The Golden Portifor - 34. Chapter 34

Prince Henry of Ruritania may not have been the most erudite of men, but the things he read with interest tended to lodge in his head. One of those books was Caesar’s Gallic Wars, of which he had a pocket edition that he carried with him. He venerated it even more on learning from Serge that Julius Caesar had written it himself, and he was reading the man’s own words.

‘Hey what? Look here, Phoebus,’ the prince had said, ‘the book says “Caesar did this” and “Caesar did that”.’

‘Yes your royal highness, but that’s because it was being dictated by the great man to his military secretary, so he cast the text in the third person. But it’s plainly Caesar’s own words we are hearing.’

‘Well damn me, Phoebus,’ the prince had laughed. ‘Then you can take down my war memoirs one day: Henry Elphberg’s De Bello Ruritanico! But not in Latin, hah!’

As the sun climbed into the morning sky on that Wednesday, 23 July 1692, the prince with Julius Caesar on his mind rode down to the centre of his line, as the enemy began to stir and Bavarian drums rolled out from their ranks below and behind him. He checked his great white stallion and took off his hat. The line of battle was of no great length, and all could hear his clear and strong young voice.

‘Men!’ the prince declared, ‘Whoever you be, be you Mittenheimer or Rothenian, you are all as much Ruritanian today as am I. We are soldiers of our king and we do as soldiers must. We fight for our realm and for our homes against these Bavarian wolves. Together we fight and together we will die, if die we must. But they shall not take this pass. I count on you all. Today we are comrades.’

So saying, he dismounted and gave the reins of his stallion to a servant. ‘Lead him away, man!’ he ordered loudly. ‘We all stand together today, and live or die together. But there will be no retreat!’

The regiments cheered, and all those officers who were still mounted got down to the ground. ‘No retreat!’ they shouted back.

Standing high on a fascine, the prince unshipped his telescope and coolly spied down on the climbing blue ranks of the Bavarian infantry, as their guns tried ranging shots on his lines.

‘Knew a few damned things, that Caesar fellow,’ he muttered to himself as he calculated the moment to return fire.

***

A very wide grin greeted Willi as he clawed his way back to consciousness. He was not good with mornings, though his new groom apparently was.

‘Oh shit. I remember. I employed you. What was I thinking of?’

Wilchin’s grin widened even further. ‘Got you yer hot water and towels, me lord. I remembers what Karlo says he does for his Lord Phoebus. Hot water first thing in the morning. No problem for me. I’m always in it ... hot water I mean.’

‘Please don’t attempt wit, child, leave it to the experts.’ Willi yawned and groped for his pocket watch. He was half surprised to find it still there, considering the nature of his new groom. ‘It’s six. God, that’s unearthly. Any news from the army.’

‘No sir. But I ‘spect that rattling of the windows is the battle beginning.’

Willi listened, and reluctantly concluded that he really must get up. He swung his thin legs over the side of the bed, and dipped his head in the bowl Wilchin was holding. He came up sputtering. Against expectations Wilchin was prompt with the towel and briskly rubbed down Willi’s shorn head.

‘Shaving gear’s over there,’ Willi ordered. ‘I’ll do the business, you just hold the mirror.’ As he scraped away with the razor Willi issued his instructions about packing and readying the horses.

‘So are we running away then?’ Wilchin queried.

‘No imp, we’re getting ready. Once this business here is settled, one way or other, I’m off to Medeln to find the mother I’ve never seen and answers to some questions. If the battle’s lost, we’re going to ride like hell to avoid the siege that will follow. If it’s won and my cousin survives we’re going to say “Well done, Zeus” but we’re still going to head for the abbey and we’ll not ask permission first.’

‘Can’t go without Ando, sir. Believe me, you’ll want him with us when we comes to the crunch at the abbey.’

‘What if he doesn’t survive the battle? Eh? Had you thought of that?’

‘Oh sir,’ Wilchin rolled his eyes, ‘one thing I’ve got no doubt about is that our Ando will come through any battle no trouble.’

