Muffled Drum (7 page)

At first they drank alone, and when they became noisy and began to sing, they were joined by soldiers at the bar, and then, when the group became noisier still, by soldiers from the street. It was so much like old times that Mathias could almost imagine their old colleagues from the Fifth around them. The two of them sang regimental songs and gradually other men joined in, soldiers all, beautifully united in sound.

Mathias let the moment wash over him as he listened to the voices and feasted his eyes on Rudolph, who was always magnificent when drinking, even when entirely in his cups. His voice was deep and clear, and he’d obviously forgotten none of the words. His glossy moustache quivered with every movement of his lips. Mathias found it hard not to reach out and trace his fingers over that moustache, the way he used to when they were alone together.

Eventually the party broke up and, when there was almost only themselves left in the bar, Mathias struggled to his feet, hardly able to keep his eyes open. Rudolph followed suit and arm-in-arm they staggered upstairs, with Rudolph breaking into song every few steps. Mathias’s mind, muddled with drink, let himself step inside Rudolph’s room—and it felt so right, so natural—but when Rudolph turned a surprised look upon him, as if completely confused as to why he was there, Mathias passed it off with a laugh and said, “Must be more drunk than I realized. Don’t have to share a billet now.”

He gave a short bow and left, wishing he’d been a lot more drunk. Drunk enough to just kiss the man, or damned well drunk enough not to care one way or the other.

Rudolph woke in an unfamiliar bed, the scents around him unknown.
Not a tent, where the devil—
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and in the dark they knocked against what must have been a side table. Something went clattering to the floor and, when he tried to stand, a lancing spear of pain shot through his foot.
Glass. Oh, God.

“Shit! Goertz!” he called. “Goertz! Where the fuck are you, man?”

Where the fuck am I?

He fell backward to where he was sure the bed was and nearly missed even that, banging his arse against the bed frame. “Shit!
Goertz!
”

The door opened, and the figure in the candlelight of the hall was outlined but not recognizable. “He’s not here, Rudolph. He’s taken the horses on to Berlin. You remember?”

“No…yes…oh, damn it.” Rudolph closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing the panic of the unknown away. “Hofmann. Of course.”

“Stay put, man, the floor’s covered in glass. And we’d decided on first names.” Mathias made his way into the room, picked up the candlestick and went back to light the candles from the lamps outside. When he returned, bringing blessed light with him, he kicked aside the larger pieces of glass with his boot. “Where are your slippers—ah…” He retrieved them from the other side of the bed and made his way back to Rudolph. Examining Rudolph’s bleeding foot, he swore softly, put the candle down on the side table. “Wait there.”

The order made Rudolph smile. He examined the damage to his foot. It didn’t seem bad enough to need Goertz’s untender ministrations, thankfully.
Where was the man? Horses. Berlin. Yes.
He cursed himself for being a drunken fool. In a few minutes, he’d gathered his thoughts together, remembered the night before, remembered where he was and felt less rattled.
No wonder von Tümpling thought I was a damned liability
.
Panicking like a frightened woman in the dark.

He’d got himself back under control by the time Mathias reappeared but was almost entirely undone when he saw the man was wearing nothing but a nightgown—somehow his brain had not registered that fact the last time he’d entered the room. The fabric billowed and clung to his frame, giving tantalizing hints of the delights beneath the thin linen.

Mathias sat on the bed and, without preamble, pulled Rudolph’s foot onto his lap. Rudolph had a brief and pleasant sensation of the heat of Mathias’s skin against his cold heel, then winced as Mathias poured some chilled liquid over the cut. “The last of our
schnaps,
” he said, bandaging the heel. “We’ll need some more for the train.”

He was silent as he completed the task, and Rudolph watched him, unobserved. The candlelight touched the edges of his golden hair, and the expression on his face was one of such concern that Rudolph wondered if his young comrade was struggling under the same attraction he himself was fighting. Was Mathias developing feelings for his erstwhile commander? Half of Rudolph hoped it might be the case, but he knew all too well the problems a dalliance would bring to them both.

Rudolph’s reverie was interrupted only when Mathias carefully placed Rudolph’s foot onto the floor. “I’d advise you put the slippers on before standing up again,” he said.

“I don’t think I’ll try standing just yet.”

“Will you be all right? Perhaps I should stay for a while. No
schnaps
left, though.”

“It was the drink that caused the problems,” Rudolph said. “You’d think I’d been drunk in enough strange places by now not to panic about waking in the dark.” He tried to make it sound light, happier to blame the drink than his confused mind, but he knew he’d failed when Mathias’s face darkened with worry and he sat on the bed.

