Iron Butterflies (19 page)

I would not let myself lag, though my legs ached, and then seemed to go slowly numb. Once or twice I stumbled, so that he put out a quick hand to support me. How far we had come from Wallenstein, even in what direction we now headed, I could not have said.

Suddenly my companion pulled me to a halt. I wavered and frankly clung to him, since my balance was now so insecure. I stared about but could see nothing to alarm. The Colonel's head was up, I saw his nostrils expand as if he drew in a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was low, hardly above a whisper:

“Do you smell it?”

Smell? It seemed to me that my senses as this day had worn on had become so deadened I was perhaps able to see, even hear but little. What was there to smell—the rain?—some heavy odor given off by the ravaged land about us? Some ancient foulness? For I could only couple evil with this deserted country.

“Wood smoke—” he explained. “Come—” His strength both supported and compelled me off the ancient track, into the bushes, where the moisture shook off the leaves to add a further burden of damp to my cloak. “Stay here!”

With no more than that order he pushed me into leafy hiding and slipped away himself with an ease which I would have thought more born of the training of a forester than that of a court-based officer. I remained where I was, my head up, sniffing hard, until I, too, caught the scent which had alerted him.

But who could or would build a fire in a rain swept wasteland? Had we near blundered on another forester's hut, this one perhaps occupied? I sighed and rubbed my grimy hands over my cloth-wrapped feet, trying to ease away some of the chill numbness which cramped my toes. It was summer, yes, but this day felt more like the beginning of autumn. I longed so for a
hot drink, even a cup of the lukewarm chocolate which had been so distasteful in Axelburg, for a bed on which I could just stretch out and never have to move again.

Then I cowered closer into the enveloping brush, looked about me for a weapon, any weapon—There was a moss-encrusted stone within arm's reach. I tore that free of the mold and gripped it fiercely as I listened to a rustling in the brush which had certainly not been caused by any wind.

The figure moving toward me, of whom I could only catch glimpses now and then unless I moved, which I dared not, wore a cloak much like my own, save that that of this stranger had a hood pulled up to protect the head. As the form bobbed up and down, I could see that this other was gathering firewood, branches brought down from the dead trees.

Then I caught the sound of a voice, low and sweet—singing—? A woman's singing! So strange had any normal kind of life become to me during the past days that I was as startled as if she had screeched savagely as the Indians of my own home land might have done as they came down on some settlement in a war party's raid. Was she some farmer's wife—or daughter? Had there been some one-time settler courageous enough to return, to rebuild a destroyed home in the waste?

Prudently, I did not set aside my stone. A woman here would surely not be alone. Who knew who might come at her call should she sight me? The Colonel—in spite of all his caution he could well make some slip to betray us both.

I was now a small hunted animal, crouching so close to the thick mat of decaying leaves that my body had forced the beginning of a burrow in that slimy deposit. Still she advanced, while all I could do was will, as fiercely as a person might pray, that she turn aside to the right or left.

Instead, she straightened up to her full height, the harvest she had garnered, held against her body with her left arm, while, with her right hand, she brushed
back the hood which had fallen a little too far forward. I could clearly see her face.

See her face? No, this was some trick of mind, some chance resemblance in which I dared not believe. This could not be Truda—here in the forest she had shown such a fear of earlier! Truda, whom I was more than half sure must have also been taken into captivity because she had served me!

Now it was as if she could in some manner sense that she was being watched. For she had stopped singing, had edged back a little into the bushes herself, seeking cover. I saw her look carefully about as a fugitive might when traveling with fear.

The more I looked at her I was forced to accept the evidence of my own eyes. I was not dreaming—not in any drugged state when one can see what is not. This was certainly Truda! The stone rolled out of my hand. Feeling dizzy and weak, I reached out and pulled down the branch which had been my principal screen.

At that moment she tensed, turned swiftly as if to run. I called out, my voice hoarse with urgency and need:

“Truda!”

The wood she had gathered fell out of her hold. As swiftly as she had turned, she swung back, her eyes wide, a look of near terror on her face. Now there was no screen of leaves between us, she could see me as easily as I looked upon her. For a long moment she stared as if
I
were a nightmare figure. Then she sprang toward me, her hands outstretched:

“My lady—oh, my lady!”

There was no mistress, no maid as we clung together when she had knelt beside me and her arms had gone out to gather me to her. Instead she rocked me in her hold as one might comfort a child.

“Oh, my lady—you are truly here! I cannot believe it, but it is so!”

And I could only repeat her name, “Truda! Truda!” and hold to her as if she were a rock standing in a fastrunning
river down which I had been swept without hope of any safety to be found.