***

The Bavarian artillery very soon began to cause Prince Henry a problem. Not that they were doing much damage to his lines as yet. The Ruritanian troops had dug in well. The problem was that a westerly breeze had set in. The smoke from the enemy guns drifted along with it and obscured the Bavarian advance, so depriving his own artillery of clear targets.

‘Captain von Bernenstein, if you please, run up and take this note to Colonel Wolfram in Fort No 3. He is to direct the fire of his guns at supressing the enemy batteries rather than wasting his ammunition on the advancing troops. The field guns in our lines will have to thin their ranks with shot when they get close enough. Other than that, it’ll be volleys and bayonets I fear. Now get a move on!’

To the prince this first attack was going to be the decider. If his small army could repulse the Bavarians’ mass onslaught there was a chance he might last out the day. The best place he could be now was amongst his men, and the Mittenheimers in particular. The evidence of disaffection amongst the duchy’s nobility had him rattled. He had thought the Dalmatian campaign had earned him the loyalty of the officer corps, but the families on Elector Max’s list had provided a large number of his young officers at Basovizza. Then there was the attempt on his life. Prince Henry of Ruritania was not a man much given to introspection or unnecessary worry, but it occurred to him he ought to be as concerned about bullets coming from behind him as from the front.

The prince found himself amongst the Musketeer Guards: raised to be his life guard as he ironically reflected. Soldiers preparing to meet the Bavarians looked up and to his relief Henry saw no hostility there, and when he came to the life company, he received a cheer rising above the drum beat of the Bavarian regiments advancing up the slope.

‘Well colonel!’ he called out. ‘I have to be somewhere. And to be amongst my loyal guards when they see off these bastards back to Munich is where I should be! Give them a cheer, men!’

The Mittenheimers obliged with enthusiasm. Reassured, Prince Henry turned his attention on the shapes of advancing infantry becoming clearer in the mist of gunpowder smoke. Shells howled overhead now as the artillery forts on the hills above began a falling bombardment on the distant Bavarian batteries. The artillery fire on the Ruritanian lines slackened, though this was as much due to the enemy infantry approaching as any counterfire.

Responding to General Antonovic’s orders, the field guns dug in along the Ruritanian lines sent a crashing salvo of shot into the oncoming Bavarians, and frantically reloaded to enable a second salvo as the enemy reeled and regrouped. The Bavarians rallied and stubbornly pressed on, to be struck again with shot and this time volley fire from the Ruritanian infantry.

‘I do hope that’ll discourage the bastards,’ Prince Henry observed to his lieutenant colonel. But he nonetheless drew his sword, for though great gaps were torn in the advancing enemy ranks, the Bavarians continued their onslaught and showed few signs yet of being daunted by their losses.

‘Front rank, bayonets!’ ordered the colonel, as the regiment fired its last crackling volley into the oncoming enemy. Then the Bavarians were struggling through the stakes and trying to climb the banks. Here and there along the line, they broke through.

‘To me, Prinzengarde!’ the prince called. Sword in one hand and pistol in the other, he hurled himself into the press, his guards at his heels. There was a minute of confusion and desperate slashing, then the Bavarian troops broke and fled.

The colonel, notebook in hand, was receiving reports from his company commanders as the prince rejoined him.

‘Good work, your royal highness,’ he commented. ‘They paid for their bravery,’ he added as they watched the survivors of the assault picking their way back through the litter of blood and bodies in front of the Ruritanian line.

‘Are there any guns manned? A few parting shots will make them pay even more. Why isn’t Wolfram opening up again from the forts. Hah! Less fire coming at us from their batteries. Where’s Von Bernenstein? He’ll have been sorry to miss that scrap. You! Lieutenant! Get the hell up to Fort No 3. I want Wolfram’s guns firing so hot they glow.’

