Saint-Germain to lean on. "Shoe and slipper. Both have your native earth in the soles."
"Very good," said Saint-Germain, and accepted Hroger's support that enabled him to don his footwear without the risk of falling. Then, reluctantly, he retrieved his crutches from the side of his bed and slid them under his arms. "I'll pass the time until Graf von Altenburg arrives with reading. After spending the last six days lying in torpor, I feel stale."
"That torpor will hasten your recovery," Hroger pointed out. "Lying on your native earth can restore you better than any remedy, save one, particularly since the nights are so short."
"That has been a problem," Saint-Germain conceded.
"It's fortunate the attack didn't happen a month from now, at midsummer, when the sky doesn't darken all night long. At least there is twilight." Hroger regarded Saint-Germain with a mixture of concern and exasperation. "If you had someone who could--"
"But I haven't; not yet," said Saint-Germain.
"Then I trust you will make an effort to rectify this soon," Hroger said, his anxiety concealed in a kind of gruffness.
"So I hope. For now, I need to enliven my mind."
"Which book would you like?" Hroger asked as he followed Saint-Germain through Zozia's side of the room and into the central chamber of the house where the Prussian Envoy would be received and entertained. The room was the largest of the three, with a main door that opened onto the small covered porch. Five large chests stood against the walls; a long table was set up along the west wall, with benches long enough to accommodate the entire household at a meal. In the southeast part of the room there were three upholstered chairs, a low serving table, and a settee. A large candelabra depended from the beam in the middle of the room--at the moment it was without candles. The house, being in the Foreign Quarter, had two more windows than the Czar had allocated to three-room houses, and it boasted three dormers and a rear door, for Sankt Piterburkh, a very grand establishment--even the Czar's house had only four rooms.
"You choose what you think would suit me best," said Saint-Germain, and made for the Polish settee beneath two double-glazed windows in the south wall; against the north wall there stood a simple stove, which not only provided heat for the house, it served as a simple kitchen. He lowered himself onto the settee and raised his splinted leg while Hroger went to look through Saint-Germain's trunks for a suitable book, returning in a short while with a copy of Nicolaas Heinsius'
Den Vermakelyken Avanturier.
"I thought something Dutch would be advisable," said Hroger.
"Very clever," Saint-Germain approved, taking the novel from him and holding it in the light. Before he started to read, he said, "I suppose Zozia has gone out?"
"She has, in the light carriage. Adolphus Gronigen is driving her; I didn't think you'd mind."
"Why should I. Which horses?" Saint-Germain asked.
"Your pair of chestnuts. You know the Ksiezna favors them for their matched paces. Her maids are sewing in the servants' room. Most of her staff is out until Vespers." He nodded in the direction of the third room, which was divided as Saint-Germain's and Zozia's bedchamber was, men in bunks on one side, women in bunks on the other.
"Do we have bread and salt to offer our guest when he arrives?" Saint-Germain looked toward the large cabinet behind the stove where most of the household foodstuffs were kept.
"I'll attend to that now." Hroger crossed the room, his demeanor unflustered. He removed a basket of bread and took a small loaf from it and set it on a tray, then filled a saucer with salt and set it next to the bread on the tray. "It's ready for Graf von Altenburg's arrival."
"Excellent," said Saint-Germain. "Impeccable as always, old friend."
"I'll fetch the wine," Hroger said, and left the room for the rear of the house where a formidably locked storage closet was attached to the structure, returning some five minutes later with a dusty bottle in his hands. "The wind is picking up, my master. Shall I light the fire in the stove?"
"Not yet, I think," said Saint-Germain, looking up from his book. "After the Graf arrives, then start the fire."
"So that it will be on his account," approved Hroger. "He will be complimented by the warming room."
Saint-Germain's smile was swiftly gone, but his eyes remained amused. "It is the nature of diplomacy to flatter, is it not."
Hroger went about opening the wine. "He should be here shortly."
"So he should." With that, Saint-Germain closed his book and set it down. "Which wine did you select?"
"A Tokay. A Hungarian wine seems appropriate." He indicated the bottle. "Sweet, but not cloying."
