by Alma Boykin
Yes, but you cannot grant it. Only your master, and mine, has that ability. “No, thank you,” Rudolph said. Br. Andre departed, leaving Rudolph alone for the first time in almost a year. The blessed, welcome silence sounded sweeter to Rudolph’s ears than did the finest court musicians. He set his bags down, then sat in the simple wooden chair and considered the bare white walls, the wooden floor, and the image of St. Ann and the young Virgin on the wall by the door. A large crucifix hung on the wall above the table beside him. Rudolph met his Lord’s loving, sorrowful eyes. You of all people know what I carry and how it weighs. After all, God made flesh bore the sins of the world. “Agnus Dei qui tolis pecata mundi, ora pro nobis,” he whispered. Lamb of God who taketh away the sins of the world, pray for us.
Rudolph changed into plain, familiar clothes of the sort court protocols never permitted, and went to the smaller chapel, the one always available to guests. He bowed to the altar and knelt, looking up at St. Scholastica and St. Benedict. He began meditating on the lives of the sibling saints, letting his thoughts wander through the prayers that he had learned as a child and into their own courses. Here, at least, he could lower his guard. It was not until his knees began to hurt despite the well-padded kneelers and his stomach growled that he returned to the world. Just in time for supper, as it turned out.
Rudolph ate in tranquil solitude, enjoying the plain food. Then he found his way to the tiny guest gallery in the main chapel to attend vespers. The familiar petitions and praises soothed him as nothing else could. This he could hold onto. This was his and his alone, untouched by the Powers or the House. The Lord, in His mercy, granted Rudolph that much grace. “Nunc dimittis …” “Now lettest Thy servant depart in peace, for he has seen the coming of Thy Savior,” the priests, brothers, and novices sang, their words returning from the walls of the chapel. St. Benedict lifted his eyes to heaven above the high altar, the Blessed Virgin and Holy Child raised their hands in blessing. “Sanctus, sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth. Pleni sunt coeli et terra …” Holy, holy Lord of Hosts, heaven and Earth are full of thy glory. Rudolph recited the words under his breath, taking the prayer as a balm.
That night he slept as he had not since the Emperor’s most recent illness, a year ago at least. Rudolph woke before dawn and lay still, listening. He had left the window into the courtyard open and he heard quiet voices and a few passing steps, a bird singing, and silence. His siblings and cousins might dread being alone, considering it strange and poor not to have companions present or a servant just out of sight, waiting for the next command. But they did not live with three Powers always watching, listening. Well, Rudolph granted, Franz Ferdinand did, although not as he would in the future. Rudolph had come early, perhaps too early, into his duties after his uncle Archduke Johann of Styria had died in his sleep and his Great Uncle suffered his first major stroke, a stroke that had nearly severed his links to the Powers.
Only Rudolph’s grandmother’s understanding and steadiness had kept Rudolph soul-whole that day. He’d felt something when his uncle died, but had thought it just the sorrow of losing a relative he had sort of admired for telling Emperor Francis to, not exactly jump in a lake, but to stay out of affairs of the heart. It was not until 1906, four years ago, when Rudolph had been sixteen, that he discovered the truth. And his grandmother had held him, giving him a ground and a way to separate a little of himself from the Powers now looking through his eyes. Großmutter Barbara Viola Rosa, calm and unworried, had given Rudolph her love when everyone else recoiled or condemned. His family had no idea what they were seeing, not until days later when the House deigned to inform them. His siblings had apologized, his mother had pretended nothing out-of-the-ordinary had transpired, and his father … Rudolph stared at the ceiling. Well, he knew exactly why his great uncle declined to name Mathias Peter Johann Wilhelm Rudolph von Habsburg-Lorraine as crown prince, war lord, or anything else that required spending much time around people. His father should have been a hermit, an archivist, or museum curator, Rudolph sighed yet again. Too much of Rudolph II and Joan of Castile flowed through his father’s veins.