***

The cavalry brigade trotted briskly onward over the Eberstenwald. Serge compulsively checked his watch. They had made good progress, with few riders falling out since they left the Vahnensee. The sound of distant gunfire still rumbled ahead of them, but seemed no closer. Friendly Rothenian shepherds they encountered kept them on a route that avoided any morasses or unclimbable scarps, and assured them they were heading in the right direction. Yet so far as Serge’s memory told him, they had still to reach half way point.

Serge rode back up the column after the latest consultation, Karl Wollherz alongside him. ‘That man was helpful,’ the boy observed.

‘Hey, what? When did you learn Rothenian, young Karl?’

‘Er ... oh ... you can pick it up, sir. You said I should.’

‘I did? Well done, then. His Merczener accent was a bit thick. But he reckoned we still have seven leagues to cover before we can reach the hills above Mittenheim. The battle may well be over by then. It’s midmorning. It’ll be late afternoon by the time we can cover that distance. So that traitor Dudley will have served the purposes of his Bavarian paymasters despite all we could do.’

‘What if we went faster, sir?’

‘That’s the problem, Karl. We could push the pace, but the horses will be good for nothing well before we reach the city. We’re just going to have to hope that the prince can hang on till we get there.’

Karl retired into himself and communed silently with Brunhild for a time. About a quarter of an hour after his brief conference with Serge the entire column began to quicken into a canter with no instruction from their riders.

‘What’s this? I gave no order,’ Serge said to Colonel Von Paull as Erebus began to move faster under him.

‘Nor I,’ came the reply, ‘but my mount is pulling against the bit and won’t respond.’

‘I can’t check my black either,’ Serge said. ‘He’s literally carrying me away.’

‘It’s as if the horses have picked up our anxiety and are doing something about it, but that’s ridiculous,’ the colonel said. ‘Yet if we bring the column to a halt we’ll lose time we can’t recover. What in God’s name is going on?’

‘We’re being carried away!’ Serge realised.

Behind him Karl grinned. He had Brunhild’s reassurance that her people could stand the pace if she lent them some of the strength that was hers to dispense to her subject herds. And so by midday the column was jingling along at something close to a gallop and the miles of springy turf were being steadily eaten up under their tireless hooves.

***

Serge’s despatch rider, having ridden through the dark of night, reached Prince Henry in mid morning during a pause in the enemy attack. The prince called over Antonovic.

‘Dudley escaped,’ he informed the general, ‘but my lord Von Tarlenheim gained control of the cavalry brigade at nightfall. He caught up with them in the Alauthendaal. How far away is that?’

‘Between twenty-five and thirty miles, your royal highness.’

‘So if he started riding back at dawn, when will he reach us here?’

‘Well sire, that depends on the route he takes. Should he retrace Dudley’s route he’ll not be in Mittenheim till late evening.’

The prince swore. ‘Then it’ll all be on us, I fear.’

‘There are other quicker routes, sire, and it depends on the pace he sets. Hopefully he’ll take advice from the colonels. Von Paull is a good fellow. Brassinger however is a vain buffoon.’

The prince barked a laugh. ‘Then Phoebus will have his hands full. What’s the earliest we may expect him?’

‘There’s a chance he might make it by mid afternoon. The weather’s fair. If he takes a route over the Eberstenwald he’ll come directly down on the Bavarian left flank. But keeping up that sort of pace will limit what his troops will be capable of when they finally arrive.’

Prince Henry placed his telescope on the top of a trench and scrutinised the Bavarian dispositions. The skills and superior fire power of his artillerymen had suppressed the enemy’s guns, and the Ruritanian line was experiencing only fitful fire as enemy cannon were withdrawn beyond the range of his forts. Only the occasional dropping mortar shell now troubled them. What’s more, there was no longer a drift of cannon smoke obscuring the enemy approach. He could see their dispositions and moves clearly.

The first Bavarian attack had been badly mauled, to the extent that Gumpp had sent forward a flag of truce to ask grace to remove those still living from the piled bodies in front of the Ruritanian lines. So the prince had ninety minutes to send his own wounded back to the city and order those among them still capable of it to get treated and then man the city’s lines. He also had the Bavarian prisoners who had been taken in the assault crammed into the cellars of the forts above them and locked in.

