There was mud on the hem of Hero's walking-dress, and her kid shoes were all but ruined; still, she was laughing as Ragoczy helped her over the stile that connected his outer fields with those of his neighbor; her activity had excited her so that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Her high-brimmed bonnet a la Hussar set off her face and the curls that clustered at the edge of this confection. She gathered the frilled front of her walking-coat more tightly and released his steadying hand. "What a beautiful day! I thought we wouldn't get any spring again this year. Last year was so dreadful, it was troubling to think what might lie ahead. Yet here it is, sunshine and warmth, and not quite the end of May."
"Two hard winters in a row have burdened everyone, from farmer to housewife. It will be some months before the land can be restored, assuming the improvement continues." Ragoczy indicated the fallow field beyond where they stood. "I hope Herr Kleinerhoff is able to bring in all his crops this year; I hope all the farmers of Sacre-Sang do." The last year had been almost a total loss for Augustus Kleinerhoff, and this year promised little improvement with the late arrival of spring and the poor display of developing fruit in the trees. "He will have to plant soon, and trust that the autumn is not an early one."
"All men with fields must share that trust, not just those of Sacre-Sang," said Hero. "You must have some concerns yourself, Comte."
He shook his head, his dark eyes fixed on a distance only he could see. "Not so many as those whose fields are their livelihoods. I have shipping companies and other businesses that can sustain me through times of hard weather. Although shipping also suffers in hard years."
"You also have forcing houses-nine of them," she said with a tight little nod. "You can bring in cabbages and chard, at least."
"Remember that two of my forcing houses were damaged by ice," said Ragoczy. "They will need to be repaired shortly, or be useless this year."
"Climate dictates all," Hero said fatalistically. "When my father visited Egypt, he said that the people there suffered for the harshness of the climate: heat instead of cold, dry instead of wet. I remember many flies, and, because we were the only Europeans in the town, my step-mother and I had to wear veils whenever we went about."
"It is the custom," said Ragoczy.
"Yes; my father said so, as well. I wish it had been otherwise." She glanced toward the mountains rising around them. "There have been avalanches this year, more than in most years."
"There is a build-up of snow on the slopes; with more snow there comes more avalanches." He started along the fence, helping her to pick her way over the uneven ground.
"No doubt you're right," she said, concentrating on where she stepped.
"If you would prefer to seek out the road?" Ragoczy offered.
"No. It is just as muddy as this field, if not more so." She smiled at him once more, but there was more sadness than merriment in her expression. "Since Fridhold died, I keep thinking of how many perils are around us, and all the time. A beam becomes a bludgeon, a carriage becomes a death-trap, an open fire becomes a conflagration. I know it is foolish, but anything can distress me, from an unguarded fire in the grate to a sagging branch on a tree. I see danger in the field, and I see danger on the road." For more than a minute she neither moved nor spoke, but then she said, "If you had not taken me in, I have no notion what would have happened to me."
"Your father would have provided for you," said Ragoczy, resuming their progress across the field.
"His second wife would not want me in their household, and he is not rich enough to provide for two households and his expeditions as well. Men of his profession spend their money, such as it is, on their expeditions, not on their comforts and families. He would have had to arrange a marriage for me, or a position as a governess, or a teacher at a girls' school. At worst I would have had to become the nurse for some ancient relative, one whose body or mind was gone; I know from my days with Ortrude that I lack the patience for such continual employment; the few months I cared for her were sufficient to show me that. I try not to dwell upon it, but sometimes-" She sighed. "And the Graf-well, he might pay me to keep away from my children, but not one pfennig more than absolutely necessary to sustain me as little above poverty as his reputation could endure."
"All because your husband left no Will to provide for you," said Ragoczy.
"He didn't think he would die so young," she said, as she had said many times before. "And neither did I."
"There is always a risk of dying." Ragoczy paused by a narrow rill running through the center of the field; the amount of water, although small, caused him discomfort.
"Even for you?" She was almost teasing him.
"Even for me," he said somberly; he glanced down at the sparking surface of the rill. "I'll lift you over," he offered.
"Just let me take your arm and that will suffice," said Hero, testing the narrow bank of the rivulet to determine how slippery it was. She laid her hand on the arm he held out to her and stepped across the water. "There; you see?"
