By my reckoning, the Resident has nine Protestants on his staff, and four Catholics. Two of the Protestants have their wives with them, and they must be numbered among those of the household. I have already made a list of these persons and will present it to Alexander Menshikov as soon as the Resident approves it. I believe it would be wise to prepare a copy of the list for the care-house, in case any of our staff should die while there. I have volunteered to arrange a kind of service for the winter-dead of this household that will offer the consolation of prayer at the time of death rather than postpone any rites until the ice has melted. Whether we return bones or save the bodies in coffins, I will strive to supply every hope of Heaven for those who are lost to us here.
It is my understanding that the Czar favors keeping the bodies in coffins, but he has also said that the households must supply the coffins, which means purchasing lumber at outrageous prices, since all the lumber here in the city is allocated for building, and coffins are not numbered among the structures covered in their allotment. This would require that woodsmen be paid to bring extra lumber to
the Residence, and all such lumber would have to be stored indoors, for otherwise it would be damaged by cold and wet, or stolen. If this is our choice, we must act quickly, for once the Neva is covered in ice, the woodsmen will require twice as much money to bring lumber to us.
Since in your capacity of courier, you also maintain the Residence staff rolls, I ask you to inform me at once of any decision you and the Resident reach in this regard. We are under some insistency to reach a decision, and to that end, I have it on the authority of the Prussian secretary, Theophilius Schaft, that they have decided on securing coffins for their dead, and would be willing to share the lumber storage if we would off-set the expense and provide additional storage for the cut boards.
We were informed that counted deaths from Swamp Fever now stand at more than three hundred. Deaths from it among the work-gangs can only be guessed at, for no records are kept of those fatalities, and the bodies are consigned to the Neva with minimal ceremony. With this in mind, I believe it would be better to prepare for more deaths than for fewer. Among the Russian servants of this Residence we have had fourteen contract the fever and two have died, although seven are recovered and five are on the mend. Of those who have died, the Russian Church has taken them and given them burial after their customs. We must not be less attentive to those who have come to this place for the sake of England; we owe them at the least a decent burial.
These are my thoughts on the matter: I have spent part of this day praying for guidance, and I have decided that while I want to lie in the good Northumberland earth, if I die here, I would want to remain here, for it would be the place where God called me, and my death on this shore would be His Will. To that end, I ask to be numbered among those to be encoffined and buried in the Protestant cemetery when the weather permits. To me, it is fitting to mark a passing where it happened. Heaven is not dependent on earthly geography, nor is Hell. At the Last Trumpet, we will all rise to Judgment, and
where we fell will mean nothing. I do not think my bones would console my family sufficiently to justify boiling my flesh away.
Submitted with respect,
Yours to command,
Thomas Bethune
recording clerk
October 9th, 1704
1
After sundown the drizzle turned to sleet and then to fine hail; the wind picked up, so that by the time the clock in the cathedral tower sounded the eighth hour, the night was wailing; the first storm of winter had arrived, and throughout Sankt Piterburkh, all the buildings battened down their shutters and bolted their doors as the wind rose and the streets turned from graveled ways to bogs. The Czar sent messengers throughout the Foreign Quarter, announcing his fireworks display would be delayed until the storm had passed.
In the care-house, Kyril Yureivich and Hroger spent over an hour hanging old blankets along the walls to stop the drafts that whistled through the unfinished paneling. The stove on the main floor had been kept hot, and the one on the floor above had been cleared of ash and stoked again; it was just beginning to lessen the chill in the surgery-room and the care-room beyond. Jascha and Klavdye were putting the large pots on the downstairs stove, pots filled with cabbage soup with bits of pork and onions in it, the supper that, with black bread, would feed the patients and the staff as well; the open kitchen shelves were beginning to fill up.
"What do you make of this?" Hroger asked Saint-Germain as he lit the oil-lamps in Saint-Germain's quarters in the care-house. He was speaking in the tongue of Visigothic Spain.
