A Carpathian Campaign: The Powers Book 1

by Alma Boykin

  “Oh. That’s good. It’s about time that someone realized you have some skills besides looking good on a horse and arguing with your father.” She picked up the letter from Aunt Claudia. “This should be interesting.”

  They settled into their chairs, reading the mail and newspapers. “Hmm,” she said from behind one of the Vienna papers. “This will be a challenge. The government is asking for two wheatless days a week, and two meatless days, and no fine flour. Mother will not be pleased.”

  “I imagine she will not.” Lady Agatha liked her little comforts. “Do the limits on meat extend to game?”

  “The article does not say, but the earlier appeals have not.”

  If not, then they could hunt more deer this fall, bullets and powder supplies permitting, and distribute the meat and sausage to the House members who needed it the most. István dug his little memory book and pencil out of a waistcoat pocket and jotted a note to himself to ask Hans about it. He also needed to ask about the foresters’ families. Almost half the men had been called away, but now the government wanted more wood harvested. Could the women do any of it?

  “Aye, my lord, they can, and have,” Master Gellért told him two days later. “But we need more mules, or to start cutting out of season, earlier, so we can take more time. I can see why the Germans only plant trees on flat ground with railways beside them.”

  “And they grow nothing but pine, so all the trees get sick and die at the same time.” István fingered the decade of beads in his pocket. “Can you do it, or do I need Lord Janos’s approval for you to start?”

  “We can begin organizing things now, my lord, so if he gives permission, we are ready. Pardon me.” The older man turned, opened the window a little more, and spat into the dirt outside the small building. He turned back to István. “This is all if the war continues, my lord?”

  “Yes. Although even if the fighting stops tomorrow, God grant it, we’ll still need a great deal of lumber to rebuild what the Russians and Italians are tearing down. The Venetians did not leave much good wood in the south, as I recall.”

  Gellért gave a gap-toothed grin and waved a three-fingered hand. “No, my lord, their ships ate every straight piece of timber and the goats finished anything the Turks left behind.”

  István signed two ledgers, confirming that he had discussed the cutting with Master Gellért, then left the chief forester’s cluttered office. Bits of broken tools, forestry journals, and assorted wooden detritus covered every flat surface. Outside, the assistant forester’s desk resembled a newly planed plank, white and empty. A poster with a picture of Emperor Franz Josef supervising Josef Karl and the imperial master forester declared, “Trees fight for the right!” If only they did, István thought with a sigh, imagining an especially untrustworthy beech near the townhouse dropping a limb on a Russian soldier.

  How did the Houses without lands fare in war? Probably not well, at least when it came to feeding their people. What about the vast majority of the empire’s citizens, those who did not belong to a House? István knew that the Church and its nursing and teaching orders worked to help those in the greatest need, but the damn British blockade pinched everyone. Even if the harvest this year exceeded all hopes and prayers, it still had to be gathered, threshed, milled, and distributed by farmers without horses and mules, and with unskilled and weak labor. And no one could settle in Galicia, not until the Russians finally left. Although they’d been pushed back past the Dniester, relieving pressure on Lemberg and the oilfields, no peasant dared try to plant with the armies taking up so much of the crownland. House Sárkány-Kárpátok had been fortunate thus far, but no one could eat trees.

  The letter from Archduke Rudolph also weighed on István’s mind, and he mulled it over as he rode back to Nagymatra. What could István possibly do to help Rudolph? He didn’t even know how to manage the House, let alone run the empire, or even just the core of Austria, Hungary, and Bohemia. A depressing feeling of ignorance settled over him. At least he was not as badly off as Felix Starhemberg, thanks be. Poor Felix—if he’d gotten a letter like the one from Rudolph, he’d probably flee to a Cistercian monastery and offer to clean the latrines in exchange for refuge. The thought brought a smile to István’s face, imagining Felix as a monk.

