The Golden Portifor - 3. Chapter 3

The Graf Almaric took a grip of Serge’s arm and guided him into the stream of courtiers in the immediate wake of the Crown Prince. Wilhelm von Strelsau took his other side. Of the Graf Aloysius, the First Groom, there was no sign, or at least he hadn’t joined their part of the royal entourage. The king, the queen and the prince seated themselves in a line of gilded chairs set at the entrance to the stalls in the choir, along with other favoured courtiers. Almaric’s firm direction pushed Serge into the front rank of those privileged to stand behind the royal family. As the court shuffled for places a procession of boys and men in coats of green and gold, the Gregorian choir of the Chapel Royal, filed into the lower stalls, followed by a party of clergy in copes who took their places in the upper stalls.

As the office began, with the organ softly supporting the serene voices of the choir chanting the set psalms and anthems, the chills running up and down his spine began to suggest to Serge that there were compensations to living in the Hofburg. This was church music of a standard far beyond what he had previously encountered. He had all but forgotten the shuffling crowd around him as the choir completed the office with a sublime rendition of the Salve Regina. The choir and clergy filed out in silence. The sun had set and candles were now the source of light in the chapel. The king and queen rose, their son bowed to them and the households separated, most of the crowd following the king.

The Crown Prince clapped his hands. The Graf Almaric exchanged slight bows with another nobleman, whom Serge guessed was his opposite number in the office of the Backstairs, then he and his gentlemen and pages gave low bows to the prince and withdrew, already chattering as they reached the antechapel.

‘Now gentlemen,’ said Prince Henry as he looked around him with something of an amused air, ‘here we are.’ His voice was still the light tenor of a youth, but there was a certain unmistakable force to it. ‘So my lord Almaric, who do we have here?’ For the first time Serge experienced the prince’s full gaze, and his heart leaped.

‘Royal highness, may I present Sergius Josef, Freiherr von Tarlenheim, Second Groom of your Bedchamber.’

The prince held out his hand and Serge, recognising the cue, went to his knee and took the royal hand and kissed it. It was a gesture familiar to him from his visits to the court of Glottenburg. But this time the tang of salt it left on his lips was troubling to him. The prince employed perfume. The scent of honeysuckle hung around his clothing and person.

‘Rise, Tarlenheim. Welcome to our happy nocturnal band. No doubt you’ll get to know us all soon enough. And I’m sure all will make you welcome, some of us with enthusiasm, eh Willi?’ He shot a sharp look at his Third Groom.

Wilhelm von Strelsau bowed. ‘Naturally, royal highness,’ he drawled. ‘We are all warmth and welcome here.’

‘So gentlemen, to the apartments. Dammit! Where’s Aloysius?’

Wilhelm gave a lopsided look at the Graf Almaric. ‘Last seen in a game of piquet with the Monsieur de Meulan, sire. No doubt settling up his inevitable losses.’

The prince’s perfect brow clouded. ‘My lord Almaric, perhaps you should go and find the damnable stray and whip him back into the pack. He’s at risk of offending not just his Lord and Saviour but his terrestrial lord and paymaster. We’ll take some wine before I retire I think. So, en avant!’

A guards officer stationed at the chapel door heard the prince and bellowed out ‘Hoch, Hoch! Der Kronprinz!’ and the party, led by Prince Henry, took the gallery to the left out of the antechapel, its length lined with pages, each of whom bowed as the party passed, extinguished the candelabrum he was stationed next to and retired.

‘Walk with me, Tarlenheim,’ the prince called. Serge hastened to the prince’s left side. He was favoured with a sidelong glance. ‘They tell me you’re something of a scholar, sir.’

Serge swallowed hard. ‘They exaggerate, royal highness.’

The prince sniffed. ‘I hope so, sir. We are dullards here, believe me. Willi and I had enough of scolding tutors and their trivium and quadrivium and what have you. I rather fear that the powers that control my fate have it in mind that you’re going to be my educational salvation.’

‘I’m not qualified to be a tutor to anyone, royal highness. I have a lot yet to learn.’

‘Well said, sir. But fight it. Embrace ignorance and field sports, thither lies happiness in this world.’ He walked a moment in silence, sighed, then chuckled. ‘Don’t mind me, Tarlenheim. You be yourself. You seem a likely fellow. Just be aware that in this house nothing is ever as straightforward as it might seem.’