With that, Rudolph stretched, got up, and enjoyed the novelty of dressing himself without hearing soft protests and sighs of unhappiness. His valet did have a point to go with his eloquent sideways glances: Rudolph could not tie more than two basic knots, one of them an English cravat, without making a dog’s breakfast of both tie and collar. It was a gift. Rudolph washed his face and hands, recited the Rosary instead of going to matins, and walked into the guest dining room to find a lean, almost wizened figure in black watching him with bright black eyes. “Good morning, my son.”
“Ah, good morning, Father James.” Rudolph bowed to the abbot.
Fr. James chuckled and wagged one finger before reaching into the depths of his cassock. “I wanted to give you this, should you have need of it.” He held out a key. Rudolph bowed again and took the heavy metal key, slipping it into his jacket pocket. “And to tell you that Fr. Ignatius will be hearing confession tomorrow. I give you permission to participate in mass for the duration of your stay.”
I am to be there or else Rudolph translated. “Thank you, Farther Abbot.”
“Now eat.”
That evening following vespers, Rudolph heard the call. He’d half expected it. As soon as the long twilight thickened to near darkness, he left his room and walked with silent steps down the hall, past the office, to an old, half-ignored bit of building. He unlocked a small door and eased outside, closing the portal behind him and relocking it. The escape door dated at least to the Turkish Wars, if not before, as the huge trees and overgrown brush around it suggested. He fought his way through an especially tenacious holly. The air smelled of bruised leaves and soil. Rudolph felt a cool touch on his face and sniffed. Rain. A flash of distant light warned of storms coming down the mountains. Rudolph dropped his defenses and reached for Austria. It responded, showing the strikes fifty kilometers and more north and west. No danger, he shrugged, a little disappointed.
Rudolph moved carefully through the woodlands and pastures. Wolves and bears no longer threatened solitary travellers, but he did not care to break his leg or fall off a cliff. He really did not want to know if the Powers would catch him. Probably not if self-imposed stupidity caused the problem, he snorted. A deer froze, then dashed off through the trees. Hunting season would come soon, and the deer would pull on cloaks of invisibility, at least when Rudolph went out. “Who? Who?” An owl called from behind him. He noted the call and ignored it. The ground at his feet demanded most of his attention. The earth showed her bones here and he threaded his way between outcrops of stone. Distant storm flickers gave him glimpses more confusing than helpful.
At last he reached his goal, where the trees thinned away and the ground dropped into the riverlands to the east. A grey, lichen and moss mottled spur of stone marked the end of the ridge, and of the Alps. The hill cut back from under the spur, leaving the outcrop hanging. Rudolph took a deep breath, sent a prayer for protection, and touched the stone. Here he touched the territories of all the Powers allied with House Habsburg.
The Power of the Crownlands, of Austria, answered first. Rudolph felt and saw the energies of the land, flowing like the streams and rivers of the surface world to where he now stood. The creature, old when the first men visited the Danube Valley and found it good, acknowledged him before turning its attention elsewhere. To the west, in the folds of the Tirol, Rudolph saw the dark area of House Drachenburg’s lands. A different Power—smaller but not weaker, canny and cautious—claimed that ground. House Habsburg accepted Drachenburg’s loyalty and left them otherwise alone. Rudolph sighed a little, thinking of his latest report on the status of Bohemia. If only the other Powers were as quiet as Austria!
Awareness followed thought and the creature he called Bohemia burst into his mind. When would the crown return, it demanded from Rip Hill. Rudolph assured that he would ask the House Head and Guardian. Without the crown Bohemia could not fully
subdue the two rogue powers within its territory. That little bit of Rudolph’s mind that remained his observed that if the Power of Bohemia would stop squandering its energies trying to wall eastern Moravia off from Galicia, it had sufficient energy to subdue its rivals. Or did it? The creature at Kutna Hora … was best left contained and alone. Bohemia pushed again, showing him the forest fire and the Wenceslas crown. Rudolph soothed it as best he could, reminding it of the Silesian problem and promising to ask Franz Ferdinand and Franz Josef about the crown. Bohemia acknowledged and seemed to shiver, withdrawing as lightning licked down and the wet wind surged.
