The Golden Portifor - 28. Chapter 28

Prince Henry, Willi and Serge were alone on the heathland of the Wenzlerwald, apart from the unobtrusive presence of a royal falconer. It had been given out that the prince intended to take a weekend devoted entirely to sport with only his closest friends. The day was a fair one, a hot sun tempered by a cool breeze and shaded by racing white clouds.

‘Let’s recognise that we three are family now,’ the prince declared, ‘so we’re Henry, Willi and Serge, if you please. Damned if I’ll keep up this parade of state when we’re friends together, particularly with you two. Willi’s more my brother than my bastard cousin and the closest to me in my family. And since you share his bed, Serge, we’re more or less in-laws, aren’t we.’

‘So it’s my bum which is the focus of your idea of family, Henry dearest,’ Willi giggled in response, ‘since you’ve both of you been up there. There’s something satisfactorily perverted about that vision. I thank you for it and shall relish it for the rest of my days.’

The prince rolled his eyes. ‘There is absolutely nothing which will ever make you serious about anything is there, Willi mine. Thank God Serge is here, the sanest man I know, as well as my dear friend. You two really do make a remarkable pair.’

‘Don’t underestimate my Willi,’ Serge protested. ‘He may hide it, but he’s a demon for hard work and has an exceptional mind. His constitution for your new household is neat, tidy and eminently practical, and I’m not saying that because it leaves me so well off.’

The prince cast a sidelong glance at Willi. ‘You never fail to surprise do you, dear Willi. Serge, it was by my instruction that Willi placed you as Second Lord. I need you too badly for you to be troubled by money worries which I can so easily solve. Willi knows I don’t like to be seen to play favourites publicly, so he was shielding my complicity and inviting people to see your promotion as favouritism of a different sort.

‘Now, my dears, let us at least try out Aquila here on that crane flapping by to our north. You know that only male members of a royal or imperial family are permitted to hunt with eagles, so when I unloose this murderous monster you are seeing a rare sight indeed. Feel privileged.’

The crane escaped the prince’s bird, which then went off after a tempting flock of wood pigeons. The falconer rode off in pursuit of the errant eagle, leaving the three friends to dismount, take a seat in a copse of alder trees and share a flask of wine.

Prince Henry observed that his father had designated a substantial chunk of the Wenzlerwald to be the estate on which he was to build a house for Ulrica and his children by her. ‘It’s down by the Starel to the west there. I can clear the woodland if I want, but probably I won’t. I’ll stock it with beasts of the hunt. That’s another job for you, Willi. I need a house. Who’d you recommend as an architect?’

Willi shrugged. ‘If you want an up-to-date modern design with pediments, pavilions and pillars you could do no better than ask Serge here himself. His sketch books are full of elevations and plans, even down to the sewerage. He’s got that sort of mind.’

‘Really? You’d do that, Phoebus?’ The prince was surprised.

Serge too was taken aback. ‘Er ... I suppose I could sketch out some ideas. My grandfather designed his own Glottenburg town house and he and I walked the site and pored over the plans for months. Mind you, I was only eight at the time. I may have missed the finer points. But I’d first need to survey any site you pick, look at local drainage, elevation and so on. Have you and Rica discussed it yet? We’re not talking about Fontainebleau here are we?’

The prince smiled and shook his head. ‘We can ride over the estate on our progress from Glottenburg to Mittenheim after Dodie’s wedding in June. It’s not too far off the route if we go by way of Geldstadt. I’d like construction to be under way before the end of the year. Rica and I are just looking for a comfortable, healthy sort of house, not a dynastic statement.’

Serge frowned. ‘There isn’t too much planning I can do until a site survey is made. Then I can sketch something merely moderately grand that will fit into the overall landscape. Landscaping’s a thing you should give some thought to; presumably you don’t want formal gardens if the aim is to produce a home rather than a palace. Once you’ve seen my ideas and you and Rica have come to some agreement, I can engage the services of an experienced builder to handle the actual construction.’

‘That seems sensible, Phoebus. And then there’s our other job this summer; saving Ruritania from the ogre of Versailles.’

Serge plucked a grass stalk and chewed meditatively on it before asking what the prince could tell them. Prince Henry reclined back on the grass, put his hands behind his head and watched the small cumulus clouds scudding by for a while before beginning.