  Well, István decided that night, watching Barbara brush out her long, thick hair, he would enjoy this time of peace. Then he’d grit his teeth and ask his brother to teach him at least a little about the House’s businesses. And he’d start paying attention to that most vulgar of things, politics. But not now. She caught him watching and smiled, playing with the ribbon on the neck of her gown with one hand, brush in the other. He smiled back. She tugged on the ribbon, loosening the bow, and he smiled wider.

  “. . . and that ledger is for equipment at the mill near Miskolcz. The fat one beside it is for Mimkacs, which we really should sell to someone or start closing. But not now, since we have or will have a decent market in Galicia for the next while.”

  “How did we end up with property so far east?” István had no recollection of his father talking about House land east of the ridge on the far side of the Hernád River.

  Mátyás shrugged. “It was a dower portion a century or so ago, back when we were starting to resettle that area after the Turks left. I found a note from the 1600s about House property in Kolosvár, if you can believe it. Probably some House members fled there, set up a little enclave in the years before the Turks left and we reunified. In case you decide to worry, we sold it in the mid 1700s to a Gabor descendent.”

  “Oh good. This,” István waved a hand at the shelves of ledgers, “is enough to keep track of.”

  Mátyás smiled and ran a hand through shaggy black hair, the gift of a long vanished Roman ancestor. “It’s not that bad. If it’s lumpy and has trees and is north of Budapest, we probably own it, lease it, or rent it from someone, because no one else in their right mind wants to deal with it.”

  Neither did he, but István nodded. “What about the yellow bits in the middle of the map?”

  “Oh, those are mining claims under Austrian law. The orange are under Royal Hungarian law.” He sighed. “His majesty really needs to unify the legal codes and clear out the underbrush.”

  Now István smiled—more of a tired grin, really. “He might, if you agree to be the one to tell the Bohemians.”

  Mátyás brandished a rosary at him. István just laughed.

  A small note from Barbara came in the day’s post. She and the baby had reached her parents’ home safely and looked forward to a quiet visit. István let out a deep breath. Thank You, Lord, and St. Christopher, for protecting them.

  That evening, Mátyás and István met Judit and her fiancé for supper at a small restaurant at the base of Buda Hill. Freiherr Walter Harald von Eschingen seemed a decent sort, despite his fondness for botanizing. He’d managed to work his eccentricity into several books, as well as consulting for botanical gardens and private collectors for a fee. István was not exactly pleased with Walter earning money that way, but, after talking with the man, decided he would not oppose the marriage. Neither was he excited about Judit marrying out of the House, but Janos had promised not to insist that she marry someone of the family’s choosing. That was what Mátyás and István were for, after all.

  The restaurant managed a commendable meal despite the limitations in place. “I understand things are stricter in Vienna,” Judit said after sampling the ox-tail soup.

  “They are,” Walter said. “The population of the capital has more than doubled from the refugees and war workers, so it is quite difficult to get enough of everything to the city. It is said that some of the Jewish and Czech mercers and wholesalers are hoarding food to drive up prices, but no one has found actual evidence of it, even though the police have raided a number of stores and warehouses.”

  “I’d give more credit for any shortages to the British and French than to the Jews,” István said. “We’re feeding ourselves and part of Germany thanks to t
hat blasted British blockade. They are breaking every international law by stopping all neutral shipping. I don’t agree with those German sneak boats, or the disguised raiders—Q ships they call them—but someone needs to give the British a taste of their own medicine.”

  “The Italian navy is not helping,” Walter added.

  “No, they are not, but at least they are Italian.” István waved his hands, mimicking a south-Italian. “Anyone foolish enough to try and march an army through the alpine passes in February poses a minimal threat to his Majesty’s ships and neutrals.”

  The conversation shifted to other things. After supper, the quartet left the restaurant and began walking to where they’d arranged to meet the carriage. Mátyás limped heavily despite using a cane, dragging his left leg and reminding István, as always, of a ship in heavy weather. His brother rolled as much as he stepped, the legacy of a childhood fall from a horse. No one would dare question why Mátyás was not at the front. However . . .

