Circle of Shadows

by Imogen Robertson

  He led them through the main entrance and a roar of noise fell over them in a torrent. It seemed to be coming from a grand hall to their right, and as if to confirm it, the gatekeeper was almost knocked off his feet by a dozen boys of about ten years of age, all dressed in blue coats with black trimmings and wigged, racing in that direction. The adults followed them through an arched entrance and round the edge of a high and spacious hall filled with the clamour of some five hundred boys aged between ten and fifteen.

  Harriet could not at once understand how the seating was arranged. She assumed the boys would sit together according to their age, but some of the youngest sat with their elders. Some boys had epaulettes, others did not. She asked the question of Crowther who translated it, and the answer.

  ‘Rank, Mrs Westerman. The boys are seated according to their rank. The head table is reserved for the Princes who are schooled here. The seats lower down the room are for those not of noble stock.’

  ‘They begin their education in such matters very early, Crowther.’

  ‘I have seen a woman of rank kiss the hands of her niece and call her Illustrious Highness, when the niece in question was a child of three years old. Yes, they begin such things early.’

  There was a raised dais at the far end of the room where the Professors of the institution were gathering to dine under a flattering portrait of the Duke. He had been painted wearing a gaudy version of the blue and black coats of the pupils. Crowther bent towards their guide, then said to Harriet, ‘Ludwig Christoph founded this school ten years ago, and pays for about half the students to attend. Sons of his officers, by and large.’

  The gentleman who sat directly below the portrait of the Duke had noticed them approaching, and as they were led towards him, left his seat to join them below the steps to the dais.

  They made their introductions and Crowther repeated that they had come from the Duke himself. The Headmaster, a Mr von Bieber, frowned, but nodded.

  ‘I have been master here only five years, I am sorry to say. I know, of course, of the outbreak of fever at the time you mention. Eight children died, but I do not recall their names. Kastner, you say?’

  There was a gentleman just taking his seat next to them. Overhearing them, he turned. A native German by his accent, he addressed them in French, however. ‘Headmaster, I knew that boy. Carl Kastner?’

  The Headmaster looked deeply relieved. ‘Thank goodness – thank you, Herr Dreher. Perhaps you could take our guests into my study and answer any questions they may have. If we do not get food into the boys soon, I fear for our safety.’

  Herr Dreher gave a curt nod and stood, then invited Harriet and Crowther back the way they had come. All at once, silence fell in the hall. Harriet turned to see that the places at the head table, apart from that of Herr Dreher, were now all taken and the Headmaster had got to his feet. The boys had their backs straight and each looked directly ahead.

  ‘Stand.’

  The boys stood up in a single movement. The Headmaster gave a nod, and one of the boys at the head table began to recite. ‘Benedic, Domine, nobis et donis tuis quae ex largitate tua sumus sumpturi …’

  Harriet’s footsteps seemed horribly loud to her as they retreated to the back of the hall again. The Grace ended to a general ‘Amen,’ barked out with youthful vigour from the diaphragms of each boy.

  ‘Eat!’ the Headmaster said, and there was a great clatter of cutlery.

  ‘I cannot help thinking of the Al-Saids’ automata,’ Harriet whispered to Crowther.

  ‘I felt sorry for the boy from the moment he arrived. He was very unhappy here.’ Mr Dreher spoke French well enough, though his accent was strong.

  ‘You were one of his teachers,’ Harriet said.

  ‘Yes, and one of the few who didn’t beat him every other hour. Did you notice the little pieces of paper many of the students wear in their collars?’ Harriet nodded. ‘It is a list of the child’s misdeeds. The Duke on his visits, or anyone who wishes to, may stop a boy and read his tally at any time. Carl was reprimanded continually for malingering, or for womanish behaviour.’

  ‘Womanish behaviour?’ Crowther asked.

  ‘He missed his mother, and cried for her, then was beaten for it.’ His lip lifted slightly. ‘We are supposed to be making soldiers here.’

  ‘Do you know where his mother was?’

  ‘I didn’t at the time. Everyone knew who she was and the story of the scandal, and of course the boys beat him for that too. In his shoes I might have ended up hating my mother, but he talked of her whenever he had the chance. He was convinced she was coming for him.’

