Elizabeth of Donatello Bend (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  “I’m not sure the river or the weather cares, Captain,” Master Smith called from the wagon. They’d traded the sledges for wagons two days before, once they got out of the snow and into the Donau Novi lowlands. They’d also borrowed a one-horse trap for the serving women to ride in. “Although the river does not freeze at the city on average, averages mean next to nothing in any given year.”

  “I see, Master Smith. Thank you,” Lazlo replied in hopes of forestalling a lecture. Elizabeth smiled behind her scarf. They’d learned more about math and statistics than she’d ever wanted to over the past week and a half. “Ah, here’s our chance,” Lazlo pointed. The group sped up and slid into the gap in traffic, moving ahead of a pair of heavy wagons laden with crates, barrels, and sacks of all different shapes and colors. No one wanted to be behind cargos like those when they cleared the gates. But the Sarmas contingent passed without problem. “The house, my lady?” Lazlo inquired.

  “Yes.” For now. I’m so glad I had it blessed before I left for Donatello Bend. They threaded their way between other wagons, at one point easing to the side of the narrow road to allow Count Montoya’s carriage to clatter past. “Nice horses,” Elizabeth observed.

  “Yes, my lady. Very flashy,” Lazlo added. “I prefer solid,” and he thumped the neck of his undistinguished mare.

  “What? You dare to question the taste of a nobleman?” She teased as they rode on.

  “Oh no, my lady,” and he turned a little, watching a very attractive young woman in a brown coat as she picked her way across the road, trying to keep her shoes dry. “Ah, yes, that is, I do not question his judgment, my lady, I merely state my preference.”

  Elizabeth replied in a voice as dry as the great eastern grass sea, “Indeed.”

  They reached the house without incident and stopped. “My lady, I thought no one had come ahead of us.” Smoke rose from two of the chimneys and the cobbled pavement outside the walls had been swept. Fresh greenery hung from the metal gate.

  “No one has.” They exchanged worried looks. Lazlo rode forward and pounded on the gate with the butt of his riding stick, then retreated.

  The gate opened, and a warmly dressed Archduke Lewis of Babenburg, flanked by two servants, appeared. Elizabeth and Lazlo dismounted in the street and she curtsied awkwardly, her legs half-numb from the long ride. “Your grace, my apologies,” she began.

  The tall, dark man laughed. “None needed, Lady Elizabeth. A place like this needs staff in winter, in case of leaks and weather problems, so I sent some of my people to open it. There’s no point in letting crown property deteriorate,” he reminded them.

  “No, your grace, no reason,” she stammered.

  “Come in, come in,” Lewis stepped out of the way and beckoned, impatient. “You are blocking the road.”

  Once inside Elizabeth found that her quarters had been prepared, as had the stables. Apparently someone had also taken care of the solar, since most of the plants remained alive. Archduke Lewis waited for her there. “So, how are my mules?”

  “They seem healthy, or at least their dams do, your grace. It appears that many will be foaled near mid-winter.”

  He looked up and seemed to be calculating something. “So, born at midwinter, that gives us four months to imprint and handle them before putting them out in pasture, and they’ll be ready…” his voice trailed off as he counted on his fingers. “Well, there’s no such thing as instant mules,” he allowed at last.

  Elizabeth had a sudden mental image of mixing water with gray powder to produce a mule, much as the cook did with dried maize to make maize cake. She bit her tongue before she could start laughing.

  “Well, that said, I need a full report on the estate. Sit, please,” and he pointed to the chairs set up beside a small table. “So, how bad and what did you find that you did not put into your official reports?”

  “We found, or rather, Master Smith found eight thousand thalers of unpaid taxes. It seems that the former owner kept excellent accounts, but the two most recent years of the official account books are missing. And the existing records include large sections in code or without information other than amounts. Master Smith believes, and I agree with him, that those funds were used for bribes or as donations to Selkow, or to buy ritual objects for his personal use.”

  Lewis closed his eyes and shook his head. “That explains some things. Or it helps explain some things that Duke Starland and Count Montoya found this year.” He opened his eyes. “What plans do you have for your stay here?”