  “You!” Someone shouted from behind them. István and Walter turned, Walter putting himself between Judit and possible trouble. “Yes, you. Why are you not doing your duty?” A middle-aged woman in a walking suit and hat that had seen better days rushed up to them and began shaking her finger under István’s nose. “What is a young, fit man doing here?”

  “I am on medical leave, ma’am,” István said. I don’t want a scene.

  She tipped her head back a little, her pinched face drawing tighter as she studied him from head to toe. “Really.”

  “Really, ma’am.”

  “Liar. You lie. You are a shirker, hiding here, eating in the restaurants while real men are serving and the rest of us go hungry.” She raised her voice and waved her arm. “Mr. Policeman! There’s a deserter and war dodger here!”

  The policeman wandered over from his corner. “A deserter you say?”

  “Yes, this man claims to be on medical leave. And what about you,” she jabbed her finger at Walter. “You are fit.”

  “Let’s see your papers, gentlemen.” The policeman held out his hand, eyes just a little too eager, one had fingering his billy club.

  István handed the very overweight man his military identification. “What have we here? Eszterházy István Colonel,” the man’s eyes went wide. “Ah, your pardon my lord colonel. Thank you.” He returned the folder and backed up a step, throwing István a sloppy salute.

  “I trust all is in order?” István acted as haughty and bored he could possibly manage, imitating one of the most irritating Hohenzollern princes he’d met.

  “Yes, my lord colonel, all is well, thank you, my lord.” He turned to the angry woman. “He’s in the reserves, on leave, a full colonel. Quit wasting my time.”

  “He’s malingering! They both are! They should be at the front.” Her voice dropped and she hissed, spit flying, eyes narrow with fury, “Or are they Jews? Polish Jews, come to take our food and money.”

  Oh Lord, she’s insane. We’ve got to get away from here. “If there is no further problem, Mr. Policeman?” István pointed toward the waiting carriage, hoping Walter and Judit would take the hint. They did, starting to back away with slow steps from the enraged woman.

  “Stop them, you must stop them,” she ordered. “They are deserters, must be. I don’t care what their papers say, they are here and my sons are in the trenches and Russian prisoners of war and you must stop them! Arrest them!” She began waving her hands, drawing too much attention for István’s comfort.

  The policeman made up his mind. “Go on, my lord. I’ll see about this.”

  “Thank you. If you must, tell the hospital to contact me and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The policeman turned to deal with the now sobbing woman and István, Walter, and Judit walked with brisk dignity to the carriage.

  Once safely back at the family’s house on the west side of Buda Hill, Judit pulled István aside. “That’s very generous of you, István. I’m a little surprised.”

  He shrugged, a little uncomfortable. “If what she said is true, and she had a delicate mind, I can see how she might become hysterical. And God knows, I might have met or seen her sons if they were sent north.” And she’s right, I should be there, except for father’s heart problem and the needs of the Houses. “And it distracted the policemen into taking care of her for us.”

  “Now that I can believe, big brother. You never were the one to stay and take punishment, were you?” She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Judit Marie Luka you will never find a husband if you continue to act like that,” he quoted their mother.

  She sniffed and looked down her nose at him, which took some effort given the difference in their heights.

  I hope Walter realizes that he can’t return her after the wedding. István thanked the saints once more that he was not trying to find a match for her. Even Felix would flee from a woman as headstrong as Judit. She seemed determined to live up to her name.

  “Are you coming or can I have your drink?” Mátyás called from the library.

  “Coming,” the siblings chorused. István gestured for Judit to lead the way, which she did.

  The wedding, so simple and quiet that it would have been taken as a sign of penury by pre-war standards, went well. The couple went to Cousin Pavl Rozemberk’s hunting lodge near Rubí for their honeymoon. Instead of the usual gifts, Walter and Judit asked their friends and relatives to give funds or donations of needed goods to the military and imperial charities—something that seemed appropriate, given the close fighting in Italy and the Tirol. István read what the papers said and added his own details. And gritted his teeth at the news from the Western Front and North Africa. Well, the Turks were proving once again that they could fight off anything but a modern army. At least they had diverted the Russians a little. And the Rumanians seemed to be staying neutral at least. After Italy’s perfidy, well, István glowered at the newspaper, perhaps it was their self-styled Roman ancestry that inspired the Rumanians to renege on their mutual assistance treaty with the Empire.