‘Sire, you are not the first person to tell me that, in one way or another, and I will attend to your words. If only I had read the Entheticus of John of Salisbury, I would know from it never to reveal what may affront my prince's eye, by whom is given all my life and welfare. I doubt he meant I wasn’t to expose my erudition, but I shall make sure it’s kept well under control.’

‘Hah, sir! You tease me. Shame on you. Well whoever that old fellow might be, he had the right of it. The court, sir, is a theatre, and all of us, even I, are but performing actors seeking applause.’

Wilhelm von Strelsau had sidled up and to Serge’s surprise joined the conversation without asking permission. ‘Yes sire, but some of us have much bigger parts than others.’

‘Oh shut up, Willi. You know why I keep this fellow in my chamber, Tarlenheim? Well, apart from the obvious family connection, that is. The thing is, Willi’s the most honest fellow I know. Concealment is not in him. He opens his mouth and exactly what he thinks, he speaks, however scandalous. That right, Willi?’

‘I have the scars to prove it, sire.’

‘Oh-hoh! You’d blame me for the beatings your skinny rear took on my behalf. You see, Tarlenheim, when I was put to my letters, cousin Willi here was my companion in the nursery, the schoolroom and the bedchamber. We’ve been together since either of us can remember. I was a very poor student but no tutor, however frustrated, dare take the rod to me. That’s why Willi was there, to take my punishment.’

‘The theory being,’ Wilhelm retorted, ‘that we’d become the dearest of friends and His Royal Highness would curb his wilfulness so as to spare my back. The problem with that theory being that he was far too stubborn and self-centred to mind in the least about my strokes.’

The prince laughed out loud. ‘A very sorrowful story were it half true. He was far worse and more defiant than I, Tarlenheim. Most of his stripes he earned for himself, and that’s the truth isn’t it, Willi.’

‘As your royal highness says. We were indeed terrible boys both. I’m surprised I didn’t knife you in your sleep with your relentless snoring. You see, Phoebus, we slept together nightly till last year. Oh, the joy of having my own bed and chamber these days. I can’t tell you how good it is.’

‘Phoebus? Is that what you’re calling our new Olympian, Willi? Very apt. If I had any wit I’d be calling you Ganymede, for sure.’

The nature of the family connection between the prince and his erstwhile whipping boy escaped Serge. They however seemed to assume he knew it, so presumably it must be notorious in the society of Strelsau, to which he had been a stranger till that very day. He filed the question away.

They came to a stop at the end of the gallery, at a tall double door where a pair of Leibgarde armed with halberds were stationed. Wilhelm smirked and bowed to the prince. ‘Then sire, I’d be happy to accept you as my Zeus.’

The prince guffawed, as Serge worked out the implications of the exchange, and began to wonder quite what was the relationship between the prince and his dubious cousin. The prince looked around. ‘And there the miscreant is. Here, Tarlenheim, you see there your superior and my First Groom. What kept you, Aloysius?’

Another youth of Serge’s age approached, the Graf Almaric herding him onwards and looking annoyed. After executing an unsteady bow, the boy offered a bleared grin. ‘Oh sire, the Lady Mechtild had a ... slight difficulty ... with which I offered to help her. I lost track of time.’

‘Her stays tangled, were they?’ Willi sneered.

‘Shut your mouth, Von Strelsau,’ the boy flared.

The prince glared at them both. ‘Enough of that, you pair. You’ve been drinking, my lord Aloysius. I have no objection to drinking, as such, but you do not come drunk into my presence. Leaving it drunk is another matter. But sir, you are on caution.’

The force of the rebuke and the glare that accompanied it brought the First Groom to his senses. He bowed low, mumbling apologies and reassurances.

***

After the ceremony of removing his state clothing, Prince Henry assumed a gown of oriental silk with exotically figured lions and took a seat next to the hearth of the anteroom to his bedroom, which Serge learned was called the Watching Chamber. Pages served glasses of red wine, the Graf Almaric pointedly removing the one offered to the errant First Groom and giving it to Serge instead. All were standing, since the prince had given no leave to sit.

