The Lightstep (42 page)

He paused for her to comment. She said nothing. To speak
now would be to scuttle like a mouse when the cat plays with it.

Why is he telling me this?

'I tell you this so that you understand that I wish to deal fairly
with you. Above all I wish you to understand that I am not
attempting to compel you.'

'Compel me? To do what?'

'Not yet. I think we are not yet ready. But let me move closer
to the matter. I have been watching our friend Wéry for some
time. It was a curious decision of his to destroy that report. I
wanted to know why. Despite what you say, it was a powerful
weapon – and a coup for him if he had delivered it. It may not
have been destroyed as a result of some bargain with you. But I
feel sure that it was because of you that it was destroyed. This, as
I say, interested me. Until that happened I had come to fear that
he was incorruptible.'

She drew breath sharply But she did not rise, or demand to be
allowed to leave. Instead she put to one side her wineglass and
signed to a footman for water. She could feel the drink humming
in her temples, but she did not think it was too much. Her mind
was poised like a fencer's. Now she knew who she was fighting
for.

'A strange thing to fear, sir,' she said. 'It is more usual to honour
such a quality in a man. And indeed I may tell you he is worthy
of honour in this, for I have myself seen him take great offence
at the offer of a bribe.'

Let us be honest devils with one another.

The devil opposite her smiled again, and his eyes did not
waver.

'But the incorruptible quality is also to be feared. A thing
which is more than human is for that very reason not human. I
fear that Wéry is driven chiefly by hatred of the men who
betrayed his own revolution. And also by an idea of – ah –
heroism, that I think very dangerous. I find that the longer I live,
the less I am in love with death. But with these young men it is
different. Consider Hoche. Consider Buonaparte, with his flag at
Arcole. They stride the dark fields with their young eyes and
fierce looks, and men flock to their banners. I see it in Wéry too
– although to his credit I believe that he lacks some of the selfbelief
of these men we would make into idols. Nevertheless I
think it has a place in his soul.'

'That is the second time you have talked of
souls
tonight, sir.'

Her interruption checked him.

'You also said a mistress had a part of a man's soul,' she said
deliberately. 'I understand that it is widely supposed that I am the
mistress of Colonel Wéry. I am not. Since we are being frank with
one another, I will confess to you that – that I have had some
thoughts on the matter. Nevertheless, I am not. And even if I
were, I would beg that you address him yourself, if there is something
that you would endeavour to persuade him of!'

'Ah. Yes. You detect my intention. Although, please be assured,
I think of you only as someone to whom he might listen. If he
had been able to come tonight, perhaps we could have considered
the matter together. But I confess I had also thought that if he did
not come you and I might usefully say these things to one
another. As for approaching him myself, I am a little nervous. I
know – again, I am not supposed to know, but I do – that he has
orders to place me under arrest if he suspects that I incline
towards surrender.'

'And you wish me to persuade him for you.'

'I wish you to consider the people who will suffer if he does
not.'

Now their eyes locked, like swords at the hilt.

'Sir, you know that I know something of the loss war brings.
My thoughts are indeed with the people who defend this city,
and I returned here to be with them. But I have not heard that
they wish to submit themselves to occupation. And I believe
that His Highness could have chosen few men better to lead the
defence than Colonel Wéry.'

'Yes. Yes, I believe that you believe what you say. And of course
you defend him. But dare I suggest to you that you also profit
from this war? That you may have reasons – which with your
waking mind you have not considered – for wishing that it
should take its course?'

Her mouth shut like a trap.

'How else,' he insisted, 'if there were no war, could you come
to be in the citadel that he commands, and with no restraint but
your own will?'

'You are unkind, sir.'

My Lady, I am desperate,
said the voice of Ludwig Jürich in her
mind.

'I ask you only to consider it,' said the man who sat at her left.

She drew a long breath.

'I would honour this more,' she said slowly, 'if it came from
one whom I thought of with honour.'

Now it was his turn to gather breath and shift in his seat,
because he knew she had rejected him.

'And you do not?' he murmured.

'It is not the first time, I think, that you would have used me
as a tool. At the Candlemas Ball, as the Prince was about to defy
the French, you sent me to speak to him of my brother.'