‘My father has of late become increasingly suspicious of the behaviour of the Bavarian ambassador, Landsberg, who has made an unexpected friend of the Duc de Meulan at court. Now, since the war along the Rhine began, the ambitions of Landsberg’s master, the Elector Max, have become focussed on acquiring a kingdom for the Bavarian line of his Wittelsbach dynasty. He’s in the Spanish Netherlands as Governor at the moment, holding court shamelessly with his mistress at his side and scheming to bolster his chances of acquiring Spain when King Charles dies. We met his estranged lady wife at the Hofburg in Vienna a couple of weeks ago where she’s staying with her father, the emperor. Now, you may not have noticed it, but Rica did. The electress is pregnant. If she brings a child to term it will be the uncontested heir to the kingdom of Spain and the Elector Max will be poised to rule in its name.’

Willi raised an eyebrow. ‘So how does that concern Ruritania?’

‘To begin with I’m told the Elector Max is not too pleased with the laurels of victory which I earned for Ruritania over the Turk. We’ve decisively displaced Bavaria in Emperor Leopold’s good graces, just when the Elector most needs the support of the emperor to achieve his Spanish ambitions. And Leopold despises Max in any case for the dishonour he’s doing to his dearest and eldest daughter. So, as his fortunes sink in Vienna who can Max turn to for alternative support?’

‘Louis of France,’ Serge growled.

‘Absolutely. Never mind that Louis is at war with Leopold, Max has opened a correspondence with Versailles, and the French now have a whole range of new possibilities for weakening the Empire and its alliances, as Louis would look at it. And so Ruritania has become a very convenient cause on which Louis XIV and Max Emmanuel can unite and yet not be in direct conflict with the emperor. Because you see, the Wittelsbach dukes of Bavaria back in the last century made a marriage to the house of Lutzau, rulers of Mittenheim.

Such are the chances of genealogy that when my grandfather inherited Mittenheim on the death of my great-grandmother Sophia, the last of the Lutzau line, the next heir after my dear grandfather was none other than Maximilian of Bavaria, the late duchess’s nearest cousin, whose grandson is the present Elector Max. He’s still the next heir to Mittenheim after me, and he knows it too. Grandfather was only unopposed in his succession back in ’42 because Bavaria was devastated by the wars of religion at the time and starvation and plague were ravaging the land.

‘Now consider this. There is at present only one male heir to the house of Elphberg and should he by unfortunate chance lose his life to a riding accident or a somewhat less accidental assassin’s knife, Mittenheim comes into play for the Elector Max if he decides to pursue his family claim. And he only has so long to do it. My marriage won’t be for a while and my sisters can’t succeed on their own account, though Dodie’s son by Staszek could.

‘The Mittenheimers have taken to me, bless them. I gave them a big share of the glory of Basovizza and I restored the Lutzauer order of the Dragon. But they’re by no means as enamoured of my father, and Dodie’s son doesn’t exist yet. My much-to-be-lamented demise would send Bavarian armies marching into Mittenheim in a somewhat belated war of succession, and behind them would come the French, whose target would be Strelsau, and beyond Strelsau, Vienna.’

Willi was looking alarmed. ‘Just as well you’re in good health and high in your people’s affections isn’t it.’

The prince scoffed. ‘Because of my father’s vigilance we now know there are people in our land who would want that to be otherwise, and intend to do something about it. Their intercepted correspondence has revealed Landsberg and Meulan are in an unholy alliance, and spending a lot of money to recruit agents everywhere in our army, nobility and government, and to build up a Wittelsbach party in Mittenheim. We also suspect they also intend to procure my assassination at their earliest possible convenience.’

‘Do you have the names of the traitors?’ Serge asked.

‘Only a few lesser fry at court, who are now being watched as to whom they associate with. But there is a directing intelligence somewhere at the heart of this conspiracy and he or she is high up in our counsels, which we know because of the quality of the intelligence that the Duc de Meulan is feeding back to Versailles.’ He quirked a smile. ‘Obviously it’s neither of you, which is why we’re having this conversation. But it could be any of our generals, ministers or even bishops.’

Willi nodded. ‘Which is why we must be off to Mittenheim once Dodie’s happily bedded with that lucky boy, Staszek.’