"Excellent," said Saint-Germain, shifting on his settee. "We will need to apply for space for the Polish escort aboard one of the westbound ships, and soon. Augustus will want his men back before midsummer."
"Once I have served the Graf, I'll see what I can find out on that account." Hroger studied Saint-Germain. "Are you in pain, my master?"
"Less than I was a day ago," Saint-Germain answered obliquely. "I'll manage."
"Good enough," said Hroger, knowing it was fruitless to press him.
In less than ten minutes there was the sound of a light carriage drawing up in front of the house, and a quick exchange in German. Hroger went to the door, preparing to open it as soon as there was a knock. He glanced over at Saint-Germain. "In German?"
"If you would," said Saint-Germain, patting the book at his side on the settee as the sound of footsteps came from outside. Almost at once there was a sharp rap on the door.
Hroger opened the door and bowed. "Graf von Altenburg, welcome to the home of Hercegek Gyor."
The Prussian Envoy handed his walking-stick to Hroger, and looked around the room. Johannes Walther Oertel Stiffelmund, Graf von Altenburg, was a man of middle-age and middle height, portly of body
and florid of face. He wore clothes much like Saint-Germain's, but in a shade of muted peach, and his neck-cloth was made of lace; his wig was a masterful tumble of chestnut curls. He held an elaborate handkerchief in one hand and a snuff-box in the other. Catching sight of Saint-Germain on the settee, he offered his bow with a flourish of his handkerchief, and was answered by Saint-Germain inclining his head. "Herzog Gyor," he said, using the German title, and speaking courtly German. "I am pleased that you're willing to receive me. I can see that you still have a long way to go before you're entirely recovered."
"Graf von Altenburg," said Saint-Germain in the same language and style, but with a faint accent that the Graf could not identify. "You are most welcome. Thank you for your concern on my behalf."
"We in the Foreign Quarter are all agog about your mishap," von Altenburg continued. "Not a day passes but one of us is worried that a similar misfortune will befall him. Many of our people will not walk abroad after Vespers without at least one bodyguard." He saw Saint-Germain indicate the nearest chair. "Most kind, most kind." He stuffed his handkerchief and snuff-box away in the recesses of his coat, and sat down. "I saw your wife in your carriage with two of the English ladies as I came here. If you'll permit me to say it, she is a most attractive woman. Not just in the usual fashion, which serves to enhance her charms."
"That she is, on all points," said Saint-Germain, and signaled to Hroger. "I hope you will take the traditional tokens of hospitality, and then something from Hungary."
"Much appreciated," said von Altenburg, and coughed delicately. "I hope I will not offend you by being too precipitous, but I must ask if you are part of the rebellion against the Hapsburgs before we continue our discussion? I don't mean to impugn your motives for being here, nor those of your wife. I realize that this is unmannerly of me to ... I'm sure you can understand the grounds for my concern."
"I can, and as to the war going on, I have sympathy for the Transylvanians, my blood having come from that region centuries ago." The centuries since he had left his homeland now numbered thirty-seven, but he kept that to himself. "In my opinion, Rakoczi II Ferenc
has undertaken a dangerous venture, and who knows where it will lead? He has conviction and the desire of most of the Hungarian people on his side; the Hapsburgs have wealth, soldiers, and weapons." He paused, for once glad of having Arpad Arco-Tolvay to act as concealment. "I have no direct connection with either the Hapsburgs or the opposing Hungarians."
"I'm relieved to hear that," said von Altenburg. "I know such matters can become difficult when one is abroad."
"As you say," Saint-Germain said, giving another incline of his head to show his agreement.
Carrying a tray with the bread, salt, wine, and wineglass upon it, Hroger came to von Altenburg's side. "Graf? If you would honor this house?"
Startled, von Altenburg turned and stared at the tray. "Oh, yes. Very nice. Very nice." He took a pinch of bread, dipped it in the salt, and popped it into his mouth, chewing emphatically. Then he poured himself a glass of the Tokay, and held it up toward the window. "Like sunlight, isn't it?" He saluted Saint-Germain with it. "Won't you join me, Herzog?"
"No, thank you; I do not drink wine."
"Humph," said von Altenburg. "Well, to your recovery, then." He drank and smiled his approval. "An amazing vintage. Are you sure you won't have some?"
