Red Magic (28 page)

She was thinking of the way the accounting
problems which Herr Stocke had set stubbornly refused to reconcile. "I'm
afraid I'm a rather poor gentleman's wife."

Rossmann's eyes, jet black and lively,
turned towards her with that new respect.

"You make a fine wife for a countryman,
Mistress."

* * *

Doggedly, every day, Caterina returned to
doing as her mother had suggested, going to the great room to approve while
morning orders were given to the diminished staff by the new housekeeper. Later
in the day, before supper, she'd endure her chilly company as she followed up
on the progress of the day's work. In spite of the curt replies, Cat began to
garner some understanding of the ins and outs of housekeeping at Heldenberg.

When warm weather came, she'd take Elsa and
walk after dinner. She particularly loved to stand at the edge of the pasture
and look up at the stars. The looming mountain, the pine scented air, reminded
her of evenings with Aunt Teresina, who, on similar evening walks, had told her
tales about the heroes, goddesses and dragons who battled across the night sky.
When she was alone, Herr Rossmann sometimes joined her, always making a sudden,
startling appearance at her elbow.

"A beautiful night, is it not,
Mistress?"

"Indeed, it is," she replied,
with more feeling than she'd intended. "There's the dragon," she
added, hoping to cover how glad she'd been to see him.

"Yes. In my land it is called
'dragon,' too."

"Do you know the constellations? My
Aunt Tanucci taught me a little, but I've forgotten most of it."

It turned out that Rossmann knew the sky
intimately, although here and there he made groups differently from the way Cat
had been taught. He even had names for single bright stars, explaining that the
Spanish Moors, who had been a very learned people, had named them. They, he
said, knew things about history, mathematics and healing that no other
Westerners did.

It became a pastime on clear nights to
stand at the pasture fence and stare up, Herr Rossmann pointing and Cat
sighting along his arm. Elsa would huddle at her mistress' feet wrapped in her
cloak, shivering and yawning and wishing for bed. Nights on the mountains were
always chilly, even standing in the warm exhalation of the barn.

It was often very late when Cat said good-bye
to Rossmann. On their way back to the house, she and Elsa would acquire another
companion. Black Furst would emerge, a moving shadow, usually coming from the
good hunting ground close to the haystack. He'd growl a throaty meow and wave
his fluffy tail in greeting. Sometimes the meow was muffled because his mouth
was full of mouse.

"Have you got all your business tended
to, Herr Furst?" Cat bent to scratch his round head and give his blocky
body a hearty all-over rub. Then the three of them would walk back to the manor
together.

She sensed a general disapproval of this
star gazing, particularly from Herr Goran. Predictably, Goran had been upset
when his master had 'detailed' him to Heldenberg, making no bones about his
opinion that Christoph's chances of survival were next to nothing without him.
The Hauptmann was always moody and sometimes drunk.
 
He'd go out of his way to pick fights with
the guards. Without his master, he seemed at loose ends.

"Why don't you get Hauptmann Goran to
give you fencing lessons?" Stocke had suggested one day. "He's not as
spry as Heidelburg on that wooden leg of his, but he's far less likely to blood
you to make a point. Besides, it would give him something to do."

"It's an idea, Herr Stocke." Cat
had been sorely missing the exercise of foil ever since Heidelburg had gone
away with Christoph. "But do you think he might be offended?"

"Ask him, my Lady. I have a feeling
that he'd be glad of a task. I've heard he was a master of saber in his
day."

When the proposition was first put to him,
Goran cocked his head to one side and slowly stroked one of his flaxen
moustaches with a thick hand. "Well, I'm no stylist, Grafin." Then,
with a sudden grin he added, "But there's nobody like me in all of the
Osterreich to teach you how to win a real fight."

At the time of Cat's first fencing lessons
with Captain Heidelburg, Goran had been openly dubious about her ability, but,
like everyone else he'd been impressed by Caterina's quick reflexes, her
determination and her obvious athleticism. Besides, if his master felt it was
all right for his wife to learn saber, it was not his place to argue.

