts out at Tarlenheim. But, all credit to your uncle, he’s retrenched and taken the demesne in hand. Fortunately, our father old Graf Oskar couldn’t touch our mother’s marriage portion, which was princely enough and tangled up with covenants. The De Croȳs know how to guard their own. Had he been able to mortgage that, all would have been lost. But the properties in and around Modenheim are the rock to which my brother has anchored our fortunes in the storm. Your honoured aunt is a fine woman, but the marriage brought my brother only a cash dower and an Auersperg blood link for your cousins.’

‘There’ll be a bedchamber for you here, sir, if business brings you to Strelsau.’

His father gave a harsh and satirical laugh. ‘Economising seems to have entered into the blood of the Tarlenheims these days. It was not always so. The Count of Tarlenheim was once all but king in Ober Husbrau. Your great-grandfather, the second Graf Sergius, held levées with the entire gentry of the province there to bow before him. He led two regiments of horse and one of foot against Gustavus Adolphus, all at his own expense.

‘There was even talk of a ducal title when the first King Rudolf ascended his throne, but the old fellow died not long after from the effects of a wound he received when he defended the house at Tarlenheim from those damnable heretic Swedish marauders. My father, still then only a teenager, took my grandfather’s place and alas, as soon as he got his hands on the reins our family’s fortunes went over a cliff.’

Jan Lisku and Karl arrived and set out the table with food and bottles of wine. Both were on their best behaviour, saying not a word and bowing low to the Graf as if synchronised as they left. An amused Serge guessed they had been practising their exit earlier in the afternoon. They needn’t have bothered, his father never noticed servants unless they got in his way. One of Serge’s childhood memories from Tarlenheim was of his father belabouring a gardener with his walking stick for placing a wheelbarrow in the middle of his accustomed post-prandial walk.

Serge poured out a horn cup of red wine for his father, apologising that he had as yet no glasses to offer. ‘I never saw much of grandfather Oskar when he was alive and I was still at Tarlenheim,’ he observed. ‘I have few memories of the old man.’

‘He was rarely ever there, Sergius. He preferred our city mansion and his endless travelling. Of all of his children he only ever cared much for the company of your Aunt Maria, the eldest of us. Quite a beauty in her day, and she presided over his salon in Strelsau from when she was your age as it happens, leaving mother alone with the little ones out in Husbrau. Maria never married and she joined the sisters at Medeln when father died. She was elected abbess only two years ago. Oddly, now I mention it, she was asking after you when I went down to the abbey to pay my respects last summer.’

‘Me sir? I can’t recall ever meeting Aunt Maria.’

‘Oh, the older they get, the more tenacious women get about family. Your Uncle Sergius is expecting you at Tarlenheim this Christmas by the way. You might spend some time with your brother Boromeo too. The boy’s a lost cause, in my opinion, as I told your mother. I’ve noticed no talents whatsoever. Maybe you can have a good influence on him. Now tell me about the court. Your uncle will want a full report from you at Christmas. We’ve lost influence sadly under the present king; inevitable I suppose. But still your uncle Sergius had enough contacts to get your appointment to the Bedchamber, and that, my boy, may be the making of you. So very lucky your being of an age with the Crown Prince.’

***

Much to Willi’s surprise, two weeks after the Michaelmas levée Graf Aloysius still had not lost his post in the Bedchamber. It disconcerted the boy, the quality of whose gossip, as he said, was a matter of real pride to him. ‘But there, I’m taking for granted my knowledge of my cousin’s mind. I forget that there are other forces in play. Aloysius’s family has real weight and the king still has last say on the composition of the prince’s household. Damn me! Could it also be that Henry’s developing some political savvy of his own? Now I think of it, Aloysius’s uncle Franz is Generalfeldwachtmeister. And if I read my cousin aright, it’s control of the army he has in his sights. Well I never.’

The pair were walking the Hofgarten. ‘Does it irritate you that the prince is showing signs of independent practical intelligence, Willi?’

‘You’re right, Phoebus. I’ve gotten used to being the brains of the pair. I feel challenged. Anyway the upshot is that our fun and games in the Watching Chamber are done for the foreseeable. A pity, but much as I valued them I’ve had to take my pleasure elsewhere.’

Serge was a little taken aback at this news. ‘Oh? Really?’

‘Well, yes. There are some obliging pages who’re very happy to go to their knees at your feet, and for only a few coins. Their discretion is an uncertain quantity, so I would not advise you to go that route, Phoebus; though looking as you do I’m sure one or two of them would be happy to forgo the coins. But I’m already known for my likings, so there’s nothing much to lose there.’

‘I’m not sure I’d want to do it anyway.’

Willi took his arm. ‘I imagined as much. You need a steady partner, Sergius. I can see it in your eyes. And don’t look at me. Steadiness is anything other than Wilhelm von Strelsau.’

‘I know that, Willi. You keep on telling me. But I did ... do like what we do. Look, how about you come to my lodgings in the Altstadt, and we can do more of it?’

Willi laughed. ‘An offer I’d be a fool to refuse. And maybe it’s time you learned other things that men can do for pleasure’s sake. My, your interest would be evident to the entire Hofgarten if your waistcoat was open. We shall make an appointment for an afternoon some day very soon and you can assume the position on my back till lately occupied by His Royal Highness. I think it’d suit you nicely. It’d certainly suit me.’

