by Alma Boykin
(Book 4 of the Colplatschki Chronicles)
Alma T. C. Boykin
Elizabeth and Empire
(Book 4 of the Colplatschki Chronicles)
Alma T. C. Boykin
Kindle Edition
Published by
IndieBookLauncher.com
EPUB edition ISBN: 978-1-927967-27-0
Kindle edition ISBN: 978-1-927967-28-7
Copyright 2014 Alma T. C. Boykin, all rights reserved.
1
Autumn and Return
She raised her hand, bringing the weary soldiers and teamsters to a halt as they emerged from the trees atop the last ridge west of Vindobona. Hoof beats slowed and stopped, replaced by the jingle of harnesses and a few birdcalls. Elizabeth von Sarmas studied the lowlands ahead of them, eyes following the rise and fall of the slopes until she spotted her goal. The sight of Bellevue House nestled onto the low hill below them brought Elizabeth tears of relief and joy. She’d been away in the south for nearly seven months and the cream and pale-green building looked almost as beautiful as St. Gerald’s cathedral to her homesick heart. Gray III, her current riding mule, snorted and she slapped his neck. “Not much farther, boy,” she assured him.
She turned to her aid de camp. “Ulli, I’m taking my guard and will overnight at Bellevue. You and the others have your orders.” They’d finished as many of their initial reports and accounts on the road as they could, and she did not want to see any of her field staff for at least three days.
The younger but equally tired man touched the brim of his helmet. “Yes, your grace.” He looked past her toward the gray walls of Vindobona, asking, “No formal procession this year?”
“No. We accomplished our task.” She softened the cold words by reminding her men, “That’s better than King Laurence’s generals could do.” The soldiers shared tired smiles. That they had been the ones to stymie Lauri the Loathsome’s ambitions yet again went without saying. Elizabeth nudged Gray into taking a few steps forward, away from the others’ horses, then turned him to face her staff officers and guards. She pitched her voice to carry over the sounds of creaking leather and jingling metal. “My final order for the season. Do what I told you and then go home!”
The men laughed, as they were supposed to do, and she turned Gray once more, urging him into his silky running-walk. The mule sped up, sensing a good feed and lazy days in his future, and rushed down the ridge. “Clop-clop-clop-clop” rose from the dull black surface of the ancient Lander road. Within moments Imperial War Duchess Elizabeth von Sarmas’s guards caught up with her and the five riders gave their mounts their heads. At the foot of the ridge the sound faded into thuds as she led them off the highway and onto the hard-packed dirt track leading to the deceptively small palace.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows before them as they entered the ornate stone and iron gates of Bellevue. She smiled again at the gears and rods worked into the gates’ design, mimicking the Lander artifacts she collected so avidly. Then she caught sight of the man riding to meet them. Her guards saw him too, and at her wave they scattered out, passing around Imperial Colonel Lazlo Destefani and on to the stables and barracks tucked out of sight at the base of Belleview’s low hill. Elizabeth stopped Gray, unhooked her leg from the sidesaddle’s leaping horn and began to dismount, but Lazlo beat her to the ground. The gray-haired man swung down from Bruno’s back, reached up and all but dragged her and her saddle both off the startled mule. She squeezed Lazlo as hard as armor allowed. “Godown bless, but I’ve missed you,” she managed before kisses cut off her words.
He released her only enough to study her face. “You know better than to ride so far,” he scolded with a smile. “That’s why you have a carriage, my lady.”
“It makes me queasy,” she explained yet again. In truth, it moved too slowly for her, especially this year. And it reminded her that she grew no younger. “Gray needed the exercise.”
Dark eyes shining, Col. Destefani wagged a finger at his wife. Then he lunged for his horse’s head as Bruno crowded past him, reaching out to sample Elizabeth’s white helmet plumes. “Quit,” he scolded. Elizabeth used the moment to collect Gray and they walked back to Bellevue together. Walking felt good, Elizabeth sighed, another sign of the passing years and miles. Her back and hips ached more than usual this year, and she dreaded winter. All old cavalrymen did, if they lived long enough.
