Monday, July 12, 1683
Toby
Vienna
Toby squeezed his eyes shut for just a moment, but the blazing heat from the torch in his hand was an unyielding reminder of his orders. He gritted his teeth and held the torch to the kindling he’d piled on the floor of his workshop. He backed away from the growing flame and then held the torch to the wooden doorframe. The last part wasn’t necessary—with a little time, the fire on the shop’s floor would destroy the entire structure—but staying a little longer, watching it burn, that was his way of saying goodbye.
“Toby!”
He turned as Ferdinand Heller rushed over to him. He too carried a torch. Count von Starhemberg had arrived in Vienna four days ago, and he’d put everyone to work making the city ready to withstand a siege. One of his orders was to level all buildings outside the city walls so the Turks had nowhere to shelter when they arrived. Today, Toby was doing his part to burn the suburbs.
Ferdinand stared at the burning shop, his mouth partially open as flames danced around the sign that read Vischer Woodworking. “I would have burned it for you.”
Toby shook his head. “It’s better that I do it.” He had built the shop, and now he had destroyed the shop. He turned his back on the building he had worked and saved for since he was a child and made his way across the street and a few doors down. He checked that no one was inside, then lit the home on fire.
“Isn’t that the house where you were born?” Ferdinand followed him.
“No. It’s where we moved after my father died.” Toby didn’t remember the home he was born in and could recall only a few memories of his father. For most of his life, it had been just him and his mother. She’d struggled to support a child without a man to help with the work, but she’d never complained, not even during those last months before consumption had taken her.
Ferdinand looked from the house back to the shop. “You worked so hard for that.”
Toby grunted. He had a suburb to destroy, so there wasn’t time to grieve over his smoking dreams. But Ferdinand was right; Toby had worked hard for that workshop. He’d been frugal since the day he’d turned seventeen and become a journeyman who could finally earn wages. He’d only recently built a second story over the workshop for a family to live in. He should have waited to build. Then he’d at least have the money, something to start over with when the siege ended, if he still had his life and his liberty. All he had now were his tools, a dismantled lathe, and a trunk of household goods safely stored in Ferdinand’s shoe shop within the walls of the city.
Toby checked a few more homes to make sure they were empty, then lit them on fire. Ferdinand worked the other side of the street.
There was another reason Toby should have delayed expanding his shop. He still lacked a wife. He’d begun to suspect at a very early age exactly who he wanted as his bride. When he’d seen Katja again at her father’s funeral, he’d known he would always compare every other woman to her and no one else would measure up. Seeing her a few days ago had confirmed it. He loved the sweep of her eyebrows and her dainty nose, loved the laugh lines that formed whenever she smiled, loved her rich, brown eyes and her silken brown hair. More than that, he loved how alive she was, as if she were so full of passion and energy that she couldn’t help but let a little of it overflow.
He’d promised to show her his shop. He glanced at the burning block of homes and shops. Too late for that. It was probably an omen he should heed—try as he might, he’d never live up to her expectations. A few generations ago, the Schor family hadn’t been so different from the Vischer family. But Katja’s maternal grandfather had been a skilled merchant, her father had been a brilliant violinist, and her brother was now a courtier for the emperor. Wilhelm would never consent to a joiner courting his sister, especially not a joiner without a shop.
Toby flinched as a burning wall crashed down behind him. If the Turks succeeded in taking the city, none of it would matter anyway—not the shop, not his social status, and certainly not his feelings for Katja.
* * *
Toby had been at his task of leveling the suburbs for hours. The day’s work should have been easier physically than building blockhouses and shoring up barricades, but burning his neighborhood, his hopes, his memories—it had left his emotions frayed and his body weary.
The burgher overseeing the destruction seemed to sense Toby’s exhaustion as the man walked along the edge of the fires to check Toby’s and Ferdinand’s work. “Make sure the fire doesn’t spread where it shouldn’t. Start it again if needed. I’ll have some food sent to you.”
Toby nodded and went upwind of the smoke to sit on a small rise to observe. So many people’s livelihoods had gone up in flames today, but Toby understood the orders. The defenders would need a clear line of fire, and they didn’t want to leave anything that might help the Turks. Even if Toby and the others hadn’t razed the suburbs, the homes and shops had been doomed. Besieging armies could destroy buildings just as thoroughly as defending armies could.
Throughout the city, people prepared, bringing in timber and firewood, storing food in cellars, and placing water near roofs in case fires broke out. In the sprawling enceinte that circled the city, the Viennese made ready too, building palisades along the counterscarp and in the ditch, putting up thick bulwarks, checking the angles of the earthworks, and stockpiling caltrops and sickles for the garrison. Everyone labored because their lives depended on the complicated stretch of fortifications designed to keep the enemy at bay. Toby had been working from dawn to dusk for days, even on Sunday. The Ottomans advanced too swiftly for anyone to take a break, especially not someone like him, who knew how to build.
