Borne in Blood (Saint-Germain #20)

Borne in Blood (Saint-Germain #20) Page 7

Ragoczy studied his coachman's twisted leg in silence, not looking at the man's contorted face as he inspected the damage done to his body; the heavy dust smirching his black swallow-tail coat and his superfine black unmentionables did not bother him, nor did the smear of blood on his discreetly ruffled white-silk shirt-cuff. Finally he rose from beside the cot on which Ulf Hochvall had been laid; the coachman was dazed by pain but he did his utmost to concentrate on what Ragoczy told him. "I will set the leg, of course," he said. "It should heal straight if no further damage is done, and he stays off it while the bone mends."

"The coach ... will need repair," Hochvall confessed.

"It will need replacement," said Ragoczy, unperturbed. "Your repair is more important. I will see you have it, and the time you will need to recuperate. You need not fear that I will not employ you because of this, but I will need to find an alternate for you through the rest of the summer." He wiped his hands and glanced at his two field-hands. "If you will add to your kindness and bear Hochvall into the chateau, I would be most appreciative."

Jiac Relout nodded to his companion. "I suppose we can do this." He looked up at the sky. "No rain coming yet."

"Certainly not for a day or two," said Ragoczy, indicating the way to the kitchen door into the chateau. "You should have him within doors before then. I will have bread and drink of your choice ordered for you in thanks for your service." He was already moving toward the door, compelling them to come after him.

"Food and drink. Why not?" said Loys Begen, shrugging before he picked up his end of the cot.

"Careful," warned Relout. "We don't want him to fall."

"No," said Hochvall, his voice suddenly loud and panicky.

Ragoczy paused near the garden-gate. "Yes. You have no need to hurry. Think of how his injuries would feel on you and be gentle with him."

Relout ducked his head and signaled Begen to lift his end of the cot and move on.

It took almost ten minutes to get the cot into the chateau and to set it down in the antechamber to the pantry. The two field-hands were panting with exertion when they were done, and Begen looked down at Hochvall. "If you must be moved again, someone in the household will have to do it."

"C'est vrai," said Hochvall with emotion; his face was pale and sheened with sweat, and his skin was clammy to the touch, as Ragoczy discovered when he took the coachman's hand.

"Fetch a blanket," he said to the two field-hands. "One of the household staff will find one for you."

"It is a warm day, Comte," said Begen.

"It may be, but this man is cold, and in his condition, such cold is dangerous." He turned as he heard a discreet knock on the door. "Who is it?"

"Rogier," said his manservant from the hallway.

"Ah. Very good," said Ragoczy. "Will you bring me a blanket-one of the light-weight woollen ones, if you would?"

"Of course," said Rogier.

"There. Now you need not be put to the trouble of doing it," said Ragoczy to Relout and Begen. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out two gold coins. "For your trouble. They are English guineas. Any reputable bank will honor them."

The field-hands, who had never set foot in any bank, took the money and ducked their heads; they would keep their treasure in their hidden strong-boxes. "Many thanks, Comte," they said almost in unison.

"And mine to you," said Ragoczy. "Now, let me tend to Hochvall before his condition grows worse."

"What about the coach?" Relout asked.

"I suppose it should be levered out of the ditch, at the very least," said Ragoczy, "and the road shored up so that it will not happen again. The three sound horses should be stabled and groomed, then turned out in the paddock until sundown, and observed for signs of tie-ups or bruises. I will examine the fourth animal in an hour or two, and dress his cuts. If you and four men will tend to the horses and the road after you have had your refreshments, I will pay for your efforts." He was bending over Hochvall, his manner slightly preoccupied as he took stock of the coachman's worsening condition. "Post a lad on either side of the damage to warn others of the danger. I will pay for their service, as well."

"Yes, Comte," said Relout.

Rogier came into the room without knocking. "I have the blanket you asked for, my master, one of good size," he said in the Venetian dialect, and handed over a large, dense, satin-edged blanket of Ankara goats-wool. "This should keep him warm without being heavy."

"An excellent choice, old friend," said Ragoczy, taking the blanket and spreading it carefully over Hochvall. "Next a tisane, a soothing one, and the vial of syrup of poppies. He should sleep through a cavalry assault then. And if you will show these two good men to the kitchen for their bread and drink. When they are finished, please accompany them to the site of the wreck."

