The Golden Portifor - 17. Chapter 17

Willi von Strelsau had many talents, but the one Prince Henry was beginning to find most useful was that of impresario. The city of Strelsau recalled the March review fondly, but rather more for Willi’s Turkish entertainment than for the efficiency and smartness of his regiments, as the prince ruefully acknowledged. That production had thoroughly engaged Willi’s abilities as organiser and stage manager, with some assistance from Serge in organising the charge of the Sipahis. Now Henry wanted Willi to make the arrival of Prince Eugene of Savoy in Strelsau equally memorable.

Willi raised a brow at his cousin. ‘Why so, sire?’

‘Because, my dear, I have my reasons which in due course will become clear. And don’t look at me like that. We princes thrive on secret purposes and the dark mysteries of our statecraft. Isn’t that so, Phoebus?’

‘Whatever your royal highness says. I’m sure a Cesare Borgia lurks in the shadows of your soul, just waiting to entrap us all in your webs of deceit.’

‘Rica! What should I do with this pair?’

His mistress shrugged and fanned herself. ‘Punish them by remaining mysterious and impenetrable, my love. They deserve no better.’

As they lazed in bed in Willi’s refuge in the Marmorpalast, enjoying the afterglow of an energetic coupling, Serge asked what he was planning.

Willi yawned, and stretched his lean body. ‘It’s a challenge. It’ll take money to do things properly. Given the funds, I rather imagine I could organise something resembling a Roman triumph. But anything memorable takes cash. So how important is this to Zeus and Cronos, eh?’

‘Very, I’d guess,’ Serge considered, embracing Willi and kissing his cheek. ‘We know that Prince Eugene is here for a purpose. From what Barkozy says, he must hope to come away from Strelsau with the makings of some sort of Ruritanian commitment to the Grand Alliance for his imperial master. This business of a festive welcome is to give a signal to the French ambassador and his master at Versailles that Ruritania is not to be taken for granted.’

‘Oh! I hadn’t thought. My word! So my job is to get right up the over-large nose of Le Roi Soleil! This is unwonted fame.’

‘And you can assume that whatever money you want, you will have.’

Willi pondered this licence. ‘Well in that case, you and I have some work to do tomorrow,’ he concluded. ‘This production will need several weeks of rehearsals and all sorts of props and actors.’

‘Don’t forget cannon. Big bangs are de rigeur for any sort of event in Strelsau.’

‘I think we’ll need to be a little more sophisticated than that, my own Sun King. Let me up, I need to make a few notes before you do me again. Don’t look like that. You know I get really excited when theatricals are involved, and there’s the evidence sticking up straight and proud.’

***

After the next day’s lever, Serge and Willi went their separate ways. Serge had made a point of following the practice his grandfather had urged on him of auditing the weekly accounts of his small household. Jan Lisku much approved of this and the pair made a thing of it on Saturdays. Jan presented his calf-bound book and Serge handed him a small glass of red wine, which he sipped as they discussed business.

‘So Janeczu, it seems my little brother is a bit of a drag on our finances.’

‘Only if you include Andreas’s wages as part of his budget, as I did there. But I rather think that you’d want to keep Andreas on whether or no your brother was living in Engelngasse.’

‘Indeed, though those boys are an expense too. They’re adding inches by the month. Sturdy lads they’re growing into as well, so their clothes bill is expanding with them.’

‘Maybe, but much of their linen is made by Margrit and Cecile, and I’m not above some adroit purchases of second hand clothing for when they’re out of livery. It’s their public gear for which we send them to Herr Meisel, but you have to admit they make a very handsome pair of pages.’

‘Willing too,’ Serge grinned over at his valet. ‘I can’t recall even you being as conscientious and devoted as those two when you were their age.’