‘Now fellows, we’re all here,’ said the prince, ‘and I shall tell you the course of today’s deliberations in the Council, insofar as it affects those present. My dear father has been somewhat rattled by letters from Vienna. Since the Porte came under the rule of the damnable vizier, Mustafa Pasha, the Habsburg lands are again under assault. Now Nisch and Belgrade are under direct threat and the Emperor fears for his southern borders. Nothing so far has moved my good father towards siding either with France or the Empire in their fratricidal squabble, but his conscience is stirred by the renewal of the Turkish onslaught. He met with the Count Waldburg this morning before high mass, and it is said came into the Hofkapelle looking troubled.

‘The point for us is that the Council did not reject outright my request to form my own regiments, but voted to pass on a proposal to the Estates for the raising of a military subsidy.’

A murmur of interest and approval ran around the group of young men, as the prince sipped at his glass before resuming. ‘Of course, it may be that my father allowed the proposal to pass simply to mollify the Imperial ambassador, or to unsettle the French one. Who knows the way the old man’s mind works? Certainly not I. But the point is, we are one step nearer my grand project, and that can only be good. God forgive me, I could almost wish Mustafa Pasha good fortune on the Danube were it to get me my brigades. But either way, a toast to glory and the renewal of holy crusade!’

Serge was much taken with the prince’s expression, both exalted and determined. If he were to give his new lord a jesting name at that moment, Serge would have settled without question on Ares.

As the group discussed the news, Serge was not surprised to find himself beside Wilhelm von Strelsau. ‘Well Phoebus, what does a Glottengburger make of that, eh? It can only be good news for your Duke. Our modern Alexander has plans for conquests in a much more distant and exalted sphere than the Starel basin.’

‘And why, sir, would that concern me?’

Willi rolled his eyes. ‘Oh come on, Tarlenheim. Apart from me, everybody in this room is on a retainer. Aloysius may well have been fucking Mechtild von Breitenburg in a side corridor somewhere while we were at compline, but I’m pretty damn sure that some time earlier this evening he was losing heavily at cards to the duc de Meulan. His colossal debts to the French ambassador have already made him King Louis’ man. Our Graf Almaric on the other hand is very much in Count Waldburg’s pocket, which is why he’s a little more enthusiastic on the subject of Prince Henry and warfare than his natural sedentary nature would lead one to suspect. And so, Phoebus, are you telling me that your grandfather won’t be receiving letters stamped with your seal in due course giving him all the news from the Hofburg? Or wait! Better still, in an impenetrable mathematical code you agreed before you left Olmusch. Hmm?’

Serge seethed inwardly, but kept his countenance. If indeed his new arena demanded he be a performer as the prince had said, then he would play his part as his grandfather had schooled him. He had resolved on leaving for Strelsau he would be what a Ruritanian called a biderbe Mann: straightforward, reliable, cheerful and honest but keeping his own counsel. All but the last quality were his natural disposition. It was the last he would have to work at, for he was an open and friendly boy who liked to laugh and be at ease with people. He had thought much about the demands of public life and had read Cicero and Castiglione with real interest and some profit. Now was the time to put all those lessons into practice.

‘It’s decent of you to bring me up to speed on the treacherous currents of the court, Willi, but I can’t help wondering at your generosity with all this valuable intelligence.’

The other boy frowned and for a moment Serge could have sworn he saw hurt in his green eyes. But he shrugged. ‘Then be an innocent abroad if you will, Phoebus. I merely wanted to guide your steps as someone who knows this place, intimately.’

Wilhelm walked off to join another group, while Serge made for the Groom of the Chamber.

***

As a fine silver mantel clock chimed the eleventh hour after noon the prince handed his glass to a waiter. As he stood, all struggled to their feet with more or less effort depending on their intake. Serge had done his best to avoid too many refills, but even so he was not used to wine in quantity and swayed a little. The Graf Almaric rang a small bell. A young noble page entered from the adjacent closet, bearing a silver basin. He held it up to the prince, who dipped his right index finger into the water and signed himself, from which Serge knew it was in fact no ordinary water, but that which had been blessed by a priest. The prince’s lips moved in a silent prayer, and the room bowed as he entered his bedchamber with no further word.

‘We’ll be seeing a very different sort of water in a basin tomorrow,’ Willi confided in Serge’s ear.