'My voice had been heard and disregarded. That of the peace
party had not. I seized upon its most able member, and the only
one I thought had a chance of counting with His Highness. I do
not think this dishonourable.'

'Yet even this was not the first time, as His Highness told me.
I think you must have done the same thing before. I think it was
you that sent the Comte d'Erles to plead before the Chapter in
September.'

'Indeed. And do you know how I persuaded d'Erles – that
famously selfish young man – that he must prevent his godfather
from fighting for his sake? I outlined to him, in detail, the plan
that our friend Wéry had composed for the defence of this city.
The very plan that he is now about to put into action. Shall I tell
you? He intends to fight . . .'

'Within the city. For every street and church and guildhall. Yes,
sir, I know.'

There was a long silence, in which the only sound was the low
hissing of the hearth. At last she said. 'You see, d'Erles has suffered
for your persuasion. And we must still fight. Only now our
honour is tarnished, and there is a hole in the wall.'

Gianovi sighed. 'Honour? We know the truth about ourselves.
The truth is that we are mites, and history is far, far bigger than
we.'

Even as he said it, the sound of a cannon shot rang out across
the town. Maria started.

'That was from the east wall!' she gasped.

'Yes. They have found something to fire at, whatever it may be.
I fear our time has run out.'

He looked gloomily at the remains of his meal, which had lain
untouched on his plate for the last quarter-hour.

'Well. I can no longer be of use here. Matters must now reside
in the hands of the Commander. I do not envy him his task.'

'You are resigning?'

'I am leaving. I believe I am the last shred of reason in this city.
Now I must yield it to the romantics and return to my Prince.
Perhaps I may still be of service at his side.'

'But – if the enemy are east of the city, the roads must be cut!'

The enemy! What had happened to the army?

'The roads, but not I think the river. They will have to work
fast to have a boom across it before tomorrow. I have an oared
barge ready at the quays and will be gone tonight. I wonder . . .'

He looked at her.

'Perhaps, since you say you have not taken the step that some
might suppose . . . Perhaps you should come with me.'

'I . . . thank you, sir. But I had thought you intended me to
stay – at least until I have been able to speak with Colonel Wéry?'

'Since you have made it plain that you do not wish to sway
him from his course, I see no advantage in you staying, and every
advantage, to you especially, if you leave at once.'

'May I ask if it is my reputation that concerns you, or my
safety?'

'Both, of course. And my own reputation too. I would not be
known as the man who abandoned you to the perils of a siege.'

'But my reputation is already lost, sir. And as to my safety –
who is to say whether it is indeed more dangerous to stay than to
go?'

She almost said
to go with you.

'Come, it is not so bad. You have remained – what? Two nights
in the city? It is awkward, I grant you, but I can vouch . . . no?

You would not want me to do even that? I see. Then is it useless
also for me to beg you to consider your own safety. I am sure you
realize that if indeed things go as we expect, birth will be no
barrier to the most cruel suffering. Come, my dear. This must be
your very last chance. It would be a terrible tragedy if you were
lost.'

'Sir, if you would have pity on a potential victim of the
siege, you will find as many in the streets as your barge will bear.'

'So. Again you refuse. Very well. Very well.'

He leaned back, joined his hands at the fingertips and looked
at the ceiling.

'I consult my conscience,' he said.

'Your – conscience, sir?'

'I do have one. Does it surprise you? But I only consult it
when it suits me to do so.'

Her eyes flew round the room. He had four – five footmen
standing in the shadows. Her nearest help was Pirenne, waiting
for her in another wing of the palace. And after that Michel and
the men of his garrison – all fixed on the coming enemy. Blessed
Saints! Did he mean to capture her and carry her back to her
mother by force?

'Very well,' said Gianovi again. He sighed, and drew a letter
from his breast pocket.

'I must, of course, respect your choice. Therefore, since I am
sure you will be seeing him, I beg you to deliver this letter to
Colonel Wéry for me. He knows what is in it. As the city is now
under siege, he is to have responsibility for all the matters to do
with the governing of the city that have hitherto fallen to me. If
you would do this, it would ease me greatly, since at least I will
not have to abandon one of my fellows to hunt for him while I
make my escape down the river.'

She took the paper from the table and held it in her fingers.

