There was a long moment of quiet among the three, when the sound of the carpenters came through the walls, and the noise from the road outside penetrated the double-paned windows. Then, just as Hroger returned, Ludmilla said, "Then we must make a schedule for resting as well as work, not just for us, but for the nurses and the servants. If we all collapse, the Hercegek is once again right: we will lose our ability to give any care at all."
Hroger took the bloody sheet off the body and wrapped it in a long linen drape, working steadily and without any outward signs of repugnance. When the man was swathed, he said, "I'll go summon Kyril Yureivich to assist me; we'll carry him to the porch."
"No," said Ludmilla. "I'll go get him."
"You needn't," said Hroger.
"But I do need," Ludmilla countered. "This is my obligation, and it's my duty to act." She nodded to Hroger. "You're most helpful, but Kyril will want to receive his orders from me, especially when it comes to a body that isn't Russian."
Saint-Germain signaled to Hroger. "Why not go with her, so that you and Kyril may work out the best way to transport the dead man to the porch? Leave Jascha and Klavdye to tend the ailing in the main care-room."
The smile that Ludmilla offered was so genuine that Saint-Germain was surprised by it. "If you're willing to accompany me, Hroger, I would thank you for your help."
Hroger bowed. "I am at your service, Madame."
Ludmilla shook her head in polite disbelief. "To find a manservant who is also a gentleman." She started down the stairs. "I'll warn our monks that the body is coming. They'll want to make sure the lower floor is cleansed before another patient is admitted, so that death does not blight them all." As she descended, Hroger followed her down.
"Whatever they think best," said van Hoek as the two disappeared from view. "Much as I have reservations about the Orthodox faith, it is necessary that we accommodate the monks: we need their help and their good-will."
Thinking back to his discussion with the Metropolitan Matvei, Saint-Germain said, "The Orthodox Church has the final authority regarding the dead of Sankt Piterburkh. Not even the army can contravene an interment order from the Metropolitan. Once I establish the man's identity, I will file a report with the Metropolitan's office about the dead man, so that they may decide what the Church will accept."
"Russian Orthodoxy!--it is laden with traditions and rituals that are worse than the Catholics," said van Hoek with Protestant austerity. "But as we are guests here, we must comply with the customs of the country." He closed up his instrument case and unfastened the
front of his smock and began to pull it off. "This should be burned. Yours as well."
"I'll see it's done," said Saint-Germain as he began to remove his smock, taking care not to brush his clothes with the drying blood that soaked into the smock.
"Before you notify the Metropolitan, let me know what you plan to tell him." Van Hoek dropped his smock on the floor. "I don't want this man to be neglected because he wasn't one of the Orthodox Christians, as has happened to others. And I don't want the care-house to come under his disapproval for mistreatment of the dead."
"I will," said Saint-Germain, thinking as he spoke that van Hoek's unease was more reasonable than he wanted to admit. He pulled his cuff-ruffles out of his sleeves and shook them, then he inspected the front of his clothes. "There seems to be a spot of blood on my neckcloth," he remarked.
"And no doubt on your leg-hose and shoes," said van Hoek. "I always find blood on my shoes after treating so much bleeding."
"Hroger will attend to it," said Saint-Germain, knowing he would be unable to clean the spot himself, lacking a reflection to guide him.
"How long do you anticipate being gone?"
"An hour, perhaps two," said Saint-Germain. "I will be as quick as possible." He decided to order Saari to fetch one of his horses, saddled and bridled, to lend him a little speed; earlier he had seen Saari patrolling the other side of the street.
"Keep your own advice in mind, Hercegek," van Hoek recommended. "Don't wear yourself out. You, too, need to be rested."
"I would like to be more ... restored," Saint-Germain admitted, and wished again there were women he could visit, unknown, in dreams. He went to get his wig, saying to van Hoek as he went, "I will send word if I am delayed more than two hours."
"Thank you," said van Hoek with an odd catch in his throat. "I confess I find such errands difficult."