She smiled as details of the beautiful green and white palace appeared. Pale green walls broken by two ranks of windows stretched north and south of the main, grand entrance. Wide, dark wooden and brass doors stood at ground level. The plantings between the windows had at last grown enough to be trimmed into dark green columns that alternated with statues of mythical beasts, done in the same creamy stone that framed the windows. Two life-sized white stone mules flanked the door, and Elizabeth wondered yet again if they needed to be boxed for winter. She always worried about the ears cracking off in the cold and wet. People spilled out of the building as the staff rushed to greet their mistress in proper fashion. For once she would have just as soon foregone the honor and ritual, but at least she’d gotten a few moments with Lazlo, Elizabeth sighed. Later, once things settled down… she glanced over at her husband of twenty years. He caught the appreciative look and winked before assuming the properly respectful and distant expression their court ranks demanded.
Several of the junior grooms and stableboys hurried up and took custody of the horse and mule. Before Gray disappeared, Elizabeth pulled a heavy bag, a smaller bag, and a battered, leather covered case out of one saddlebag. The other items could wait. The smaller bag she slipped into her skirt pocket. She handed the case to Lazlo, who bowed as he took it with both hands. An invisible weight lifted off her shoulder as he did and she closed her eyes for a moment, glad to be shed of duty. Then she opened her eyes again and began the familiar ritual of return. She opened the coin bag as well.
“Welcome home, my lady.” Mina Green, her personal maid, led the line of staff because of her seniority, even though she was a woman.
“Thank you, Mina. It’s good to be back.” Elizabeth extended her hand and slipped two gold coins into Mina’s palm.
Mina curtsied and sniffed. “My lady smells like horse,” she informed Elizabeth, who smiled at the familiar complaint. The two women had grown gray together.
Due to the pending return to Donatello House, Elizabeth’s palace within Vindobona’s walls, only half the staff waited to be greeted and paid. Even so she was very tired, and her bag rather lighter, by the time she and Lazlo reached the door. The scrawny young man now serving as night boy tugged the front of his dirty-water blond hair and bowed, looking awestruck as he met the Imperial Duchess Elizabeth von Sarmas for the first time. He stuttered, turning redder and redder, until she waved his greeting away. “Thank you.” She pushed a copper coin into his rough hand and he bowed lower, then scurried to the doors, shoving with all his weight to get the heavy wood to move. The doors should have opened out, and been better hung, but after this long Elizabeth and Lazlo just ignored the problem. That’s what they hired servants for, after all.
The arch-ceilinged entryway, its columns carved to look like Turkowi captives, made her flinch every time she walked through it. Since Emperor Rudolph had paid for the stonework, she and Lazlo could not have refused the gift, no matter how much they wanted to. The plain gray stone floor, more to her taste, provided a first line of defense against dirty boots ruining the fine wood in the rest of the building. Two maids waited beside the grand staircase, holding a bootjack and a pair of slippers. After some tugging, Elizabeth’s armored ri
ding boots yielded and the younger of the two maids hurried off with the boots, holding them not quite at arm’s length. Lazlo chuckled and Elizabeth turned on him, shaking her finger. “They were cleaned three days ago.”
He raised still-black eyebrows and pointed to himself with his free hand, looking as innocent as possible. She snorted, a mule-like sound, and turned back to the steps, taking her skirts in one hand. He took her other arm and they climbed up the broad, winding stairs. The gritty stone felt cool through her slipper soles. Once on the wooden floor above, Lazlo shifted his grip so he could catch her if she fell. She gave him a grateful look. She’d slipped on a polished floor several years before and had broken her arm. “And before you warn me, I’m not wearing spurs,” he assured her after they’d gone a few meters.
“Those scars will never sand out, will they?”
“No, but at least he stopped before he got to the carpet.” They both shivered at the thought of what Governor the Duke Aquila Starland’s spurs would have done to the priceless weaving. After that close call, they moved it from the floor to the wall. Rajtan Tayyip the Invincible had given the weaving to High Priest Mukara as a special sign of his favor and trust and Elizabeth had claimed the ornate carpet after the Battle of Vindobona. She still gloated most uncharitably every time she walked past it.