"Certainly. This way," said Rogier to Begen and Relout; the two men were glad to leave the room, and made for the kitchen with alacrity. Rogier led them to the workers' room and summoned Uchtred. "These men have borne Hochvall home, and they deserve something more than a glass of beer and a slice of bread."

"Hochvall is hurt?" Uchtred asked, his large eyes seeming to grow even larger.

"There was an accident. A portion of the road gave way and the coach was damaged. One of the horses was cut up; Hochvall was thrown off the driving-box into the ditch. He was injured; how badly I do not yet know. The Comte is attending to him now." He motioned to Begen and Relout to sit at the long plank table. "Is there a sausage and pickles you might be willing to spare?"

"And cheese," said Uchtred. "Poor Hochvall." He paused for a moment, then said, "I have beer. Jervois will bring these things to you."

The field-hands exchanged uneasy glances. "We can get food for ourselves," said Relout.

"The Comte prefers that his guests be served, as a sign of respect," said Uchtred.

Once more Begen and Relout faltered, unused to such courtesy from a man of the Comte's position. Finally Relout took a seat and reached for a trencher. "If it pleases the Comte, we are his to command."

Rogier excused himself, promising to return shortly.

Uchtred smiled as he left the two alone for a short while, returning with a pitcher of beer and two tankards. As he poured for the men, he said, "You may want coffee, in addition to the beer."

"The day is too warm for coffee," said Relout, taking the brimming tankard in hand and lifting it to his lips. "This is most welcome."

Begen said nothing, but drank deeply before setting down his tankard and nodding his approval.

"Then I'll go prepare your tray. It will not take me long, so you needn't fret," said Uchtred, and left the men alone. In the kitchen, he summoned Jervois. "Bring the cheese-the pale round, if you will, a board and a knife to slice it. There are two working-men to feed."

Jervois, who was fifteen and in his second year of service, gave a small, disapproving shake of his head even as he obeyed. "Why so much courtesy? These men are laborers, already paid for their services. Field-hands should be happy to be useful to the Comte; they should not take advantage of his liberality."

"Would you say that if you were a field-hand? They have done work beyond their hiring, and that deserves distinction, or so the Comte says. It is his way, and so we must honor it." He went into the pantry to choose a sausage, and emerged with a long, dense tube of spiced boar and venison cured with pepper, coriander, and smoke. Using a heavy kitchen knife, he cut a good portion of the sausage and sliced the portion onto a wooden trencher. "Butter, too, Jervois."

The youngster nodded after a minute hesitation. "I will," he said, and made his way out of the chateau, returning from the creamery with a tub of butter. "Yesterday's. Enough for dinner and those men. Today's isn't done yet. Therese said she won't get to it until after dinner. The day is too hot for the butter to catch, so she is cooling the milk in the creamery."

"Yesterday's should be sweet still, even in this weather. No doubt the men will be satisfied with it," said Uchtred, pulling a lipped platter toward him, setting a jar of mustard sauce in the middle of it, and beginning to select pickles to array around it. When he had achieved a presentation that satisfied him, he stood back. "There." His expression changed, darkening with his recollections. "You may not remember how many times we were raided for food during the wars; you were still a child, not aware of how things went on around you. War meant more than guns; it meant raids and confiscation. After the wars came hard winters. If the Comte were not a man of foresight, we could not maintain the expectations of guests in the chateau as we are doing. There is still food in the larder, enough to see us beyond the harvest. To have this bounty to give to working-men is an achievement. It has been some time since we could offer proper hospitality to those who came here, and many still cannot. Let us not lose track of our duty."

"Napoleon was greedy," declared Jervois, repeating his parents' complaints. "My two brothers followed him, and died for it."

"Many men followed him and died for it," said Uchtred preparing to take the food in to the two field-hands. "Don't linger with them-they'll assume we don't trust them," he warned. "It is unseemly to distrust guests."

"But we don't, do we," said Jervois. "Field-hands have taken as much as soldiers. And abandoned as many children."

"The same reason for all-they were hungry," said Uchtred. "The merchants had raised their prices and turned away apprentices."

