Iron Butterflies Read online

  “Him!” She snapped her fingers. “What can he do if we say nothing about our desire but simply do as we wish? He would not dare to draw attention to us outside, lest that which he is pledged to keep secret does become a matter upon which the gossipers remark. Always he has been one to take too much on himself, and more since the Elector has recently shown even more dependence on him. Tell me why, Konrad.” Her voice had the bite of annoyance now. “How and why this—this foreign adventurer, who is no more than a mercenary, a hireling, if one speaks the full truth, has become so great an intimate of His Highness? You spoke of a hexenmeister just now, I tell you this one seems to possess such powers!”

  ‘It remains”—the Baron's voice was heavy, and now a little cold, as if he had no liking for her frankness— “that the Colonel does have the full favor of the Elector. You know what efforts the Abbess has made in the past, and, before her. Her Highness, the late Electress, to deny him the confidence of His Highness. What came of ail their intriguing, save smarting defeat? As long as he holds his position of trust, you would not be wise to cross him in any matter.”

  I felt as if they had forgotten me, and I listened eagerly to learn, even from their tones, some hint of things I must learn. So Colonel Fenwick was currently in the highest favor—but he was not liked by these two. Also he had had and did have other enemies. Was the fact that I had been brought to Axelburg a move in the Colonel's game, someone to be used to make certain his own safety? His master might well have sent him, but once here—what part did or could the Colonel devise for me?

  If he understood he was so disliked, and he must— for I knew he was not a fool—why had he chosen the Grafin to be my companion? Or had she, on the other hand, been the selection of another and he given no choice concerning that?

  Luise had claimed kinship with me, and with the Elector, even though it rested on no legal relationship. She had never, during all her gossiping, spoken of the Elector himself except with the most respect, plain as she had been about his late wife and his daughter.

  I clasped my hands very tightly together, as I had on my first meeting with the Colonel, hoped that my face might hold no more than a look of inquiry or polite interest. I was not made for intrigue. It frightened, then angered me again. I held to that anger as a sailor might hold to a lifeline. For from it I knew now I could draw strength. From this moment I must think mainly of myself, of what I could do to walk safely through a maze of what might be both doubt and deceit.

  Chapter 4

  The Gräfin sat up straighter, her rounded chin expressed, to my eyes, a shadow of sullen obstinacy.

  “The Colonel has not seen fit to favor us with any attention since our arrival. I do not think that he would dare to say that we must stay within our own house— if we make no great parade of going out. But—yes—is it not perfect! Tomorrow is Liberation Day and the treasure tower is then open to respectable visitors. Or has the illness of His Highness altered that custom?” She appealed to the Baron.

  “There has been no edict to that fact—”

  “Then we shall go! Oh, not in a marked carriage. Also, we shall dress as plain as any burgomeister's family—you shall see!” She laughed. “Amelia and I shall be two good friends from the country—wide-eyed provincials, a little dazzled by all the splendors of Axelburg. I shall not even take Katrine. She is too well known, having carried messages for me these many years. No, nor shall you go with us, Konrad”—her eyes resumed a flirtive side glance—“for you could not possibly hide in any coat sober enough to make you nameless. Just the two of us—for who will expect ladies of rank to be without attendants?—thus we can pass as country cousins, open-mouthed and eyed.

  “And, Amelia, it is to be above all things a real adventure! There is always a crowd of the common sort—town worthies and the like—who bring their stodgy relatives to see the wonders. We shall go in the early afternoon when the press is the greatest. You must see the sights of Hesse-Dohna, especially the Great Treasure!”

  To me such an expedition was more than just a chance to view my grandfather's collection. Now I would be able to learn what lay beyond these walls. If there might be any way to help myself to some independence, it could only lie through such knowledge.

  “I do not like the idea—” the Baron began.

