The Golden Portifor - 2. Chapter 2

Serge and Jan carefully led their horses through the morning streets of the city of Strelsau, crowded with hawkers, strollers and sweepers. Then there were the riders on horseback and the well-dressed people in curious little windowed boxes, carried by porters. It was a Sunday and the bells of the city were ringing out from its church towers. Serge at least had some acquaintance with cities, even if Strelsau was a different order of settlement from Glottenburg, which was more like a large town despite its walls and fortifications, many churches, metropolitical cathedral and venerable abbey. Consequently, he was not quite as overwhelmed by their surroundings as was Jan Lisku, who gawped at the sedan chairs and a growing number of other things that lay beyond his experience.

They walked their mounts down the hill of the Altstadt and across the fortified bridge of the Osten Tor, with its houses built out on either side of the bridge so that crossing it seemed like any other street apart from the glimpse of the green waters below, to be seen at gaps made for the public privies. Jan was too much confused by the numbers of people and noise to insist on pausing at the chapel of St Nicholas at the Neustadt gate, for which his master was duly grateful. His servant’s stubborn piety was tolerable on the high road, where their horses appreciated the occasional rest, but in the city it would be an imposition, and Serge was beginning to contemplate curbing it.

Serge decided the all-pervading stench of horse dung and domestic refuse was going to take some getting used to. Country air was so much fresher. They mounted at the gate and took the uphill street from the Osten Tor towards the city square of the Neustadt, the Platz. They reached it and suddenly were out into the open, a great space levelled with gravel stretching to their left and right, with paved cross streets marked out by posts and chains.

On all sides but one the square was surrounded by the serried ranks of the crow-stepped gables of fine brick houses, their shutters painted green or black. The awnings of a Sunday market were set up down at the square’s south end, to their left. The Hofburg, the royal residence, was to their right, its limestone and many-windowed façade closing the north of the square behind its railings, where guardsmen paced. But directly ahead of them across the gravel was the apse and tower of a great church looming high above the surrounding houses.

Serge’s mare had her own ideas as to where she wanted to go, for in the middle of the square, between them and the church, towered a public conduit, one of its spigots filling a low-set basin for the benefit of animals. She pulled to the left and snorted when he checked her. Serge knew the ways of horses and called over to his valet. ‘My Brunhild is thirsty, Janeczu. Here, take her reins and water them both.’

He slid to the ground and took his sketch book from his pack. The conduit fascinated him, and though he had never seen one before he had read of such things. It would be linked by subterranean pipes to an elevated settling tank somewhere close by, fed by aqueducts from the water table of nearby hills; he guessed the source would be the chalybeate springs of the hills to the north and west of the city, which had a reputation for purity and curative properties.

The conduit tower was in the Italian style of over a century before, a great fluted column in limestone ornamented by saints in togas and armour associating with inappropriately naked nereids and naiads in imitation of Roman monuments. It was crowned with the weathered bust of a bearded man, a green copper laurel wreath on his brow. Serge quickly sketched an elevation and the cartouche on the south face which read + AD POPVLVM SVVM CIVITATIS STARELENSIS : RODOLFVS IV DVX.

‘My, that’s a grand piece of stonework,’ Jan commented. ‘Useful too. Beats the public well at Olmusch.’

‘What’s it say, Janeczu? Try out your Latin.’

The boy squinted upwards. ‘Umm … Duke Rudolf the Fourth for the benefit of his people of the city of … umm … must be Strelsau.’

‘Well done. Civitas Starelensis, the “Starelsian city” or, if you like, “the city by the Starel”. It’s adjectival. Father Piotr’s lessons weren’t wasted on you.’

‘Thank your dear grandfather, sir. He paid for them. Sir, excuse me but it’s a Sunday, and that big church is close by. Could we just go in and witness the elevation?’

‘It’s called the Salvatorskirche. If you can find someone you’d trust with the horses, I suppose yes.’ Serge heaved an internal sigh.

They walked with their mounts across the square, Serge conscientiously raising his brimmed hat and inclining his head to those he passed who were clearly ladies and gentlemen of quality; some even reciprocated with smiles and a ‘Grüss Gott, mein junger Herr!’

A few beggars and bare-legged street boys were clustered around the south door of the church, which didn’t look too hopeful. But Jan quickly sized up the possibilities and selected a one-legged beggar with an eyepatch, whose worn blue coat with deep cuffs indicated he was a disabled veteran. Jan paid over some copper coins, removed his hat and went into the church, Serge tailing behind him, having first removed and shouldered his saddle bags.