"All the more cause to be careful of these men," said Jervois as if he were decades older and experienced in the ways of the commercial world. "Better to be circumspect now than to be sorry later."

"You will not hover over them, nor will you spy upon them. The Comte has invited them to his table. They have the right to our reservation of judgment. See you treat them well." He motioned Jervois away and resumed his preparation of the mid-day meal for the household. At least, he thought, they were not going to have to eat rabbit. He had cooked nothing but rabbits and scrawny birds for three full years during the height of Napoleon's belligerence, and had sworn never to do so again: it was lamb and pork and venison, fish, and occasionally veal from now on, with fresh eggs and butter, and new, wheaten bread. He looked around the kitchen in satisfaction, and smiled as he considered all the provisions in the smokehouse and storerooms in the cellars of the chateau. He was turning two fat game-birds on a spit in the main kitchen hearth for the widow's dinner when he heard someone come into the kitchen behind him.

"The Comte has set Hochvall's leg and given him a sleeping draught; he should not wake until tomorrow; sleep will ease him through his first hard hours of recovery," Rogier told the chef, thinking back to the many times that Ragoczy had taken charge of the care of injured men in the past. "The Comte knows what will be best for Hochvall: he will remain in the pantry antechamber for tonight. Tomorrow he will be moved to his own quarters. I will have one of the household servants watch him for tonight and tomorrow, and longer if it seems a good precaution, to be sure no greater ills develop."

"No doubt that will please Hochvall," said Uchtred. "Which servant are you going to appoint to watch him?"

"Either Hildebrand or Ulisse. Neither should impinge upon you very directly."

"Footmen," said Uchtred in a tone of unconcern. "Ulisse is accompanying the widow on her daily walk, but Hildebrand is in the side-garden, airing out the withdrawing-room cushions. Dietbold is cleaning the silver in the Grand Hall." He felt smug that he-the chef-should have such information to offer; he hoped he was showing himself to be the equal of Balduin. He often took advantage of the steward's absence to demonstrate his comprehensive grasp of the household.

"I will inform Hildebrand of his new work at once; I may assign Dietbold to sit with Hochvall tonight; it will be Dietbold or Silvain, depending upon which of them is better-rested," said Rogier. "I suppose Balduin is still in the village?"

"So I assume; he has not returned to the chateau, in any case. I have held dinner back an hour so he could plan to eat with the rest of us, as is fitting for one in his position. It is observations like this that keep the household functioning properly." Uchtred managed a superior smile. "The widow should be back from her walk shortly. I will order the dining room readied for the meal."

"And we are still expecting Otto Gutesohnes tomorrow or the next day?" Rogier asked, although he knew the answer.

"That is my understanding," said Uchtred primly. "You have had no news to the contrary, have you?"

"No, nor have you," said Rogier.

"Then he should be here. He has been reliable on his first errand-why not on his second?"

"I will be relieved to see him, and so will the Comte," said Rogier, going to the cauldron hanging over the hearth and preparing to take a measure of soup from it. "In case Hochvall wants something to eat. He will do better with soup than with bread. Be certain it is hot."

"If that is what the Comte wants," said Uchtred.

"It is what will suit Hochvall best," said Rogier.

"As you say," Uchtred conceded, and basted the plump fowl with butter mixed with lemon-rind and minced scallions; he watched the stones sizzle as the run-off splashed. "An hour and I'll summon the household."

Rogier nodded. "You are an ornament to your profession, Uchtred." With that compliment, he left the kitchen and sought out Ragoczy, who was in his study, poring over a number of letters that had been delivered from Yvoire that morning. "Dinner will be ready in an hour, Uchtred says." He spoke in the Latin of the first century, in the dialect of Roman merchants.

"The household will be pleased," said Ragoczy in the same tongue, breaking the seal on a letter from Rome, which he scanned quickly, reporting as he read. "I fear the villa needs a new roof," he said. "The vinyards are flourishing, and the fields are much recovered from the winters. Lambing has gone well, and calving. Piero is certain that a good harvest this year and the next and all should be satisfactory again."

"Piero is always careful," said Rogier, his tone showing his approval more than his demeanor. "Is the news as good from Lago Como?"

"I have not yet heard from Stanislao." He put the letter down. "I'll send Piero authorization for the roof as soon as possible."

