Iron Butterflies Read online

  We needed transportation of some sort, and also disguises which would carry us out of this part of the country.

  “There is a market at Gratz. It is also a horse fair—though it is far less than it once was,” he said slowly, as if he were thinking aloud, or at least putting one idea to another, as a quilt might be patched piece upon piece. “Farmers go there to pick up work animals. There may be a small garrison there, yes. Perhaps it is also true that now they would police the fair itself. So this would be a risk—”

  The Colonel rubbed one hand across his unshaven jaw. Already he had the stubby outgrowth of a beard, so dark that it gave his harsh features an almost sinister cast. Eyeing him objectively, I thought that I would rate him one I would not now care to meet on a lonely road were I alone.

  We had all been reclothed after a fashion from the bundles Kristopher and Truda had smuggled out from Kesterhof on their flight. She and I both wore the full skirts, small shoulder shawls, and the aprons of country women, all of the garments soiled and a little ragged from our encounters with the thorn brush between the ruined chapel and the spring. There were thick-soled shoes over my bandaged feet, while Truda went bare in spite of my urging—saying that she was used to that in summer, showing me that indeed her feet were hard and calloused.

  The Colonel's breeches had suffered so much wear that they could be taken for a soldier's castoffs, plenty of which were sold second and third hand in the rag fairs. His boots, having such hard usage, also could pass as finds from such markets. The shirt and jerkin he wore were like Kristopher's, and his hair was an unruly thatch which might never have known a comb. Looking from one to the other of my companions, I believed that, unless someone knew us well and was deliberately seeking us, we could indeed drift into a village fair.

  However, I had a question of my own now:

  “We have gold. Would there not be a question as to where we got it if we tried to buy openly?”

  Kristopher and the Colonel both frowned as if they immediately saw the sense in that. But Truda leaned a little forward.

  “Loot—” she said in a soft voice. “Loot, buried, found—This has happened before. Or even a lost traveler who ventured into the wrong house—held—”

  The Colonel gave a short bark of laughter. “Truda, my girl, what kind of company have you kept?”

  “I have but listened—when I was serving in the inn. There was that affair of Hirsh, Kristopher—”

  He gave a vigorous nod. “Yes, that was well known. Hansel Hirsh, sir. He was near a beggar, lived in a hut one would not put even a chicken to shelter in. Then, all at once, he had money in his pocket and there was the story of his skulking about where the French and the Russians had had a skirmish and both of their troops were badly mauled so they did very little looting after—that was done by someone else. Oh, I know that it has been a long time since the war now. But there was much fighting—and suppose an officer had been lost and died—and his body found? Or loot gathered and hidden never later picked up?”

  “My gold is English—and American—” I realized the trouble that might cause.

  “Gold is gold,” the Colonel returned. “Coins might well have been through a fire—turned to lumps. Yes.” Again his fingers rasped in his beard. “That idea is one which might well give us a good story. Frankly, I can see no better way now.” He looked at me critically. “That fair hair of yours, my lady—could it be darkened?”

  Truda nodded vigorously. “Mine also, and for Kristopher. There are things in the woods I can boil—bark. Also we can darken our skins—seem like the wandering folk, though we do not want to look too much like them, for the soldiers are always suspicious of them. Only—there are also those who have lost their land because of taxes, or—” She shrugged and threw up her hands. “We can surely make up some good tale among us!”

  The girl who had so worn the cloak of servility in the houses of the Baroness was a different person. I warmed to her quick mind, as well as to her kindness and loyalty.

  “Good enough. We shall journey to Gratz then.” The Colonel turned to me. “Give me some of the smaller coins. We shall see what can be done to make then lose their identity.”

  With a firm plan now in mind we went to work eagerly, not letting even the dark deter us. Hammered vigorously between the stones, the coins were so defaced they could indeed pass as loot which had been badly used during its progress through thieving hands. Truda, while there was still enough light left for gleaning, went out and returned shortly thereafter with a huge double handful of bark, which she cut with a knife into thin shreds, Lighting once more the fire, she put these on to boil, stirring and tending the resulting mess until she had a thickish liquid which was like dark soap, before she set the pot aside for its contents to cool.

  In the morning we set about our personal transformations, Truda and I washing each other's hair with a liberal use of the dye from the pot, leaving a portion for Kristopher. I had no mirror to survey the results, but judging by Truda, I must now present a far different appearance. What I could see of my own hair as I toweled and dried it in a wind which had spring up in the morning was now a very deep brown, nearly black. Once we had so changed our appearances Truda stood off and looked at me critically.

  “We must be sisters, my lady,” she told me. “Kristopher can be our brother. You, sir,” she spoke now to the Colonel—

  “I am her man, of course.” His hand fell upon my shoulder. I had an odd feeling for a moment or so that it did belong there, that I found the warmth of his touch as it spread through the thin stuff of my worn blouse comforting and strengthening. “But remember, both of you”—his voice once more held the crack of an order—“no more ‘sirs’ or ‘my ladys.’ She is Amelia, and I—my name is too foreign—I shall be Franz—Franz Kilber. No, you had better be Lotta, it is more in keeping,” he ended, speaking to me. I agreed with a nod.

