Chapter Text
He did not arrive in Rattay until late in the evening; the horse could barely stay on its feet for the last miles of the journey. Liechtenstein himself was not much better off. With a poorly concealed rage that was not at all typical of him, he waited at the gate before being allowed inside the castle, and in the courtyard, he fell off his horse rather than jumped.
He crawled to the nearest trough and knelt by it to wash his face. He could hardly feel his body, but the water had an almost miraculous effect on his senses. He splashed his face and neck with some water, then scooped it into his hands and drank thirstily. He had to spit it out immediately; leaves and all sorts of other rubbish were floating in it, but his thirst was so desperate that he took even this type of refreshment gratefully. He had been drinking Lord Oderin’s wine all the previous night, and there was no time for refreshment during the journey from Kolín. He would most gladly have fallen into the trough head-first with how exhausted he was.
But someone pulled him to his feet again with their strong hands. A voice asked him if he was injured; another told him that the lord of the castle and his distinguished guests were just dining. He thanked them all for their concern and hospitality, but all he needed now was to find any room with a bed. He let himself be led to a chamber he did not remember from his previous stay in Rattay, and fell into the bed, not caring if or how his arrival was announced to anyone.
He was awakened by a chill that seized his body. It must have been a kind of unconscious premonition; as soon as he had looked around a little, the door opened.
Only one person would enter the room without knocking.
John turned his head away.
“It is not often that my court spy arrives without news,” said Jobst, still in the doorway, before entering. “But I have to say I am quite disappointed to have learned of your arrival from others.”
Liechtenstein opened his mouth to object, as was his wont whenever Jobst rebuked him, but he felt too weak. To make any sound seemed like an impossible task.
He exhaled and closed his eyes.
He awoke with a strong jerk; he felt as if his body was falling into an abyss. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but when he rolled onto his side, he saw the outline of Jobst’s figure perched on a stool right next to the bed. In the utter silence of the darkened room, he gave an almost menacing impression.
John watched him with glassy eyes. What was there to say? He had the feeling that Jobst, as usual, had already been informed about everything.
“I've heard,” Jobst began as if he could read John’s mind, "what happened at Raborsch. A messenger arrived a few hours ago."
“And in Kuttenberg,” John exhaled.
“Oh yes, the Jews.”
“Quite a few were saved.” Every word cost Liechtenstein a great deal of strength. He had no will to explain Henry's warning and sneaked under the town’s walls through the secret passages. “They managed to flee the city.”
“Without money, they are of no use to us.”
Liechtenstein paused and turned his head away again. There was no need for the Margrave to see the tears in his eyes.
“It seems like we're back to square one,” Jobst continued. “And without powerful allies. Bravo.”
Liechtenstein had no idea if the mocking bravo belonged to him specifically or to all the lords trying to fight against Sigismund. His eyes watered, and though he had so much to say, he would have preferred to leave the conversation until morning.
He heard Jobst pull his stool closer to his bed and then felt the touch of his hand on his cheek. He shivered. He missed it, just as he missed the special attention Jobst had showered him with. Samuel's rejection, however reasonable and justified in the moment, hurt him, even though he understood it. They couldn't be together now. Sam had to be with his people; that world was unreachable to John. Sam was right, he didn't belong in it. He belonged with the nobility, with the Moravian council, and with Jobst. And Jobst was right here.
Obediently he turned his head towards the Margrave again, and their eyes met. Jobst put his hand to his temple and leaned closer. “I had no idea your Jewish brothers were so dear to your heart.”
“That’s none of your business,” John breathed. He didn't look away. He had always enjoyed defying the Margrave and could just about summon the strength to do so now. “Sir,” he added almost mockingly.
Jobst smiled condescendingly. It seemed like he had a lot more to say about John's adventures in the Jewish Quarter, but he did not bother to express his feelings right now. “We'll talk tomorrow. We have a lot of work to do.”
Liechtenstein closed his eyes. Things would appear cleared in the morning; in that Jobst might have been right. The touch of the hand on his cheek disappeared, there was a low rustle of cloth and the creak of the chair, and John thought he felt the light brush of warm lips on his cheek. Without another word, the Margrave left the room.
John’s dreams brought back memories of the past few weeks – of his comfortable first days in Kuttenberg, when he could dare to move about the city and meet people he trusted, who kept him informed; and then the rest of his time spent in the cellar of Sam's tavern, which he had so selflessly offered him when John learned that he had become the most wanted man in the city. Sam helped him disappear off the face of the earth and became the means of his connection to the world. Good Samuel, helpful Samuel, who saw him as a better man than he was. And now, not only did he pay the price, but so did his loved ones.
