Our unexpected reunion meant that we hardly had time to eat or drink anything; we were both so busy finding out what the other had been doing since our last meeting. However, with the landlord (who was also the waiter) coming and going continually, we couldn’t exactly swap secrets. The landlord was astonished that I let such a fleabag sit next to me, but I assured him: that was quite normal in wartime, between two proper soldiers who were also friends. And because I also gathered that Herzbruder had been in hospital until recently, living from what he could beg, and that his wounds had been carelessly dressed, I booked a private room, put Herzbruder to bed, and had the best surgeon in town look him over from top to toe. I also sent for a tailor and a seamstress to make him new clothes and rescue him from the jaws of the bugs that were biting him so terribly. I had those dubloons that Olivier had removed from the dead Jew’s mouth, you see, so I slammed the purse down on the table and said to Herzbruder (in the landlord’s hearing), ‘Look, bro, there’s my money. I’m going to splurge it on you and we’re going to start by getting outside a hearty meal together.’ The landlord served up a copious spread, and later, as I showed the surgeon the ruby likewise supplied by said Jew and worth around twenty thaler, I told him that, having spent what little cash I had on the meal and on dressing my friend, I’d give him the ring if he put said friend back on his feet pronto. The surgeon agreed and set to work conscientiously.
I lavished care on Herzbruder as if he’d been my alter ego. I had a neat little outfit run up for him out of grey fabric. But not before I’d been back to see the commandant about the pass and told him what had happened: I’d met up with an old friend who’d been knocked about a bit, and I wanted to wait until he was quite well before I left; I couldn’t answer for what might occur if I rejoined my regiment straight away. Praising my resolve, the commandant said I might stay as long as I liked; then, as soon as my friend was fit, he’d give us both passes that would get us anywhere.
When I returned to Herzbruder and had a moment alone with him, sitting at his bedside, I begged him to tell me frankly how he’d got into that dreadful state. I thought he might have been toppled from his high perch for good reason, perhaps as a result of some error on his part, then been stripped of his rank and reduced to his present penury. But what he said was, ‘Look, brother, I was von Götz’s aide-de-camp, as you know, and secretly his best friend. You also know, I’m sure, what a disaster this last campaign under his generalship and with him in active command turned out to be. We not only lost the Battle of Wittenweier; we also failed to lift the siege of Breisach. Reports of what happened vary widely. Some have been most unfair. The count himself has been recalled to Vienna to answer for his conduct. Because of all this, in my shame and timidity I decided to lie low – very low, as you see. Many’s the time I’ve wished to die in this wretched situation. At the very least, I want to keep my head down until Count von Götz has proved his innocence. To my mind, his loyalty to the Holy Roman Emperor has been unimpeachable. The fact that he’s had no luck this past summer is due more, in my opinion, to divine providence (which awards victory to its own favourite) than to any negligence on the count’s part.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘our orders were to relieve Breisach, and since I could see we weren’t making much of a fist of it I prepared for battle myself and took part in the assault on the pontoon bridge personally as if mustard-keen to wind up the whole show on my own. This was neither my speciality nor my responsibility. I acted purely to set an example to the others – and because we’d got nowhere all summer. As luck would have it (bad luck, in the event), I was one of the first to see the whites of the enemy’s eyes as we stormed the bridge. It was quite a fight, I can tell you, and having been in the front rank in the attack, I was very much in the rear as we turned tail, faced with the frenzy of the French defence. Just before I fell into enemy hands, I took a shot in my right arm and another in the thigh. I could neither keep pace with the retreat nor wield my rapier, and the tightness of the battle site combined with the fierceness of the battle itself allowed little time for discussion of questions of giving and receiving quarter. A blow on the head knocked me to the ground, and since I was wearing fine clothes several men stripped me in an instant and rolled me into the Rhine as dead. In my distress I cried out to God and surrendered myself to his will, and as I blabbered various vows I sensed him coming to my aid. The river deposited me on the bank, where I stuffed moss into my wounds. I was close to frozen, yet somehow I found the strength (God’s aid, perhaps, because I was terribly wounded) to climb out of the water, where a bunch of Merode Brothers and soldiers’ wives took pity on me – amazingly; they didn’t know me from Adam! They’d already lost hope of the siege being lifted, which hurt more than my wounds. Nevertheless, they gave me something to wear and warmed me at their fire. Yet even before I’d had time to dress my wounds, I had to watch as our troops prepared to make an ignominious retreat, giving up the fight as lost. That pained me even more and made me decide on the spot to reveal my identity to no one, wanting none of that ignominy. I joined a party of wounded from our ranks who had their own sawbones with them. I gave the man a small gold crucifix that I still had around my neck, and in return he’s been tending my wounds up to now. That, dear Simp, is the sort of self-imposed penury I’ve been struggling with ever since. I’m determined not to show my face in public until I see how things turn out for Count von Götz. And your generosity and loyalty are a huge encouragement. God in his mercy has not abandoned me. The moment I came out of early Mass this morning and saw you standing outside the commandant’s quarters, I knew: God has sent you to me as his angel of mercy. You’re the one who will help me in my wretchedness!’ I gave Herzbruder what consolation I could and assured him that I’d more money than the dubloons he’d seen already. It was his, I told him. I also reported Olivier’s passing and how I’d been obliged to avenge the fellow’s death. All of which cheered Herzbruder up so much that his wounds began to heal more quickly and his general condition improved daily.
END OF BOOK FOUR