The Golden Portifor - 25. Chapter 25

Serge’s arm hurt badly. He used his left hand to pull off his right gauntlet, an agonising exercise. The bullet had penetrated the buff leather sleeve below his elbow and lodged there. He needed a surgeon, but that would have to wait for now. He recovered his sword from the ground and held it awkwardly in his left hand. First he had to deal with the Pasha Mehmed, sitting on the ground amongst the bodies of his guard, Andreas’s blade still at his throat. Serge looked around. The melee had moved westward. The fog of gunpowder smoke had shredded and the sky above was clearing.

‘Get up, excellency,’ he ordered, trying German, which it seemed this remarkable youth knew, for he levered himself to his feet.

‘To whom have I surrendered?’ Mehmed asked, squinting dubiously at the boy with the sword.

‘To a soldier of the Prinzengarde, Andreas Wittig.’

‘This is humiliating. You’re an officer of rank. Take my parole.’

‘Shut yer face,’ snarled Andreas, who was clearly not in the best of moods.

Serge gave a grimace as a spasm of pain racked his arm. ‘Master Wittig is my servant and an honourable young man of great valour,’ Serge told the pasha. ‘You are his rightful prisoner. Now move with us to the rear, and please cooperate. Master Wittig has no reason to love the Turk and I fear in his present mood will take any nonsense personally.’

A prod with the point of Andreas’s sword got the Turk moving in the direction of Basovizza. ‘And who are you, sir?’ Mehmed asked as he stumbled forward.

‘I, sir, am the Freiherr von Tarlenheim, an aide to Prince Henry of Ruritania.’

The pasha snorted and hissed in French ‘We are as yet unregarded. A bushel of gold if you slit this boy’s throat and let me go free.’

‘Hmm,’ Serge mused in the same language with an expression of distaste on his face. ‘Not an honourable man, then. I take that remark as a reflection on my own honour, excellency, and resent it most bitterly.’

‘Then damn your eyes,’ the captive snarled. Serge struggled to sheath his sword with only one hand. Catching sight of the red silk banner of the pasha on the ground, he took it up. He couldn’t see the horse-tail standard anywhere.

‘What was that about, my lord?’ asked Andreas.

‘This nice man wanted me to murder you and take his money so I’d let him go.’

‘I’ll fucking kill him then,’ Andreas snarled.

‘Maybe later,’ Serge said.

‘Need to see to your hurts, my lord,’ the boy added in concern, recalling his master had not gone through the battle unscathed.

The combat had moved westward as the Turkish army broke and fled, leaving behind the macabre and bloodstained wreckage of war: mounds of bodies, abandoned weaponry, and detached body parts. Riderless horses grazed bloodstained grass, some evidently badly wounded. Serge became aware of mutters, groans and pleas rising from the wounded, but he had his own problems. He could now see the tower of Basovizza church and headed that way trailing the banner with him, Andreas and the pasha following behind.

The surgeon’s tents were busy, but Serge’s evident rank gained him notice. He sat on a barrel as one of the surgeons inspected his wound, feeling delicately around the bullet hole. Then he cut the coat’s right sleeve, ripping free the shirt beneath. ‘The linen is clean, sir, and will serve well as bandage. The bullet had enough force to snap your forearm below the joint but not enough to exit. The result is a simple fracture,’ the man said. ‘However, I must extract the bullet, and that will not be painless.’

He produced a leather pad on which Serge had to bite and had him kneel on the ground, his broken arm stretched on the lid of the barrel. Then an assistant gripped his forearm and held him down as the surgeon produced a forceps. Without ceremony he pushed it into the wound, searched around, found and gripped the bloodied ball and pulled it out. The agony was intense and tears filled Serge’s eyes as he bit into the leather. He spat it out and gained some relief in swearing out his pain while the surgeon carefully relocated the broken bone and began tightly bandaging the area.

‘There sir,’ the surgeon pronounced. ‘The lower arm is now bound so as to hold the break in place. There will be swelling and may be bone splinters in the wound which will cause inflammation and pain for some weeks to come. It must be rebandaged soon. If you lose sensation in the hand see a surgeon at once. A sling around your shoulder will support the break and keep it immobile as the bone heals. Once the swelling has subsided I recommend it be rebandaged with a splint. For now that is all I can do, but I have good hope it will heal well if you avoid infection.’

