Borne in Blood (Saint-Germain #20)

Borne in Blood (Saint-Germain #20) Page 4

Otto Gutesohnes was muddy to his knees and his face was ruddy from the effort of his ride, and although he was only twenty-three, his long, cold journey had left his bones aching like an old man's; he stood on the top step at the door of Chateau Ragoczy clutching a dispatch-case while he waited for his knock to be answered. Around him the late-arriving spring showed boughs wreathed in the shining snow of apple-blossoms in the shattery brightness of noon, but he was too tired to pay any attention to this extravagant display.

The door was opened by Balduin, the steward, who took one look at the state of Gutesohnes' clothing and indicated the path around to the rear of the chateau. He spoke in the German-tinged French of the region. "Please use the rear door, and remove your boots before you enter. While you make your way there, I'll fetch Comte Franciscus." He nodded toward the stable. "I trust your horse is in the grooms' hands?"

"My mule, actually; yes. They manage the mud better than horses," said Gutesohnes, his French heavily accented with his native German. He backed down the steps and did as the steward had bade him, calling out as he went, "Otto Gutesohnes of Waldenstadt Messenger Service, with a delivery for Comte Franciscus. I am supposed to hand him the item in person." He cleared his throat. "You're over a league back from the lake, and the directions I was given were very poor, or I should have arrived an hour ago."

"No matter; you are here now." Closing the door, Balduin went along the corridor to the study, and knocked on the door. "There is a messenger here for the Comte; an Otto Gutesohnes. He has brought something in a case for personal delivery. He didn't say what it is."

"Merci. The Comte is in his laboratory," answered Rogier from within; he came to the door and opened it, addressing Balduin directly. "I will inform the Comte of this arrival at once. See the messenger is fed and given an opportunity to rest. He must have had a hard ride coming here, with the roads so wet. Tell him the Comte will join him in about twenty minutes."

"Very good," said Balduin, and continued on to the rear door immediately next to the pantry when he called out, "Uchtred, a messenger has arrived."

"I heard," said the chef, coming into the kitchen corridor. "There is a fire in the rear parlor. Let him rest there. I'll put together a small meal for him, and give him something hot to drink. The Comte will not object."

"I will attend to it," said Balduin, opening the outer door and waiting for Gutesohnes to appear. He noticed the midden was already steaming, an excellent sign in this laggardly April, and May less than a week off.

Gutesohnes appeared, breathing a little hard, his dispatch-case held tightly to his chest. "If you'll hold this for me"-he proffered the case-"I'll take off my boots. And my coat."

"Very good," said Balduin automatically, accepting the dispatch-case.

"I've come from Zurich," Gutesohnes said as he steadied himself against the door frame with one hand and worked his boot off his foot with the other. "Shall I leave these outside?"

"For the moment; I'll have the under-footman clean them." Balduin's mouth pursed with distaste at the thought of the chore.

"Danke," said Gutesohnes as he set down one boot and went to work on the other.

"How long ago did you leave Zurich?" Balduin asked, truly curious. "The weather has not been good."

"I left eleven days ago; between the mud and that last snowstorm, I was fortunate it didn't take longer to get here. This is my third stop along Lake Geneva." He put his second boot down, peeled off his coat, and stepped into the small entry-way. "Where shall I hang this?"

Balduin indicated pegs on the wall, then swung the door closed. "The sun is warm, but the shadows are still cold."

"That they are," said Gutesohnes with feeling. "And this house must hold the damp."

"So if you will follow me?" Balduin said, handing the dispatch-case back to Gutesohnes; he led the way to the rear parlor, opening the door to the cozy chamber for the messenger. "If you will sit, refreshments will be brought to you directly. Do not hesitate to ask for more if you are hungry. The Comte will join you shortly." He was about to close the door when Gutesohnes stopped him.

"May I have a basin of warm water to wash my hands?"

"Certainly," said Balduin, a bit nonplussed. "At once. Dietbold will bring it."

"Thank you," said Gutesohnes said as he pulled off his heavy gloves and set them on the table in front of the fireplace. "My hands feel like marble, and they smell of wet mule and old leather."

"Dietbold will bring you the basin." On that assurance, he withdrew from the room and sought out Dietbold, who was busy in the main dining room, applying beeswax to the table. He passed along his orders before returning to the kitchen to assist with preparing a tray for the messenger.