His eyes burned from all the smoke he’d walked through today. Despite the sting, he watched the flames for a while, until sleep started to pull at him, and then he paced. It didn’t matter how long or how hard he worked. More work remained, and he was lucky to have a lighter assignment for the evening.
Two women approached as the last of the daylight softened into twilight, and when they drew near, he recognized one. He blinked and rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Katja. Surprise and pleasure pulled at him as he took in her changed appearance. The fabric of her dress wasn’t so fine, the skirt not so full. Her hair wasn’t as voluminous, and most of it was tucked under a bonnet. She looked like someone of his own class.
“Toby?” Katja’s face lit up in a smile. “Are you supervising the fires? We were told to find two men and bring them food.”
Toby nodded. “Ferdinand is to the south, over there.” He pointed.
Katja handed him a bundle. “Why don’t you eat while we take food to him. I’ll stop on my way back to keep you company for a while.”
He could think of dozens of questions to ask her, but the other woman had already walked on ahead. Katja kept her eyes and her smile on him for a few strides, then hurried to catch up to her friend. What on earth was Fräulein Katharina Schor doing, delivering food to men guarding the fires?
A rumble in his stomach prompted him to see what she’d brought, and he was soon feasting on bread, cheese, and chicken. The stench of smoke was strong enough to overpower most of the flavors, but he wasn’t picky when it came to food. He sat while he ate and watched the fires burn according to plan.
“You still haven’t shown me your workshop. Or the defenses.” Katja walked up from behind him and joined him on the ground.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t had much leisure time since von Starhemberg arrived. He’s keeping us busy, but to good purpose.” He tried to force cheerfulness into his voice, but he couldn’t, not when the workshop he’d promised to show her was a pile of ashes.
Katja’s smile disappeared. “Don’t be sad. I was only teasing. I understand that you’ve been busy. Everyone’s working to get the city ready, even fresh refugees and soft-fingered women like me. You can show me another time.”
“I can’t, actually. I built my workshop on the wrong side of the wall. I had to burn it today.”
“Oh, Toby, I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on his arm.
The gesture startled him. He wasn’t used to a woman’s touch, but it was comforting.
She seemed to notice what she’d done, and her hand glided down to his elbow. “Sorry. I’m slipping back to when we were children, back to when holding hands was so normal in our games.”
He put his hand over hers before she completely withdrew. “Your touch is always welcome, Katja, especially today. Burning the suburbs was necessary, but it’s a setback for me. I saved for years to build that shop. Even when I was a journeyman. The other men my age would go out drinking or chasing women, and I’d work odd jobs so I could one day have a shop of my own. The day the guild gave me permission to build was fulfillment of a dream. Now it’s gone.”
Tears filled Katja’s eyes but didn’t spill over. Were they tears of sympathy, or did the smoke sting her eyes too?
“Can you rebuild?” she asked.
“Eventually. After we drive the Turks away and after I’ve had some time.” How long would it take to save the money for a new workshop? Two years? Four?
She squeezed his arm. “Then you can show me the new workshop instead. Do you remember when we built that fort in the garden at the villa?”
Toby smiled at the memory. “Yes, by the linden trees. And you tore your skirt on the rosebushes and scratched your finger. This one, wasn’t it?” Toby tapped her left index finger, the one still curled above his elbow.
She lifted her hand and looked at it. Dozens of small red dots covered her fingers as if she’d been in the rosebushes again. “I can’t remember which one. Just that it bled and wouldn’t stop, and Xavier was more worried about it than I was. I also remember that you were the best builder of the three of us. You had the idea of how to make it, and you were the most capable as we put it together.” She gave him a smile again. “So I’m sure you can rebuild a workshop, but I’m sorry you’ll have to.”
Toby glanced at the smoldering neighborhood. “There are a few things I’ll change, I think. Starting over won’t be all bad. Now that I’ve had it for a year, I know I want larger windows to keep the heat from building up in the summer. And a larger door in the back for when I’m making wide pieces of furniture.” The changes wouldn’t make up for the loss, but maybe if he focused on the chance for improvement, he could keep his grief in check. He turned back to Katja. “Have you heard from either of your brothers?”
She frowned and shook her head. “Wilhelm probably got sick of arguing with me and gave up. And Xavier . . . I had hoped to see him by now, but his regiment hasn’t come. Maybe it was silly of me to expect to see him. The enemy is coming, so he won’t have time for a sister even if he is ordered to Vienna.”
“I’m sure he’ll find you as soon as he can.”
She nodded but didn’t seem convinced. Maybe she’d heard the same rumors he had about unsuccessful clashes with the Turks and significant losses for the Imperial forces.
Toby tried to change the subject. “Did you volunteer to serve food, or has von Starhemberg been conscripting all Vienna’s young women of quality?”
