Muffled Drum (6 page)

There had been no instant spark when he’d met young Hofmann in camp. Granted he’d found him handsome enough—he wasn’t blind. But he had Ernst, and his lover’s dark beauty eclipsed blonds every time. Hofmann’s easy-mannered, honest-looking bone structure couldn’t compare to the startling shape of Ernst’s face, a man whom none—male or female—could ever ignore. But when Hofmann stripped off, Rudolph had found himself staring at the pale, creamy flesh, the shape of the muscles beneath the skin of his arms, and the clusters of bright gold hair on his chest and felt dazzled with the sight. It had been hard to tear his eyes away.

Under his breath, Rudolph cursed his predilections. If he had to be struck with temptation, then why couldn’t it have been some pretty Bohemian hostler or bootblack? Some young man upon whom to slake his desire and leave behind, thankful for a few coins. Ernst would never know, and surely, for all the petty jealousy Ernst showed when Rudolph was in Berlin, he couldn’t seriously expect Rudolph to be entirely celibate when on campaign. But no, instead of a quick, torrid coupling with some country lad, or a well-met whore fucked hard into the mattress, he had discovered—like a lightning bolt from a clear sky—that he found Hofmann attractive and very desirable.

Damn it.
He punctuated the thought with a violent punch to the fence, only to give himself a splinter in the process.

Perhaps it would be better to make some excuse. “I’m in a hurry, Hofmann, so I’m sure you won’t mind…” or “My wife will be expecting me, and…” That sounded weak even in his own mind. His wife had been telegraphed of his approach, but she knew well enough he wouldn’t race back into her arms. They had done their duty to the inheritance and Rudolph had no inclination to share his wife’s bed, and his wife knew this—and the reasons why.

More clattering hooves sounded and he turned on his heel to see another batch of riders trot smartly past. They spotted him by the side of the road and the lead rider, a pockmarked leutnant, signaled to the troop to stop. With a smart salute, the leutnant edged his horse out of line with expert handling. “Are you in need of assistance, sir?”

“As you were, Leutnant,” Rudolph said. “No, it’s perfectly all right, but thank you for stopping. It’s good to know that had I been in need, you would have been on hand to help.” He kept it light, aware the leutnant might possibly suspect him of desertion, although he was a cheeky pup if that was what he
did
assume. “I’m delayed at the inn, but am on my way home. I won’t ask where you’re going, although I feel I can guess. You aren’t the first contingent through here today.”

“Nor the last, although I didn’t say that, sir.”

“Of course.” He bowed almost imperceptibly. “Thank you for your concern, and give Rittmeister von Ratzlaff’s—of the Fifth—respects to your commanding officer. Perhaps afterward we’ll meet in Dresden, or better still, Berlin.”

“As you say, sir.” The leutnant touched his horse with his knee and wheeled back into place. With another sharp salute, he took the lead, and the entire troop clattered through the ford. Rudolph watched them until they turned the bend and vanished from sight before he turned back toward the inn and the problems therein.

He’d just have to deal with this infernal and unexpected attraction. It was more than likely that Hofmann was only interested in women—most men were, after all. But again—and he cursed his memory for its black curtain over every aspect of Hofmann and the past two years—perhaps Hofmann did know about him? He had confided to other men in the past, and from Hofmann’s stories it did seem that they had spent a lot of time together, so perhaps he did know.

He would watch their conversations more carefully in the next few days. Perhaps Hofmann would give some kind of indication. It was hardly the kind of thing one could bring up in the cold, sober light of day. Perhaps they should get drunk…perhaps…
No. That’s probably not a good idea.
His loins warmed at just the thought of kissing Hofmann’s mouth, eager and open and tasting of
schnaps
and welcome.
Not a good idea at all. Ernst is already one complication too many, Rudolph
, he thought savagely, pushing the lust away from him.

He felt a need to see Ernst’s face and determined to find his lover’s daguerreotype at the first available opportunity. Something had gone wrong, and he assumed it was his memory that was to blame. Once Ernst’s portrait had been kept close to his skin. He could not for the life of him recall why he no longer had it on his person, and why his wife’s picture was in that pocket, a place he was damned sure he had never put it. Or had he?

Anger at his own inability to remember anything useful caused his head to throb, and he was glad to get back into the cool of the inn, out of the glare of the Bohemian sun.

