The Lightstep (12 page)

'I hardly know how to answer you, my Lady.'

'You have nothing to say?'

'To the contrary. There are so many things that I might say that
I do not know where to begin. I might say I regret your brother's
death – along with all those hundreds of others, French and
German, who died with him. It was an unnecessary affair. I might
say that my commanding officer, who was a good man and now
is dead, tried everything in his power to prevent it, as I did everything
that was in mine. I might say that nevertheless your brother
and his friends – or at least their commanding officers – were
doing everything in their power to kill
me
at the time. I do not
know if any of these things excuse me in your eyes, my Lady, but
since you ask, I feel that I must state them.'

I see.

She did not see. All she saw was Albrecht's death.

Oh, she understood that he was saying that he was not guilty.
He was saying that his side had tried to stop the battle. That was
what he had told his General. That was why he had been sent to
her . . .

Of course they would say that. She should not believe them
just because they said it.

But . . .

That smile. It was not really a smile. It was the cast of his face,
which turned up his mouth at the corners and arched his brows
over his eyes, so that he seemed forever to be smiling in private
amusement at all the folly of the world that he saw. She should
not have accused him so.

'There was a parley?'

She heard her question as if it had been asked by someone
else.

'I carried it myself.'

'With – with whom did you parley?'

'There were many officers on your side. But I recall the
commander was a Marshal Balcke – a big man, with a wooden
leg.'

Balcke! Count Balcke-Horneswerden – the 'Colossus!'

She shook her head as if to clear it of her mounting confusion.
'I . . . know of him, of course. I am not acquainted with him
myself . . .' Her words sounded defensive, self excusing . . .

No one had said this before! No one had ever breathed the
thought that the Erzberg commanders had been
told
the war was
over!

'You are prepared to swear this?' she insisted.

Uncertainty flickered across the fine features.

'I do not know when or to whom you would wish me to
swear. My orders are to bring you my General's letter and
to answer any questions you may have with it.'

New thoughts started at his words, like game birds from cover.
To whom should he swear? Why, to anyone who had lost . . . to
all of Erzberg, if possible! Was it possible? But – but this should
not be one family's secret. It should be known! They could have
spared hundreds of lives. And they had rejected it!

If it were true.

A sunbeam fell through the salon window, warming the black
cloth over her knee and glinting on the letters of the book at her
hand:
Perpetual Peace
–
A Philosophical Sketch,
they said. And
Maria's eye saw the gleam and her skin felt the sun: and her mind
staggered with the sense of huge lies shifting in the fabric of
Erzberg.

Mother had been right. If this were true, then she had been
right and Maria wrong. The blame lay here, with people she had
moved among all her life – people whom Albrecht and all the
others had trusted. It had still to be brought home.

It was a horrible, deadening thought. And all the world had
turned around.

'But sir, this is important! Indeed it is most important! You
may not know . . . There has been much concern over the
conduct of our officers in the last days of the campaign. If what
you say is true – it is indeed a matter of . . . of great importance.'

'I understand. But I am not my own master. My General has
recently assumed new responsibilities in Germany, and requires
me back at his headquarters as soon as possible.'

'I beg you, sir, at least . . .'

At least to speak with Mother.

She was going to have to tell Mother.

She was going to have to walk over to Mother's room, knock
at the door, and tell her that there was a French officer in the
house. She was going to have to tell her what he had to say. And
she would have to confess why the officer had come.

She was going to have to. It was too important to hide it. It
was the truth about what had happened to Albrecht.

And now she was a child again. An image rose before her eyes,
of her mother's face, and how it would change as she tried to
explain that, from her mother's desk and without her mother's
knowledge, she, Maria, had dared to address herself to the most
powerful men in France . . .

She saw that the man was watching her.

'Your . . . your General has been kind, sir.'

He shrugged. 'I will not say yours was the first such letter that
he has received. And he has been much distracted by the affairs
of the Republic this summer. Nevertheless when he read it, he
was moved. He had us turning on our heads at the headquarters
for forty-eight hours together. Erzberg this, Erzberg that. He
wanted to know everything about your state. Some things we
reported to him amused him. Others did not. I may tell you that
this is not the only letter that we have delivered within Erzberg
today.'

'I . . . it is not truly our state, sir, but . . .'

