Muffled Drum (4 page)

“I’ll be glad to see the back of this place,” Rudolph told his batman.

“I could say the same, sir, only less politely,” Goertz replied.

They were staying in Gitschin’s best hotel, which wasn’t much. The army had only been through the area briefly—they’d already marched south, leaving Rudolph feeling strangely bereft, as if a half-remembered family had been torn from him—but the town had been depleted pretty thoroughly, as any small town would be by a sudden influx of thousands of soldiers and camp followers. Like locusts, the armies of the Prussians and the Austrians had taken all they could to feed the constant hunger of their men, leaving little behind. The only meat on the menu was horse, and what there was of that was tough and hard to find floating in the ubiquitous Bohemian stews filled mostly with cabbage and root vegetables.

Rudolph’s head throbbed, bringing a fresh wave of all-too-familiar nausea, and he pushed his dish of watery potato soup away. For once, Goertz didn’t encourage him to eat more but poured him another tankard of beer in silence. Beer, at least, was still available. The innkeeper had been proud to state that although the armies had taken every piece of livestock and many of his stored goods, they had not found his beer, hidden in a sub-room beneath the cellar floor.

“Damned hole,” Rudolph said with feeling, screwing up his eyes as the headache washed over him. “Haven’t they heard of progress? Anyone would think the railway was a new thing. Having no railway? It’s…”

A shadow fell across the table. Rudolph looked up to see a face he recognized, even if he couldn’t put a name to it.
Damn this memory.

The young man smiled. “Rittmeister von Ratzlaff. I think the word you’re searching for is
preposterous,
although I can think of several others.” He bowed from the waist, and Rudolph had the weirdest sensation, like something flickering in his mind. He wondered why the young leutnant hadn’t clicked his heels together, and then wondered why he’d wondered that.

Goertz removed the half-empty plates, muttering, “‘Preposterous’ isn’t what I’d call it,” and left the two of them alone.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Rudolph said. “I know we spoke last night, but so much has happened, and there’s so much to try and keep in my mind—”

“Hofmann,” the young man said promptly. “Would you mind if I joined you? It seems we are destined to be billeted together, at least for tonight, and it would be rude of me not to at least offer my company, but I quite understand—”

“Oh, of course! Please, sit down. Have some beer, it’s the only tolerable thing in his hovel. No spirits to be had for any amount of money, of course.”

Hofmann laughed softly, a laugh Rudolph found immensely attractive, but somehow it didn’t reach the young man’s eyes. “No. Of course. We…that is, the army…always knew how to deal with any loose bottles floating around.”

There was something in the young man’s bearing Rudolph liked, and yet something about his demeanor seemed wrong. He seemed to be holding himself in check, the excess formality seeming forced, somehow. Rudolph tried to imagine Hofmann sitting around a tea table with family around him and found the image hard to muster, but if he pictured him in the uniform of the Fifth, laughing, drinking and singing, it seemed much easier.
Makes sense
,
he told me he had been in my brigade, didn’t he?
He regretted hugely that he didn’t remember Hofmann in uniform, because he certainly had the figure for it.

Rudolph was beginning to realize it wasn’t just that memories of the past two years had vanished, but he found new memories were harder to keep hold of. They slipped through his mind like trying to remember a dream. The most he could recall was that Hofmann had called on him the night before. The young man wore one arm in a sling, and that Rudolph
did
remember—he was obviously too badly injured to continue in the Regiment.

“We did.” He raised his glass in a toast. “Here’s to the Fifth, and may they get shit-faced in every town between here and Venice!”

“I’m sure they will,” Hofmann said, and they clunked their ill-made tankards together. Hofmann didn’t drink all that deeply in the toast, but Rudolph pretended not to notice, fishing a bit of imagined dross out of his froth. “You are going home?” Hofmann continued. “That would be Berlin? Or will you go straight to your estate?”

“The doctor advised Berlin, to seek further medical advice. Just what I need, eh? More quacks. I have to say, sir, you have the advantage of me,” Rudolph said with a sigh. “I can’t get used to the fact that people I think are strangers know so much about me, and yet I know nothing of them.”