Jan Lisku rolled his eyes. ‘They’re good value, I’ll admit. They’re at it from morning to night. The silverware and copperware shine under Andreas’s care, the floors gleam and there is no speck of dust in the parlour and chamber, and he keeps your somewhat lazy and disorganised brother in check without even seeming to. As for the horses ... even Gottlieb is admitting that Karl’s gifts with our animals are beyond anything he’s seen. He swears that the boy can call each individual stallion out into the yard with a whistle, and the horses obey.’

‘That I must see.’

‘He exaggerates. He also mutters about it being unnatural.’

‘Superstition.’ Serge shook his head. As a man of the Enlightenment he frequently despaired of the credulity of the uneducated.

‘Maybe so,’ Jan sniffed. ‘However there is one thing the boys want me to bring up with you. It’s the lot of the street children and this city’s indifference to them. With September now upon us winter will soon come, and our pair worry about their friends, several of whom will not survive the cold and starvation. Do you know that they give away a part of their wages to their former colleagues at the Conduit?’

‘Really! Now that’s admirable. But two small boys can’t fix this city’s problems.’

‘Maybe not, but they’ve opened my eyes to it. The city has orphanages run by the order of St Lucacz and the Minoresses, and they’re well endowed, but entry to them is through interest with the Ratsherren, who have the power of nomination. Children of the poorest families have no chance of getting any assistance.

‘And vagrants, foundlings and the abandoned have no provision. Those the city authorities apprehend end up at the Franciscan Reformatory, a grim place with a black reputation, as our two have slowly been revealing to me. Andreas in particular had a bad time there from starvation and brutality. It’s a scandal. Rather than suffer there, the children prefer life in gangs on the streets, which is perilous enough and leads to criminality for some.

‘The worst thing is that the children grow up as they may, without care or education or chances of salvation. Our two are examples of what’s going to waste out there on the streets.’

Serge pondered his earnest friend and valet. ‘I think I see where this is going, Janeczu. The point is however that rescue missions like I think you are contemplating take money, dedication and support of all sorts, not least in manpower, which needs paying. It’s beyond our resources. Which is why the Church usually ends up doing these things.’

‘Yes sir, I realise that. But you have friends who can help. Perhaps you could ask around about an appeal. What if you got the Crown Prince to sponsor it?’

Serge shrugged. ‘I can only ask I suppose. And ask around I will, though I expect I’ll be told to talk to the Church.’

‘That’s a start, sir. And thank you.’

***

Serge reined in at the Conduit and dismounted his mare. He scanned the crowd around the spigots and spotted a ragged child. ‘Here, boy!’

The urchin ran up. ‘Hold yer ’orse, sir?’

‘No, but here’s a pfennig. You know a lad called Wilchin?’

‘Yer wants ‘im sir?’

‘If he’s available.’ The youngster scampered off and collared a slightly larger youth, pointing back at Serge. The bigger boy hurried over. He was wearing a distinctly familiar red coat, which Serge believed had once graced the back of Karl Wollherz, and indeed seemed reasonably well-nourished and clothed for a street child.

‘Yer wants me, sir?’

‘You know me, boy?’

The lad ducked his head. ‘Yes, my lord. Yer’s Ando and Karlo’s master.’

‘They speak well of you, Master Wilchin, as a boy with a care for others and generally honest.’

‘I has me moments, sir, but now Ando’s gone it’s me that runs the Conduit for sure, and I takes it serious like.’

‘So tell me, how many children in your gang?’

‘Over a dozen, sir, though they comes and goes.’

‘And how many do you lose during the winter?’

The boy shifted uncomfortably. ‘A few, sir. Not much food sir, and they sickens. No shelter and they dies in the night. Some are so very small, sir.’

The bleakness of the information rendered Serge mute for a while. He rallied. ‘And what charity do you get from the city?’

‘What’s on offer’s hard to take, sir. Yer wise to run from the provosts. What charity there is we has to find for ourselves, that or hope the elves come to visit.’

‘Elves?’

‘Oh yes, sir. The city has elves and some of them’s friendly. Friendlier than the Reformatory for sure.’