  István folded the newspaper with a ferocious care, finished the weak excuse for coffee, and made himself get ready to go to the House office in order to study the business and to read some of his father’s books about diplomatic history. He found Barbara nursing little Mátyás, who had been awake far too long. István smiled and kissed his wife before taking his leave for the day. Only eight a.m. and already the sun beat down on the city and the great river, raising miasmas from the marshy, muddy, low water. Only fools worked in August, he grumbled, which explained why he was walking across the Elizabeth Bridge to Pest.

  When he returned that afternoon, he found Barbara in her little parlor, fanning. She’d taken off everything but a light robe and her underthings, and still looked miserably warm. “Dear, what’s wrong?”

  She fanned a little more. “I’m hot.”

  The next morning she felt unwell. And the next morning also, enough so that Magda and the junior nurse, Rose, took care of little Mátyás while Barbara rested in bed. That afternoon she approached István. “Ah, I think I’m pregnant.”

  He blinked at her, feeling pole-axed. Then he left his desk and took her in his arms. “You think so?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Yes. I’m sick in the mornings, and overwarm, and I’m almost a month late, and,” the tears began to flow, “my milk will dry up. What will I do?”

  Damned if I know. I don’t give milk. He hugged her and let her weep onto his shoulder. “We start giving our son cow’s milk, or whatever he will drink, and get him eating baby foods. You have Magda and Rose to help you. And my mother, and,” he hated to say it, “your mother.”

  “My mother will fuss. And scold me.” Barbara sniffed. “And scold you.”

  She probably would, even though they had waited to indulge in marital congress until well after when the doctor and midwife said they should. “If she does, we’ll tell her it will probably be a girl. That way she can sp
end her time planning all the little dresses and who her granddaughter should marry.”

  “She wants Mátyás to marry Agnes Schwarzenberg.”

  István tried to recall who that was. “Agnes?”

  “Lord Wetzel and Lady Klara’s daughter.”

  His jaw dropped. “But she was born two weeks ago! This is not the Dark Ages. No. I am not going to ask Lord Wetzel for his daughter’s hand for Mátyás. Either Mátyás.”

  “Oh good. Because if she is anything like her mother, I don’t think either Mátyás could put up with her. I certainly can’t.”

  István let Barbara go, but took her hand and kissed it. She smiled and wiped her tears with a mostly clean handkerchief.

  The next morning, he looked up from a solitary breakfast to find Janos striding in the door. “Good morning, my lord father.”

  “Good morning. Where’s Barbara?”

  “Resting. She’s been indisposed the last few mornings.” She turned green when she smelled my coffee, Pater. I’m not going to bother her.

  “I have news.” Janos waved a telegram. “She needs to be ready to go to Veszprém in three weeks. You and I are leaving for Vienna in two days.”

  István took a deep breath and laid down his fork and knife. “God willing, she will be able and willing to travel in three weeks. If her physician allows it.”

  His father stopped short, blinking. “Why what’s wrong? Is she ill?”

  “Only in the mornings, my lord father. She is pregnant.”

  “Ah. In that case we need to find a way to give her the news gently.”

  Ferenk, the servant on breakfast duty, pushed a chair under Janos before he could fall, and poured him a cup of coffee. István sat back, bracing for what he suspected he was about to hear. “Your news, Pater?”

  “His Majesty passed away last night, God rest his soul.” All three men crossed themselves. “Likely another stroke, this in his sleep or so the doctors say.”

  Thank you, holy Lord. Grant your servant Franz Josef eternal peace, oh Lord. “And I need to be ready to go to Vienna, as well as Veszprém?”