  “Only because you cannot be a part of it. Confess it, Konrad, is that not the truth? What harm can come from what we would do? No other one but Fenwick has seen the Countess, and I shall myself take such care not to be recognized as you will not believe!” She touched the tip of her upturned nose. “Shall I even set a wart here, Konrad, pencil a wrinkle here and here?” The finger now sped from the corner of one eye to the other. “Oh, I shall put on years, and Amelia might even be my daughter. It is a famous plan!”

  She gave a little bound on the settee—like a school girl envisioning a picnic. Some of the overflow of her mood reached me—enough to make me eager to try the venture for more reasons than one.

  The Grafin's idea of disguise appeared mainly to be the forsaking of a riotously plumed bonnet for one trimmed with a cluster of ribbon loops and a quite large nosegay of flowers. Her muslin dress (for the day turned out to be overwarm) was sprigged and beruffled wherever there was space for any trimming to be applied. Seated beside her, my far more simple white dress with only black ribbon trimming and a straw cottage bonnet, I might well have presented the appearance of a superior servant, perhaps even a personal maid.

  Save that here in Hesse-Dohna even Katrine went clad in what could only be a form of peasant dress, full skirted, aproned, and with a blouse worked in bands of blue and red stitchery. Out of the carriage window I now saw many versions of this same garb. The stitchery might vary in color and pattern, the skirt be slightly longer or shorter, hair might be braided with ribbons, lying across the shoulders, or else drawn severely up, to be hidden under a tall muslin cap which had a close resemblance to the helmet of a grenadier.

  We did not travel in a crested carriage—as the Grafin had promised—rather in a small, plain barouch. The trip was necessarily a slow one, since the streets of Axelburg were, for the most part, narrow, the pavement cobbled; so we jolted about, and both of us needed to keep a firm grip on looped sidestraps at hand's reach.

  Many of the houses were picked out with colored paint, dabbed either over the carving which edged the eaves and framed doors and windows, or on the walls themselves. Such had faded, but the brilliant sunlight brought it back to life, while many of the buildings we rocked by possessed flower boxes set along upper window sills, filled with blooms.

  Yet, in spite of all this color, there was something overawingly ancient about those houses, a strangeness which hinted to me of a darker past. I did not know what made that particular fantasy grow in my mind. However, once it had, I was able to sight the sooner the grotesque bits of carving which were ugly—leering, fanged faces, twisted bodies, beasts such as certainly never had walked this earth, save through the troubled nightmare of those who slept ill.

  Our coachman continually cried out hoarsely, cracking out with his whip, to clear our passage. Now and then the Grafin caught at my arm, raising her voice to be heard above his clamor so she might call my attention to this or that landmark. There were even two churches so imposing that they might well claim the distinction of cathedrals.

  The larger was also carved and adorned with all manner of elaborate stonework. It stood in a market square, and because of the throng gathered there, we could not approach it closely. To my surprise, the carriage halted and the Gräfin loosed her hold on the strap to point to the taller of the church's towers.

  What she might be saying was lost in a sudden clamor of bells. A door high up on the wall of the tower opened and along an outside ledge there marched a procession of small figures. At least those appeared small from where we sat, but they must have been of respectable size or we would not have seen them at all. First came a knight in heavy armor, his head hidden by a helm on which crouched a mythical b
east. One hand held the reins of his mount, but looped in the other, which had fallen to his side, were a number of chains. These trailed out behind him dragging a group of prisoners. By their odd garb and headgear they appeared to be of another nationality or even race than their conqueror. Some tottered as men might who were close to the end of their strength. Others crept on hands and knees, the artist who had portrayed them being a master at conveying their helpless agony.

  Forward went the horseman, behind him dragged the captives, while the bells tolled, seeming more to suggest an overwhelming defeat than a triumph. Another door opened and the procession vanished within it. The Gräfin looked at me proudly.

  “The Prince Axel,” she announced, “our own ancestor. So he returned from battle when the infidels threatened Hesse-Dohna long ago. Our people do not forget. He was a great prince, we have much to be proud that we share his blood.” There was pride mirrored in her face. The spectacle over, she rapped the edge of the driver's seat with her parasol and we drove on.

