A Man of the World: Vienna to Istanbul 9781463225698

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A Man of the World

Analecta Isisiana: Ottoman and Turkish Studies

A co-publication with The Isis Press, Istanbul, the series consists of collections of thematic essays focused on specific themes of Ottoman and Turkish studies are brought together in Analecta Isisiana. These scholarly volumes address important issues throughout Turkish history, offering in a single volume the accumulated insights of a single author over a career of research on the subject.

A Man of the World

Vienna to Istanbul

Bruce McGowan

1 The Isis Press, Istanbul

gorbia* press 2010

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2010 by The Isis Press, Istanbul Originally published in 2004 All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of The Isis Press, Istanbul. 2010

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ISBN 978-1-61719-115-2

Printed in the United States of America

Bruce McGovan has lived among the Turks, in Istanbul and on North Cyprus, for some sixteen years. He lived another six years in what was then Yugoslavia. In both countries he served as a cultural officer with the US Information Service. He also later served in St. Petersburg, in Rwanda, and in Kyrgyzstan before retiring to Cyprus, where he now lives. Before he took up diplomatic work McGowan taught history at universities in San Francisco and Ann Arbor. His historical research began with his edition of an Ottoman tax survey for Srem, the province west of Belgrade, which was published by the Turkish Historical Society. He followed this with innovative research on the Ottoman administration of southeastern Europe, publishing the results as Economic Life in Ottoman Europe (Cambridge University Press). He also contributed the 18^ century section to a general socio-economic history of the Ottoman Empire published by Cambridge, and edited by inalcik and Quataert (now in paperback). A Man of the World is his first novel, and was published in a Turkish edition under a different title: Iki Dünya Arasinda, Istanbul: Ufuk, 2004.

This is the story of a man who may really have existed.

TABLE OF

CONTENTS

Part One: Vienna, Graz, and Venice

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Part Two: Karlovac, the Danube and the Balkans

149

Part Three: Istanbul

235

Epilogue

357

PART ONE VIENNA, GRAZ, AND VENICE

A STYRIAN WEDDING, ST. GEORGE'S DAY, 1683 The weather for the wedding looked promising. The family of Styrian vintners had left the door open to catch the breeze. It was unseasonably warm. A neighbor came to the open half-door and stuck his head in. Johann Winkler, the broad and affable father of Anna Maria and young Sebastian, went to talk with him. Was it about the wedding arrangements? Perhaps not. When he came back to the table he was too sunk in thought to eat with his usual brio, though ordinarily the senior of the two Winkler brothers was a good trencherman. Finally he spoke. "The Turks are on the move. They're already into the Balkans, but no one knows where they're going." "Heading north or northwest?" asked Uncle Heinz, his equally burly younger brother by two years. "Towards Nish, I'm told." "Ah, then they're headed toward Hungary most likely. You remember the comet last year? It was a sign for certain. Something bad about it. Now, don't worry, my little Anna, you'll be safely married by then. It'll be many weeks before they get to Hungary, slow as they are. And if they should come as far as Austria, well then we'll see. " While Sebastian's Uncle Heinz thought the Turks might indeed be headed toward Austria, his father Johann Winkler hoped they would get no farther than the Raab River, where they were stopped twenty years before, back when Uncle Heinz was serving as a soldier. That was in the time of Montecuccoli, Archduke Leopold's favorite general. That war had ended at the river, which the Turks failed to get across. Emperor Leopold had needed his soldiers elsewhere and so accepted a settlement with the Turks which his Hungarian subjects thought was a betrayal of their interests. Many Hungarians were still at that time Calvinists despite all the efforts of the Jesuits to correct their ways. The Protestants had caused a lot of trouble since the sixties, and in recent years had made deals with the Turks, whom they regarded as their protectors against arrogant Austrian Catholics. The worst was this upstart brigand, this amateur strategist Thokoly and his ragtag followers, bent on undermining the Emperor's interests.

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"What a pity", said Uncle Heinz, "that so few Austrian nobles are willing to fight for the Emperor as they did in the old days. Nowadays fighting is so often left to mercenaries, many of them foreign troops who are rented out by their princes, the kind of people who can go back home any time they feel like it." Johann Winkler, a peace-loving man with his feet firmly planted in his vineyards, thought that this was just the way things should be. "That's what taxes are for — to pay for mercenaries." Uncle Heinz countered like the experienced fencer he once was. "As we all know, it is not the nobles who pay the taxes. Instead they think they are making a wonderful contribution when they talk every question to death in the assemblies, making proposals that the common people then must pay for. Sometimes they don't even do that do that much." The elder Winkler had accepted the challenge, but then felt himself losing ground, and so ended the discussion with his usual clincher. Vati shouted as he quit the room in disgust, leaving the family to finish their meal. " If nobles like ourselves are ever taxed like common peasants, you will know you are no more in Austria." The Winklers were not far up the ladder in the Styrian social hierarchy, but like other nobles were exempt from direct taxes, and had no incentive to start paying them. As for Uncle Heinz, he had traveled much more than Sebastian's father, and had some surprising acquaintances at every turn. One could never tell what strange ideas he might come up with. It was hard to tell sometimes, where he stood on the most important matters. Young Sebastian, tall and blond, stood in the doorway, breathing in the fragrance of the broad valley as the sun went down. The son of the family was pleased with his life he'd led thus far. He was the pride of his village, or so he imagined, and at seventeen had his life in front of him. All he had to do was figure out along which road his future lay. The road leading south from Purgstall led through Gaming, where the old Carthusian church had stood for ages, supported by the brothers living in the adjoining monastery. Farther down that road lay Graz, capital of Styria and Austria's main bulwark in the direction of the Turkish frontier to the south. The roads leading eastward near Purgstall passed through woods so as to converge on Vienna, where Uncle Heinz traveled in season to sell their sour green wine to the Viennese. Their valley was not as good for wine as were the sunnier valleys further south, but nonetheless salable at Vienna, where people were accustomed to drinking vintages of every quality. The Winkler family

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had vineyards that had been planted decades ago, and they kept adding vines whenever they could. From where he stood in the failing sunlight, Sebastian could see traces of the derelict hut where old Lisl had lived and which since had been chopped up for firewood. Sebastian had been about seven when the villagers had decided that Lisl, who was old and ugly and lonely, had been hexing their cows so that they would not let down their milk. The civil authorities had been informed. They came with a cart and took Lisl away. She was questioned at length about her relations with the devil, and the following year had been burnt at Feldbach along with other witches. Sebastian was too young at the time to be consulted for his opinion. Had he been asked to testify, he would not have spoken against this Lisl, who for him was just a lonely old woman who sometimes spoke to him when he passed. Wherever the Turks might be headed, not even they could prevent his sister's wedding. In some months time she would become a mother and Vati could wait no longer to have his daughter properly married. In truth, Anna Maria would have to get married quickly, and sooner or later would marry the same man anyway. As the only surviving daughter in the Winkler family, it was her destiny to marry and to bear heirs for her own family and that of their neighbor, Klaus of Purgstall. Klaus was an avid hunter and had a reputation for being foolishly brave. This very desirable young bachelor had inherited the vineyards next to the Winklers after his own widowed father died of plague. There had been other children born to Klaus's family, but they too had died young, leaving just him. Anna Maria and her father had conspired about these circumstances and as usual had agreed. Together they chose Klaus of Purgstall as her future husband in the year following the plague. Many things had changed because of the plague. Holdings all over the valley had changed hands because of so many people dying. After the plague the Winkler vineyards almost doubled in extent, if not quality. Only Winkler Sr. and Uncle Heinz knew exactly how this had been done, and they did not share these secrets with Sebastian, who was considered still too young. These days the Winkler family enjoyed working in the vineyards together, just as they liked to sleep together around their smooth brick stove in the winter, like any of their peasants. Earlier the villagers had done all of the vineyard work, and this had constituted the greater part of their labor dues. But many of these villagers dropped dead during the plague year so that now the family's vineyards were

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shorthanded. This village, which was west of the Wienerwald, and not far from the Styrian town of Purgstall, now contained many empty houses. Yet someone had to tend the vines in spring and summer, and cut and press the grapes in autumn. Someone (often Sebastian) had to bang clappers before harvest time to scare away hungry crows. So in recent years the family did some of the work themselves, even though they were officially on the books as Ritters, a family of knightly status. Sebastian's father was loath to forgive any of the money dues owed him by the remaining peasants in return for more help in the vineyards once he saw that his own family could manage some of that work. At the same time he was not a man who would gouge new sacrifices from the villagers beyond what was already customary, as many other nobles nearby did in fact do. So he managed a compromise, and arranged for just enough new help from the villagers to bring in the grapes on time and press them. The eldest Winkler had a gentle side well known to all, but was at the same time economical. He was interested in improving the family's noble status if that were possible, but he was even more interested in making wine and acquiring land. On this he and Uncle Heinz were in agreement. The summer before Sebastian and Anna Maria had worked side by side, brother in one row, sister in the next. Their neighbor Klaus the hunter began to show up, pitching in to help as though he had nothing better to do. Being from a knightly family with an older name he was not used to working with his hands, but he was cheerful by nature and was not dismayed to get dirty and to grow calluses. The reason for his generous assistance was pretty obvious. Anna Maria had lately become a real woman, as even her brother could see. Anna Maria was now as tall as he was and good looking, with (as people around there would say) wood at her front door, and out back as well. Her father was not about to discourage this opportune suitor, whose vineyards lay so close to their own. No doubt Klaus had made parallel calculations. His visits to the family had been frequent during the past year. No one was too surprised that his visits ended with a loaf in the oven. So in this fine spring of 1683 there would be no postponement, wherever the Turks might be headed. Not so long ago, Sebastian and his sister had shared the same bench under the tutelage of Father Rolf, who had taught them both how to read and write. She was a year older than her brother and a bit quicker when it came to letters, but that did not influence their father when the time came to start them on Latin. "Not on your life", said Winkler Sr.,

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"Anna has no need for Latin". Instead the vintner had their mother teach Anna embroidery, for which she had neither talent nor liking. After he had become the priest's sole pupil, Sebastian got used to his sister looking over his shoulder, making jokes about his lessons at his expense, and questioning his conjugations. Klaus's father, like so many of their neighbors, died of the plague three years earlier. Before he died a number of remedies had been tried. The poor man had consented to choke down a toad cooked in vinegar just before his abrupt end. Some suspected that it was the cure which killed him. Thereupon Klaus became the leading noble of the district. Fortunately the Winklers all liked him. He was not yet the vintner his father had been, but he seemed willing to learn. And he was practical and economical, just like the senior Winklers. He was also quite in love. During the summer just past, with Klaus working in the same row with his sister, Sebastian also met someone, a girl named Tudi, who was working for wages in their vineyard. Tudi had ruddy cheeks and red hair as dark as burgundy wine, as if she had blood enough for two people. When Tudi giggled, the birds twittered too. She worked for the Winklers along with the rest of her family. They had come from the Tyrol, from a place where arable land was scarce. When they arrived, their family knew nothing about wine not even how to drink it, so they had to be taught from scratch about work in the vineyards. But they were all good workers, and strong Catholics. But this Tudi was a year older than Sebastian, and she was in a hurry, which at first Sebastian had not understood. They worked close to each other in the rows, and from the first moment Sebastian was always aware of where she was, in front of him, behind him, right or left of him. Not that she was expecting to marry Sebastian, which was an impossibility since her family was common and poor, and anyway Sebastian was perhaps a bit too young for such a siren. But Tudi had a reckless spirit, and didn't seem to care much what happened. Looking back on that summer later, Sebastian could see that he had simply been the man in the next row, the one nearest at hand. One warm day in August while they were hoeing weeds, Sebastian left his row to relieve himself. He found Tudi beside him as he finished. She was smiling. An ancient spoor arose. He was surprised by her direct and unembarrassed curiosity. They began to talk suggestively as they worked, something totally new for Sebastian. "Do you think wine is an aphrodisiac, as people say?" she ventured.

- 1 4 "Of course it is, if you don't drink too much. But it seems I always drink too much." "Ya sure, but what if you didn't?" "Well, we'll just have to see, won't we." His imagination now blazed. Sebastian was seized by a fever for her, even dreaming of marriage, which as he knew was not in the cards. The odor of Tudi working, even the moist hair under her arms, was exciting. One day when she took her family's laundry to the edge of the stream below the vineyards, he followed, and watched as she dropped her laundry on the bank and turned toward him. To his astonishment and delight she splashed water on him. Then she straightened up, took his hand and led him, his heart pounding, to a copse nearby. There she bent over, lifted her skirt, and showed him her bottom. Even years later he could still feel the undimmed joy of that moment. From then on he often tried to imagine the world through women's eyes, but not with much success. He never did get to know Tudi well. Her thinking was not predictable, and she began to seem mysterious, inexplicable. They collected hens' eggs together a few times as an excuse to be together. But she married that same autumn with a well-established blacksmith from another village, and when Sebastian saw her at the animal market, she looked away unseeingly. The loss was humiliating, like a punch in the stomach. He felt like a peasant who had been cheated out of his only cow. He spent all his money before leaving the market and stumbled home drunk. Sebastian's own mother had died in 1680, the year after the plague decimated Vienna. Perhaps it was not only the plague that killed her, for she was often ill. She was a good mother in a dutiful sense, a stiff and stately figure, but strict and pious to an extent that weighed heavily on this not very pious family. People said that she had married beneath her and couldn't forget it. A disciplined housekeeper, she wanted everyone else to be disciplined too, especially her daughter, whose character was quite different from her own. The frugal Frau Winkler would watch over the family as they ate, and would let them know when she thought they had eaten enough, though her husband and his brother simply ignored this advice. Her son would have liked to. Obsessively neat, she saw to it that the family's bedclothes were changed sooner than they thought necessary, and wanted them to ignore the widespread fear of water by bathing even in winter, easier to do with her children than with her husband and his brother.