‘Exactly. I have fortifications to complete, a palace to make liveable and my first child to welcome into the world.’

***

Meanwhile in the Wenzlerwald, three miles away from where Henry, Willi and Serge were pondering the threat to the future of the Elphberg dynasty, five boys jumped hand-in-hand into the green waters of Jonas’s woodland mere. Jonas had collected Wilchin and Boromeo, while Karl, in bed with Andreas, had opted to use his powers and avoid the necessity and trouble of dressing, undressing and redressing.

The two were earlier on their travels than the others, as Karl was determined to show off to Andreas that he had access to Faërie, and so they found themselves reclining on the green lawns beside the River of Life while the household at Engelngasse was still thinking about breakfast. Andreas chased a triumphant and laughing Karl into the waters, splashing him and yelling. Then they stood dripping in the shallows looking around.

‘This is amazing, Karlo!’

‘Coulda brought Brunhild. Maybe I can give her wings like I think I did wiv Wilchin. She’d love a gallop through the sky. Wouldn’t it be hilarious to bring all our horses here, give them wings and let them loose to live a magical life as a herd of flying horses in the Unlikely Forest?’

‘Lord Serge might have a thing to say about that as much as Jonas. What would he do for mounts?’

‘S’pose,’ Karl shrugged.

They sloshed out of the stream and sat on the bank in the eternal golden light which they could actually feel soaking into their being. Andreas put his arm around Karl’s shoulder and hugged the smaller boy close. He lifted Karl’s arm and sniffed at the pit where a tuft of blond hair was plastered wet to his skin. ‘Thought so,’ he observed. ‘When we were at it last night in bed I caught the Jonas scent from your sweat. You’re giving it off now too.’

‘So’s Wilchin,’ Karl observed. ‘It’s being here that gives it you, if yer magical. Hang on, lean over and let me sniff yers. Nope. That’s definitely Andreas there. Go and take a big drink from the river. I think it changes yer more than anything else does. Then when yer comes back, I think I’d like to see if fucking here is any different from home.’

Some time later, after a second energetic coupling on the grass just to be sure, the verdict remained inconclusive. But there was at least no bodily stench or sheets soaked by their sweat, so overall the two agreed they’d be as happy to do it in Faërie as anywhere else.

After a while, Karl stretched and sat up, slapping Andreas’s muscular butt. ‘Time to go, Ando. We needs to get to Jonas’s place.’

His friend rolled over. ‘Time’s a thing innit. What time is it here? Have we been on this lawn one hour, two hours or what? It feels like it’s been a couple of hours shagging and dozing, but it could have been only a couple of seconds has passed back in the real world. Yer said Wilchin might have spent years here, while only six weeks had passed on Earth.’

Karl shrugged. ‘So if worse comes to worst we’re just gonna be an hour or two early for the meeting at Jonas’s. It’s a nice day. We won’t get cold sitting by his pond waiting for the others to turn up. Now let me concentrate.’

Karl had found no problem hopping out of reality into Faërie or taking Andreas with him, especially with the connection they now had as lovers; the key was the scent, which drew him readily out of the mundane world and into Jonas’s. The elf had warned him that though Faërie was open to him, his gift could not take him anywhere in Creation, but only to places soaked in magic where the barriers were thin. But the ancient dell was just such a place. So Karl clasped Andreas’s hand hard, and reached out with his mind to that dank and tree-shaded place. As he recalled its scents and the rustle of the leaves above it the ground beneath his bare butt shifted and he was sitting on the bank of the dark mere. It was morning, with sunlight gleaming through the green leaves rustling above them. There was as yet no sign of the others.

Andreas stood. ‘Yer did it, Karlo. Yer’s brilliant beyond belief.’ He dipped down his head and kissed his friend. Andreas’s growing willingness to make such affectionate displays towards him gratified Karl deeply. He knew he loved his friend with a full human passion and devotion, but was not at all sure that Andreas could ever love him back that same way. Yet the boy’s frequent resort to touching, stroking and kissing Karl’s body was beginning to make him hope he had a true lover in Andreas, not just an adolescent bed partner and convenient accomplice in satisfying their powerful sexual urges. The two poked around the dell and examined its standing stones without learning much new, and within twenty minutes the echoing halloo of Wilchin’s call told them they were wanted.