'You may be sure I will deliver it,' she murmured.

'There is no need for you to take it to him now,' Gianovi said.
'He will be out somewhere, on the Saxon or Bamberg gates as
likely as not. In any case he will not be expecting it before
tomorrow. He can shift for himself until then.'

With a nod, he allowed her to rise, and he rose with her. They
bowed and curtseyed to one another.

'This has been a most interesting evening,' he said.

In the courtyard she paused. The air was cold and the sky clear to
the stars. She drew a long breath to drive the wine and the talk
from her brain. The chill bit into her throat and blew out again
in a cloud of frost. She stood and listened for a long while. There
was no more sound of cannon, near or far. Abruptly she turned
away from her quarters and made her way out to the stable block.
The single duty groom gawped at her in the light of his lantern.
It must have been nearly midnight.

'I wish you to saddle my horse again,' she said. 'And send
someone for Lieutenant Bottrop. I am going down to the east
wall.'

Wéry looked down from the bastion upon chaos. The road
into the city was crowded with shapes and shadows. Carts
inched forwards, blocked in the crowd. Voices called in the darkness,'
Get on! Get on!' Other voices wailed or cried out in pain.
In the tiny pools of light by the Saxon Gate he could see that
men were cramming themselves forward in an effort to push past
a wagon that was at a standstill under the very arch. The wagon
was not moving. The press of bodies around it was making it
impossible. Voices, hoarse with yelling, bellowed for men to keep
still or to move out of the way. No one heeded them.

'Ho there,' called Wéry down into the crowd. 'What unit is
that? What unit?' But his voice lost itself in the struggling mass
and he heard no answer.

Beside him the bastion commander, a short man in a huge
cocked hat, was craning over the parapet.

'There's French among them!' he gasped. 'I'm sure of it!'

Panic was in his voice. It was panic that was breathed out by
the crowd below them. Every man down there, at the end of their
terrible march from the battlefield, was seized with the fear that
in an instant they would be snuffed out. Their comrades around
them, wounded, exhausted, were nothing but obstacles. They
pressed unthinking for the last yards to the safety of the gate. The
gates were jammed back by the crowd. There was no possibility
of closing them until the blockage freed. If there were indeed a
strong force of French mingled in the mass, the gate might be lost
in minutes.

'We must fire, sir. We must disperse them.'

'Don't be a fool,' snapped Wéry. 'Do not fire. Do
not
fire.' He
strode to the top of the inner steps and bellowed down again.

'Ho there! What unit?'

Some hero had got the wagon moving. It sidled forward a few
yards into the city: a big rattling shadow among other shadows
that eddied forward in a rush as the way was freed.

'What unit is that?'

A voice from the cart, strained and pained, answered, 'Second
company, the Fapps.'

The Fapps battalion – or a fragment of it. What of the rest?

What in God's name had happened up there on the banks of the
Vater?

'Officer to the bastion to report, please.'

When nothing seemed to respond to his cry, he bellowed
again, 'Up and report, damn you!' He could feel his own voice
going hoarse with the strain of shouting. But something was
happening down there now. They seemed to be lifting something
– a man, in the cart. He heard a gasp of pain. Then another voice,
faint in the tumult, said, 'No, no. He is wounded. Put him down.'

It was a woman's voice. He thought he knew it.

'You
go,' he heard her say. 'Don't be afraid. I will come with
you.'

'Commander!' called a voice from across the bastion.

'Wait!' he snapped.

People were climbing the steps to the bastion. Pale uniforms
glowed in the lamplight. Bottrop appeared, leading a young,
bewildered soldier with his arm in a sling. Behind him, biting her
lip as she picked her way up the last few steps, came Maria von
Adelsheim. God's teeth, what was she doing
here?
At
this
hour?

Here where the enemy might appear without warning, and
death might take any of them in a moment?

'Their officer is wounded,' she said. 'This man will tell you
what has happened.'

The bastion commander appeared at his side again.

'Report,' he said importantly to the soldier. The man came
dazedly to attention.

'Second company, the Fapps?' said Wéry.

'Yes, sir. Wounded detail.'

'What happened up there?'

'Don't know, sir. They caught us up on the march and said the
position was overrun, and the enemy cavalry were after us . . .'