“That’s what happened? The doctor said there would likely be some disorientation.”

“Bloody man was right for the first time in his life then, damn him.”

“You never did get on with him.”

“Number of times he swore to me that men would pull through and didn’t,” Rudolph growled. “Bastard.”

“It’s better to give hope,” murmured Mathias.

“I don’t agree.”

“I know,” Mathias said, his voice almost inaudible as he turned his face away. “I’ll leave you to it, then. See you—”

Suddenly, almost like a reflex, like something he’d already done a hundred times before, Rudolph had taken Mathias’s hand, and Mathias hadn’t moved. The man seemed almost to have stopped breathing. He was very carefully not looking at Rudolph, keeping his eyes on the floor, but he hadn’t taken his hand away. Rudolph turned the hand over, traced the calluses with a finger and brought the palm to his mouth and gently kissed it.

Something like a sough of pain escaped Mathias, and Rudolph looked up in surprise. Mathias’s eyes were closed, and a muscle in his cheek clenched as if he were fighting for control. “
Rudolph
,” he said, and his voice sounded broken.

It was the voice of a man fighting himself—and the most arousing thing Rudolph had ever heard. He dropped Mathias’s hand, gripped the man’s chin and kissed him, kissed him the way he’d been longing to do for days now. Mathias’s lips opened and pushed back greedily, his tongue surging into Rudolph’s mouth. Where Mathias pressed the advantage, Rudolph fought back, and so as they pushed toward each other, their breathing became deep and heavy. It became a battle between them, each man fighting for every inch of space, attempting to gain the advantage, each giving no quarter. It was hot and violent, and for Rudolph, it felt like he was unleashing every bit of fear and desperation, as if he were kissing out the frustrations of never being able to keep his thoughts straight.

It felt right, so right. There was fire in Mathias’s kiss, unexpected and delightful. The restraint his friend had shown over the past few days had dropped away. There was no doubt at all of his intention or his desires. Mathias’s hand slid under Rudolph’s nightshirt and between his legs, moving upward to rub at his balls before moving on to grasp his cock.

God. So…good.

Heat coursed through Rudolph’s balls, and his cock rose, tenting the linen. Mathias took advantage of the smallest of gaps in Rudolph’s attention and urged him back onto the bed, scrambling up to rest over him and continuing the kiss, only this time their cocks nudged at each other, each touch a torment and a delight. Mathias’s hips rose and fell as he moved to graze his cock against Rudolph’s, the cool touch of the nightshirts somehow heightening and teasing in a way Ernst would never have thought of…he should tell him…

Ernst.

“No.” He pushed Mathias off, no easy task, for the man was heavy and their limbs had become entangled. “No, no. I can’t. I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten.” Breathing heavily, he lay on his side for a moment, then rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I should not have. Mathias, you must forget this. I was mad. The memory. How could I forget?” He couldn’t tell Mathias he’d forgotten everything in the blaze of that kiss, that what was left of his brain had melted away for those minutes when their lips and skins touched. And that he’d do it again,
wanted
to do it again, but for one dark-eyed man who stood between them. “It was unforgivable.”

It was clear to Rudolph that Mathias’s passion, slow to kindle into life, was not so easily quenched, for he slid across the bed, taking Rudolph in his arms again. “No. Not unforgivable. Don’t stop.” He kissed Rudolph’s neck in a way that made him shudder with renewed want.

With every ounce of willpower he possessed—and God alone knew he didn’t have much left—he pushed himself to his feet, away from Mathias’s embrace. “I must not,” he muttered. “I am…not free.”

Mathias’s laugh was short and bitter. “Oh God, Rudolph. Your wife? I’ve always known about her. This doesn’t touch her.”

Mathias reached a hand forward as if to demonstrate his point. In a second he would reach Rudolph’s thigh, and Rudolph knew he couldn’t resist another advance on his weakened and swiftly dissolving defenses.

“Not…my wife. I didn’t know you were—I thought, hoped, I could confide in you, but wasn’t sure. But—there is a…” Rudolph found it difficult to describe, becoming tangled up in what he was trying to say. “That is, I have…someone. A man. In Berlin. He’s been waiting for me, you see, since the last time I was there.”

Mathias’s hand dropped back to his side, as if he’d touched something that had severed every finger. His eyes widened, and even in the guttering candlelight Rudolph could see the shock making his skin pale. “What? I don’t believe you. Are you sure…?”

Rudolph’s anger breached his control, a blessed relief from the confusion of the past half hour. “Of course I’m fucking sure,” he growled. “Why is everything I say suspect because of one blow to the head? It’s a relief to tell you, in fact.”