"The storm? From what I've been told, it has come early this year. According to Saari, hard weather usually waits until the third week in October, not the second." He got up from the floor where he had finished laying a large rectangle of Dutch tiles, establishing a base for the athanor he was planning to build during the long winter months, when he could replenish his supply of his sovereign remedy and jewels. "It could be that the weather will turn fair again, once this passes,
and we will have mild days until the end of the month. That has happened occasionally."
Hroger considered for a moment, then said, "I don't think the city is ready for such a storm. There's too much unfinished for winter, such as this house."
"Nor do I think they are prepared," Saint-Germain agreed. "They were gambling on the weather, and this time, the weather has won the hand." He dusted off his hands and pulled off his smock. "Brother Vasili took ill today." He reached for his coat that he had tossed over the back of the best chair in the room and drew it on; it was made of leather and edged in fur, one of three winter coats he had brought with him.
At this mention of one of the nursing monks, Hroger nodded. "So Kyril told me," and waited for what Saint-Germain would say next.
"He has an inflammation of the intestines, not Swamp Fever--or not only Swamp Fever." He went to his red-lacquer chest. "I have given him some of my sovereign remedy, and will provide more later this evening."
"Do you think it will help?" Hroger asked.
"I hope so, if the putrescence has not yet spread too far," Saint-Germain answered, going to his plank trestle-table and reaching for the flask of willow-bark tincture he had prepared a few days before. "If you will see that the patients with Swamp Fever get some of this in their tea this evening?"
"Haven't I done so every evening for almost a month?" Hroger asked, and added, "You're worried about the messenger, aren't you? You worry that this storm will delay him."
"It has crossed my mind," Saint-Germain admitted.
"Boguslav Miesienkevic has been gone ten days, and should be a good distance away from the Baltic by now." Hroger could see a slight tightening around Saint-Germain's dark eyes. "He should be nearing Grodno tomorrow, if he has kept to his schedule of remounts."
"If this storm is wide-spread, it will slow him down," said Saint-Germain.
"It may, but it isn't likely to stop him," said Hroger. "The roads
should be open for a while longer, and he can be expected to use the opportunity to advantage. It isn't as if he hasn't experience of winter travel."
Saint-Germain gave a short, hard sigh, then spoke in Russian. "You are right, of course, and my fretting will do nothing but enhance my fears." He stretched as if he had been bent over books all day, and rubbed one hand over his close-cropped head. "We have only two empty beds left on the floor below, and three on this one."
"And they may well be filled by the time the storm passes," said Hroger.
"It may happen," Saint-Germain agreed, holding up his hand so he could hear the pounding on the main door. "With the weather so inclement, accidents are apt to increase."
"Are you expecting more patients?" Hroger kept his voice neutral, but his faded-blue eyes had a resignation in them that revealed his centuries of experience in such matters.
"I probably should," said Saint-Germain.
"Do you want to go down to the main floor?" Hroger asked as they heard the door open and excited voices mix with the ululation of the wind.
"I suppose I ought to go," said Saint-Germain, and reached for the fox-fur hat he had taken out of his trunk two days ago. "I may need this."
"Do you mean to go out in this weather?" Hroger asked, already opening the door of the wardrobe to remove his traveling-cloak.
"I believe I may have to." He took the cloak over his arm. "At the least, I need to have a word with Saari, and he will be at the stable at Zozia's house. He and I need to alter our ... arrangements with the storm upon us."
"I could attend to that for you," Hroger suggested.
"You are more needed here at present, but thank you, old friend," said Saint-Germain, going out of his quarters and toward the stairs. "And I need a word alone with Zozia, or so her note informs me. The sooner I find out what she wants, the better." As he descended, he saw two Karelian Watchmen urgently engaged in conversation with Heer van Hoek, and a third standing in the doorway, showing signs of
wanting to hurry off. "May I be of assistance?" he inquired as he walked up to them.