  We set off on the second day after we had made our plans. The Colonel and Kristopher having, on the afternoon before, made one last swing out of our refuge and a short sortie in the direction of Wallenstein to make sure that no hunt was up. The Colonel admitted that he was puzzled at that continued lack of determined pursuit. His only guess was that for his own safety, the commandant of the fortress was still attempting to keep our escapes a secret.

  “Undoubtedly,” he commented as we went, he slouching along at a gait quite unlike his usual stride, I, matching step and balancing a bundle on my hip after the fashion Truda had shown, “there is still some intrigue in progress.”

  I looked down at my left hand. There was a band of angry-looking red flesh about the finger where I had insisted that my companion cut off that ring. I had wanted to hurl it as far from me as I could, but Truda had prudently insisted that it be added to our supply of “loot,” pointing out that its mutilated condition and the fact it was an undoubtedly old piece, would add to the story. The iron butterfly necklace I had rolled in a strip of cloth and stowed between my breasts in the safest carrying place I knew. But the swollen flesh of my finger still marked what had bound me.

  Was I in truth married? I could not see how that would be so. I had no memory of the ceremony past those few scattered bits. Certainly I had never knowingly responded to any of the traditional words. Yet I was sure that as long as it might be possible that my grandfather's legacy could come into my hands I would not be safe, or free, of the trickery from which I had suffered.

  The Colonel's eyes and thoughts must have followed my own, for once more he moved closer to me, and now his arm came about my waist as if he would give me help over rough ground. Truda and Kristopher had moved some paces ahead and perhaps could not hear him as his voice dropped to whisper level.

  “Be sure, you will not have to deal with him again! Not alone!”

  “He wants the treasure. That miserable treasure—I want none of it and never did!” I said fiercely, keeping my voice as low as his. “I do not know the law here, he may claim me as a wife if he finds me, and the law wil
l give him full power over me. He said my grandfather wished our marriage.”

  The oath my companion spit out did not distress me. Had I known any as potent, I would have been moved to use them myself.

  “He lied, of course. There were—” He stopped short. “Your grandfather did strive to make certain provisions for your safety—unfortunately his power did not extend beyond his deathbed. Yes, it is the treasure which they hope to use as a trap.”

  I laughed without any pleasure. “But it is no trap for me. For I have no wish for it. I have my own treasure—where it belongs—my home—” At that moment I was so struck with a wave of true sickness for the manor, for all the ordered life I had known that, that I could have broken into the wails of a heartbroken child, had I not held firmly to my control. Yet he must also have known what I longed for, for he said softly, with all the sternness of seconds before gone from his voice:

  “It is very beautiful, your home—”

  “But you do not know it!”

  “I saw it—and you in it. You were right, are right—it is your place. This”—he gestured with his free hand—“is not—could never be.”

  For the first time I asked him a directly personal question:

  “Where is your home?”

  He shrugged. “A soldier's home? Everywhere and nowhere. He flits as a migrating bird where duty sends him. The Fenwicks were rooted once, war tore us up, we became wanderers. I do not own any rooftree, nor even a patch of land as large as this.” Once more he held forth his hand. “The Elector offered my father a title, lands. They had been battle comrades once, before the Elector returned to Hesse-Dohna. But—it was not home—the home my father had known as a boy. He wanted no courtier's holdings, though he was shrewd enough to see that a portion of the generous gifts the Elector awarded him were sent to be banked in England. Just as he had me schooled there. So I will not be penniless when I cross the border. In fact—I might even someday fulfill my father's dream.”

  “That was?”

  “To return to the country which thrust us forth. Old hates must have died by now. I think he often planned that he might repurchase—perhaps not Queen's Gift—but some smaller manor on the Eastern Shore. He spoke of it when he was dying—”

  “Queen's Gift!” I stared up at him. “But I have seen that! It is the Artley place.”

  “They were cousins—who chose to desert their king. No, perhaps it is not right that I should now speak of the old troubles. There is no king on your side of the ocean, and I am sure the land is more peaceful for it. I have seen too much of courts and rulers—But it remains, yours is a fair land, and, I think, one in which a man can be happy.”

  I found myself pouring out eagerly then, as I would have never thought I could have done to anyone since my grandmother died, all my memories, my hopes, my love of the manor and the land of my birth. He listened intently, so that I felt that in some way my own feelings reached within him and found there, in a measure, their match. It was an hour which soothed and rested me, pushed aside all the darkness of the immediate past, and brought hope and trust to full flower in me.

  It took us two days of tramping through settled land beyond the borders of the waste to reach Gratz. We slept in two small inns, crowded together in rooms with other fairgoers. On the first night Kristopher, by clever questioning, got the name of a dubious trader who dealt in things bought undercover. With the Colonel he visited this man, making a bargain for a portion of our “loot.” They were, the Colonel told me, cheated of full value, but the coins they got in return were such as could be shown openly. Part of that which they so got rid of was the ring, for which I was very glad.

