Revenant Eve (45 page)

He pulled off his chapeau bras and bowed low over his horse’s withers, diamonds glinting in his cravat. “I see I am not the first to welcome you home, your highness.”

“What’s he saying?” Aurélie whispered.

I told her, not bothering to whisper since only Mord could hear me.

She seemed to assume that I’d know Dobreni. I continued to translate as Jaska said, “As you see. Will you join us, Benedek? I would rather not subject the ladies to the rain if I can avoid it.”

“It is this very rain that concerns me,” was the amused response. “I wish to offer shelter to you and your party. Trapetra Castle is a short distance away. Baron Szontos bids me extend his hospitality to you, and as always,” the sardonic voice deepened with amusement, “I am your very obedient servant.”

Jaska lifted his head, listening, then said, “And how is the Baron? I am lamentably behind in the news.”

“He flourishes, your highness. And exhorts me to extend his welcome to you and your esteemed party. Princess Margit, well met.”

Margit gave a stiff nod.

“Countess Irena, what a delightful surprise to find you here.”

She flushed as she gave him a haughty nod.

“Who is this lady?”

“Donna Aurélie de Mascarenhas, on tour of Europe. We met over music.”

“How very…civilized. The gentleman?”

“Domnu Zusya, who preserved my life.”

“Then this is the hero! Chevalier de Vauban spoke his praises when the ransom was being raised to free you from the Prussians.”

“Behold, he is here in the flesh,” Jaska said.

“Permit me to interrupt this interesting conversation with a repeat of the Baron’s invitation. We can continue more comfortably at Trapetra Castle. As you mentioned, there are signs of rain. My concern is for the ladies.”

“Why are they talking so?” Aurélie whispered under her breath.

“Nobody can move until Jaska does. If they stay with the safety of
etiquette, it hides the implied threat. If the duke makes an overt attack, then he’s committing
lèse-majesté
. I think he wants to coerce them to this castle under the guise of friendship.”

“Why?”

“We will find out.”

“…when your servants catch up,” the duke was saying, a smile curling the corners of his mouth, “I can send one of my servants here to guide them to the castle.”

“Servants, yes,” Jaska said. “Do you always ride with six manservants, Benedek?”

“Regretfully, I must admit that I am a creature of comfort,” the duke replied.

I remembered a stray fact that I’d learned from Honoré de Vauban, Hippolyte’s descendant and a kind of gentleman archivist: There was once a law that Dobreni nobles could ride around with no more than twelve men-at-arms. Any more was strictly against the law.

For just this reason.

“…you observe that my servants carry no more than the stout stick and hunting knife permitted the common man traveling the mountain roads,” Benedek said politely.

“One wonders why they have need of such things when protected by so many fine men at arms. Or do they question the prowess of said men?” Jaska returned in the same polite voice.

The rain drops were larger, rustling the treetops. Jaska settled back as if prepared to discourse for the rest of the day—then the faint but unmistakable rumble of hoofbeats sounded underneath the soft hiss and patter of rain.

Benedek’s expression quirked into a rueful smile. He knew instantly what had happened and, indeed, betrayed no surprise when Captain Danilov and his twelve horsemen appeared directly behind Benedek’s gang.

Some of the Ysvorod men at arms betrayed surprise and dismay as their horses were shouldered out of the way. Captain Danilov rode forward, his shako regimentally correct, his manner parade-ground sharp
as he politely saluted the duke with a touch of a finger to the brim of the cap. He had just divided the Ysvorod party.

Then a full salute to Jaska, after which he bawled as if a hundred men rode at his back, “Sal-UTE!”

All twenty-four of the King’s Guard snapped off formal salutes, underscoring who had the upper hand.

“Permit us,” Benedek said with mocking suavity, “to augment your guard of honor.”

Jaska inclined his head as if he were in the middle of a ballroom or at a diplomatic affair.

The ladies’ hats were now pretty sodden, but no one complained as the horses were once again put in motion.