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When not working Frau Winkler was often found praying on her knees. Her approach to life was almost entirely the result of her Catholic beliefs. She saw life through a veil of prejudices, the first of them being that this life was itself only a rehearsal for another world, and that the apparent pleasures it offered were all illusory. She was much less concerned for the family's worldly success than she was for the condition of their souls. She was so doubtful in this matter as to be continuously anxious, urging her children to resort frequently to the sacraments. Her not so secret sorrow was that neither of her surviving children was as serious about religion as herself. On Sundays Frau Winkler often herded her son and daughter along the valley road to hear mass at the distant church of the Carthusians at Gaming, whereas they would gladly have stayed home with the elder Winklers. Sebastian, as the surviving son, was the man of the family least able to resist when his mother chose to bypass their village chapel, where Father Rolf said mass, in order to attend the church at Gaming. Fortunately for Sebastian, the Gaming church had a choir, and offered a musical experience unavailable in the parish. And once they were on the road the Sunday journey had other rewards. As his mother rode in front on their white carthorse, Sebastian and Anna Maria would bring up the rear, the boy ripping switches from all the trees he could reach from the road. Sebastian, who was the only one in the family who knew any Latin, had studied with Father Rolf, their local priest. While Sebastian understood at least some of the liturgy, his mother understood almost none, though she could follow the sequence of the mass from the few words that she recognized. Sebastian's mother lived for the Eucharist, which Uncle Heinz, with his flair for the outrageous, once referred to as a cannibalistic ritual, moving her to hate him and to suffer for days. Sebastian on the other hand, while uninspired by the Eucharist, genuinely admired the Gaming church choir. As soon as he would hear the opening words of mass, "Qui propter nos homines" he would let his mind start to wander. The sermon and the proper parts of the ceremony bored him, but the singing seemed otherworldly, so that he closed his eyes to receive it. He found that the masses he loved best were composed by Palestrina. The music seemed to him the best thing the Church had to offer, this cool polyphonic river on which he floated away from their familiar fields toward a limitless realm of power and glory.

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Father Rolf, the priest who taught Latin, would appear to be put out when he saw these important members of his village parish desert him for the Carthusian church at Gaming. He knew, as everyone knew, that the tithes of the villages of an entire region ended up with the monks, whereas he had to manage with very little indeed. "Frau Winkler", he would say, "we missed you again this Sunday." "God was surely at Purgstall as well as well as at Gaming," she would answer. "Surely He was, Frau Winkler, but you were not." Still, the priest and this stiff-necked paragon of the parish got along well enough. Thin, tall and ruddy, Father Rolf seemed not to be ambitious for his own sake. No one could explain in fact how this rather well educated priest had been assigned to their out-of-the-way village. Sebastian's mother would compromise with him by bringing all the Winkler males to the parish church on certain days of the Catholic calendar. Nor did the family neglect to invite Father Rolf to their table on many occasions. Away from the church he did not burden others with doctrine, and tended to raise the general level of conversation whenever he was present. He even told rather good jokes. Sebastian was not quite as close to his father as was his sister, but Winkler Sr. understood them both well. He saw that he could count on his daughter to settle down and carry on the line, but was not at all sure about his son, who had many times voiced his determination to go out into the world far from their village. And his children understood him. Brother and sister agreed that that their father knew how to live well, was often generous despite being economical by habit, and wore his religion lightly. "Our Heavenly Father knows how much work there is to be done", their father would say, though in fact he was rarely out of the house while the family was away at church. The Holy Ghost already had a grip on Frau Winkler when plague arrived in the village in 1680. The suffering woman died quickly, her arms flung wide open as if she saw someone approaching, and was lifted from her bed in front of the family. With her mother gone and the villagers still mourning their own dead, Anna Maria, now ripening as a woman, confided in her father that she had chosen with her heart the very husband her father had already himself chosen. Their neighbor Klaus was only a few years older than herself. When Klaus began to visit the family regularly, it was as though the curtain had opened on a play that had been well rehearsed. The two elder Winklers watched with

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approval. They trusted Klaus to keep to their tacit pact and marriage would follow naturally. After so many had died when plague reached the village, the Winklers became the largest vintners of the broad valley, larger even than Klaus. But with so many deaths in the Imperial city, their old customers at Vienna began to expect their wine at lower prices. Because wine profits were down, Winkler Sr. had to borrow in order to put on the kind of wedding his daughter expected. Naturally it would have to be a big wedding. Anna Maria was already the daughter of an important landholder with knightly rank. A merger with the Purgstall estate would mean their progeny would go up in the world, even if they bore Purgstall as the family name rather than Winkler. The Purgstalls had older roots, the Winklers' less so. Klaus the hunter might have looked further afield for a highborn bride, and would feel the consequences of not doing so all his days. But he was truly smitten by Anna Maria, and also wanted the vineyards she brought with her. The elder Winklers agreed to let go some of their own family demesne immediately as a dowry for Anna Maria. With Sebastian's knowledge and consent, the Winklers jointly agreed to eventual union of all the holdings, guaranteeing a solid future for the line being created. Sebastian's own future was a different matter. The elders agreed they would make provision for him, whatever road he chose, before the final union of the two estates. Uncle Heinz was happy as a bachelor and far from being an obstacle to the alienation a part of the family estate, thought the marriage bargain well worth the transfer of demesne. After all, if he had cared so much about the Winkler name, he would have married, and this was never his intention. Sebastian also found nothing to object to since he was determined to make his living abroad somewhere else. Knowing that he was not an outstanding student, nor religiously inclined despite his love for sacred music, it was assumed by all who knew him, and by Sebastian himself, that he would make a military career. Commerce or the trades were out of the question for a family so recently risen from the common fold, especially since Uncle Heinz's own carting contracts skirted the limits of propriety within a class which looked down its nose at commerce. After Klaus the hunter learned how generous the bride's family was prepared to be, he decided to take Sebastian hunting with him as a brotherly gesture. Klaus did not maintain a reserve for the hunting of large game, as did many Austrian nobles, though he loved high hunting when invited by others. Instead he shared the scattered commons with

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the villagers and hunted f o r rabbits and birds. On their first hunt together he handed over his own fowling piece to his guest. This was a handsome item f r o m Bohemia. But despite his careful instructions Sebastian could not get the hang of it. To load and prime this fine weapon required some subtlety, and the youth ended up with his face blackened. But the two got some laughs from the exercise, and agreed that Sebastian's role henceforth would be to run alongside rabbits to feel whether they were ready for the pot. Sebastian, who was new to hunting, enjoyed his Klaus's bluff and ready humor. Hunting would never be Sebastian's forte since he felt a secret sympathy for the prey. Visitors sometimes often remarked about their village that it was pretty and typically Styrian. The village would look still better when all the houses were again occupied, but derelict houses did not diminish the beauty of the wide valley setting. Most of the land nearby was cleared and what was not under vine had that softness that comes from generations of grazing cattle. The nearby woods, which were used by the villagers f o r firewood, sheltered nightingales, cuckoos, and owls whose cries the children of the village mimicked. Village lanes were laid out at right angles to the main road, and protected by split log fences. A stream rushed past, useful for every purpose. The Winkler winery, home to numerous swallows, stood close to their vines. Their barrelhouse adjoined broad-roofed sheds, one of which sheltered the wooden press, the whole complex surrounding a yard where draft animals and wagons were mustered in season. The buildings looked solid, reminding visitors of the way high noble estates were laid out, but on a smaller scale. Most of young Sebastian's memories were connected with this sheltered yard, the air laden by the heady marriage of grapes and yeast. If he wanted, he could spend his whole life there. That choice would have pleased his father. He already knew enough about wine making to run the estate alone. With luck he might get rich, or at least richer, what with Klaus as his partner and easygoing Heinz as his counselor. But this was not for him. Winkler Sr. might have insisted on such a future for his son, but he did not. Relenting, he counted on Sebastian's usual good luck to serve him well in life, satisfied with the pact he had made on Anna Maria's behalf. "Sebastian, when you become an officer you must come back to us with your comrades so that we can arrange a nice banquet for you. If you have your wedding here, we will do our best for you, just as we are doing for Anna."

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"No, Vati, no, no. I will go to Vienna for my wedding. I will ride on a white horse, and lead a carriage that will carry my bride. After that we will tour Europe, and then perhaps come home to the village for a rest, but not to live." Long ago father and son had come to an understanding that Sebastian's life would be different, would take him far from the village, and that he would probably become a general in the Emperor's service. On the morning of the day of the wedding, all the ovens and kitchens of the half-inhabited village were given over to cooking for the wedding feast, with clucking wives fussing over their contributions. The day before, the children of the village had flocked to the Winkler Hof to see an ox slaughtered. This was done skillfully by Frantz, an older man who had learned much from long experience as the village publican, butcher, and on occasion gaoler. His wife was the village matchmaker. She had been waiting for years to propose the best match of her life between the Winklers' daughter and young Purgstall, and had been bitterly disappointed when she found out that the match had been agreed upon without her advice and assistance. Some villagers had bathed for the upcoming occasion, even though it was springtime, and the water of the stream too cold to bear without heating. Most people in the village did not share the city dwellers' horror of bathing in water, and were likely to bathe in the stream in summer, and in other seasons in a low communal hut built for that purpose. Whereas city dwellers were sure that this would let sickness into the body, most villagers thought that the shock of cold water made them strong, and even believed that the shock of cold water could cure colds. The wedding feast would cost plenty. Winkler Sr. felt the scrutiny of other knights, and of the leading families of the valley. He had cast his net so as to include not only notables of the vicinity, but also guests of honor from the provincial roster. There would be more sausage, cheese and fruit than anyone had had ever seen at one time, yet in the end it would all disappear. There would be fish. People in these parts could not get enough of fish, and would rejoice in remembering the day's feast on that count alone. Danube fish were seldom available fresh enough because of the roads, so the fish at the feast were all caught in streams or raised in ponds thereabouts, mostly carp bought from the Carthusian brothers. Potatoes would be baked. Anna Maria opposed this, saying that potatoes bring on lust, but Uncle Heinz insisted that in their under-populated village, nothing could be better than to stimulate lust.

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At the end of the feast there would be swans. In the morning women had hung out the swans, sticking pins through their necks to let them drip. Winkler Sr. had foreseen that he would have to roast an ox if he was going to please all his own peasants, so he had a fire pit dug for the purpose the day before. Of wine there was always an ample supply, this being a wine village. It would be days before anyone would work again at a normal pace. For dessert there were apples for the villagers, and for the guests of honor pear tarts made with sugar, which Uncle Heinz had brought from Vienna the year before in a sugar barrel. Also milk puddings and marzipan. Whereas peasants ate with wooden tableware to go with their wooden shoes, Winkler Sr. had pewter for the guests of honor. Ballons or other fireworks would have been nice but the seniors agreed they were too expensive. Instead of fireworks, they put up a swing under a huge timber tripod, as they had before on festive occasions. This was a treat for the villagers, and an opportunity for grownup fun, as well as for the children. Although in those days ladies wore two underskirts, village women often wore none, so that the swinging would bring out male observers of all ages standing just beyond the foremost reach of the swing, and watching the women with openmouthed concentration. The wedding ceremony would be at the village church. There had never been any question, especially since Sebastian's mother had died, that the wedding would be performed at home in the village by Father Rolf, friend to the family, and teacher to the Winklers' son. There was a story that Father Rolf might have been promoted in time from this village parish had it not been for his own curiosity, which had over the years lead him into disputations with the few remaining Protestants of the valley over their interpretation of the Bible. This willingness to dispute had been remarked by his ecclesiastical superiors, who found reason to believe that Father Rolf had been influenced by these unauthorized adventures. But whether or not he was secretly a Protestant, Father Rolf knew this village better than he ever had his own, owing to the sacrament of confession. Because of his warm heart, and his reassuring air as he baptized, married, advised, confessed and buried their families, the village's householders supported him a little beyond what was demanded by custom. This helped, since his appetite was larger than his thin frame suggested. On that April morn, after Father Rolf had bound the wrists of the bride and groom together with his priestly stole in front of the honored guests, he invoked the blessings of the saints on this marriage, and on

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whatever progeny might appear. The senior Winklers showed their satisfaction by shaking hands with the priest, even embracing each other, which was not a customary act in those parts. Although they had agreed to divest a large part of the family estate to the Purgstall line as part of the marriage pact, they had brought off a merger of interests that augured well. As her dowry, Anna Maria would immediately receive, and her new husband would manage, a sizable part of the Winkler vineyards, together with peasant households to work it. The bride and groom, already intimates, were elated at this, relieved to have the transfer over with, and looking forward to their own first joint harvest. The guests of honor included both beanstalks and rolypolys, dressed up in velvet and lace with many buttons, the men with silver buckles on their shoes. They followed the bride and groom downhill toward the village and the barrelhouse along a path strewn with ribbons and flowers. Tables had been set up in the winery yard. The day was auspiciously mild and sunny. Excited barn swallows darted before them. Village men dressed in homespun cloaks and knee high boots doffed broad-brimmed hats as the notables passed in their finery. The villagers stood quietly beside the path, whispering and mumbling respectfully. Every one of these villagers paid rents and taxes either to the Winklers or to the Purgstalls, and these in turn passed on the taxes they had had collected to the Styrian authorities. The Church of Rome also received a contribution from these parishioners over and above the priest's living. The villagers feigned respect for the vintners and their noble guests even when they did not feel it, and were used to smoothing the relations between them. There prevailed a custom of flattering banter between landlords and tenants, even when serious disputes stood between them. One might think the villagers were a little simple unless one listened closely. "Ya, it'll be a fine wedding, that's for sure. But I wouldn't want to be her husband, no, no. He'll have twice as much to manage now, poor fellow. And the price of wine so bad. Ya, tough. Think of all the dues they have to collect each year, ya. And all these empty houses, what will they do with them? There are so few people left that they have to bring in the grapes by themselves. Oh well, with a little help, ya, ya." Men like these could be direct to a fault with women, unless they feared repercussion. Then they were masters of indirection. "It was just the other day this fellow's wife come up to me and says she wants a piece of the ham I just then took down. Well, I don't know, I says. What's in it for me? Well, she says, this hole here (and she shows me),