  “This is Axel's city, much of it arose by his order. He had the Kriche of the Captives built—it took most of his lifetime before the last stone was laid. It was his grandson who brought a man from Nuremburg to make the Prince's procession so his great deeds would never be forgotten. The Princes of our house are all buried in the crypt and only royal brides can be married there.”

  “A most unusual sight,” I commented, but thought to myself that the unknown artist had certainly emphasized the cruelty of the times in his treatment of the captives.

  There was the beginning of a frown on the Gräfin's face.

  “How strange you must be—you people of the colonies. Does no feeling of pride rise in you seeing evidence of the greatness from which you spring?”

  “There are no longer American colonies,” I returned sharply. “We are a nation free of any foreign tie—”

  “Ah, now I have, as some say, trod upon your toes! But, Amelia, this is now your home, is that not so? Do you not feel a part of it?” She made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “So sober you always are! Look, is not this a pleasure to the eye. See the flowers, the happy faces—listen, there is singing!”

  We were almost out of the confusion of the market square, and I had to admit that the color, the air of festivity did impress me, in spite of my struggle to remain an onlooker only. Seated on benches outside an obvious tavern, some young men were singing lustily a roaring air which did touch some emotion, so I could imagine soldiers marching from a victory.

  “A war song—” I spoke my impression aloud.

  The Gräfin nodded. “It speaks of the Fatherland, of battles fought and won. Does it not make the blood race—even if one is only a female? Ah, now our ride becomes more smooth—”

  Our carriage had emerged from the older part of town onto a wide avenue where the pavement was meant for faster travel. Before us spread the fan of the palace, its windows glittering in the sun, a spread of formal garden edging it with green behind a fencing of fanciful wrought iron. A wide gate faced the avenue down which we, and a number of other carriages proceeded. Only one leaf of that was not open and I remembered another scrap of custom—only a reigning prince himself could drive through a completely open gate, or enter double doors with both thrown wide at once to admit his august presence.

  We did not head for the impressive great entrance of the main block of the palace, but turned right, to where the East Tower raised against the blue of the sky. Seen closer, that remnant of a dangerous and rougher past looked even more out of keeping.

  The rudely dressed stone of the walls did not match with the formal grace which had been wedded to it. It remained a grim reminder suggesting dungeons, darkness— Again I felt the fleeting touch of fear. Part of my dream flashed into mind—the cover of the night-light in my bedroom—had it not been fashioned in a shape not unlike the tower?

  Gathered around the door was the crowd the Gräfin had foreseen, the bright scarlet jackets of sentries standing out here and there. It was, of course, folly to think I might see Colonel Fenwick here. Yet for a moment I had the oddest wish that one of those brilliant coats might be his, and he would be waiting for us.

  In spite of all her frills and curls it was perfectly true that the Gräfin would attract no attention. For a number of the females were tricked out in even more elaborate costumes. My own plain garb was far more noticeable, though I saw others in the line formed to be admitted who were no more fashionable than I.

  As the line of sightseers made a decorous way between the soldiers and into the interior of the tower, we stepped from the brilliance of day into a dazzle of another light. By the aid of this it was easy to see the Elector did possess more than one kind of protection for his treasure house, willing though he might be for his subjects to come and admire.

  The slit windows of the room had been closed with sheets of metal very closely fitted to the old stone. Before these, as well as on brackets of fanciful design all along the walls, were set burning lamps. There were so many of these they rivaled the sun outside.

  Also our passage was limited to a confined space by walls of bars, unpleasantly suggesting, in spite of the fact they were gilded, those of a prison cell. Behind these on either side appeared the first examples of the “treasure.”