A few minutes later Dietbold appeared carrying a good-sized metal basin; he went to the cauldron in front of the massive castiron stove where water was kept hot, ladling out a generous amount. "Shall I take a towel from the linen chest?"

"One of the older ones," Balduin recommended. "The man is very muddy, and there's no reason to ruin a good towel on his account."

"Of course," said Dietbold, and made his way to the linen chest in the supply room between the pantry and the laundry. He selected a towel with worn spots and a few minor stains, then went to the back parlor. He knocked and entered the room, remarking as he did, "I trust you are getting warm."

Gutesohnes half-rose. "I am. Danke."

"I'll take the basin and towel when you are finished with them," said Dietbold, handing them over to Gutesohnes, who had seated himself on the broad, upholstered bench behind the low table in front of the fireplace. "Your knuckles are chapped; they must be sore."

"They're more stiff than sore." Gutesohnes set the basin on the table and sank his hands in the warm water. "Much better," he said as he rubbed them together vigorously.

"Do you require anything more?' Dietbold asked.

"Not for the moment," said Gutesohnes, drying his hands.

"Then I will leave you. The Comte will be down directly." He inclined his head, picked up the basin and towel, and left the room.

Rogier encountered him in the corridor. "How is he?"

"The messenger? Well enough." He was about to continue on when Rogier stopped him.

"What has he said?"

"About what he carries? Nothing." Dietbold prepared to depart.

"All right," Rogier said, moving aside. He stood still as Dietbold went to the side-door and tossed out the water in the basin, then continued on to the kitchen. When he was sure he was unobserved, he let himself into the parlor. "Good day to you."

"Comte?" Gutesohnes stood up.

"No; his manservant. He asks you to take your ease for a little while longer."

"Manservant." He studied Rogier. "Treats you well, does he?"

"I have served him many years," Rogier answered, deliberately oblique.

"Then he must be a good master, or a rich one."

Ignoring that remark Rogier took in the man's general appearance, and said, "Carrying messages: is it easier than driving a coach?"

Gutesohnes blinked in surprise-how had this man discerned his former occupation?-but responded readily enough: "Most of the time it is. I was worn to the bone driving coaches. But in hard weather it is more dangerous to be a messenger; you must set out long before coaches are expected to." He saw Rogier gesture to him, and sat down again.

"Do you often come to Geneva?"

"Three times a year, on our current rounds; we serve over fifty subscribers," said Gutesohnes. "It may be four times this year, with the demand for our service increasing." When Rogier said nothing more, he went on. "I wanted the Italian routes-milder weather, better hostels, wonderful food, and only two circuits a year-but I was assigned to the Geneva, Bern, Basel, Zurich, Bern again."

"Has that been so disagreeable?" Rogier asked.

"Given the weather, it hasn't been easy, but still better than driving a coach." He studied Rogier. "Why do you ask?"

"My master is considering employing his own courier, a private one, not a service. He has tasked me to find suitable candidates for the job." He said it calmly enough so as not to create expectations in the young man.

"And you think he might consider employing me?" Gutesohnes brightened at the notion. "Why should he make such an offer to me? Or do you make this offer to every messenger who calls here, in the hope one will suit the requirements?"

"I think it will depend on what the Comte decides, but it is not impossible, if such a position interests you." Rogier was calm, his polite manner unfazed by Gutesohnes' effrontery.

"Of course," said Gutesohnes. "I do understand."

Anything more they might have said was lost in the gentle knock on the door, and Dietbold's return with a tray of broiled eel in herb sauce, fresh bread and butter, a selection of pickles, and a large cup filled with hot cognac with a thick float of cream. He put the tray on the table, nodded, and left.

"I'll leave you to your repast," said Rogier, letting himself out of the parlor; he was thinking over what Gutesohnes had said when he saw Ragoczy coming toward him. "My master."

Ragoczy paused to adjust his black-silk waistcoat and the black super-fine claw-tail coat over it. "Have I got it right?"

"Yes," said Rogier, adding with a suggestion of amusement, "You couldn't have done better with a reflection to guide you." He adjusted the silver watch-chain so that it lay more discreetly across his waistcoat, and then nodded his satisfaction. "There. That should do the trick."

"Always the final detail," Ragoczy approved.

"If Hero were here, she would attend to such matters," said Rogier. "She has a better eye than mine for the current vagaries of fashion: fobs and seals and watch-chains!"

"Yes: she knows the fashion of the present day," Ragoczy said. "Well, she should return in two weeks if the weather holds."