Unseen hands opened the door before them, revealing Elisabeth’s personal reception room and adjoining bedchamber. She caught a glimpse of a large metal tub with steam rising out of it through the open door between the two rooms. She hesitated, thinking that surely Mina had not been that offended by her scent? Beside her, Lazlo set the leather case down on Elizabeth’s desk before taking Elizabeth’s helmet and setting it on the shelf by the window. He waved toward the doorway and explained, “I took the liberty of ordering a bath heated as soon as the heliograph told us of your arrival, my lady.”
“Thank you, Col. Destefani. I appreciate your anticipation,” and she winked, giving him a shrewd glance but pointedly not looking away from his face.
He bowed a fraction, mischief in his slight smile. “It is my pleasure as well as my duty to anticipate your desires, your grace,” he teased back. “Shall I order a formal supper or a private meal?”
Formal meant a working meal and that most certainly could wait, she decided. “A private meal, in here,” she pointed to the floor. He bowed again, taking her hand and kissing it before hurrying out. Elizabeth waited until he left, then eased the small leather bag out of her pocket and slipped it into one of the desk drawers.
Mina pounced on Elizabeth as soon her foot touched the grass rug that covered the bedroom floor. “My lady, those clothes are fit only for the rag bag!”
“They’re just dusty,” Elizabeth protested, unbuckling the straps holding her breastplate and backplate together.
“Hmpf!” As soon as Elizabeth finished removing her armor, uniform jacket, and swordbelt, Mina and another maid stripped their mistress down to the skin almost before she had time to blink. It took two tubs of steaming water and some firm scrubbing before Mina pronounced her mistress clean. She also tutted over Elizabeth’s hair, producing a very sharp set of shears and cutting away most of the last six months’ length. To Elizabeth’s chagrin, her hair refused to turn snowy white, or silver, or even a distinguished gray such as her husband now wore. No, it had turned from dirty-water mousy dark blond to an equally unattractive yellowy gray. So much for giving up wigs, Elizabeth grumbled silently as she checked Mina’s work in a small pocket mirror, the only mirror she kept in her quarters.
The younger maid held up a boned bodice as Elizabeth finished drying off. She waved her hands. “No, absolutely not, not this evening. I’ve been tight laced for seven months. Mina, I want to air out.” Mina bowed and returned with a loose day dress, heavy socks, and a shimmy with a spill of lace around the neck. “Perfect.” Dried and dressed, Elizabeth padded back into her reception room to find her chair and a footrest waiting, along with a pitcher of chilled wine. “Thank you. You may go until I call,” she told the lurking servants. As soon as the door closed she settled into the chair, put her feet up, poured a glass of the wine and juice blend and allowed herself a long, tired sigh of pleasure.
She’d just refilled the cup when she heard the faint click of a door latch closing. She set the goblet down on the small table beside her chair and got to her feet. “Come here, you,” Lazlo ordered and she threw herself into his arms. Now free of boning and armor, she pressed herself against him. He bent her back a little and kissed her as hard as he could. “I missed you more than you can know,” he whispered when they broke for air.
She snuggled against his broad chest. “I needed you, love. And not just for that,” she advised. “You have no idea how hard it is to find someone who will tell me when I’m wrong.”
“The great battle duchess Elizabeth von Sarmas, wrong?” He pretended to be shocked and surprised, then hugged her close again. “I can imagine.” He hesitated before venturing, “Is that what happened?”
She shrugged. “That and the enemy failed to cooperate with me. Perfidious Frankonians. And the drought made the summer flux even worse than usual. The foragers barely found enough fuel for cooking, let alone boiling all the water, and,” she shrugged. He knew the rest all too well. “If the only Lander technology we recover is water purification, I’ll die happy.”
She felt him stiffen and she looked up. His expression turned sober and he shook his head. “Don’t say that where you can be heard, love. St. Mou’s followers support Duke Clellan right now, and they’re making noises again.”