Once again Serge marvelled at the human capacity for projecting its hopes and desperation onto the supernatural. Now he thought of it, didn’t young Karl once babble on about a ‘ghost boy’ whom he encountered in the night when he ran away from home? He brought his mind back to the present.

‘Are there other such gangs than yours?’

‘Yes sir. There’s another on the Weg down there and another at the Leibgarde barrack gates. A bunch of older boys hangs round the Shambles ‘cos there’s work to be had there, though it’s hard. The Neueplatz has its gang and there’s a rough crew at the Arsenal Gate.’

‘You know this city well, Wilchin.’

‘Aye sir, yer has to so as to live. Karlo’s the best. He knows every paving stone and pot hole in the city.’

Serge smiled down at the lad. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Wilchin, and put a face to the name. No doubt we’ll be meeting again some time.’

Serge dropped several coins in the boy’s grubby hand and confided Jennet to his care, reminding him what Karl would do to him if the horse came to any harm. Wilchin gave a gap-toothed grin, took the reins and followed Serge.

Serge scanned the brick façades of the tenements north of the Conduit on the west side of the square. He spotted the sign he was looking for, the Turk’s Head. Removing his hat he climbed the steps and, with some curiosity, stepped inside a coffee house for the first time in his life.

The atmosphere within was rich with the aromatic scents of Turkish tobacco and roasting beans. Several gentlemen were occupying long, sanded tables, reading newssheets, chatting and smoking clay pipes. Copper flagons of the advertised brew were heating on a long hob under a chimney piece. Serge hung his hat on one of the pegs provided. The room was panelled and the floor tiled in black and white. The walls were ornamented with current prints. It was all very respectable.

‘Phoebus! Over here!’ Willi was in a corner with a swarthy gentleman. Both stood as he approached, and they exchanged bows. Willi for some reason was on his best behaviour. ‘Allow me to present Herr Kulczycki, the owner of this establishment. Monsieur Kulczycki, the Freiherr Sergius von Tarlenheim-Olmusch, First Groom of the Bedchamber of His Royal Highness the Crown Prince.’ Serge bowed again and took the offered seat.

‘Well, Herr Kulczycki, this is the first coffee house I have entered. It makes a good impression. Is this the only one in Strelsau?’

‘At present, my lord, though not I expect for long. I opened the very first coffee house in Vienna back in ’83 right after the siege, and the city is full of them now only eight years later. You might say the Turks lost the siege but conquered the place in one way. You see, the loot from their siege works included a warehouse full of sacks of green beans, which my lord, King Jan Sobieski, took in his share of the plunder. So he sold them to me at a discount, and I found a good use for them. Last year I left my son to carry on the business in Vienna and went looking for new opportunities. My good friend Herr Moses ben Simon persuaded me that Strelsau was just waiting for such an establishment.’

‘Ah!’ Serge observed with a smile. ‘Herr Simon Ashkenaz of Judengasse. My agent as it happens. A very shrewd and honest gentleman.’

‘Indeed,’ the proprietor nodded. ‘He’s a partner in the Turk’s Head, and I believe his cousin Eleazar will soon be opening up in competition at the sign of the Crown on the Graben. Have you tried the drink, sir? Yes? But I think you may find my berry superior to any other you’ve tried. It comes by caravan from Persia, sir.’ He snapped his fingers, and a serving maid brought over a wooden trencher on which was set a steaming dish of black liquor, with a small milk jug set alongside it. ‘Now sir, you may sip at it hot and black, as they do in the Kahvehane of Constantinople, or you may try something of my own devising. If you add a dash of milk many find it takes the edge off the bitterness of the crushed bean and also moderates the temperature.’

Serge sipped tentatively at the dish. ‘Hmm ... it is not by any means unpleasant, and the milk is definitely a welcome addition.’

‘You will find, sir, that the brew refreshes the mind. Its vapours rise from the stomach to the head, and its fumes will cure the migraine. It is good for the digestion, the Turks say. It will stave off sleepiness, and consequently I take it if I need to work into the night over my books.’