He crossed to her side of the little stream. "There should be a stone path along on your right."
"I think I see it," she said, trying to hold her skirts above the worst of the mud.
"Then proceed," he said, still providing a steadying hand. "It is tricky underfoot, I fear."
She made her way to the path and looked down at her shoes. "Quite ruined," she said with a hint of a giggle. "Doubtless my own fault."
"You will walk with your feet on the ground," said Ragoczy, matching his tone with hers.
"So I will," she said, continuing down the road. "At least the other fields are almost planted."
"This one will lie fallow another year, I must suppose," said Ragoczy. "The orchards are finally in full bloom-that arguers well."
"Herr Kleinerhoff has always taken pride in the fruit his orchards produce, or so his son told me last autumn." She waited while her wistfulness washed through her. "Siegfried loves apples."
"I thought most boys liked apples," said Ragoczy with steady kindness.
"Yes, but Siegfried is especially fond of them. So was Fridhold."
He rested his hand on her shoulder for several seconds. "You miss him."
"I keep thinking I should stop," she said by way of apology. "Missing him does no good."
"Why do you say that? He was dear to you, he was the father of your children, you shared his life and his bed for nearly eight years, and he was not yet thirty when he died." Ragoczy turned her to face him. "How can I fault you for your affection?"
"But you aren't jealous, are you?" she asked tentatively as she resumed her progress along the stone path.
"Why should I be?" he countered. "Your love for him does not diminish your affection for me."
"No," she conceded. "At least, I don't believe it does."
He regarded her thoughtfully a short while as they reached the gate leading to the road to the small Trappist monastery farther up the mountain. "Every love is different, Hero," he said as he drew back the bar that held the gate closed. "You may compare them all you try, yet no two loves are alike."
"This is something you have learned in your life?" She regarded him curiously, her eyes fixed on him with steady purpose.
"Yes: long since."
"You still miss Madelaine de Montalia; I know you do," she said, not quite accusing him.
"Certainly; and many others, as well," he said in his unflustered way, aware that his attachment to Madelaine was unlike most of his connections to those with whom the Blood Bond still pertained.
"But not the way you miss her," Hero insisted.
"No, not the way I miss her, nor anyone else. Everyone I have known is unique in my experience and holds a singular place in my memory." He had almost said my heart, but memories of Csimenae stopped the words before he spoke them. "You need not fear I will forget you, Hero." As she walked through, he closed the gate behind her. "Those of my blood learn not to be distracted by one love from another. When you live as long as we do, any other understanding is folly."
She considered this, her face somber. "What was it that drew you to me? I can't imagine it was my beauty or my manner."
He took almost a minute to frame his answer. "It was your honesty that led me to seek you out. Manner and beauty change from year to year, and what is handsome at one time is brutish at another; honesty is a constant, and rarer than pleasing faces." He touched her chin lightly, smiling briefly. "You did not try to flatter me, or to deny your grief. You did not batten on me, or on any man, although the law and custom would encourage you to do so. You have made your own way in difficult circumstances." He took a step away from her. "Such force of character commands respect."
"And Madelaine de Montalia?" As soon as she said the name, she bit her lower lip and averted her eyes.
Ragoczy took her chin in his hand and turned her face toward him. "Madelaine knew me for what I am-for all that I am-from the very beginning, and had no fear of me. For such as I, that encompassing is beyond reckoning." He kissed the side of her mouth. "Do not fret: you have nothing to worry about on her account."
"I'm not worried," she said staunchly. Then she swallowed hard. "Not too much."
"You need not worry at all," said Ragoczy. "Neither she nor I can provide what the other seeks."
"But I feel so ... haunted."
"Haunted?" He paused. "Not by Madelaine, surely?"
"By Madelaine, by Fridhold, even by my children, although they are alive." She reached for her handkerchief, tucked into the breast-pocket of her walking-coat. "I didn't intend to ... Comte, pardon me." She dabbed at her eyes, embarrassment overtaking her with other emotions.
"Everyone is haunted," Ragoczy assured her gently. "By the loss of friends and relations, the fading of youth, the opportunities lost-all haunt us. It is one of the prices of living."
"That may be so," she said, doing her best to regain her self-possession.