"Quite sure, thank you," said Saint-Germain.
"It is regrettable that you have had to keep to your bed this past week."
"Regrettable in what way?" Saint-Germain asked, knowing it was expected of him. "Beyond the inconvenience, of course."
"It has been a most exciting week; we actually held a small ball in the house of the English Resident. I'm sorry you missed it," von Altenburg continued, all affability.
"No more so than I," Saint-Germain assured him.
"What?" He stared at his host, then chuckled. "Oh, I see. Yes, undoubtedly you are more sorry than I for the cause." He glanced at Hroger. "You may remove the bread and salt. I'll keep the wine."
"Then I'll light the fire in the stove," said Hroger, picking up the basket and saucer, and retreating to the end of the room, where he busied himself with stoking and lighting the stove.
"I'm glad you find the wine to your taste," said Saint-Germain.
"It is most satisfying." After taking another generous sip, he went on, "Undoubtedly, you are behind on the news of the town. You will want to know that a ship has arrived from England--hence the occasion for the ball--with a number of engineers from Scotland, and two English shipwrights among the passengers aboard. They're assigned to housing on the edge of the Foreign Quarter, out where the working-men's supervisors' houses are. I was very much surprised to learn that the ship encountered little ice on its journey, and has been able to anchor out in the mouth of the Neva."
"Most interesting. But then, English ships are famous for their sturdiness, accustomed as the English are to building for hard weather." He studied von Altenburg with what seemed nothing more than mild curiosity. "What do you make of their coming?"
"Nothing much. The Czar is going to put them to work, of course; everyone is put to work here, one way or another. They say his deputy will arrive in the next few days, to see that the work continues to progress while the Czar is away. Most of the new arrivals will remain here, but some will go to the army to fight the Swedes." He shook his head ponderously. "Damnable business, this war between Russia and Sweden. Not going too well for the Czar."
"I doubt Piotyr Alexeievich would agree. So far he has gained more than he has lost, or so I understand." Saint-Germain waved his hand toward the window. "This place, for example, was in Swedish hands until recently."
"True, true, and the Swedes failed to reclaim it last summer," said von Altenburg. "Yet it is far from over. The day may yet come when the Czar will lose this miserable marsh once again."
"I doubt that. Piotyr Alexeievich has too many plans for his city to give it up."
"That might not be entirely his choice," said von Altenburg. "If
there should be a turn in the war, who knows what he might have to concede."
"I would not wager on that," said Saint-Germain. "Piotyr Alexeievich isn't like other Czars, and it would be unwise to judge him by his forefathers. He has willed this place to be a city, and unless he dies soon, it will be one." He thought back again to Ivan Grosny, once more reminding himself that Ivan Vasillyevich had been a man of energy as well, but whose attention was turned eastward, not west; Ivan had been so absolute in his power that he had been the next to the last of his dynasty.
"What you say is true," said von Altenburg, nodding judiciously. "But Karl of Sweden isn't one to give up what has been his." He took another sip of wine. "I am not as confident as the Czar is that Russia will emerge from this war as a Baltic power. I realize that is what Piotyr wants, but Russia hasn't yet made the formidable army that Sweden commands."
"When you consider how far the army has come in a dozen years, I'm not at all convinced that Karl will be able to sustain his advances against Piotyr Alexeievich." He weighed his next remarks carefully. "I would like to think that the war will not be a long one, but I fear it shows every sign of lasting several more years."
"That is a very real concern to all of us," said von Altenburg, his frown portentous. "You have struck the heart of the matter." Again he paused to drink, swallowing nervously. "You see, I've come not only to ascertain for myself that you are improving, I am hoping that you and I might find some way to pool our missions to our mutual advantage, in two applications."
"What do you mean?" Saint-Germain asked, feeling wary.
"It seems to me that as foreigners in this place, we share many common ... issues." Von Altenburg cleared his throat. "I can think of a number of situations when it would be advantageous for us to share any information we may possess. In addition, it seems to me that if we form a kind of committee of residents of the Foreign Quarter, to greet newcomers and acquaint them with the conditions prevailing here. Who