‘Will they be alright?’ he whispered as they signed themselves at the holy water stoup.

‘Oh yes, sir. He’ll get double if they’re still there when we come out.’

Within was a high bright space, tall windows shafting light down into the lower church from the clerestory, the shafts lancing through the lazy, coiling smoke of incense rising from the sanctuary below. The pair stood with the crowd at the west end of the nave. Serge got his liturgical bearings. The litany was just ending and the prayer of consecration beginning at the distant high altar. He stood and daydreamed, as he usually did in church.

The burst of music at the Gloria took him quite aback; it was accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets and the thunder of a great organ. The choir was remarkably good. But then this was a wealthy royal collegiate church, so he should expect no less. The Agnus Dei was no less powerful a musical experience. Finally there came the moment of the elevation of the Host, at which all those standing at the back of the church, Serge included, sank to their knees, heads bowed and signing themselves. As the consecration ended, people were already flooding out of the church and into the street, where their two mares were still being guarded by the trusty veteran, as Serge was relieved to see.

They remounted and ambled back on to the Platz. ‘So where now, sir?’ Jan cheerily asked.

‘Tell me, Janeczu, why didn’t you stay to communicate?’

The boy looked surprised to be asked. ‘Well I might have if it were a high feast, sir. But it’s just a Green Sunday.’

Serge hung on to the subject, searching for rationality. ‘Yes, but why leave at that point?’

Jan frowned. ‘Well it’s the thing isn’t it. Everyone knows that if you witness Our Lord’s appearance on the altar then that day if you die you’ll be with him.’

‘Yes?’

The boy looked conspiratorial. ‘The gossips say that since heaven touches earth at the consecration time stands still during the mass, and anyone who sees the consecration will grow no older while it lasts. Old Widow Bieleberg at Olmusch spent most of her days, summer and winter, in the Franciscan convent. The brothers there say chantry masses one after another from sunrise to midday every day. She lived to be 103, so everyone says.’

***

‘So, sir. How do we get into a palace?’

The pair stood in front of the tall railings at the head of the Platz. Two strapping musketeers in the red and gold embroidered tabards of the Königliche Leibgarde stood at rest in the one entrance through the fence, the elaborate ironwork gates behind them firmly closed.

‘Not through there, from the look of things,’ Serge commented. ‘Let’s just walk the horses around the side. Odd that grandfather and father armed me with letters of introduction addressed to the Lord Chamberlain and then failed to tell me how to find him. However, Janeczu, we are intrepid travellers by now and are not overawed by any difficulty. Is that not so?’

‘Absolutely, sir. None more fearless.’

Chuckling, the boys led their mounts around the corner pillar of the palace fence and found a metalled lane running beside a gravelled ride lined by trees, extending along the west side of the Hofburg and down towards the river Starel. Away to their left a green park stretched, where army officers and gentlefolk of both sexes were riding or promenading and greeting friends. Apparently this was the place to be seen in Strelsau on a Sunday after mass.

Some three hundred yards along the ride the limestone outer wall of the Hofburg precinct was pierced by wooden gates which stood open, though a detachment of guardsmen was stationed there, and among them an officer who from his silver gorget, silk sash and the abundant white plumes spilling from his tricorn was a soldier of some seniority. He eyed up Serge as he approached, not perhaps impressed with his plain waistcoat, muddy top boots and short leather riding jacket, though the embroidered baldric and the rapier hanging from it announced that the boy had claims to be a gentleman. Serge executed his best court bow.

‘And who might you be, young man?’

‘Guten Morgen, mein Herr. My name is Sergius von Tarlenheim. These are my letters of introduction to His Excellency the Lord High Chamberlain. They carry the seals of my father, the Graf Ruprecht and my grandfather, the Baron of Olmusch. I believe I am expected.’

The officer sniffed and consulted a notebook. ‘You were expected two days ago, young man. I might also say you are not appropriately dressed for the court, and will not be received looking like that.’

Serge was dashed and blushed a deep red. ‘Oh, but sir … I was not expecting to be received this morning by the king or prince, I was merely told to report to the chamberlain’s office.’

‘To get to which you will need to pass through the Great Chamber, which is within the precincts of the court. You seem a stranger to this sort of society. Olmusch, eh? I believe that is in Glottenburg, where no doubt they do things differently.’