  Harriet thought of her son and felt a mixture of such rage and fear, she did not know how to frame another question. Crowther asked, ‘And later?’

  ‘I went to see the child when I heard he was sick.’ The slightly casual air of the master had disappeared. He looked at the floor in front of him. ‘He was very ill, and he knew it. But he wanted to have his things sent to his mother, and asked me to take them.’

  ‘And where was she?’

  ‘Living at the house of one of the Imperial Knights between here and Oberbach. She sent a message to Carl that he had a new papa and they were coming to get him soon. The night he died he told me the name was Frenzel and asked me to take his Bible to her.’ As he paused, Harriet became aware of the sounds from the dining hall. Boys, voices chattering like starlings. She longed to see Stephen. It was an ache in her. Frenzel. Of course. Only a man who had bought automata in the past would commission something so complex from the Al-Saids, would think of that as a vehicle. She struggled to listen to Herr Dreher. ‘Poor woman. I had thought she was some courtesan and Frenzel was simply her new protector, but when I went there … She was a gentle lady, devastated by the loss, of course, but she was so desperate to talk about the boy. Kind. Noble in nature if not in name, I would say. And I don’t think she was just Frenzel’s mistress either. Even if no one knew it, I think they were married.’

  ‘And was Count Frenzel there when you spoke to her?’ Harriet said, still amazed.

  ‘Watched her like a hawk. She was kind to him, even in her grief, but he watched her so jealously. I was shocked when I saw him in court again. I thought there would never come a time when he allowed her to leave his sight, and he could not bring her here, of course.’

  ‘I suspect the lady died,’ Harriet said gently.

  ‘Ah, I am sorry to hear that. Sorry indeed. During her delivery, I suppose?’

  VI.7

  ‘IT WAS TWO DAYS after we arrived,’ Rachel said. ‘Do you remember, Daniel? You wanted to talk to Count Frenzel about investing in the business of one of his tenants.’

  ‘I remember,’ Clode said. ‘He was as unhelpful as possible.’ He searched among the papers on the table-top and handed one to Graves. ‘We went to his country estate. For a man with his position in court, he spends a lot of time there. It was a foggy day.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I walked in the gardens while you and Frenzel talked. He left his servant – Gunter his name was, I think – to guide me. A funny old man. He had a beard down to his knees and hardly a tooth in his head, but he was very wise about things that grow. It was a cold, damp sort of day, but the house was wonderful. Converted from a nunnery, I believe. We were talking of planting and medicinal herbs, as far as my German could manage. He wanted to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand it.’

  She put her hand over her eyes. The memory had come back very vividly now. The grey stone of the house and the muted February colourings in the garden. Dark greens, soaked soil and fog in the air. ‘He was showing me one of the beds and trying to tell me what grew there, then went off to find a dried sample in the kitchen, so I was left on my own.’ It had been so quiet. She remembered the shape of her footprints in the dew on the lawn, the silence, the fog blurring the edges of everything, muffling any noise. ‘I walked round the wall into the next garden and there seemed to be a grave there.’

  ‘In the gardens o
f a house?’ Graves said, leaning forward.

  ‘I know. It made no sense. It was like one of the garden rooms here at the palace: a bench and a patch of lawn with a stone in the middle of it where the Duke would have placed a fountain. I went up to look, and there it was. A flagstone inscribed with the name Antonia, and dates. May God forgive me, I thought it was for a favourite horse.’

  ‘No second name?’ Crowther asked.

  ‘None.’

  ‘And the dates?’

  ‘I cannot remember exactly. I think there were twenty-seven, twenty-eight years between them. That is why I thought a horse, rather than a dog … The later date on the stone was seventy-eight, I think.’

  She could see it again now. The simple square stone in the centre of the lawn. There was a piece of turf cut away in front of it and she had bent down to inspect it: it had been freshly dug. Sandy soil. She thought of the soil in the mouths of Countess Dieth and Herr Glucke.

  ‘Then the servant found me. He seemed rather upset to have discovered me there.’

  ‘Angry?’

  ‘No, not angry.’ She thought of him stooped, and his insistence on leading her away at once. His nervous, flickering gaze. ‘He kept glancing up at the windows of the house.’

