Arcanum (91 page)

Felix blinked. “How dangerous is this, Master Thaler?”

“To us? Hardly at all. What we’re trying to quantify is how dangerous it might be to those on the receiving end.” He raised his hand. “Ready for firing, Mistress?”

She held up one of the slow matches, smoke idly curling from its end. “Ready for firing.”

“Firing now.”

“Firing,” she said, and applied the match to the end of the fuse, making sure it had caught. “Now.”

She ran, covering the distance in no time at all, and dropped into the space on Thaler’s right, between him and Aaron Morgenstern.

Everybody ducked, except Felix; Thaler pressed his hand on the prince’s head and pushed it down.

When it came, the sound was incredible. Felix felt rather than heard it, the ground jerking as though it had been struck. Little motes of dust leapt from the wall of the trench, and hung in the air, frozen.

Then the smoke roiled back in a thick white cloud. It drifted over them, and it was safe to look up again.

The first screen had gone. Burning tatters of cloth hung on each of the supporting poles. The second, a hundred feet further on, was still on fire, with thick orange flames busily consuming the sacking, which had been torn in two. The third was leaning drunkenly at an angle, and there was smoke rising from just behind it.

Felix clambered out, as did Mistress Tuomanen. While he stared, she pulled Thaler and Morgenstern from the trench with practised ease, and a team went over to inspect the still-smoking pipe, douse it with water, and rake out the soot from its insides.

“That settles that, then,” said Thaler, wiping the soil of the trench off his gown. “The ball didn’t fall apart. Call it three hundred and twenty feet, at no elevation. Aaron, the calculations, if you please?”

Morgenstern went back to his table and his books as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but Felix caught Thaler by the arm and wouldn’t let go.

“What did I just see?”

“Well, it’s all very simple,” said Thaler. “If we know how fast the ball leaves the barrel, we can work out its range. By placing the device on a mound of earth of a known height, we know how long the ball takes to fall to the ground.”

“You do?”

“Most certainly. From there we can derive its maximum theoretical range, and, more importantly, the range at a given angle. The real range won’t be anything like that, of course, because of the resistance of the air and other factors. We shall, however, attempt to work out those equations at a later date. Aaron?”

“Two and a half miles,” said Morgenstern, still scribbling feverishly. “And for a ten-degree elevation.” He paused, then finished, “Seven and a half stadia. Roughly.”

“Which would explain why we never found the first ball.” Thaler raised his voice and clapped his hands. “Thank you everyone. Let’s get ready to go again shortly.”

They dispersed to their own work, leaving Felix with Thaler. “Are you saying you could hit the fortress from here?”

Thaler judged the distance, then nodded. “Yes. Not accurately, perhaps, but there’s a lot of fortress to hit.”

“Gods,” said Felix. He let go of Thaler’s arm, and found himself adding, “Carry on, Master Thaler. Carry on.”

Saying goodbye to Felix gave Sophia an odd feeling. She knew it needed to be done, though. It was important for the people to see their prince and understand that he made his own decisions – and the townsfolk seemed to approve, as reported by Master Ullmann. All well and good. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty to do: her role as princess consort was ill-defined, but she very much doubted that other princesses had to school spearmen or debate tactics with their centurions.

She realised that her fear was neither right nor reasonable, which then made her feel stupid. Still, the dragging tension in her stomach made a lie of her open smile and warm words.

“I’ll be back by midweek,” he said, patting his horse’s neck as it stamped at the road.

“I know. Make sure they look after you. No wild hunts or bragging contests.”

His shoulder had healed: the ends of the collar-bones had knit together well, leaving only a knot beneath the skin.

She rubbed her thumb through his shirt along the line of it, silently reminding him of the day he’d broken it.

She looked around at the men he’d be marching with. Not quite raw recruits, but untested even with shovels, let alone spears. Battle-ready all the same, and road-ready too. The carts had been loaded up, and the bullocks tied into their yokes. The centurions were waiting with their men, and family members stood in a group by the side of the western gate.

All they were waiting for was for her to finish flapping at the prince.

“My lord,” she said, and stepped back.

Felix put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into his saddle, making what Sophia still found difficult look so very easy. He smiled down at her, and she forced herself to smile back up.