Serge’s discomfort worsened as the musketeers grinned over at him. But he was not going to begin his new career by backing down to this officious fool. ‘Then sir, I can only apologise. Please tell me who it is I have the pleasure of addressing, so when eventually I meet the Lord Chamberlain, I may inform him of your commendable conscientiousness, which will so regrettably prevent my prompt introduction to His Royal Highness’s service.’

The officer’s face darkened. ‘My name, sirrah, is my business. Hmmph.’ He called over one of a group of young boys in green livery loafing around the well in the courtyard within the gate. ‘Since it is a matter of the Prince’s service,’ he continued, ‘I suggest you follow this imp, who will no doubt know back ways which will get you to the chamberlain’s closet without your trespassing where your rusticity might offend anyone of rank.’

He returned the letters to Serge and waved him on, the page who was to be his guide skipping ahead.

‘See if you can get stabling, Janeczu, and I’ll find you when they’ve finished with me,’ he called to his valet, who had followed him through the gate with their horses.

The liveried urchin who was his guide grinned back at him. ‘That was telling him, sir,’ he commented.

‘And what and who are you, young man?’ Serge smiled back.

‘Me sir? I’m Paulus, one of the menial pages of the Great Chamber.’

‘And what do you pages do around the palace?’

‘We do the stuff the noble pages don’t. You can tell the difference between us. They have lace on their coats. What’re you going to be?’

‘According to my father, a Groom of the Prince’s Bedchamber. It sounds … restful.’

The boy giggled. He led Serge to a small side door in an octagonal turret jutting out from the north-west corner of the palace. ‘Through here are the privy stairs. You don’t have to go up through the Great Chamber. They lead past the state rooms to the dormer where the closets of the court dignitaries are. If you go to the top you’ll come to a gallery. The chamberlain, the steward, the treasurer and the marshal of the court all have their chambers there. You’ll find an usher in the waiting room who’ll know what you have to do.’

‘Well, thank you, young Paulus. You’ve been helpful.’

‘Pleasure, sir. I like you. A lot of the noble youths are stuck up and unkind, but you’re nice. Bye!’

Stone spiral stairs led Serge upwards. There was some traffic coming down which meant he had to flatten himself against the wall as servants clattered past. They ignored him, other than calling out ‘Make way!’

At the top of the stairs a door led on to one end of a low gallery, with a plain boarded floor. There were dormer windows to his right looking back out over the park, and a number of doors to his left. The first door he encountered was marked MARESCALLVS in gold letters, so he knew to look for the one marked CAMERARIVS, which he found two doors further on. He knocked and a muffled voice summoned him inside. Within was a chamber with several desks. ‘Yes?’ said the elderly occupant of one of them.

‘Good day sir,’ Serge replied. ‘My name is Sergius Josef …’

‘Yes, yes! The Freiherr von Tarlenheim. You’ve been awaited. His Excellency said to show you straight in. This way.’

He was shown through a further door. A big, portly man, made even more imposing by the tall grey periwig he wore, rose to greet Serge as he made his bow. ‘Now then! Max’s boy! Excellent. You come highly recommended by your grandfather, an old and very dear friend of mine, I will have you know. Of course, he might well have been exaggerating, as grandfathers do, but if even half of what he says of your accomplishments is true you’re going to be a very welcome addition to His Royal Highness’s household. Take a seat, sir. Can I offer you some porter?’

The Lord High Chamberlain’s closet was very comfortably fitted out. A bright wood fire burned cheerfully in the hearth, applewood by the scent of it. There were portraits on the panelled walls and a brass pen tray gleamed on the green baize of the desk.

‘So, sir. Here you are in Strelsau. Your title is to be Second Groom of the Bedchamber, and since you are so far from home I’m told you’ll not be serving here quarterly, but staying at court for much of the year. This is why you’re to be the second most senior of the grooms. The Gentlemen of the Bedchamber, your nominal elders and superiors, wait on the prince only weekly in pairs, but you and the First and Third Grooms will be of all his Bedchamber His Royal Highness’s most familiar servants. There are of course Gentlemen, Grooms and Pages of the Backstairs, but their service begins when the prince breaks his fast and ends with his dinner, at which they serve. The prince has no departments of the Privy or Great Chamber, as he has not yet his own houses. With me so far?’

