Wednesday, July 7, 1683
Katja
Vienna
A steady flow of Viennese filled the main streets and made their way toward the gates of the city. Katja sat with Anna across from Urszula and little Wilhelm. She kept the curtains over the window pulled back, awed by the press of people traveling by coach or cart and on horse, mule, or their own two feet. Some hauled bundles on their backs and others simply fled. The sun had set, but enough people carried lanterns or lamps that a mass of people was visible in the gloom. So many were leaving.
“It’s like the end of the world has come.” Anna made the sign of the cross. Young Wilhelm had fallen asleep, so the nursemaid had time to stare out the window with Katja.
The coach had been starting and stopping since they’d left their home, so the next halt was routine. But this time, it was accompanied by a rap on the door. Katja jerked her head about to see who was knocking. A liveried footman pulled open the door—but not one of their footmen. Paul and Aloys had stayed behind.
Urszula leaned forward. “Yes, what is it?”
“The Countess von Bayreuth’s coach has broken down. She sent me to inquire as to whether she might journey with you, lady.”
Urszula was a von Bayreuth.
“One of your relatives?” Katja asked.
Urszula nodded. “Yes, of course we’ll find room for Aunt Dorothea.”
The footman left to help the countess, and Urszula picked up her son and motioned for Anna to join her on the backward-facing bench.
“You’ll have to move your violin, Katharina. There won’t be room for it inside the coach.”
Aunt Dorothea . . . Katja tried, but she couldn’t form a picture of the countess. The coach held four adults comfortably. Wilhelm was small enough to sit on a lap, and the violin case was big, but it wasn’t so large as to be a problem. “I’d rather keep it with me.”
“There won’t be room.” Urszula hugged Wilhelm, trying to coax him back to sleep. She ran her hand along his hair, encouraging him to snuggle into her neck. “Have Johann put it on top of the coach.”
“This is my father’s violin. I’ll not risking it on top of the coach or on the back. It stays with me.”
Urszula’s mouth pulled tight. “Your violin is not more important than my aunt.”
Katja glanced at the bench she sat on. There was plenty of space. “I’ll put it at my feet, or I’ll hold it.”
“It’s too heavy for you to hold all the way to Linz. You shouldn’t have brought something like that in the first place. You’re being stubborn again.” Urszula’s voice was soft because of her sleeping son, but the tone was sharp.
Katja held back a retort. She wasn’t any more stubborn than Wilhelm, but in a man, stubbornness was called determination or steadfastness. In a woman, it was trouble. “I’m not leaving my father’s violin for the Turks.”
Urszula’s frown deepened, but she didn’t say anything further. The two of them got along most of the time, but they’d disagreed before, especially recently. Whenever that happened, Urszula would sulk until she could complain to her husband. Wilhelm usually took his wife’s side, but when it came to the violin, Katja trusted her brother to understand. He’d ridden far enough ahead of the coach that neither of them could call him to mediate, so they sat with stony faces, neither willing to back down.
The footman returned and opened the door, then helped up Countess von Bayreuth. Like Katja and Urszula, the countess wore her hair in a hurluberlu style, but the curls on the side of her head were tighter than most women wore and were woven with what had to be yards of ribbon. She wore an azure court dress with the skirt pinned back to reveal full petticoats of lavender. The coach could accommodate the dress and the hair, but the countess herself . . . Katja wasn’t sure she would fit. She was massive.
Somehow, she squeezed through the coach door, then settled onto the seat. Katja had scooted over as far as she could, to the edge of the bench, but the countess sat on her as much as next to her. Katja met Urszula’s eyes and recognized a look that seemed to say, I told you.
Katja turned to the window and tuned out Urszula and the countess as they discussed who was staying and who was leaving and how dreadful everything was. The countess had a voice to match her body, and it seemed to make the entire coach vibrate. Little Wilhelm didn’t like it, so Urszula handed him to Anna. At least the countess smelled pleasant. The scent of roses filled the coach, almost overbearingly when the coach was stalled but pleasant as long as the breeze made its way through the windows.
“The emperor appointed Count Ernst Rüdiger von Starhemberg as military commander of Vienna.”
Katja turned toward the countess, suddenly wanting to hear every word. “Von Starhemberg?”
“Yes.” The countess fanned herself. “He’s an excellent choice. But he hasn’t arrived yet. He’s still with the main army.”
“One of the servants said the army was destroyed at Petronell.” Had Margreth heard wrong?
The countess made a tsking sound. “Petronell? That was just a skirmish with the Tatars and the baggage carts. Not those regiments’ finest moments, from what I hear, but it hardly means the destruction of the field army. The Duke of Lorraine and his army are quite intact, according to my sources.”
Who would have better sources? A countess or an assistant cook? Margreth had heard her news from both the butcher and the baker, but that didn’t mean it was true. “You’re certain the army is still whole?”