The prince watched the movements going on out of musket range down the slope. The regiments he had shattered in the first assault had been withdrawn from the line, and reserves were now marching forward. He checked his watch. The truce would end at half past ten and a second mass assault would be launched against his tired and depleted men. Though he had confidence the second wave too would be repulsed with great loss, the chances of resisting a third such attack were not good.

***

The bodies were piled higher yet after the failure of the second Bavarian assault, but the cost to the defenders this time had also been high, the battle only turned by Colonel Wolfram’s arming of his artillerymen and his leading them in an adroit assault on the Bavarian flank as the battle lay in the balance. Fearing apparently that reinforcements were arriving, Gumpp hesitated to commit his last reserves, at which the assault wavered and panic set in. Again a flag of truce had come forward and the wounded were being stretchered off the field.

Prince Henry watched the movements morosely. New regiments were coming forward. He scrutinised the uniforms. ‘Take a look at those new fellows, Captain.’ He handed the telescope to Andreas, who had fought at his side throughout the last assault and much added to the piles of bodies as he cleared an entire trench of the enemy.

‘Looks like they’ve dismounted their horse, sire. Their general’s throwing everything at us this time around. He’ll know how weak we are. Not just dragoons coming forward, but regular horse ... and still in their topboots! That’ll slow ‘em down.’

‘The reason Gumpp’s so willing to give us respite with these battlefield truces, Captain, is not because of altruism. No. He knows our cavalry is off the field and not likely to reappear before it’s too late, if at all. Besides which, since he has time, he’s hoping that as we see the inevitable end approaching, we’ll either withdraw within the city or even parley for a surrender.’

‘Not a bad idea, royal highness.’

The prince spun around on Andreas with a face of wrath. ‘What?’

‘I mean sire, we might cadge another half hour or so’s grace by asking for terms and then pretending to consider them.’

‘Dammit! Why didn’t I think of that?’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s twelve. His losses so far might make him willing to risk the delay before the coup de grâce. He can’t know that our brigade of horse has escaped Dudley’s baleful influence and is on its way. Antonovic! Over here! Get a flag of truce ready, my lord Von Bernenstein. You can carry it for the general. Drag out the negotiations till one o’clock if you can.’

***

At one o’clock, as General Antonovic headed back for the Ruritanian lines, Prince Henry gave a mental shrug. He had done all he could. He had blunted the Elector Max’s invasion of his father’s kingdom, crippled it maybe. But there was no way of evading the choice now. He could stand his ground and experience certain defeat, or he could attempt a fighting withdrawal. Extrication would be difficult, and there was every chance his men would break and run during the complicated manoeuvres. A rout would likely ensue before they reached the city. But surrender certainly was not an option he would consider.

As Antonovic and Andreas reached the trenches the beat of the attack began behind them, and the dismounted cavalry began its advance.

‘My dear Antonovic, that earned us some time, but it was not enough, I fear. Now, perhaps Wolfram’s batteries will cause enough confusion in the advancing Bavarian lines to enable us to withdraw by companies.’

Andreas however suddenly looked intent, and held up his hand. ‘Sire! I’m not sure that’ll be necessary.’

‘What?’ the prince queried, then he too listened. The clear sound of cavalry bugles rose above the measured thunder of the Bavarian drums.

‘It’s my lord Serge, sire! Glory and trumpets!’

The prince gave a crooked smile. ‘I rescind the last order. Gentlemen. Prepare to advance. Let’s go continue the negotiation with General Gumpp by a different means.’

And so the garrison of Mittenheim rose from the trenches and rallied to their colours, forming line with bayonets. Then, with Prince Henry the Lion at their head, they shook off their weariness and wounds and stormed down the slope to meet the advancing regiments of the Elector Max.

The Bavarian advance halted in disorder as officers turned and sought the commands that did not come, for four regiments of heavy cavalry crashed into the rear of their line and shattered the already shaken troops there, dispersing them in flight, and then they were in among the dismounted horse. As the prince came up to them, sullen regiments threw down their arms and their standards dipped to the ground in surrender.