‘Yes, Your Excellency. And what are my duties?’

‘They will be finally decided by His Royal Highness’s Groom of the Body, who heads the Bedchamber. But in the King’s bedchamber the grooms and pages rouse His Majesty daily at his petit lever, bring him water and assist the barber and physician in their offices, and so no doubt it will be in his son’s. When it is the prince will decide to rise from his bed is not as yet known. His Majesty does not often rise before eleven as it happens, and will sit in his chamber with coffee and the newssheets first. When he was a younger man, he was known to rise at dawn and ride out to hunt in the park of the Marmorpalast before returning for the ceremonial lever. But, whenever it happens, the office of the Gentlemen is to dress His Royal Highness in his state clothes, and all the Bedchamber will attend the prince to mass and breakfast. Thereafter the Backstairs assumes its duties for the prince’s day, until the prince retires and the Bedchamber performs his coucher.’

Serge pondered this. ‘It seems then that much of the day will be my own to dispose of.’

‘Indeed, it may be so, though the Crown Prince may have his views about who his daytime companions are to be and who he wishes to be at his table. But otherwise between the prince’s lever and coucher you may dispose of your own day as you choose. Now I believe the Tarlenheim house across from the Raathaus remains shut up?’

‘Yes, sir. It was closed after my grandfather’s death. My uncle stays in the apartments set aside in the Hofburg for the Lord High Marshal when he is in Strelsau.’

‘A shame,’ said the chamberlain. ‘It was a grand establishment in my young days. You might encounter the most surprising guests at old Count Oskar’s receptions: muftis and mystics, incognito princes, renowned artists and poets. All Europe dined there, it was said. I recall the year ’56 when his principal guest was a savage princess from the Americas, a woman of great beauty and dignity as it happened. Her command of French was quite impressive. The smallpox took her the next year, alas.

‘Well, since you cannot stay there I suggest you secure lodgings in the city and set up your own establishment, though you will generally be required to sleep at the palace. As Second Groom your annual salary is the not inconsiderable sum of 2,000 Ruritanian crowns, paid quarterly by equal portions.’ The chamberlain smiled, and removed a leather bag from a coffer on his desk, which he passed to Serge. It chinked as he placed its weight on his lap. ‘Your grandfather asked me that you be paid in advance, knowing that your needs may be considerable in this first quarter. The other quarter days are the usual ones: Christmas, Lady Day and the Feast of the Baptist. If you get on with His Royal Highness, you may find that other fees and favours come your way.’

He shot a sharp look at Serge. ‘Could I warn you at this point, young man, about the besetting sin of the court, which is gambling. Cards and dice have been the ruin of many a promising young fellow. A page of the King’s Great Chamber blew his brains out in desperation at his debts only two weeks ago. There are characters around the court only too happy to profit off your gullibility. Now I say this in full knowledge that you are a sober and intelligent youth, but I say it to all of you boys. Sometimes they listen, as I hope you will.

‘There is also the other and more insidious temptation of the court, which is its women. You are a fine-looking healthy boy, and I’m sure also a vigorous fellow, and you will find there are those around the court who will be happy to answer your needs in that regard. Of the gentlewomen of the court I can say nothing, for their hearts are their own to bestow. But remember that they have fathers and brothers who regard their bodies as theirs to defend. It may be wiser to pay your debt to Father Adam amongst the female staff below stairs, some of whom are willing to oblige for a modest fee, or in the cleaner houses of easy virtue in the city. The pox is I’m afraid another danger of the court. Some of your colleagues have to pay a fortune to the physicians.’

Serge blushed at this frank sketch of aspects of palace life which in fact his grandfather had already delicately addressed before he left Olmusch. As it happened he was at sixteen a virgin, and had no plans to change that status any time soon. Jan Lisku on the other hand had become very active over the past year with the Lichtenberg sisters and Serge had found Jan’s graphic descriptions of the act a little revolting.

‘Well now,’ the chamberlain resumed. ‘You have business in the city, but before you go I must introduce you to the Groom of the Body, who is Almaric, count in Fürstenburg. He has an apartment in the Hofburg; my man has gone to look for him, and I hope he’ll be here soon. In the meantime, is there anything more I can tell you?’

Serge pondered. He hesitated to ask about the nature of his new employer, the prince, as that might be thought indelicate. Instead he asked after the proper mode of dress when he was in service, and found he had some purchases yet to make. ‘And sir, I was at the levée of the Duke at Glottenburg last Easter. How are these things done in Strelsau?’