  “To meet with his grace Duke Starland if he comes to court, to speak with the Minister of Finance about repaying the missing taxes, those are my first priorities.” She wiggled in her chair. “I also need to collect the uniforms that were ordered for me, and to meet with his worship the archbishop.”

  “Oh?” He leaned forward, his expression half-wary.

  Why so curious, your grace? “Yes, I want to see about being released from my postulant’s vows. There are possible situations I would prefer to avoid, now that it is clear that I do not have a sisterly vocation.”

  Lewis’s bright green eyes danced and he smiled, showing all of his excellent teeth as he sat back in his chair. “Indeed, I can see that.” He glanced away from her for a moment before asking, “Is there anything else I need to know about the status of, what is it now, Donatello Bend?”

  “Not really, your grace. Other than the very first discovery, there have been no nasty surprises. I had the chapel exorcized and blessed before any work started on it. The biggest problem is the lack of people, although that should remedy itself in time.”

  A wicked gleam sparked in his eyes. “Nine months time?”

  She flushed, angry at the insinuation in his voice. “No, your grace. People are moving back onto the estate, thanks to the offer of reduced rent for the next five years.”

  “Ah.” He either missed her tight tone or ignored it. “Well, get the place producing again, Elizabeth, and make certain that the military levy is ready as soon as possible. You may stay seated,” and he got to his feet. “The servants will stay here as long as you do. And you will be attending Lady Miranda and Princess Ildiko next summer, so you need to meet with them, or so Empress Margaretha says. Oh,” he added as he walked out of the plant room, “Duke Starland arrives next week, weather permitting, and the ambassador from Frankonia arrived yesterday.”

  St. Gerald guide me, Godown, lend me Your patience, she thought at the archduke’s back. Well, since I can’t participate in many of the court parties and dances until I’m released from my postulant’s vows, I have a reason not to be around the ambassador. The thought heartened her, as did the idea of using the time to study in the military archives. I need to learn about infantry tactics. And I wonder if they have any pictures of ‘tanks’? What she imagined could not be anything like the weapons, could they?

  She barely had time to find out. Her schedule filled up with research, riding lessons, meetings with Babenburg administrators to discuss the Donatello Bend property and how to pay the back taxes and dues, and almost-daily receptions and events at the Babenburg court. Elizabeth began looking forward to going back to the estate just so she could get some peace and quiet without worrying what other people thought about her clothes, hair, accent, and the progress of her military training. She knew what the manor folk thought of her, and she preferred their grudging acceptance to the ill-disguised distain of some members of the imperial court.

  A week after she’d arrived in Vindobona, Elizabeth found herself in a meeting room attached to the imperial library, along with Aquila and Matthew Starland, Count Montoya, and Kemal and Lazlo Destefani. Duke Kossuth, unable to attend court because of private difficulties, would get a summary of their discussion. Quill had called the meeting of the marcher lords, at least those with the largest properties or who had suffered the most from Turkowi raids, and asked Elizabeth to come, since she’d been fighting Turkowi since she entered the Empire. The Wisdom Keepers permitted them to use
one of the rooms outside the library, so they could have fire and food.

  “Count Archer Tidemore sends his regrets,” Montoya informed them, leaning back in his chair, legs outstretched to soak up all the heat he could from the fire. “He’s got flooding problems to deal with. But no one is coming past the Tongue Sea this winter, if the weather continues the way it has.”

  Aquila nodded and ran a hand through shaggy black and gray hair. “He’s wise not to travel. There’s no point, really, not with Grantholm’s supporters in power at the court this season.”

  “The protection of Bergenland independence is most critical for the survival of the Empire, your gracious majesty,” Elizabeth quoted, matching Duke Alphonse Washington’s languid tones. “Surely his grace the Duke of Tivolia will see the wisdom and necessity of defending against Frankonian intrusion.” She patted the side of her nose with an invisible handkerchief.

  The men laughed at her mimicry. “Well done, Elizabeth,” Matthew crowed. “You have Alphie down to the buttonhole.”