With astonishing quickness all was over. Andreas watched with wonder as General Gumpp approached the prince. Both men bowed.

‘Your royal highness,’ the old man said. ‘Surrender is the most painful duty that can fall to a commander, but may I say that in offering mine to you, sire, I can console myself that I have been defeated by a most worthy opponent, one whose name will I think one day be listed rather higher in the annals of warfare than my own.’

The general offered his sword hilt-first to the prince, who smiled and urged him to keep it. ‘My dear Gumpp. It has been a great honour to meet you in the field. You know General Antonovic here of old, I believe. Perhaps you two gentlemen will repair to the fort above us and draft the articles of surrender, and then perhaps, general, you and your senior officers will join me for dinner in the Residenz of Mittenheim this evening. All commissioned officers with you in the Elector’s service may keep their swords, and the cavalry their mounts. We will however relieve you of your standards and cannon and your men must stack muskets, sabres and carbines.’

Prince Henry gave the general a most polite bow and called over Andreas. ‘Get me my mount, captain, and see if you can find my lord Von Tarlenheim. I want him and his report before I write my own despatch to Strelsau.’ Then he gave a grin that would have done credit to Wilchin, and pinched the young officer’s cheek. ‘Glory and trumpets indeed!’

***

News had preceded the prince to the city. As he reached Sankt Hubert cannon thundered from every fort on the Lines, and then the sound of the city’s bells reached him. Cheering soldiers mobbed him at the city gates and his Prinzengarde escort had to force a way through the streets and over the bridge into the capital. Flowers showered down from the upper windows of the tall houses of the city’s Hochstrasse and the bells were still pealing from the cathedral towers as he dismounted to be greeted by the bishop, provost and chapter in their copes.

As Prince Henry emerged from the solemn Te Deum offered for his victory, he found a party of several officers waiting bareheaded for him, among them Serge.

He embraced his friend. ‘Well now, Phoebus, that was almost a stage entrance you pulled off. I want the full story.’

‘It’s an unlikely one, your royal highness. May I present the colonels who accompanied our wild ride across the roof of Mittenheim.’

‘Von Friedland, Von Paull and Brassinger,’ the prince smiled, ‘our hearty congratulations on this day of most unexpected glory. Though how you accomplished your ride in such time is the most unexpected thing of all. I will hear more of this. You will join us over dinner with the Bavarian generals this evening.’ The prince looked around. ‘Now, there should be one more colonel, but where is he?’

‘Sire?’ Serge lifted his eyebrow.

‘The Prinzengarde has no commander. Well dammit, my lord, you’ll have to do.’

‘What sire?’

‘My Prinzengarde is yours, Sergius. You may disagree, indeed I’m sure you will, but I fancy you have a gift for command as unwanted on your part as unexpected on mine.’

‘I really think we should discuss this, sire.’

The prince laughed long and loud. ‘Only you, Phoebus. Anyone else would jump at it. Like it or not, you are lieutenant colonel of my horse guards. Think how that’ll be one in the eye for your father. Hah!’

‘My lord Mehmed,’ the prince went over and wrung the pasha’s hand. ‘I’m pretty near sure you had something to do with all this.’

‘Yes sire,’ Serge interjected. ‘It couldn’t have been done without him. He broke Von Gerlitz and unveiled the plotters, as well as helping rally the brigade last night.’

‘Then, my lord pasha, you are at liberty to depart to your home in Rumelia at your convenience. I understand that your brother’s agents have been paying off your ransom in larger and more frequent instalments than was at first anticipated, though there is nevertheless a substantial balance still owing. This I will pay myself to Captain von Bernenstein.’

The Turk grinned. ‘So the plunder of the Adriatic got back to my dear brother Numan and he’s put it to good use on my behalf. Excellent. My departure will only be temporary, Prince Henry Elphberg of Ruritania. I shall return one day soon at the head of my armies.’

