News reached Erzberg that evening. A treaty had been signed at last between the Empire and the Republic.
No one seemed to know what the treaty contained. Everyone assumed that Liège and the Austrian territories in the Netherlands had been surrendered to France and that the French would withdraw in Italy. There was no word on how far the Emperor had honoured his pledge to 'the integrity of the German body', or what would happen to the Rhineland in particular. It was said that the French and Austrians would hold a congress at Rastatt with the princes of Germany to discuss the peace, but it was not clear what there was to discuss.
Bells were rung again in the city. Rumours hissed along the corridors of the Celesterburg palace. In the Saint Lucia barracks Wéry dismissed Asmus and went down to the coffee house Stocke, to comfort himself with stimulant and the smell of tobacco.
Heroes fell like wheat, he thought, staring into the little black pool of the cup before him. Still the world longed for the next to appear.
Hoche had been a hero to his people. He could have become a saviour, if he had been prepared to pay the price. But because the price was to be the blood of his own people he did not pay it.
Now they would wait for another saviour to come.
If Hoche could rise from grenadier to be Minister of War, if Bonaparte, a captain of artillery, could bring an empire to its knees, then anything was possible. He must remember that. Failures did not matter. Defeats were only to be overcome. What mattered was absolute, single-minded, purity of . . .
'There he is!'
A crowd of white uniforms surrounded him. Heiss was there, and with him was Skatt-Hesse of the Erzberg regiment, and a number of other captains and majors of infantry. Their expressions were ugly.
Heiss leaned forward, planting both hands flat on the table.
'That Frenchman. Is he a friend of yours?'
'Not in the least,' said Wéry coldly.
'Is he not, now? So why is the palace saying you were the one who requested his pass?'
The palace? God damn it!
Wéry looked into Heiss's red face. He wondered if the whole world was tumbling around his ears today.
'They're fools,' he said.
'Come, that won't do!' said Skatt-Hesse. 'That man damned well crucified the army this afternoon. Did you or did you not get them to let him in?'
The wood of the partition was hard against the back of his head, and his cheek muscles felt like wood, too.
'I did.'
'Damnation!' cried Heiss. 'Why in heaven?'
'Reasons of state.'
'Don't give me that! That's clerk's talk!'
'It is true, however. And I regret to tell you that I cannot say any more. If you doubt it, ask yourself why His Highness did not revoke the pass.'
Skatt-Hesse adopted a look of contempt.
'Well, he could hardly have done that after it had been issued, could he? Not with the Chapter and the Estates and the War Commission all panting to hear what the fellow said.'
'I cannot help what he had to say. But yes, I did help with his papers. That is all.'
'All!' roared Heiss. 'If they take that man's word over ours, we'll go down, and you know that! See here, Wéry! There've been times I thought pulling you out of the Rhine was the best thing we ever did. Now I wish we'd just pushed you straight back in. At least we'd have to deal with fewer lies!'
The others crowded in behind him.
'Did you feel fine, Wéry riding in the Adelsheim carriage like a lickspittle?'
'You can be a knave or an idiot as you please, Wéry. But it has to be one or the other!'
'And don't talk to us about honour. If we hear any more we might be sick . . .'
'Enough,' said Skatt-Hesse coldly. 'Let's leave him.'
They turned and began to crowd back to the door of the coffee house. Wéry watched them. His cheeks were flaming. He saw the set of their shoulders, the shape of their ears, the lamplight glinting on the brassy epaulettes. Their boots had a thin patina of the dust from the streets. And if he hesitated for an instant they would think him a coward.
'Gentlemen!' he called, keeping his voice as steady as he could.
Two or three of them turned at once. They had been expecting this. Their eyes were blank – masks of contempt. Wéry rose, awkwardly, in the narrow space between bench and table.
'Gentlemen,' he said, pitching his voice to carry clearly across the room. 'In the space of a minute you have called me, I think, a clerk, a lickspittle, an idiot, a knave, and a liar. Am I right?'
None of their faces changed. None of them would draw back from it.
'I am a foreigner and I have my views,' he continued. 'But I hold a commission from your Prince, and I think you will permit me the customary recourse. I am very much afraid that I am going to have to kill somebody.'
And he could not draw back either. He was committed. And he did not care. He only wanted to damage something, or somebody.
Still they were waiting for him. He drew breath.
'If you would please see that I am notified which of you . . .'
'That is enough, gentlemen,' said another voice.