The chamberlain chuckled. ‘Without being condescending, I imagine on a larger scale. Michaelmas this coming Friday is a customary grand levée, where the prince will be dressed with the doors rolled back so the ceremony may be witnessed from the antechamber. Various high officers will be present, as well as the ambassadors. Since the prince was invested as duke of Mittenheim on his sixteenth birthday, the nobility of Mittenheim have been expressly summoned and will be presented by name, with the opportunity to offer petitions to His Royal Highness.’

At that there was a knock at the door. The Graf Almaric was announced and ushered in. Serge bowed low and when he rose found himself face to face with a florid man in his thirties, somewhat on the portly side.

The count surveyed Serge. ‘And you are the Freiherr von Tarlenheim? I know your good father of course. Suitable, very suitable. Your clothing, sir, is for the road, I do hope. You cannot appear at court dressed in that way. Be warned. Anything else to say, my dear Georg?’ He looked over at the chamberlain, who shrugged. ‘Very well then. You are to be at the ceremony of the coucher tonight, which on Sunday customarily begins after compline in the Hofkapelle. Be in the chapel at seven. I will present you to His Royal Highness.’

***

‘So is everything sorted out, sir?’ Serge had found Jan Lisku in what he had learned was called the Kitchen Court.

‘Not quite, Janeczu. We have to find ourselves lodgings.’

‘Oh … but I thought we’d get some garret or other to bed down in at the Hofburg.’

‘With the reorganisation of the palace to provide a suite of rooms for the prince, space is at a premium here, I’d guess. So we and our mares’ll have nowhere to sleep tonight unless we find us an inn pretty sharp.’

Jan grinned. ‘You can leave it to me, sir. I rather fancy the idea of throwing your money around and finding us suitable lodgings to befit the majesty of the Second Groom of His Royal Highness’s Bedchamber …’

‘… and his valet. You think you can do this?’

‘I’ll start by asking the innkeepers locally. Do you think we need a whole house? And if we do, we’ll need to find more servants.’

‘We’ll have to think about that. But I suppose we could run to an assistant valet or whatever we call him, and definitely we’ll need a cleaner and laundress. We can take care of the horses ourselves at least. You should see the amount of clothes I’m going to have to eventually get hold of! So Sancho, it is now up to you to take care of the unworldly cavalier you’ve been saddled with. I am very grateful.’

Jan blushed. ‘You pay me, sir! At least one day you will, I suppose. In the meantime, to business.’

They led their horses back out on to the great Platz. Jan held up a silver pfennig and whistled over a street boy, a dirty-faced urchin of around eleven years who was lurking at the conduit, wearing only breeches and an oversize shirt which hung loose down to his navel. He had a bright-enough eye, which seems to have been what caught Jan’s notice. The boy padded up.

‘You from Strelsau, kid?’

‘Yuh.’

‘See this silver coin? Well me and my lord here need a little bit of local knowledge. You look old enough in sin to know your way round the city, and if you can help it’ll be all yours. What’s your name?’

‘Karl, sir.’

‘So tell us what are the decent inns around the Platz; y’know, the ones that have stable yards and set the dogs on the likes of you and your criminal little mates.’

The boy looked a little offended, which somewhat amused Serge, considering the state of him. He rattled off the names of the several inns on the square and pointed them out, but said they could do better.

‘And how’s that, kid?’ Jan raised an eyebrow.

‘They’re poky and house the gentry who’ll pay whatever they ask. The merchants, they put up in the inns south of the Raathaus. The inns there have to mind their rates and the ones on Klimentgasse back on to gardens and the Lines. Lots of good, cheap stabling for the horses and better air.’

Jan was clearly surprised by the cogency of the analysis the barefoot prodigy had come out with. ‘So what ones would you recommend?’

‘Dunno. Or if I do, it’ll be extra, but tell yuh what, I’ll help haul your bags if you pay me.’

By this time Serge was snorting with laughter at the progress of the negotiation and the look on his valet’s face. He caught Jan’s eye and nodded.

‘Fine, little thief. My lord is a kind man. I’d take a stick to you for insolence myself, but he’ll allow you to get away with your cheek just this once.’

The boy grinned cheerily. ‘Then it’s a choice between the signs of the Red Rose and the Unicorn. Both good houses. Up to you.’