Five hundred years before he might have told her that in time she would understand, but he knew now that such assertions meant little to the living, particularly to the young, who felt the weight of time more sharply than those who reached old age; he took her mittened hand and kissed it. "You have been given hard choices, and you have made them without flinching. That is a true accomplishment."
"I have flinched often," she said by way of confession.
"And mastered it," said Ragoczy.
"Have I? Sometimes I wonder." She turned her head sharply as a large dog began to bark, running toward them from out of a lane ahead of them.
"Stay still," Ragoczy told her as he stepped forward to intercept the dog.
The animal was chestnut-colored with black smudges around his eyes and muzzle; his coat was shaggy from winter and mottled from shedding, and his paws were caked in mud. He bounded up to Ragoczy, barking enthusiastically. He leaped up and struck out with his paws, half in challenge, half in play. His barking became higher, turning almost to puppylike yips.
"Be careful," Hero called.
"Oh, Behemoth will not hurt me, not intentionally," said Ragoczy. "He is just expressing his delight at being out for the day. A dog his size frets in confinement, and this winter he had more than his fill of it." He held the dog's front paws in his hands with seeming lack of effort even while the big dog bounced energetically on his hind legs, tongue lolling. "This is all very well, Behemoth, but it is fitting that you should get down now." Firmly but without overt force, he settled the big dog on the ground. "You can come now, Hero. He won't fly at you."
"I hope that's true," she said dubiously.
"It is. Unless he's badly startled." He stood back from the dog and held his hand out for Hero.
She allowed him to guide her past the dog, who lay on the matted weeds at the side of the road, his head resting on his paws, ears slightly perked. "I shouldn't fear him, I know, but he is so large."
"And he is trained to protect Herr Kleinerhoff's property," Ragoczy added. "A task for which he is truly apt."
As if in agreement, Behemoth let out a rumble deep in his chest, although he did not move from where he lay.
They reached the walk-way to Herr Kleinerhoff's house. "It is just beyond that copse of trees," said Ragoczy.
"I've seen it from your laboratory window," she reminded him. "Or the western half of it, at any case." She walked a bit more quickly, her face showing no emotion at all. Finally, as they passed into the shadow of the yews and larches, she said, "This is just the sort of place I always imagine my boys playing."
"Herr Kleinerhoff's children sometimes play here," said Ragoczy kindly.
"I know," she said. "I've watched them."
"From my laboratory," said Ragoczy.
"Yes." Her head came up sharply as if in anticipation of a reprimand. "I didn't think you'd mind."
"Nor do I," he said as they emerged from the cluster of trees onto a broad swath of flagstones that fronted on a large, hundred-year-old farmhouse slightly in need of repair. Halfway along the front of the house the midden steamed ripely in the morning sun.
"Will Herr Kleinerhoff be here?" Hero asked.
"He and his wife and mother, and his children. Today only his hired hands work in the fields, clearing weeds and preparing for plowing." He approached the front door, made of thick planks of pine painted blue and banded-and-hinged in iron. An old bell hung on a rusted rocker with a frayed cord attached to the clapper; Ragoczy pulled this and set off an unmelodious clang. "One of the privileges of being head-man in Sacre-Sang."
"I hope they won't be offended by my presence," said Hero in a sudden wash of uncertainty.
"Why should they be?" Ragoczy asked, expecting no answer, which was just as well, for before Hero could speak, the inner bolt was drawn back and Herr Kleinerhoff himself threw open his door, bowing respectfully and beaming with painful determination as he welcomed Ragoczy and Hero to his home.
His wife, a substantial woman with a sagging face that spoke of many hungry days, hovered in the arch between parlor and kitchen, flapping the ends of her long, embroidered apron, flushed with excitement. When her husband barked an order for wine, she hastened away, glad to have something to do.
"I know you foreigners like wine more than our beer," said Herr Kleinerhoff.
"A glass for my companion would be welcome," said Ragoczy, "but I, myself, do not drink wine."
Herr Kleinerhoff's expression showed that he did not believe Ragoczy, but he said, "If you would prefer beer? I'm afraid what we have isn't the best-the harvest being so ..." He gestured to show his disappointment.
"Neither is needed. Just the wine for Madame von Scharffensee." Ragoczy looked around the parlor with the kind of tranquil curiosity that banished Herr Kleinerhoff's embarrassment, so that when his wife appeared with two squat glasses of butter-colored wine, he gave one to Hero and kept one for himself without apology.