‘How many casualties have there been, sir?’ Serge asked.

‘On our side, not as many as might have been feared. The centre and right wing of the Turk broke after our cavalry charged into their flank and dispersed their sipahis. They will have lost many thousands by contrast. Now please excuse me. General Marcovic is in my charge and I fear he has only a few hours. A cannonball took off both his legs and cut his horse in two.’

Serge got to his feet, feeling wobbly, his right arm throbbing. Andreas was watching his captive like a hawk. Serge examined the Turkish commander. He could only have been Serge’s own age, or even less. He was a good-looking boy, dark of hair but light of skin. In fact he looked more like a northern European than a Levantine apart from his large, dark and liquid eyes, which were striking in their beauty. His mother perhaps was a concubine from some northern land, bought from the slave markets of Constantinople by his father, the grand vizier.

A passing adjutant hailed Serge. ‘My lord von Tarlenheim! His Royal Highness is asking after you.’

‘If you are going to him, give him my congratulations on his victory, sir. And please to inform him that I have in my hands the Pasha Mehmed, taken prisoner on the field by my groom, Master Andreas Wittig. Please to use those words.’

‘By God! This is news indeed. Prince Henry is at present with the Prinzengarde at the gate of Trieste. Those Turks who reached the shore are climbing over each other to get into their boats. There are many thousands of captives, but this one prisoner will please the prince most of all.’

***

With Pasha Mehmed receiving the undivided attention of a file of Mittenheimer grenadiers, Serge attempted to focus his mind on immediate concerns, though focussing on anything at all was not easy. The appearance of Karl Wollherz from Diwatsch early in the afternoon of the battle was welcome but needed accounting for.

‘I instructed you to stay there till the result of the battle was known, child,’ he grumbled as Karl produced fresh linen and delicately helped redress his master. He had brought their two pack horses with him and Brunhild.

‘Well, it is known, sir,’ the boy reasonably responded. ‘But anyway I felt I was needed, so I came.’

‘Felt you were needed?’

‘And I was, sir. Here, let me help you with your uniform coat and gorget. I think we’d better leave off the cuirass. That hole in your buff coat will need fixing. Not much blood at the hole though there’s a lot of spots and bloodstains elsewhere, other people’s blood I hope. You saw a lot of action in the battle, sir. There, settle your arm in this sling. Ah, look sir! It’s Erebus.’

Indeed, the black stallion had come walking into Basovizza, still with his blue regimental horse furniture in place, though the holsters were empty. He seemed unharmed. He went up to Brunhild and snorted at her, before being nuzzled.

‘Poor Jennet,’ the boy sadly observed.

‘You knew she was dead?’

Karl nodded, then changed the subject. ‘Are you able to mount, sir? Ando can ride one of the pack horses. They say the prince wants you in the city.’

‘Then we must get on. Andreas may have to boost me into the saddle.’ Serge mounted without too much of a struggle. As he was waiting for Karl and Andreas to sort themselves, Brunhild swung her head to meet Serge’s eyes. He had the uncanny sense that she was looking her sympathy into them.

At Serge’s order the pasha had been searched and summarily stripped of his armour and clothing, other than his loose trousers and a shirt. He had protested vociferously, but was soon being marched off barefoot, his hands bound and looking more like the boy he was, slim and deceptively vulnerable. Serge had no illusions that the youth was anything but dangerous and unscrupulous, as he informed the sergeant who marched the Turk to confinement in the church tower with other captured officers. He was however to be given water and some biscuit.

Mehmed’s armour and sword were tied to the pack horse, and his furled silk banner was borne proudly by Andreas as they all three made their way across the littered battlefield to the city gates. They found there that the Turks had cut parallel trenches round the walls as they endeavoured to move their batteries into close enough range to open a breach for an assault. The state of the lower walls indicated that they would have achieved their aim within a day or two.

They climbed through the twisting streets to the fortress of San Giusto, crossing the drawbridge and into the broad inner court. Austrian and Ruritanian aides were bringing and taking despatches. Serge left Karl with the baggage but ordered Andreas to accompany him with the banner up to the hall, where they found Prince Henry at one of the high windows looking down on the sea. He had not recovered his wig and consequently looked more like the youth he was, his close-cut, red-gold hair a contrast to his handsome pale face. He seemed to have had a chance to wash himself free of the stains of battle. He looked Serge up and down.