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this one's for my husband but you could have the other one." And from this one understood that something had happened. Then again, perhaps not. The villagers of this valley had an understanding. If a strange man were to turn from the path and the wife led him into the stable, and time went by, the husband might say to those around him, "Do you think they need help?" To which his neighbors would reply not to worry, that they were just shifting hay. The secretary of the district, who had been ennobled not because of his family's pedigree but because of his university education and service to the state, had also been invited. This personage wore a purple jerkin with a lace collar, while his wife wore a brocade dress with silver woven into it. Both had vast wavy hairdos powdered to a smooth patina. Like other nobles they had come in a carriage, which now waited by the road below the village. The secretary, one Gottesthal, would be expected to give a speech, which for certain would be boring. One could be sure he would dwell on the Emperor, the Catholic faith, repentance and duty. The last time he had spoken at a wedding he had made himself unwelcome by saying that he saw several nobles and ladies wearing foreign cloth and unnecessary novelties, in spite of the Emperor's ban on imported luxuries, and despite the Imperial dress code laid down two decades earlier. No lady was comfortable with him after that. Yet Gottesthal used tobacco copiously, which was also an import. His distracted look this day was due to the fact that he was still rehearsing his speech. There were some families represented that day with impressive pedigrees. One could tell their high status at a glance, not just by the way they dressed, but by the way they moved and talked. Like other aspiring nobles, they habitually struck poses as they met and spoke, just like the high nobles who were their models. They made it seem they were conferring a great favor simply by being present. The ladies moved stiffly, with little steps, their multiple skirts swishing. Watching them dance could be painful, especially the country dances usual at country weddings. The Winkler family had acquired its own knightly status rather recently, during the Thirty Years' War, and was reticent about the years before that war. Their knightly status brought with it, besides tax exemption, other prerogatives and duties. Only recently Winkler Sr. had written a letter of reference for one of the village boys who was keen to go to Vienna in order to apprentice to one of the guilds. The boy's father had been a knacker, a scorned occupation not acceptable by the guilds. But a letter from a knightly vintner such as himself, or from

- 23 a priest, could open doors otherwise closed, even if the vintner or the priest was little known outside his parish. Young Sebastian did not wait for the ceremony before testing the wine. He had already had plenty by noon; he justified this to himself as obligatory for a vintner, wine-tasting being an esteemed science. Had he not gotten into an enhanced mood, it is doubtful that it would have occurred to him to accept the challenge of Frantz the village headman, the best wrestler in the valley, as well as village collector and bailiff. Frantz was so strong that there was little that he could not handle by himself, and he proved his strength by wrestling all comers on festive occasions. When Frantz issued his challenge to wrestle as a part of the day's entertainment, a couple younger men from the village made a try at throwing him. These matches ended as expected, swiftly and with no great effort on Frantz's part. Sebastian, who was strong for his age and heavier than the experienced headman, decided to try his luck. He knew that his father would not approve of his matching his strength with a peasant, even their bailiff, as entertainment for the guests, but he itched to make a sudden victory and the wine prevailed. The ensuing match was either pitiful or funny, depending on one's point of view, instead of actually wrestling with Sebastian, Frantz simply challenged the seventeen year old to turn him over. He then went down on the ground like a turtle, utterly motionless. The wine, a false friend on this occasion, did not help Sebastian to overcome the wiles of the older man, who stuck to the ground with the weight of a boulder. Each time Sebastian thought he might succeed at last, a slight movement of Frantz's muscles undid his efforts. Frantz's body was rock hard, even slippery, whereas Sebastian's was still springy and flexible with youth. Finally after admitting to himself that he was getting nowhere and had tried every trick he could think of, Sebastian gave up and saluted the headman. Some villagers applauded, but others jeered at his expense. His father and uncle groaned, laughed and shook their heads. Later Sebastian's father became himself the target for head shaking. Winkler Sr. had loved Gypsy music since his youth, and so had invited a band of musicians who had wandered in from Hungary to play at the wedding. It was not what people thereabouts were used to. When the procession came from the church, Winkler Sr. thought it a good idea to have the musicians playing as they arrived in front of the barrel barn. After the secretary's dull speech and some imbibing of his own, the elder Winkler shed tears of joy while the band played the kind

- 24 of music they knew best, at first slowly, then faster and faster. It was the older vintner's view that Gypsy music was the music of life, which could make one feel happy or sad, all depending. If the violin could bring out the deepest feelings of passion, the cembalo could summon up distant horizons, or visions of a starry sky. Some of the noble guests either really didn't like Gypsy music, or wouldn't admit that they liked it. Thinking about it later, Sebastian realized that there were certain haughty personages who were not reluctant to let the world know where a wine-squire stood in the provincial hierarchy. None of the guests could dance to this Gypsy music, nor could Winkler Sr. So as to reach a kind of truce, one of the villagers was asked to produce his dulcimer in order to play the kind of dances these country people were used to, upon which Winkler Sr. bade the Gypsies to join the villagers in their feasting. The high-ranking guests would not dance even when the tunes were changed. After a few hours of banter never free of condescension, they departed midafternoon. A rumor had gone around that the marriage was forced, and that the child would be born in weeks instead of months. Bride and groom noticed the condescension, but since they hoped to make their social world among these same notables, they overlooked it. As for the Winkler men, they ignored slights and kept on drinking, so that by evening, after the guests had gone home, they began to dance with the women of the village, laughing and perspiring, glad to have their village to themselves. When the secretary gave his speech, it had been about as people expected. The secretary mentioned nothing in his speech about the Turks, though he surely knew more than others about their progress through the Balkans. He talked instead about "these uncertain times", and about duty, and the sacrifices which Styrian subjects, being also an Imperial subjects, must be prepared to make for the true religion. Their archduke Leopold, residing in Vienna, was after all also the Holy Roman Emperor of the German nation, and defender of the eternal Church of Rome. The secretary did not dwell on foreign cloth this time, but did speak out against inappropriate luxuries (and he wearing a velvet jacket!). He urged that each Styrian household should uphold the true religion, attend church, pay taxes promptly, support their local authorities, and inform them of any suspicious doings. By this last his listeners assumed he meant infanticide in particular, which had been common enough in these parts in the years before the plague.

- 25 From what Sebastian had seen of officials like these, he knew that he could never fit into this sort of role. His own family was fond of the Emperor and ready to do its duty. But personally he could not see himself scraping to put on velvet, then spending his life striking poses, wielding a quill, and lording it over commoners — not saying all that he meant, nor meaning everything he said. Nor would he be a priest. Nor would he engage in trade, which was not respectable for nobles of any rank, even though Uncle Heinz was involved in transport contracts. These days he talked a lot about leaving the village. His father and uncle weren't happy about it, but accepted it. Could Sebastian perhaps see himself as a university student? Perhaps, but where would that lead, if not into official employment? The only other option was to be a soldier like his Uncle Heinz. Heinz had never liked that idea. Sebastian wondered whether Uncle Heinz's own experience in the army had been unlucky, because he seldom talked about it. Sebastian's father said that he understood the impulse to travel abroad, he had once had such feelings himself. But he knew that if his son went off to become a soldier, that even as an officer his return was far from guaranteed, and he would be deeply missed by the family. Nor could his father promise to help support a rising officer's way of life, since more money was always needed to develop the estate. Unless Sebastian married some day and came back, in which case something could be done for him, it would be Klaus and Anna Maria who would ultimately take over all the Winkler holdings and manage them under the Purgstall family name. Uncle Heinz was also an interested party of course, but he was not a person who was overly concerned with his own or his family's reputation. Granted that his father would help him with his schooling, what kind of a future could Sebastian expect afterwards in the military, without further backing from his family? The only officers they had heard about who made any money were the ones who used their commissions to bilk their men out of the food, clothing and pay they had coming. Sebastian couldn't see himself doing that. If he were to make his fortune as a soldier he would have to rise very high, or become some kind of hero, perhaps even die in such a way that the family's name would be irreversibly polished up. That was what was expected of those nobles who were still willing to go to war. Much as he loved his sister and hoped for her happiness with their neighbor Klaus, the high point of the wedding was for Sebastian his long conversation with his Uncle Heinz, late in the afternoon during a letup in the singing and drinking. Until that day the uncle had

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never talked to his nephew at length about the past, apparently because he did not expect him to understand the views of a man thirty years his senior. Yet Sebastian thought he understood his uncle fairly well and could sympathize with the old bachelor's eccentricities, including his careless attitude toward religion, at least as it was understood in their valley. Sebastian had his own reservations about religion, which had started long before with his mother's monthly fasting. In church he found it difficult to stay awake to the end of the mass. Except for Sebastian's mother, doubts and reservations seemed to run in the family. The Winklers did not pick arguments with priests, certainly not with their good-natured Father Rolf. How could one get baptized, married, or buried without a priest? And Father Rolf told pretty good jokes.

Uncle Heinz had traveled a lot when he was younger, and had even fought for the Emperor in Hungary against the Turks. That was in the sixties. He had never married. He didn't have to because Sebastian's father looked after the family's property, and Heinz simply did not wish to marry. He was happy enough in his own disreputable way, and had opportunities among the women of the villages thereabouts, and also while on the road following up on his carting contracts. Perhaps owing to his experiences on the road, Uncle Heinz had unusual opinions that were not appreciated by everyone. His brother thought of him as the sort of man who could get excommunicated. Living up to his reputation for saying the unexpected, Uncle Heinz ordered Sebastian to attack him with all his strength. Heinz had been amused, perhaps even embarrassed to see what a fiasco Sebastian's wrestling match with the headman had turned into and he wanted to teach his nephew a lesson. " Sebastian, you must always have surprise on your side if you can. Come attack me and I'll show you what I mean." Sebastian regarded his uncle doubtfully. Heinz was much older, and quite obviously far past his prime. He would be an easy prey considering Sebastian's youth and strength. Really he should not do this to his uncle. But Heinz insisted. "Ah well, uncle, you asked for it." Sebastian's attack was straightforward and vigorous. He dove at his uncle, only to discover midair that his uncle was no longer there. Instead Heinz was on the ground at his nephew's feet. The younger man flew over his uncle's back, landing on his face and hands. Heinz rolled into him in a flash, grabbing one of his arms and forcing it behind his back. Both laughed at the outcome. Heinz was fast.

- 27 "Sebastian, watch out for old soldiers. They usually have a trick or two up their sleeve. And be careful never to underestimate the enemy", Uncle Heinz continued." Twice humiliated, his nephew realized that this latest exhibition was now finished, as quickly as it had started. His uncle had made his point, and was now laughing at his expense. He congratulated the older man on moving with amazing speed. Who would have thought it possible? Their joust had been so swift that few saw it. The easy victory made the victor generous and talkative. Uncle Heinz suddenly started to talk with his nephew about the past, in a way he never had before. He had had plenty of food and wine and was obviously enjoying himself. "Uncle Heinz", asked Sebastian, using this opportunity, "what makes you think the Turks might come to Austria rather than go to Transylvania or Poland?" "Scholars would call it a theory", he answered. "I can't prove it yet, but here is what I believe. If you look at the situation in Hungary, why should the Turks waste their time going there again? They long ago made a cozy nest for themselves in Hungary, and are far more at home there than the Emperor's men. Look at that Hungarian puppet bastard Thokoly and his so-called Crusaders, who spoil things for the Emperor every chance they get. These days the Hungarians are glad to do a deal with the Turks whenever it suits them. Never mind that they are Christians. Crusade, hah! Their idea of a crusade is a parade of Janissaries, heading west instead of east. But why should the Turks take every last bit of Hungary for Thokoly's sake when instead they could try making a desert out of dear old Austria in their usual charming fashion, and give a piece of that to their damned puppet." "Why do the Hungarians cooperate with the Turks?" "Not all of them do, of course. Some are for the Emperor, but not very many these days. For as long as I can remember, the Emperor's Jesuits have been hanging Hungarian Protestants, or sending them to the galleys, which is almost as bad. These Jesuits have His Majesty's ear, they run our schools, they have a hand in everything. Naturally the Hungarians would prefer to have a Hungarian king to replace the Emperor, but they know they will never have one if they leave things to these Jesuits. I have no love for Thokoly, damn him, but I can understand why the Hungarians feel burned after what happened in the sixties. Ah, the sixties! I only wish I could forget them." "Why?"