“There you go, sir,” Goertz said, as he finished bandaging Mathias’s arm. “That’ll hold you until Dresden at least, if not longer. Not a bad bit of handiwork, if I say so myself. We’ll just keep an eye on the skin and put them little wrigglers into use if they’re needed.”

“Thank you,” Mathias said. The bandage was tighter than the one Becher had put on, and restricted the movement in his arm and shoulder quite considerably, but that was all for the good. Keeping the wound still would mean it was less likely to split the stitches.

“Try to sleep on your back,” Goertz said, tidying the table away. The man’s big wrinkled face seemed to be fighting with several emotions at once, and then he spoke again. “I’m going to say something to you now that I wouldn’t and couldn’t say to the rittmeister, and I wouldn’t say it to you neither if you was in uniform, but seeing as I’m only an infantry man, and you’re a civilian, his welfare is my job, so to speak. I have to say, leave him alone, sir.”

Mathias was almost too shocked to do more than to stare at Goertz in disbelief. He struggled for words but none came out.

“Just that. Leave him be. None of us know what his memory will do, and the doctor said that too much back at once could be worse than too little. I’ve been with that man, and his father before him, for thirty years, give or take, and he’s the nearest thing to family I’ve got. I don’t want him destroyed, Herr Hofmann. And you could do that, even without meaning to do it. He’s got enough problems of his own, what with his wife an’ all. Just let him alone.”

The anger boiled up in Mathias as if someone had lit a fire in his soul, every sinew trembling in fury. If Goertz had been any sort of equal, Mathias would have called him out then and there, regardless of injury. As it was, such a course was impossible so he swallowed what he could of his temper and glared back at the man.

It was clear that Goertz no longer considered him a superior, and looking back at how taciturn Goertz had always been, Mathias wondered if he’d always felt this way. He’d assumed—mostly because Rudolph had assured him of it—that Goertz had no idea of the true nature of their relationship, but now it seemed that they had both been deluding themselves.

“Oh, I know you’re angry at me, sir.” Goertz stood up, his face softening a little, his voice hushed so the innkeeper, who was busy cleaning windows at the other end of the bar, couldn’t hear. “But I know you know I mean well.”

Mathias swallowed, galled to be in this position. “I would rather cut off my other arm than cause that man any harm,” he said, judging that was innocuous enough.

“As I say, you wouldn’t mean to do it. I knows you well enough for that, sir. But he don’t know you from a hole in the ground, and where he’s going, back home and Berlin, that’s just as well. You ain’t never been there, have you?”

Mathias shook his head.

“No, I didn’t think so. He travels in circles there that a man like you—begging your pardon, sir—wouldn’t fit well in.”

“I’m hardly a beggar, Goertz,” Mathias spat. “And you know he hates that world.”

Goertz gave him a level, appraising look. “But two years ago,” he said, darkly, “he didn’t hate it quite so much. And that’s where he is now, ain’t he? In his head? And if you come with him, you’ll find out why he didn’t. I can’t stop you, sir, and as I say, I won’t say nothing to the rittmeister, but if you think anything of him at all, leave him at Dresden. Don’t go to Berlin.”

Mathias was silent for a long while. “I’ll think about what you’ve said. And if he…” He was going to say one thing but changed his mind, giving himself a loophole. “If things haven’t changed by the time we get to Dresden, and I’m still a stranger to him, then I’ll do as you say.”

If Goertz noticed the loophole Mathias had given himself, then he gave no sign of it. “Fair enough,” he said. “Can’t say fairer than that.” The door opened and Rudolph came back in, blinking a little as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, and Goertz passed him, saying, “I’ll see to them horses now, sir. Doubt they’ll have a boy here who’ll want to handle that brute of yours.”

Mathias stood. “I’ll be ready to leave soon.”

Despite Mathias’s hope that Rudolph would suggest staying overnight, Rudolph simply nodded, his face almost entirely blank except for the smallest of frown lines between his eyes. “That’s good. We should push on. The sooner we can get on the other side of Dresden, the happier I’ll be.”

Mathias nodded. He had no intention of leaving Rudolph in Dresden, no matter what Goertz said. The man’s revelations had more than surprised him, they’d staggered him. Since Rudolph and he had become friends and lovers, Goertz had shown no antagonism to their friendship, but then he hadn’t ever spoken privately to him, either.

He dressed himself slowly, refusing an offer of help from Rudolph, who then called for a drink. “Just time for one to warm us on our way,” he said.