“Truda.” At last I managed to make myself think past the first wonder of our meeting. “How did you come here?”

My question appeared to alert her again, for she glanced up and around as if she feared danger.

“Please, my lady, can you walk? It is not good for us to stay—come, let me help you!” She did not answer my question. Instead, as had the Colonel, she took command, and at that moment I was content to follow her urgency.

Somehow I got to my numb feet, tottered forward with her support, in and out among the bushes. We moved between two tall rocks which stood like the pillars marking some manor entrance, and so came into a dell in which there was a tumble of atones, standing walls, but little roof, and graceful pointed windows without any glass.

Through one of the windows trailed a wisp of smoke, while coming swiftly from the doorless opening before me was the Colonel. He strode to us and without a word swept me up in his arms, carrying me on, with Truda hurrying beside him into that place of shelter.

That determination which had kept me going since we had left the evil temple in the cliff cave drained from me as blood pumped from some deep wound. I, who had never been given to the swounds supposed so much a female answer to fatigue or fear, saw walls waver and seem to nod in toward me as I slipped down into darkness in which there was no longer need to struggle.

I awoke reluctantly, because someone was holding up my head, pressing something to my lips. There was a wonderful smell, I heard a murmur of voice which meant nothing. But I drank eagerly, without even opening my eyes, what was so offered me. It was a thick soup with such a flavor I could not believe remained
in the world. As that heated liquid trickled down my throat it seemed to bring strength with it.

Now I looked up. Truda knelt by me, holding the cup to my mouth. But I was supported by someone else. And there was a third person moving beyond, but I could not make out who that might be.

“Drink, my lady, it is good. Kristopher snared a hare only this morning. And there is barley in it also to give full strength. Here, taste—” She dipped a spoon into the cup and came up with a piece of meat, which she ladled into my mouth. I found myself chewing as eagerly as I had drunk the broth.

My wits came back. I had not been dreaming—this was indeed Truda and—I managed to turn my head a little so I could look up and see it was the Colonel who held me. There was still rain falling, but not where we were—for a projection of broken roof kept us dry, allowed a small fire to burn. Now I could see that other who had stooped to feed more wood to the fire, a young man with a good face, I thought. Kristopher—yes, I had heard that name before—some place—some time.

I ate and slept again, then awoke to no more rain but sun slanting warm across me, so warmly that I moved to push aside the cloak which served as a covering. At my movement Truda appeared, to kneel beside me.

“My lady.” She touched my forehead as one seeking signs of fever might check.

“I am very well, Truda.” For indeed I was. At that moment I felt as if some great burden had fallen from my shoulders, and the lightness left in me wanted to bubble up and up. I could have sung—have shouted as does a child in some exuberance of pleasure. I moved to sit up and she was quick to support me. Only I no longer needed that.

“Truda—what happened? Where is this place? And how did you come here?” All that had been in the immediate past flooded back, but memory no longer wore with it a weight or fear and endurance.

“Let me get you food, my lady, and while you eat—then I shall talk.”

She settled me with my back against a stone wall and I looked around our refuge with a need to know how we were housed. The roof extended over about a third of the building, which was not large. A little away there was a raised portion like a small dais on which stood a massive block of stone. On the wall behind that was a cross deep carven in the surface. I guessed then that we sheltered in some chapel that had once served the people before the land had become a waste. It was a very simple place, with no other carving besides the cross itself. But the tracing of the windows was well shaped and graceful, if plain.

To one side two packs were placed, one beside the other, and there was also a pile of firewood where Truda was busy tending a small pot standing on a tripod above the flames of the fire. She filled the cup I had seen before and brought it to me with the spoon.

Again it was a soup-stew of some sort which I ate eagerly and, I fear, with greediness. For the moment the food more important than all else. Then I remembered and stopped to ask:

“The Colonel—Kristopher?”

“They go to hunt out a way for us.” There was a frown between her eyes. “We cannot stay here. They are hunting—those others.”

I resented the return of anxiety, but I knew I could not escape it.

“But you, Truda, you and Kristopher—how did you get here?”

She told me in short, bald sentences, making little of what must have been a time of terror and despair not unlike my own. The night after Konrad's visit she had found herself locked in her room. All her demands to be allowed to go to me had been refused. Then she had been told I was leaving with my “husband,” was allowed to witness the passage of a carriage which she was told contained the Baron and his bride. After that
she was ordered to prepare to return to Axelburg. But her good sense warned her that if she left Kesterhof, it would not be for the capital but rather to her own death.