Serge’s heart was racing at the thought. It was only when Willi pulled him to a halt that he became aware of the tenor bell of the Hofkapelle tolling slowly.

‘Damn me!’ Willi swore. ‘Something’s up. The bell usually only plays that measure when members of the royal family have passed to their long rest. But Their Majesties were in good spirits this morning and their various children in no danger. Let’s hope His Royal Highness hasn’t done anything more than usually stupid, or our period of employment will have come to a premature end. Quick, to the Guard Chamber.’

The two youths hastened along the ash paths and up the East Stairs. The captain on duty had a bulletin. ‘News has reached the king that Belgrade has fallen to the Turks, gentlemen: 15,000 troops and 400 cannon lost, and once more the road to Vienna is open to the armies of the Grand Signior. His Majesty has ordered the court into mourning for a week, and a day of fasting and prayer has been proclaimed for Friday. You will need to assume black for your evening duty, gentlemen.’

‘Where’s His Royal Highness, captain?’ Willi asked.

‘He was with His Majesty half an hour ago, and he’s presently in his bedchamber. He’s not to be disturbed.’

‘Er ... alone, captain?’ Serge couldn’t stop himself asking.

The officer gave a thin smile. ‘He’s with Colonels Deploige and Dudley, I believe.’

‘Sounds like a war council,’ Willi concluded.

The tight-lipped captain shrugged, and the two youths took their leave. ‘Something really is up,’ Willi pronounced. ‘I wonder ...’

‘Wonder what?’

‘This has been brewing for months. He’s not exactly been nagging His Majesty, but he’s been singing the one tune every time he has a chance: we need more troops because we have to keep the Habsburgs and the Bourbons off balance; or because the Turks are once again poised to breach the gates of Europe; or because the nobility is complaining of a lack of opportunity for its younger sons. So maybe the fall of Belgrade has finally pushed the old man into some sort of action. He could never refuse Henry any toy he desired as a child. So maybe our prince is about to get a new set of toys.’

‘You mean ...?’

‘Muskets, pikes, cannon, sabers and grenades. I wonder how the Lady Ulrica will deal with these new rivals?’

***

Serge found young Karl Wollherz’s cheerfulness in mucking out Jennet and Brunhild in the mornings impressive.

‘He loves the horses, sir,’ Jan said. ‘and they seem to like the lad too. He sings to them. You’d think they listen. He has the makings of a stablehand, which is fortunate since it seems we’re keeping the horses here in Engelngasse. I have a delivery of oatmeal and straw due this afternoon. But as the lad is willing to do all this for the mares, it saves on paying a livery stable to put them up and maintain them. You should pay Karl more, he’s doing at least two jobs for the price of one: running messages, making small purchases, polishing, sweeping, helping out Margrit in the kitchen as well as all the work with the horses.’

‘I’m paying him?’

‘Theoretically. I’m keeping a tally anyway. Your next quarter’s salary won’t come a moment too soon. Who’d have thought 500 crowns could just melt away like that.’

‘Well, the boy deserves a holiday, and the day of prayer and humiliation is behind us. It’s Saturday and the sun is shining. Saddle up the horses, we’re going for a ride.’

‘What, all three of us?’

‘Karl can ride behind you.’

‘Where do you have in mind, sir?’

‘Out to the Strelsnerwald. There’s an artillery test there today, so I heard in the Guard Chamber.’

Margrit, the new cook, packed them a lunch and they trotted up Domstrasse, over the top of the Domshorja and out of the impressive medieval north gate of the Altstadt. The horses ambled along the bluffs with the great river below them, then they came down through the woods and out on to the heath of the Strelsnerwald. The older youths dismounted, shortened the stirrups of Brunhild, the more placid of the mares, and let Karl take the reins and ride her whooping along the sandy moorland tracks.

They walked the horses to a slight rise and saw a large party of green-coated artillerymen in the distance beside a line of brass cannon in emplacements. There was some signalling with flags going on.

‘There sir. Fortunately they’re pointing the other way, towards the river.’ The first echoing bangs rumbled across the moor as plumes of white smoke billowed up. The two mares had to be calmed as they skittered at the noise.

More bangs echoed across the moorland. Karl’s eyes shone. ‘That’s a brave noise, sir!’ he declared.

‘You wouldn’t want to get too close to it, though,’ Jan replied.

‘That may not be a choice we have, as it happens,’ Serge told them.

‘Why’s that, sir?’

‘Willi von Strelsau finally got it out of his cousin on Thursday night before he retired. King Rudolf has allowed Prince Henry his wish. He’s been given licence and funds to raise a regiment of horse, and two of musketeers in his principality of Mittenheim as their colonel with a rank of Brigadegeneral. Apparently as a sign of princely favour I am to have His Royal Highness’s commission as a captain in the Cuirassier Prinzengarde. The commission may be allowed me free of charge, but the uniform, arms and the necessary two stallions will have to be paid for. So, I think I may have to write to grandfather for a substantial advance, and we really will need a full-time stablehand for our establishment, young Karl. Four horses will be a bit too much even for you.’