"And her uncle's widow is no worse, and the road from Vevey is open to travel; that late storm last week surely delayed her journey," Rogier said, and tweaked the elaborate silken bow of Ragoczy's neck-cloth. "There. What do the English call it-a rose of good taste?"

"A tulip of the ton, I believe," said Ragoczy in that language.

"A flower, in all events," said Rogier in French. "No one could quibble with your appearance."

"Thank you, old friend," said Ragoczy. "It is always important to observe the niceties."

Rogier did not quite laugh, but his lips quirked and his faded-blue eyes shone with amusement. "As you say."

"How much longer should I let him eat?" Ragoczy asked.

"Five more minutes; he won't mind the interruption then."

"What do you think of him?' Ragoczy inquired.

"Young, strong, sensible. He likes his comforts but not to the point of laziness, or so it appears-after all, he came here as soon as the road was clear enough of snow to allow him passage. You can tell by his shoulders that his days as a coachman were demanding." Rogier coughed once. "He will probably not want to carry messages or drive coaches for all his life, at least not as an occupation. But he does appear to be willing to do the work for now, and he would seem to have an aptitude for it."

"A sensible position," said Ragoczy. "If he is willing to work for five years, I will consider myself fortunate, assuming he is capable and honest. I must hire someone in the next four to five months, and if this man seems qualified ..."

"You must determine that for yourself," said Rogier. "But he is the second messenger to arrive here since winter broke, and he came farther than Conrade did. I think he is able to do the work, and he would be accepted by the household."

"I will keep that in mind." Ragoczy laid his small, elegant hand on the door-latch, but said to Rogier, "I suspect there is more to it, this endorsement of yours, and I am curious to know what that may be. You are usually reluctant to give such a sanction to an unknown fellow as you have for this man. Why is that? What about him is so different that you are inclined in his favor?"

Rogier took a long slow breath. "I don't quite know. It may be that something about him reminds me of Hercule," he admitted at last.

"Truly." Ragoczy regarded Rogier contemplatively. "In what way?"

"It is a question of manner." He said, choosing his words carefully. "He doesn't look like Hercule, he isn't injured, he is not so old nor so burly as Hercule was, but you know how Hercule was willing to drive through fire? Well, this young man has some of the same quality about him."

"Does he. Most interesting. I will bear that in mind." Slowly Ragoczy opened the door, saying nothing as he took stock of Otto Gutesohnes, who was cutting into the broiled eel with gusto. He stood still, a figure in dignified black but for his dove-gray silken shirt and the shine of his watch-chain; the austerity of his clothing served to display their richness. Finally he allowed the door to close behind him, its sharp click announcing his arrival to the messenger.

Gutesohnes looked up, nearly dropped his utensils as he shoved himself to his feet. "Comte. You must be he." He stared at the man, taking in everything about him; Gutesohnes was struck by the self-possessed presence of the man, his quiet air of elegance and position, and how, although he was a bit less than average height, he had the manner and comportment of a tall man.

Ragoczy bowed slightly. "I have that honor." He indicated Gutesohnes' food. "Do not let me stop you enjoying your meal."

Somewhat awkwardly Gutesohnes sat down. "If you permit, then I thank you."

"I know what it is to be hungry. Please." He moved a few steps farther into the room and studied Gutesohnes in silence while the messenger continued to eat. "I understand you have something for me?"

"I do. It is in a sealed box, which I have in my dispatch-case, along with the other items I am delivering in Geneva. If you want, I can get it out for you now." He began to reach for the leather bag at the side of the bench. "This might be a good time to ... I am ordered to hand you the box myself, so I can vouch for its delivery."

"It can wait until you've finished your meal," said Ragoczy with an unconcerned wave of dismissal.

"You are not eating?" Gutesohnes said, indicating his tray.

"Not just at present. But do not let my abstaining stop you from completing your meal." Ragoczy gave a single, slow nod.

"Danke schoen." Gutesohnes thrust his fork into another section of broiled eel and applied his knife to the meat; the piece he stuffed into his mouth was fairly large. "This is very good," he said around his chewing.

"I'll tell my cook," said Ragoczy without a trace of sarcasm.

Gutesohnes colored to the roots of his hair. "I did not mean to over-step ... It's not my place to ... to-"

"It is a compliment and I will deliver it to Uchtred. He deserves to know his work is appreciated." Ragoczy pulled one of the four straight-backed chairs away from the wall and sat down.