As Mathias buttoned himself up, he mulled over the information he now had. The knowledge that Goertz was an old family retainer to the von Ratzlaffs was new—it explained the obvious concern the man had for Rudolph…and yet…Mathias paused a moment as he shrugged on his jacket. He suddenly had a damned good idea who had substituted his own likeness for that of Frau von Ratzlaff, and it was not a good thought. The notion that that particular daguerreotype was now—possibly—in unsafe hands was unsettling at the very least.

Mathias seemed to have made an enemy without knowing it. It was vital he obtained that picture back from Goertz
before
the batman realized Mathias had no intention of keeping his word about leaving Rudolph.

They made a few leagues’ progress that afternoon and stopped at Turnov, where the inn was not quite so battered and the townspeople were not quite so distrustful. Despite Rudolph’s hope that Mathias would spend the evening with him, the man excused himself after dinner, went to his room and was not seen again that night. Rudolph, finding no one interesting in the bar, and not wishing to traverse an unknown town alone, did the same, trying not to think of Mathias on the other side of the wall.

As the days passed, relations between the two of them slowly began to thaw. Mathias proved a little difficult to get to know, but the more he found out about him, the more he found himself liking him. The attraction he felt still lingered, even though he’d tried to push it away, trying to convince himself it was nothing more than a lack of sexual activity. It had been too long—although he wasn’t entirely sure
how
long—since he’d had Ernst where he wanted him, naked and sweating and crying his name.

Ernst.
He would not be at rest until he had seen Ernst, for he would settle down this sexual frustration, that was certain. And the longer Ernst was alone, with money enough to support his taste for luxury, the more likely he was to get into trouble. Even from the beginning Rudolph had known starting a relationship with Ernst Fetter was a rash decision. The man’s reputation had preceded him, and what Rudolph had heard of him prior to his arrival in Berlin had been little to the good. A dark butterfly, some had called him. Others had been less complimentary in their description.

From what Rudolph had gathered from those willing to share the information, Ernst had been the favorite of a Major Hassen in Vienna. Apparently many knew what their true relationship had been, and according to the gossip, Ernst’s previous protector had felt badly used. Rudolph knew little more than that. What was the truth of it all, how and why that relationship had severed, Rudolph had never found out. Ernst said he’d grown bored of Hassen, but in that, Rudolph only had Ernst’s word.

For Rudolph, encountering the exotic, doe-eyed Ernst had been a revelation. From their first meeting at the house of a mutual friend, Rudolph had been enraptured. Entirely smitten, like a subaltern in love with his first ballet dancer. Ernst even behaved as a conquest should—he had repelled Rudolph’s advances. Rudolph had naturally assumed the man was entangled elsewhere, and when he found he wasn’t, he was furious that Ernst appeared not to be interested.

After that he laid siege to Ernst at every available opportunity, courting him as would the most passionate admirer, haunting his steps and lavishing him with trinkets and his favorite ginger pastries. In the weeks of this courtship, Ernst had never once allowed Rudolph farther than the doorstep of his accommodation, a lowly tenement in the Mitte district. But one night, in Rudolph’s carriage as Rudolph sat beside Ernst, he’d slid his hand between Rudolph’s legs and whispered so sensually into his ear that Rudolph could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “You’ll come in?” he’d asked. “Just for a while?”

“Forever,” Rudolph had muttered, mad with lust, and had pulled Ernst toward him for the kiss he’d been so desperate for.

“Not here,” Ernst had said. “Wealth may protect
your
reputation, but it will not save mine.”

Inside, Rudolph lost all restraint. The moment the door closed and Ernst melted into his arms, Rudolph claimed him with everything he had. Ernst’s clothes were torn from his body and, when Ernst, his lips bruised from Rudolph’s kisses, complained at this treatment, Rudolph had fancifully promised he would keep Ernst clothed in golden
vereinsthaler
. A suit of coins that Ernst could snip away to keep himself for the rest of this life.

“You’ll have no complaints for clothes,” he murmured, peeling Ernst to his skin, “but you’ll not need them for a while, at least. And after that you’ll want for nothing. I promise you.”

He remembered that first time with Ernst as if it had been yesterday, the way Ernst felt in his arms, the surprising lightness of him as he lifted him up and threw him onto the bed. The way Ernst’s legs had wrapped around his waist, and the low moan of pain and pleasure Ernst had given the first moment Rudolph had driven between his arse cheeks and buried himself in his hot flesh. God alone knew what neighbors Ernst had, or what they’d thought, as Rudolph drove Ernst against wall after wall, then the floor, then on a wood-wormed bed which had collapsed under the onslaught.