The countess gave a sharp nod that made her cheeks jiggle ever so slightly. “We may be outnumbered, but Lorraine is too astute to let us be annihilated.”
“Then why are we leaving Vienna?” If the army was still intact, there was no need to be smashed into a coach with Urszula and her aunt.
“The Turks will arrive before reinforcements possibly can. Von Starhemberg will have a siege on his hands.” The countess fingered one of her ribbons.
“Will Count von Starhemberg’s regiment come with him?”
Urszula gave Katja a warning look, but Katja ignored it.
The countess’s thick lips formed a conspiratorial smile. “I suppose you have a sweetheart with that regiment.”
“No. A brother.” Katja had no sweetheart.
The countess seemed confused for a moment, then her face relaxed. She glanced at Urszula. “Ah, the other brother. The heretic.”
Urszula’s face turned pink with discomfort.
Katja didn’t doubt her coloring was similar, but a completely different emotion was behind the heat she felt. “Xavier is not a heretic. He simply didn’t approve of the way the emperor persecuted Protestants.”
“It must have been more than that for Wilhelm to send him on his way. Thrown from the family, wasn’t he?”
Katja fumed. How had the story become so twisted? “Wilhelm and Xavier had words, but no one was disowned. Xavier will always be our brother. It just so happens that his regiment has needed him as of late.”
The countess looked to Urszula, whose face was red now. “And how long since the younger Schor brother has visited his family?”
“A year.” Urszula looked out the window, avoiding Katja’s gaze.
It had been longer than a year. They’d passed that mark just after Easter, and Katja had felt every single day of the separation. Xavier wasn’t just her twin brother; he was her best friend. But friend or family member—all those who meant the most to her had abandoned her in the end. Xavier had lasted longer than most, but Wilhelm had chosen to defend the emperor instead of listen to his brother, and that decision had broken the family.
If von Starhemberg came to Vienna and brought his men, Xavi might be among them. And if Wilhelm wasn’t around to glower and lecture about his undying loyalty for and confidence in Emperor Leopold, maybe Katja could see her twin again—if she stayed. She was supposed to help with her nephew, but Anna and the countess could help Urszula more than Katja could. With every block, Katja’s regret at fleeing grew heavier. If Lorraine’s army was still strong and von Starhemberg was coming to defend the city, then why should she leave?
There was risk in staying. Wilhelm wouldn’t approve, and he’d shown himself capable of cutting off siblings before. She didn’t want to lose him. For all their differences, he was her brother, and she loved him. Then there were the Turks to think of. They still outnumbered the Hapsburg army. If the city fell, she could expect rape, enslavement, or death. Destruction of the worst kind had befallen the cities the Turks had taken in the past. But if Vienna didn’t fall, she could protect her family’s home and see Xavier again.
The violin resting on her lap was growing heavy. Katja shifted the weight and accidently bumped into the countess.
“Sorry,” she quickly said.
The countess raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I told you to put it elsewhere.” Urszula folded her arms and stared at the crowded street.
“I’ll not be separated from my violin.”
“No, you’ll just make all of us suffer because of your selfishness.”
The coach jolted to a halt. Again. The violin case wobbled, and Katja hugged it to her chest.
Urszula glared at her.
Katja took a deep breath, trying to calm down. But a glance around the coach made her choice obvious. “Fine. I’ll put it elsewhere. Back where it belongs, at home. And that’s where I belong too.” Katja pushed open the door and wiggled free of the countess’s mass. “I’m staying in Vienna.”
“Don’t be silly, Katharina.” Urszula grabbed at her elbow. “The Turks are coming. You can’t stay.”
“We have a wall to protect us.” A wall and her brother Xavier.
“A wall that is in disrepair.” Urszula leaned closer.
“Defective design too,” the countess chimed in.
“I never wanted to leave. This was Wilhelm’s decision, not mine, and I never should have agreed to it. Vienna is my home. I’ll not run away.” Katja shrugged off Urszula’s grip.
“Wilhelm wants you to come with us.”
Katja stepped down. Urszula’s words were telling. Wilhelm wanted Katja to come. But not Urszula, not we. “Wilhelm is my brother, not my father. Perhaps it’s time he learned that he can’t force his siblings to agree with everything he says.” Estrangement with Xavier hadn’t shown Wilhelm the dangers of ordering his siblings around, so she doubted her decision to stay would shift Wilhelm’s perspective. But it didn’t matter. Now that she’d made her decision, the unsettled feeling she’d had since Wilhelm told them the emperor was leaving had vanished. She was supposed to stay—she could feel it.
“Katharina, come back!” Urszula’s voice pleaded.
Katja turned back to the coach. Urszula was near the window, but she hadn’t actually moved to follow her. She wasn’t pleading for Katja to come back because she wanted her. She only asked for Wilhelm’s sake.
“Take good care of my nephew. He’s my favorite, you know. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon,” Katja said.
With that final farewell, she turned her back on the coach and rushed into the vast crowds trying to leave the city.