Toweling the sweat from her face after the
first lesson, Caterina said, "I think you're a far better teacher than
Heidelburg, at least in my humble woman's opinion. I swear
,
I saw so many new things today."

"Thank you, Grafin." Goran too
was sweating, his broad leathery face lit by a rare broken- toothed smile.
"A woman, even a strong one like you, Grafin, or even half a man like
me," he nodded ruefully down at his wooden stump, "will never have the
strength to beat a whole man, but we can still sharpen up some tricks that
could save our lives, even against a much stronger opponent."

Caterina's days were full. There was
studying with Herr Stocke, making the rounds with the housekeeper, riding the land
and now her saber practice.

* * *

One night as Cat walked back from the barn
arm in arm with Elsa, who was lighting their way with a small lantern, she
noticed a man leaning against a shed. It was a vantage point, she knew, that
would allow the watcher a clear view of the little rise where she and Rossmann
customarily went for their star-gazing.

"Come out," she cried, exercising
those new tones of command she'd been practicing. "I see you
perfectly."

The peculiar rolling gait as the man obeyed
instantly betrayed who it was.

"Herr Goran, what is the meaning of
this?"

With his wooden leg tapping over the uneven
ground, he approached.

"I am watching over you, Grafin."

"Well, I've Elsa with me. Surely Herr
Rossmann is protection enough."

"Begging your pardon, Grafin, but my
orders
are
to watch you."

"Why?" Caterina experienced a
wave of anger, for suddenly she thought she understood. "You are spying on
me, aren't you, Goran? Skulking and spying."

"Oh, Lady Caterina..." A protest
came from Elsa, who had a genuine fondness for the older man.

"Hush, Elsa. Hauptmann Goran can speak
for himself."

Goran repeated, "I must keep watch
over you, Grafin."

"By Mary and all the
Archangels!"
Inwardly Caterina damned
Christoph. "Is this my husband's order?" Did he imagine she was as
dishonest as he was?

"I am always the Graf's man,
Lady."

"Indeed? Well, sir, I think your
action insults me."

"Lady von Hagen." The command
ringing in another male voice made both Goran and Caterina spin to face the
newcomer.

"Do not be angry with Herr Hauptmann,
Mistress. I have enemies here who would say anything to get me dismissed. As do
you, still, Grafin." Rossmann, materialized out of the darkness, drawn by
the sound of voices.

"I am not one of your enemies,
Grafin," Goran rumbled.
"No matter what this clever
heathen says."

Elsa gasped, stumbled backwards. She saw,
as her mistress did, the flash of Goran's steel. Next, as if in a mirror,
flashed Rossmann's dagger.

"Stop it!
Both of
you!"
Bravely, if not too wisely, she stepped between them.

"Of course, Grafin," said
Rossmann, bowing and backing in order to keep a safe distance between him and
the Croat. "Herr Hauptmann," Rossmann said formally, squarely facing
his enemy, "you mistake me. I am saying that as long as you watch, no one
will be able to tell the Graf any lies."

Goran growled, but slammed his steel back
into the sheath.

"I'm sorry to offend," he
mumbled.

Caterina could tell by his wooden tone that
his feelings had been hurt.

"I do whatever I do by the Herr Graf's
orders." With an awkward gesture of gallantry he waved her forward.
"Will you go in?"

She looked around, but Rossmann had melted
away into the night like a spirit, no doubt heading for his meticulously kept
cottage. There was nothing else to do but walk on in silence.

Just as they reached the front door, Goran
observed tautly, "Herr Rossmann is no company for you to keep in the
night, Grafin."

"Why? Because you imagine he's a
Muslim?"

"Grafin, I do not wish to quarrel. I
know you admire his learning just as the Graf does, but you shouldn't trust him
too much."

"And should I trust you more?
You who watch me in secret?"