Even now, Rudolph could recall that night. The taste of his mouth, the scent of his pomade…
but no…that’s not right. Ernst never wears pomade, his hair needs no control…
Rudolph shook his head, cursing his mind, which seemed to be as full of holes as a bullet-riddled Austrian.

Hofmann’s voice broke through his reverie. “Are you quite well? Your head pains you?”

“No, just my blasted mind playing tricks on me.”

“The doctor warned that it might be difficult.”

“The doctor should try smacking himself around the head with a cart and see how well
he
does,” Rudolph growled, pushing forward into a trot.

At Rudolph’s insistence, they moved faster than Mathias thought was safe, but despite his misgivings, they made better time than he’d anticipated, and they entered Dresden a full day earlier than originally planned. The city seemed filled with uniformed men, and the streets buzzed with a sense of suppressed excitement. Already Mathias and Rudolph had heard the news of the decisive victory at Koeniggratz. The Austrian army had scattered, and it was generally thought that the war was all but over. With such enthusiasm from the people, Mathias could hardly be surprised at the general euphoria that seemed to travel toward them in waves. Rudolph in particular—wearing a uniform—had many greetings from bystanders, cheers of support and “God bless you, sirs” from passersby.

“It will be difficult to stay sober here,” Rudolph said as they negotiated their way through the crowd. “But I’d rather not stay longer than it takes to get the horses transported. You don’t mind, do you? You
are
still coming to Berlin?”

Mathias was aware of the clip-clop of Goertz’s ride behind them. “I haven’t decided, not altogether.”

Rudolph fell silent for a while, and finally Mathias looked sideways at him. His erstwhile lover’s face gave no indication as to whether he was concerned at Mathias’s reply or not. But it was the one expression that gave Mathias hope, and one Mathias was thrilled to see. The blank, shut-off look Rudolph wore now was the face Mathias had seen him assume so many times when he was denying his feelings and emotions. The very fact he was pretending not to care one way or the other meant more to Mathias than anything else.

There was no way he would heed Goertz now. He was staying, no matter what.

The first thing Rudolph insisted on doing was finding a doctor, who cleaned Mathias’s wounds and pronounced them on the way to recovery, with no need for further interference.

“As neat a job of stitching as I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Leave them open to the air now, let them dry out and you’ll do fine. Leave a nice scar of course, but something you can show off to the ladies—and your children, eh?” The doctor laughed heartily as he washed his hands, and Mathias joined in, dutifully.

They put themselves up at a small but elegant rooming house near the station. The very one they’d stayed in once before, although Rudolph showed no sign of remembering the place. Once their luggage was safely installed, Goertz was dispatched to arrange for the horses’ transportation to Berlin.

Knowing he’d likely not get another chance, Mathias took advantage of Goertz’s absence, and when both he and Rudolph had settled in and were going down for dinner, Mathias excused himself with having left his wallet in the room.

“You don’t need it,” Rudolph said.

“Oh, I know, but we might go out somewhere, you never know…I’d feel happier.” He turned and trotted back up the stairs before Rudolph could say any more. He waited for a moment or two at the top, in case Rudolph had decided to follow him, and when he didn’t, he let himself into his room and then through the adjoining door into Rudolph’s.

Rudolph’s bag was on the bed, and he went to open it, and then stopped himself. It felt entirely wrong to search Rudolph’s possessions.
And anyway, it wouldn’t be in here. If Goertz has taken it, he wouldn’t put it back in Rudolph’s bag. That means he’s either got it on his person, in which case I’m sunk, or…

He looked around the room and spotted Goertz’s battered saddlebag propped up against the wall. He felt no compunction about searching Goertz’s bag. With deft fingers he worked his way through the bag, trying as best as he could to leave things as they were. Goertz, like any batman, was obsessively tidy and would easily notice anything out of place.

It wasn’t among his papers and not tucked away in his spare boots. Mathias was sure, then, that the man had the picture with him—it was the safest place, after all—but as he was about to give up, his fingers grazed something against the lining of the bag. There was an envelope hidden in a small rip in the leather, and he pulled it out.
Success
. There in the envelope lay his own likeness, artfully naked for all the world to see—or at least for Rudolph and Goertz to see, which for Mathias was one person too many.