They trotted over to the new group, who were undressing. Boromeo was the most mature of them physically. He was man-height now and his large feet indicated he yet had a way to go and would easily reach six feet and more before he was fully grown, though he remained skeletally thin, his ribs like rails and his belly sunk. Jonas the elf and Wilchin the half-elf were of a height and both possessed a poignant boyish grace, the more poignant in Wilchin’s case as it was soon to be lost to the onset of adolescence. Karl wondered yet again to himself what sort of man such a child might grow into. Not any standard human being, he thought. He rather looked forward to finding out.

‘So what’s in this pond?’ Boromeo asked, puzzled.

‘One of my houses,’ Jonas responded curtly.

‘It’s amazing, Boro,’ Karl enthused. ‘You’ll have never had a swim like it. In fact, if yer can’t swim, yer’ll be able to after this little dip.’

‘Join hands then and ... jump!’ commanded the elf. And with a loud splash all five boys disappeared under the surface.

***

Jonas perched up on the sarcophagus and acted as chairman while he other boys sat around on the sandy floor at the bottom of the deep mere. He had just told Boromeo why it was that he was in danger, and it was slowly sinking in behind Boromeo’s green eyes.

‘It’s that grandfather of yours who started it all,’ Karl chipped in. ‘We went to Faërie wiv Jonas and saw what’s left of him after he broke in there. It wuz horrible. But now there’s a new lot of villains who want to break in and steal its secrets, and the thing is it’s yer blood that will let ‘em do it.’

‘Why my blood?’ Boromeo understandably wanted to know.

Everyone looked at Jonas. ‘It’s too long a story,’ he said. ‘As long as history itself. But it’s Her – the one you call the Lady Fenice – who brought it into your family. It’s a stream of holy blood that pulses through the ages and because of her marriage to a Tarlenheim nearly three hundred years ago it pulses through your arteries too. It beats stronger in some of your family than others. In your generation, it’s powerful in both your big brother and you. In him it’s his brain that benefits, and in you Boro, it’s your heart.’

Boromeo thought about it and chuckled wryly. ‘Missed out my dad and uncle that’s for sure.’

‘More or less,’ Jonas admitted. ‘Which is maybe why its force is redoubled in you two Tarlenheim boys. But it’s just as strong in your dad’s sister.’

‘Aunt Maria? In the abbey?’

‘She’s a wizard too, and learned some of those mysteries from your grandfather, but she’s not interested in gold I think. It’s power that excites her, and she’s now had some years to search out the secrets hidden at Medeln. It was a huge mistake made by the abbess before her, the Princess Clothilde. A stupid, proud woman she was with no real idea how dangerous the things she was supposed to be guarding really were.

‘When your grandfather was looking to find ways into Faërie he sent your aunt to scout out the abbey. Over the years and on his travels he found a way to conjure up and talk to dangerous spirits, who told him there was a great source of power hidden at the abbey – so great they could not bear its light – and that his blood could give him access to it. So his daughter was a perfect agent to find out more. She charmed her way into the abbess’s good graces over the years and before the old princess died she spilled everything she knew to the Lady Maria, and even wrote to the king advising him to appoint her abbess when she died. And so eventually he did, for she entered the abbey after her father’s scandalous death.

‘It was four years ago the old Abbess Clothilde died and five years ago when the Tarlenheim wizard succeeded in breaking into Faërie. I was ordered to investigate by ... well, you don’t need to know who by. No mortal had ever before succeeded in breaching the bounds of Faërie. So it caused a bit of an upset.’ The elf boy glowered. ‘I told ‘em. You’re always underestimating humans. But did they listen? They never do. Idiots.’

The elf scowled to himself, and to Karl for a moment Jonas looked the most human he so far had.

‘So wrong things had been done and the whole abbey was compromised. You see, there was a plan as to who would follow Clothilde as Guardian, and she was another lady already in place in the abbey and ready to take up the power. But the Lady Maria and her father of course knew all about this since Clothilde had blurted it all out. When the old abbess died Maria renewed the scheme. She stole all the abbey’s secret writings and objects of power and denied them to her rival, and has kept her a close prisoner there ever since.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Karl, ‘then I know who this woman was. It’s the Lord Strelsau’s mother! Lady Fenice gave me the clue. It was her ring, the same as on the Lord Strelsau’s hand.’