Before, however, such a journey could be arranged, there had come other arrivals to the lodge—soldiers with orders to confine the Gräfin and her household. Among those soldiers had been Kristopher. He was already secretly alarmed at the disappearance of the Colonel, by the many rumors within the city, and had determined not to take part in any wrong which might be intended.

“For he is a good man,” Truda told me. “He heard many things which made him fearful—for the Colonel, for me—even for himself. Those sent so secretly could later be charged with the very evil they had been ordered to do. Then, when he saw the second carriage and you put in it—”

“Second carriage?” I was so excited by her story I forgot to eat.

“Yes—the first one—it had been just meant to deceive. The Baron was in it, yes—for I saw him. But the other carriage came the same night that Kristopher was on guard. It was not driven by anyone of the Gräfin's people, rather by a man Kristopher knew of—one who is known well to be the Princess's man—the Princess Adelaide. The Gräfin was shut in her room then, and you they brought out. Kristopher told me first he thought you were dead, but then he saw you move. There was a woman, a woman dressed like a sister, who gave the orders. They took you away so.

“Kristopher, he heard—that they took you to that place of evil—Wallenstein. He knew that you were of the Blood, our Elector's own blood, and there was danger for all of us. So that night also—or rather in the early morning—we two got away. Kristopher had to fight with one of the foresters—if they find him—” She clasped her hands so tightly together the knuckles stood sharply out—“He is now counted a deserter, my lady. They shall hang him if he is taken. But he had
listened so much that he was sure that the Colonel was also in that evil place. So we waited—hoping we could find some way—We crept about in the wood—And I prayed, my lady, I prayed very, hard. As you see—the Good God heard. If in so much He has helped us—then there will be more. HE will not forget us—”

I set aside cup and spoon and put my hands over hers. “HE will not, Truda, surely HE will not!”

Chapter 19

It was dusk outside and we had put out the fire. There
was still light enough so that one could look from face to face and try to read the expressions thereon as we four held a council of war in the ruined church. That we could continue here in hiding was a risk we all knew we dared no longer take. The subject of where we could go, and how, was now a matter of discussion, for the Colonel was not giving orders, he was listening to suggestions, first advanced awkwardly by Kristopher, who gradually became more assured and self-confident when he realized that his opinions did carry weight with the man he had considered to be so far above him that nothing he might think or say would matter.

We needed transportation of some sort, and also disguises
which would carry us out of this part of the country.

“There is a market at Gratz. It is also a horse fair—though it is far less than it once was,” he said slowly, as if he were thinking aloud, or at least putting one idea to another, as a quilt might be patched piece upon piece. “Farmers go there to pick up work animals. There may be a small garrison there, yes. Perhaps it is also true that now they would police the fair itself. So this would be a risk—”

The Colonel rubbed one hand across his unshaven jaw. Already he had the stubby outgrowth of a beard, so dark that it gave his harsh features an almost sinister cast. Eyeing him objectively, I thought that I would rate him one I would not now care to meet on a lonely road were I alone.

We had all been reclothed after a fashion from the bundles Kristopher and Truda had smuggled out from Kesterhof on their flight. She and I both wore the full skirts, small shoulder shawls, and the aprons of country women, all of the garments soiled and a little ragged from our encounters with the thorn brush between the ruined chapel and the spring. There were thick-soled shoes over my bandaged feet, while Truda went bare in spite of my urging—saying that she was used to that in summer, showing me that indeed her feet were hard and calloused.

The Colonel's breeches had suffered so much wear that they could be taken for a soldier's castoffs, plenty of which were sold second and third hand in the rag fairs. His boots, having such hard usage, also could pass as finds from such markets. The shirt and jerkin he wore were like Kristopher's, and his hair was an unruly thatch which might never have known a comb. Looking from one to the other of my companions, I believed that, unless someone knew us well and was deliberately seeking us, we could indeed drift into a village fair.

However, I had a question of my own now:

“We have gold. Would there not be a question as to where we got it if we tried to buy openly?”

Kristopher and the Colonel both frowned as if they immediately saw the sense in that. But Truda leaned a little forward.

“Loot—” she said in a soft voice. “Loot, buried, found—This has happened before. Or even a lost traveler who ventured into the wrong house—held—”

The Colonel gave a short bark of laughter. “Truda, my girl, what kind of company have you kept?”