  Clode put his hand to his forehead. ‘Count Frenzel spent half our interview looking out of the window. And he was certainly in a foul mood by the time it ended. My dear, why didn’t you tell me?’

  Rachel remembered her husband getting back into the carriage, his handsome face flushed and slamming the door to behind him. ‘Frenzel was not the only one to leave that interview in a foul mood, Daniel. You lectured me about the uselessness of such people and the general inequality in Germany until we arrived back in Ulrichsberg, and then we had to go to supper in the court.’

  Daniel looked rather guilty.

  Graves looked between them. ‘Do we know where Frenzel is now?’

  ‘He must be about somewhere. Shall we go and find him?’ Daniel said, looking happier than he had in days. ‘I think I have strength enough to knock him down. Then Krall can arrest him.’ He spoke very evenly then stood up to ring the bell. Before the ring had quite died, there was a scrape at the door, and a footman was bowing to them. Rachel smiled at him.

  ‘Hans, good afternoon. I know he is terribly busy, but could you ask Herr Kinkel to step round and see us for a moment?’

  The footman retreated and Clode felt a flowering of pride that his wife knew the names of the people who served them. It was typical of her. Then he frowned.

  ‘Graves, a moment. I cannot keep pace – who guards Swann now? We are here, Harriet and Mr Crowther are still in town.’

  Graves sat back on his chair. ‘Be at peace, Clode. We need not be distracted from hunting down Frenzel. A letter arrived for Swann. He threw me out saying Duke Ernest of Gotha had offered him refuge.’ Graves glanced at his watch. ‘He rattled out of here some hours ago.’

  Swann could not stop himself weeping. Each time he managed to control himself, some new memory would appear and the rage and grief would break over him again. He only hoped that by the time they stopped for the night he would have clawed back some of his dignity. It was a moment before he realised that the carriage had come to a halt. Some delay on the road. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask of brandy that Wimpf had handed him as he closed the doors, traced the engraving of the owl with his thumb, then drank deeply. Still the carriage did not move. He hit the roof with the head of his cane. His arms felt strangely weak, his cane made nothing more than a dull tap. His vision began to swim. He heard a voice outside – Wimpf’s – what was he doing here? ‘Seems the Chancellor has been taken ill again, coachman. Will you give me a hand getting him into the house?’ What house? Where was he? He began to hear a whispering, a chattering in his ears. Voices, many voices. Fingers were beginning to pluck at his clothes, fingers he couldn’t see. He tried to brush them away, but his hands would not move.

  The gentleman in the green coat enjoyed the gala extremely. Herr Dunktal had worked very hard, and despite the accidental losses suffered among the court at Ulrichsberg, he was confident that with Swann as Chancellor, they would replenish their higher ranks from the adepts. He even had hopes of making some converts to the Minervals amongst the new retinue brought in by the Duchess. A different marriage might have been preferable, but if he could recruit in Saxe Ettlingham, his tendrils of influence would begin to curl out of Germany and into France. The attack on one of his promising younger followers by an agent of the Rosicrucians and the subsequent ransacking of his home had been discomforting, but great men such as himself faced these obstacles from time to time and overcame them. He stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat. It was an opportunity to remind them all of the need for secrecy, for security. The papers were all safe, and if they were discreet, the Rosicrucians would bother him no more.

  It was delightful to watch this spectacle anonymously knowing that he, he alone, an apparently modest man of middling rank in the University, held such influence, such power. He began to walk through the crowd, searching about for any sign of his Minervals. Amusing, that they would never think to even speak to a man as unimportant as himself. Yet they would obey the commands of Spartacus without question. For the most part. He had heard that Countess Dieth had removed herself to the country, which had not been his advice. He began to search the crowd more methodically. It dawned on him that he had not seen Swann either during the celebrations, nor Adolphus Glucke. He started to experience an unusual and unpleasant sensation – the feeling that he was not entirely aware of everything that was going on. His collar began to feel a little tight. A large, square-ish gentleman in military uniform appeared at his side and asked his name. His English accent was very strong. Dunktal gave his name somewhat hesitantly. The military man introduced himself as Colonel Padfield and Dunktal realised that this was one of the men who had managed to arrange the current wedding behind the back of the Minervals. Colonel Padfield suggested he might like to accompany him away from the crush. Herr Dunktal understood that it was not a suggestion that he could refuse.