‘And She’s the biggest problem of all!’ Jonas declared. ‘The blast of magic the wizard caused did more than open a door to Faërie. It was done right next to the Lady Fenice’s grave and opened another doorway, from the Land of the Dead beyond the Final Sea and into your reality. She came through it and brought with her all her powers over past and future. And she just sat there in the abbey waiting for you to come to her, Karl, as She knew you would, a human boy with greater potential for magic than has ever yet been in the world.’

Wilchin intervened. ‘I met Her on the island, and I juss doan get why you’re so down on Her, Jonas. She’s really nice, the sort of old biddy yer can’t help but like. If she wuz at the Conduit taking her shopping home, I’d help carry her bags. No charge.’

Karl agreed. ‘Yeah. Why can’t you just talk to Her instead of treating Her like an enemy?’

Jonas was clearly irritated. ‘You don’t get it. They have no business here. This world was over for Them when They died. They have their own fate to pursue beyond death. They mustn’t look backward.’

Karl was not a lad who backed down easily. ‘But yer said it Jonas. Lord Serge is a new sort of human being and the world is changing fast in ways it never has before. What if They’re alarmed beyond the Final Sea and worried about us back here.’

Jonas shook his head. ‘Or what if They’re causing it? Those who give me my orders think that’s the most likely explanation when I bring it up, which I do a lot. So They have to be watched and kept at a distance. That’s my orders, right?’

The other four boys exchanged glances and nodded. Jonas gathered himself and continued. ‘So the problem is this. We know that the plotters are out to break through into Faërie again, and this bunch are better prepared and more powerful than the old wizard.’

‘Who are the plotters, Jonas?’ Andreas asked.

The elf shrugged. ‘They’re good. They can mask themselves with spells. I don’t even know whether they’re working with the abbess. But we know this much. Whenever Boro goes back home to Tarlenheim, they’ll strike. They might even kidnap him and drag him there. It’s one reason I agreed when Karl told me I had to cross over into your world. I can be ready for it if it happens. Then there’s the abbess. I don’t know if she’s working for herself, or with them. But I know to watch her, and I’m sure Lady Fenice will be watching her too. The Abbess Maria has your blood, Boro. It bothers me that she might just know enough to try to cross to Faërie herself at any time, but I think that for the spell to work fully she’d need to use too much of her lifeblood to dare to try it on her own. Also there’s her father’s book, the Golden Portifor. When me, Karlo and Ando looked, it wasn’t in Faërie with the remains of the mad old count. If it was left behind in the abbey, she could have it! It carries the spells by which a mortal can open the gate between worlds, and more besides.’

‘Just as well they don’t know about me, innit?’ grinned Karl.

‘Why’s that?’ demanded Boro. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve got Tarlenheim blood?’

Jonas grinned proudly. ‘Karlo can go to Faërie at any time. He’s that magical.’

‘So, wanna go see what the fuss is about, Boro?’ Karl offered smugly.

‘What, me go to Faërie without losing my lifeblood? You can do that? Well yeah!’ The boy’s eyes were gleaming with the thought, and Karl began to see once more the cool courage that was deep within Boromeo, which he’d first observed on the field of Sebenico. There was little fear in him.

Andreas waved his arm in the air for attention. ‘So watch and wait, is that it, Jonas?’

‘More or less. But the thing is we all know now what to watch for, and some of what we’re up against. Mostly I want to find out who the plotters are. I can’t just think that all they want to do is to drink the River of Life from its source, or create sacks of gold to make their fortune. They have something more in mind, I’m pretty sure, and it’ll be something my people and Lady Fenice’s won’t want to happen.

‘So, now I’ll get Wilchin and Ando back to Engelngasse. You can take Boro to Faërie for a bit, Karlo, and show him around, but not for too long. You know how it is. But let him drink from the river at the lawn. It might even get rid of his spots. Can you return yourself to your bedroom with Boro after?’

‘I think so. I can always see my way back to where I started,’

‘Then I’ll drop off Boro’s clothes there. And after that I’ll get on with my chores. Some of us aren’t First Grooms and can’t run off just whenever we like. Have fun.’ The elf grinned and stuck his tongue out. It was the first time Karl had seen him make such a human gesture.