"Let me welcome you to my home, Comte." Herr Kleinerhoff lifted his glass, but hesitated to include Hero in his toast.
"Thank you, Herr Kleinerhoff," said Ragoczy. "Madame," he went on to Hero, "I rely on you to express our gratitude for this hospitality."
Hero smiled and lifted her glass to Herr Kleinerhoff. "Thank you," she said, and took a sip; the wine was from late-harvest grapes, its flavor intense and sweet, its texture syrupy. She managed not to cough at its overwhelming sapidness, nodding to Herr Kleinerhoff to show her approval.
Herr Kleinerhoff was not so rude as to stare at her, but watched her out of the tail of his eye. "How kind of you to-"
Ragoczy held up his small, elegant hand. "Let us consider the politesse fulfilled, Herr Kleinerhoff, and get on to our discussion."
"Of course, of course," said Herr Kleinerhoff, bowing Ragoczy to the best chair in the room. "If you will?"
Ragoczy sighed as he sat, thinking that to refuse would offend his host, but also aware that the chair was Herr Kleinerhoff's own. "This is quite comfortable," he declared in cordial mendacity.
"I will take a stroll in the sunlight," Hero announced as she set down her half-finished wine. "When you men have finished your business, call me and I will return." So saying, she went to the door and waited for Herr Kleinerhoff to open it for her.
As soon as he had closed the door behind Hero, Herr Kleinerhoff bustled back into the parlor, his small, blue eyes shining with intent. "I had your note, Comte, and I must tell you, I was hopeful for the first time in well over a year. But reflection taught me that perhaps I had been too hopeful, and that your offer was other than you laid out in your note." He sat on an upholstered stool, leaning forward, his elbows on his spread legs. "So I would be less than forthcoming if I said my hope was untrammeled. Your offer is so generous, so ... reasonable, that I fear there may be more to it than I comprehend from what you wrote. Before I agree to accept your apparently most magnanimous offer, I would like to be certain of the terms. And I would like to know how far you would extend them within this district. Am I the sole recipient of your boon?" He stopped abruptly, as if his breath and courage had failed him at once.
"Very prudent," said Ragoczy when it was clear that Herr Kleinerhoff would not go on. "I meant what I said. I know how bad the past two winters have been for you and your neighbors, and I know you have few reserves to carry you through another lean year. I am proposing to provide seed for planting and grain for feed for the next year, until we might all be certain that this spate of cold is over or at least lessening. I have stores of my own upon which I can draw for some time if necessary; I will use these for our mutual benefit. I am willing to extend this offer to all the landholders in the parish."
"There," said Herr Kleinerhoff, rocking back so that he nearly tipped himself over. "That is what most concerns me. How do you envision this mutual benefit for me or for my fellow-landholders?"
Ragoczy gave a single, sad chuckle. "Nothing to your disservice, Herr Kleinerhoff," he said. "I will ask for ten percent of your first full harvest, that to be stored against another such hard time, the same provision to be made for five years from all those who accept assistance from me, assuming there is improvement in the weather." He thought back again to the unrelenting hardships of the Year of Yellow Snow.
"But why should you do this? How can it benefit you?" Herr Kleinerhoff gulped the rest of his wine and stared at Ragoczy as he waited for an answer.
"Herr Kleinerhoff," Ragoczy said distantly, in a tone that chilled the portly farmer to the bone, "I have traveled a good deal in my life, and I have seen what famine does. It is not starvation alone that kills in famine, it is disease and violence born of desperation. I do not wish to see these things come to this parish. Europe is just emerging from Napoleon's devastation, and to have the weather add to his burden bodes ill unless something is done, and quickly, to prevent the depredation of famine and its handmaidens."
Herr Kleinerhoff swallowed hard. "My own great-grandparents came here in a time of famine," he said.
"Famine always brings refugees," said Ragoczy. "As does pestilence, and war."
"As we have seen," said Herr Kleinerhoff. He sat upright. "Then, if it is your intention to spare us the suffering so many others endure, I will accept your offer, with the understanding that you require I store a tenth of my first full harvest and those of the next four years as provision against a return of famine. I will speak to my neighbors in this parish and see if any among them would want to join with me."