Pannonia, last and oldest, acknowledged Rudolph as much as a river acknowledged a rock in its bed. A law unto itself, the Power took everything Rudolph knew about the creatures called Powers, or that he thought he knew, and magnified it. Completely amoral, it granted energy at an unknowable price, although Rudolph had a few grim suspicions. Pannonia ignored the lesser Powers that bordered the Great Plain. When he looked more closely, Rudolph saw Pannonia shunting energy east and south, to the deadly eastern pass and to the gate where the Danube turned south through the Carpathians, where Trajan had built the hanging road in the Dacian Wars. Pannonia watched east and south, brooding. Rudolph shivered: danger came from the east and south. Avars, Magyars, Mongols, Turks had all streamed into Europe from the east and south through the river gates. Were the Turks planning a death throw, an all or nothing jihad to regain the Balkans or die trying? Pannonia held no answers. It cared nothing for human or HalfDragon concerns.
Panting, exhausted, Rudolph pulled back into himself. The storm crashed around him and he slumped to the ground at the border stone. He felt Austria offering a tiny thread of energy and he accepted it. Rudolph used the energy to replenish his own body. He should have sent some east, to Vienna and Emperor House Head Franz Josef. But he couldn’t serve the House and Empire if he died of exposure and exhaustion. Pannonia seemed amused by the thought and gave him a dribble of energy as well. As drained as he was, it took effort to “catch” the gift and to remember what was Rudolph and what wasn’t.
Would he disappear one day, losing Rudolph entirely, just a physical shell for the Powers to act through? The prospect terrified him. “I will not deny you or forsake you;” the Lord’s words came to his mind. “Neither height nor depth nor Powers, nor things present can separate you from the love of God,” Rudolph whispered. He clung to that promise. The House might sacrifice his body to the Powers, but his soul belonged to God and nothing could change that. The greatest Lord would never leave Rudolph or forsake him. Rudolph held that thought as the skies roared and sky-fire danced.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Rudolph said later that morning. “It has been five days since my last confession.” The faint disapproving noise from the other side of the screen warned that penance would be forthcoming and firm. Well, he had sufficient to confess. Uncharitable thoughts led the list. He’d probably had impure thoughts as well, but couldn’t remember any recently. He’d not enjoyed bodily congress in quite a while, so that was off the list.
Indeed, the penance was firm but very fair. And taking mass with a clean heart eased much of the last weeks’ weariness. The Host tasted sweeter than honey on Rudolph’s tongue, and after mass he contemplated the Body of Our Lord, meditating on the grace and love required to give everything for strangers. That evening Fr. James allowed him to eat with the community, in silence. The reading came from the visions of St. Catherine of Sienna. Rudolph finished the meal, attended vespers, and returned to his room filled and content in heart and mind.
Just as he knelt to say the final prayer of the day, a surge of distress from the House jolted him from his knees and onto the floor. Confusion, fear, pain, his hand and leg refused to answer his commands. He tried to speak but the words refused to come. No! Rudolph clutched for the bed, fingers searching. He touched his rosary and gripped it so tightly that the chain cut into his flesh. The pain finished bringing him to himself. Franz Josef. Something—another stroke—had damaged the House Head’s mind, further weakening his connection to the Powers. Rudolph grounded himself and reached for Franz Josef through the House. He found the Emperor but very weakly, a faint shadow of his younger self. Someone gave Franz Josef a sedative and the sense of frantic grasping faded. Thanks be to God Rudolph prayed with heart, mind, soul, and strength. He reached for his cousin, Franz Ferdinand, and found …
Rudolph buried his head in his hands. “No, it can’t be.” He felt Franz Ferdinand, the crown prince and heir, through the House. He could not sense Franz Ferdinand through their connection to the Powers. Which should have been impossible. Rudolph ventured to sense the House through the Powers and could. Franz Ferdinand remained a faint link, his tie even to Austria far weaker than it once had been. Once the links formed, only repudiation or death severed them. Or so Rudolph and the others, the true Guardians, believed.