***

Serge returned to the Sign of the Angel from his hunting excursion in the Wenzlerwald for Monday 9 June. He had agreed to meet up with Willi in the afternoon to take a first look at what Willi laughingly called his ‘demesne’. Serge as usual wanted first to see what his books could tell him about the urban lordship of the Count of Strelsau. Before he did he collared the new groom Hans.

‘Now young man,’ he said. ‘My lord Strelsau says you’re happy in your new post.’

‘Oh yes, sir,’ the boy eagerly replied. ‘I especially like attending the needs of my Turkish gentleman. I hope I give satisfaction.’ He batted his eyelashes coyly at his master.

‘As long as you’re happy, Hans.’

‘Oh yes, sir. Really. No word of a lie. It’s a bit of a dream come true.’

‘Then that’s good. Karl tells me that you’re a hard worker and reliable despite ... er ... your distractions.’

‘That’s kind, sir. I love this house, it’s very happy. And your other servants are the nicest people I’ve met. Much nicer than the palace people. I so want to fit in here.’

‘Then I have some questions about your Turkish gentleman, Hans. Tell me what you can about how he’s spending his time and how far he can be trusted off the leash, if you know what I mean.’

The youth thought a while. ‘Well sir, in some ways he’s a surprise. He’s often as wild in his speech and as savage in his behaviour as a bandit, but regular as the clock he’s on his knees saying his prayers to his Prophet five times a day, and he reads his Turkish bible before he gets up and ... er ... we meet each other’s needs. And sir, you know he won’t eat during the day, breakfasting before dawn and fasting till sundown. It’s not because he dislikes you that he won’t join you, Andreas and my lord Strelsau for dinner. It’s a holy season for him. It ends on Sunday, but he has to continue for some days after that, as he missed the fast’s beginning since he was travelling here from Trieste. He’s forbidden me to ... er ... shed my essence till the fasting is over, just so I understand continence, he says.’

Hans simpered happily at the thought of the restraint being put on his bodily lusts, and then continued. ‘I think he’s a bit bored despite all that, my lord, which isn’t surprising I suppose. Maybe you might be ... well ... a bit nicer to him, sir. I think under it all he really likes you a lot. Not in the way he likes me, if you take my meaning. But he just can’t say so. It’s not in him. Make some time for him.’

‘What do you suggest, Hans?’

‘If you please sir, he’s a very fit man, and I hear he’s a brilliant swordsman.’

‘Indeed he is. He nearly finished me off at Basovizza.’

‘Then sir, he’d be a perfect fencing partner for you. You might learn a lot from him and get to know him better. He’s not all bluster and arrogance. There’s kindness in there, which he shows me when the mask slips. Also sir, he’s very keen to use his enforced time here to discover what he can about the West. He could learn a lot from you as well.’

Serge pondered this strange, sensitive boy. Eventually, he nodded. ‘I take your point, Hans. Inform his excellency the pasha that I would be very grateful if he would join me for exercise in arms daily before breakfast when I’m at home. The barn might do to begin with, though if that’s unsatisfactory maybe we can use the gallery of Monsieur Talbot’s Fencing Academy up by the Radhaus. I’ve been meaning to try the place. Oh yes. Another thing. Karl says that the pasha’s wardrobe is skimpy. Tell him that since his family will meet any expenses incurred on his behalf I suggest he, I and my lord Strelsau go to view the haberdashers on Domstrasse this afternoon, to see what he’ll wear of Western gear.’

***

‘It would make a most unsatisfactory mosque,’ mused the Pasha Mehmed as he stared up at the west front of the cathedral of St Vitalis. He, Serge and Willi were looking around the Erchbischofsplatz. Serge was currently quite fascinated as to how Western clothing transformed the pasha. It removed the louche looseness of his Ottoman costume and made him look decidedly like a respectable and upright young European aristocrat, and an extremely handsome one at that. Passing ladies were openly and impolitely staring at the slim and elegant youth Mehmed now was. Also, with the enthusiastic assistance of Willi, the colours and style Mehmed had selected for his new wardrobe – the rest of which was currently being transported by Karl and Jonas in bales to Engelngasse – were remarkably harmonious and tasteful. He had only cavilled at the wig, and was pleased when he found Serge in complete agreement with him.