"As do we all," said Saint-Germain, tugging his wig into place before
setting out down the stairs to inform Ludmilla and Hroger of his plan, and then to summon Saari, to explain what the afternoon required.
Text of a letter from Mungo Laurie in Sankt Piterburkh to his wife, Hepzibah, in Edinburgh.
To my most sorely missed mouselet, my dear wife,
Beloved Hepzibah,
As much as I long to see you again, I can be grateful that you are not here just at present. Three days ago, the Danish ship
Redeemer,
lost in the fog, rammed into our dredging-barge, drowning nine men and injuring twenty-three. One of the men, Hamish Andrews, died as a result of his injuries. I have been occupied these last two days with making arrangements for his burial. There is a small Protestant cemetery at the far end of this island, and I am almost finished with the arrangements for his funeral, which of necessity will be simple; for the Russian Church limits the formalities approved for those not of their congregations, and there are only three Protestant clergymen in the city. I am informed that Andrews' coffin must be laden with stones, or there is a risk that it will pop out of the earth when the tide is high. Such things have happened before. The rising water is why so few buildings in this place have cellars of any kind: they flood.
I have been dealing with Harald Nyland, Graf Horsens, one of the Danes helping to create the harbor here. He has promised to negotiate with the Captain of the
Redeemer
regarding the level of repair the ship will need, and I will supply Nyland with information on the degree of repairs our dredging-barge needs. Between us, we should arrive at a settlement that will be fair to us all, and permit the dredging to continue until winter comes, as the Czar has demanded.
Speaking of the Czar, he and his associates are expected here within ten days. He has ordered a grand banquet and has invited more than a hundred guests--almost the entire Foreign Quarter. All the households in the city are scrambling to make sure there is sufficient
food and drink for him and his Court. They say his capacity for eating and drinking is prodigious, and therefore his celebration may well exhaust the pantries of Sankt Piterburkh, not a comforting thought with winter coming.
The weather has broken at last, and instead of still, hot, damp days, there is now a sharp wind out of the northwest, and although the sun is warm during the day, it is becoming cold at night. Some of the sailors say there is a storm brewing, but they say that every time the weather changes. I mention this because I may not be able to send you letters for much longer this year. I should have at least one more chance to put a note in the hands of a Captain bound for Edinburgh before the ice comes, but if the autumn is stormy, I may have to wait until spring, or risk not getting it to you at all.
I have read your letter of May 10th, my mouselet, until it is almost in tatters. I see your writing, and I am overcome with missing you. I have already asked the Czar's deputy, the man Alexander Menshikov, if he could designate a house for me next spring, so I might bring you to this place and we will not have to be so long apart. I will be glad to have your nephew accompany you, for young as he is, he should not once again be cast upon the rest of your family as the orphan he is. Six may be young for a long voyage, but it is better to travel than to be abandoned.
If this is the last I can send to you this year, remember that you are in my thoughts every day, that I keep you in my prayers every night, that I long to embrace you, that I am yours to the end of the world.
Your devoted husband,
Mungo Laurie
September 21st, 1704
entrusted to Captain Arcangelo Montesque of
The Star of Genova
11
Three new dock-side taverns and part of a warehouse had been turned into a reception hall and banqueting room for the Czar on this grand occasion of his return to his own city. It was two in the afternoon, and the day was bright enough, the sun's glare penetrating the thin veil of high clouds and turning the Neva into molten silver. Work on the harbor and the embankment went on in front of the guests, and laborers passed within an arm's-length of Piotyr Alexeievich's grand fete; the sounds of their labors carried into the celebration, at odds with the playing of the small orchestra. There were long tables set out in front of the warehouse, where the banquet was to take place, each manned by a staff of waiters, where a great number of fine viands ordered by the Czar from most of the household larders in the city were displayed: baskets of breads, tubs of apples and pears, stuffed hard-boiled eggs with shaved onions, tureens of pea-soup and fish-stew, platters of pickled beets on pickled beef, sliced cucumbers in vinegar and yogurt, cabbage-rolls stuffed with spiced lamb, oat cakes with pats of butter melting on them, roast boar on a standing spit, and on smaller spits broiled geese were ready for carving as soon as the Czar gave the order for his guests to eat. From the odors on the afternoon breeze, more foods were being cooked on the stoves of the taverns.