And Jobst? He's lost a few allies, but the others will support him nonetheless. Maybe with a new zeal for their cause. And the Jews will stand behind King Wenceslas, with or without their Kuttenberg estates. Jobst will raise an army and lead it as the new savior of the country. He's always excelled in whatever role he's thrown himself into. Not long ago, he was attending feasts and raising goblets of wine with his other cousin. And now he was claiming to be acting in the best interests of Bohemia. The simple truth is, we have no one else fit to be the king.
Liechtenstein knew the mantra well. Oh, if only there was a third option! If only there was a capable politician and schemer of royal lineage who had the qualities of the late Emperor Charles! Someone who’d have both the fighting prowess and the knowledge of the art of diplomacy; the ability to govern a country and care for its flourishing; someone who would not surround himself with incompetent drunks or bloodthirsty beasts willing to recruit the worst thugs into his service. If only there had been someone like that, who had received a proper upbringing as a possible heir to the country - someone who might have been that heir for some time, had it not been for the birth of Wenceslas and Sigismund!
Liechtenstein's restless sleep was pervaded by the thoughts that had long been with him; thoughts of Jobst’s future prospects, appreciation of his statesmanlike qualities, support for his part in saving the country (but what kind of saving is that if it is preceded by betrayals, not one but a series of betrayals!), and then, perhaps, a crown, other than the margrave's one, better, more splendid and bigger - if no one stops him -
And the king? The rightful, anointed king, the firstborn son of the emperor Charles IV.? They all used his name as a shield, but where was he?
He woke up surprisingly refreshed, although his head was heavy with the images that had repeatedly popped into his mind overnight. Someone had brought him clean clothes and two jugs, one of wine and one of water, to his bedroom during the night so that he could change and freshen up as soon as he got up.
He felt better already. Restlessly musing in his sleep gave him several things to ponder, which he tried to sort out while dressing. The feeling of helplessness that had haunted him all yesterday had subsided. He was alive. He had a powerful ally in Jobst. There were plenty of capable men around him here in Rattay. His life had a high value. And though his adventure in Kuttenberg ended tragically, he got out of it unharmed.
Samuel claimed that God held a protective hand over him. Maybe he was right.
Then he should take advantage of it.
He couldn't hide in Rattay, waiting for others to decide the fate of the country for him; he wasn't one for doing that. He told Henry that he would not be joining Dry Devil’s band, for he would be of no use to them. Samuel did not wish him to hide among the Jews anymore, and he was right, for the good of them all. He had to find his use elsewhere. He, unlike others, had a choice.
He got dressed and drank water. The despondency of yesterday was replaced by determination.
It was time to act.
Mikulov is far away. Vienna even further.
But -
He remembered Hans Capon, who had gotten drunk at the Raborsch feast and then complained to anybody who would listen about the injustice that had befallen him in the form of an arranged marriage. Was he to settle down and accept his role as the obedient dummy, who was expected to ensure the continuation of the family? Now? While he is young and full of strength and courage and, above all, a desire for adventure? He articulated poorly but he still knew his Latin and repeated several times regretfully what he had adopted as a sort of personal motto.
Audentes fortuna iuvat.
Liechtenstein smiled at this and thought that Jobst probably had the same motto. So did he.
This morning the words rang in his ears again, even with Capon's heartfelt recitation.
It was as if the idea of a plan and a new adventure had pumped new blood in his veins. He poured himself some wine and on the way to the bathhouse to have his clothes, dirty from the journey, washed, he almost whistled to himself.
Samuel was right. There was no point in stewing in self-pity and apologies for what had happened. It was more important to think about what had to be done now.
He found Jobst busy signing some documents. He seemed pleased to see him and immediately dismissed the man with whom he was just talking, making it clear that Lord Liechtenstein was more important.
Once they were alone, he offered John a seat at the table.
John politely declined. “I will not bother you for long, Margrave. I should get on my way.”
Jobst looked surprised. “I was hoping you would be part of the preparations for our glorious mustering of an army.”
“I'm not much of a warrior, sir.”
“Hmm. You could be our connection with the allies. See how they keep their word about their obligations.”
“Don’t you trust them? What about their word of a noble?”
Jobst squinted suspiciously. He had a feeling John was teasing him because his distrust of their allies couldn't be that surprising. He knew best himself how fickle alliances could be. “You seem to be in a better mood today.”