Elizabeth felt her shoulders tensing and forced them to relax as she unclenched her jaw. That was all the reaction she showed. Lazlo kissed her again, then released her. “Tomorrow,” she stated, planting one hand on her hip. “That’s soon enough to deal with court.”
“Yes, it is.” He turned and walked over to the window. “Because Archduchess Ann wants you to look at the young mules and help her sort out a set for her carriage and to certify the rest for sale. And Prince Ryszard sends his regards and wants to know when the Empire plans to make good on the mutual defense treaty, and there’s a new cannon you need to look at that I think is far too big to use in the field unless you buy some of those mammoth mules from Duke Kossuth, and,” he turned back to her, laughing as she threw her hands into the air.
“Arrrrrgh!” She flopped into the chair and drank the rest of the wine in one gulp. Lazlo came over and refilled the cup.
“And apparently dark skirts with pale tops are in style, as are, Godown be praised, smaller wigs,” he concluded.
“Smaller or shorter?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” She did not like the sound of that, but neither did she feel like asking for more. She’d been riding since before dawn, hungry for home after one of the longest campaign seasons she’d fought. Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the back of the chair. I’m not twenty any more, she finally forced herself to admit, if only in the privacy of her mind. Lazlo has been much better about that than I. Well, Lazlo was a man. Men matured and gained dignity and wisdom. Women just got old, assuming they survived that long.
Lazlo left, giving her some precious time alone. Elizabeth half-napped for a while, glad to sit on something she could ignore without risking a broken neck. You never realize how much you need quiet until you go on campaign. No privacy, no silence, constant motion unless you are waiting for an ambush or asleep, she exhaled a gusty sigh. At least she no longer needed a chaperone to guarantee her virtue, or rather to guarantee the public reputation of her virtue.
Thinking of virtue, she scolded herself. Elizabeth hid her flinch as joints popped and muscles protested leaving the chair. She put on a pair of house shoes, walked down the corridor, and took a small side staircase down to her private chapel. Bellevue House had three chapels: one for regular household worship dedicated to St. Sabrina, the small prayer space dedicated to St. Kiara attached to Lazlo’s bedchamber, and her large
r chapel to St. Gerald. Someone had aired and cleaned the room, she discovered, leaving fresh candles in the black metal rack and a branch of red and gold fall leaves in a vase at the foot of the altar, along with fluffing the padding on her kneeling bench. Elizabeth bowed low to Godown’s symbol above the main altar. She lit a candle before the statue of St. Gerald and his bridge, then knelt to give her thanks for a safe return. Unlike her husband, she did not make use of their dispensation to burn incense during solitary worship. “Incense is a sign of Godown’s presence with His followers,” she’d argued. “It is to be shared, not kept to ourselves.” For that and other reasons, she and Lazlo had separate prayer spaces here at Bellevue. In the city, they worshipped together at St. Gerald’s cathedral.
In the city, she groaned. St. Gerald, help your servant to bridge the space between herself and her superiors, please, I pray. Holy Godown, hear your daughter as she reaches to Your sons. Please give me discernment to tell Your will from mine, Godown, lord of all. She recited the afternoon prayers and a shortened litany for the season, then struggled to her feet, stiff and aching. Her back popped as she bowed to Godown once more, put out the candle, and departed.
A scandalously early supper awaited her back in her receiving room. Lazlo served her a large helping of yard fowl so tender that the meat slid off the bones onto her plate, fried blueroot rounds, and minced smoked shahma in a tart sauce of fresh berries. As he filled his own plate, she ate and studied the room. It seemed darker than she remembered. Her books and papers appeared to be in their usual places around two and a half walls. The shutters stood open outside the large windows, so that couldn’t be the reason. The blocky, pale brown ceramic stove looming in one corner gleamed from a fresh scrubbing. The chairs still had their original dark brown finish and light green seats and cushions. Her eyes roamed back to the windows. Something’s different, heavier… “Ah, that’s it! The curtains are different.”