As he pulled the daguerreotype from the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket, relieved to have it back, a second, smaller image dropped out onto the floor. Mathias picked it up, intending to place it back immediately, but stopped at the sight of an extremely handsome young man, fully clothed, with dark hair and eyes that only had one message, and that was “come to bed.”

Mathias raised his eyebrows. Who was this? Oh God, surely not Goertz’s fancy piece? The thought stunned him for a moment. He wasn’t sure of Goertz’s preferences, had really not wanted to know, in fact—just the thought of the surly, scarred man naked in bed with
anyone
was enough to put one off one’s own stroke, as it were—but now he came to think of it, he’d never seen Goertz with anyone, male or female. And it made sense that a man who trusted his secrets to his batman was more likely to trust them to a batman with the same tastes, when it came down to it.

But…Mathias stared openmouthed at the extremely handsome man in the picture. He turned the picture over.
With love, Ernst
was written on the back in faded ink. He turned to look at the likeness again. What on earth did Goertz have to attract such a beauty as this?

Mathias gave an involuntary snort of laughter. “Well, it certainly isn’t looks or money,” he said quietly, putting the picture back where he’d found it. “So you must have something else the pretty boys like. Well, well, well. Goertz, you do surprise me. It’s true that it’s the quiet ones you have to look out for, and no mistake.”

Still with a smile on his face he hurried to put things back where he found them and made his way downstairs, not forgetting to take his wallet with him. He wished he could share what he’d found with Rudolph, for he doubted that his friend knew about Goertz’s pretty boy. No doubt Rudolph would find it as amusing as he did, but he decided to keep Goertz’s secret.
Perhaps that will make him think a little more kindly of me, when he finds out that I’ve not only taken my picture back but have seen his too
. He made a mental note, however, never to look at Goertz’s groin. Whatever monster he had lurking there, Mathias really didn’t want to know.

He was therefore the picture of innocence when Goertz returned. Luckily, the batman told them, there was a stock train passing that evening and he and the horses had been booked onto it. So by the time Mathias and Rudolph settled down for a comfortable dinner in the hotel, Goertz and the six horses were already on their way north, and Mathias felt a lot happier with the man absent.

“How long since you were in Berlin, Hofmann?” Rudolph asked over the port.

“I was never there. I told you last night, remember?” The words slipped out before he could hold them in.
And I told you several times before that too.
He was beginning to be seriously concerned that not only was his lover not going to recover his memories but would be forever unable to retain new information. How would he function in his life like that? He’d be no good in society, in politics, even behind a desk in the army. He’d be no use for anything except a country retirement. And how he’d hate that.

Rudolph looked down at his glass. “Ah. Forgive me.”

Mathias’s heart gave a lurch of empathy. How much anguish there must be in those few words for a man like Rudolph, and for a moment Mathias understood just how frustrating and frightening it must be for his friend. “Call me Mathias…Rudolph? Will you? You know we’ve been friends, so let us get back to that familiarity. Perhaps it will help.”

For a moment Mathias wondered if it would help if he made advances to Rudolph, especially now Goertz was out of the way. Perhaps it would jolt something loose. The only things stopping him were the risk of being rejected and the fear of what the medic had said, that a shock could cause permanent damage. Both fears were as bad as each other. He could ride along ragtag at Rudolph’s skirts forever, he was sure. Pretend to be nothing better than a friend, if it meant he could stay close to him. But to be rejected, and to have no choice but to leave him forever? He didn’t know if he was ready to take that risk.

Rudolph brightened for a brief second. “Yes. I think that would suit me…Mathias. Thank you. I want you to know,” he added, “it saddens me that I remember nothing of our time together. I don’t miss the unpleasant things I’m sure must have happened—I’m sure I’ve lost many people I knew. Friends, men in my command, died under the enemy’s fire. One day perhaps those sadnesses will return to me and I’ll wish they had stayed away. But I’m sure we’ve had good times, if half your stories are true.”

With a grin he didn’t really feel, Mathias raised his glass. “I swear they were all true. We’ll make plenty of new ones.”

They drank heavily that night. Neither of them were light drinkers at the best of times, but provisions had been scarce on the road and they made up for it. It was as if both men knew that once they arrived in Berlin things would change for both of them—even though Mathias couldn’t see that far ahead.