The prince put a friendly hand on Mehmed’s shoulder. ‘An encounter I look forward to with great anticipation. That will be a grand day. You have conducted yourself as a man of great honour and bravery, sir, the very equal of your compatriot, the famous Saladin.’

Mehmed laughed. ‘You tell him, infidel.’

‘What’s he on about, Phoebus?’

‘I think, sire, he means you to know that Saladin of Damascus was no Turk, but a Kurd who began his career in the service of the kings of Egypt.’

‘Scholars,’ the prince growled. ‘My life is cursed with them. Enough of this. I need a bath. To the Residenz, gentlemen. The lady countess Ulrica will wish to see that I’m intact still.’

***

Karl had been forbidden to join the descent of the brigade on the Bavarian rear, but sat on Brunhild as they watched the final act of what she was calling to herself ‘the Great Ride’. Then they picked their way across the battlefield, where disarmed enemy units were collecting and burying their dead. Brunhild observed to Karl with satisfaction that few of her people had suffered in this battle at least. The Bavarian cavalry had not been called upon to make a mounted charge upon Prince Henry’s lines. She greeted them as she rode past their picketed lines, and many heads tossed and snorted back their homage to the empress of their race as she passed.

The bells of the city were still ringing as they rode over the Sankt Hubert bridge. Karl led Brunhild into her accustomed stall in the great stable of the Residenz, and though he had only one useful arm, he did his best to water, groom and feed her. As he observed ‘You’re the one of all of them who won the victory for the prince today. But you’ll get no credit, and you wouldn’t want it. But this is my thank you.’ He kissed the mare on the nose, and hugged her around the neck before he left.

As Karl left, grooms led in Orcus, Acheron and Erebus. He greeted the stallions, who told him their masters had reached the Residenz. Acheron and Erebus were full of the adventure of the Great Ride, and Orcus was distinctly annoyed he’d missed it.

Karl headed for the palace to encounter a familiar figure in an unfamiliar livery coming out as he was heading in. ‘Wilchin! And you’re in palace livery!’

His friend went to grab and hug him. ‘Oh! You been wounded!’ he exclaimed in distress.

‘Yeah, shot at by Dudley. Bullet hit me in the shoulder.’

‘What, did it bounce off? Your magic?’

‘Nah, twit. The buff coat did its job and stopped it. It’s just bruised, but it don’t half ache if I take it out of the sling and use it too much. Anyway, what about you?’

‘I’m groom to His Excellency the Graf von Strelsau. His first official servant! Hasn’t paid me yet, and sumfing tells me I ain’t gonna get paid soon, or all that often. But it’ll be fun for a while. I needs to pick up court manners, and where else but at court?’

‘You’re up to something, aren’t yer.’

‘Always. But first things first, Karlo. It’s time for you to get us all to the abbey. I’m looking for Ando.’

‘Me too. He made it through the battle fine, as you’d expect. Is he with the prince?’

‘Dunno. But Lord Serge and my new lord the Black Bastard are having a reunion ... know what I mean? That’s why I took off. Lord Willi makes the weirdest noises when he’s being fucked, puts me teeth on edge.’

‘I wonder if he’ll tell Lord Serge what’s going on?’ Karl reflected. ‘Brunhild did some of her magic on our way back. We took fifteen miles at near a full gallop. Not a single one of two and a half thousand horses was blown and they made a full charge on the Bavarians when they got to the end of it.’

‘Must have made people suspicious.’

Karl nodded wisely. ‘Point is, I notice that when most people meet the magic of the World Beyond they’re quick to find other ways to explain it. So the officers started talking about the unusual conditions of the hills we were riding over, and taking credit for their own brilliant management of their horses.’

‘Did that convince Lord Serge? Bet it didn’t.’

‘He was too bothered about the battle to come to give much attention to it, I think. Maybe he will when things settle down.’