Willi snorted. ‘The good Freiherr might find the drink very useful if only for that purpose. Now sir, taking coffee is only one reason to come to your establishment. The other reason is meeting friends and associates.’

‘Indeed sir,’ Herr Kulczycki answered with a satisfied smile. ‘Our experience in Vienna is that coffee houses are places where men can associate and dispute with less chance of swords being drawn than in an ale house or tavern. It’s remarkable how many come to our shops as quiet refuges and places of politesse. Ladies too will enter our premises, as being places where the cruder behaviour associated with taverns is not to be found.’

Serge looked around and smiled. ‘I see none today, sir, other than the serving maid.’

‘It’ll happen in due course in Strelsau I hope, though to my regret I believe ladies are not permitted in the coffee houses of London and Paris. It ranks them with the coffee houses of Constantinople in my mind. I do not mean that as a compliment.’

Willi smiled to himself at the man’s passion for his trade. ‘I believe, Herr Kulczycki, you have commercial rooms upstairs available for meetings. Is there one we can hire for the next few hours?’

‘Indeed, my lord,’ the man beamed. ‘It is at your disposal. Shall I send up coffee? We can also offer pastries.’

‘My associates shall be arriving within the hour, so please do, and send up some newssheets if you will.’

Willi rose and he and Serge were ushered to the stairs. They found a comfortable panelled room with a long table covered in green baize. A banquette where they seated themselves was under the windows. Serge checked the square below, where Wilchin was still patiently standing at Jennet’s head, occasionally rubbing her nose. He lifted the sash.

‘Wilchin?’ he called down.

‘Yes, my lord?’

‘My business here’s going to take a while. Take Jennet over to the Red Lion and hire her a box for the afternoon. Catch! Here’s a half-crown piece. You may keep the change.’

The boy caught the coin, gave a cheery wave, and led off the mare, who seemed happy enough to follow him.

‘So, Willi. Who are these gentlemen we’re going to meet?’

‘Oh, an interesting and talented crew: gentlemen and ladies who make their living on the fringes of the royal and noble courts. They’re going to help us make the visit of Prince Eugene to Strelsau most memorable.’

***

Eugene of Savoy, lieutenant general of cavalry in the army of Lombardy, crossed into Ruritania from Austria by the Waltherburg Pass on the morning of Monday 24 September 1691, and was greeted that evening from the fortress of Rechtenberg by a tremendous cannonade, reputedly heard eighty miles away in Ostberg. He and his entourage were banqueted royally that night by the governor, and similar honours were offered the prince at Luchau and Kesarstein on his progress through the kingdom. If he had not been sufficiently deafened, another grand cannonade from the Arsenal of Strelsau marked his approach to the city on the feast of Michaelmas.

The Prinzengarde and Leibgarde regiments were marshalled to meet him at the Arsenal and the Royal Leibgarde formed up as the vanguard of the parade into the city. Crowds were on the streets, and at the Neustadt Gate a gigantic tableau vivant of the victory on the plain of Mohács, reaching up all four storeys of the local houses, was stunning the throng. Below it stood the civic authorities of the Altstadt and Neustadt, waiting to present the prince with the keys of both cities.

As the cavalcade reached the head of the Platz other tableaux were on display, one celebrating the triumph over the Turks at Vienna, with a more prominent position in the action assigned to a younger King Rudolf than history actually sanctioned. Opposite was a depiction of the triumph of Ludwig of Baden and the imperial army over the Ottomans at Slankamen only the previous month. The death of a very aggrieved Mustafa Pasha was portrayed as a single combat between a fat, over-dressed Turk and the periwigged Margrave himself.

Prince Henry awaited the honoured guest, attended by his household and half a dozen Ruritanian generals. The court and ambassadors were awarded elevated seats to view the cordial meeting, and all observed that M. le Duc de Meulan was pointedly absent.