‘My dear Phoebus, how inconsiderate of you. How can you write looking like that? I’ll have to find a new secretary. I can’t even shake the hand of the man who seized Christendom’s great enemy.’

‘Oh you can, sire. For it was my groom here who achieved that. Andreas, open the pasha’s banner and lay it at His Royal Highness’s feet.’ The prince’s staff applauded as Andreas followed his order. As he rose, Prince Henry took the boy by the shoulder.

‘Your name, young fellow.’

‘Andreas Wittig, royal highness.’

‘Stand by me.’ He turned to Serge. ‘Tell me how this thing happened, my lord.’

‘The boy followed me into battle, sire. And when I dismounted to secure the pasha I found myself in difficulties as the pasha’s guard came up and a bullet broke my sword arm. But Andreas rode up and came to my aid. How he did it he must explain, as I cannot.’

Andreas pursed his lips and paused before commencing in a confident voice ‘Well my lords, when I saw my lord Sergius fighting the Turkish general and ... er ... getting the worst of it – your pardon, my lord – I spurred my mare into the fray. She reared and crushed one soldier, but took his pike in her chest and so died.’ He paused, and with a less collected voice resumed. ‘I had a pair of my lord’s pistols and used them to bring down two more Turks, and got to my lord just in time to put my blade between him and the Turk’s blow. Then I duelled him and got him down.’

‘Wait!’ commanded the prince. ‘You duelled the Pasha Mehmed, with that short infantry blade?’

‘Er, yes, royal highness.’

‘Have you had any training?’

‘I plays around with me mates, sire. And usually I comes out on top.’

The prince shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard the like.’

‘Well, sire,’ the boy resumed. ‘Turns out the pasha’s not that much older than me. Must have been tired and all. So I was lucky I guess.’

‘We will meet the Turk later. In the meantime we must make dispositions regarding him. Military law awards him to you, child. So you will take him as a spoil of battle, and his personal baggage including a third share of his purse and treasure. He surrendered to you?’

‘He did, sire. I witnessed it myself,’ Serge interjected.

The prince gazed frowning into the boy’s steady eyes. ‘You could not have custody of him as a mere groom, so you must assume the rank of ensign of the Prinzengarde, Andreas Wittig, and become an officer of my guard and so a gentleman. I will myself make arrangements for your education and wardship.’

‘Oh, but sire! I belongs with my lord Serge.’

‘Maybe so, but no longer as his groom I think. I’m sure he’ll be happy to offer you lodging. You will certainly be able to pay him handsomely for the privilege.’

***

Serge was not in fact discharged from his responsibilities as military secretary and spent much of the rest of the day dictating despatches to Vienna, Glottenburg and Strelsau to be confided to relays on the imperial and royal post roads, with Father Heer acting as his amanuensis. By evening he was desperately tired, and his right arm ached appallingly.

Father Heer politely scolded the prince about the demands he was making on his first groom. ‘After all, sire, our Serge fought a hard battle and General Tedorovic was generous enough to say that without Serge’s presence of mind at a critical point of the action, the left of his line might well have been broken.’

Prince Henry shrugged. ‘Excuse me father, but Phoebus is a soldier in my service as well as my good friend and counsellor. He will do his duty as he must. That so, Serge?’

‘As your royal highness says,’ Serge sighed. ‘This glass of wine is helping though.’

‘Good. Now for the last duty of the day, which you will I imagine find intriguing rather than exhausting. For I’ve had the pasha brought up here to begin his interrogation. Despite my many other concerns, my curiosity about him is intense. It appears he’s within a month or so of my own age. I want to know more of this Ottoman mirror image of Henry of Ruritania.’

There was a knock on the door and Mehmed Pasha was brought into the hall between two stocky grenadiers. He now had iron handcuffs on his wrists, but some red felt Turkish boots had been found for him. It occurred to Serge that there were plenty of them lying spare about the battlefield.

With perfect nonchalance the young pasha looked around him. Serge imagined a Turkish nobleman of such high rank would have been well aware of European court protocol, but Mehmed chose to ignore it and directly addressed the prince in his good German.