"By Gutesohnes?" Rogier suggested, anticipating the answer.

"I fear I have need of him in his capacity of coachman, so I must engage another courier. With Hochvall unavailable until autumn, I must either hire a coachman, or ask Otto Gutesohnes to do this for me." He shrugged. "If he refuses, then I will have to seek out another coachman for the summer."

"Gutesohnes is a sensible man; he will be willing to drive your coaches for you," said Rogier. "How badly is Hochvall hurt?"

"Two breaks in the leg, one in the femur, one in the fibulae. The second was trickier to set but the more apt to heal cleanly now that the alignment is made. It is difficult to feel the bone under the calf-muscles, but-"

"-you have some experience in these matters," said Rogier with an expression that bordered on a smile.

"Precisely," said Ragoczy.

Rogier took the letters Ragoczy had set aside and began to separate them in anticipation of filing them later. "There is news from Persia?"

"Yes." Ragoczy frowned. "I will need to make up my mind what to do about my holdings there, and sooner rather than later."

"Will you need a second courier for that?" Rogier inquired.

"Very likely. Perhaps that Greek messenger, the one who has carried letters from Turkey. He has been reliable and quick, and Kypris vouches for him. No doubt more couriers will be needed in a year or so, as science increases our desire for rapid information." He thought for more than a minute, then said with a touch of amusement, "In many ways it was easier, three centuries ago. Messages moved slowly, and not always reliably, but it was understood that such things took time, and nothing could be done to hurry a fast horse, especially in bad weather. Now, with ships plying the oceans and more roads than ever the Romans made, speed has become a factor no one can ignore. Decisions must be made in days, not months, and information must travel as swiftly as time and tide will allow."

"For a thousand years, you lamented how slow such communications had become once Rome no longer controlled Europe and the roads were neglected," said Rogier with a trace of dry humor.

"So I did, and now I have my comeuppance." He studied the next letter. "I think it would be prudent to open offices for Eclipse Shipping in Baltimore as well as New York. From what Mannerling says, there is less graft in Baltimore, and industry is expanding there. It is not so closed as Boston, according to Mannerling."

"Graft is everywhere," said Rogier, preparing to leave the study. "You cannot hope to escape it."

"Certainly that is so; but some cases are less egregious than others, which is what I would prefer to find," said Ragoczy, opening another sealed envelope. "Ah. This is about the damage to my country estate in Poland. It appears that the main house is a ruin, and only one barn is sound enough for reconstruction. All the rest will have to be built afresh." He tapped the letter against his palm. "This will take some negotiating to keep it from becoming a debacle."

"Anything from Kreuzbach about the castle above Zemmer? You are planning to visit it on your way to Amsterdam, are you not?"

"Just the report of ten days ago," said Ragoczy. "And, no, I will not be deterred from pursuing the restoration of my Polish estate. Too much of the region was damaged, and too many farmers and craftsmen are in need of work and protection. Rebuilding the estate will provide wages and shelter, and that is-" He set the letter down. "I believe Hero has returned."

"It does sound that way," said Rogier.

There was a wry lift to Ragoczy's fine brows as he met Rogier's steady gaze. "No, she is not the companion of my heart that Madelaine is, but she is a woman of integrity and passion, which suits me very well. And I do not intrude on the enshrined memory of her husband, which suits her."

"I said nothing," Rogier reminded him.

"But you are worried that I have withheld some portion of intimacy from Hero-which I have. Just as she has kept a part of herself inviolate." He went and opened the door. "I am satisfied, and so is she."

"Perhaps too satisfied?" Rogier suggested. "You long for Madelaine."

"Yes, but it is an impossible yearning, since neither of us has life to give the other." He continued on in slightly old-fashioned French. "I do not think you have any reason to be concerned, old friend."

"If you tell me so, what can I be but satisfied?" said Rogier, and pulled the door closed behind them.

Hero stood in the corridor, two envelopes clasped in her hands. "My father-in-law has written again," she said. She had removed her bonnet and her lace gloves; her face was slightly flushed from the heat of the day.

"So I see," Ragoczy said as he came up to her. "Whoelse has written to you? You have two letters."