"Would you prefer ... ?" Gutesohnes asked, meaning the upholstered bench upon which he sat.

"No, thank you anyway. I am comfortable where I am, and you have been in the saddle since dawn, unless I am mistaken, and therefore that bench must be very welcome." Ragoczy offered a swift, easy smile.

"Yes. I was off at sunrise from the Leaping Trout. Do you know it?" He picked up the cognac and sipped the hot liquid through the cream.

"More than three leagues from here, on the main road, about two hundred years old, with a tavern and an inn." He considered the distance. "You must have kept your mount at a steady walk to arrive here at this hour."

"Um. That's why I ride a mule-a big one, to handle whatever we may have to contend with." He broke a section of bread and wiped it through the herb-sauce on the broiled eel. "This one can walk for hours through mud and snow and rain, never mind how mired the roads are. He gets tired but will not halt until I prepare to dismount. I've had him sink to his knees in mud and continue on-annoyed but not halted. Same with snow." He bit into the sauced bread.

"A good animal, then," said Ragoczy.

"An excellent animal. The messenger service has a dozen such animals. We buy from the same breeder for all our mules." He had more eel, his eating slowing down a bit.

"A fine arrangement, no doubt," said Ragoczy, beginning to see what Rogier had perceived in this young man.

"Herr Waldenstadt has established high standards for his messengers, and a regular schedule to which we must adhere; that way we can give superior service. He insists that we account for all our time while traveling, to justify his charges." He said it dutifully enough, but with real purpose. "If we cannot prove more reliable than the post, why should anyone spend the money to subscribe?"

"Why indeed," said Ragoczy. He watched Gutesohnes drink more of the cognac, then said, "How long have you worked for Herr ... Waldenstadt?"

"Two years. I was a coachman out of the Frederich in Basel before that." He began on the pickles. "Herr Waldenstadt brought me to Bern."

"And how long did you drive a coach for the Frederich?" Ragoczy inquired calmly.

"Three years. I had learned from my aunt's husband, who took me in after my father died." He picked up the napkin and wiped his mouth.

"I suppose you read and write?" Ragoczy pursued.

His German accent grew stronger. "I was taught for five years in the local school. I know French, a little Italian, a few words in Polish, and some Czech. I can write in French as well as German, but the others, no, not really. I know Russian and Greek when I see them but I cannot read them." He dropped the napkin back in his lap and screwed up his courage enough to say, "Your manservant said you might want a private courier of your own: is that true?"

"It is," said Ragoczy, remembering Yrjo Saari, who had said the same thing over a century ago.

"And that is why you're asking me these questions?" He looked at Ragoczy directly, making no apology for doing this.

"That," said Ragoczy, "and curiosity."

Gutesohnes flushed again, feeling increasingly awkward. "Comte ..."

"Would such a position interest you?"

"It might," said Gutesohnes, doing his best to regain his composure. "What do you offer, and what duties would it entail?"

"I have businesses in many cities throughout Europe, and it is important that I be able to send various contracts and similar instruments to those businesses promptly and with a modicum of privacy, which inclines me not to use the post. Confidentiality is necessary in the conduct of honorable business-would you agree?" Ragoczy put his hand to the silver watch-chain swagged across the front of his waistcoat. "I would like to have my messenger be willing to travel on short notice, to keep what he carries secret, and to return promptly with whatever responses are entrusted to him. In exchange for this service, I will provide housing, meals, horses and mules, three new suits of clothes each year, and a salary double what you receive now-assuming you and I decide that this would be acceptable to us both."

"I admit I am interested, providing you don't expect me to ride into Russia, or set sail for the New World." He had another pickle and finished his cognac.

"At present, I would have no such requirements to make of you," said Ragoczy.

"At present?" Gutesohnes repeated skeptically.

"Who can say what the future may bring?" Ragoczy suggested gently.

Gutesohnes thought this over. "All right."

"Think of the two hard winters we have had," Ragoczy went on, his thoughts casting back more than twelve centuries to the dreadful Year of Yellow Snow, when all the world seemed to be locked in perpetual winter. "Had the weather taken such a turn in 1812, the losses Napoleon suffered in Russia might have been utterly complete rather than devastating; he might have fallen in the snow as so many of his men did. But it did not strike until Napoleon had done his worst. Who could have anticipated it? Yet now it is here, we must, perforce, accommodate it."

"I take your point, Comte," said Gutesohnes.