‘A nest for lice and a harbour of oil and stench, my lord,’ he observed disdainfully to Willi. ‘I’m most surprised that a fastidious gentleman of such high birth should wear them.’ His own hair was dark, curling and luxuriant and needed no filthy bag over it, as he declared.

He successfully took Willi aback, which was not an easy thing to do. All that Willi could offer was that he had them fumigated regularly and changed them often. The pasha did not dignify this with a reply. They had quite a discussion when it came to shoes. ‘And sirs,’ he had said, ‘what is this business with the red heels?’

Serge explained that red heels were reserved in Ruritania and the Empire for boys and men who possessed the seize quartiers, a recognised descent from sixteen great-great grandparents who were all of noble blood and standing.

‘And that is true for you, sirs?’ Serge nodded, though Willi made no response as in fact his heels were worn due to recent special permission from his uncle on his elevation to the rank of Graf. Apparently taking silence for agreement, Mehmed declared, ‘Then it is also true for me, and I will have the red heels.’

That sparked the sort of discussion that Serge really enjoyed, and left Willi yawning. After twenty minutes to-and-forth at the haberdasher’s counter Willi brought it to an end, declaring that as Lord Chamberlain of Mittenheim he would avoid further tedium by issuing a patent asserting His Excellency the Most Noble Köprülü Mehmed Pasha, fifth Kubbe Vizier of the Sublime Porte, to be of seize quartiers and fully noble in the understanding of Christendom. And so new, red-heeled shoes were now adorning the pasha’s feet.

Serge contemplated the idea of the cathedral of Strelsau as a mosque, and said he understood the pasha’s point, but didn’t much think the question would ever arise. Mehmed scoffed at Western arrogance. ‘Do not be so sure, my friends. I can see me riding my stallion up the length of that church at the head of my janissaries. Just give me time.’

Willi chafed at this idle bombast and dragged them to the north side of the cathedral. ‘Now gentlemen. Let us be serious. This area between the cathedral, the precinct of the Lucasian Fathers and the Radhaus is my seigneurie. I beam with pride as I survey it, somewhat decrepit though the current housing may be. Here was once the home and castle of my ancestors of the House of Ruric as I understand it, and the odd tower and stretch of fortress wall still survives in there.’

Serge had his town map with him and demonstrated as they walked through the Castle Quarter how the bounds of the Crown estate still respected the lines of the fortification, even though most of the castle had been demolished or adapted for housing. Serge then located for them the former ducal hall, which survived in part, though now as a ramshackle and eccentric mass of brick and stone tenements.

‘What d’you think, Phoebus? Is there anything redeemable in there?’

‘I’d pull it all down and build a new house from the ground up, really Willi. It’s a good and sizeable site. It would be a lot cheaper than restoring it.’

‘Maybe, but what about that chapel thing you’ve marked on the map?’

Serge squinted around the site. ‘Don’t quite know where that is.’

Mehmed shrugged. ‘If your map is accurate, then surely that filthy tunnel leads to it.’ He picked his way over a channel of foul water that emerged from an arch and led the way through it. Within was a small and litter-filled court of half-timbered tenements but the face opposite was the south side of a tall Gothic chapel.

Serge pushed open the door and found a quiet and gloomy aisled space within, light entering only on the north side through a clerestory, with no east window but only a heavily sculpted late medieval reredos. ‘Good heavens!’ Serge declared. ‘I had no idea this was here.’

‘No one else has either, from the looks of things. But there are used candles on the altar, so it’s in commission. Phoebus! It’s got monuments! Don’t get too excited.’

‘What a strange place,’ Mehmed commented. ‘Where’s the holy man who serves it?’

‘It must be the old castle chapel,’ Serge mused, ‘left standing when the rest was pulled down. That must be the Virgin Mary up there on the reredos, so she has to be patron. Oh, but look! There’s Vitalis and over there is Fenice, so it may carry a dedication to all the chief Rothenian saints. Fascinating. I’ll be back when I’ve done some research about this. But we need to get, on fellows. There’s a lot more to see.’

With some reluctance Serge led the others out. They looked around and despite the squalid surroundings, Willi pronounced grandly that he saw possibilities here. Serge and Mehmed exchanged glances, and for the first time in their uneasy acquaintance shared a smile.