  These objects were more appropriate to the general setting than those other fabulous rooms the Gräfin had described to me. For here, on mounted stands, was armor certainly never intended to be worn in actual combat, for it was so inlaid with gold and set with gems as to seem fitting only for use on state occasions by some fairy tale prince. There were display racks of swords, the hilts of which sparkled with jewels, the scabbards wrought of gold and more gleaming stones. Nor were pistols and guns missing, though again they were begemmed masterpieces of inlay. Helmets, which more resembled crowns than protective covering for a fighter, were mounted on dead-eyed marble busts. It was as if danger could only be faced by the rulers of Hesse-Dohna when they wore their ransoms on their persons.

  The number of burning lamps and the crowding of the spectators so heated the room, I felt a breathless desire to gain more air. However, there was no turning back, for more ranks of visitors shuffled on one's heels. I strove to push away not only the sense of imprisonment which gripped me, but to reach the foot of the stair ahead.

  It seemed the Gräfin found little here worth her attention and by some nimbleness of foot we began to climb, to come out once more on a bar-walled corridor down the middle of a chamber of red and gold walls, the famous lacquer room.

  The passage was much narrower here, and once or twice the Gräfin fell a little behind. I could see already that visitors could proceed no farther today, for, though there was another stair, that had been closed off by a grill gate. When the sightseers reached that point they went to the left, through an archway which much connect with the palace itself.

  The Gräfin plucked at my sleeve, slowing my pace. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to be out of this place. But she continued to urge that I look at this or that wonder. In other circumstances I might well have lingered by my own desire. But the precious objects seemed to me to be so crowded together, the heat of the lamps so great, that I felt both blinded and stifled. I had only a confused impression of cups and coffers cut in strange forms out of crystal or malachite, or even more precious materials, so embellished by further ornamentation that what lay beneath was three-quarters hidden. There were strange, even grotesquely ugly figures fashioned in the same way. Far too much to remember or enjoy looking at. In fact the whole display impressed me with being as tasteless as the beplumed bonnets the Gräfin delighted in.

  Just before we reached the grill gate where all must turn, we did come upon something which caught my eye and slowed my steps, bringing from me a gasp of pure wonder.

  A wide table stood just behind the bar wall and it was backed by a series of mirrors to amplify and repeat what lay before them until one could believe that one had been transformed to the s
ize of a giant now viewing a miniature scene of real life.

  Plainly a court had been duplicated in full magnificence. Enameled and begemmed figures, so gracefully and intricately made, so expressive in their tiny faces as to suggest that each was a replica of a living person executed by a master artist, had their places there. On a dais under a crimson canopy there were two thrones, each holding a seated figure. That of a man had his head turned toward his companion, one hand raised to beckon to several others who stood below the steps of the throne platform. Each of these bore either a cushion or a tray on which rested, in minute detail, tiny jewelry, boxes, crystal carvings.

  The woman to whom this array of gifts was being offered wore, in beautiful cream and gold-tinted enamel, a faithful representation of the court dress of more than a hundred years earlier. Her small face had a proud, almost sullen cast (how very gifted had been the man who had fashioned her figure, for I felt that I would have recognized her immediately had I met her in life). She sat with her hands lying loosely on the golden billows of her full skirt. A stomacher of diamonds, so small that they could only have been chips of chips, was only part of her jewels. There was a circlet of delicate filigree, set with the same stones, on her fair head, a necklace about her long throat, lying across shoulders and breast nearly bare in the extreme décolleté fashion of that day.

  Below the two rulers, and beyond those bearing gifts, were gathered members of the court, plus soldiers at stiff attention. However, one was hardly aware of them, for one's eyes returned to the two on the thrones. There was something oddly appealing in the attitude of the man. His shoulder-length curled hair fell forward but did not entirely shadow his face. If the woman was perfect in her frozen poise of boredom, the artist had not so flattered the king or prince. His features were harsh, and again must have been faithful representation of a once-living man. I had a queer feeling that though he was attempting to win his lady with gifts (perhaps he had already learned the unpleasant lesson that she was best so approached), he was clumsy and maladroit, that he was unhappy and to be pitied. It was so real—this miniature court—