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"Why? The things I saw. If you think that soldiers forget what happens in front of their eyes, you're wrong. They may not talk about it, especially if they have done things they are not very proud of, but forget, no. I saw humans do things to each other which I can never forget, and I don't mean just Turks, though God knows they are bad enough. You want to know what I mean? If you become a soldier, Sebastian, then you will find out. But never say that I encouraged you to do it. I am not joking. I don't recommend it, not for you, not for anyone. But of course if you think you must, then you will." "Is that why you got out, the things you saw?" "That and the fact that I couldn't afford a commission at that time. I lived like a common soldier. In fact I was a common soldier. We soldiers seldom had enough to eat. We never got paid on time — often not at all. We didn't have proper boots or uniforms, and were lucky to sleep two to a bed under any roof at all. That was the way it was. To hell with it! These days I really don't give a damn who rules Hungary, so long as our own vineyards prosper." "And you have an understanding with Vati, it seems". "Yes, my boy. Your Vati takes care of the family's interests, and I take care of myself. Actually we help each other, as you know. My needs are simple. At one time I was going to marry, but that didn't work out and it's just as well. This way I have more time to myself. Nor would we say that I am a lonely man." He winked and rapped his long clay pipe on the plank table, spraying sparks. "And do you think the Turks might get as far as Vienna?" "No, I really can't see the Turks laying siege to Vienna. Of course, they did way back in Sultan Suleyman's time, but that is scarcely likely today. Vienna is at the far end of their marching season. The Turks march very slowly because they love to carry with them everything under the sun that will make their higher ups comfortable — pavilions, dancing girls, you name it. They couldn't even reach Austria before mid-summer, unless I miss my guess. No sooner would they arrive, than they would have to turn right around again and go home, just the way old Suleyman did on that famous occasion. On the other hand they might make it as far as Graz, which is a little nearer their territory, just for the hell of it. On the other hand, they might even like to have a taste of your father's wine. " "Uncle Heinz, Turks don't drink wine. It's against their religion."

- 29 Heinz laughed. "Some do. They have a drink, I think it's called maslach, or something like that, and it tastes damned strange. Before they attack, some of them drink this maslach. But mostly they are a pretty sober bunch. Before a battle most of them pray to their prophet, whom they call Mohamet, or to God, whom they call Allah. And believe me, when they've finished with their prayers, you'd better watch out." "People around here are so scared of them that when you say 'Turk', it's like saying 'Satan'. If God is on our side, Uncle, why can't our Austrians just stop them in their tracks?" Uncle Heinz laughed, groaned, poured himself a tumbler of wine, then poured a tumbler for his nephew too. "This is a deep subject. Believe me it has very little to do with whether Austria is on good terms with the Almighty. Look here, this should be part of your education, but I fear our clever priest will never get around to explaining it. "First of all, this Satan, as you say, has a big standing army, which you can scarcely compare to the Emperor's few regiments, may God help us. You may find that hard to believe, but it's true. The Sultans have had an army standing outside Istanbul for centuries. And I mean standing. Although their army triples in size in wartime, it never disappears in peacetime, the way ours always has. Although lately that has begun to change, it's true. "Now look at the miserable position of this Habsburg House of ours. If the Emperor wants to field an army, he has to beg for it. Nobles and burgers in every provincial assembly sit around and talk everything to death, who will contribute what and when. And in general what comes out at the end is a long way from what is really needed. And all this talk goes on for months before a single soldier has put in his appearance. Maybe things are changing a little bit now. There are these standing regiments that have been formed in recent years, but only a few. So in general, our Emperor has to rely on mercenaries, and on whatever troops he can persuade his allies to send." "Don't we have any allies now?" "We count on our own home provinces for something, however little, however late. But as for the Holy Roman Empire, once you cross these mountains you're on your own. I've heard there are talks going on with the Bavarians, the Poles, even the Brandenburgers, who are not even Catholic, and maybe some others. But what all that will amount to we will probably find out only after the Turks have come and gone. Who knows, maybe the Pope will send help this year. They say he is interested in conducting one last crusade against the Turks."

- 30 "How many soldiers could the Pope send? " "Not many soldiers, but he gets money from all over the world, if only he will give us some. The Turks on the other hand always seem to have enough money for their purposes. Whereas our troops are lucky to get paid once a year, the Turks are paid regularly every quarter. While our soldiers nearly starve to death, the Turks eat every day without fail, meat and rice. No wonder they look bigger and healthier than our men. Even their horses are better and better fed than ours. Yes, their clothing may seem strange, but look at the men underneath." "Uncle, suppose the Emperor gets the help he's looking for. Wouldn't he be able to stop the Turks?" "About like you stopped our man Frantz today, but hopefully much better. Our side is very late in getting started, my boy. We knew already in fall that the Turks were preparing to move, if not to Austria, then somewhere. Nothing was done. But if once they reach the Drava, and if once they cross over that long bridge at Esseg onto our side, as they may well do, it will really be too late to create an army to defend Austria. But you cannot tell that to the provincial assemblies. They just go on arguing while the wolf is at the door. It is our own fault, and we may suffer for it. But, look this is a terrible way to talk on your sister's wedding day. Why don't we drop it?" "But what if we Austrians do find the men. Couldn't we still stop them before they get here?" "Let me tell you about the Turkish way of fighting." Heinz relit his pipe. "Their cavalry is excellent, and that is the first you will see of them, if not the Turks themselves, then their Tatar allies from the Crimea, 'devils' boys' -damn the lot of them. They use their cavalry to ruin the countryside even before they start to battle. Now if you can catch their cavalry, fine, you have a chance, but you won't. They just melt away, and reappear behind you. " As for their main army, there is no bigger army in the world. The Turkish commanders like to go to war in grand style. Their commanders may even bring women, or pretty boys for that matter. They bring as many servants as they can, which leaves their soldiers all the more free for fighting. The pavilions they put up at night for their higherups are unbelievable. That's part of what slows them down, yet at the same time it's damn impressive, I can tell you, because they can afford to do it. And as you must have heard, their camps are extremely quiet and orderly. No gambling, no nothing. So they have lots of time to pray to Allah. They have no end of wagons, and no end of camels. Their horses are fine and they are well fed. Our horses, hah! Plugs, that's

- 31 what. And you should know that our horses are scared of their camels. They can't stand the smell. "The Turks don't use pikes as our Europeans do. They do use matchlocks, sabers, grenades — and cannon. Remember they are very good at siege warfare. They learned on Crete whatever they didn't already know, so I hear. They know that the best way to bring down a modern fortress of the modern type is not by artillery fire, even though they have artillery, but by digging under the walls, and then exploding charges to bring them down. And when it comes to digging, their diggers are the best in the world. They will dig a dozen tunnels at the same time and fill them all with gunpowder. Then when the time comes, kaboom, there go your walls. I've seen this in Hungary. "Now when their main army lines up on the field of battle, they form a huge arc with the Janissaries in the middle, guarding their commander, usually a vezir, often even the Grand Vezir, who is like a Graf. You don't even see the Janissaries right away, because they push their prisoners or their auxiliary troops out in front of them. Since they pray a lot, they are full of confidence, which is the next best thing to being truly brave. And usually they are brave as well. If they are cornered, Turks prefer to die rather than surrender. Think about that. But your chances of getting them into that position are not so good. When they attack, they attack massively, and with their huge numbers of men, and their huge quantities of provisions, they are usually in a position to win." "But Uncle, when you were in Hungary, as far as I know, our soldiers did pretty well, did they not? Didn't they beat the Turks?" "You're right, my boy. I shouldn't be saying that there is no way to stop them. They can be beaten, but it takes some luck and also some other things." "Like what?" "You say you might become a soldier, so I'll tell you. Well, there are a couple things the Turks can't stand. They can't stand continuous volleys of matchlock fire. And they can't stand continuous artillery fire. Of course they have matchlocks and cannon too, and their weapons are pretty good. But they haven't learned to use them the same way we Europeans do. When I say Europeans, I mean trained and experienced troops, mercenaries yes, but not just volunteers. This I saw in Hungary. So if you are going to stop the Turks, you have to have time to train, you have to be well equipped, you have to have lots of troops, and you have to have good commanders. That's a lot to ask. I don't see that there is enough time or money for any of that now. So,

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my boy, enjoy your wine." And so saying, Uncle Heinz stopped talking. He swung his leg over the bench, belched, and after a moment, stiffly walked away. The afternoon of the wedding, while the guests ignored the Gypsy music as best they could, their talk had soon centered on the Turks. Sebastian's father had just called for white cloths with which the ranking guests could wipe their hands and faces. Whereas the local people would help celebrate Anna Maria's wedding for another two days or so, the higher ups who had honored the family with their presence let it be known that they would have to be off mid-afternoon in order to be home by dark. Winkler Sr. did not want to let them escape without hearing informed opinions regarding a possible Turkish invasion. Could the Turks possibly invade Austrian soil, or were they headed to Royal Hungary, Poland, or Russia, or even to Venetian territory? What was Gottesthal's real opinion about this? "Winkler, my good fellow", said the district secretary, taking out his snuffbox. "Why are you so worried? The Turks are still very far from here, certainly not even as far as Belgrade." "Not yet, your honor", said Winkler, " but could they be headed this way?" "Well, perhaps there is a remote possibility. But rest assured that our dear Emperor never goes to bed without considering whether he has done all that he can to protect the Empire, above all our Austrian lands. You can be sure he will provide for our defense, and that all the provincial assemblies will support him to the fullest." "But will that defense be enough and will it be ready in time to stop them?" "It always has in the past, if not in the first moment, then ultimately. After all, we are still here. You must travel all the way to Hungary if you wish to see a minaret. " Here he thought himself quite witty; the ladies laughed. "But it is exactly the early stages of such an attack, if there is one, that I am worried about", insisted Winkler. As far as I know, we do not have anywhere near enough Imperial troops to stave off a determined attack on Austria from the east, especially since now that we have such problems guarding the Rhine against the French. Are we not really dependent upon our allies, as usual?" "We may be grateful", said Gotteshal, stiffening, that our gracious Emperor's diplomats have been very busy on our behalf rounding up the best allies possible. I don't think we have any reason to worry."

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"I've heard there are negotiations with those drillmasters the Brandenburgers", added one velvet-clad guest. "And if necessary, even the Polish cavalry may come to our assistance, with all their feathers flying. Though God save us if comes to that, because they will come without one sausage per regiment. Their king will have eaten them all." This too was thought to be very funny because the Polish King's girth was well known, even in Austria. "Winkler, my good fellow", said the secretary, "you should be more concerned with your own affairs, not the Emperor's. What about this son of yours, who so resembles you in every way. Isn't it about time you sent him to Vienna to complete his education? After all, if he stays around here, he will just drink up the family's wealth, like his father. I know you will never bring in a proper tutor, though you should, but certainly you can put him into one of the fine schools for young nobles and burgers which the Church supports." Sebastian could see that his sister and her new husband were a bit miffed by the self-satisfied, supercilious way in which this provincial dignitary, who owed his title to his office rather than to his ancestry, addressed the elder Winkler. But his father seemed not to be offended. The ladies sitting at the head table turned towards the newly weds, watching their reaction. Sebastian too watched his father closely. His father was always careful not to offend other nobles of any rank, even those who were in no way his superiors. The secretary had by chance touched upon the very matter that his father had postponed deciding for a long time, namely the question of Sebastian's future. "And what sort of future does your honor think that could lead to? My son shows signs of wanting to be a soldier, and follow in his uncle's footsteps. But it's not clear to me what kind of education he needs for this." "So glad you asked", said the secretary. "The modern officer, who hopes to command a regiment, cannot be as before simply a country fellow who thinks he can fight. Oh, no! To rise in the standing army that our Emperor has prudently begun to build a young man must be very accomplished. He has to ride, shoot, use the blade just as before, yes. But now he should also be educated, cultivated: learn languages, dance well, and must watch his manners at table and not only at the table. He must understand artillery, which means learning mathematics, and he must study fortifications of the modern type. He must ... let's see, where was I?" Gottesthal paused to take snuff.

- 34 "Yes, he must be in every way an educated person, whether or not he is of noble parentage, otherwise he will not hold his own with his peers coming from other parts of the continent. No, not even with the ladies." The secretary looked around the table to see the effect he was making. "Take the French officers, for example. They are our rivals, granted, but one cannot deny that their education, their accomplishments in mathematics, philosophy, architecture, music and the other arts are second to none. Even their ladies may have better manners than ours, though they are certainly less virtuous." Once again Gottesthal looked around towards the ladies to study the effect of his words, then towards Father Rolf, who, being of common parentage, was seated far down the long plank table. The ladies pretended to be disappointed with the comparison. Father Rolf merely smiled, his eyes raised skywards. "So Winkler, give up your son, by all means, and let's have him educated so that if the French come this way in the future, Winkler junior will show them a thing or two. And not only on the field of battle." This was thought to be clever, even risque, and all the guests laughed. Sebastian's father also laughed. His son was both pleased and embarrassed to have been the center of discussion. Perhaps now he could move his father to make up his mind, so that Sebastian could plan his immediate future with some support from the family. With a little luck, he would eventually travel far from their village and see the world, perhaps even Paris, and the famous palace at Versailles, where King Louis had just taken up residence in the year just past with all his nobles ranged around him.