‘Then lead on, child,’ Jan said and deposited a large bag on the boy’s narrow shoulder. He braced himself without complaint and trudged off ahead of them southward down the square, Jan and Serge leading their horses behind them.

‘Nothing valuable in the bag, I hope?’ Serge queried.

‘Just dirty laundry. Not too heavy.’

Serge tousled his valet’s dark hair, but said no more. They left the square by a wide thoroughfare crowded with shops on either side.

‘What street is this, child?’ Serge called out to their guide.

The boy smiled back at him. ‘It’s the Graben, my lord. And that big church with the clock, that’s the Fenizenkirche. The street leads down to the Neue Platz. No extra for the information, sir.’

Eventually they came out on to a smaller square with a central fountain, surrounded by house gables and several larger brick structures which looked like trade guild halls. The boy led them off on to the street he named as Klimentgasse and toiled on ahead till they reached another tall church. Visible behind the street frontage was a cloistered garden, in which robed figures of a religious order could be seen meditatively pacing.

‘Sirs, this is the church of Saint Clement. The next property along where the street turns is the Red Rose, as you can see from the board. Follow the road around and you come to the Unicorn.’

‘Well, thank you young Karl. You’ve earned your two pfennigs,’ Serge said.

The boy bobbed his unkempt head as he was paid. ‘Thank you, my lord.’ He hesitated, and added ‘If you need any more help, remember Karl Wollherz. Always at the Conduit.’ He turned and scampered off back the way they’d come.

‘So that’s a street urchin,’ Serge commented. ‘Rather surprising.’

***

They settled on the Red Rose, or rather Jan insisted they should. Serge suspected it was because it was next door to a church, but in truth there had been little to choose between the Rose and the Unicorn. Both were well-kept half-timbered inns, over a century old and probably some of the first substantial structures in the Neustadt after its foundation by Duke Rudolf III. Brick had become a more fashionable building material since then. The Red Rose was ranged around a galleried courtyard, with ample stabling in a rear court beyond which cultivated gardens stretched some three hundred yards to the green banks and brick emplacements of the city’s fortifications, known as the Lines. They had engaged rooms for a fortnight in the first instance, at the cost of one crown a night, and another for stabling and laundry. Serge decided to begin keeping a reckoning in one of his notebooks.

For the first time, Jan Lisku had done his duty to Serge as his valet, and like everything else he did it was done thoroughly. Hot water had been promptly delivered to Serge’s room and a bath filled. His long, bright golden hair had been washed, dried, combed and collected with a ribbon at the nape. His red, gold-laced full-bottomed coat with the pink cuffs, silk breeches, stockings and waistcoat had been put on over a fresh white linen shirt and drawers. Jan had him stand as he brushed the coat clear of any lint which might have collected in the bags, and knelt to polish the brown, red-heeled shoes he had placed on his master’s feet.

Eventually he looked up and grinned. ‘That’s you done, my lord, and very fine you look. Just let me place the red baldric and your rapier on you and you’ll be as perfect a Groom of the Bedchamber as could be imagined. I’ll lay out the rest of the clothes in the presses they have in the closet, and sort things out for the laundry.’

The clock on the church next door rang out for five hours past the noon. ‘Time to go then. Wish me luck, Janeczu.’ Being the boys and old friends they were, they embraced.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning sir, whenever you can get away. In the meantime I’ll start asking around about more permanent lodgings.’

‘Good. Oh, and by the way.’

‘Sir?’

‘Grandfather told me to pay you a month in advance.’ Serge held up a purse into which he had earlier decanted coins amounting to five crowns. ‘This should afford you some decent beer, my lad. You’ll need it. I’m counting on your curiosity about our new home, and the bar counter downstairs may be a good place for you to begin your enquiries.’

***

Serge put on his cloak and walked back to the Hofburg, though he reflected as he did that those more used to city life would have hired one of the sedan chairs he saw lined up for hire on the Neue Platz. But it had not rained recently, the weather was fair and the city’s main thoroughfares were generally well swept. He had coppers in his coat pocket for the sweepers who cleared the horse dung off the paved crossings for him.