‘I assume, Henry of Elphberg, that you’ll be arranging my ransom. Approach is to be made to my brother Numan Pasha at our estate of Köprülü in the eyalet of Rumelia. I find Jews make good intermediaries in this sort of business.’

Prince Henry smiled easily. ‘Noble Köprülü Mehmed Pasha,’ he replied drily, impressing Serge with his unsuspected grasp of Ottoman naming practices, ‘our pleasure is that you will be spending some time as our guest in our father’s city of Strelsau. The question of ransom is only raised if we’re willing to let such a wolf as you loose on our world once more. Take it as a compliment that we are not. And thank you for the advice as to agents, drawing on what seems to be a lot of relevant experience on your part. Our officers are at this moment making an inventory of chests in your great tent, which are packed to the brim with the outrageous profits of your privateering in the Adriatic. At least the city of Trieste will not be a contributor.’

The pasha’s nonchalance was not in any way disturbed by the irony, rather he smiled. ‘Then most of it has escaped you, for I left the bulk of my treasury on my fleet, which I observe has sailed south back to Antivari, according to the orders I left should the fortunes of battle go against me.’

Henry’s grin broadened. Serge began to realise these two princes understood each other very well, even though they had only just met. ‘Most provident of you, sir, even if that decision marooned so many thousands of your followers here in Istria. But perhaps they appreciated the strategic sense behind it, those that did not drown in the panic to reach the fleet. I have a few questions for you before you retire. Quarters will be offered you in this fortress till the army of the League departs, which will be after mass and a Te Deum on Sunday. You are aware of what these terms signify, sir?’

‘My mother was a Christian lady of the province of Bohemia,’ the Turk said. ‘She was taken by Greek pirates amongst others attempting a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. She was one of your nuns, not that it made any difference to the pirates who sold her through agents to the dealers in female flesh in Kandiye, other than that her fresh blond looks and her virginity gained them a very good price from my father, who was in garrison at the time. She became his first and most beloved concubine.’

‘So was it from her that you achieved your facility with the languages of the West?’ Serge had to ask.

Mehmed turned to him and nodded. ‘She tended and taught me and the sisters which my father sired on her in Kandiye where I was born and later at our palace at Köprülü, where she was confined in the haremlik while he campaigned in Ukraine.’

‘Does she live still, sir?’ the prince enquired.

Mehmed shook his head. ‘My third sister was the death of her. She is buried in a türbe next to the medresse, that is the school and library, which our family founded in Constantinople. My father’s tomb lies empty there, for no body was recovered from the field of Slankamen where he fell last year.’

‘Our condolences, sir. The Pasha Fazil Mustafa was known even in the West as a learned and brave gentleman, and a good servant to his emperor, even though his time as grand vizier was cut short on the battlefield. Does your brother succeed him in the post?’

‘No sir. He and I are the two elder sons, but neither old enough nor of the weight at court to be offered that office, which has gone elsewhere. By grace and interest of the lady Rabia, kadın of my gracious lord the Emperor Ahmet, Numan and I are instead the fourth and fifth kubbe viziers, that is, we are imperial councillors and provincial governors.’

Prince Henry considered all this. ‘Your family has had a run of bad luck in war of late,’ he observed, ‘and speaking for ourselves, we are most relieved to have cut short your military career for the present. Well sir, thank you for satisfying our curiosity and we bid you a good night. We will remove your cuffs for now. Do you take wine? Yes? Then a flask of it will be taken to your quarters with a late supper. We will talk again, time permitting.’

***

Serge rode in company with the newly-promoted Lieutenant-Colonel Lorenz Barkozy on the road back to Laibach, and at their side rode Ensign Andreas Wittig. Andreas was on Orcus, Serge’s gift to him on his commissioning as an officer of the Prinzengarde. With his gold-laced hat, blue waist sash and a fine lace fall tied with a blue ribbon at his neck the boy looked every inch a young gentleman, though whether he felt like one was a different matter. He stubbornly refused to relinquish his old sword however. Colonel Barkozy was much intrigued by the new arrival in his regiment.