She wanted to stop, and educate him in the relationships
between the bishopric and the families of Free Imperial Knights
who congregated within and around it. She wanted to postpone
the interview that she knew was waiting for her in the study. She
knew her own cowardice, and despised herself for it. And so,
angrily, she pursed her lips and rose.

'No, please remain!' she said, as he made to copy her. 'I am
going to announce you to my mother. She must hear what you
have to say.'

Even so, she paused in the doorway.

'Your manners are excellent, sir. Nevertheless, perhaps I should
say that my mother is sometimes disposed to tease. She is fond of
sparring, and likes it best if her callers respond in kind. Of course
you will have to judge how far you may go. But . . .'

(She was reckless now, because of all the storms that were
coming. And if she was to serve this man up to Mother, it was
only fair that she should arm him as well.)

'. . . but if she becomes overbearing, you may try addressing
her as "Citizen." Although I have no idea what will happen if you
do.'

'Very good,' he said.

Suddenly his face broke into a real smile, amused and
conspiratorial at the same time. 'Very good, Citizen Maria.'

Maria tried to smile too. And with a sinking feeling in her
heart, she crossed the landing to knock at her mother's door.

He had expected it: the urgent summons.
The message from the palace read:
Be at the north-east
bastion of the citadel at five o'clock. Make it seem that you are there by
chance.
It reached Wéry in his barracks at a quarter past four.

He came at once, and on foot, hurrying through a blustery
wind that flung specks of dust against skin and into the eye.
Above him the clouds were white-grey, high and moving quickly.
People jostled him in the streets, and he jostled brusquely back.
Angry voices called after him. But no one had been paid to chase
soldiers this week. He reached the citadel gates out of breath but
unmolested. The guard saluted as he passed in. The Celesterburg
was brave with flags upon this windy day.

The bastion was one of four that encased the palace, pointing
outwards like the arms of a star. It was a vast diamond of sloping
stone walls, coated with turf. Along the top of its ramparts a row
of cannon dominated the town. On the east wall of the bastion,
grouped around one of the guns, were a number of men in white
uniforms. Wéry eyed them carefully as he approached.

It was not unusual to find groups of supposedly senior officers
drifting around the palace with the appearance of nothing to do.
Erzberg had many more generals, colonels and majors than its
army could usefully employ. There were extravagantly-uniformed
officers of the life guard. There were inspectors of infantry,
cavalry, artillery and militia. Then there were the aides to the
inspectors and the aides to the generals and colonels, all in their
big tricorn hats and red sashes and glittering orders, and none of
them did or were expected to do anything except to draw their
pay, which was the reason they had gained their appointments in
the first place. And of course they were all Knights or lesser
nobility to a man.

But
this
gathering did seem unusual. Or at least, it was unusual
at such a time and place.

There was Balcke-Horneswerden, standing like a great statue
at the parapet.

At his feet – on his hands and knees, even, and appearing to
inspect the carriage of one of the cannon – was Baron Altmantz,
the colonel of the hussar regiment and nominally Wéry's own
commanding officer.

These two were the only ones of Knightly rank present. Then
there was the colonel of the Fapps battalion, a mortal enemy of
Balcke's but effective in the field.

As for the others – well, Knuds, the commander of the citadel,
was also a colonel. But Skatt-Hesse there was only the senior
major of the Erzberg battalion. He had three senior officers over
him in the regimental chain of command; and yet when the
rations got short and the roads got muddy it always seemed to be
Skatt-Hesse who was left in charge.

And standing a little by himself, looking deeply embarrassed,
was a captain of the field artillery, who had no claim to nobility
at all, but who knew more than any man in Erzberg how to get
the best from an eight-pounder.

Who had called them here? Not Balcke. Balcke might have
called the artilleryman to a conference, but he would never have
included the Fapps colonel if he could have helped it.
Nevertheless someone had chosen them all. Someone had gone
down the lists of officers with a hard, cold eye, hunting through
the layers of waste and corruption for those on whom the system
rested. Wéry could almost hear a passionless voice, saying
'Him
. . . Not him, he's a fool . . . So is he. We'll have the Major. Yes, and
make sure W
é
ry is there . .
.' He could guess, too, who it had been:
Bergesrode, the black-clad priest who was first secretary to the
Prince.

And each had had the same message. The north-east bastion at
five o'clock. And make it seem by chance.

'No good, no good,' clucked Baron Altmantz, prodding with
his fingers at the wood of one of the cannon's wheels. 'One shot,
and it will go, you see.'

