The Lightstep (46 page)

And then, under the table, he felt her hand take his own.

Lanard sat, colouring slightly, and cleared his throat. He
focused his eyes on Wéry.

'We were speaking of the likely course of events once we force
our way into the town. And we need not quibble over figures. You
know very well what sort of price the city will have to pay. Do
you dispute it?'

'No.'

'Good. But the price need not be so dear. In the satchel of
Capitaine Rouche I have the terms I spoke of yesterday. I can set
them before you. In essence they are that a garrison shall be
installed and that the government of the town shall pass to a
council of senior inhabitants, who will conduct their
administration in consultation 'with the garrison commander. Of
course there will also need to be contributions made to the
maintenance of the Army of Germany. Of course this is not what
the townspeople would necessarily wish. Yet offered the choice
between this and a massacre, I imagine that they would choose
it?'

He was searching Wéry's face as he spoke. Wéry gave no sign.
The Frenchman's voice seemed to be coming from increasingly
far away. The only real thing in the world was the touch of the
woman's hand, lying in his own under the table.

'Bof!' exclaimed Lanard, after waiting for a reply. 'Maybe there
are indeed fanatics in the town, Commander! Yet it is not a town
of fanatics. And the point is, that
they
do not have this choice. Fate
has given the choice to you, to make for them . . .'

Wéry sighed. The arguments of yesterday – whose was the
choice, whose the responsibility for the coming deaths –
lumbered into his mind. But he must not allow himself to be
distracted. And he must not –
must
not – fall into another rage.
Not now.

'. . . The men of the garrison will be disarmed and may return
home. The officers will be required to give their parole, but they
too will be released once that is done. A few will be held, of
whom you, I fear, will be one. But you need not be anxious. We
plan a gentle captivity for you. It would even be possible – I am
authorized to say this – for you to be accompanied while you are
our guest by any who are dear to you.'

A sudden, involuntary pressure from the hand within his own!
He thought, too that she caught her breath softly. But her grip
relaxed at once. After a moment, he felt her other hand come
across to cover his.

Whatever you do,
he remembered her saying.
Whatever.
Oh
God, and he had clung to her as she said it! He almost wished,
now, that she would speak. But he knew that she would not. She
had promised that she would not, just as she had promised last
night that she would be close to him, whatever he did. All that
she had to say, she had now said.
Whatever you do.

And also:
There are still innocent people in the city.

Lanard's eyes were on them. After a moment he added carefully,
'Habits of thought change slowly, even in the territories
administered by the French Republic. But I should have said that
with us, a union between a former aristocrat and someone of a
different station is now rather less unthinkable than perhaps it is
here. Especially if both are strangers and guests of the state.'

And now he was silent. He was waiting for his reply. Wéry
stirred.

'You have finished your blandishments, Colonel?'

Lanard frowned. 'I have finished, yes – for the time being.'

'And you suppose I will submit to them?'

'That,' said Lanard, 'is up to you and you only.'

'Then permit me to say that you should not have uttered those
last remarks. Until you did, I had intended to surrender the town.'

Lanard looked up sharply. The hand on his did not stir.
Whatever you do,
said the touch of her skin upon his own.

'Commander . . .' Lanard began.

'I may yet surrender the town,' said Wéry slowly, fighting the
anger that had risen in his throat. 'But I have two conditions.'

'Let me hear them.'

'First, that you put your bribes back in your pocket. I will go
to Paris in chains if need be. But my second condition is that
once in Paris I shall be permitted to address the houses of the
Legislature. There are words I must unsay. And then I will have
more to say to them yet. After that you may do with me as you
will.'

Silence, and the low murmur of men in the passageway
beyond the door.

'Ah,' said Lanard softly. 'Ah, I see.'

And he leaned back and looked at the ceiling. 'You will choose
death in a prison, or perhaps on the guillotine. And you will go
to it with your words ringing in the ears of Paris. I see.'

'I have words that I must unsay,' Wéry repeated.

He glanced at the woman at his side. His look would have said
to her:
I am sorry. I could wish . . .
But she had closed her eyes. Her
mouth was shut, firmly, as if she were in pain but would not
speak.

'I think that I must refuse,' said Lanard at last.

'Then . . .' said Wéry.

'No. Before you pass the word to your batteries, Commander,
you must allow me to explain. I understand what you would
do. You wish to spare those you are responsible for. This is the
action of a sane man. But you would also remain true to your
cause. This is the action of one who would be thought of with
honour. Alas, it is mere pride and delusion. There is no possibility
that what you ask will be permitted.

'If I return to my general with your request, he will either lose
his temper and begin the assault at once, or he will indeed agree
your terms and send you in chains to Paris, knowing, as I know
and as you should know, that the Legislature, the Directory or
whoever you will, will not in fact hear you when you come. At
best some clerk may be told to take your statement and some one
or two persons may read it out of curiosity. That is all that will
happen to the words of Wéry.'

Wéry drew a long breath. Beside him, the eyes of Maria were
still closed.

'I do not ask much in exchange for a city,' he said. 'It is strange
that we should break down over a few words.'

'You are mistaken. You ask more than I can offer. Even great
men, in their hearts, would rather let a thousand die in a distant
land than spend twenty minutes hearing that they are wrong. My
masters for the present are not great but little. Eh, Wéry. I have in
my pockets proposals for a pension for you, if you surrender the
city. I should not advise you to take it, mind you, because
the Republic has some difficulty paying its pensions at present. If
we come to that, you should insist on a grant of land – perhaps
even the return of your old estate in Brabant. Also I have some
idea to what level it may be possible to reduce the demands my
general wishes to impose upon the city. All this we can talk
about . . .