"My oldest son. Siegfried. He's eleven, and will soon go to school-in the autumn." She looked over the ends of the envelopes to Ragoczy. "Comte, I am afraid to open them."

"Small wonder," said Ragoczy, "given how strictly the Graf has controlled your communication with your children."

"He is careful with them, and knows his responsibilities," said Hero automatically.

"And uses them as a Hussar uses a saber," said Ragoczy, his voice light and cutting at once.

"You make him seem a monster." She took the letter from the Graf and broke its seal.

"Because I think he is. It is not his intention-most monsters have no notion of their enormities-but it is a great unkindness to you and your children. Done for the best of worst of reasons, his actions cause you pain." His dark eyes looked steadily into hers. "You go in fear of him because you do not wish to lose all contact with your sons and daughter. For a family to be sundered as yours has been is cruelty."

"No, Comte. Don't say that." She spread the letter within and scanned it quickly. "He is encouraging Siegfried to tell me himself of the school he will attend."

"The same one his father attended?" Ragoczy guessed. "Your husband?"

"Yes," said Hero. "How did you know?"

"It seems the sort of thing your father-in-law would do," said Ragoczy.

Hero read the rest of the Graf's letter. "The twins are well, and Annamaria has recovered from the putrid sore throat she had in April." She smiled a bit too brightly, refolded the letter, and opened the one from Siegfried. "Oh! His grandfather has chosen a horse for him to take with him to school."

"A considerable gift for such a young child," said Ragoczy.

"That it is, and Siegfried is most grateful to his grandfather," said Hero. "I could never have provided so well for him." The sadness in her voice ended on a quiver; she pressed her lips together and hoped her eyes would not fill with tears. "He says it is seven years old, trained for hunting, and that his summer is being devoted to improving his riding skills so that he may ride to school with his tutor in the autumn."

"He will be the envy of his classmates, no doubt." Ragoczy saw Rogier motion to him from the end of the corridor. "Yes?"

"Dinner will be served in half an hour," Rogier announced. "I am putting Ulisse to watch over Hochvall."

"Hochvall?" Hero asked, startled. "What is the matter with Hochvall?'

"He had an accident earlier today and broke his leg," said Ragoczy. "He is recovering from having it set."

"An accident?" She paled. "How serious an accident?"

"A portion of the road gave way, or so I have been told, and the coach fell sideways into the ditch," he said calmly. "Three of the horses fared well enough, but one has been injured, and I will have to attend to him this afternoon. Hochvall had the worst of it: he was thrown from the box. He sustained a lump on his head, a broken right leg, and a bruised shoulder."

"And the coach? Is it badly damaged?' She stared at him as if trying to read his expression.

"It is best left for firewood," said Ragoczy, and held up his small hand to stop her volley of questions. "I know little more than what I have told you, and will not know more until I have seen what is left of the coach."

"But if it is so ... so damaged, we cannot travel in it, can we?" Hero stared at him, trying to read what was in his mind.

"Not in the old one, no: I will order a new one in a day or two, once I know what our traveling needs will be, and once I have determined whether or not Gutesohnes will drive for me until Hochvall recovers."

She blinked. "You appear to have considered the whole; there is nothing I can do now, is there?" she said, adding playfully, "I suppose it is too much to hope you might dine with me?"

His smile lasted a little longer this time. "Later," he promised her as he offered his arm to her and started toward the dining room.

Text of a letter from Madelaine de Montalia in Varna on the Black Sea, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Chateau Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by academic courier and delivered two months after it was written., while Ragoczy was returning from Amsterdam.

To my most dear Saint-Germain, the greetings of your Madelaine de Montalia, just as present-the 4thof August-in Varna

As you can see, I have not yet reached Egypt, but I am determined to do so, and as soon as possible. In the meantime I am occupying myself with various ancient buildings and ruins about this port, some of which are most fascinating. I do not yet know how much longer I will stay here before returning to Constantinople, or as the Turks pronounce it, Istanbul. I was kept dancing at the doors of various officials for almost nine months before I set out to find places of interest while I struggle to get from this place to the Nile. I begin to think I will have to purchase my way into an authorized expedition or languish here for a decade.