He had nearly three hundred men behind him and the Sword of Carinthia at his side. And still she worried.

Felix walked his horse to the front of the column, raised his hand, and set off down the road. The men’s kin clapped and cheered, shouting for their gods to take care of their fathers, brothers, sons. She couldn’t do the same, of course. Her God was not theirs. There would be earnest prayers tonight from her to Elohey Tzevaot, the Lord of Hosts, but nothing in public, nothing to make the good folk of Juvavum think that Felix had converted.

The soldiers marched away, three yellow standards bearing the black Carinthian leopard twisting in the wind, a haze of dust kicked up by their feet. The crowd had started to disperse – the Germans were an unsentimental people compared to hers – but some lingered: two children, staring down the road, an old man leaning on his stick and letting the crush clear from the gate, and a woman who she recognised.

Sophia had dressed in finery, rather than clothes that allowed her to swing her sword, so, when the woman finally turned and stepped under the shadow of the gate, she had to pick up her skirts in order to hurry after her.

“Mistress,” called Sophia. “Wait.”

The woman looked around. Yes, it was as Sophia had thought: she’d spotted this woman and Ullmann together while on her way to the mikveh a day or so before.

“My lady,” said the woman. She was younger than Sophia, with a strong face and bright eyes.

“You’ve someone among the soldiers?” asked Sophia.

“My brother. He carries a spear, and hopefully knows how to use it too.” She frowned. “Can I do something for you, my lady?”

She had no qualms about being direct. Some would bow and stutter, and rather than finding it amusing, Sophia would be sad since she was only Aaron Morgenstern’s girl from Jews’ Alley, and no better or worse than anyone else.

“You can tell me your name, Mistress.”

“Aelinn, my lady. Maid to the Odenwalds, in the main square.”

She knew the Odenwalds. Not great readers. “If I said ‘Max Ullmann’ to you, would you know what it was I wanted to talk to you about?”

Now Aelinn looked anywhere but Sophia. “Whatever my lady wants to discuss.”

“Walk with me, then,” said Sophia.

“My lady, I’d … the Black Company are everywhere. If I’m seen with you, Max will want to know what we talked about.”

“Not through the town then. Outside the walls. Up the hill and into the woods, where there’s no one to spy on us.” She didn’t want to take no for an answer, but she couldn’t force Aelinn to come with her. Or rather she could, but it was doubtful she’d hear the truth if she did.

“I have to be back to prepare lunch,” the woman said, then finally nodded.

Sophia, in her stiff skirts and tight bodice, found the climb difficult. The path was narrow and not often used, while summer’s growth pressed in around her. Her own maid would look later at the ticks and catches in the fine cloth and despair.

Even though they were quickly hidden, Sophia had the urge to keep climbing, and Aelinn dutifully followed. Near the top was a clearing, bright with sunlight and flowers, and a fallen tree made a good bench. She sat down, facing the sun, and Aelinn sat hesitantly next to her.

“My lady,” she started.

“You’re allowed to call me Sophia. Or Mistress Morgenstern if you feel you absolutely have to.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

This wasn’t going well. “Aelinn, you’re not in trouble. No one’s hauling you off to the Hare Tower. I – both me and Felix – want to know why Master Ullmann hasn’t mentioned you to us at all. We’re going to ask him, of course, but seeing you today, I thought I’d ask you first. You are …” – and she realised she didn’t have the language for it; German etiquette was very different to Jewish – “seeing each other?”

“We see each other often, Mistress.” She looked at her shoes. “I don’t think that’s what you mean, though.”

“Do you take him into your bed?”

“Yes, Mistress. And I go into his, too.”

“You saved him from a beating and worse at the hands of the Simbach spies. That was, what: three, four months ago? And you’ve been seeing him since?”

“Yes, Mistress.” She swallowed. She knew what question was coming next, and so did Sophia. She was going to ask it anyway.

“You haven’t got two heads, Aelinn. Why hasn’t he asked to marry you?”

She stayed silent for a while, then gave a little grunt. “He has. More than once.”

“But you said no. And you keep on saying no.” Sophia laced her fingers in front of her and squeezed her hands together. They were callused. They’d always been callused, but now the calluses were in different places than previously from horse-riding and sword-fighting. “Why? You don’t have to answer, but I am interested.”