A young lieutenant was on duty at the Kitchen Court and seemed to know who he was. They exchanged a few friendly words and Serge was directed around the rear of the palace and the great apse of the Hofkapelle to the East Stairs, guarded by musketeers. The stairs ascending from the door were lined with several dozen pages at attention against the walls. Serge spotted young Paulus amongst them, getting a wink from him as he passed. From the landing he came out into the high-ceilinged antechapel around which were posted more soldiers of the Leibgarde. Courtiers were already gathered awaiting the arrival of the royal family.

Graf Almaric spotted him in the crowd and motioned him over. ‘Good, good! Well my boy, I can see now why you were recommended. A fine figure you cut. Considerably finer than the tramp I saw this morning. Now where in God’s name …? Ah there! Over here, boy! Quick, quick!’

The count’s high and shrill voice caused several to turn around, including a sallow, thin youth of Serge’s age, wearing his own dark hair, though it was not particularly abundant. His coat was black, laced with gold, and his waistcoat and breeches of a grey brocade and silk. Serge had time to notice how well cut and selected was his clothing. The lace fall at his throat was meticulously folded and starched. Though he had the rapier of a gentleman by his side, the boy’s shoes did not have the red heels of a nobleman. It appeared the count’s summons was directed at him, for with something of the roll of an eye he slowly turned and ambled over, and as he did his eye caught Serge and widened with interest.

They exchanged bows. The count began the introductions as they rose. ‘Wilhelm, this is the Freiherr von Tarlenheim, who is to occupy the place of Second Groom to the prince. Sergius, this is Wilhelm von Strelsau, the Third Groom. The boys bowed again.

‘A pleasure to meet you, sir,’ Serge opened politely.

The other boy paused before answering, quite unapologetically regarding Serge, sweeping him from his toes to the crown of his head. ‘My, sir, you are unexpected. Quite the young Phoebus. I had no idea. His Royal Highness may become jealous.’

‘Your manners, Wilhelm, are as rustic as always,’ the count pronounced. ‘My apologies, Von Tarlenheim, the boy is a chattering ape: strangely so, since his entire life has been spent within the Hofburg and the Marmorpalast. I suppose we all here must take the blame for it. Now the Graf Aloysius – the First Groom – is I think with His Royal Highness. I need to marshal the Gentlemen and Pages. Behave, Wilhelm.’

Serge and his new colleague were left to themselves in the crowd. Though the other boy’s manner had disconcerted Serge he rallied, for his curiosity had been stirred. ‘I don’t know any family of your name, sir. And you’ve been in the royal palaces since you were small?’

Wilhelm gave a shrug. ‘My name’s my own, in more ways than one. But as for my upbringing, it could be said I’m the most senior of the prince’s household; before his last birthday, I was it.’

‘I don’t follow,’ Serge shook his head.

‘Well, that’s to your credit and my discredit.’

‘Sir, you seem to enjoy being mysterious.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe. Perhaps it’ll encourage you to want to know me better, Phoebus. We must be friends you know. It is required of us. We will be inseparable.’ He winked.

As Serge was groping for a response, there was a shout of ‘Hoch! Hoch! Der König!’ and all turned to the double doors from the Great Chamber which guardsmen threw back. In walked the king, the queen and their immediate family. Serge bowed low along with the rest of the court. He rose to see for the first time in the flesh King Rudolf II of Ruritania. He recognised the jowly face pressed on the coins and medals that had come his way. The big belly stretching the cloth-of-gold of the king’s waistcoat was less expected. It occurred a little disrespectfully to Serge that His Majesty must have put on a lot of weight since he had ridden with Jan Sobieski to the relief of Vienna only seven years before.

The queen seemed a rather colourless woman despite her silver state dress and the high comb in her hair. Then Crown Prince Henry emerged into the antechapel and all else was driven from Serge’s mind. He did not quite know what he had expected, but it was not this. The prince had some inches on Serge. He had the Elphberg colouring and the thick red-blond hair falling on either side of his face was all his own. His face was pale and his eyes a brilliant green. He was no longer the ordinary, spotty red-headed boy described by Sergeant Barkozy, if he had ever been. He was by far the most handsome boy Serge had ever seen, and the empty feeling in his stomach was the same Serge experienced when contemplating the perfect specimens of youth sculpted in white marble by ancient Roman craftsmen. He had gazed mesmerised on those displayed in his grandfather’s collection at Olmusch, with their brooding brows, perfect limbs and proportions and the rear view which stimulated his erotic fantasies and brought his hand to his own member. The prince might have been one of them come to life, and Serge was utterly captivated.