VIENNA, JUNE 1683 News of the Turkish invasion burst over Sebastian's village like a rocket. In mid-June a huge Turkish army had crossed the Danube using the long bridge at Esseg, and was advancing into Austria. They had reached Gyor, which had a considerable fortress, but instead of stopping they went around, advancing behind a screen of Tatar skirmishers who were raiding in all directions. Fear spread through the summer air like the smell of gunpowder. Arguments over draft animals broke out, and carts were readied for flight. Chickens and geese were thrust into makeshift cages and loaded onto carts. A deputation of peasants came to Winkler Sr. demanding his permission to break into his mill, where last year's grain tithe was kept. The villagers asked for

- 35 and got all the grain and wine they could carry. Some were anxious to bury what they considered valuables, whereas others wrapped them up in order to take them along with them. Some women heeded their husbands, others argued with them, and no one was certain of anything. Dogs barked endlessly. Pigs were driven home from the woods, and then released back into the woods. The prospect of a Turkish invasion aroused in Sebastian more excitement than dread. Yet most people around him seemed terrified. Looking back on those days a few weeks later, he realized that the people of the village had been quite right to be afraid, while he had been simply oblivious of a very real danger. Rumors reached their village that the Emperor had gone hunting outside Vienna, which he often did at other times, like the nobles around him. "Isn't it odd?" asked Sebastian. Doesn't he take this Turkish business seriously?" "Of course he does", answered Uncle Heinz. "He's gone hunting purposely in order to inspire the people with confidence, to give them the feeling that everything is more or less as it should be. But we know it's not." Then as the family was preparing to start for Vienna, they heard another rumor — that the Emperor was about to leave the capital with his courtiers, and flee up the Danube to a safer place. Once again Sebastian was puzzled. "Don't you think", he asked his uncle, "that the people will take this as a bad sign?" "Well, at least we know now that he is taking this Turkish business seriously, which he ought to, by God", said his uncle." But they also heard rumors that Tatar bands, perhaps accompanied by their Hungarian allies, were starting to raid up the Danube. Soon they would be on the heels of the Emperor and his courtiers, who were now headed upriver toward Linz. Those most devoted to the Emperor assumed, or hoped, that his advisors had insisted on his taking flight, and that the Emperor himself would have preferred to stay in the capital to encourage the defenders. These said that perhaps his wife had persuaded him to flee. Whatever had happened, the same emergency which drove the Emperor out of Vienna, now offered Sebastian his first opportunity to visit this mysterious capital, where his uncle Heinz had so often gone on business. No danger could dim this thrilling prospect. Upon hearing that the Turks had bypassed Gyor, and were proceeding westward, most of the people from their village chose to leave forthwith. There was no stronghold near the village where they could be sure of a welcome. Opinions differed as to whether it would be

- 36 wiser to follow the Emperor westward, or make a run in the opposite direction, towards the advancing enemy, counting on reaching the gates of Vienna ahead of the enemy, and counting also on the city being successfully defended. Which road was the safest road to Linz, which the safest to Vienna? His elders directed Sebastian to join Anna Maria and Klaus in following the safest route to Vienna. They themselves insisted on staying behind. There was little hope of their successfully resisting the enemy's raiders on horseback, but if it was local people doing the looting, probably they could drive them off. Sebastian objected strenuously to leaving the two older men to their fate, as did Klaus, but their elders prevailed, arguing that it was the younger generation which bore the seeds of the future, while the rearguard action was properly theirs, their duty to both families, since they intended to keep a watch on Klaus's buildings as well. The younger generation argued with them about this imposed solution, but finally agreed to part, then agreed about which road to take, what to take with them, and where to stay in Vienna. No one voted to go to Linz, where they had neither relatives nor friends."Vati", asked Sebastian, what will you do if those devils' boys actually come here?" "Sebastian, my son, you mustn't worry. Your uncle and I have a good hiding place picked out and will use it if we must. God will surely help us against any unbelievers, especially if they are the devil's boys." The elder vintners laughed, but without conviction, then gave the departing party of youths their blessings. They all embraced each other for the first time since the wedding, and the two older men prodded the oxen from behind to get them going. The three who were bound for Vienna paused to wave, then resumed their march eastward, accompanied by two heavily loaded oxcarts. These were tended by two boys from the village, unmarried youths who had no families of their own to look after. Klaus and Sebastian wore pistols belonging to Klaus, "just in case". In Vienna they would seek shelter with Vati's sister, their aunt Hedi, who had been widowed in the plague year. They were carrying enough provisions so that they could be sure of being welcome as guests. In Vienna they would unload their provisions into Aunt Heidi's apartment, sell off the horses, and pay off the two boys. That was the plan. Most other villagers from their vicinity had chosen the same road, which eventually approached the Imperial capital from the southwest. But they soon discovered that the traffic was in both directions. The westbound travelers challenged the sanity of the

- 37 eastbound travelers. "What in God's name are you going to Vienna for? Do you think the Emperor doesn't know what's going to happen there? We wouldn't go there for anything." To which eastbound parties replied, "In Vienna, there will be shelter. You won't find any up the river. And don't worry. Our troops will show the Turks a thing or two." Perhaps they were not as certain of this as they sounded, but like others who were challenged in this way Klaus and Sebastian felt compelled to reply with spirit. Besides, they had agreed on this plan with Vati and Heinz. Heinz was a military veteran, so they felt an obligation to keep to the plan. Vienna captured by the Turks? Impossible. The very thought made one's head swim. From people coming from the east, the Vienna-bound refugees learned that many villages of lower Austria had already been burned, and that their inhabitants, who were their fellow Christians, had been massacred, humiliated, violated, and enslaved. And yes, some Hungarians were actually helping the invading Turks. This gave one a very strange feeling, as though the sun had risen in the west, or gone down in the east. The people getting massacred were just like themselves, subjects of the Emperor, churchgoers who spoke German. To die was one thing, but enslaved? What kind of a life could a Christian expect as a Turkish slave? How could God allow it? There was no difficulty in finding places to sleep along the road, since most houses were now abandoned by their owners, with straw scattered everywhere, and bedding removed. But one had to pay for these free lodgings with constant scratching since the houses in question were never completely abandoned by vermin. The small party slept little, ate hurriedly, and kept moving ahead of their creaking, groaning carts. Twice they left the road in a rush because of sounds in the distance they could not explain. At the side of the road more than once they came upon an old person sitting exhausted, abandoned by a terrified family. Each time Klaus confirmed Sebastian's good opinion of him by cheerfully agreeing with Anna Maria to share some of the food they carried in their saddlebags. But food alone could not give strength when all strength was gone, so these stragglers were left behind sitting by the road. The faces of the travelers were coated with sweat and grime. Greetings were muttered without the customary smiles. Even the children they saw were quiet and obedient, subdued by their parents' fear of an unreadable future. "Greet God!" "God's mercy on us all!"

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38

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Unlike many others, Sebastian remained cheerful. He could not believe that Vienna would ever be taken. After all, the Emperor was God's deputy on earth, so Father Rolf always said. But then why had the Emperor taken all his servants and courtiers, and instead of staying to defend the city, headed up the Danube? Was he really that scared? Or had the young Empress, being pregnant, persuaded him to go away, as some people were saying? The trio was shocked to hear village people cursing any man they met on the road whom they thought might be a priest in civil dress. Sebastian asked some of them why. "Why? Because it was these damned priests who drove the Hungarians to it, drove them right into the Turkish camp. It was these priests, especially these accursed Jesuits, who have brought the Turks down on our heads. And now these father confessors of little faith are running in all directions to save their skins. Well, let them run a little faster! As for ourselves, we don't know when we will see our homes again. I'd like to give the Emperor a piece of my mind. If only His High and Mightiness would consult his own people instead of foreign priests, we wouldn't be on the run right now, of that you can be sure." Thus ran the fugue on this motif. Perhaps disguised clerics did not entirely disagree, since almost none stopped to argue. One who did was beaten badly, to the amazement of Klaus and Sebastian, who had to intervene to save him. How fear had changed the rules! This experience gave Sebastian his first lesson regarding war: the rules were different. The young trio was uncomfortably aware that they had left Vati and Heinz to face fate alone, even if on their insistence. They were not convinced that the two older men could take care of themselves as well they said. What would they really do if raiders really made their way to their village? Would they be able enough and willing enough to hide in time? The few who chose to stay behind were supposed to be warned by a signal fire on a distant hill if invaders ever got close, but no one really believed that the system would work. No one could remember a time when it did. Who was there who had actually stayed behind to man those hilltops and to set a warning fire when all the world was on the run? No one. So how would Vati and Heinz have sufficient time to hide if those devils' boys just rode into the village without warning? Sebastian composed a prayer as he rode, wondering if it would be heard. A s the refugees from Purgstall emerged from the Vienna woods on the morning of their fourth day on the road, they spied the spire of St. Stephen's cathedral at the center of the city. They were alerted by the party in front of them, who had shouted in joy. But the huddled city

- 39 lay under a haze of smoke. It appeared that the far side suburbs were burning. Were the Turks really that near? Or had fires been set by raiders, or by the villagers themselves? Could they still enter Vienna safely? It had been hours since anyone had passed them from the Vienna direction. Gripped by doubt, they edged nearer, peering into the smoky morn. No one tried to bar their way. And those beside them on the road also kept moving into the haze, determined to approach and enter Vienna if they could. As these latecomers neared the city bastions, they passed onto a wide unpaved road, deeply grooved, which stretched like a racetrack around the city glacis. On the dusty ring road there were people moving in every direction. From passersby they learned that some of the suburbs lying close to the walls were being burned by their own residents under orders from the city so that the invaders would not have the use of them. They also heard with relief that most city gates were still open. Streams of villagers were still converging on Vienna from almost every direction. In spite of the prevailing anxiety, it was interesting for Sebastian to see so many fellow Austrians all at once, people of all ages and conditions. One had to wonder if the city had enough food to feed them all. The vintner trio congratulated themselves on having had the foresight to bring their own ample supply of provisions. So many people! But even as villagers fled into the city, one could still see a smaller stream of better-dressed persons, probably including clerics, who were leaving the city behind. Could they be right? Were they better informed about the state of the city's defenses? Sebastian had a sickening moment trying to envision his pregnant sister as a Turkish slave. But he took heart again as villagers jeered the few who were leaving. Vienna would be stoutly defended, that was plain. They heard even before they passed within the gates that the command of the city had been given to Count Starhemburg, not a man whom anyone would trifle with. Under his orders there would be ten thousand, or some said sixteen thousand soldiers. Sixteen thousand — that sounded like a lot. The prospect of actually seeing the Emperor's foot regiments in action was of intense interest to Sebastian, since he had already decided that soldiering was his destined calling. He had heard from his Uncle Heinz that there were a few new regiments to be formed just this year. Had he been just a little older, he would surely have enlisted.

- 40 Sebastian's party could sense the effects of the city's having someone already in command, because they began to be ordered about as soon as they entered the city's Schottentor Gate on the southwest side of the circular city wall. At the gate two guards with pikes demanded to know where were they were going. They had to explain that their Aunt Hedi had an apartment near the Auersperg palace. How did they know that there was room for them there? To answer this the trio had to go by what they had heard. Their Aunt Hedi had married an Auersperg financial official, recently deceased, whose apartment his widow still occupied. As far as they knew she had more room than she could use, but would she still? They would have to find out. They did not of course confide these doubts to the city guards who asked the questions, but let them to believe that there was no doubt about the matter. "Have a sample of the best", said Klaus, passing a bottle to the guards. "Pass," said one of them, laughing appreciatively, and turned to challenge another party. Was anyone really being denied entry at such a time? As their party entered through the towering walls, some men standing near the city guards hurried up to speak with Klaus, whom they naturally took to be the party's leader. It was immediately clear that they wanted to bid on the horses which the party were riding, as well as the carts and the oxen pulling the carts. Each jostled the others to offer a price. Surely their party would not be needing horses or carts in Vienna — they would only be a burden. That was true; selling the animals was already part of their plan. But the carts were needed to get to Aunt Hedi 's apartment. Klaus therefore decided to accept the price of one of the bidders, on condition that he would lead the way to the Auersperg palace and wait until they knew they would be welcome at Aunt Hedi's. None of them foresaw the day when they would be glad to buy back horseflesh as food. In fact the time would come when the vintners would smack their lips over horseflesh. But at this moment in time horses and oxen were urgently wanted to carry the last of the city's higher ups wanting to desert the city in order to go up river on the heels of the Emperor's party. As the trio entered the city, Sebastian gazed upon a strange new world which was marvelous to him even under these bizarre circumstances. The streets were full of people pushing, shouting, caught in the act of being themselves. Buildings were as big as fortresses or monasteries, with floor upon floor overshadowing the streets. Immediately one was aware of the bad breath of the city, not at

- 41 all like the odors of the barnyard, which one could come to like. No, this was a miasma one could never like. When Sebastian remarked on it, Klaus, who had been in Vienna before, said, "As always. Wait till you see what they throw in the streets here — dead cats and dogs, garbage, shit, ... you name it. There was a decree about it during the plague year, but no one seems to pay attention any more." On the streets the newcomers from the country accosted city dwellers with questions. Anna Maria was surprised to see so many children who looked poorly. Later they learned that some children had been abandoned by their families and had to be rounded up and taken care of by the city. Yet there was also a lot of laughter and joking on the streets, suggesting the festive days before Lent. Gradually one understood that at times like these people changed their ways. People laughed and cursed far more than usual. It helped everyone that Vienna was going into the siege with plenty of wine, even enough for the usual ration at the hospitals and orphanages. No one would have to drink water, which could threaten one's health, since thank heavens there was sufficient wine. Sebastian caught his first sight of Imperial troops, marching towards the southeast sector of the city walls. They had just come in from Hungary and looked tired, yes, but also tough and determined. The foot soldiers wore what passed for uniforms in those times: gray and brown knee length coats, not so different from villagers, with dull leggings, and wide-brimmed hats. Each regiment wore a piece of cloth at the throat which showed the color of the regiment. Most carried matchlocks, though some still carried pikes. In contrast to the chaos on the streets, these grim men looked like they had a mission. No doubt they were being held under very tight discipline by this new commander Starhemburg, and knew very well how much hung on their performance. If they were worried they didn't show it. People on the streets would fall silent as they passed, gape at them, and make way for them. The troops must have realized that they were the focus of attention, the hope of the city, heroes to all who watched them When their buyer stopped just a few moments after they passed through the gate in order to point out the address where their aunt must be living, the three of them were favorably impressed. The building was vast and solid, not very far from the Auersperg palace where Hedi's husband had worked until he died. Leaving their village drovers to watch over the wagons, the trio mounted broad wooden stairs connecting a series of open-air landings. From a woman on the first landing they learned that Aunt Hedi's apartment was on the top floor.