Almaric silently motioned the pages and gentlemen out to find their beds. Menials unrolled two palliasses on the carpet and departed. ‘My lord Aloysius, you are in neither the condition nor the favour to sleep in the watching chamber. You are dismissed till tomorrow. Gentlemen,’ he turned to Serge and Willi. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Er, my lord?’ Willi spoke up. ‘Is tonight one of those occasions ...?’

The count gave a brief smile. ‘No, Wilhelm. At least I don’t think so. But you’ll know what to do if it is. Once more, till the morning.’ He left and the soldiers closed the doors behind him.

Wilhelm carefully unloosed his neckerchief, and took off coat and waistcoat. He sat down and removed his shoes. Serge did the same. The fire had died down, and since the room was stuffy, Serge did not bank it. All was quiet now but for the ticking of the clock.

The two boys lay out on their beds. It was not uncomfortable. There was a lot Serge wanted to ask the strange youth next to him, but he hesitated since their last words had not been overly friendly. It was however Wilhelm who spoke up.

‘I suspect you may have been puzzled by that last exchange between me and Almaric.’

‘I was, yes.’

There was a rustle as Willi turned towards him. ‘It’s hardly a secret round the palaces that His Royal Highness is a very vigorous youth. The reason I was exiled from his bed was because at fifteen he had already begun a relationship with a lady you will come to see a lot of in future, the Lady Ulrica von Ebersfeld. She is three years older than him, and, well, the sort of woman a boy could very well be tempted into a relationship with: seductive, wise and experienced.

‘There is a way down the privy stairs by which she may join him in bed unobserved, but of course not unknown to the men of his Bedchamber. They fuck like animals and she loves to make a noise when he mounts her; preferably from the rear, if you’re curious. Now, His Majesty is perfectly well aware of this and his son’s liaison has his tacit permission to proceed, though should she conceive he may become less tolerant. Bastards are so very inconvenient, and I speak as a happily inconvenient bastard myself. The Ebersfelds are of course quietly satisfied with the progress of the affair, and may expect a good deal of royal patronage to come their way for as long as it lasts. My dear Phoebus, is that disapproval I see in your rather fine blue eyes?’

‘What? No. It happens a lot in palaces I suppose.’

‘Hmm. Well, such is what all know. What no-one knows, but I’ll tell you, is that before the Lady Ulrica, it was me in that position, for over a year. Henry and I shared a bed into the years when we began to mature and our prince and myself, with some enthusiasm on my part I will say, explored every way that a boy can get satisfaction from another boy. Frankly I miss it. He was very well endowed even at thirteen and, if not hugely into kissing, insatiable.’

Serge’s heart by now was racing out of control. ‘Why are you telling me this, Willi?’ he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Wilhelm lay on his back and chuckled. ‘If, my dear, you wish to be the courtier you’re so evidently studying to be, you should mind your gaze more. Not of course that I would condemn your taste in men. My cousin is far and away the finest male animal you’ll ever encounter beneath Olympus.’ Willi sighed. ‘You’ve fallen in love with him already, you idiot. Men do. I certainly fell for him like a stone from a church tower, even though you could say he cast me off in the end. But that wouldn’t be true or fair. The fact is that I offered him diversion and a convenient outlet for his rampant lust. Women satisfy him a lot more. Now do you understand?’

Serge got up on his elbows and looked down at his neighbour. ‘I think so,’ he replied slowly. He knew he should keep his counsel, but his inner trouble nonetheless moved him to confess himself to this cynical and yet kindly-seeming youth. ‘You know that I ... well ...’

‘Oh, few would notice, don’t be worried, you cover it fairly well already and in a place like the Hofburg you will quickly learn to cover it even better, unless of course you decide to be as open as I. But I know the signs inside out: I could list the sodomites in this place for you – in fact I probably will, for our mutual amusement. I think I’m developing a weakness for your pretty face.’

Willi reached over and brushed the hair from Serge’s forehead, and gave him quite a nice smile. ‘The prince likes you, Sergius, he really does. He can spot good men, and you are a good man. On one level he already knows that you love him, and he’ll use it against you, I’m afraid, though not in any bad way. He wants to be surrounded by men who are utterly devoted to him, and if they are in love with him so much the better. But don’t think for one moment you’ll ever have the joy of his mounting your rear. For that, I’m afraid, you’ll need to look elsewhere, and may I say I’ll be happy to be considered if you need a home for your schlong. Ever done it?’