'Stick to your horse-parades, and let a man do his job,' said
Knuds. 'We overhaul them every summer.'

'Time for another one, then,' said the Fapps colonel. 'But I'd
not like to be the man who fires this, whatever shape the carriage
is in.' His fingers stroked the row of Latin numerals that humped
vaguely across the barrel above the touch-hole. 'Sixteen thirty-two.
The middle of the great war. Probably hasn't been let off
since.'

'We test them, too,' growled the citadel commander.

The infantry colonel had moved to peer along the line of the
barrel and out over the city.

'With shot?' he said incredulously.

'We drag them round to the west rampart and fire into the
hillside. That is, we do it when His Highness's Treasury allows us
the powder.'

'A miracle!' said the infantry colonel. But whether he meant
the common-sense of the garrison or the occasional generosity of
His Highness's Treasury was not clear.

Baron Altmantz got painfully to his feet, dusting his knees. He
looked up and saw Wéry.

What, him too?
his expression said.

The hussars had been outraged by Wéry's attachment to their
unit. Altmantz in particular, who was not only colonel but who
had also provided at his own expense the men, horses and
uniforms for two full troops of the regiment, felt he should have
been consulted. But he had been powerless in the face of His
Highness's whim. All he could do was ignore the new officer as
far as possible. And whenever this did not work he would affect
to be mystified as to why Wéry existed or what services he
performed.

He turned his shoulder and joined the collected brains of the
army of Erzberg, brooding over the single gun.

'So what's up?' asked Balcke, dropping all pretence. 'Does anyone
know? Something to do with you, is it, Wéry?'

'I sent a report up this morning, sir. It may be that.'

'Hah! Thought so.'

'Is that right?' said the Fapps colonel. 'I was sure it would be
those Frenchmen who came in yesterday.'

'French?' said Knuds, astounded.

'A gaggle of them arrived in the city yesterday, bold as you
please. I'd not like to guess what they wanted, but I doubt if it was
good news for us.'

'Surprised they didn't get lynched in the streets.'

'The city's too hot against us to be bothered with a real
enemy.'

'And who do you suppose . . .'

'Ah, the army!' said an affable voice behind them.

Wéry turned. They all did.

It was a tall gentleman in a buff coat and white wig. He was
heavily built, but given his height he was not fat by the standards
of Erzberg society. His face was fleshy, and his nose blunt like an
owl's beak. His pale eyes beamed at the gathering as if they were
a favourite dish that his cook had whipped unexpectedly out
of a hidden kitchen.

The officers came to attention. Wéry, standing a little behind
them, did the same.

'I was walking the ramparts between my appointments,' said
the gentleman in the buff coat. 'It was just a sudden whim I had.
Really, they let me have so little air during the day, you know.'

At the gentleman's elbow was the black robed, craggy-faced
figure of Bergesrode.

'And what brings such a distinguished group of officers to
these Avails?'

The colonels hesitated. Then Knuds, still at attention, said,
'Inspection, Your Highness,' as if it were perfectly normal that a
field marshal, three colonels, a major and a couple of captains
should mount the sort of inspection that was usually left to a
sergeant.

'Commendable,' beamed the Prince-Bishop of Erzberg.
'Commendable! No, come, gentlemen, we are all colleagues. Let
us be at ease together. Continue your work and share your
conclusions with me. I shall play truant from my duties to assist
you with yours.' His smile took in all of them, and he nodded
agreeably to Wéry, whom he seemed to recognize without
difficulty.

The colonels looked sidelong at one another. They were
wondering at all the play-acting. Could the Prince not even be
seen to consult his officers any more?

After a moment the citadel commander, gruffly, began to
speak about the armament on the walls, repeating much of what
he had said earlier. Wéry sidled closer. The Prince looked like
some genial and indulgent uncle, listening to a favourite nephew
recite his piece.

But the questions he asked . . .

'How much powder is there in the city . . . ?

'Dear me. And how long would that last, if the guns were
firing all day . . . ?

'How many trained gunners are there . . . ?

'Very well, so how long will it take to train more?'

'Six weeks, Your Highness. About six weeks,' said Knuds,
beginning to look uncomfortable.

'That right, Grasse?' interjected Balcke.

'Um . . . If it's just to crew a gun in a fixed position, I'd say less,
sir,' said the artilleryman. 'But to captain it, manage the charges,
lay, elevate – three months at least. And it needs plenty of live
firing. As much as . . .'