‘So boy,’ he pondered, ‘you brought low the pasha and his guards with that stubby little thing. I am astounded. Once we’re back in the Arsenal you can guarantee that the other ensigns and the lieutenants will make you their fencing partner of choice, that and try to drag you to the mess card table. As I said time and again to your old friend Boromeo, gambling and smoking with those old roués is something you should avoid at all costs, especially as you’d be such a rich mark for them. Boromeo listened to me, and so should you, not that he had anywhere near the wealth you now command. And look at him now, the victor of Sebenico, promoted by the king to be captain of the Royal Leibgarde with a full company, two lieutenants and three years’ seniority. He’ll likely be a major before he makes twenty.’

Serge agreed, returning the compliments for his mentoring of his brother that Barkozy clearly wanted and, to be fair, deserved. The colonel had been remarkably protective of Boromeo. But he added: ‘I hope you’ll consent to Ensign Wittig continuing to live with me at the Sign of the Angel, colonel. There are matters that we need to address, most notably his reading and writing, which fall below the low standard expected even of a cavalry ensign. My man Lisku has a good record of bringing on Andreas’s old partner in crime, my new groom, Karl Wollherz. Nor do we yet know the arrangements Prince Henry proposes for Andreas’s wardship, which is a legal requirement as he is an orphan so far as he or anyone knows.’

‘Oh sir!’ Andreas exclaimed unhappily. ‘I thought he’d give me to you to care for. Yours is the only home I’ve ever known.’

‘That’s a kind thing to say, Andreas, and of course you’ll always be welcome in Engelngasse. But you’re fourteen and can’t be declared legally adult in Ruritania till you’re sixteen, and if the prince wishes to take responsibility for finding you a guardian it must be so. It is a very great honour. Also I believe His Royal Highness has plans to ennoble you, should you prove worthy over the next couple of years. And he has it in his gift to do just that.’

‘What me, sir? A lord?’

‘Yes you, brave young knight. And you’ll deserve it.’

Andreas blushed but looked anything but happy at the news.

***

‘So you came back,’ Willi von Strelsau accompanied the offhand words with a delighted smile, and warm embrace. ‘And a hero too, not as much of a hero as your former groom, but a wounded hero nonetheless. I hope you’re not envious of the boy. My, doesn’t young Andreas look handsome, but the pasha he captured ... that man is outstandingly gorgeous.’

Serge and Willi were standing to one side in Prince Henry’s last court as Vicar General, held in the hall of Laibach castle.

‘Gorgeous he may be, but extremely dangerous.’

‘Has to be a sodomite, all those Turkish sultans and pashas are.’

‘There you go again, judging. I have no idea. He was more interested in hacking me to death when we first met. The subject of fucking just did not come up.’

‘Why isn’t he wearing his turban? I love that Ottoman gear: silks, plumes, pearls and gold.’

‘At the moment I think his entire worldly goods are the spoil of battle, belonging to our very own Andreas Wittig, who has taken something of a dislike to the pasha. Zeus couldn’t find the enthusiasm to reclaim them, nor would he waste money to buy them. So there Mehmed is, in no more than a knee-length shirt, silk trousers and boots.’

‘But still looking gorgeous. That must change. Perhaps little Andreas will sell the stuff to me. I’m already drawing up plans for our triumphal entry into Strelsau, and turbans and trophies are very much in my toolkit. In the meantime, take a look at this.’

Willi brought an object swathed in silk from his pocket and handed it to Serge. Unwrapped, it proved to be the silver star of an order, its green central boss featuring a white heraldic dragon. ‘Ahah! The insignia of the Noble Order of the Dragon of Mittenheim, I do believe,’ Serge concluded.

‘I found a decent jeweller down in the town who knocked off a couple of dozen of them to my design on credit, but Zeus isn’t short of funds for the moment, is he. It goes with a green silk sash. Not my colour, but I’ll have to tough it out. I believe the investitures will be tomorrow, before we depart for home.’

‘So the battle between Kronos and Zeus still rages. Henry didn’t ask for his permission to found a new order of chivalry in his duchy. Any news on the marriage situation?’

Willi shook his head. ‘He revived the Dragon order not founded it, so he can argue his case with Old Cronos. My uncle intends to go ahead with his plot to marry off Henry though, believe me. He’s had to suck up Rica’s promotion to countess. Openly slighting her and denying her the status would mean a permanent breach with Henry. Better to do instead what he has every right to do, and preserve the Elphberg line of succession by insisting Henry marries. In one blameless act he meets the dynastic need and seriously annoys his errant son and his mistress.