‘No. Willi, you are a wise fellow. I’m beginning to suspect you may be a friend; why is that?’

‘Well it’s because you love the man I love of course, a man who’ll never love either of us back. So I am your fellow in misfortune, and I think you now understand it.’

‘Yes, Willi. It’s what you’ve been telling me since first we met.’

‘Good. You’re as quick as I rather thought you’d be. But don’t necessarily trust me. I’ll keep your secrets and you’ll keep mine, but trust’s a different thing. One thing our prince doesn’t quite understand is that a reputation as a gossip who can’t keep his mouth shut is a fine screen for a man with secrets.’

‘And what are they, Willi?’

‘That’s for you to find out, dear Phoebus. Now would you like me to ... er, assist you to sleep? It would be my pleasure.’

‘I .. what do you mean?’

‘Nothing bad, noisy or too messy.’ The boy knelt over Serge and unlaced his breeches He looked down and grinned. ‘This is a little something that would send His Royal Highness off; not that he ever returned the favour. My, Phoebus. You really are a god come to earth, though I fear I make a poor Hyacinth. You have no idea how easily you could break hearts, and maybe, my dear, it’s as well.’

***

A shove at his shoulder brought Serge back to wakefulness. It took several moments to work out where he was. He sat up.

‘Time to rise, Phoebus. It’s dawn and you must dispel the night; our prince will not sleep much longer.’ Willi was already standing and pulling on his waistcoat. He walked to the outer doors and gave them a sharp tap. Menial pages trooped in, two of them carrying steaming basins of hot water and towels which they offered to the two grooms. Once they had freshened, they resumed their coats and used the offered combs to arrange their hair.

Graf Almaric and the two gentlemen on duty appeared. The count looked at Willi, who nodded and quietly cracked the door of the bedchamber. He peered inside and returned.

‘The prince stirs,’ he said to the count. Then he turned to Serge with something of an arch smile. ‘Sorry, Phoebus. The next duty falls to you.’

A noble page offered Serge a sculpted silver basin ornamented, he saw, with water sprites and tritons. It dawned on Serge what his duty was. He knew something of the lever at the court of Glottenburg, and apparently gossip did not exaggerate. He saw the room now included two periwigged gentlemen in black, the prince’s barber and his physician.

With a sigh he took the heavy basin and, preceded by the rest of the officers of the Bedchamber, entered the room to find the prince already out of bed and pulling on his silk robe, but as he rose he left it open. Serge went to his knees in front of the prince, confronted directly by the royal penis, and held the basin. As the prince pissed strongly away and the basin filled with the pungent result Serge found time to admit the accuracy of Willi’s description. The prince’s member was thick and hung heavy from its nest of bright red hair. He looked up, and the prince grinned down at him and winked.

‘That’s it, sir,’ he said. ‘My effluvium now goes to the good Monsieur de Tallahie.’

Serge rose carefully and handed the basin over to a menial page awaiting it. Another had recovered the contents of the prince’s chamber stool. Together they disappeared into the Watching Chamber, where the physician waited to examine what the prince had passed. The prince took an armchair and his barber saw to his hair, but there was not as yet much beard to deal with, so no shave was offered. The gentlemen briskly got to work dressing the prince, and soon he was standing ready for the page who came in with the holy water basin, accompanied by a clergyman in cassock, bands and skull cap. A brief prayer was offered, the prince signed himself and then looked around.

‘Well gentlemen, thank you for your ministrations. Now I confide myself to your colleagues of the Backstairs and you may go break your fast.’

The prince led them across the gallery to his Presence Chamber, where another party of gentlemen and grooms waited. All exchanged bows and Graf Almaric clapped his hands. The men and boys of the Bedchamber walked out into the gallery and dispersed, with the exception of Wilhelm von Strelsau, who it seemed was required by his cousin.

‘When does our duty resume, excellency?’ Serge asked the count.

‘The royal family dines at seven, sir. The Prince’s Bedchamber has a table in the Great Chamber which you should join, but until then, since His Royal Highness has not expressly asked for your company, you may do as you please. Have you an address in the city where you can be reached?’

