Saint-Germain had the strength to break the Czar's hold, but knew it would be unwise to do so; he took a long breath. "If I am made to drink, I fear I will disgrace myself and this noble company."
"You do that by not drinking," Piotyr said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "Oleg! Beer for my guest. Now!"
The crowd had drawn back from Piotyr and his captive, a few of them trying to laugh to dispel the sense of fright that had gone through them all, for Piotyr's temper was well-known throughout Russia and northern Europe; no one wanted to be in his way when he was in the full grip of his fury. The second tap-man behind the bar hurried out with a tankard of dark ale, holding it out to the Czar, who thrust his own drink into the bar-man's free hand, took the second tankard, and forced Saint-Germain's head back.
"Majesty, I cannot--" he tried to protest as the ale poured into his mouth. He sputtered, swallowed, sputtered more, feeling the ale splash and soak into his clothes.
"No man insults me, Hercegek. No man." The Czar emptied the tankard, and reached for his own, adding the lighter beer to the cascade. "Drink!" he ordered, and tossed aside the second tankard. "Oleg! More ale for the Hungarian Hercegek. Let him swim in it."
Oleg scuttled away to do as Piotyr commanded.
Saint-Germain felt a sharp pain at the base of his ribs where his scars could not stretch; his stomach--what little remained of it--had not been stretched this way for more than two thousand years, and it left him nauseated and miserable. "Majesty--" he muttered. "No more."
"If the Czar drinks, you will drink," Piotyr said grimly, and reached out for the next tankard.
With a sudden, powerful movement, Saint-Germain wrenched away from Piotyr, stumbled toward the wall, braced one arm against it, and abruptly vomited all that had been poured down his throat. He panted, retched, and brought up the last; certain he had got it all out, he coughed and reached for his handkerchief to wipe his mouth and the front of his clothes. Then he sagged against the wall, shivering from shock. "I ask your pardon, Majesty. I have no desire to offend you, or to slight your honor." He took a deep breath. "I ... received injuries that make it impossible for me to take more than a palmful of nourishment at any time. It is nothing to your discredit that I do not drink."
Heer van Hoek, who had been standing, aghast, with Ludmilla, in the corner, now came forward and bowed. "He speaks the truth, Majesty," he said. "When he was first here, he was set upon by robbers and badly beaten. I saw his scars while treating him, and I must tell you that his injuries are severe."
"Scars, you say?" Piotyr inquired, and came to take hold of Saint-Germain again. "Show me, min Heer."
Van Hoek looked abashed. "Here? Your Majesty cannot mean--"
The Czar flung open Saint-Germain's coat and tugged up his waistcoat, then pulled his chemise from his knee-britches: a broad swath of scars was revealed, the token of his execution by disemboweling. The scars continued below the waist of his britches, but their extent above it was sufficient to earn a hard stare from the Czar. "Yes. Severe wounds." He released his hold on Saint-Germain's clothes and patted his arm. "Well, you've convinced me, Hercegek. You are unable to join us in the delights of the table. I will hold you excused." He held out his hand for another tankard. "So long as you will not
mind if I drink your share!" His bellow of laughter was quickly echoed throughout the tap-room.
Trying to restore some order to his appearance, Saint-Germain said to van Hoek, "Thank you, min Heer. You spared me a dreadful afternoon."
"You have no reason to thank me," said van Hoek. "The Czar goes beyond the conduct of royals."
"He may do," said Saint-Germain, reaching for his handkerchief and patting the remaining drips of ale from his wig. "But it is the privilege of the Czar to be exempt from restrictions."
"It's all very well for you to take such a stance," said van Hoek stiffly, "but it is not good conduct on Piotyr's part." He paused awkwardly. "I assume you'll return to the care-house to change clothes."
"And bathe." He sniffed at his sleeve and shook his head. "Everything needs washing. I cannot tell if any of these garments can be saved; the chemise, perhaps, but I fear the coat and britches are stained beyond remedy." He shrugged. "I will depart when the rest of you go in to dine."
"I doubt I'll want more than a bite," said van Hoek, continuing unhappily, "After this, my appetite is quite gone."
"Eat anyway. The Czar demands excess of his guests." He heard Piotyr's voice and looked up to see the Czar approaching, the stranger in Hungarian dress beside him. "Majesty," he said neutrally.
"I didn't understand your condition, Hercegek. I own my mistake." He tugged the new-comer nearer. "I thought the introduction of a countryman would help restore you to good-humor. It is always pleasant to find compatriots in distant lands, and I am told you have never met." He beamed at this solution he had hit upon, and announced, "Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Hercegek Gyor, this is Lajos Rakoczi, Grofok Saint-Germain, from Transylvania."
As Saint-Germain stared, the other man bowed, saying in heavily accented Russian, "Hercegek Gyor, a pleasure."
Text of a letter from Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain, in Sankt Piterburkh, to Niklos Aulirios at Saint-Germain in Transylvania,
written in Latin code and carried by private courier; delivered forty-nine days after it was written.
To Niklos Aulirios at my estate in Transylvania, the greetings of your beleaguered friend from the Czar's new city.
My dear Niklos,
A problem has arisen here that makes it necessary to impose upon you to a far greater extent than I would like to do, but out of my urgent need, I must: as you doubtless have been informed, the mission I have undertaken here has been in the person of Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Herecegek Gyor, an imposture I must continue for the sake of Arco-Tolvay's wife, who is an agent for the Polish Throne, and who must be in the company of her husband if she is to remain in Sankt Piterburkh. That, in and of itself, is strenuous enough, but there is now a second factor that compounds the problems: there has come to Sankt Piterburkh a man claiming to be my heir, one Lajos Rakoczi--spelled with the
i
the way the Hungarian patriot spells his name--who claims he has recently succeeded to my title and lands--meaning those of Grofok Saint-Germain, not Hercegek Gyor--and is present here to arrange some sort of entente cordiale for the Czar and Rakoczi II Ferenc, or so he claims. He purports to be my cousin, and the cousin of II Ferenc as well. He has sought to have me, as Arco-Tolvay, support his assertions of rank.