The pair re-entered the palace and headed for the prince’s suite, but there was no getting near it. The antechamber swarmed with officers, and the doors of the privy chambers were closed and guarded. Karl asked a passing Prinzengarde lieutenant if he’d seen Captain von Bernenstein, and was told that he was waiting on the “new colonel”.

‘What new colonel?’ he asked Wilchin, who shrugged.

So Karl headed for Serge’s quarters even though he knew his master was engaged in pressing business. But it was Jan Lisku he needed to see. As he reached the corridor there were both Jan and Andreas in conversation.

After an interrogation from Jan as to his state of body and mind, and a lot of reassurance about his shoulder, which had to be inspected, Karl was told he was off duty till he was fully recovered, and Jan would take care of their lord’s needs. Instead of protesting, Karl submitted and, catching his friends’ eyes, suggested they go and try to find some food.

The three youths found a window seat in a corner of an upper gallery. Wilchin and Karl briefed Andreas on the crisis that was upon them.

‘So we gotta get to that abbey, Ando,’ Karl concluded.

‘Can’t you do your magic?’

‘Well, yes. I could get us to that place in the abbey where Lady Fenice said the hole between the worlds is, but we’d be jumping right in the middle of the trouble if I did. That’s got to be the last resort.’

‘And what about Boro? How do we get to him?’

‘Nearest I could jump would be Jonas’s pool in the Wenzlerwald. That’s probably the best bet, but we’d still need to get from there to Strelsau. So we’d have to take the horses with us.’

‘Could you do that?’ Andreas asked.

‘Dunno. When we first went to Fäerie, we rode Brunhild and poor Jennet through the barriers but then we wuz with Jonas, who did all the work. Could try I guess.’

Andreas nodded decisively. ‘Then we go this evening while the great banquet is on. Karlo’s off duty, so he won’t be missed and Wilchin says we have to take the Black Bastard so he’ll sorta be on duty. Me, I’ll tell the colonel I need leave. It’s owed me, God knows.’

‘The colonel?’ Karl asked.

‘Didn’t I mention that? Lord Serge is the new commander of the Prinzengarde since Barkozy ran off with Dudley.’

***

Captain the Freiherr Boromeo von Tarlenheim-Olmusch of the Königlich Leibgarde returned the salute of the guard as he left the Neustadt barracks. He had been the duty officer in the Hofburg for the past week, and had decided to spend his next week’s leave at his brother’s house on Engelngasse. It had been determined that the mounted Leibgarde were to remain in the capital and not join the army the king was marshalling on the Martzfeld to counter the Bavarian invasion.

Boromeo paused on the Platz to observe a green-coated regiment of Glottenburger dragoons trot past. Duke Willem Stanislas had promptly answered the king’s plea for assistance, and indeed his son was now at court in Strelsau with his wife, Princess Dorothea Sophia, as another token of solidarity with Ruritania. Boromeo had been impressed with the capacities of Glottenburger arms in the War of the League, and cast an approving professional eye over the regiment passing by. There was a notably friendly response to the Rothenian troops in the capital, with onlookers raising their hats and several shouting out good wishes.

There had been as yet no news from threatened Mittenheim, with the last bulletin published by the marshal’s office saying Vorplatzenberg was besieged and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince had placed his garrison between the city and the Bavarians. Boromeo smiled to himself as to what new prodigies of valour his friend Andreas would be called upon to accomplish. He was well aware his fellow-officers in the Leibgarde looked upon him as their own best answer to the military phenomenon that was Andreas Wittig von Bernenstein in the rival Prinzengarde regiment. How little they knew.

He left his stallion in the Leibgarde stables and walked up the hill. On the corner of Domstrasse and Engelnstrasse he stopped. Much to his surprise and concern no less than the commander of the Prinzengarde was at the gate of the Sign of the Angel.

‘Why Colonel Barkozy!’ he exclaimed as he saluted, ‘you’re about the last person I expected to see in Strelsau. Do you bring news? Is my brother well? How is it with the army in Mittenheim?’

‘Later, young Boromeo. Your brother was well when last seen. It’s something quite different that brings me here.’