Prince Eugene dismounted to deliver his bow to the prince, and Serge, behind Prince Henry on Acheron, had his first chance to view the Empire’s young hero. He was surprised. The man was small and looked frail. His face was long and expression sombre for such a festive occasion, the pallor of his complexion emphasised by the heavy shadow of his beard. And yet this was the man who outpaced the bravest and most eager of his own men at Hersanberg and leaped his horse over the barricade of carts alone into the enemy camp, armed only with his saddle pistols and the imperial banner.

‘Monsieur le prince et notre cousin,’ Prince Henry declaimed, having himself dismounted and extended his hand. He been informed that his guest understood, but did not speak German. ‘Altesse Sérénissime! Nous vous voulons bienvenir à notre cité de Strelsau avec toute cordialité!’

Willi von Strelsau’s genius then unveiled itself. Music of oboes, viols and trumpets all of a sudden broke out from a concealed group near at hand. Part of the tableau depicting the relief of Vienna included artfully diaphanous clouds of war which now parted, and by some magic of stage management a lady robed in white in Greek style, barefoot and with her right breast exposed, appeared to float from among them and alighted next to the startled Prince Eugene. Audible gasps came from the audience. She carried a victory wreath of laurel figured in gold and, at Prince Henry’s prompting, the Savoyard prince knelt to have her place it upon his grey periwig. Fanfares from concealed trumpeters celebrated the moment and dozens of similarly garbed ladies appeared, dancing to the music and waving gilded palm fronds. With Victory taking the prince’s right hand and Prince Henry his other they escorted Prince Eugene into the Hofburg, to prolonged applause and yet more fanfares, with the bells of the city churches ringing out around them.

***

‘So, tell me I’m brilliant,’ Willi instructed smugly.

‘You’re a genius, darling,’ Serge obediently responded.

‘It’s not all done yet mind. The bangs, theatrics and bare tits will entertain the citizens outside the railings, but within the Hofburg different strategies are required.’ Willi looked down on the Great Chamber from its north gallery, where the Kapellmeister was marshalling the choristers and musicians of the royal chapel behind them. ‘I say, he looks an insignificant little person, the Savoyard. I was expecting a tall, commanding sort. He looks like a consumptive well on in the disease.

‘So anyway, I had time to commission a very hungry and threadbare musician of my acquaintance to produce the score of a triumphal Te Deum in honour of the Victors of Hersanberg. Best I could do. I understand Austrian arms were not crowned with much in the way of glory in Lombardy and Savoy this past summer. His name’s Pavelic, and he had the honour of giving me my first commercial blow job when he was a rather desperate chorister here. His musical talents are considerably better than his oral ones however. He had no interest to secure him a post in the Hofkapelle and so he’s eking out a living as organist for the church of the Lucasian fathers in the Altstadt. A small purse of gold had him working through the night for three nights, fuelled by nothing but Herr Kulczycki’s darkest brew. And now you are about to hear the result: a coffee cantata.’

‘Ahah! And this is to appeal to your uncle, yes?’

‘He has to feel included, the old crow. And as it happens our taste in music is not dissimilar, and I was quite particular with Master Pavelic as to what was expected. Fortunately while he was a chorister he played close attention to the sort of repertoire that His Majesty approved. I’ve absolutely no idea what this Savoyard friend of Henry’s might like, however.’

‘I think you needn’t worry too much about that,’ Serge said. ‘Here’s Colonel Dudley back again and cosying up to our prince. And still a colonel it seems. The promised promotion hasn’t happened. He’ll not be happy about that, as he regarded it as a certainty when he left.’

‘I imagine he and Lorenz Barkozy will soon be catching up,’ Willi observed. ‘I wonder what they’ll be saying to each other, and whether you’ll ever find out.’

‘Hmm. It’s a moot point as to where Barkozy’s loyalty truly lies.’

‘Oh, I think that’s obvious,’ Willi said. ‘It’ll be to himself of course. It’s the colonel’s game that puzzles me. What’s he really after? Transfer to the Ruritanian establishment? A place at the Elphberg courts? He really does put a disproportionate amount of effort into charming our little world here.’