In other circumstances he’d rather like to get to know Hofmann a little better. His dark blue eyes were dead, and if Rudolph would have ascribed any emotion to them it would be sorrow. He hadn’t seen the young man smile properly yet, and yet he’d love to see that handsome face lighten and laugh, or perhaps even…

No
. He pushed the very thought of that away. He’d been faithful to Ernst for so long. He wasn’t going to be tripped up by sad blue eyes when he was finally on his way home. On his way back to Ernst.

“It must be very confusing,” Hofmann said without looking up.

“To put it mildly.” After a small, awkward pause, he ventured, “If you would be so kind, would you share something of your knowledge of me…with me? I didn’t get the opportunity to speak to many of the officers before they moved on, and if they said anything useful, I’m afraid I’ve lost it already. That night was rather raucous.”

Rudolph hated to have to ask, but to know that this young man knew about his life, even a little—when there was this blankness where they said two whole years should be—was becoming more and more frustrating with every minute. He couldn’t even remember how he got to this Godforsaken country, couldn’t remember the reason why his country was at war. He wasn’t surprised—Prussia was challenged a great deal—but not to even remember this particular conflict was hard. It was easier, by far, to ask a fellow officer, or a man who had been one, than it was to show this particular weakness to his batman. That would never do.

Hofmann still didn’t look up. “What is it that you particularly want to know, Rittmeister von Ratzlaff?”

“I do know that I don’t want you to call me by my rank,” Rudolph said, with a touch of irritation. “As far as my memory serves me, I’m not a rittmeister—I don’t remember being promoted. There are many questions I could have asked von…” He struggled for the name. Even names he knew well came hard to him now, it seemed. “…Tümpling, but…”

“It’s all right,” Hofmann said, quietly. “I understand.” The tension in the young man appeared to lessen, just a little, like an owner who’s been holding his breath while his horse thunders down the final straight.

“Well.” Hofmann paused and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as if choosing what to say. “I joined the Regiment about eighteen months ago. You were my superior officer.”

“Where did we meet?”

Again, Hofmann paused. “We were introduced in Danzig. The day I arrived at the Regiment. I’m afraid we got a little drunk.” He smiled then, for the first time without any tension in his face. Rudolph could see that the memory Hofmann had was a good one. He wished he could share it, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall ever having been to Danzig in his life. Some regimental night, was it, then? The night they met? It seemed so.

“I don’t doubt it. What memories I do have of regimental dinners are clouded because of the quantities of
schnaps
, rather than a blow to the head. Was it a good evening?”

“Yes. You won a large amount of money at cards. We met at the card table, in fact, and then you walked with me to my billet. After that we met frequently, and I’m sorry you don’t recall the occasions.” Hofmann leaned back in his chair and gave a brittle smile. “You are good company, sir.”

“Damn it, call me Ratzlaff.”

“As you wish.” Hofmann inclined his head a fraction. “I’m returning north myself. Which way are you planning to go?”

“I was just complaining to Goertz—that’s my batman—damn, you already know that, don’t you?” Hofmann nodded and Rudolph continued, “About the lack of railways. So it seems I have two choices—to hire a carriage or to ride to Dresden, then take the train to Berlin. The two are about as far, and the prospects just as damnable. The field medic advised against riding, but I’ll be damned if I’ll shutter myself up in a carriage for a hundred leagues like some feeble woman.”

Hofmann gave another secretive smile but this time he said, “You’re sounding more like your old self, at least. But surely if the doctor advises that a further fall could be fatal—”

“You’ve known me, you say, for a good while. You must therefore be aware of my riding ability. Have I ever fallen from my horse—whilst sober? I don’t count this damnable accident. The horse was more than likely exhausted.”

“To be honest, I don’t remember you falling from your horse even while drunk,” Hofmann replied. “Which is more than I can say. I’ve envied your ability in that direction for a long time.”

“Doctors know nothing.” Rudolph called for more drinks and grinned at his new-yet-old acquaintance. “Now, tell me more about me.”