- 42 The door to her apartment, facing in toward the courtyard, was heavy and imposing, as if built to resist a mob. Klaus knocked. An old serving woman came to the apartment door, followed immediately by a large, handsome woman nearing thirty whom they knew must be their aunt. They were relieved that their Aunt Hedi seemed delighted to see them. She made appreciative sounds when they announced what provisions they had brought with them from the country. The apartment was more than big enough for a childless woman. The guests could easily put up there in reasonable comfort, even if they had to watch out to avoid tripping over the sacks and barrels which their groaning servants now hauled up the stairs. In the main room a bottle-bottom window overlooked the street. Around this room three walls were lined with heavily carved wooden benches, under which provisions were now stowed. In one corner stood a tall porcelain tile stove, an invention for heating city dwellings in winter. The apartment had been intended for use by an Auersperg retainer, in this case Hedi's former husband. The lady was still able to maintain herself on a small rent from the Auersperg family establishment, and it was from this she paid her servant. It was already past noon when all the provisions were up, and the brothers-in-law could release the animals and carts to the impatient buyer. The buyer was no longer willing to pay quite the same price which he had named when they had made their bargain, but now there were no alternative buyers close at hand, as he well knew, so they accepted the new price. Nobles hate to argue price, and the buyer knew that too. Though it would have been a problem in their new circumstances to keep animals, they might have tried had they known how valuable meat was to become in the weeks to come. The vintners now paid off the young drovers who had accompanied them, and who had labored so hard to haul up the provisions. These boys had plans of their own and immediately disappeared. It was quickly clear that Aunt Hedi was genuinely pleased to see them. She did not have enough money to flee the city along with the rich courtiers, and at the same time did not wish to leave her apartment unoccupied and unprotected. The last few evenings had been very trying for her, with shouting, crying, packing, and lights burning in all the apartments up and down the street. As quickly as titled nobles and prosperous burghers found transport and quit the city, their apartments were broken into and occupied by homeless refugees from the countryside, who lit candles, made their suppers, and squatted. Who was there to stop them? Starhemberg himself, the city commandant, was

- 43 said to be at his wit's end finding places for the many wounded soldiers who had come into the city during the last few days. Most religious orders would not open their doors until forced to do so, even though they had many empty rooms at their disposal whose pious occupants had fled the city. Although Aunt Hedi cheerfully shared her space with her relatives, the three newcomers were relatively unknown to her. She had last seen the two Winklers as children. She asked why they had not brought her brothers with them, the brothers she had not seen these many years, and was upset to be told why they had stayed, though she understood their reasoning, so similar to her own. There were not beds in the apartment for them all, but the newlyweds had brought portable travelers' beds which had belonged to Klaus's parents. Sebastian was assigned to sleep on a bench in the main room. These new guests would have welcomed straw, since they all slept on straw at home, but there was none to be had, so they slept on sacks filled with spare clothing. The old servant Gladys had to find a place to sleep in a neighbor's apartment, but she apparently did not consider this an unusual hardship.

The three main rooms of Aunt Hedi's apartment were east-facing and brightly lit by the sun in the morning. The kitchen was westfacing and had a small window overlooking the courtyard. Water had to be hauled from street level, while garbage, ashes, and slops were laboriously returned to the streets in buckets (not simply thrown out of the window as in some districts). Hauling water and emptying slops were among the chores performed by Gladys. A shared toilet was both distant and foul, as was usual in Vienna at that time. Aunt Hedi explained the locks on the door. Unfortunately they were noisy, so that one could not come or go without disturbing others. Yet all in all the apartment was a great blessing and they were grateful to have been received so well. The newcomers from Purgstall had potatoes with them, cheese, eggs, and cured sausages. As the newly united family sat down to a rather good supper, the streets outside were growing darker, but hardly quiet. From the streets rose shouts, and occasional loud noises such as a falling piece of furniture or a trunk, since some people were still carrying provisions into and out of apartments and cellars. There was quarreling and cursing, taunting laughter and hysterical crying, so that the tumult which rose in the darkening street seemed a kind of infernal music with no end in sight as nighttime deepened. The cacophony continued all evening, long after they had all turned their faces to the

- 4 4 wall and gone to sleep, or tried to, since few in the city slept soundly while waiting for the enemy to appear. The bride quickly found common ground with her aunt. They talked of the village, her brothers, the city, and the coming siege, and together prepared a first meal using some of the best food brought along from the village, which included fowl killed just before their entering the city. As they ate together, relieved to have each other's company, the four speculated about the probable whereabouts of the two drover boys they had just dismissed, and likewise the dangers threatening the two senior Winklers whom they'd left behind in the village to guard all their joint property from local vandals. Occasionally they paused to try to interpret sounds coming from the street — cartwheels and hooves, breaking glass, falling objects, arguments, laughter, cursing, and — yes, there it was — the unaccustomed sound of occasional matchlock fire. Who was shooting at what? Had the Turks now really arrived? On the ground floor of the vast building there had been wholesale cloth merchants, who were now closed for the duration. The street out front seemed to the newcomers to be too narrow by far, given the massive size of the building. One advantage of the fourth floor was that plenty of light came into the apartment in the daytime. Other floors were darker. In the hallway and on the wide wooden stairs there were brackets for oil lamps. Somewhere on the ground floor of the building there was a place where lamps were filled; the visitors never had to do it since this was among the tasks which Aunt Hedi left to old Gladys. At night the lamps gave just enough light for a person to climb the stairs, while in the daytime the stairwells were lit by sunlight which penetrated from the courtyard. "But why didn't Vati and Heini come with you?" insisted Aunt Hedi. She was distraught. She thought their staying behind was a mistake, though she had done the same. "If they had come with you we could have managed, and we would be sure they were safe." Her guests were beginning to think she was right, since they had just heard rumors on the streets about the movements of Tatar raiders advancing up the Danube. But rumors about Tatar raids soon ceased. Within the next few hours Vienna's links with the outside world were severed for a long time. Klaus and Sebastian had patrolled the streets on the very first afternoon, returning to the city gate by which they had entered. On their way they watched a religious procession, headed by a prestigious relic being carried on a litter. The two were unprepared for the tears and

- 45 breast beating of many of the marchers. They learned that tearful demonstrations had become more common in the days leading up to the arrival of the Turks than they had ever been before. Apparently these were attempts to win God's pity for the city's plight. There were also many special masses offered in these days before the siege began, with the purpose of entreating the assistance of God in warding off the invaders. These were not always easily arranged, since many clerics had left the city along with the Emperor. Even on that first evening of their arrival in Vienna, Sebastian began paying close attention to his aunt. She was big bodied, as was usual in their family. She had no upper teeth in front but hid this as well as she could. For a woman of thirty or so, she was still attractive, he thought. Like his father she was good-natured, and was doing her best to make them welcome. Sebastian decided he liked her fine. Her husband, the deceased Auersperg accountant, had found her when he had visited their village more than a decade earlier, while collecting some debts in arrears. The accountant and his wife had had no children, which was noticed and talked about by their neighbors. Lack of progeny would certainly affect Aunt Hedi's chances for remarriage, which might now be close to nil. But she never complained about this nor tried to dispute her fate as far as her family knew. And since her deceased husband had been economical, the two of them had never returned to the Winklers' village while he lived, so that these two branches of the Winkler family had become estranged without either sister or brother intending it. On the morning after their arrival the brothers-in-law picked their way through streets strewn with garbage, and human and animal detritus to discover where their water was being hauled from. There was always a line at the fountain nearest the apartment, even, as they were to learn, throughout the night. They now saw clearly how close their building was to the curving south wall of the city. Surely if there were fighting on those walls, as now seemed likely, they would be hearing it, and as they imagined it in these first hours, they might even be involved themselves. A day later the mood on the streets changed abruptly as fear gained the upper hand in the city. The Turks had arrived and were throwing up tents of various descriptions near the south wall of the city. All city gates were now closed. From Aunt Hedi's apartment the invaders could not be seen because of the height of the buildings opposite theirs. But the Turks were a presence both heard and felt. The city folk now strained their ears to hear the strange and awful languages used by the invaders. From over the walls the Viennese could hear a new

- 4 6 world of un-Austrian shouting, stakes being driven, metal clanging on metal, and the innocent, bewildered voices of animals of all kinds, which included the mournful groaning of camels. Shovels were at work by the thousands on a human anthill. At sundown on the first day of the siege the Turks began a bombardment. The sound of heavy guns caused uneasiness verging on nausea in visitors who had newly arrived from villages which now seemed to be on the far side of the moon. There were no guarantees. Even if the first howling desultory rounds went far over their heads, who could say whether soon a cannon ball might not open a gaping hole in one's own roof and kill everyone in one crash of wood and masonry. No one could imagine at first that this cannonade was to go on intermittently for over two months. Yet besides the sulfuric smell of gunpowder and the basso report of the siege guns, the Viennese would also become accustomed to the incongruously delicious aroma of bread being baked beyond the walls, both morning and evening. The enemy was human and loved bread too, which simply complicated the people's feelings toward them. No one knew yet how seriously to take the bombardment. Maybe the city would be crushed to powder. Maybe people would go flying headless and limb-less through the air. Or ... perhaps not. In the streets people at first moved extremely carefully, very aware of which side of the street they were on, scampering into doorways if they heard the deep report of cannons or mortars. But as time passed, so few were actually hurt by falling bombs (or so it seemed), that the besieged Austrians became more careless, or perhaps more fatalistic, and the noise level inside the city again reached its former level, and began to match the noise level outside the walls. The brothers-in-law were burning to actually see the Turks, and to do their duty for the city if they could only figure out how. On the warm July evening when the Turks were settling into their tents just beyond the walls, the two of them ventured out toward the Loibel Bastion, which seemed to be opposite the center point of the enemy camp, judging by the sound of it. They set out quite late with an oil lantern in hand, since there was only an hour or two of daylight left in the sky, and they would need the lantern for their return if they were to avoid unidentifiable objects, questionable characters, and loathsome puddles on the street. As the two came closer to the Loibel garrison, they encountered Imperial infantry wearing regimental colors at the collar. Almost immediately they were halted in their tracks by a sentry,

- 47 who stepped forward into their path and shouted: "You, where the hell do you think you are going?" "We just wanted to get a look at the enemy camp." "What for, do you expect to do something about it?" The two Purgstallers did their best to persuade the sentry that they were all in this together, civilians as well as soldiers, and that since they had made a long journey to Vienna to see the sights, surely it was reasonable that the sight of so many Turks should be among them. This struck the sentry as admirably funny. Since he apparently had no clear instructions about what to do with curious civilians, he told them that although they would never be allowed up on the wall, or any of the bastions, which were all now manned and still being reinforced, they might nonetheless get a view of the enemy's encampment if they climbed to the top of one of the buildings opposite the walls. He pointed to a building he thought looked promising which was just opposite the Loibel Bastion. Of course there were no guarantees for curiosity seekers. A cannonball or a matchlock ball could wreck their fun in a second. With some difficulty, since the street door was barred, they started up the stairs inside the building which the sentry had pointed out, and reached the top floor. The top floor was full of people! The inhabitants, whom no one had bothered to evacuate, seemed to be poor artisans, with numerous children. They were clustered at their windows, and one could see the Turkish camp from the corridor through the open doors of their rooms. The children were more excited than scared and were running around from one room to another of the top floor rooms. Their parents made way for the rural visitors in their cramped, illsmelling rooms, so that they were soon looking down upon the encamped horde through the window grills across a bastion which was already torch-lit for the night. Sebastian would remember this chilling panorama all his days. Beyond the glacis the enemy camp seemed endless — tents, men and campfires everywhere. In the middle distance one could see a few enormous tents, beautifully adorned, apparently the pavilions of the Turkish commanders. One of these was much larger than the others. There was a surprising order there, all the more impressive because it was a threat to the seeming disorder of the city. The countless enemy were outlandishly garbed, many of them naked to the waist, heads shaved, and with long mustachios. The Purgstallers had never seen a gathering of that size in all their lives, nor could they have conceived a presence so fascinating and at the same time so threatening. So this is

- 48 was what people were all afraid of, and rightly they now decided. Here was the enemy on their doorstep. The people of the city were now closed in like fish in a net, while these other humans out there, like hungry fishermen, were preparing to devour them all. And yet the sight of these many thousands who had come to kill them was also fascinating. Sebastian and Klaus watched transfixed, squeezed in at the windows alongside artisans and their children until long after the sunlight failed. "Look!" cried one little girl, "there are women!" She was right. The Turks had driven forward a bedraggled wave of people whom the watchers on the top floor soon realized were Austrian villagers, many, perhaps most of them women. These prisoners were set to digging trenches by torchlight. Alongside them were other diggers, often naked to the waist, who were apparently Turkish auxiliaries — perhaps Bulgarians, Wallachians, or Hungarians who were being forced to cooperate despite the widespread belief that the Hungarians were acting of their own free will. Probably these same villagers had survived massacres only days or hours earlier, and were now getting used to life in captivity. Who could now save them? It was depressing, disgusting, yet fascinating. As they watched, Sebastian began to wonder if the startling proximity of their building to the enemy's activities would not soon make them a target. In fact the building was hit the next day by cannon fire directed at its upper floors. Whether anyone was killed Sebastian never heard but after that the city authorities no longer allowed civilians to remain on floors looking directly down on the bastions and the enemy. But that first night, surrounded by the artisans living there with their families, the two visitors began to get an impression of how most city dwellers viewed these strange events. These people seemed confident that the Imperials would defend them well in the end, even though they were dismayed by the huge size of the enemy camp. Later when Sebastian saw how close their optimism was to being in error as to the vital matter of survival, he decided that it is useful and good to think oneself safe, even when one is not. That sort of illusion helps one to overcome despair and keep on living. When Klaus and Sebastian returned that night to Aunt Hedi's apartment, the attitude of the ladies was ambiguous — disapproving but at the same time inquisitive. They all talked for a long time by lamplight, and agreed on what each of them would undertake to do to make their lives together as bearable as possible in the coming days. Sebastian accepted responsibility for water supply. Water had to be obtained daily from a fountain in the neighborhood, but under a new