Ragoczy coughed discreetly. "All things being equal, I will not expect you to go any farther than Poland, or England, or Spain or Greece. If circumstances should arise that required your services beyond those places, a special price would be negotiated for such a journey, and paid in advance of your travel. If you require a bond to that end, I will establish one. Would that satisfy you?"

"I suppose it must." He buttered a wedge of bread, taking time to do it properly, all the while saying, "If you wish me to work for you, I cannot begin until I have completed the current deliveries I have to make. Once I return to Bern, I may end my employment, but not before then."

"What would be the earliest you could return here?" Ragoczy asked; he did not mention that this display of responsibility had inclined him to want to employ Gutesohnes.

"Probably the end of June, weather permitting. I would need to purchase a horse or a mule for the return. Herr Waldenstadt will not give me one." He thought a moment. "He might not even sell me one."

"I can arrange for you to purchase the mount of your choice, if you decide you want this position. You have only to choose what you want to ride, and from whom you would like to purchase it." He got to his feet; Gutesohnes almost tipped over his tray in his haste to rise. "I will return in half an hour to answer any questions you may have, and to let you know my decision. If you would like something more-some cheese, some nuts-tell Dietbold and he will bring it to you."

"Half an hour." He glanced down at his dispatch-case. "Do you want your parcel now, or would you prefer to wait?"

"If you would give it to me?" Ragoczy said, holding out his hand to receive it.

Gutesohnes opened the case and pulled out a chicken-sized package-a wax-sealed wooden box with the impression of a signet-ring showing three sheaves of wheat sunk in the heaviest pooling of wax. "There. I will report to Professor Weissbord that you have received the box."

"Thank you," said Ragoczy, a bit startled. "Professor Weissbord, do you say?" He glanced at the signet-impression. "I see: Weissbord."

"Is something wrong, Comte?" Gutesohnes asked.

"No; nothing," said Ragoczy. "I had assumed the parcel was from someone else."

"Is this an inconvenience?"

"No, of course not." Ragoczy motioned to the tray. "Finish your meal and think over what I have offered." He went to the door and lifted the latch.

"Comte?" Gutesohnes had managed to gather the courage to speak.

"Yes?" He waited politely for Gutesohnes to go on.

"Is it that you wish to employ me, or would any messenger do? And are you offering me employment?"

Ragoczy stood still while he considered his answer. "Yes, I need a messenger, but no, I would not engage just anyone to do the tasks I will require." He held up the box in his hand. "In any event, thank you for bringing this to me."

"Oh." He nodded twice. "Danke, Comte."

"Bitte," said Ragoczy, and left the parlor. He found Rogier waiting ten steps away.

"So: do you, too, see the resemblance to Hercule?" he asked as Ragoczy approached him.

"I do," said Ragoczy. "And I agree about his demeanor. This is a cleverer man-not that Hercule was not clever, but this man thinks about many more things than Hercule did, with a broader sense of the world than Hercule had."

"No doubt you are right," said Rogier. "I believe he is someone who will perform to your expectations."

"Oh, yes. I have no doubt of that." Ragoczy glanced over his shoulder. "Not for money alone, but to give himself a leg up in the world."

"You: cynical?" Rogier regarded Ragoczy with skepticism.

"Not cynical, old friend-appreciative. This man's self-interests match with my intentions, which should stand us both in good stead." He paused. "That is, if he agrees to work for me."

"He would be a fool not to," said Rogier.

"Ah," said Ragoczy, "but how many men are fools?" Without waiting for an answer he turned away toward the front of the chateau.

Text of a crossed letter from Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee at Vevey, in Switzerland, to her father, Attilio Aurelio Augusto Corvosaggio in Padova; carried by regular post.

To my very dear father on this, the 6thday of May, 1817, the affectionate greeting of your daughter, presently in Vevey with your brother Dario's widow;

I was saddened to learn of your illness this last winter, and I hope your recovery is now under way. From what Ortrude told me before she became incapacitated by her affliction, you have had much to burden you since October. I am pleased to hear that you are receiving such excellent care, and I am grateful to the good Widow Caglia for all she has done for you-far in excess of what you might expect from a housekeeper. I agree it was wise to send your wife out of danger. There was no cause for both of you to be at risk. I must suppose that you will return to Anatolia and the ruins you found there last year as soon as your health is restored; I wish you every success in your expedition, and ask only that you inform me when you decide upon your departure.