  Gratz itself was so crowded that we could not find lodging within any inn, but Kristopher fell in with a horse trader who had a wagon which carried a wife and two imps of children. This man was willing to let us stay at his fire on the outskirts of the town and share from the pots his wife tended when we supplied bread, cheese, and a chicken to help fill the major pot.

  Gratz had something beside horses to offer. There was no need here for us to seek out some cheating thieves’ confidant to change our gold. There was a small colony of Jews who had been herded here during the wars, settled, and were tolerated. One of them was a merchant of some standing. The Colonel went to see him and came back, nearly unmindful that he must play the shuffling, near-vagabond he was so encouraged.

  He had discovered the man to be both prudent and honest, having connections with another such merchant that Penwick himself had known. Horses could be bought through him, and a wagon. Also there was news.

  The new Elector, making a leisurely and triumphant progress, had reached Axelburg, which was now in a frenzy of preparation for a week or more of formal welcome, as well as the state funeral of my grandfather. All the nobility were converging on the capital to see and be seen, especially at court where quick attendance on their new ruler could well, if fortune was kind, bring them into favor. There were representatives also coming from neighboring states and a constant stream of the travelers across the borders.

  During this, to slip away, by some smugglers’ route, would be far less difficult. We were exultant that night as we gathered together when the horse dealer had gone to drink in some tavern and his wife had bedded down both the children and herself.

  “But you, Truda, you and Kristopher, what of your future?” I suddenly remembered that these two might have now as much, or more, to fear inside Hesse-Dohna.

  I saw them look to each other. It was Kristopher who answered. He held Truda's hand in his very firmly, but when he spoke there was a difference in his voice and he used the term of respect he had been warned against.

  “My lady—we cannot stay here either. If—if you could see fit to take us into your household—we would be very happy there.”

  “But I live overseas. To go with me would mean leaving your homes, your country, perhaps never seeing your families again!”

  “Lady, it is better so. We will be hunted, when there is time and men to do the hunting. Our families must not know where we are. They, too, can suffer if it is suspected that they do. There is no home here for us. We can work—we wish to work—to be together.”

  I held out my hands, one to each. “You do not come to serve me—but as my friends. There is land for the taking in my country—to the west. If this is your wish—then let it be so.”

  To my vast discomfort, they took my hands, not to clasp them in a bargain, but to kiss them. I drew my fingers away quickly.

  “We are friends,” I repeated meaningfully. “As friends only do we go.”

  We left Gratz far more encouraged and with our confidence at a high level. The cart was small, our two horses (we dared not arouse suspicion by buying more) old and their chosen pace hardly more than an amble. To which the men allowed them to keep while we were on the main, traveled roads. We did not stay at inns now but slept with our cart as a shelter. Since it was summer, we did not fare badly. Having discussed the route together, the Colonel and Kristopher thought it best to strike across Hanover to Hamburg. Since Hanover was linked to the English crown, the Colonel had those living there with whom he had certain ties, and once we reached the seaport—why, then I, too, had resources through my grandmother's dealings. I could recite easily from memory the names of four highly placed merchants who should have influence to gain us passage on either an American or an English vessel.

  We avoided towns, took such wayside tracks as led in the direction we must follow. They were not easy days with all thought given to a traveler's comfort, but they were good. We shared these hours with a happier spirit than I had known since I crossed the sea. If there was any hunt up, we had no knowledge of it. However, we did not relax our vigilance for all of that.

  Our way took us within a few miles of Truda's inn. I noticed that she was silent most of that day when we made our way along lanes at that pace we could not hurry, though our eagerness to be across the border grew ever stronger. That she should have a
chance to see her family was a thought which grew ever strongly in me, perhaps because I had no longer any family to be concerned with me. But when I suggested it twice during the afternoon, she shook her head with determination which was stubborn in its intensity.

  ‘They must have heard that Kristopher has deserted, that I am gone. The inn would be the first place that any seeking us would come to search.”

  “But perhaps they would never believe that you would be so foolish as to go there—”

  She shook her head. “That is just what they would think, my lady. They believe that I am a witless peasant girl, one without any mind to think for myself—that if I was in trouble, I would go running to my family for aid. No, it must not be. When we are safe, then I shall write to them, very carefully—for the mails will be watched. But there are words I can use which will let them know from whom such a letter comes. Then they will not grieve for me as dead—or rotting in such a place as Wallenstein.” Her eyes were hot and her mouth was a line of strength. “They will know, even if they cannot wish me well—but so they will—in their hearts. Also they will let Kristopher's family know—Only we must be safe first.”

  So I never got to see the inn which Truda had described with such honest pride. Instead we drew into a small ragged field which had been partially abandoned to growing scrub, in the corner of which was a nearly demolished shed. Into the shed the men pushed and worked the cart, concealing it with the stinking, moldy hay which was heaped there.