- 49 order, only a small quantity was permitted at one time. Now that there were three guests, the effort of carrying water so frequently would be too much for old Gladys. Tight controls at the water fountain meant that they often had just enough water for cooking, not enough more to wash themselves. But as Sebastian soon learned, the Viennese did not wash themselves much anyway, preferring simply to wipe themselves with cloths, loudly proclaiming that water would carry some evil substance through the skin, as it had at the time of the plague. Not surprisingly the village trio began to suffer from fleas from their very first night in the city. Sebastian was struck speechless, when his aunt, upon rising in the morning, took a fur piece from around her neck and shook it out. He learned that she was in the habit of wearing a flea collar to bed, then shaking it out every morning. Did other ladies of Vienna do the same? He must assume so, but did not have the courage to ask. Also he found that an alarming odor dominated the apartment whenever windows were closed. Gradually they all got used to it. None of this prevented his aunt from being a kind and often charming person, as time would show. Sebastian tried to imagine his sister and his aunt as prisoners of the Turks but found that his mind balked. An impossible thought! Klaus said he would rather die a hundred times. Whatever the two men could do to help the defending garrison, they would do. They had their first opportunity to prove their zeal less than a week after their arrival in the city. It began with shouting in the street. Urgent appeals pierced the air — the arsenal near the Schottentor gate was burning. Running in that direction, the vintners discovered that that a crowd of men had gathered by the time they arrived at the arsenal. No one seemed to know what to do. An officer arrived, and as all agreed later, a good one. He quickly put the crowd to work bricking up the windows of the arsenal to cut the supply of air. Volunteers carried water from nearby fountains to douse the margins of the blaze. The burning went on for several hours and had begun to swerve towards the Auersperg palace when finally it was brought under control. The great gunpowder explosions which they had all dreaded while they worked did not happen after all. The arsenal fire could not be connected with the bombardment which was going on at the time. What then started it? This was the first time since the stoning of the cleric on the road to Vienna that Sebastian was witnessing people losing all self-control because of hatred and fear. Two men were killed that day, who may or may not have caused the fire, as sober people later admitted. In both cases the victims of the mob's fears were unfortunate characters whom others simply regarded as

- 50 out of the ordinary and therefore suspect. One of them had a fey nickname, 'Baron Something or Other', and he had drawn his sword and put up a hell of a fight. But because he already had a reputation for eccentricity, the crowd was not satisfied until they had beaten him to death. It would have taken great bravery and also conviction to save that man from the sudden mindless ferocity of the crowd. The other death was less spontaneous. A boy was hung, perhaps because no one knew him who could or would defend him. The officer who had been so deft in command during the fire had by that time left the scene. The overwrought mob then found their second victim. Arson was one of the dangers of any siege; one had to be on one's guard. What was the boy doing there if not mischief? The two Purgstallers did speak out this time but since they were also unknowns their words were ignored. As strangers themselves there was danger to themselves in even trying to persuade the crowd to desist. After this disgusting event, which he realized he had been helpless to prevent, Sebastian decided never to try to win over a crowd which is out of control. Frightened people were dangerous. Soon after the arsenal fire was put out, a pair of burghers appeared in their building asking who they were. The burghers were with a team of census takers who were working their way through the Auersperg neighborhood. All over the city there were now strange faces. The authorities were deadly afraid of spies and incendiaries, such as the person, whoever it was, who set the arsenal fire. Few doubted that it had been set deliberately. "And where did you come from?" they asked the family assembled behind their doors. "We come from a village near Purgstall. We are vintners and our families are of knightly origins." The burghers looked at them suspiciously. What would knights be doing in Vienna? That is Auersperg country. Does the Auersperg family know yours?" "Not very well, no. But the husband of the lady whose apartment this is — may God give him rest — worked in the Auersperg palace as an accountant for over ten years." "Ah. Well, we will put you down then as relatives of a long-term resident. And if you are not, we will soon find out. Now here are orders from the city council. You must keep as much water in your apartment as you can. If you don't have buckets or barrels, make them. If your roof has wooden shingles, you have to take them off. "

- 51 "How are we to do that?" interjected Aunt Hedi. "We need a roof over our heads." "Not necessarily. It's summertime. There will be plenty of time to replace the roofing later when the Turks have left. Or do you want a burning roof over your heads? Those are orders. Also no garbage on the street." "And where do we put our garbage?" "I don't know", said one disgruntled burgher. "Perhaps the city fathers think it is unpatriotic to have garbage in these times of want and hunger. In any case, those are the orders. Not on the street." He continued to recite new regulations. These orders, however necessary they may have seemed to the city council or the military command, were mostly impossible to carry out. Few of them were in fact carried out, except for the one about the water. The family began by hoarding water what little water they could. Klaus often accompanied Sebastian to carry back water from the nearest fountain, where the neighbors kept a sharp watch on each other, crying out if anyone was too long at the spigot. They also visited more distant fountains, but with mixed results, since no one was charitable to people they did not recognize. But their routine eased when the city discovered that there was no water shortage just then. It was also a help that they filled their wine barrels as quickly as they were emptied, it being their intention to empty them as quickly as they could. Later on, one of Sebastian's memories of the siege was that he had drunk plenty of wine, since they had brought plenty of it with them. Despite the recent orders of the city council, their street quickly became dirtier, stank worse, and got even noisier at night. Neighbors talked about the recent plague year and wondered whether it might not get as bad as it had gotten then. There were now many villagers living on the streets who did not have the good fortune to have relatives in Vienna, and had not yet found a place to squat. The religious foundations were no more pleased to take them in than they were to make room for the wounded of the garrison. It was only because the campaign season coincided with the warmest weather of the year that it was possible to ignore the plight of the homeless. As the siege settled into routine, a new style of life had developed on the streets along with the new milieu. All day long bargaining and trading went on. There was also drinking, card playing, flirtation, speeches, and fist fights. At night all who had lanterns found it prudent to carry them. No one wanted to step into a puddle of something much less pure than rainwater. A lot of arguments took place

- 52 at night. Vienna gained more of that class of people — entertainers and others, who were adept at separating the unsuspecting from their money and their goods. So often on Aunt Hedi's street near the city walls — and perhaps it was the same all over the city — shouts would go up, women would start screaming, and men thumped on each other like empty barrels. Sometimes there was the sound of wailing, as though a life had been lost, but probably it was only something useful for sustaining life which was lost, such as food. Curses rang out, punctuating sudden scuffles. This invisible human clamor rose and fell all night below the windows of the east-facing apartment in which the family welcomed the coming of each day. Yet despite the scuffles, there was also camaraderie, joking and laughter on the streets. Surely the heart-stopping thought of the Turks getting in must have weighed on everyone. Was it desperation or bravado which was the cause of the almost festive air prevailing in Vienna during the first weeks of the siege? Sons and daughters were defying parents, friends were falling out, or finding new reasons to like each other, strangers were contracting liaisons, making deals, breaking promises, and almost everyone was doing things they had never dreamed of before. From the very first day when they went together for water, Klaus, rather than carry water all the way home with Sebastian, fell to talking with women in the streets nearby, letting Sebastian finish the task by himself. Not a day went by that women did not offer their bodies to them for money. These were not professional prostitutes but poor countrywomen who had no other way of getting by. Their manner was not at all that of professionals. They might put out a foot in one's path; and if one declined, as Sebastian did, they might ask plaintively: "But why not, for heaven's sake?" as though they were offering hens' eggs for sale. Or one of them might flutter her skirts so that a passerby saw more than he was ready for. The first time Klaus lingered to talk instead of helping to carry water Sebastian was shocked. Here was his sister's man of choice, not three months married, and he was ready to go with these dirty and desperate women who slept in doorways, running the risk of disease. He could not imagine it for himself, not at his age. But he saw now the power which women exercised over men like Klaus, as over most men. What to say when he got back to their new home — that was the problem. He had not been raised to lie, but he dared not tell his sister the truth. It would have broken her heart. So he told Anna Maria and his aunt Hedi that Klaus had gone to the center of the city or to the walls in

- 53 search of news. This was a successful lie, because Klaus nearly always did return with some new story based on what he had heard in the streets. No longer the hunter of rabbits, Klaus was now represented as a hunter of information. The enemy did this, our men would do that, etc. On the third day of the siege, Vienna's heavy guns for the first time gave an answer to the enemy's, and a cheer went up which swept the city. Men threw their hats in the air and boxed each other on the back, their blood racing and their spirits lifted. It mattered little if the balls hit the mark. "Let them have a taste of ours, the bastards!" It was about a week after the siege started when people on the streets heard that the Emperor had changed his mind about stopping at Linz, and with his expectant young wife and numerous retinue was going further up the Danube to Passau, well out of any danger. One might draw the conclusion that Leopold was pessimistic. Perhaps there were many who had not fled before the gates were closed who now wished they had followed his example. The city was completely surrounded. Austrian Imperial cavalry were camped north of the city on the other side of the Danube under the command of the Duke of Lorraine, but these horsemen were far too few to launch an attack against the enormous Turkish camp. The center of the Turkish encampment was opposite two reinforced bastions on the southwest side of the city, one the Loibel Bastion, the other the Burg Bastion. These strong points were the targets of intermittent bombardment but above all they were the targets of incessant mining undertaken from within the Turkish camp. Much of the Austrian garrison was concentrated behind these same two bastions, only minutes from where the Purgstall trio was living. Curiously no one on their own street was actually injured, which must have had something to do with the trajectory of the Turkish mortars, but it took a couple of weeks before people knew enough about trajectories to ignore the danger. Rumors filled the streets, most of them false. Not long after the Turkish camp was dug in, a rumor circulated on the streets about the two sides doing trading with one another along the wall. This time the rumor turned out to be true. At one level the besieging army and the besieged garrison were lethally engaged. At another level both sides had needs to satisfy which overrode all other considerations, so it seemed. The Turks had more vegetables than they needed, which of course they acquired from gardens they had not planted themselves. On the other hand the city had more than enough bread, at least during the first weeks. After dark some women were passing over the city wall and bartering their loaves, and heaven knows what else,

- 54 for vegetables, which they then sold the next day on the streets of the city. This went on for a time before Count Starhemburg put a stop to it, after it became plain that the siege would eventually exhaust the city's supplies of grain. The people of the city all knew that Starhemburg meant business when he had a row of three gallows put up near the city center. He did this early on, even before he needed them, in order to show that he was serious. About a week after the Turkish camp was set up, another Starhemburg, a relative of the first, sallied forth on his own initiative with a company of Austrian soldiers in front of the Burg bastion. The experiment was a catastrophe. Almost none of these soldiers came back. The Turks either were ready for them, or were not easily surprised. Starhemburg the commander was furious at the failure, and gave orders: there would be no more freelance sallies. About two weeks after the city gates were locked, the first two Turkish mines exploded under the city walls, evidence of that tunneling zeal for which the enemy was so famous. This happened near the Burg bastion. The mines made a horrendous roar which shook the whole city. The ground shook and shook again. People gasped and turned to look at each other in terror. Mines! This was how the Turks took Candia on Crete in 1669. Now they were digging under their feet in Vienna. Yet on that first day the walls held pretty well, and the dust cleared. Then there was the comedy of the daily serenades. The Turks started it. Every day as it got light, a Turkish band would start to play. For the Viennese, attuned to solemn limpid voices and baroque polyphony, these Turkish reveilles seemed like squalling and squealing, the infernal trappings of the infernal Moslem religion. Then the Viennese side organized its own band, which began to play morning and evening. The Turks may also have thought that the music of the Austrians' band was perfectly awful -no one could say for certain. The important thing was that the band kept up the city's spirits, just as much as their cannon had when answering the infidels' first barrage. The warm days of July passed imperceptibly beyond terror into routine. As one day followed another, it came to seem almost normal that the Turks should be ensconced in their tens of thousands on the other side of the city glacis. Normal that is until one thought about it. The Muslims dug and built and mined, getting closer all the time to the inner perimeter of the glacis, upon which Austria's regimentals were concentrated in clumps. After these defenders had climbed up on the glacis so as to look down into the moat-like ditch which lay between them and the enemy, the Turks built up a new scarp on their side which

- 55 was as high as that of the defenders. Then the Austrian Imperials in their moth-colored uniforms were looking directly into the eyes of the more brightly garbed Turks, as though this were some street game. Both sides were in full view of the other, with nothing but air between them. The Turks pushed their captives to the front of their camp each morning. It was these captives, mostly unlucky Austrian villagers caught up in the invasion, who did much of the digging above and below ground. Then in the evening these hapless victims were rounded up and driven back to the Turkish rear. No one could say what happened to those who could not dig fast enough, but there was a rumor about that too. The Purgstallers, though barred from buildings directly overlooking the glacis, were not prevented from approaching the rear of the Austrian garrison stationed at the wall during the daylight hours. They came to be on joking terms with some of the regimentals near the Loibel Bastion. The infantry regimentals did not always speak German very well; many were mercenaries recruited from as far away as Spain. The city's guns were served by well paid Czechs, who dressed solemnly like the competent burgers they were. It amazed Sebastian that men would sell themselves into such extreme danger for mere wages. These men must have left circumstances at home which were truly hopeless to risk their lives in this way. Or did men love war more than they could reasonably explain? Short of actually joining the army, which anyway did no recruiting during the siege, Klaus and Sebastian looked for ways to help their Vienna garrison, without always knowing how to go about it. There was no question of their going out with an armed sally, to start with because they lacked arms. Nor were volunteer efforts of that sort being encouraged by the authorities after the first fateful experiments. So it was mostly a matter of chance that towards the end of July the two fell in with a corps of students from the university, young men who were older than Sebastian but not older than his brother-in-law. The students had devised a scheme to round up some cattle which they noticed standing mostly unguarded, well away from the Turkish trenches to the west, and well away from the glacis. By this time the city was feeling the scarcity of some foodstuffs, especially meat and cheese. Few people could find anything to go with their bread. Cats were disappearing, showing up on the street as "roof rabbits".