  Aquila thumped his son on the head. “Duke Alphonse to you, Matthew,” he reminded his son. “Even if Washington is an overdressed fop who refuses to get any closer to the borders than Keerland.”

  That’s the safest spot in all of the Eastern Empire. And grows pfeaches. Her mouth watered at the thought of fresh, ripe pfeaches. I wonder if they’d grow in the walled garden behind the house? Hmmm, I’ll ask Ann.

  Montoya sighed and sat up, reaching for his mug of hot bumbleberry cider. Elizabeth refilled her own mug as he shrugged. “The Bergenland counties and cities are important. But not that important, not in the long term.”

  “Not even in the short term, my lords, your grace.” From his place behind Elizabeth’s chair, Lazlo reminded them, “According to the ancient survey reports, there is iron and copper in the Empire. Coal too, although we have not mined as much as we could. Tin is the problem, if anything.”

  “And once the foundry gets going, we can cast our own cannon, both bronze and iron, my lord, your grace. There are ores from the Dividing Range that can be added to the iron to make it tougher and less likely to shatter,” Elizabeth added. “Tin? Eh, I have an idea but I don’t want to speak before I have facts.”

  “Poloki have tin, which makes the alliance with them all the more important,” Aquila reminded them unnecessarily.

  Matthew, a lighter-built version of his father, mimicked Aquila’s habitual chin stroke. “But it will still look bad if we abandon the Bergenlanders and our other allies.”

  “No one is saying to abandon them,” Montoya corrected over the rim of his mug. “We’re trying to say that focusing solely on them is not smart. All the Turkowi have been doing this year, since the battle of Kidron Valley, are raids. But raids wear us down as much as battles do. Maybe more.”

  “Either one could bleed the Empire dry,” Elizabeth opined.

  “And both will if we continue the way we have. But I can’t stay here and argue the marchers’ case.” Aquila handed his mug to Matthew, who refilled it. “You don’t have the experience and you,” he pointed to Elizabeth, “are too young, too foreign, and too female.”

  She laughed, leaning her head back against the top of the chair. “Can you please tell Lady Sebastiani that, your grace? Please?”

  “Tell her what?”

  Captain Kemal Destefani saved Elizabeth from answering. “My lord, it seems that Lady Elizabeth is not lady-like and womanly enough for the young princess’s ladies-in-waiting. They have expressed concern that Elizabeth might corrupt their mistress.” Kemal winked at Elizabeth, who winked back.

  Count Montoya leaned over and inspected Elizabeth. “I fail to see the problem.”

  “Proper ladies do not read so much. It causes wrinkles and takes time away from more important things,” she informed him.

  “It causes wrinkles. I see. I’ll be sure to tell Lady Montoya, assuming she’s not too preoccupied reading the latest devotional or romance.”

  “Nothing of which has anything to do with helping us secure the eastern and southern borders,” Aquila snapped. “Elizabeth, get your men trained and get that foundry working as soon as his majesty allows it. Lazlo, find more about the mines. The Turkowi are buying more cannon from Frankonia and we need to match them at the very least. Montoya, you and I will keep doing what we can do to persuade the court and his majesty that we’ve got to find a way to stop the Turkowi from raiding. There has to be a way to get more than the Poloki to help us.”

  Not as long as Laurence V is being an arrogant idiot of an ass, Elizabeth sighed, finishing her cider. Lazlo sighed as well.

  “Well, on to something we can control,” their host said after several morose minutes. “Winter maneuvers begin next week, and I want you with me, Elizabeth. We’re doing more with infantry this time, and you need to see how a tercio works as well as fighting in the lines.”

  “Yes, your grace,” and she bowed her head. Kemal dragged a low table into the middle of the room and the soldiers pulled their chairs closer. Kemal and Lazlo found stools to sit on and Aquila rolled out a map.

  “This is what we will start with,” and he described the exercise and the goals. Elizabeth made notes and soaked up the information. The hour flew by.

  As she and Lazlo rode back to Donatello House, she asked, “How do you get men to stay in formation under fire?”