“I have but listened—when I was serving in the inn. There was that affair of Hirsh, Kristopher—”

He gave a vigorous nod. “Yes, that was well known. Hansel Hirsh, sir. He was near a beggar, lived in a hut one would not put even a chicken to shelter in. Then, all at once, he had money in his pocket and there was the story of his skulking about where the French and the Russians had had a skirmish and both of their troops were badly mauled so they did very little looting after—that was done by someone else. Oh, I know that it has been a long time since the war now. But there was much fighting—and suppose an officer had been lost and died—and his body found? Or loot gathered and hidden never later picked up?”

“My gold is English—and American—” I realized the trouble that might cause.

“Gold is gold,” the Colonel returned. “Coins might well have been through a fire—turned to lumps. Yes.” Again his fingers rasped in his beard. “That idea is one which might well give us a good story. Frankly, I can see no better way now.” He looked at me critically. “That fair hair of yours, my lady—could it be darkened?”

Truda nodded vigorously. “Mine also, and for Kristopher. There are things in the woods I can boil—bark. Also we can darken our skins—seem like the wandering folk, though we do not want to look too much like them, for the soldiers are always suspicious of them. Only—there are also those who have lost their land
because of taxes, or—” She shrugged and threw up her hands. “We can surely make up some good tale among us!”

The girl who had so worn the cloak of servility in the houses of the Baroness was a different person. I warmed to her quick mind, as well as to her kindness and loyalty.

“Good enough. We shall journey to Gratz then.” The Colonel turned to me. “Give me some of the smaller coins. We shall see what can be done to make then lose their identity.”

With a firm plan now in mind we went to work eagerly, not letting even the dark deter us. Hammered vigorously between the stones, the coins were so defaced they could indeed pass as loot which had been badly used during its progress through thieving hands. Truda, while there was still enough light left for gleaning, went out and returned shortly thereafter with a huge double handful of bark, which she cut with a knife into thin shreds, Lighting once more the fire, she put these on to boil, stirring and tending the resulting mess until she had a thickish liquid which was like dark soap, before she set the pot aside for its contents to cool.

In the morning we set about our personal transformations, Truda and I washing each other's hair with a liberal use of the dye from the pot, leaving a portion for Kristopher. I had no mirror to survey the results, but judging by Truda, I must now present a far different appearance. What I could see of my own hair as I toweled and dried it in a wind which had spring up in the morning was now a very deep brown, nearly black. Once we had so changed our appearances Truda stood off and looked at me critically.

“We must be sisters, my lady,” she told me. “Kristopher can be our brother. You, sir,” she spoke now to the Colonel—

“I am her man, of course.” His hand fell upon my shoulder. I had an odd feeling for a moment or so that it did belong there, that I found the warmth of his touch
as it spread through the thin stuff of my worn blouse comforting and strengthening. “But remember, both of you”—his voice once more held the crack of an order—“no more ‘sirs’ or ‘my ladys.’ She is Amelia, and I—my name is too foreign—I shall be Franz—Franz Kilber. No, you had better be Lotta, it is more in keeping,” he ended, speaking to me. I agreed with a nod.

We set off on the second day after we had made our plans. The Colonel and Kristopher having, on the afternoon before, made one last swing out of our refuge and a short sortie in the direction of Wallenstein to make sure that no hunt was up. The Colonel admitted that he was puzzled at that continued lack of determined pursuit. His only guess was that for his own safety, the commandant of the fortress was still attempting to keep our escapes a secret.

“Undoubtedly,” he commented as we went, he slouching along at a gait quite unlike his usual stride, I, matching step and balancing a bundle on my hip after the fashion Truda had shown, “there is still some intrigue in progress.”

I looked down at my left hand. There was a band of angry-looking red flesh about the finger where I had insisted that my companion cut off that ring. I had wanted to hurl it as far from me as I could, but Truda had prudently insisted that it be added to our supply of “loot,” pointing out that its mutilated condition and the fact it was an undoubtedly old piece, would add to the story. The iron butterfly necklace I had rolled in a strip of cloth and stowed between my breasts in the safest carrying place I knew. But the swollen flesh of my finger still marked what had bound me.

Was I in truth married? I could not see how that would be so. I had no memory of the ceremony past those few scattered bits. Certainly I had never knowingly responded to any of the traditional words. Yet I was sure that as long as it might be possible that my grandfather's legacy could come into my hands I would not be safe, or free, of the trickery from which I had suffered.

The Colonel's eyes and thoughts must have followed my own, for once more he moved closer to me, and now his arm came about my waist as if he would give me help over rough ground. Truda and Kristopher had moved some paces ahead and perhaps could not hear him as his voice dropped to whisper level.

“Be sure, you will not have to deal with
him
again! Not alone!”