John smiled. He was glad that Jobst had noticed; what made him even happier was that his change of mood was clearly worrying the Margrave. “Sleep works wonders.”
“You should have a proper meal, too,” said Jobst nonchalantly. “You look like your Jewish friends have been sparing with food on you.”
“I practically lived in a tavern, sir. Nobody skimped on food with me.”
Jobst smiled crookedly. He still didn't look convinced. “Where are you going then?”
Liechtenstein rested his palms on the table. “Home.”
He watched with pleasure as the wrinkles around Jobst’s eyes deepened and doubt ate into his mind. “Home? Do you suspect your brother of not taking good care of the estate?”
John practically grinned. “We are not like the Luxembourgs, sir.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Jobst's lips.
“Margrave.” Liechtenstein leaned closer across the table and put on an urgent tone. “Give me a week or two. By the time you gather an army, I'll be back. I'll bring the money.”
The Margrave listened intently. He always paid attention whenever money was mentioned.
“Whatever the Kuttenberg Jews would have given us, I will pay,” John continued insistently. “They have lost almost everything. They are behind us, but their houses and shops have been plundered by Erik and von Aulitz's men.”
Jobst folded his arms across his chest. “Why the generosity? It never bothered your consciousness before when a few houses turned to ashes because of you.”
“Sir.” John’s fingers twitched. He imagined what it would be like to clasp them around Jobst's neck. “The blood on my hands sticks to you, too. I am in your service.”
The Margrave cleared his throat and pushed his chair away from the table so that he could stand. Liechtenstein straightened as well. “But you are acting on your own. You are putting yourself in jeopardy. When you learned that you were wanted in Kuttenberg, you should have gotten out of there, not hole up in the Jewish Quarter. I was – “ He exhaled sharply and waved his hand dismissively.
Worried, Margrave? Were you afraid? For me or for yourself? For your plans? For your fragile truce with Sigismund?
The Margrave gripped the back of his chair and tapped his fingers against it restlessly as if wondering what Liechtenstein was up to, but he could think of nothing.
“You can go wherever you like,” he uttered then, though it was clear that he was straining the words between his teeth with displeasure. “No one will keep you here by force. Speak to Hanush; perhaps he can spare a few able men for a couple of days to escort you.”
Liechtenstein bowed his head in a token of gratitude. When he looked up again, Jobst was still staring at him, and his fingers continued to drum restlessly on the back of the chair.
He always liked to have the upper hand over Jobst. Tension between them was the status quo, and the knowledge that the Margrave could not guess his plans naturally made Liechtenstein happy.
So far, everything had gone smoothly. But the real fun would only begin after he left Rattay. The sweet cycle of excitement would begin again: it would be necessary to plan the journey, send a messenger in advance, and find out what was new in further regions. He has neglected his Lower Austrian acquaintances for too long. It will be necessary to revive a few connections. Figure out where the Zinzendorfs stand. Talk to the Starhembergs. Dust off some old papers and letters. Find someone who knows Vienna like the back of their hand.
He was taking the reins of fate into his own hands again.
He walked closer to Jobst; he was so pleased with himself and his plans that he might as well have kissed the Margrave.
He took Jobst’s bearded head in his hands.
It was different from kissing Sam. Sam waited cautiously before he dared to bring his thumb to his chin and then run his fingers lightly over his jaw. Often the kiss didn't last long either. Instead, Samuel liked to rest his forehead against John's, as if he needed a moment to fully realize what had just happened.
It was always a duel with Jobst. First to flinch, first to succumb. Who'll be the first to close his eyes? Who will clasp whose hand, who will break or slip away, whose hand will be wrapped around where, and who will be caught and trapped?
This time he won. He took it as a good omen.
Even after the kiss, he left his fingers tangled in Jobst's hair, still as dark and thick as it must have been in the Margrave’s youth.
At night John dreamed that Jobst had been crowned King of Bohemia. So he took hold of the imaginary St. Wenceslas crown to remove it from Jobst’s head.
Not yet, my dear Margrave.
Jobst, who could not have known what this pantomime was for, took John’s hands in his own. Even the old schemer allowed himself occasional moments of sentimentality.
Liechtenstein smiled; the dream crown fell from his hands and shattered into a thousand pieces.
“I shall await your return. Good luck, John.”
Liechtenstein imagined the look on Jobst’s face when he learns about Wenceslas’ escape from his Vienna prison. He hadn't had such a pleasant feeling of satisfaction in a long time.
He stepped aside, bowed to leave, and gave Jobst his sweetest smile.
“Audentes fortuna iuvat, Margrave.”