  “You train them, my lady. You train and you remind them that they will be letting their fellow soldiers down if they run.” He glanced behind them, checking traffic, before reminding her, “They also tend to get shot in the ass or sabered by cavalry when the ranks break. And then you point out that people who run do not get paid.”

  “Ah. Thank you.” Lazlo had a good point about payment. In fact, she needed to start storing coin so she could pay both her men and any mercenaries she needed to hire. Just the day before she’d read about what happened on Arpad V when the government failed to pay the mercenaries they’d hired to defend the planet. I don’t think we are much different from them. I know I’d be mad if I didn’t get what I’d been promised.

  The next day she met with Archbishop Andrew of St. Gerald’s cathedral. An acolyte led her into the richly appointed, warm reception chamber. “Your worship,” she bowed.

  The sharp-faced man in lush brown robes studied her. “Why have you come, Postulant Elizabeth?”

  “I seek release from my vows, your worship.”

  He peered down around his bulbous nose. “I see.” She waited, eyes downcast as befitted her position as both a junior and a petitioner. “And what is this release for?”

  “Your worship?”

  He exhaled, impatient. “For what do you wish to be released? To be married? To take up an inheritance? Who is your guardian?”

  “I, I have no guardian, your worship. I seek release so that I may not be forced into a vocation that I do not have.” She’d told him everything in her letter of request. What was the difficulty?

  “You are not of age to act on your own, Postulant Elizabeth. Without a guardian, you have no protection for your virtue or your property,” he informed her crisply. “For your own safety, I will not release you from your vows until you come before me with a betrothal document or you turn twenty one.”

  She started to protest. I’ve fought battles, I’m managing property for the emperor, I rode across half of this landmass, and yet I’m not safe unless I’m supervised? Except I’m not under any religious supervision at all. But twelve years of training overrode her anger, and she held her peace. He does have a legal point, she reminded herself. “Yes, your worship,” she murmured, resigned. Elizabeth bowed again and kissed his outstretched ring.

  “You are dismissed.” As she curtsied and turned to go, he added, “A convent within the city walls would be a great act of charity, one Godown would smile upon.” His oily tone set her teeth on edge.

  “I thank you for confirmation of my hopes, your worship.”

  Three years, she promised herself as she walk
ed out, clenched fists hidden in the folds of her skirt. I can abide by my vows for three years. Not that it matters unless he decides to put me under someone’s supervision, and I do not envision that happening. Still, it rankled, and she rode back to what she’d taken to calling “Donatello House” under a gray cloud.

  She found several bundles of clothes waiting when she walked into her rooms. One eye-watering whiff confirmed what at least some of them were, and as Elizabeth spread out the pile, her maid hung back, staying close to the open door and covering her nose with a handkerchief. Elizabeth shook out a jacket, nose starting to burn: the mordant that kept the dark-blue Babenburg colors from fading did tend to linger. “Once I’ve tried these on, take them into the yard to air,” she ordered. She tried on the new coat, split skirts, regular skirts, and two waistcoats. They fit with a little room for expansion if she regained the weight she’d lost over the past two years. “They fit. Now, out with them, please.” The servants wasted no time hauling the clothes out to air in the small courtyard between the solar and the back wall.

  As she rode out again, this time bound for the archives, Elizabeth wondered what else would go wrong. Trouble always came in threes. Well, perhaps not this time, if she counted the weather when they left Donatello Bend. Elizabeth thought about the political situation while Braun plodded along, then made herself pay attention to her surroundings. There’s nothing you can do about politics. You’re underage, and a foreigner, or at least most people will assume you are still a foreigner. Concentrate on the military, and let the diplomats dance as they will. What’s the old saying? Stick to your knitting?

  She spent a happy afternoon in the archives, reviewing Jomini and taking notes about infantry logistics. Ugh. No wonder nothing happens quickly. Two ox carts with a ton of provisions each just for one tercio for one week? How did people fight between stars? The ships carrying their supplies must have been huge! She stretched, shook out her hands, and returned to her reading. She preferred terrain studies to logistics, but the most accurate maps in the world wouldn’t be worth anything if her troops and animals went hungry.