“He wants the treasure. That miserable treasure—I want none of it and never did!” I said fiercely, keeping my voice as low as his. “I do not know the law here, he may claim me as a wife if he finds me, and the law will give him full power over me. He said my grandfather wished our marriage.”

The oath my companion spit out did not distress me. Had I known any as potent, I would have been moved to use them myself.

“He lied, of course. There were—” He stopped short. “Your grandfather did strive to make certain provisions for your safety—unfortunately his power did not extend beyond his deathbed. Yes, it is the treasure which they hope to use as a trap.”

I laughed without any pleasure. “But it is no trap for me. For I have no wish for it. I have my own treasure—where it belongs—my home—” At that moment I was so struck with a wave of true sickness for the manor, for all the ordered life I had known that, that I could have broken into the wails of a heartbroken child, had I not held firmly to my control. Yet he must also have known what I longed for, for he said softly, with all the sternness of seconds before gone from his voice:

“It is very beautiful, your home—”

“But you do not know it!”

“I saw it—and you in it. You were right, are right—it is your place. This”—he gestured with his free hand—“is not—could never be.”

For the first time I asked him a directly personal question:

“Where is
your
home?”

He shrugged. “A soldier's home? Everywhere and nowhere. He flits as a migrating bird where duty sends him. The Fenwicks were rooted once, war tore us up, we became wanderers. I do not own any rooftree, nor even a patch of land as large as this.” Once more he held forth his hand. “The Elector offered my father a title, lands. They had been battle comrades once, before the Elector returned to Hesse-Dohna. But—it was not home—the home my father had known as a boy. He wanted no courtier's holdings, though he was shrewd enough to see that a portion of the generous gifts the Elector awarded him were sent to be banked in England. Just as he had me schooled there. So I will not be penniless when I cross the border. In fact—I might even someday fulfill my father's dream.”

“That was?”

“To return to the country which thrust us forth. Old hates must have died by now. I think he often planned that he might repurchase—perhaps not Queen's Gift—but some smaller manor on the Eastern Shore. He spoke of it when he was dying—”

“Queen's Gift!” I stared up at him. “But I have seen that! It is the Artley place.”

“They were cousins—who chose to desert their king. No, perhaps it is not right that
I
should now speak of the old troubles. There is no king on your side of the ocean, and I am sure the land is more peaceful for it. I have seen too much of courts and rulers—But it remains, yours is a fair land, and, I think, one in which a man can be happy.”

I found myself pouring out eagerly then, as I would have never thought I could have done to anyone since my grandmother died, all my memories, my hopes, my love of the manor and the land of my birth. He listened intently, so that I felt that in some way my own feelings reached within him and found there, in a measure, their match. It was an hour which soothed and rested me, pushed aside all the darkness of the immediate past, and brought hope and trust to full flower in me.

It took us two days of tramping through settled land
beyond the borders of the waste to reach Gratz. We slept in two small inns, crowded together in rooms with other fairgoers. On the first night Kristopher, by clever questioning, got the name of a dubious trader who dealt in things bought undercover. With the Colonel he visited this man, making a bargain for a portion of our “loot.” They were, the Colonel told me, cheated of full value, but the coins they got in return were such as could be shown openly. Part of that which they so got rid of was the ring, for which I was very glad.

Gratz itself was so crowded that we could not find lodging within any inn, but Kristopher fell in with a horse trader who had a wagon which carried a wife and two imps of children. This man was willing to let us stay at his fire on the outskirts of the town and share from the pots his wife tended when we supplied bread, cheese, and a chicken to help fill the major pot.

Gratz had something beside horses to offer. There was no need here for us to seek out some cheating thieves’ confidant to change our gold. There was a small colony of Jews who had been herded here during the wars, settled, and were tolerated. One of them was a merchant of some standing. The Colonel went to see him and came back, nearly unmindful that he must play the shuffling, near-vagabond he was so encouraged.

He had discovered the man to be both prudent and honest, having connections with another such merchant that Penwick himself had known. Horses could be bought through him, and a wagon. Also there was news.

The new Elector, making a leisurely and triumphant progress, had reached Axelburg, which was now in a frenzy of preparation for a week or more of formal welcome, as well as the state funeral of my grandfather. All the nobility were converging on the capital to see and be seen, especially at court where quick attendance on their new ruler could well, if fortune was kind, bring them into favor. There were representatives also coming
from neighboring states and a constant stream of the travelers across the borders.

During this, to slip away, by some smugglers’ route, would be far less difficult. We were exultant that night as we gathered together when the horse dealer had gone to drink in some tavern and his wife had bedded down both the children and herself.