'It's gun captains we need,' growled Balcke.

Knuds's left shoulder seemed to shrug involuntarily.

'If only it had been possible for the Treasury to have allowed
us . . .' he ventured.

'Of course,' sighed the Prince. 'Really, they are so unreasonable!
And how is the mood of the men?'

'Excellent, Your Highness,' said Balcke stiffly. 'It is excellent.'

The Prince's smile broadened. 'Come, my dear Colossus. I am
no despot. I think you may be frank with me.'

Balcke hesitated. 'Show them an enemy, Your Highness, and
they will do their duty.'

'Oh, I am sure of it. And the militias, what of them?'

Again the officers hesitated.

First the guns, then morale, and now the militia – the half trained
bands of countrymen who would fulfil secondary tasks
for the army in time of war, and who in a last resort might be
called on to man the defences.

Where was all this leading?

'Your Highness must of course address that question to the
inspectors of militia.'

'I believe that I shall. And I believe that the inspectors will tell
me that the mood of the militias, too, is excellent. However, let
us suppose that I were to command that the militias take to the
field beside the – ah –
regular
army. What would you gentlemen,
as experienced soldiers, advise me to expect?'

'The country militias should be well enough,' said Altmantz,
after a moment's pause. 'Put a peasant behind a plough or behind
a musket, it's the same thing. He'll keep it pointing straight ahead.
But I'd not like to arm the guilds.'

'Not with the city in the mood it is at present,' grunted
Balcke. 'We'd have to be desperate, or damned fools.'

'You are right, of course you are right,' said the Prince,
nodding his head sorrowfully. 'The mood of the city is most
uncertain. Indeed it is not inconceivable that, should certain
events occur, the question of keeping order may arise
again . . .'

Keeping order.
Wéry saw the words register on the officers'
faces. 'Keeping order' must mean martial law. And the Prince
would only do that if there were more riots. Or a siege.

The officers looked at each other. Martial law? A siege? In
time of peace?

Balcke cleared his throat.

'The men would do their duty, Your Highness. As we have
said.'

The Prince swung his owlish face to the others. There were
grunts that might have been assent. His gaze fell last upon Wéry.

'Ah, Captain,' said the Prince. 'It is a pleasure to see such a
hard-working officer in the open air. Are you also part of this
inspection?'

'Er, I believe so, Your Highness.'

'Excellent. I found your recent report most interesting,
Captain. Have you by any chance shared it with your fellow
inspectors?'

'Er, no, not yet, Your Highness.'

Bergesrode had strictly forbidden him to pass anything to anyone
outside the Prince's office.

'Perhaps you would do so.'

Everyone was looking at him. And they were beginning to
guess now.

'It will be recalled that Hoche had withdrawn a part of his
Army of the Sambre-et-Meuse from Germany,' he began. 'Our
understanding was that an expedition to Ireland was
contemplated . . .'

The Prince nodded, encouragingly.

'. . . It now appears that this expedition has been aborted. The
troops who were to take part in it are on their way back to
Germany. What is more, Hoche himself, although recently
appointed Minister of War in Paris, has given up the post and has
also returned to Germany.'

'Indeed,' said the Prince. 'A remarkable move. One would have
thought that the star of the Republic had plunged suddenly into
disgrace, were it not for the other elements you drew to our
attention. Continue, Captain.'

'The Army of the Sambre-et-Meuse is to be united with the
Army of the Rhine in a new army, the Army of Germany, and
Hoche is to be in command.'

'Plainly there has been something of a change of plans in
Paris,' said the Prince. 'The French forces in Germany are to be
reorganized and returned to full strength. Intriguing. Mystifying,
one might say. You had a theory, Captain. You put it rather
elegantly, I thought. Please share it with these gentlemen.'

'I think Paris must be planning to enforce its will on some
party in Germany,' finished Wéry.

'And I am inclined to agree with you. For I have been graced
with a letter from the vigorous General Hoche, in which he
demands many things.'

Someone drew breath. And suddenly the things that had
puzzled them – the clandestine meeting, the questions about the
defences and militia – had fallen into place.

'Dear Virgin!' exclaimed the Fapps colonel. 'Is it
us
they are
coming for?'

'That depends on exactly what he is demanding, doesn't it?'
said Balcke.