  VI.8

  PEGEL HAD SWEPT DOWN upon Florian in a frenzy, and all but dragged him from his house. Florian had been confused at the idea that he must, at once, accompany Pegel to the home of his father near Mittelbach. Pegel’s explanation – that the Rosicrucians were after them and they needed to lie low for a few days – was dramatic, but also baffling, given how phlegmatic Jacob had been till now. It was only when Pegel appealed to him as a friend, his eyes open and apparently wet with tears that Florian had started to be convinced. He had tried to explain that he hardly knew his father, but Pegel was adamant. Astonished, Florian agreed.

  The ride had shaken Pegel’s ankle till he thought the pain would drop him from his horse. He could see the anxious glances Florian was casting in his direction as they rode. At least the injury gave him an excuse not to speak. Pegel pulled out his watch and glanced at it. The Masonic symbols of order and brotherhood had begun to irritate him. He threw it into the hedgerow.

  ‘Jacob?’

  ‘Not now, Florian.’

  The Duke’s men would be raiding the addresses provided by this time, discreetly walking professors, tradesmen and gentlemen out of their offices and homes, a polite but firm hand on the elbow. Pegel recalled the Duke’s pale face as he gave the orders, the various advisers bowing to him, gathering lists of names. With that thought in his mind Pegel sighed and looked up, and found they had arrived.

  Florian’s home was splendid. A sprawling mansion had been created on the remains of the nunnery. It was a fairytale sort of place of towers and spires, red-tiled roofs and what looked like an extensive series of walled gardens. They rode in through the gates into the first courtyard and dismounted. Before Jacob had managed to clamber down from his horse, a servant in the livery of the Ulrichsberg Palace appeared from the stables.

  ‘Christian!’ Florian called out delightedly. The servant approached, an
d Jacob looked at him closely. He seemed much of their own age.

  ‘Master Florian! What a surprise – your father will be delighted to see you. Are you well?’

  ‘Very! My father is here? I thought he was up at Ulrichsberg toasting this wedding.’

  ‘He comes back here whenever he can.’

  Florian turned to Pegel. ‘Jacob, this is Christian Wimpf. His mother was my nurse after I lost my own. We grew up here together! But you have a position at court too now, do you not? Why are you not there?’

  ‘I was accompanying another guest here.’

  ‘How is your family?’

  ‘Well, thank you, Master Florian. Count Frenzel has provided for the building of a new barn, and they have taken over the lease of the Ekert farm. But here is your father.’

  He stepped back with a slight bow, and Pegel turned to see a handsome-looking man in his forties striding out towards them, arms open. Jacob felt a sudden spasm of jealousy. His father never looked pleased to see him.

  ‘Florian! What an absolute wonder you are here.’

  Florian looked a little amazed. His father embraced him.

  ‘I hope we are not disturbing you, Father. I did not think you would be here. I hope – I hope you are well sir.’

  The Count still had hold of him. ‘I am very well, my boy. And you are always welcome here, now more than ever. How perfect it is that you come today – how wonderfully Providence plans every detail.’

  Florian looked bemused, but recovering slightly said, ‘This is my friend, Mr Jacob Pegel. A fellow student at Leuchtenstadt.’

  Pegel bowed and found himself clapped on the shoulder with such enthusiasm he almost stumbled. ‘But you are so much more than that! Aren’t you, Mr Pegel? We were not introduced this morning, but I was there when you explained matters to the Duke. I am proud to have you here, my boy.’ Pegel opened and shut his mouth. There had been a number of people in the room … ‘And you are a friend of my son’s? Wonderful! Now I know why you are here. You are consideration itself. So much better for Florian to be out of Leuchtenstadt while the Faculty and student body are purged of these Minervals! They are so many that Florian must have acquaintance among them.’ He became serious. ‘Good of you to remove him at such a distressing time.’ Pegel became aware that Florian was looking at him, his mouth slightly open. ‘Yes, your friend is a hero of Maulberg, Florian. Now come, I shall take you up to your rooms myself. Is that all your luggage?’