‘Maybe he’s just looking for friends. People do.’

‘Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just a cynic. And now our musicians are ready. I’ll go tell the chamberlain.’

***

Serge was honoured to be included in the evening’s concluding soirée in the Prince’s Presence Chamber at the Hofburg, along with Mannie von Speyer, his good friend and opposite number amongst the gentlemen and grooms of the Backstairs. Prince Eugene sat enthroned in the centre of the gathering, and as the wine circulated amongst the gentlemen present Serge began to get some measure of what made the man so impressive, despite his short stature and evident physical frailty.

He talked with intensity and perfect self-possession about the several subjects that interested him, of which the overmastering one was his military vocation. The breadth of his reading was as impressive to Serge as his mastery of the theory of warfare was to Prince Henry. There was also the matter of the prince’s perfect modesty, as was evident in his rueful account of that summer’s campaigning in Italy.

‘The laurels go entirely to Marshal Catinat, the French commander, gentlemen,’ he stated. ‘He is a man I deeply admire in every way. He almost did for me after I drove M. de Feuquières from the siege of Cuneo. I thought I had the French, I really did. Conditions were perfect. The French in the south of Piedmont were diminished by the siege of Turin and my spies told me that Feuquières was at odds with General Bulonde as to who was actually in command before Cuneo.

‘I was encamped to the north threatening Carmagnola and just watching the French army fall to pieces under the threat of my relief column. All I had to do was to arrange for a letter to fall into French hands which gave a not very accurate account of my strength and intentions and panic fell. They abandoned the siege works without even dousing their camp fires. They lost an entire battalion and their siege guns in the pursuit.’

Prince Henry’s eyes were alight as he leaned forward, drinking in the Savoyard’s words. ‘Ah! So! That is the place of deceit and intelligence in warfare.’

‘Indeed, your royal highness, provoking the enemy to defeat themselves is by far the greatest skill a general can possess. Much good did it do me in this instance, alas. Catinat himself arrived from Turin and began the extraction of his forces from the plain of the Po. I should have borne in mind who it was I was now pitted against. I was rather too forward in leading my dragoons over the river. And there I was with only a few companies against a rearguard which the good Marshal had himself rallied. Now it was my turn to be caught out. I found myself in the heart of the skirmish and took several heavy cuts on my buff coat. A French fellow put a pistol right to my head and but for Dudley here I’d been a dead man, eh colonel?’

Dudley looked grim. ‘A lucky cut took off the fellow’s hand and the pistol with it. I’d brought up a few more companies just in time to deter the French from further pursuit.’

‘So,’ Prince Eugene resumed, ‘rather than abandon our brief advantage I pressed on Carmagnola as Catinat retired. It was a savage business. The French do not conduct themselves in war as Christians these days, and offer no quarter, à la Turque. My men took it into their heads to do no less. I had to have the provosts hang a dozen of the worst offenders before Carmagnola to remind them of the general orders in my army. We do not license murder.’

Silence fell at that. It was broken by Prince Henry’s cheerful reminder that it was past midnight and the coucher was long overdue, but that he looked forward to renewing the conversation tomorrow, after Prince Eugene’s inspection of the Strelsau garrison.

Pages entered with candelabra to usher Prince Eugene to his bedchamber. Serge was not too tired to observe that all four of them had been prominent in entries in Willi’s erotic notebook, including the very pretty and allegedly perverted Hans. It seemed Willi had been planning for all eventualities in his entertainment of their guest.

***

Willi and Serge, along with Anton von Gerlitz, spent the night on the palliasses in the Watching Chamber. There was no escape from it, as they had to be at the prince’s grand lever on Sunday. The court was celebrating a Mass of the Archangel Michael in full state, displaced from the Saturday. The Bishop of Mittenheim had been invited to celebrate, in view of his cathedral’s dedication and as an act of favour by the Crown Prince to the Church in his duchy.