'But
first
you must choose. If you insist on remaining pure,
then between us we will kill the city. If you wish to save the city,
you must consent to humble yourself – perhaps even to be a little
bit corrupt. You should not fear this. To be corrupt is, after all,
merely to be human, as I have said to you before.'

So they would give him nothing. All the things he felt, all the
things he would say – they would not hear them. And if he
surrendered now, no one would remember what he had stood
for. A night's futile cannonading – it would not be worth a single
line in Augereau's despatches to Paris. His words would have to
be written in blood, or they would not be read at all. They
must be written in the blood of the innocent.

Maria had opened her eyes. He looked into them, and she
looked back.

In her face he found at last the strength to let go.

'Very well,' he said, and bowed his head. 'We will spare the
city.'

'Colonel, I am delighted,' said the Frenchman.

Wéry frowned at the table. It was over. He had decided. He
felt . . . No, to his surprise he did not feel uncomfortable with his
decision. And suddenly there were so many things to think about.
The terms . . .

He gripped her hand, hard, and felt her fingers answer his.

'It will be necessary to know what size your garrison would
be,' he said.

'That will be for us to say. You may be assured it will not be
bigger than we need. We do not have so many soldiers that we
can leave a full brigade in idleness.'

'The levy,' he asked. 'How much?'

'The paper says four million livres. I suspect we shall not settle
for less than three and a half millions. But how much is collected
– it is always another matter, and one neither you nor I can
control.'

'You mentioned requisitions.'

'The usual things. A thousand head of cattle. Five hundred
horses. Five hundred mules or donkeys. Five hundred wagons.
Leather, cloth, iron, copper. The church and cathedral bells must
be surrendered to be melted down . . .'

'They have gone.'

'I thought they would have done. Ah, nails, straps, buckles –
Rouche has the list. I cannot remember it all.'

'I shall need to confer with my officers.'

'I am sure they will do as you suggest. Particularly if you
suggest to them that it is not worth losing their lives after all.'

Bergesrode would resist, Wéry thought. Bergesrode would
resist to the last man, if he could. He and his fanatics would
barricade themselves into the cathedral. He would have to be
forestalled . . .

Maria, and Brabant.
I am corrupt.

Corrupt. But – after all – what of it? Even sanity had its price.

'Another matter,' he said. 'I am charged with the custody of
certain people in the citadel. What of them?'

'It depends who they are. These are political enemies of your
Prince?'

'Yes. One of them is the Canon Steinau-Zoll, who took your
testimony last season. There is also the Canon Rother-Konisrat,
the Baron von und zu Löhm . . .'

Lanard shrugged. 'Of course we would examine the list. But I
could not predict what we would do. If you wish your prisoners
to be released, Colonel, you must do it yourself. And before we
enter the town.'

'Very well . . .' Wéry leaned forward. His eyes were on the
polish of the table, and his heart in the touch of the woman's
hands. He heard himself say, 'Then I would ask you to wait in
another part of the palace while I assemble my commanders.'

And while he arranged for the arrest of Bergesrode. There
must be one last act of tyranny. He would have to be quick.

'Of course. But, Colonel . . .'

Wéry looked up.

'I wish that you would smile a little, when you have saved your
soul.'

Maybe he did smile a little, then. And her hands pressed
warmly upon his.

'That is better,' said Lanard. His eyes slid sideways to the door
of the inner room. 'And perhaps – before your conference begins
– perhaps we may all be admitted to Paradise, now?'

The Adelsheims

The Knight August von Adelsheim
Lady Constanze von Adelsheim
Franz	Their elder son
Albrecht	Their younger son
Maria	Their daughter
Anna Poppenstahl	Governess and companion
Tieschen	A servant at Adelsheim
Dietrich	Servants at the house in Erzberg
Johann
Pirenne
Ehrlich	A coachman

In Erzbert

The Prince-Bishop of Erzberg
The Countess
Wilhelmina Pancak-Schonberg	His aunt, and mistress
Bergesrode	His secretaries
Adhelmar Fernhausen-Loos
Gianovi	First Minister of Erzberg
Count Balcke-Horneswerden	Field Marshal of Erzberg
The Knight von Uhnen
Karl von Uhnen	His son, an Erzberg hussar
Baron Altmantz	Hussar colonel
Colonel Knuds	Commander of the citadel
Major Skatt-Hesse	Infantry officer
Captain Heiss	Aide to Balcke-Horneswerden
Lieutenant Bottrop	Militia officer
Asraus	A clerk
Canon Rother-Konisrat	A leader of the peace party
Baron von und zu Löhm	Associates of Canon Rather
The Knight and Lady
Jenz-Hohenwitz
The Knight and Lady
Machting-Altstein-Borckstein
Doctor Sorge	An Illuminatus
Canon Steinau-Zoll	A leader of the conservative clergy
The Comte d'Erles	A French émigré
Captain Jean-Marie Lanard	An officer of the French Republic

In Mainz Territory

Ludwig Jürich	A judge, and cousin of Anna Poppenstahl
Emilia Jürich	His wife
Maximilian Jürich	His nephew
Kaus and Madame Kaus	Friends and relations of the Jürichs
Hofmeister and Madame Hofmeister
Father Septe
Hartmann	Servants
Hemrich