Aelinn was quiet again. “Mistress, it’s not that I don’t love him. I do: he’s funny, and clever, and kind. He treats me right, never a harsh word, and he’s a good-looking boy, too. Strong, and brave with it. And some men only think about themselves, in and out of bed, but he’s not like that.”

“He sounds perfect, Aelinn. He’s very diligent in his work, as well; always looking ahead to see what needs to be done, rather than simply reacting to events. The palatinate is very lucky to have someone like him as a prince’s man.” Sophia cracked her knuckles. The noise startled her, and she put her hands firmly down by her side. “Is it what he does for the prince that’s putting you off?”

“No, not at all. He’s even suggested to me that I should become a spy too. I have my wilder moments, but I’m not a very good liar. A spy for the prince needs to be that.”

“Yes, you’re right. But not
to
his prince. So, is it your parents?” Sophia knew that there was very little in law or custom that that might mean a girl’s father could reasonably object to a marriage, above the weight of his words.

“It’s not that.” Aelinn put her head back and groaned at the sky. “My mother told me never to marry a man who didn’t sleep well at night.”

Sophia almost fell off the tree-trunk. “That … is a strange reason.”

“Yes,” said Aelinn pointedly. “I know. But that was what she said when I was young, and it’s stayed with me. Max, he doesn’t sleep well at all.”

“Is it that he doesn’t sleep, or that he does?”

“He sleeps, and he dreams. They’re not good dreams, Mistress. If there was still magic, I’d call him hag-ridden and have him make sacrifices at the irminsul in order to drive it off.” Aelinn lowered her head. “He moans and talks, and then, just before he wakes, he screams. It’s…”

“Disconcerting?”

“More than that. I calm and comfort him, but he’s scared to death in those first few moments. He clings to me. Then it’s over, and he’s back to his normal self again.” She turned to Sophia. “It’s not all the time, but it’s often enough that I wonder what he saw, what he did, to give himself such terrors. He won’t talk about it to me, denies he ever has them. Do you see, Mistress, why I won’t consent to the handfasting?”

“Yes, I see. And I’m sorry I ever intruded. This isn’t really anything to do with me: I thought I might help Felix, but all I’ve done is embarrass you.”

“No, no, Mistress. It’s a relief to finally tell someone. Even if it is the prince’s consort.” She made a face that suggested she wished it had been anyone else but her.

“What does he cry out?” Sophia blurted out. “What’s he so afraid of?”

“Fire, Mistress. It’s always fire.” Aelinn shrugged. “I don’t know why, because he hasn’t got a mark on his body except for a few tiny ones on his chest, and he’s not scared of flames in the hearth.”

“Just in his dreams,” Sophia said. She picked at the bark beneath her fingers. It peeled off easily in thick flakes, and beneath were a myriad of tiny crawling creatures. “These marks…”

“Just little silvery patches of skin. I asked about them, but he said he’d been born with them. Five there are, one for each finger.” She stopped and blushed deeply.

“I’ve kept you long enough, Aelinn. You should go, before anyone misses you. And if, at any point, you want Master Ullmann to leave you alone, I find myself not without influence.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“That goes for any of the prince’s men, or any of mine, for that matter. I won’t have them abusing their positions for any reason. One last thing: can you read, Aelinn?”

“A little,” she said, pushing herself up and away from the tree-trunk. “Enough to tell who a message is meant for.”

“You should learn. Master Thaler’s school shouldn’t be just for the children.”

“Perhaps, Mistress.” Aelinn batted at her clothes to remove most of the lichen and wood fragments. “I’ll be off, with your permission.”

“You’re freer than I am, and you don’t need my permission.” All the same, she nodded at the maid, and watched her leave the clearing, early summer seed-heads clinging to the swish of her skirt.

Their words concerning marriage set Sophia thinking about the possibility of her own, and the complications that might arise.

When – if – she and Felix married, and no matter what tradition said about his age, he was still a boy, their children would be Jews. So said the Mishnah. And she would raise them as Jews, meaning that, in time, a Jewish boy would inherit the throne of Carinthia. And then, this Jewish boy, this son of hers, would look down from the fortress wall, as she had so often done, and see the tops of the circle of trees in the town square, and the irminsul rising at their centre.