You have said that the horses in this part of the world are superb, and I am sure you're right, although they look a little small to me. If I were more amused with riding, I might spend a week or two investigating the regional breeds. But I am not as fond of high-couraged mounts as the Ottomans are, and I am not tempted to careen across hard-baked ground or dry riverbeds to see how willing the horse is to submit to my will, although I long for a good gallop, now and again. I did have a fine afternoon on a large ass, one that rarely moved above a trot and preferred a steady pace to anything more dramatic. He carried me from a ruined monastery on a hill behind the harbor to the old Greek ruins near to what the local people call the Spring of the Virgins. I have yet to find out much about these Virgins, although I have asked. The Orthodox priests who will deign to talk to me-a Catholic and an unmarried woman!-tell me it was once the site of the manifestation of the Virgin Mary, but the fallen pillars are very old and Greek, so I suspect there is another, much older, source of the legend. The guide who accompanied me on this excursion is a fellow called Eteocles Hadad, and a fascinating rogue he is, more full of tales than the local story-teller, and curious as a hungry cat. He speaks a smattering of Arabic, Albanian, Russian, Hungarian, Greek, Slovak, Croatian, Albanian, Italian, French, and who-knows-how-many other odd dialects from off the ships that call here.

How I have wandered through that last paragraph! It is as peripatetic as I have been, and as disoriented, in every sense. I will blame it on the heat, which is thick in the air and sodden as an old sail. Even I am affected by it, and not simply because of the sunlight. I have spent the last four nights sitting out on the inner balcony of this hostelry so that I can take in enough of the little breeze and the night to help me make it through the day. I have enough of my native earth to last for another six months, but I am beginning to think that I should send for it now, in case this heat should continue. I will ask your shipping office in Athens to get Montalia earth for me, if you are willing to permit me to do this. Your suggestion that I purchase more holdings in Europe is probably a good one, and I intend to act upon your recommendation as soon as I return. Since I am as yet unsure when that will be, I cannot select a time by which this will be accomplished, yet be sure it will not be more than a decade. To think I will be a century old in another seven years! I am astonished to add up the decades, but there they are. You were right when you warned me that it is difficult to see your contemporaries fall away until only you remain, and that it is distressing to realize that all of youth is gone, no matter what appearance may remain. I am more ancient than any woman I have met save one-a nun who was ninety-six-but she was as wrinkled as a raisin and as bent as a willow. Yet we were almost the same age, although I still seem to be no more than nineteen or twenty. It is a luxury to know time as an ally, not an opponent, but time also creates a gulf no one but those of your blood, or of your restoration, like Roger, can cross.

There is so much to learn, and I know I will not have to limit myself for the demands of years. Still, learning creates a trail that may prove too easily followed, especially if I take my lovers among my colleagues. You were right to warn me about choosing my knowing partners with care. I have kept your admonitions in mind with every new encounter, and so far have revealed myself only twice. You, of course, understand my predicament, and I feel you can comprehend my ambivalence without jealousy or a desire to approve my decisions. I know that you and I seek life before all else, since it is the one thing we lack, and that neither of us would deny the other the fulfillment that is the very core of existence for us. I am pleased to hear that you have made a friend of Hero von Scharffensee, for she truly needs friends. As the daughter of Attilio Corvosaggio, I know she is a woman of good education and well-trained mind, but I also know that her father is not of a temperament that would incline him to take her in, and her four children. All his purpose is set upon scholarship and the discovery of antiquities. On those occasions when I have met him, I have been struck afresh with the singularity of his devotion.

So you have the comfortable life and companion you seek, and I have my explorations, and we are able to live with the knowledge that all of our undead lives will make this demand of us-that we must sustain ourselves on the passions of the living, not our Blood Bond with each other. You have much more experience of this than I, yet I can sense your feelings for me are as enduring as you yourself, no matter what your feelings for others may be.

I astonish myself at how reasonable I am; I realize this may be my own inclination to avoid any hint of animosity from you, which would be unbearable, or it may be acceptance of our natures, but whichever it is-or something else entirely-I am relieved to know that no matter what may come, the love and the Bond we share will remain unbroken from now until time loses all hold upon us. And before I become maudlin, I will end this by wishing you a pleasant good-night from the city of Varna, a place that stinks of low tide and fish.

Now and forever

Your Madelaine