‘The sign of the Red Rose in Klimentgasse, sir.’ He bowed and took his leave. Outside the palace there was a fine early morning drizzle and it was chilly under a pale grey sky. He placed his laced hat on his head, wrapped himself in his cloak and for a long while walked the ash paths of the Hofgarten, drops from the trees above him pattering on his hat and on the leaves of the bushes below. He had much to think about. One evening’s conversation had offered him a map of his future as a man and a courtier, and it had opened many windows on his new life. When he thought about it he was very grateful indeed to Willi von Strelsau: a most unlikely friend, but friend he believed him to be. What he was not sure about was whether Willi could be an ally, and that was a doubt Willi himself had expressed for him. He needed to talk more with the Bastard of Strelsau and learn what more he could teach him.

Willi had decisively unlocked his sexuality for him. Serge knew now what sort of bed partner he wanted, and openly acknowledged what his body had long been telling him, that he was a man who loved other men. The truth did not distress him. But he knew very well the danger of his desires, and the way the Church regarded them. However, he had embraced the Enlightenment principles his grandfather had taught him, and judged the religion of his country and age by the dictates of Reason. He saw no rationality in condemning the urges that the ancient world he explored in his books had so cheerfully tolerated and which harmed no one. Indeed, if it was planted so freely by God in the men and women He had created, how could it rationally be condemned by the Church and its theologians?

Thinking back, he smiled as he remembered Willi’s drawling accusation that he would be communicating intelligence to the court of Glottenburg, where his grandfather was Chancellor. Of course he would, and it was just like his grandfather to refrain from asking that he should. The only problem was how his letters should be expressed and communicated. There certainly had not been any kind of code agreed, and he would be surprised if the King of Ruritania did not have ways and means of monitoring the public post office. Another question for Willi, he thought.

His feet eventually took him into a yew walk, netted that morning with cobwebs sparkling with trapped raindrops. He found himself abruptly confronted by two cloaked and hooded ladies coming in the other direction. Serge removed his hat and bowed his golden head low, murmuring his Guten Morgen. They stopped and as he raised himself he found himself face to face with the leader of the pair, and a very beautiful face it was.

‘Forgive the impertinence, sir, but would you be the Freiherr von Tarlenheim, the groom of His Royal Highness’s chamber?’ He did not replace his hat, and acknowledged his identity. ‘Then, sir, may I introduce myself. I am the lady Ulrica von Ebersfeld.’ Serge bowed low again as she continued. ‘You may be puzzled as to how I know about you, but His Royal Highness at breakfast was most pleased with the new addition to his court, and my eagerness to see why must excuse my forwardness in addressing a stranger. But sir, we will not I think be strangers for much longer.’

Serge marshalled his wits, for both Willi’s warning and his own rapid observations told him this was a woman of some capacities, pursuing her own purposes. ‘Madame,’ he replied with a smile, ‘if the impertinence you’re apologising for is any offence, then it needs no pardon from me; I quite welcome your outrageous behaviour.’

The lady gave a little laugh of approval, but it was accompanied by a brief calculating look. ‘I see now why His Royal Highness was so enthusiastic on the subject of the Freiherr Sergius, and may I say, as a woman, I could add other praises which would not occur to the prince. I look forward to many further meetings, sir.’

She held out her hand, and Serge took the hint, bowing to take and kiss it lightly. The ladies passed on down the walk, and Serge stood looking after his new lord’s mistress for some time.

***

Serge found Jan Lisku busy in their rooms at the Red Rose. He was greeted with delight and a big hug. Jan scolded him for the state of his shoes. ‘Sir, they’re the only court ones we have. Take them off and I’ll get to work on them. Shall I call down for a late breakfast?’

‘Do that, Janeczu. And order one for yourself. We have a lot to talk about.’

Over their drinks Serge summarised his evening and morning, leaving out only the more intimate details, which one day he might have to discuss, but it was not yet. Jan howled at the description of his morning office. ‘Did it splash up in your face? Pissed on by the prince. There’s a metaphor there, sir. So tell me about him.’

‘Oh, he’s a remarkable man, the young Elphberg: straightforward, handsome and forceful. Entirely his own man. His rebukes are considered, quiet and all the more frightful as a result; the Graf Aloysius nearly piddled on the carpet when he finally realised the shit he was in.’