'Stop. Who caught you up?'

'The other fellows, sir. The Erzbergers. In a mob they
were,
no
officers . . .'

'Stop again. You were sent back from the lines, as part of a
wounded detail?'

'Yes, sir. After the first attack. Captain Herz and the badly
wounded in the carts, the rest of us walking. And . . .'

'And then some men from the Erzberg battalion caught you
up and told you they had been overrun and the enemy were in
pursuit with cavalry?'

'Yes, sir.'

'When was that?'

'Around an hour ago, sir.'

'Did you see the enemy?'

'We heard horses, sir. But it was dark.'

Dark. It had been dark for hours, and these men had been
marching, running, riding, dazed and wounded, all the way. What
chance of a sensible report from any of them?

'Right. Well done. And you are safe. Now what we need you
to do is get yourself to the hospital – what is it? Sabre-cut?'

'Don't know, sir. After we cleared them out of the position I
found I couldn't use it. That's all.'

'Get yourself to a hospital. They'll see you right. The nearest
one's at the Saint Cyprian church. Know it?'

'No, sir.'

Wéry turned to the bastion commander.

'Spare a man to take him there, would you?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And there are men of the Erzberg battalion in the crowd.
Bring at least one of them to me.'

'Yes, sir.'

The woman was still standing there, watching them.

'You have blood on your dress,' he said.

'It was his – the officer's. I think his wound broke open as they
tried to lift him down.'

'Please – you should not be here.'

It was agonizing to see her standing there, when shots might
break out at any moment.

'I know. I have a message for you from the Governor.' She held
out a paper. 'He has left the city. You are now to take over his
responsibilities.'

He nodded dully. Gianovi was gone. Well, at least that
simplified some things.

'What has happened?' she asked.

'I do not really know. The army was attacked in their
positions. They must have held against the first assault, if they
were able to organize a wagon train for their wounded. But there
must have been a second attack, and at least one of the battalions
has broken.'

At least one. And if the Erzberg battalion had gone, that would
be a third of the position. What chance for the rest of them, after
that had happened?

'We heard cannon fire in the citadel.'

'That was the Bamberg gate. They saw – or heard, rather –
cavalry somewhere out in the fields. The cavalry rode off. We do
not know where they have gone . . .'

'Commander!' said a voice behind him urgently.

'Yes, what is it?' he snarled.

It was another militia officer. One of the guildsmen, he
thought.

'We think we have finished the barricades, Commander. What
are your orders?'

Mercy of saints! We
think
we have finished the barricades . . .
'I will come and inspect. If they are satisfactory, the next
thing . . . Have you prepared fire-buckets in your quarter?'

'Fire-buckets, Commander?'

Damn it – had these people never heard of incendiary shells?

'Earth, sand, water – whatever you can find. And twice as
many as you think you will need. And we need earth and dung
on the cobbles to damp shot as it falls. I will come . . .' He looked
around.

He could not leave the bastion, not yet. The men were leaderless.
He had sent their officer to find him someone to interrogate.
At any moment they might take it into their heads to shut the
gates on the fugitives or start firing at imaginary Frenchmen. And
they were all looking at him – the gun crews with their
implements in hand, faces blank in the darkness, all turned
towards him. Tomorrow, or the day after, iron shot would be
hurtling in to smash those men to pieces as they worked here.
They were looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

The lamplight was on Maria's face. She was biting her lip, still.
He saw her shiver. He saw her breath frosting on the air. She had
come without a coat, or even a shawl.

He unbuttoned his own greatcoat and peeled it from his back.
He handed it to her.

'You must wear this,' he said. 'If you are staying.'

To the guildsman he said, 'I will come as soon as I can.'

The late February dawn found them both still on the wall. The
gates were closed now. Since the arrival of the train of wounded
the inflow of fugitives had dropped away to single men or small
groups, many arriving on horses that must have been stolen from
wagons. There were more of the Fapps battalion, some
Erzbergers, and a handful of the dragoons. All those they
questioned confessed that their units had been broken. There was
no word of the Dürwald battalion, or of the hussars, or any of the
artillery. No one knew what had happened to Count Balcke. No
officer above the rank of captain reached the city.