"Are you the Hungarian foreigner? The one who built the treadmills?" one of the Karelians asked in poor Russian. "They told us you were here."
Saint-Germain found the question somewhat puzzling. "You are looking for Hercegek Gyor? I am he." He felt a jolt of apprehension. "What do you want of me?"
"The fourth levee has broken. They hadn't finished shoring it up, you know, and with the storm coming, and the tide high--" said the tallest of the three, lifting one hand to show helplessness.
"How bad is it?" Saint-Germain asked, privately relieved to have something useful to do; still, he wondered why they had come to him. What the Watchman said next explained their presence.
"The new treadmill is falling with the levee bank, and the men in that drained portion of the marsh may drown as the water rises in the marsh. They are trying to move the camps out of the lowest parts of the basin even now, before the water gets too deep to save anything. We hope to preserve the treadmill if we can, but to do that, we need to have your advice." The Watchman dared to take Saint-Germain's sleeve. "Come with us. You can help us."
"And bring some of your care-house servants, to carry back the injured supervisors," said the man standing next to him, the one who had addressed him first. "If they lie out in this storm, they'll be dead or worse by morning."
"How many supervisors are you speaking about?" Saint-Germain asked, aware that the Watchmen would know that, but not the number of workmen.
"There are nine work-gangs at the fourth levee, some completing the levee, some setting up the pump in the marsh to drain it. There are also two treadmill-gangs, but they've been moved out of danger."
"So eleven supervisors." Saint-Germain privately calculated the number of workmen in danger at between three hundred and five hundred fifty--far too many to rescue; he hoped that most would be able to get out of the marsh on their own. "We must hope that not all of the supervisors
are injured, but it would be more lamentable still if the treadmill were lost, and the work-gang as well." He looked from the tallest Karelian to the man lingering in the door. "We need to assess the damage as soon as possible. Once we find out how much of the levee has failed, we will find out how the work-gangs and supervisors fare." Saint-Germain looked at van Hoek. "Can you spare Jascha and Klavdye? I know you need Kyril here, but perhaps--?"
"I suppose so," van Hoek allowed, looking profoundly uncomfortable. "I know you must bring the supervisors here for care, if they need it, but keep in mind that we are near capacity now. It could be difficult to accommodate many more." He cleared his throat. "I will inform Ludmilla Borisevna of what has happened when she wakes for her night-duty."
"Thank you. And if you will, have Klavdye and Jascha put on their heavy cloaks and hats and join the Watchmen here as soon as they may. I and this fellow"--he nodded to the man who had taken his arm--"will go on ahead to assess the damage. If we can simplify the treatment of any supervisor in need of it, so much the better. I'll need a shielded lantern." Saying this, he shrugged into his cloak and then put on his fur hat.
"Take the one in the vestibule." Van Hoek nodded slowly. "We'll make what preparations we can. I reckon we can bring in a few pallets if we must. I don't want to put two into a single bed unless we have no other choice."
"Let us hope that will not be necessary," said Saint-Germain, nodding to the Watchman. "When you are ready?"
The man nodded to his companion in the doorway. "Let us out, Tonu," he said. "You and Jaakko follow as soon as you can."
"I will," said Tonu, handing one of two shielded lanterns to Saint-Germain as they stepped out into the icy, blasting night.
"Do we go toward the fourth levee?" Saint-Germain hunched against the stinging wind; he had to raise his voice to be heard.
"On the dyke road," the Karelian said, almost shouting.
"Stay close behind me," Saint-Germain recommended, then started out along the raised walkway, taking care not to slip where ice
had formed. He carried the lantern low so that its light would shine at their feet, revealing the walkway; his night-seeing eyes could pierce the darkness well enough in spite of the storm, and he did not require the beam of the lantern to find his way. Hail the size of grains of wheat lashed at them, and the wind had invisible fangs that sank cold into their bones as they made their way through the treacherous streets out toward the fourth levee.
