‘With due respect,’ retorted Kampmann in a low voice, ‘we have successfully carried out all the tasks assigned to the City Guard. The district has been cleared and the sick disposed of. By the time we’d got wind of the deserter’s escape, it was already too late. Not even the Lord God himself could have …’
‘One more word out of you, Lieutenant, and I swear …’ said the Mayor with an angry snort, glancing round the table.
The captain of the Central Patrol was managing to look as if none of this was any concern of his, which incensed Tepser all the more. He would give him a good talking to afterwards. There were reports that three Central Patrol men had not only aided and abetted the deserter’s escape but had also vanished with him.
Bishop Harrach motioned for calm. ‘What’s happened, has happened, gentlemen. We need to concentrate all our efforts now on helping our citizens return to the tranquil, pious lives, which were their salvation before the terrible escalation of events.’
‘Yes, exactly, before the escalation of events,’ added Tepser, combing his hair backwards with his fingers. ‘I shall travel today to the spring residence in Laxenburg in order to personally inform his Majesty, our Kaiser, of the regrettable course of events. In view of Vienna’s prime importance to the realm, I am confident his Majesty will share our opinion that it would be best to omit the occurrences of the past days and weeks from our chronicle so that they are blotted out.’
Tepser gazed solemnly at all those present and they nodded in agreement.
‘So be it. A state funeral will be held for von Pranckh with full military honours et cetera. And let’s get it over and done with as quickly as possible so that we can put that behind us too!’
Lieutenant Kampmann nodded as well.
The Mayor got to his feet. ‘So, gentlemen, as our Kaiser is in the habit of saying: consilio et industria! Thank you, gentlemen.’
III
The constant rush of the river had a soothing effect on the passengers of the barge. Johann was sitting on the outer ledge of the cabin gazing at the swell of the current. His anger had worn itself out and his memories had receded, and even though his feeling of inner emptiness remained, his thoughts were clearer at last.
He had got his revenge sure enough for von Pranckh was dead, and he had avenged the death of his comrades, who had been put to death following the mutiny. But at what price? Granted, von Pranckh had got his comeuppance but that wouldn’t bring back his dead comrades. And Elisabeth, the love of his life, had ultimately been denied him.
Johann leant overboard, dipped his hand into the icy water and washed his face. All at once he realised there was only one more thing he still had to do: find Elisabeth and wrest her from the clutches of the Dominican henchmen. After that he would have no qualms about answering for his deeds before the Lord–and this he would surely do when his time came.
The Prussian let out a moan and in his delirium seized the bandage round his thigh. Johann sat down beside him and loosened his friend’s grasp. ‘Stick it out, my friend,’ whispered Johann, ‘there’s still something we’ve got to do.’
Johann gently covered him with a felt blanket though there were already beads of sweat on his forehead.
Stick it out.
He gazed starboard where the setting sun had daubed the sky a delicate orange. Count von Binden came towards him and pointed towards the bow. ‘We’re almost there, you can already see Deutsch-Altenburg.’
Johann looked ahead. In the distance he could see a few low-built houses visible on the starboard shore.
‘Leave the talking to me,’ said the Count. ‘I know the people round here.’
They moored the barge at the jetty, from where they could see the crooked, but solid-looking cottages on shore. Three of the Count’s men were standing guard at the end of the gangplank in order to deter curious onlookers and beggars. Not far away some children could be seen playing with a rusty barrel hoop.
Johann waited patiently at the Prussian’s side, though it already seemed an eternity since the Count had gone ashore with his daughter. Hans and Karl were standing silently on the bow, keeping an eye open for potential trouble.
The sun had almost set by the time von Binden came hurrying along the landing stage with a man carrying a black bag. They quickly came aboard.
The barber surgeon had dishevelled, snow-white hair, an elongated face and hands like shovels. Without a word, he sat down beside the Prussian, opened an old, battered-looking bag that contained a selection of silver instruments, and checked the man’s breathing and pulse.
Johann, Hans and Karl looked on anxiously.
The physician wrinkled his brow, which was covered with age spots, and examined the dark red bandage on the man’s thigh. ‘Bullet wound, I take it?’
Johann nodded. The physician pulled a face.
‘I shall have to loosen the bandage,’ he said, the Bohemian accent in his husky voice as unmistakable as the stench of wine on his breath. ‘If the bleeding has stopped and the lead bullet hasn’t exploded, then there’s still hope. But if the blood starts gushing out, then not even the high-born, personal physician of our -’ he cleared his throat noisily, ‘dear Kaiser will be able to help him.’
He glanced, red-eyed, at the men. Then he carefully loosened the bandage. The Prussian moaned as the saturated rag was prised away from his thigh but there was no spurting of blood, as feared.
‘Well, that’s something at least’, said the physician. He spread the wound, blackened with gun-smoke, with his thumb and forefinger and examined it. Then he licked the forefinger of his other hand and gently poked it into the wound.
Butchers and healers, one and the same, thought Johann.
‘It looks like the main artery’s intact, he might pull through,’ said the physician, closing his bag and getting unsteadily to his feet. ‘I can’t abide boats, bring him over to my farm.’
And with that he was gone.
Markus lifted the Prussian as gently as if he were a filigree porcelain figurine and carried him ashore, with the others following anxiously behind him.
Johann looked around. To call the physician’s shack a farm was like calling a foxhole a cathedral! Its walls were made of battered timber, the joints roughly plastered with loam, and the rotting reeds on the roof smelt as if a whole company of soldiers had relieved themselves on top of it.
Johann took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.
The man is offering to help. Show some gratitude.
The Prussian was lying on a wooden table in the middle of the room. The physician had laid out his silver instruments on a clean linen cloth beside him, whilst behind him the tips of several branding irons could be seen sticking out of an open fire. Two oil lamps hanging from a heavy ceiling beam gave off sufficient light for their purposes.
‘I shall have to cut out the bullet,’ explained the barber surgeon. ‘I hope he won’t lose too much–‘ he broke off and looked at Hans. ‘You! Get me a lamb from one of the neighbour’s farms! Tell them Leonardus sent you and he’ll pay later.’
Hans was puzzled as to why he should be sent to get food in the middle of an emergency but he nodded nonetheless and raced out of the door.
Then Leonardus fetched several very long straps, of a hand’s width, and strapped the Prussian as tightly as he could to the table top.
‘Need any help?’ asked Johann.
The physician shook his head. ‘But stay here with the Count. If the fellow wakes up, you’ll have to hold him down, the straps won’t be sufficient.’ With that, he picked up a dark, earthenware pitcher and gulped down so much