As you are aware, there are many reasons I cannot reveal him as a fraud without risking my own undoing, and the exposure of Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, to royal censure, which would compromise all of us, and spark such inquiries as I could not readily sustain. It is one thing to be a stand-in for a married woman's missing husband, it is quite another to have my true nature revealed. Spies are common enough in Sankt Piterburkh--vampires are not, and little though Piotyr Alexeievich may observe the strictures of Orthodoxy, he would draw the line at those of my blood.
Therefore, Niklos, I am asking you to undertake a mission to this city, in winter, for the purpose of routing this so-called Grofok Saint-Germain by assuming my identity yourself. I realize that this is a
great infliction of hardship, and for that I ask your pardon. Were there anyone else I could rely on in this most complicated situation, I would not ask this of you, but I fear my situation is such that you are the only one I can charge with this task. Bring as much with you that will demonstrate that you are Grofok Saint-Germain--Moricz Losi can provide all you need, and I will give you my sigil when you arrive--and confront this man with the purpose of discrediting him. If it is possible to determine whom he serves, then that would be a most welcome addition to disclosing his imposture. Better to have the light of inquiry shine in other directions.
I apologize for asking you to travel in winter, and I will authorize you as much money as you may need to make the journey possible. I anticipate the messenger who brings this will be able to advise you on what you will need for your travels, and how long it will take. Keep in mind that the days will shorten until the Solstice, and only then will there be increasing light for your travels; also the farther north you go, the longer the nights are. I advise you to travel on horseback, since the roads are deep in snow and a carriage would be hard-put to get far before spring. There are sheep-skin saddle-pads and bear-skin riding cloaks that will cover your horse as well as you, and there are sheep-skin splint-boots for the horses, as well. Take at least two remounts apiece and carry enough grain to last the horses fifteen days. I am sorry that you will have such arduous travel, but the longer a challenge is delayed, the less likely it is to be heeded.
The man who brings this is Boguslav Miesienkevic, a private courier by trade, and a most dependable man, so long as he is well-paid. Be sure he is given three gold Polish Angels every week that you travel. Keep up this special pay and he will deal with you honestly and will do his utmost to bring you here safely. I have pledged to buy him passage on a ship to France before you reach Sankt Piterburkh, with money enough to keep him away for two years. I have explained to the Prussian Envoy that I know beyond all doubt that Ferenz Ragoczy is still alive, and that this man had not the right to claim his lands and his title. I have addressed the matter to Alexander Menshikov in private, with a generous donation for his attention and time, and been
assured that if I can provide proof that Ferenz Ragoczy still lives, this Lajos Rakoczi will be returned to Hungary for the judgment of the Hapsburgs.
There are instructions to Moricz Losi included with this, which I ask you to give to him as soon as you have read this.
In the name of Atta Olivia Clemens, whom we both cherish in our memories, I thank you for undertaking this. You must miss her even more than I do.
Gratefully,
Ferenz Ragoczy (Sanct' Germain Franciscus)
(his sigil, the eclipse)
October 2nd, 1704
PART II
F
ERENZ
R
AGOCZY
, G
ROFOK
S
AINT
-G
ERMAIN
Text of a report from Thomas Bethune, Presbyterian lay-preacher and clerk to the English Resident, to Colonel Sir Peregrine Broughton at Sankt Piterburkh, delivered by household messenger.
To the most esteemed Colonel Sir Peregrine Broughton, diplomatic courier in service to the English Crown at the Residence in Sankt Piterburkh, Russia.
My dear Colonel,
I have this morning attended a meeting at the Naval Building called by Alexander Menshikov for residents of the Foreign Quarter of this city regarding the disposition of bodies once the ground freezes, which we are told it should do within the next four weeks, and continue in that state until the end of April. After the ground is solid, it will be impossible to inter coffins or corpses in the earth, and because we have no Protestant churches here that would permit burial under the floor, there are plans that must be quickly put in place to cope with providing Christian care to those who die before spring. I made a transcript of what he said, and I will append those shorthand notes to this longhand account for your records.
First we were informed that many of the ferrymen will not be operating their ferries once the ice forms, given that the river will be frozen, and many drayers will not carry the dead across the ice, since it is considered most unlucky to do so, even if there were some place they might be buried once they were transported. Those pagan fishermen who live at the far end of this island burn their dead in winter, but no one was willing to consign bodies to pagans for disposal.
Menshikov has announced that he can allocate a small warehouse for the storage of corpses in coffins, awaiting the time when they can be taken to the Protestant cemetery for proper obsequies and burial.
He has also offered the possibility of boiling the bodies so that their bones may be returned to their homelands when the ships are able to sail. The religious consequences would be similar to the collection of bones of those killed in battle, according to the Russian Orthodox Metropolitan.
For those wishing to store bodies in coffins in the warehouse, Menshikov has said that a watch would be put on the warehouse so that no man or animal can desecrate any bodies stored there. He has charged all of the residents of the Foreign Quarter to decide how they want their dead secured for the winter, and to provide him with a formal notification of what each household has decided, along with a list of the household members who are to be included in these plans, so that if any should die, there will be no misunderstanding of how they are to be disposed. Any dead not listed with foreign households or acknowledged Orthodox Christians will be shrouded and put through the ice after anointing by a priest of the Russian Orthodox faith.