So Anton had to go to his knees with the basin to receive the prince’s urine and the office of dressing the prince went to Graf Almaric and Serge, who added the finishing touch of the chain of the Order of the Golden Fleece in honour of his guest, who also held the order, having received it from the King of Spain after the victory of the Hersanberg at the age of only twenty-three.

‘Hoch! Hoch! Der Kronprinz!’ went up the cry as the doors rolled back and the prince progressed out on to the West Gallery, lined with his Mittenheimer Guards in their state tabards. The guardsmen formed up in two lines and marched at a stately pace alongside him and his household to the antechapel of the Hofkapelle. There they awaited the King and Queen, who duly appeared, the king also wearing the Golden Fleece, personally escorting their guest to the chapel, where he sat at the king’s left hand. All this under the stony face of the French ambassador.

At the conclusion of the mass, the gentlemen, grooms and pages of the Bedchamber took leave of the prince and their counterparts of the Backstairs closed around him, walking down with him and Prince Eugene to the carriages which would take them all to the review of the Arsenal garrison.

‘Glad that’s over,’ Willi sighed. ‘It’s been an enjoyable few weeks, but hectic. Do y’know, Phoebus, I really do think I was intended to be Ruritania’s answer to Molière.’

‘With no word of flattery, Willi, you definitely have a gift.’

‘Glad you think so.’ They linked arms and went down the now empty West Stairs. The page Hans was coming up as they descended. Willi signalled him over, and leaned in for a brief, whispered conversation.

When they resumed their downward progress he passed on the information received. ‘The gentleman from Savoy passed an innocent night, though Hans and his friend Gerd gave him every chance as they were preparing him for bed if he had been interested. He wasn’t.’

Out in the Stable Court they summoned up one of the line of coaches for hire rather than walk up to Engelngasse. ‘Damn the expense,’ Serge snarled. He definitely needed time up in his workroom, and was eager to get on.

Gottlieb was leading away Onyx and another stallion as they arrived. ‘That’s Barkozy’s,’ Serge observed. ‘What brings him up here?’

The captain and Boromeo were in the kitchen having a late breakfast. Serge and Willi joined them.

‘Margrit?’ Serge asked, ‘Do we have any coffee in the house?’ His cook shook her head. ‘Next time you’re down in the Platz see if you can pick up some beans, or better still ask at the Turk’s Head. They may even sell you some. You may need to pick up a copper jug for brewing it too, and a mill for grinding the roasted beans. I think we should have it available.’

Captain Barkozy gave his approval, and the benefit of his wide experience of coffee-drinking in several countries.

‘What brings you to the Sign of the Angel, Captain?’ Serge finally got round to asking. ‘I hope Boromeo has not offended in some way against the military code.’

His brother stuck his tongue out at him and rolled his eyes.

‘No my lord, Ensign von Tarlenheim continues to excel in his new profession. Though I might add that my visit does touch upon him, and you, to some degree. I don’t know what the word is in the prince’s household, but in the Arsenal rumour is gathering that discussions between Prince Eugene and His Majesty have been under way that may be concluded this week.’

‘And what are those rumours, captain?’

‘Well sir, following the victory at Slankamen back in the summer, His Imperial Majesty has issued an appeal to Christian monarchs not involved in the current sorry war with the French to form a Catholic League to make a final clearance of the Ottomans from Christian lands as far as the Eyalet of Bosnia. I had the benefit of a brief interview with Colonel Dudley last night and learned that an imperial bull has been delivered to King Rudolf by Prince Eugene with the pope’s backing, asking him to take command of an army to assist in cleansing the coasts of Carniola and Dalmatia, much troubled by the raids of the young Pasha Mehmed who still maintains himself in Antivari.’

‘My word!’ Willi exclaimed. ‘I know who’ll greet this as a gift from God, rather than a call from the Almighty. I think you gentlemen may need to polish up your cuirasses.’