That afternoon and evening became easier the more Mathias drank. He didn’t allow himself to become as drunk as his host, for he was too nervous that he might let his true feelings show, and if Rudolph now did not find him as instantly attractive as once he did, then Mathias was not going to push the issue. That first night in Danzig it had seemed as natural as breathing to fall together, link arms and know that by the end of a short walk they would be lovers. But now, faced with a Rudolph who didn’t even appear to know his own mind, let alone his sexual preferences—or so it seemed, for his eye never glanced about as it once had—Mathias would not—would never—make the first move. Rudolph seemed be almost entirely changed, but then he’d never known Rudolph as anything but a lover. He had no idea what Rudolph might have been like as the commander of a young Oberleutnant Hofmann and nothing closer. To be kept at arm’s length was almost unbearable.

He made up his mind to offer his company as far north as Rudolph would let him go, and to let the dice fall where they may. Maybe along the route something might jolt loose, and the lost memories might come tumbling back. Perhaps one day he’d look in Rudolph’s eyes and in them would be the familiar sense of love, affection and comradeship, the deepest and most masculine of qualities.

He had to hope it would return.
Or what else do I have?
If they had been outcasts of society, at least they would have been together. To be so alone was a much more daunting prospect, but outcast was what he was. The army would not take him back, and with no reference from his commanding officer, he’d be lucky if he could get any decent employment in Prussia.
If I must go away alone, then it must be, but I’ll try everything I can, short of flinging myself into his arms, where I’m clearly not required at present.

As the evening wore on, Mathias shared a few of the more socially acceptable memories with Rudolph—how they’d learned of a shared interest in chess, and how Rudolph had stopped him buying a chestnut mare, spotting her nasty expression, potentially troublesome four white feet and her lightning-fast ability to kick sideways. Mathias had been glad to leave her alone, despite her flashy looks and apparent endless pedigree. He told him how well their voices went together in song, and a dozen other reminiscences.

All the while he searched Rudolph’s face for any sign that he might have some recollection of the stories being told, that they might be familiar and not just stories, but nothing seemed to penetrate the fog of Rudolph’s mind, even though Rudolph clearly enjoyed each and every tale. Mathias told himself not to despair, that it was only the first day. There were many more days in the journey to come.

“My plans are rather fluid,” Mathias finally said, when it appeared Rudolph was happy to accept him as a new friend. “I’m not sure whether I need to go as far as Berlin. But I would be happy to join you until I have to leave—if you wish?”

“I’d be more than happy!” Rudolph said with his typical wholehearted enthusiasm. Mathias could not help but be reminded it was this trait that had helped him fall so much in love with the man. The pain of not being able to touch him in secret, the way he used to, was excruciating. “I can’t tell you how little I was looking forward to endless leagues with nothing but Goertz complaining to break the monotony. That makes my mind up, though—we’ll go via Dresden rather than Prague. I have some horribly dull relatives in Prague who I wouldn’t inflict upon anyone—relatives of my wife, I should say. Oh!” He fumbled in his jacket, where Mathias knew he had a secret pocket sewn for his most personal possessions. “Here’s a likeness of her—and the children—”

Mathias went cold. There was indeed a likeness of Rudolph’s beloved in that pocket—
how could I forget that until now?
—but it was an intimate, erotic portrait of himself, done by a old and trusted friend—and given to Rudolph on his previous birthday. “It’s all right,” he said hurriedly, as Rudolph took the daguerreotype from his jacket. “You’ve shown me them before.”

It was a wicked thing to say, and he hated lying, for Rudolph had never shown him pictures of his family, but he didn’t know what the shock of seeing that portrait might do to Rudolph’s mind. But Rudolph just smiled and placed the daguerreotype down on the table between them.

Unbelieving, Mathias stared down at the picture and picked it up, trying not to let his hands shake. His vision blurred as he looked at it, or pretended to, and he smiled with as much enthusiasm as he could as he handed it back. “A fine family, sir. You must be very proud.” In truth he’d seen little more than a brown blur. Three figures were all he could make out, and he had not wanted to see more that that.

What in hell?
Had Rudolph truly had that photograph of his wife and children in his pocket together with his own? He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that from the day he’d given Rudolph the daguerreotype, it had lived in Rudolph’s pocket. He brought it out when they were alone, kissed it, compared it to the original. And Mathias had no doubt that when they were apart at night, which was most of the time, it kept Rudolph company when he could not.