T
HE RAIN CAME DOWN HARD
for about half an hour, then lifted. From the grim way people carried themselves, however, the cold wind wasn’t much improvement on the wet.

Rain was intermittent as they rode up and down the hillsides of Mt. Tanazca, the smallest of the mountains. How it hurt me to see again the tumbled hush of the slopes matted with primeval leaves, pine needles, chestnuts, and pinecones, the lancing beams of light dancing from between the canopies of green.

Oh, to be able to breathe that air! To see Alec again, our footsteps crunching as we walked hand in hand over ancient animal paths, he pointing out this site of an old song, that place he and his teenaged companions had run from the Russians after sabotaging a weapons dump.
I am home
, I kept thinking. And yet I was two hundred years distant.

They reached the outskirts of Riev as the sun crowned Mt. Adeliad behind them. Up a steep road, with me taking in as much as I could, and grateful that Aurélie was curious. I didn’t dare ask her to turn her head for the same reason I didn’t want to mention the future, but I kept thinking, I’m
back
, I’m
here
, Aurélie’s here. They are nearly a couple, they don’t need me anymore. So where is the danger to Dobrenica?

On the right we passed a familiar half timbered, half stone building—Zorfal! In the future it would be the popular place to go for the twenty-
somethings and younger, especially the Vigilzhi. Now it was clearly a guardhouse, as men in uniform came and went, the dye-jobs on their blue coats not always matching.

Up the hill, I gazed to the right, over the plateau where the nobles and wealthy now live. And there was Mecklundburg House. And then Ysvorod House! I recognized the roof, though the rest was hidden by a stone fence around which a couple of guards patrolled. In the future, more fine houses would fill in the spaces between those walled semi-palaces, semi-fortresses. There were a lot more trees, almost a woodland.

When we reached the road leading to Ysvorod House, Benedek urged his horse forward. “With your permission, your highness?” he asked, doffing his sodden hat.

Even with his wet hair hanging like worms around his rain-washed face, he was strikingly handsome. I noticed Margit giving him a narrow look as Jaska lifted a tired hand, then checked the gesture, and with a bow toward Irena, said to Benedek, “
Hertsa’vos—”
the honorific for a duke “—will you do me the honor of escorting Countess Irena in safety to her home?”

It was a polite order. Irena inclined her head. “Good evening,” she said. “Will you convey my best to her majesty, and inform her that I shall wait upon her on the morrow?” Last she gave Aurélie a polite nod, which was returned.

Benedek bowed elaborately to Jaska and Margit from the back of his horse. He raised his gauntleted hand, and his followers peeled off, following him and Irena. Aurélie gazed after Irena’s straight back in the middle of all those guys.

Up St. Katarina Street we rode. There on the left, instead of the Vigilzhi command center, was a beautiful medieval convent, fruit trees visible above its high wall. On the right, another walled fortress in the grand Renaissance style. This was the Riding School, which would become a library, a smaller Vigilzhi station, and a grand opera house.

A left turn, and there were the buildings that would be the bank and city administration, their fronts on the great square below the
palace. Way off to the right was the spire of St. Peter’s Cathedral, still dominating the skyline, and beyond, the roof of the temple with its rose window lit from within: the men had to be inside, attending evening prayer.

The cathedral bells began the call to Vespers, echoed within seconds by the bells of the Orthodox church. The sound, the fading light, called to mind Rachmaninoff’s
Vespers
; so beautiful, so profoundly evocative of a passing world.

Then we were borne away, the bells fading behind us as the last of the day faded. The animals perked up, smelling the stable, warmth, comfort, and food.

We’d reached the royal palace, gone through its massive gates.

They rode directly to the front entrance, and Jaska, Mord, Aurélie, and Margit dismounted, Jaska covertly observing Aurélie with a revealing glance of worry.

Guards and servants swarmed at a respectful distance, everyone wanting to get a look at the royal prodigal, back after so many years.