But Mathias had turned away. “I’m sorry, Rudolph. I didn’t know.”

“How could you have done—although if we are friends…” He screwed his forehead and rubbed at his eyes. They’d been friends a long time, and yet he’d never once mentioned Ernst to him? “I should be the one to apologize. I started this.”

“Think nothing of it, Rudolph. I must look ridiculous. I certainly feel it.”

There was ice in Mathias’s voice, and Rudolph hardly blamed him for his tone. What he had done was unforgivable.
Unforgivable.

“I was sure I would have told you of him,” he said. “If we were such good friends, as you say.”

“Perhaps we weren’t as close as I thought.” The chill in Mathias’s voice was hard to hear.

“I’m happy to tell you—” But the second the words were out of his mouth, he realized he’d pushed Mathias one step too far.

“God, no,” Mathias said, with a look of disgust. “You must think little of me, indeed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t go.” It felt somehow important for Mathias to stay, although he didn’t know why.

“What is there to stay for? I think we’ve made fools enough of ourselves, and I’m not a man who appreciates being taken for a fool. Once is quite enough, thank you.” And he was gone without another word.

Mathias didn’t sleep. The shock of hearing of Rudolph’s “man in Berlin” had shaken him and made any rest impossible. He had not suspected it, not for one moment. The fact that they’d never discussed his wife had seemed perfectly natural. Mathias considered himself as a mistress, in a way, and perhaps some mistresses did discuss a man’s wife, but Mathias had never wished to and was thankful Rudolph rarely mentioned her. That Rudolph did not, Mathias assumed, was for the same reasons of sensibility—something he thought they had shared. It was a shock—another shock upon shocks—to find that perhaps Rudolph simply shut parts of himself away and concentrated on the present.

All this time? Could he really have had another man in Berlin all this time? It seemed almost unbelievable, because Rudolph had gone to and from Berlin many times in the months they’d been together, and Mathias had assumed—in fact Rudolph had implicitly
said
—he went for family and business reasons. To think he left the Regiment for those brief forays, slid into bed with another man and returned, all smiles and passion, to Mathias’s side was almost more than he could bear.

But it must be true. If Rudolph’s memory had lost these last two years, then this man must have been there all this time. Did this man know Rudolph kept another man in his regiment? How much did Rudolph change when he was with
him
—this shadowy rival—and did they laugh about the oh-so-stupid Mathias, who was waiting for his soldier to return? These and many other dark and self-destructive thoughts kept Mathias awake through the night.

In the morning he washed and made himself ready for the journey. He must—at the very least—discharge his duty to Rudolph’s wife. If that made things awkward between himself and Rudolph, then so be it. Mathias wasn’t above feeling a little vengeful, hoping Rudolph might find the journey tense and uncomfortable. Rudolph had made the first move, and he had been unfaithful in more ways than one. With a wry, mirthless grin, Mathias joined Rudolph for a joyless and taciturn breakfast before they set off for the train station.

As Mathias expected, the journey
was
uncomfortable. Due to their inability to procure a private first class compartment, they were forced to share a carriage with some minor officers and a few salesmen. Mathias found himself grateful for this small mercy. In a private compartment there would have been an opportunity to talk, even if it was of mundane things, but with a crowded carriage and many companions, any intimacy was entirely lost. Mathias had bought a copy of the Dresden newspaper and buried himself in it for the entire journey, only surfacing when asked a direct question by one of the others. He’d read the damned thing from cover to cover long before they arrived in Berlin, but he remained hidden behind it long after he needed to.

Finally the journey ended. They’d made good time, considering the disruption the war caused on the railways, only an hour later than expected. The men gathered their belongings together. One or two of their traveling companions pressed their cards upon Mathias and Rudolph. Mathias, who had no intention of seeing them again, was grateful not to have cards to return. Having been at the front, he used this as an excuse.

Then they were alone on the platform, and they had no further excuses not to speak to each other.

“Where are you going to be staying?” Mathias said, as they waited for their bags to be brought along the platform. “Your townhouse?”

“Not tonight,” Rudolph said. “I’ll go to the Grand, they know me there. I’ll send a message to the house and go tomorrow. You?”

“I’m afraid they
don’t
know me at the Grand,” Mathias said with a smile. “The bald gentleman who traveled in ladies’ shoes—” he did a passable imitation of one of their erstwhile train companions, “—suggested Wilka’s.”

“I don’t know it,” Rudolph said. “I could get you a room—”

“No,” Mathias said, swiftly cutting him off. “Thank you, Rudolph, but no. You’ve been generous enough.”