From behind a wooden partition in the corner of the room rose the vast head and shoulders of the Count Balcke-Horneswerden.
He was wrapped in a heavy cloak, as if he were cold, and he was alone. Perhaps he too had been brooding by himself over a cooling cup of coffee all this while. But there was nothing mournful about him now. He leaned over the partition. His skin was dark and his eyes black as the mouths of cannon.
'Gather round,' he said softly. 'I do not wish to shout.'
They shuffled closer to him.
In the same low tone, a rumble that was almost a mutter, he said,'Gentlemen are gentlemen wherever they go. But when they wear my Prince's uniform they are to be soldiers first and last. Their lives are at His Highness's disposal and no one else's. Does anyone disagree? No? Good. Now, I believe some question has arisen over the commitment of one of you. Let me settle it. His Highness has chosen Major Wéry to perform certain very exacting duties. It is our duty to support him as we may. If you ask me why His Highness has so chosen, I will tell you that he was so advised by myself . . .'
He paused, and took a fresh grip on the partition before him.
'I so advised His Highness because I believed Major Wéry would be useful to us in ways that no other man in Erzberg could. If asked today I would so advise again.
'And I would also advise that when the Pope, and the Emperor, every last prince in Germany, and every one of you, gentlemen, are ready to knuckle under to the French, this man Wéry will still be fighting them. This is my opinion, which you will please to value above your own.
'Now. You will have duties to attend to. If you think you have not, I can persuade you otherwise. Thank you. Wéry, wait a moment.'
The officers dispersed silently. Wéry was alone with the man he had betrayed. His body had locked itself into an attitude of rigid attention.
Balcke leaned his elbows on the partition.
'Now, Wéry. Just one question, and by God I want the truth. You said you brought that man here for reasons of state. Did the Prince tell you to do so?'
'No, sir.'
'Did he know, or did anyone close to him know, that you were going to bring the man here?'
'No, sir.'
Balcke let out his breath. 'If that's right, then I may beat this thing yet. So, you were playing one of your own little games, were you? I hope you're proud of yourself.'
'I'm not, sir. And I would like to apol—'
'Don't give me that! Don't make me think that after all you are one of these spineless, over-the-shoulder back-lookers who gets all tearful about what they've done! See here, Wéry. I'm as guilty as hell of the things they say I did. But the only thing I'll regret is that I didn't handle it differently when the story first came out in front of His Highness. I should have made a clean breast of it there on the bastion. But that damned Italian had my goat, and so I lied in my Prince's face. None of that changes the fact that the Prince needs me to make sure the army is there for him when it has to be. And he needs you to tip him the warning of when that time will be. So . . .' he said, jabbing a thick finger towards Wéry's face. '. . . You may make your nest in this city. You may even play your games if you have to. But you may not kill my officers. And you may not get yourself killed either. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Hah. You'll find staying alive harder than you think, after the things you said just now. My advice is, keep to the barracks, unless you have some specific and immediate duty that takes you outside. The hussars may not like you, but they won't like the other regiments picking fights with their uniform either. They'll close ranks around you, unless you give them a reason not to. You understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good. And I'll make sure that old woman Altmantz understands too.'
His eyes held Wéry's for a long moment. Then, in a slightly altered tone, he said, 'Now, man, what's biting you?'
Wéry drew breath. Twice today he had almost challenged someone to a duel. It was as if something inside him was screaming to find a way out of what he was doing – even at the cost of death, wounding or disgrace.
'I – don't like this post, sir. And I don't think I'm doing it very well.'
'That's damned rubbish! You do good work.'
'I doubt if Bergesrode would agree with you, sir.'
'Bergesrode? Bergesrode didn't appoint you. The Prince did. He and I got drunk together and decided it would be a good idea. We still think it's a good idea. And I'll tell you, if you didn't realize, that Altmantz nearly resigned when we foisted you on his precious hussars. But I spoke with him and changed his mind for him. So don't worry about Bergesrode. If he's bothered, it'll be about something else. He's too close to the Ingolstadt set, that one. Ultramontanism, the ties of Rome, peg everything back to the Middle Ages – all that. A very uncomfortable position, when you've a man like His Highness as your master. And now there's no threat of war to bring the Ingolstadt set behind the Prince, of course they'll fall out. That's all it will be.'
'You may be right, sir.'
'You can be damned sure I'm right. I've known Erzberg all my life. Now take yourself off somewhere and be useful. And get them to send me some more coffee on your way out.'