The palace was the same architecturally, but so much of the statuary, even the fountains, had been removed or destroyed before I had ever seen it. The elaborate coat of arms over the entry, set in a glory of baroque flourishes, was totally gone in modern times, replaced by a modest, vaguely Greek pediment, reminding me of those scarred buildings back in post-revolutionary Paris.

Immediately outside the carved doors waited a stout, apple-cheeked fellow with a bushy beard and a round furry hat. His face appeared so young the beard seemed incongruous, but as Aurélie got closer, I recognized the adult in that steady gaze. He wore the eighteenth century frock coat that we soon discovered was still the fashion here. I spotted in the beautiful embroidery along facings and cuffs Kabbalistic signs mixed with amaranth and acanthus.

Jaska exclaimed, “Shmuel!”

“I give thanks, Jaska, that you are safely returned!”

Jaska grabbed Shmuel by the shoulders and said in Dobreni, “I give thanks to you for holding things together. Hippolyte told me when I was
in Vienna. We will talk as soon as I see my mother.” He turned his head. “This is Mordechai ben Aaron Zusya. Will you put him up?”

“You need not ask. It would be my honor. Domnu Zusya will wish to make his bow to her majesty, then bring him to me.”

“What exactly is this language?” Aurélie whispered to me. “I hear bits of Latin, but altered, and bits of German.”

“It’s called Dobreni.” I braced for more questions, but she was distracted by Jaska, who led them up the shallow marble stairs. It appeared to be enough that I knew the language: I was a resource, not an object of interest. She had enough to focus on now, with the expectation of meeting Jaska’s mother—and a queen.

The plain white plaster walls of the twenty-first century were paneled with beautiful rococo paintings of religious and mythological symbols, in gorgeous pastels, the framing either of white and gold or else magnificent woodworked patterns.

The ground floor was the marble checkerboard so common in palaces of that day. Up the stairs to the state rooms, and here was the lovely furniture that would completely vanish in World War II: shield-backed chairs with embroidered cushions in forest green and gold, drake-footed cabriole legs. Carved cabinetry and more statuary, enormous murals, and tapestries. I only recognized bits here and there—sometimes no more than a brass candle sconce on a wall, which would later be wired to hold a candle-shaped electric light.

Liveried footmen opened doors, and we passed into a woman’s world, with rounded rococo furnishings of dusty blue, rose, and gold in a white setting. And there, seated in a pillow-festooned recliner, was a very old lady whose light brown eyes were familiar. Queen Sofia!

“Mother,” Jaska said. He bowed, then leaned down to kiss her forehead and blue-veined hands. “I trust you got my messages.”

“These are the ones I received,” the queen said, laying her hand over a carved box on her little side table. “Since you apparently never stayed long enough in one place for me to answer, I could not discover if one might have gone astray.”

“I sent everything through Hippolyte,” Jaska said.

The queen smiled. “You were clever to do so. I will venture to promise that anything
he
received most certainly reached me. I am troubled by what I am hearing out of Vienna.”

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Jaska said, and stepped back so that Margit could salute her mother. “We will talk about it when you wish.”

“The morning will be sufficient,” the queen said and smiled at her daughter. “Dearest. So you could not wait to meet your brother, but must ride out willy-nilly to meet him?”

“As you perceive, Mother. Jaska, shall you perform the introductions, or shall I?”

But the queen forestalled them both. “You must be Mordechai ben Aaron? Domnu Zusya, I wish I could rise to properly thank the preserver of my son’s life. Some days are better than others. Today I am confounded, alas, but pray do not take that amiss.”

Mord bowed awkwardly.

Jaska said, “May I present Donna Aurélie de Mascarenhas?”

Aurélie gave the court curtsey that Madame Campan had drilled into Josephine’s ladies.

“Welcome among us, Donna Aurélie,” the queen said, and Aurélie dipped again. “Margit will see you comfortably established, as I gather her brother has requisitioned her aid.” A glance at the riding habit, which she obviously recognized.