Rudolph took Mathias’s arm and steered him to the station wall, out of the way of the people walking by. With his voice too low to be overheard, he muttered urgently to Mathias. “You’ll not say goodbye to me like this. You’ll not. I don’t remember our friendship and I’ve said before now that I’m sorry for it, but that can’t be helped. I behaved badly, I know that. So let me do something to make it up to you.”

Mathias was silent for a long moment. Rudolph’s hand on his arm was warm and held him tightly. He’d have to push the man away to dislodge him, and he was too damned weak-willed to do that. He looked Rudolph in the eye. “I’m harder to shake off than you think. I won’t let you buy me an overpriced room, but all right. You can damned well show me a little of your world while I’m here.”

Rudolph grinned that damnable grin, irrepressible and boyish, his moustaches quivering as they did when he thought he’d won. “You’ll drown in champagne if I have anything to do with it. It’s Prince Karl’s birthday ball tonight, as that damned snob from the Seventh kept reminding us. He’s not the only one who can get an invitation. You can come to that and meet the not-so-great and the not-so-good from Berlin.”

“Rudolph, that’s preposterous, I haven’t got any evening dress. I’ve hardly got any clothes. I can’t wear my bloody uniform.”

“Then sell it. Go to Spiekerman’s on Holtzendorffstrasse. Tell them I sent you. They’ll give you a fair deal and find you something to wear.” Rudolph’s bag appeared and Rudolph shook Mathias’s hand, the handshake firm and vigorous. “Now, promise me. I’ll send your ticket and directions.”

Mathias knew he’d give in. When Rudolph wanted something, nothing stood in his way. He watched the man stride away and wished, not for the first time, that it was he who Rudolph truly wanted.

The ball was in full swing. The prince had arrived and had been greeted by any who were considered worthy to do so. He’d been correctly fawned over and kow-towed to as he worked his way down the line of attendees and, as far as Ernst was concerned, was holding everything up quite unnecessarily. As Prussian royalty went, Prince Karl was very minor, hardly more than an aristocrat, and not at all worth all the deference being given. Now that the dancing had finally begun, Ernst had installed himself in a position which gave him a view of the entire room, and was drinking with his best friend Wilhem Genz and a couple of toadies from Wilhem’s regiment.

Ernst loved Wilhem dearly, as long as too much attention wasn’t taken away from himself, and he regretted deeply that Wilhem didn’t share his own taste in the finer things in life—primarily the pleasure of the male body—but preferred the simpering and so obviously false attentions of the ladies. It was a wonder that Wilhem had remained single so long, as his income was decent enough to attract the fortune hunters.

Perhaps the thing that kept the ladies from sealing the deal was his friend’s affectation of carrying his runty white Pomeranian bitch with him wherever he went, even on horseback. He’d have to find a particularly accepting kind of girl who didn’t mind as much white hair over her décolletage as was currently coating Wilhem’s otherwise immaculate uniform. Ernst knew that Wilhem took the odious thing to bed with him, but that was less annoying than having it accompany them at occasions like this. When Wilhem danced, which was—thankfully—not that often, Ernst was pressed into holding the drooling monster unless someone else was available to take the duty. Ernst leaned against the wall, showing his long legs and discreet bulge to their best advantage, happy the two toadies had already been pressed into the duty of holding the dog. Ernst was more than pleased to note that both of their uniforms were already showing signs of unwanted white fluff.

Right now, Wilhem was caressing the dog himself, there was wine to be had, the most attractive men to ogle, and all was almost perfect in Ernst’s world. The wonderful thing about a ball was that one could watch the male partners spin around the floor, admire the tight, round arses and the flat muscled ones, spend time appreciating the length of leg and the superbly cut tailoring, and no one suspected what one was really looking at.

Two men in particular had caught Ernst’s roving eye. A skinny oberstleutnant with delicious muttonchops and the most ornate and mouthwatering uniform Ernst had ever seen. The ladies were wasting their time fluttering around
that
quarry. It was rumored that he’d smuggled a fortune back from Denmark during the Schleswig War. Ernst was curious about that. The other man—Helling—was a rotund and red-faced fellow from Dresden. Ernst knew of Helling’s reputation from a mutual friend, and of his tastes, all of which Ernst could cater to quite admirably. Still, looking at his two current choices, it was a shame they couldn’t be handsome as well. He hadn’t had a really attractive protector since Rudolph von Ratzlaff.

And after all this time, he hadn’t found a protector to equal Rudolph in all other ways. Oh, how he missed that man! How he missed the ability to walk into any shop and charge purchases to his account. Still, he was always on the lookout, and his current
bel-ami,
Pieter, was going to be replaced just as soon as Ernst found someone suitable to take over.