A terrifying thought struck Rudolph and he curled into a ball on the floor. “Lord, let this cup pass from me,” he begged silently. He clutched the rosary and looked to the crucifix on the wall. I’m too weak. I can buffer but that is all. I don’t have the twist of mind to serve as Guardian. The Head served as Guardian, and that should be Franz Ferdinand. The Guardian acted, protecting the House and leading it as well as ensuring the health of the House’s territories, and Rudolph lacked the position and connections for that. Recovering a little, he sat up and ran a hand through sweat-soaked brown hair. He couldn’t manage to lead ducks to water. Hell, he couldn’t even lead fish to water! He clapped his hand over his mouth as hysterical, near maniacal laughter burst out.
Non nobis Domine he prayed. Rudolph picked himself up from the floor, collapsed onto the bed, and slept despite his fear. He woke with a cramp in his neck, scabs on his hand from the chain cuts, and a sense not exactly of doom but of pending misfortune. And beneath that, the assurance that he was not going to be the next Head or war lord of House Habsburg. The knowledge made him giddy with relief. “Oh good. Otherwise living down to Rudolph II’s reputation would be a true challenge.” From her shelf on the wall, St. Ann looked at him with mild disapproval at his declaration. “Your pardon,” he asked, bowing a little to his patron.
Rudolph was not surprised when Br. Andre sought him out as he meditated in the small chapel. He heard steps, ended his prayer and stood, genuflected, and turned to meet the bearer of news.
“Your Gr— ah, that is …’
Rudolph raised one hand, stopping the words. “His majesty?”
“Yes. Archduke Josef Karl sends his apologies and asks you to come as quickly as possible to Schönbrun. Fr. James received a phone call this morning that your car will be here at noon.” The Benedictine sounded apologetic and worried both.
“Thank you for the message. I will go.” He’d left his pocket watch in his room, but guessed that he had just enough time to change clothes and get to the foot of the hill. He did not want Heinrich or anyone else trying to pick him up at the gate.
When Rudolph reached the gate, bags in hand, he found the abbot waiting for him. Rudolph bowed. “Thank you for your hospitality and guidance.”
Rudolph dropped to one knee and crossed his arms over his chest as Fr. James raised his hand in blessing. “Go with God, my son. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your heart and mind in the knowledge and love of God and of His Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord.” He drew a cross on Rudolph’s forehead.
The benediction settled over Rudolph like a warm blanket on a cold night. “Amen.”
“Now go, and we will pray for you as well as for the Emperor’s health and healing.”
“Thank you Father. I covet your prayers.”
Rudolph reached the foot of the hill just as his car appeared on the road. The black vehicle roared up, 18 cylinder engine growling its unhappiness at being forced to go slow for rural traffic. Rudolph took a deep breath, pulling on the persona of eccentric strangeness that he had cultivated. I will never leave you or
forsake you he reminded himself. And Martino was going to swoon with dismay when he saw the dirt ground into the knee of Rudolph’s fine black trousers. He’d probably die of horror when he unfolded the still-damp and slightly muddy shirt and pants at the bottom of the valise. I do have a reputation to maintain, after all.
Author’s Notes
1) “Silver, Plows and Power” – The red and green man heads can be found in the lapidarium in the gallery at St. Barbara’s, Kutna Hora, Czech Republic. A green man is also visible in the columns in the nave.
2) “Rumbles of Justice” - Grimmig forms one end of the Dachstein Massif within the Kalkalps. The name comes from a Slavic word meaning “thunder.”
3) “A Traveler Passing Through” - The frescoes in St. John’s Chapel, Pürgg date to around 1150 and are among the oldest extant north of the Alps. I suspect there was a Last Judgment beside the mouse war, but that part of the frescoes has not survived. The paintings have a marked Byzantine style.
4) “Unto the Hills” - The Cistercian church at Bálapátfalva Hungary dates to 1232 and can be visited, along with the foundations of some of the monastery buildings.
5) “That Which is Hidden” – The church is in Feldebrö, near Eger. Art historians are still debating the paintings and architecture.
6) “Written in Stone” - A visit to Pannonhalma Monastery is highly recommended for those interested in Hungarian history, or who want a good view of the landscape of eastern Hungary. If you take the tour of the interior, see if you can find the carved animals.
7) “Devils, Dragons, and Castle Tales” - The legend of Schloß Stein is in many folk-tale collections.