There was no reply to her jibe. At the door
Goran stepped forward and opened it, bowing the two women inside. The doorman,
who'd been dozing on the bench in the hall, leapt to his feet, groping for his
sword.

"Is this how you guard the
house?" Goran pushed past Caterina and dealt a blow to the man's head.
"If I were a bandit, you'd be dead now, damn you! Here is the Graf's lady,
safe and sound, no thanks to you."

"Hauptmann!"

"Discipline must be maintained!"
Goran shouted back.

He was right, of course, and the doorman
was rising to his feet without help. Cat knew Christoph would have been just as
angry. To sleep on duty was to put the entire house in danger. The doorman
tugged a forelock in Cat's direction, looking profoundly guilty.

"Herr Lenker, you must do
better."

"Yes, Grafin.
It will not happen again."

Putting away her dislike of such scenes,
Caterina walked towards the stairs. Goran accompanied her. She knew he'd walk
her to the door of her chamber.

At the foot she paused to survey the man
beside her. In the light of Elsa's lantern she saw the lines that tragedy and
profound reserve had etched. She was now ashamed she'd accused him of spying.
No doubt it was just as he'd said and he was following her husband's orders—to
the letter.

"Herr Hauptmann."

"Yes, Grafin."

"Outside—I misunderstood. I thank you
for such attention to your duty."

"I follow orders." His fair,
balding head inclined, but in spite of her apology there was absolutely no
change in the severity of his tone or the disapproving expression in his eyes.
He hated her friendship with Rossmann and that was all there was to it.

"I wish you could like Herr Rossmann
better, Hauptmann. Like my husband, I need you both, your loyalty and your
wisdom." Knowing that the stiff necked fellow wouldn't give an inch, she
retreated up the stairs.

 
* * *

On the eve of Saint Brigitte's day the
entire household went down to Heldenruhe to Mass and then to join in the feast
and dancing. Caterina had a steer driven down, a gesture of largess towards the
peasants.

Among the few who didn't go were Caterina
and Herr Rossmann. Ordinarily, Caterina would have, for lately she'd been a
regular church-goer. There was Wili to pray for and now the welfare of her
absent husband. Of course, Cat would have loved to watch the dancing and
bonfires, but on this May eve she suspected Star was about to deliver her long
awaited foal. The mare had restlessly moved to the highest reaches of the north
pasture and flatly refused to let either Caterina or Rossmann take her back to
the barn.

"In this she isn't wise, my Lady.
Wolves were seen here last week."

"Well, go get your gun and come back.
I'll stay with her."

Cat was a little surprised when Rossmann,
without a murmur of protest, did as she asked. For awhile she looked around,
eyes straining beyond the circle of lantern light into the darkness.

Did the clump of boulders shining in the
field below conceal Herr Goran? And did Rossmann know he was there and say
nothing out of a belief that his watchfulness was a kind of protection for both
of them?

After the night of the uproar, Cat had not
detected Goran again. Nevertheless there was a constant prickly sense that
someone was watching her.

* * *

Almost as soon as Rossmann was out of
earshot, Star went into labor. Caterina did not waste another thought on
anything else. About an hour later, the moon just rising over the dark shoulder
of Heldenberg, a slice past full, the foal emerged. The mare had gone down to
do it, and Cat, sitting beside her and stroking her head, was relieved. It had
gone perfectly. A surge of joy shot through her as she pulled the foal's wet
caul away and massaged her wet heaving sides. Star had made another filly!

As she did that, the mare staggered to her
feet. Caterina gazed at her, silhouetted against the starry night. Trees loomed
beyond the pasture; spines of mist like dragon's breath rose from the creek.
The mountain made a rough black triangle beneath the waning moon. The mare was
still licking the steaming gangly heap when Rossmann returned, leading one of
the ponies. "A beauty, Grafin," he said cheerfully. "After she
stands and nurses, we'll put her over the pony and Star will follow us back to
the stable. I don't think she'll argue with us anymore."