As if sensing his thoughts, Wilhem turned and spoke, running gloved fingers through the beautifully coiffed hair of the Pomeranian. “What a shame that Pieter couldn’t make it. You never said where he was, you rogue. Have you buried him in the woods and absconded with all his cash? He must be even more naïve than you paint him, if he lets you loose in
this
company.”

“He’s gone to Vienna,” Ernst said with heartfelt relief. “He had intended to come, dragging the hausfrau with him, of course, but at the last moment her father had the good grace to suffer an apoplexy, so they’ve run off there in the hopes of a nice fat bequest.”

“
Your
hopes, more like,” Wilhem said with a savage smile. “Pieter is far too pious—or at least when he’s amongst his family—” he winked at Ernst, “—to think of anything so crass.”

Ernst gave a short laugh. “Perhaps. But his wife isn’t quite as altruistic.”

“She’s not likely to get much though, is she? I mean, there are at least two brothers—”

“There are four, so, no. Anyway, it’s likely the old man will recover, worst luck.”

“But he might not. And you know that the good woman will of course help her husband out of any financial difficulties he may have, entirely unaware that
you
are his major financial difficulty. Ernst, you are a particularly naughty boy. Isn’t he dreadful, Reggie darling?” He ruffled the dog under its chin. “I was quite sure you had had enough of him. He’s hardly to your usual taste. I had a wager with Lewin that you were going to break with him last week. Did you know about this in advance? No, of course not, how could you?”

Ernst didn’t reply. It was better that Wilhem didn’t suspect him of having a spy in Pieter’s father-in-law’s house since his last illness. The youngest of Pieter’s brothers had promised to telegraph him the moment the old man was taken seriously ill again. “For Pieter’s sake,” Ernst had said, bringing tears to his eyes as easily as he always did, and the idiot boy had believed him. “It will be so much kinder if he hears it from me instead of getting the news by a soulless telegram.” Why couldn’t the old fool die at once instead of being so bloody indecisive? He’d have to wait now, just to see if Pieter was going to be worth hanging onto for a while longer or not. He was no use to Ernst as he was, and Ernst’s debts mounted by the day.

The music came to a halt, the swirling couples stopped, applauded politely, and there was a break while servants rolled out trolleys of cool drinks to refresh the crowds. Restless, Ernst moved into the throng, his mutton-chopped quarry having come to rest on the far side of the room. He picked up a glass of champagne, ready to break into the little group around his target, turned round and stopped dead, as the entirely unexpected and shockingly smiling face of Rudolph von Ratzlaff greeted him.

“Ernst, my dear,
dear,
boy.” Rudolph took his free hand and shook it so hard that champagne slopped from Ernst’s glass onto the floor. “You look wonderful, just wonderful.”

Dumbfounded at Rudolph’s behavior, Ernst felt Rudolph slip his arm through his own and was unable to find a rejoinder as Rudolph led him aside and found an empty table.

He sat opposite his former lover, completely astounded at the warmth in Rudolph’s face. The last time they’d met—in fact the last several times, as their relationship had crashed toward a rocky end—Rudolph had been cool, accusing and downright unpleasant. Rudolph had been appalled that someone had mentioned their relationship to him, someone Rudolph hadn’t known, and he’d taken Ernst to task about it, ranting and raving about the need for complete discretion.
“It’s bad enough that you charge my account for your trinkets and then have them delivered to an address which is clearly neither mine, nor a more acceptable mistress’s, but now I find my generosity bandied around the gaming tables and clubs. I warned you, Ernst, more than once. I won’t have my family touched by this, and if you can’t keep your mouth shut then you and I will be through.”

Then had come the crash when Rudolph had heard of sub-leutnant Albert Krueger, a whirlwind affair of Ernst’s that he assumed Rudolph would never find out about. Somewhere—Ernst never found out where—the pretty but stupid Albert had boasted of a gold cigarette case Ernst had given him, and the gossip had reached Rudolph’s ears. That had been the final straw. Rudolph had broken with him entirely, refusing to see him or accept his letters, stopping the rent on his rooms and advising every merchant with a von Ratzlaff account that Herr Fetter’s credit was no longer backed by the von Ratzlaff fortune. Rudolph had cut him ever since, and—what was almost as bad—so had most of his friends and acquaintances, whether they were aware of the more intimate relationship or not.

It had taken Ernst a good long while to cultivate friends with sufficient height in society to allow him to penetrate occasions such as these. Now here was Rudolph, his face full of welcome, as if Ernst was the one person he longed to see over everyone else.