Yet, heartened as I am by your tidings, I am duty-bound to inform you that your brother's widow is not long for this world. It may be that by the time you receive this, she will have passed beyond this earthly abode. I have consulted the local physician and he has said that her lethargy is a sign of approaching demise, that there is nothing more that can be done for her. I have sent for my protector, who has a vast knowledge of medicaments and treatments not always known to the general run of healers, and he has promised to come here in two days. He will do what he can for Ortrude, but his note has warned me it may be nothing more than easing her dying.

I have heard from my father-in-law, who informs me that my children are well, that their studies are going on properly, and that they are growing as one would expect them to grow. I devour his words as if I were starving and they were meat and bread, and at the same time, I resent him for all he has done to keep us apart. Hard as it was to lose my husband, it was a single blow-having my children growing up away from me is a new anguish every day. I miss them with more vivid emotions than I have words to convey; their grandfather has asked that I not visit them for this summer, a request that falls like a lash on all my hopes for being with them soon. How I wish my husband had left his affairs in a more ordered state, but, as he had no Will as such, I cannot challenge the Graf's authority. What court would support my claim while the Graf provides for them so handsomely, and I have only the support of the Comte to preserve body and soul?

Enough of such gloomy reflections. There is nothing you or I can do to change how matters stand, and although the Comte has offered to sponsor my court actions for the housing and care of my children, I have discussed the matter with an experienced advocate, who has assured me that any such action would fail. Had I a fortune of my own, I might be able to put forth an argument a justice might consider, but lacking fortune, a house of my own, or any other unencumbered security, I am unlikely to present a convincing case. It would mean that I would add needlessly to my children's suffering, and my own. So I have decided that when the Comte travels this summer, I will go with him. It will be nothing so exciting as what you will undertake in Anatolia, but it will provide a change of scene and a chance to stop brooding, which I confess I have done for most of the winter. I will content myself with Amsterdam and Bruxelles, and hope that one day I may again venture beyond Europe.

It has been quite warm and pleasant this last week, and I believe that spring may finally have arrived in earnest. The trees have budded and unfurled their leaves, the ice is gone from the pond behind the chateau, and the first lambs have been born. I have seen farmers in their fields, and every day, the cowherds take their animals up into the mountains to graze, and shepherds are now away from their winter quarters, going with their flocks into the high meadows, where they will remain for most of the summer. Yet in spite of the hard weather we have endured, it is wonderful not to have the threat of war hanging over us as it did for so long. All those fine men, lost to life and home, or forced into beggary! It is shameful that the soldiers who were cheered a decade ago are daily spat upon in the street, useless flotsam now that their fighting has ruined them for other work.

In addition to the travel I have already described, the Comte has promised me a journey to Italy next year, and he will take me to hear whatever new work Signore Rossini has composed at that time. I have received some piano transcriptions of airs from his work Il Barbiere di Siviglia and enjoyed playing them; so amusing and witty. The instrument in the music room at his chateau-a forte-piano-is a bit old-fashioned but in excellent condition, and so it is always a pleasure to spend an hour or two at the keyboard. It is something I will enjoy as soon as I return to his chateau. He has penned a few melodies of his own for me to play, and a duet for us to play together. His musicianship is superior and it puts me on my mettle to play with him. Stickler that you are for accurate performance, I am persuaded you would find his playing to your satisfaction; he certainly performs beyond my capacity. The Comte also plays violin, viola, and guitar: he has one of each in his music room as well as some regional instruments, in particular, a Hungarian cimbalom, a kind of large, hammered zither. I am not overly fond of its sound, but I allow that he plays it well. If you should ever have occasion to visit here, I hope you will give him the opportunity to play for you on any or all of his instruments.

When your new book is published, I ask you will send me a copy so I may see how your discoveries are progressing. I often think of those days when we journeyed together, and all the places we saw: Rhodes, Cyprus, Egypt! While I realize it is impractical for me to accompany you as I did when I was a child, I cannot help but yearn for those days, and tell you how it saddens me that you are not able to give my children the same opportunities as I had from you; I fear they will be the worse for the lack of them. Perhaps when they are a bit older something may be arranged, for little as the Graf likes the Turks, he is an avid admirer of the ancient heros; in time he may see the advantage to permitting at least Siegfried, Bertram, and Berend to visit you at your excavation; I doubt he would permit Annamaria to travel into Ottoman territory, for fear she might be the victim of an outrage.

With every assurance of my continued affection and devotion,

Your most allegiant daughter,

Hero Iocasta Ariadne Corvosaggio von Scharffensee