Marfa stood with the Czar and Alexander Menshikov at the entrance to the dock to welcome the new arrivals, Marfa in a grand toilette of embroidered faille in a soft, dark-rose shade, boned and corseted in the European fashion, with lavish skirts in matching taffeta, and covering petticoats of Belgian lace that matched the ruff at her open neckline and the cascades at her cuffs. The Czar, by far the tallest man in the gathering, was arrayed in blue-green satin coat and knee-britches; his waistcoat was buff damask and edged in gold piping. His chemise was ivory silk, as was his neck-cloth. By the way
he was looking restlessly about the gathering, he was already bored. Menshikov had donned an ensemble of blue-gray satin with a waistcoat of silver embroidered with pearls, worn over a black-silk chemise with a neck-cloth of black lace. He had on an impressive English wig of ordered bright-chestnut curls. Unlike the Czar, he wore a profusion of rings over his fine, black kid-skin gloves.
Colonel Broughton waited in the reception line beside Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, and her brother, Benedykt Rozmowaslad, Ksiaze Radom; immediately behind him, Saint-Germain stood with Heer van Hoek and Ludmilla Borisevna. The whole line moved slowly as each guest sought to offer the Czar a compliment of some kind on the progress of his city, or to try to impart a kernel of information with the hope of securing a private audience while Piotyr Alexeievich remained here.
"What should I say to His Majesty?" Zozia asked coquettishly. She was in her most elaborate afternoon ensemble--a silk dress the color of lavender with knotted berry-colored ribbons around the corsage and a profuse skirt over a modified hoop. She wore a necklace of amethysts set in gold with earrings to match. Her satin shoes had delicate heels and buckles made of gold.
"Tell him as little as possible, nothing beyond what is courteous," her brother recommended. He was turned out in puce peau-de-soie knee-britches and coat, with a long waistcoat of rose velvet and a chemise of pale-blue linen. "Marfa will thank you for it later; she wants no competition for Piotyr's attentions."
"You're being cynical," said Zozia, adding, "I wish I had brought a parasol. The day is so shiny." She squinted along the line and made a gesture of irritation. "What does Theophilius Schaft have to say that takes so long?"
"Not that the Czar is listening, in any case," said Broughton. "Look at him. He's busy watching the men working on the embankment."
As if he had heard this complaint, Theophilius Schaft bowed and finally moved beyond the Czar and his two companions, and the line moved two steps forward.
"It's Nyland next," said Zozia. "He'll take his time."
"He has information to impart to Piotyr," said van Hoek, who had been listening to their conversation. "Since the dredging-barge was rammed, the work has gone more slowly, and he wants to set up buoys in the river, to avoid another collision: the Czar has to approve the buoys, and soon, or they will have to wait until spring to do it."
"This is hardly the place for making a report," said Benedykt. "You wouldn't do such a foolish thing, would you, min Heer?"
Behind Zozia and Heer van Hoek in line, Ludmilla turned to Saint-Germain. "Hercegek, there is something I have been meaning to ask you these last several days."
"What is it?" Saint-Germain asked, keeping his voice as low as hers. He was arrayed in blue-gray velvet with a waistcoat and leg-hose of black silk. His chemise was white and his neck-cloth edged in lace.
"You're a learned man, are you not?" She wore a handsome, European-style sacque-back dress in wheat-colored taffeta with a standing embroidered collar and full-length sleeves with a row of mother-of-pearl buttons from elbow to wrist.
"Reasonably so," he answered, his curiosity rising at her inquiry.
"You know many languages."
"A good number," he told her; over his long life he had learned more than a hundred of them.
"Are you willing to have me as a pupil?" she asked at a rush.
"Of what, Ludmilla Borisevna? What would you like me to do for you?"