"Thank you," said Ragoczy.
"Some of them may be wary. A few still regard foreigners as enemies of this region." He coughed apologetically.
"War and famine are relentless enemies of humankind, not I," Ragoczy said, and saw Herr Kleinerhoff nod.
"They are the tools of the Antichrist. Our minister has told us that the End Days are coming, and we must prepare for travail. Your kindness will help us be ready."
Ragoczy shook his head. "The End Days are always coming, Herr Kleinerhoff." A series of images of men proclaiming the End Days, from the second Christian century to the present day flashed through his mind; he recalled their thundering dread and determined penitence with a touch of chagrin. "From the day the world began, the End Days were coming."
"Amen," said Herr Kleinerhoff.
"Of course." Ragoczy suppressed a sigh. "Amen."
Text of a letter from Cados Gaspard Adrien Rivage, business factor in Le Havre, France, to Saint-Germain Ragoczy, Comte Franciscus at Chateau Ragoczy near Lake Geneva, Yvoire, Switzerland; carried by hired courier and delivered in twelve days.
To my most highly regarded employer, Comte Franciscus, Cados G. A. Rivage sends his greetings on the 9thday of June, 1817.
Four of your ships have returned from their voyages, three of them many months delayed but safe for all that. I must tell you that the Aeolus has lost part of her mizzenmast and will need substantial repairs before she can set to sea again, and the Petrel had half of her cargo of silks seized in Alexandria, and four of the men taken by the city on a charge that has not yet been made clear. The balance of her cargo is in very good condition. It is my intention to write to the customs officials in Alexandria to demand an explanation of their actions, but I doubt this will result in any return of men or of silks. On the other hand, I have received confirmation that the Odysseus is in Boston and will set out for Baltimore before returning to European waters later this summer. The Epheginea has sent back word from Australia that all is well, and she will be bound for India when the winter there is past.
The Sagittarius is now the only ship unaccounted for. I have reports on all nineteen of the rest in hand, most of their information current as of four months ago, and I hope to provide you with more information as the month wears on. Now that winter is finally over, I begin to hope that shipping may once again become more regular.
Captain Clairmont has asked to be relieved of his command for a year. His wife and three children are missing from his parents' home in Charleroi and he is determined to find them. I have given him provisional leave with the understanding that he must maintain regular correspondence with me so that his whereabouts may be known. I realize he is one of your best captains, but he is distraught about his family, and will not be able to carry out his duties while their fate is unknown to him. His parents have said that they were taken by French officers last November, but who they were and what their true purpose was, they cannot say. His father was beaten by these men, and has lost the sight in one eye on its account, so you can understand why it is that Captain Clairmont might fear for the worst. If you are willing, I will forward true copies of his letters to you as they arrive.
I have received a payment from Darius Spiridion at last, brought by the Hypolita three weeks ago. Captain Rosenwald carried it in a sealed strongbox, so there is no question as to the total amount paid. It is not the full amount he owes, but a reasonable portion of it, and I will do as you recommend and continue to allow him to deal with Eclipse Trading Company for as long as he makes biannual payments on the debt. It is hardly his fault that his four warehouses burned with your cargos still in them, but he was responsible for it while it was in his care, and the amount you settled on for the value of what was lost is reasonable for both parties.
Some of the sailors have been spreading rumors that Napoleon plans to escape once again and summon his soldiers for a last attempt at reclaiming his title and conquests. I, myself, do not think this is likely, but I believe it is a good precaution to know what is being whispered in the taverns. I cannot imagine that France would allow more tragedy to claim her people again, but there will always be those who see this man as their deliverer, and who care nothing for the damage he may bring with his deliverance.
I await your orders in regard to the Flying Cloud. I would recommend scrapping her, since there is so much damage to the keel and the rudder has been badly damaged. She has lain in port now for ten months, and the shipwrights here are disinclined to spend any more time in attempting to make her seaworthy. I will, of course, do as you command, but in this instance, I hope you will let the shipwrights prevail.
Submitted in the honest performance of my duties and in accordance with the instructions issued to me on the day our contract was signed,
Most truly at your service,
Cados Gaspard Adrien Rivage
business factor
Eclipse Trading Company
Le Havre, France