‘Not surprised, sir. If he’s in the sort of debt that your colleague says he is, then he’s in a precarious position. If he loses his post at court, then he’s lost his usefulness to the French and his debts will come due. He’ll be ruined. Please tell me you kept off the card table; we know your incapacity with numbers.’

‘I have a feeling that the sort of games the prince is really interested in are not played with pieces of pasteboard, but with swords, muskets and battalions. He’s sixteen years of age but already planning to topple empires and save Christendom from the Turk. It’s frighteningly admirable.’

‘No doubt you’ll soon be finding a lot more out about him. He seems to have taken to you; not that I’m surprised at that, sir.’

‘Hmm. And that’s a thing, Sancho. Information. The court runs on it like a horse runs on oats. I had a lesson on that very subject from my new friend, Wilhelm. If I don’t find ways of getting up to speed with the court and its politics, let alone the city and its ways, I could very easily find myself more embarrassed than the tipsy Graf Aloysius.’

Jan Lisku gave a private little smile. ‘A conclusion I’d already come to myself, my lord, and we may have stumbled on one possible solution. With your indulgence, sir.’ He got up from his chair and opened the door to their chambers. ‘Page!’ he bellowed down the stairs.

He stood at the door. ‘You see, sir, after you’d gone I took the air and made my way up to the Platz. I asked one of the street kids hanging around the market the same question we asked at the Conduit. He was very urgent that we should take our custom to the Red Lion or the Wyvern on the west side of the Platz, good beds and reasonable rates he swore. Lying little rat. We’d be paying triple what we pay here in either of them. But the inns on the Platz scatter coins among the street kids and expect them to trumpet their virtues to naïve travellers.’

There was a clatter of shoes coming up the stairs outside followed by a knock on their door. ‘Come!’ called Jan Lisku, and a boy entered who looked vaguely familiar to Serge. He was blonde, snub-nosed and freckled, wearing clean white stockings and shirt, and a red waistcoat with gilded buttons.

‘Hold on ... isn’t this Karl Wollherz of the Conduit?’

The boy smiled shyly at Serge. ‘Yes sir, and thank you sir, and Master Jan for your kindness.’

‘What kindness?’

‘Well sir. You may recall that young Karl here when asked yesterday gave us honest, disinterested and very helpful advice and it has to be said saved us a lot of money as a result. So I went looking for him and found him bedding down with his little mates under a wagon just off the Platz. He seemed very interested in my offer of employment as your page, and so here we are. It took me and Mistress Braun a good few hours to cleanse him of his lice and the ingrained dirt of several months on the streets, which necessitated the severe haircut you see, but he has polished up nicely. All he needs is some decent feeding for a while. Apparently his appetite at breakfast was quite phenomenal.

‘Mistress Braun’s younger boy was just growing out of the same size as Master Wollherz is, so I bought his second-hand wardrobe, and Karl is no longer scruffy and shoeless. The waistcoat, sir, was a special purchase, however. It was sent over from the draper’s first thing. We’ve yet to discuss household matters, but since we’re now two of us I had to give some thought to the livery of the house of Tarlenheim-Olmusch. Your lordship has a choice, either the bright green of Tarlenheim or the red of Olmusch. Excuse my presumption, but I thought, sir, you’d prefer the latter.’

Serge laughed. ‘As usual, Janeczu, what might be presumption in others is pure common sense in you. Red it is. So now, young Karl, welcome to my household.’

The boy beamed. He went to his knee, grabbed Serge’s hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, my lord. Thank you. I’ll be your devoted servant, I swear sir.’

Jan rubbed the boy’s stubbly head, saying kindly, ‘Up, child.’ He turned to Serge. ‘He’s already proving a goldmine of wisdom, and in quite surprising ways, sir. And it’s not just about the ways of this city. The boy hangs round the inns, coffee houses and printing shops, picking up odd jobs where he can. He listens to what’s said around him, and stores away a remarkable amount of names, faces and facts. Ask away, sir.’

The boy assumed a position on the carpet between them, putting his hands behind his back and looking alert and serious.

Serge pondered his present concerns and eventually went to the heart of them. ‘Here’s a question for you, Karl. What can you tell us about the man called Wilhelm von Strelsau?’