‘If Henry doesn’t marry and has no legitimate children Dodie becomes heir and the succession will go to her children by Staszek, and don’t the Glottenburgers just know it. Talking of whom, we’ll be meeting the boy again soon. A grand court is to be held jointly by King Rudolf and Duke Willem Stanislas on the border near a place called Wendel. As Lord Chamberlain of Mittenheim, people tell me these things nowadays. It’s set for the feast of Pentecost. Should be interesting, eh?’

‘Good. I liked young Staszek a lot. So when’s the marriage?’

‘Not long to go. I wonder if I’ll be in the bridal party.’

‘What? You mean ... oh, you pervert.’

‘I’d get to see Staszek’s dick and bum, which if they match the rest of him will be a sight to see, even if it’s unlikely to be erect when he and Dodie undress before the bedding ceremony.’

‘I’m happy to be excused. Why do they still do that sort of thing? It’s antiquated.’

‘In your great grandfather’s day the boy would have to put his cock in her virgin fanny and show the blood of her breaching, fuck to a climax and then they had to show the room his emissions inside her. Now that’s perverted. In front of a priest too!’

‘Get out there and do your job, Willi, and stop being absurd,’ Serge hissed.

Prince Henry finished his speech and a silence fell. Serge gave Willi a discreet shove with his left hand, propelling the new chamberlain, white rod in hand, into the centre of the assembly. Willi gave a lavish bow to his cousin and addressed the throng. ‘Excellencies, my lords and ladies, on this day on which the solemn crusade of the Catholic League formally ends, His Royal Highness wishes to fulfil his vow before the campaign began and revive the Dragon of Mittenheim as a crusading order of chivalry. A gazette will be published tomorrow of those he wishes to invest as the first knights of the Dragon. But since this day marks the departure for their home of our valiant friends and allies of Glottenburg, His Royal Highness wishes to particularly honour General Taddeus Tedorovic, lieutenant general of the army of Glottenburg, whose wisdom and valour has been such an important part of our crusade’s success.’

Smiling, the old general came forward to be invested with the sash and star of the order by the prince, and to receive an embrace and double kiss. The assembly greeted the honour with warm applause. Serge noticed however that General Dudley’s look was anything but delighted, before the man quickly masked it with a courtly smile.

***

The grand progress home of Prince Henry of Ruritania left Laibach on the next day, Tuesday the 6th of May. Most of the Ruritanian forces were to return by the direct route from Linz over the Waltherburg Pass, but Prince Henry was to travel separately in a cavalcade by way of Graz to Vienna to be received by the Emperor Leopold with celebrations suitable to his achievement. He was accompanied by the Prinzengarde and his household.

Serge assumed his new role of Lord Marshal of Mittenheim and rode now with the star of the order of the Dragon, which Karl had sewed on his blue uniform coat. His new rank allowed him precedence over Colonel Barkozy in the marshalling of the cavalcade, not that the colonel was that bothered about it.

The weather was sunny and dry and the ride through Styria and Lower Austria was most enjoyable. The villages and towns along the way spilled out to hail the victors of Basovizza, who were showered with flowers and feasted in town squares.

It was at the little town of Baden in the Vienna Woods, two nights before their triumphal entry into the imperial capital, that Serge began giving some serious thought to the practicalities of his return to Ruritania. He had summoned Ensign Wittig of the Prinzengarde to join him and his groom of the chamber, Karl Wollherz, in the garden of his inn. Andreas grinned at his good friend, ruffled Karl’s blond hair and sat next to him on the bench opposite his former master.

‘It’s really good to see you two young fellows together again. And you may be glad to know that together is what you’ll be at Engelngasse when we get back to Strelsau. Colonel Barkozy has issued a permit for Andreas to live out of barracks for six months. Now, the thing is when we get back there’s going to need to be reorganisation and new staff. Karl distinguished himself by bringing Andreas into our household last year, and I was wondering if you two could make any recommendations for new pages. Is there any boy you can recommend from the Conduit? I remember a remarkable urchin who went by the name of Wilchin.’

The two youths exchanged looks. Karl shook his head. ‘His name’s Willem Antonin, my lord, and though he’s our good friend, I wouldn’t say he was the stuff domestic servants are made of. He lives for the streets, sir. Also he’s on his travels at the moment and we don’t properly know where he may have got to.’