Katja’s head rose, and her back straightened. “I volunteered. I don’t want to be a useless mouth. And Maria—one of our maids—lent me this dress so I wouldn’t ruin one of my more formal ones. Agnes has been helping cook for the volunteers, so delivering food seems to be my assignment for the time being. I’m also learning to sew sandbags, but my needlework is neither swift nor accurate, I’m afraid.” She held out her hands to show him all the pinpricks.
He wanted to brush his fingers over the top of hers, but he refrained. “I’m sorry about your fingers. And I was glad to see food, even if I could barely taste it through all the smoke.”
She chuckled.
He let his voice grow a little more serious. “And I am glad to see you.”
She turned her gaze from the seething suburbs to his face. “I’m glad to see you too, Toby. When I’m with you, it’s almost like those fifteen years apart never happened and I’ve got one of my dearest friends back again.” She gestured to the walls around the city. Bastions formed angles like arrowheads at regular intervals along the wall. Freestanding ravelins lay before them in the ditch, platforms nearly four times the height of a man, with sloped sides made of brick. “Will they be enough to stop the Turks? Or will I have found my childhood friend again only to lose everything?”
Toby weighed his options: optimism so Katja wouldn’t worry or honesty no matter how brutal. He chose to tell her the truth. He would neither scare her nor spare her but simply say what he knew. “We’ve made improvements. Added obstacles to keep the Turks from advancing. They’ll have to cross the glacis first.” He pointed out the smooth slopes of cleared ground that led up to the counterscarp and the ditches. “There’s no shelter for them, so our musketeers and grenadiers will pick them off. Our artillery too, if they don’t move fast enough.”
“Do we have enough cannon?”
“Yes. More than three hundred, one of the burghers said. We’re still waiting for men who know how to use them, but they’ll come.”
“And if the enemy makes it across the glacis?”
“Our men will be on the counterscarp. It’s a good place for us to fire from—our men will be sheltered, and the enemy won’t be. They’ll have to take the counterscarp, then take the ditch, and we’ve added defenses there. Plus the ravelins and bastions. If they attack a bastion, men from bastions on either side can offer supporting fire. The ravelins make the system even stronger—they’re hard to attack, and they can fire into the flanks of anyone trying to take the surrounding bastions. And they’re so low and thick that artillery can’t do much to damage them.”
“And if the Turks do somehow manage to destroy a bastion?”
No matter how unyielding the defenses, with enough men and time, the enemy could bring them down. “If they destroy a bastion, they can attack the wall. Our old wall is solid, but walls like that? Artillery and the wall’s own weight can bring it down. So the goal is to keep the Turks some distance away.”
“Our old wall. Paid for by King Richard the Lionheart.” Katja’s expression softened. “Do you remember the day Papa told us the story?”
Toby nodded. “We acted it out, and Xavier made a most formidable Duke Leopold of Babenberg. And I, a most infuriated hostage captured on my way home from a crusade. And instead of paying six hundred buckets of silver for my ransom, you came up with six pails of pebbles. But I don’t remember Xavier using them to build a wall for his capital city.”
“No, I think Agnes interrupted us with food of some sort.”
The memory was bittersweet. With Katja and Xavier as companions, Toby’s childhood had been idyllic, full of innocence and imagination. Even when his mother could barely afford food, Toby had never gone hungry, because he’d eaten with the Schor twins.
Katja turned her gaze to the walls, and the light of the burning suburbs cast a warm glow over her cheek. “They all look so strong together, the counterscarp and the walls and the ravelins. But Countess von Bayreuth said the design is defective.”
“There’s a weak spot.” Toby pointed to a pair of angled towers jutting out from the wall. “Ten of the city’s bastions were built as designed. They can support the bastions on either side of them, plus the nearby ravelins. But it’s one thing to diagram a fortress on paper and quite another to build it into a real landscape using an existing wall. The angles are off on the Löbl and Burg Bastions. They can support each other, but the Mölker Bastion is too far away to support the Löbl Bastion, and the Carinthian Gates can’t properly support the Burg Bastion. That portion of the defenses isn’t as strong as it should be, and that makes it vulnerable. The Turks will see that, and everyone expects them to concentrate their attack there.”
“That’s why so much of the work has been on the south side of the city.”
Toby nodded.
“But surely they won’t be able to get across the glacis and the counterscarp and then past the ditch and the ravelins.” Katja’s voice was half question, half statement. “Even if they outnumber us twenty to one, if our men are firing from behind shelter, I don’t see how they can make it across all those obstacles. We can hold out as long as our supply of ammunition lasts, and we can manufacture more of that inside the city.”
Toby had drilled with the city guard. He could fire a matchlock musket, and his aim was true with a grenade. He wasn’t a military man, but he’d been working long hours with men who were experts when it came to fortresses and sieges. They’d all spoken of the real risk. “You’re right, Katja. The Turks won’t make it across all those obstacles. But our musketeers and artillerymen can’t hit them if they’re underground. The real danger will come when they tunnel beneath all those obstacles. The war below. That’s what worries me the most.”