But the grey light showed them masses of cavalry, circling the
city beyond gunshot of the walls. Wéry counted at least six
squadrons of light horse, and three more that might have been
dragoons, accompanied by a battery of horse guns. Their presence
put all thought of a sortie beyond question. His nervous
militias would never stand in square against such a force.
Balcke-Horneswerden, and the main body of the retreat (if there
was one) would have to fend for themselves.

He found himself looking at Maria in the first light. Her hair
was tousled and her eyes marked with lack of sleep. She looked
like a walking tent with his greatcoat draped around her. The
beauty had fallen from her – gone altogether, except, perhaps, for
the line of her jaw as her chin lifted and she listened to what was
said.

Hey, Michel
–
have you ever looked at somebody? Have you tried to
see their past, their hopes, their fears, all written on their face?

That was the real person, he said to himself. Take away the
grooming and the training, and now you see her as she really is.
Her past he knew well, and her hopes for freedom. Her future,
he dared not guess.

And supposing he could paint, as Maximilian painted, then
this would be the face that would look out from his canvas. How
might it change in death?

He could not bear to think of it.

But the idea was infectious. He found himself glancing again
and again at her, to reassure himself that she was still alive. He
cursed himself for his weakness and looked away. But immediately
he had to look back again at her, to be sure that she was
there.

He tried to replace her with someone else. He looked at the
men around him and let his mind play its death-games with their
faces instead. There was a round headed, crimson-cheeked militia
officer, with a hairy wart growing by the side of his nose, and
another on his chin. So what was his past? What were his hopes
and fears? He was a country gentleman from Zerbach. His hopes:
probably to go back to being a country gentleman as soon as
possible and to have another try at persuading his obstinate
peasants to raise that clover crop, which would make so much
difference to their lives. His fears: smoke, and a line of charging
Frenchmen, and his men melting away around him as he stood
there. His future: short.

Or the sombre-looking Master in the Guild of Crossbowmen.
Or the thin-faced official from the mayor's chambers, whom
Wéry had imagined would desert his post at once, and somehow
was still here. Somehow they were all here, every one of them
wrenched from their lives into a world that was utterly changed.
The same tired expressions were stamped on all of them. They
had even begun to defend him, as he had seen Fernhausen and
Bergesrode defend the Prince from petitioners.

But still the petitions came. Here before him were two more
faces, two nuns from the Convent of Saint Cecilia, whose Mother
Superior had sent to know in what way they could assist.
(Dear God, what would happen to
them
when the French broke
in?)

'Clear your largest rooms for a hospital,' he said. 'And make as
many bandages . . .'

'Oh, but Commander! The Mother Superior says it is impossible
to admit men to the convent buildings!'

'They will be wounded, and doctors and orderlies only. I am
sure that if she understands the situation . . .'

'She will not agree to this, Commander.'

Dear God! thought Wéry again. He felt very tired.

'Say to her that I most earnestly request it . . .'

'No,' said another voice. 'Do not say that.'

Beyond the two nuns, a figure loomed out of the twilight – a
familiar shape, in a black priest's robe. It looked just like
Bergesrode. But surely that was a trick of the light. That would
be because the thought of Bergesrode had flitted across his mind
only a few moments before . . .

It
was
Bergesrode. It was that face, that unforgettable face, with
the dark brows slanting down and the dark patches below his eyes
slanting up like the remains of an ashen cross. It was a man who
only weeks ago had been one of the most powerful in Erzberg.
He looked at the two nuns with eyes of stone.

'Say to the Mother Superior that when men are wounded we
are not commanded to pass on the other side of the road. And
also say to her that if she is too stupid to understand even that, I
shall come and explain it to her myself.'

'Thank you,' sighed Wéry, as the two nuns fled.

'She is a fool, that one,' said Bergesrode.

'What are you doing here?'

'After I left my post, I returned to the cathedral. When the
Chapter left the city, I volunteered to remain. So now I have
charge of the cathedral, and of the cathedral troops. I came to tell
you that we are at your disposal.'

'Thank you,' said Wéry again.

The 'cathedral troops' he supposed, would be the ragged band
of beggars and clerks, clanking with pikes and relics, that the
priests had been organizing over the last week. Of course they
would expect to provide the defence of the cathedral. And he had
already assigned it to . . .