Andreas nodded. ‘Karlo’s right, my lord. Wilchin’s honest in his way but he’s one for mischief, not hard, steady work.’ The boy frowned a moment as he thought, then lightened. ‘There is one Conduit boy we might ask. He’s been a good friend to us. His name’s Jonas and he’s really quite talented. What do you think, Karlo?’

Karl shot his friend a startled look. ‘Jonas? I suppose we could ask him. Don’t know if he’d be interested though.’

‘I’ll leave it to you to sort out and tell Master Jan the result, Karl. There’s also this. I was going to offer you Boromeo’s old room, Andreas, as suitable for a young ensign of the guard, but unfortunately it’s no longer vacant.’

‘How’s that, sir?’

‘We have an involuntary guest, and it’s indirectly your fault. It has amused His Royal Highness to award custody of the Pasha Mehmed to me while his ransom is negotiated with the agent of the Köprülü family. The pasha has sworn parole on his holy book, which they call the Qu’ran, an oath no Mussulman has ever been known to break. So Andreas, he’ll be in Boromeo’s room. Would you be alright for the time being sharing with Karl again in your old garret room?’

Andreas gave his broad grin. ‘It’s asking a lot sir, me being an officer of such distinction, but just to help out I’ll put up with his common stink.’

The two boys were abruptly scuffling and fell over the back of the bench with screams of laughter.

‘Grow up, Ensign Wittig,’ cautioned Serge, with an indulgent smile.

***

Karl had no chance to debate Andreas’s startling suggestion until the Monday after the feast of the Ascension, which was the day the cavalcade left Vienna en route for the Starel valley and the joint court of the Field of Wendel. The festivities had been on an enormous scale, which Serge told Karl was owing to the scale of the relief of the emperor at the League’s success. His army of Lombardy under Prince Eugene had as a result been allowed to pursue unhindered the grand strategy of invading the south of France, and the empire’s rich province of Carniola remained largely intact.

As a result, Prince Henry was honoured by a procession along Vienna’s Graben to St Stephen’s cathedral, in which Mehmed was led in his robes as pasha and shackled in chains made of silver, surrounded by the banners and insignia of his defeated army carried by the Prinzengarde, with Andreas Wittig bearing his horse tail standard behind him. Mehmed looked grim throughout. Willi von Strelsau, on the other hand, was delighted. He had got the prince to buy his claim on the pasha’s baggage from Andreas. He planned to make good use of the various items in the triumph planned for Strelsau.

Karl rode up the column that day on an errand to Colonel Barkozy, but fell in with Andreas’s company on the way. He trotted alongside his friend who was carrying his company’s guidon, as was right and proper in an ensign.

‘Brunhild’s happy you got Orcus as your horse,’ he observed, and just to prove it the mare and stallion nuzzled each other.

‘Me and Orcus is mates,’ Andreas said. ‘He’s a bit niggly alright, but he’s got real character. He’ll be glad to get back to Engelngasse.’

‘They all will,’ Karl said, ‘though we’ll miss Jennet. That was hard. So, asking Jonas to join our household? Are you nuts?’

‘Nope,’ came the reply, ‘think about it. Boro’s survived the war and come out of it very nicely, but Lady Fenice predicted that, if yer thinks about it. So his ‘dark eclipse’ comes next if we’re not clever. And what better way to prevent it than bringing Jonas into the world in disguise during the danger?’

‘He’ll have to wear clothes, Ando. Yer knows what he thinks of that, not to mention actually doing the job of page, and taking my orders.’

Andreas shrugged. ‘Then he can say no, can’t he. Up to him. Can yer try to see if he answers yer call when it’s quiet and yer on yer own? Maybe if yer near water.’

‘I can only ask I suppose. This expedition’s been fun, apart from Jennet o’course, and you’ve come out of it in glory, Ando. But I wants to be back home wiv Margrit and Master Jan now. I’ll even put up wiv Gottlieb.’

‘Suppose,’ Andreas mused. ‘Not that keen to be back to me lessons with Master Jan, though. Yer makes it look easy. To me it’s real hard work. But if I’m to be a proper officer, I needs to read orders, so I’ll plug away with it.’

Each of them absorbed by some new concerns, the two boys trotted on towards Ruritania.