- 56 The student volunteers agreed that this was something they would do for dear old Vienna — to alleviate the meat situation, starting with our own. They agreed to take the two outsiders along. The regimentals to the west of the Loibel Bastion were on to their scheme but chose to look the other way when one evening the students crept across the moat and slid through a gap in the Turkish counterscarp into darkness. The would-be cattle raiders were immediately confused. They were carrying no lights, and were stumbling in the direction where they imagined they had last seen the cattle. The path which had seemed so clear during daylight now seemed like a descent into hell. The excitement could not compensate for the terror — to be caught in this venture would be the end of them. After half an hour of creeping westward, stumbling, whispering and avoiding the lights of the enemy's tents and trenches, the students sensed the presence of cows. According to plan, each of them took a cow by the ear and began to lead it back the way they had come. Naturally the cows would not agree to go with strangers quietly and began to low. There seemed to be movement in Turkish tents nearby, but no one came out to check on the disappearing cows, which after all were soft-eyed Austrian cows, not Turkish cows. In all 23 cattle had fallen into the hands of about 30 students. Reaching the glacis again, the herd was moved north along the wall to a city gate which was opened by their confederates. The rustlers were wildly elated and raised a shout even before they were all safe inside the gate. Of the herd of cattle, three were held back for the students' own kitchens, while the remainder they would sell in the city for profit, which would then be divided among the rustlers. What with all the students hissing and all the cattle lowing, bringing the herd back without being caught struck them afterwards as a miracle and a cause for celebration. "Good business, eh?" said one to Klaus. "Not if you consider that they were ours in the first place". And Klaus laughed. That night the vintners brought a few of the students home with them, overcoming the first reluctance of Aunt Hedi with a promise of fresh meat the next day. Forgetting the terror they had all felt only hours ago, they all sang student songs and drinking songs, recounted their own bravery with hilarity, and emptied more than one wine barrel. "You were pissing in your pants". "Oh, ya? What's that spot I see on your pants? No not in front, the one in back."

- 57 Almost immediately the city's war council placed a strict prohibition on further such student enterprises across the walls. The first such cattle raid was also the last. Trading bread for vegetables also vanished overnight at the same time, so that fresh vegetables and fruits became only a memory in August. During those first strange weeks Aunt Hedi had done her best to run a normal household, with the help of her servant Gladys, and her expectant niece. Klaus and his new wife slept in a separate room, which meant that at night Sebastian was alone in the main room. Usually they all talked until well after dark, their faces lit by candlelight, until the newlyweds excused themselves, leaving Sebastian and his aunt alone in the main room. Sebastian was becoming urgently aware that, whatever her shortcomings, his aunt was still a desirable woman. At seventeen, hunger is the best cook. As far he knew, she had been on her own in the years since her husband had died, but he could not be sure that she was completely alone. He was charmed by the warm and flattering way she addressed him. True, she was missing upper teeth in front, she had an odor, but otherwise she was a pretty woman, big in a promising female way. By that time Sebastian had gotten used to her personal bouquet and sallow skin, which were normal among Vienna's denizens. One could overlook these things in a person who was otherwise kind and well mannered. Gladys loved her. If your servant loves you, you must be a good person, he decided. Sebastian wondered how this woman had fared in Vienna without someone to look after her. There was one way to find out. One evening in July, after the two of them were alone, Aunt Hedi asked Sebastian if he would like some chocolate, which up to that time Sebastian had tasted only at his sister's wedding. Chocolate powder was a Viennese luxury which Ms aunt kept in a special box. She prepared it for him as a hot beverage, adding some sugar to it to make it right. What a revelation! How had he lived so long without this wonderful stuff chocolate? At this late hour there was just a single candle in the main room, which his aunt carried to the kitchen in order to prepare the chocolate. The would-be lover sat in the darkness waiting for her return. Outside on the streets the usual nighttime sound of arguments, laughter, and banter floated upward. Across the street in the windows opposite candles flickered behind curtains in apartments where squatters lived. Occasionally their voices too were added to themes and variations lofting up from the streets. The warm evening air carried up to them,

- 58 along with voices, the yeasty vapors of unwashed humans, which over the past weeks gradually replaced the more accustomed appeal of honest horse manure. Children's voices were there too, children who should have been in bed but never were. Aunt Hedi rose and went to the open window, leaning out over the street as far as she could, a stance which left her generous bottom where Sebastian could not ignore it. He came up from behind her, his heart beating wildly, and placed his hands on the sill beside hers. Now he surprised himself. He could not deny any longer what he wanted with all his heart — to touch his aunt, to win her affection, though surely this was both sinful and preposterous. His heart almost stopped as he gently placed his hands under her bottom, like water lapping at the keel of a boat. For a moment Hedi did not move. Then she turned her body and drew Sebastian to her. As they kissed, she gave him her soft mouth and her tongue. To his astonishment she would permit everything which had seemed forbidden. He was amazed by her willingness, and by the feeling of complicity which the moment produced. Soon he accepted that she had been wanting this too, and that they were in this together, like thieves. "Not here", she said. "We can't here. The family would never understand." Then she told him where they would meet the next day. The next morning, after leaving the apartment separately, and with the music of occasional matchlock fire in the background, Sebastian made his way to an address on Lange Gasse, just minutes away from the Auersperg neighborhood. He was seeking the shop of Aunt Hedi's hairdresser, where business had scarcely slackened during the siege. How strange this was! One could hear the sound of glass grenades and matchlocks popping in the distance, yet nothing prevented any branch of the Viennese women's business from going on as usual. As the embarrassed suitor entered the shop, the proprietor whisked him to the rear, pushing him through a curtain into the room behind. There he found his aunt, unruffled and expectant. "Wait", she said, "sit down there", and she indicated a three legged stool. Then slowly, unhurriedly, she removed almost all impediments, and sat down in her underclothing on a sort of cot, which she patted as a sign that he should approach. "Don't worry, "she seemed to be saying, "this is how we do such things in Vienna". Hedi helped him free himself from his clothes. In a moment they were breathing profoundly and trembling — partly from desire, partly from relief. The young vintner plunged into a

- 59 pool of smooth, warm flesh, yeasty, satisfying. He accepted the kindness of a woman pretending to grant power over herself to a new man. She spoke to him with caresses and sighs and silence. He felt his blood sing in his ears as he swam blindly in the wake of this sumptuous vessel, writhing in luxury, yearning homeward like a salmon in a frothing river. As they lay together in the cool back room of the hairdressers' shop on Lange Gasse, Hedi began to talk about her life as a widow in the Austrian capital. To Sebastian's surprise, she gave the impression of being almost friendless. Her regular visits to a church nearby were, she said, her main preoccupation. She explained that in Vienna a woman who is widowed and has no children, and is not rich, counted for little. Her life was over. "Austrian women are born to bear children. If they don't, God alone can help them. If their family does not take them back, they must do everything they can think of doing to survive. I count myself lucky that I did not have to run to your father. If you think that the Auersperg family remembers me or invites me to their affairs, you would be mistaken. My husband was for them after all a minor official, and they have forgotten all about him. Still it is true that the rent which the Auerspergs granted me as my husband's widow has made the difference between life and death." Outside there were shots from inside the walls and men shouting. Sebastian asked to wash. He was suddenly very aware of the extent to which they had mingled and was not yet used to it. "Aunt, if you don't mind ..." "This is Hedi, my dear." "Aunt Hedi, I need to wash." But she would not hear of it. People in Vienna, everyone she knew, disdained to wash with water. Any fluid, for that matter, would let diseases into the body. So she offered him a cloth with which to wipe himself, after which someone else would launder it. Because he did not wish to appear to be the village idiot, Sebastian did not argue with her about it, though he regretted that he could not bathe in his own stream or millpond, as he would have done at home. People in his village were far more familiar with water than people in Vienna. This strange prohibition on washing became for Sebastian one of the hardships of living in Vienna, along with the fleas that were the consequence of this prohibition, and the boredom of a diet which now consisted mostly of bread, porridge, and bits of hard cheese, washed down with their own wine. He was sure that Klaus and his sister were much bothered by the same prohibition, and like Sebastian were

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probably washing themselves secretly as best they could. Only the cooler air of evening gave them some relief from the saturated air of their smallish apartment. The water situation worsened at the end of July after the Turks had completely understood the city's water supply system, and then diverted arms of the Danube which before had run into the city. After that people had only the city's cisterns to depend on, so that washing became something of a luxury. Fortunately the city's wine supply continued to be adequate; wine at least did not give out and in the apartment it helped make life easier. Soon after their first congress at the hairdresser's, the intangible change taking place between the aunt and her nephew was sensed by their companions in the apartment. Nor was old Gladys deceived or surprised. No one seemed to object, and no one said anything. Relieved by their seeming consent, Sebastian decided nonetheless that he ought to confess, which is what his mother would surely have expected, were she alive, and knew the reason behind it. The rapture he had felt must surely have its consequences, and was doubtless sinful. If he didn't confess, he might be hit by a mortar while in a state of sin. Thus a few days later, Sebastian betook himself to the same small church nearby which was frequented by his aunt. It was the Day of Peter's Chains and a morning mass was in progress as he entered. The priest turned in his chasuble and looked at Sebastian as if he knew what this young sinner had on his mind. Had his aunt already confessed? Did it make sense to confess to the same priest? In a sepulchral voice the priest started a responsa with his congregation, which on that day almost filled all the pews. "Our help is in the name of the Lord," he began. " Who created Heaven and Earth", they murmured. "May the Lord be with you." "And with thy spirit." The priest and the worshipers intoned back and forth in the ageless way, while outside the church the clangor of the streets was audible through the entrance. Communion followed. Sebastian avoided the sacrament, and stepped back into the street, feeling that he had not the right to partake. He left the church that morning and returned midafternoon, when the pews were almost empty, and fighting to control his breathing, approached the confessional cage. He was not sure if it was the same priest who had noticed him enter during the morning mass. In someone else's voice, Sebastian confessed to the cleric in the cage that he had lain with a woman. "Go on", said the priest.

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"This woman was my aunt." "On which side?" "My father's side." "And do you repent of it?" To Sebastian's astonishment, the priest's voice betrayed no surprise. Perhaps because of the siege the priest was hearing worse stories. Sebastian repented, was ordered to desist, and then absolved. Father Rolf, who knew the lady in question, would not have let him off so easily. But Sebastian did not desist. He did not actually intend to disobey the priest, and she too may not have intended to go on with what they were doing. But at night, within that apartment which was only a minute's walk from the beleaguered walls, the nephew deepened that carnal knowledge of his aunt which he had first tasted at the hairdresser's shop in Lange Gasse. By now they knew that the newlyweds were on to them but would pretend not to notice. Sebastian began to take seriously the challenge of pleasing this woman, moving onward from the obvious, following wordless hints from his willing and apparently experienced aunt. Each night they refreshed themselves with experiments, and then slumbered undisturbed by noise on the streets. They avoided talking of the future. In the early mornings, Sebastian might start to repent, but then prayers of repentance died on his lips. Gradually he began to believe that perhaps congress with one's aunt might not be so terrible in their particular circumstances. Later he could no longer remember how he came to that conclusion, but in any case nothing bad happened to him that he could connect with these transgressions, and he did not confess them again. Perhaps his aunt was not going to either, and never had. It was about this time that the Purgstallers struck up a friendship with an extraordinary man, who happened to have been at the city's western gate the night the students returned with the cattle. Sepp was a huntsman of the Imperial palace who had been left behind In Vienna by order of the Emperor himself, along with eighty other experienced shooters, to help with the defense of the city. These huntsmen were not like other men one met at Vienna, being first of all country fellows, and invariably dependable and knowledgeable about many things It was from Sepp that the two brothers-in-law learned most about the state of the city's defenses, which everyone now realized should have been better and should have been seen to earlier. It was through Sepp that Sebastian learned more about the military career, though Sepp did not urge him in this direction. Sepp had been in the military during the same years as Sebastian's uncle Heinz, and thought

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he could even remember Heinz. The Purgstallers usually had little trouble visiting Sepp, who like others on duty at the city walls, made his bed near them. The visitors would apply first to the guards at the head of the short street leading to the Burg and Loibel bastions, who soon came to recognize them. People who carried wine with them were worth knowing. Being civilians, they had to be accompanied when they approached the walls, but were then turned over to Sepp. The regime near the bastions had been greatly tightened since that first evening when the two had casually climbed to the top floor of the building opposite the walls for their first look at the enemy. Since then the atmosphere surrounding the garrison had changed and changed again, becoming more rigid and more tense. Now towards the end of July there grew up a steely determination, which displaced any fear there was before. Any faint respect for the Turkish soldiers across the glacis was turning to hatred through the alchemy of personal losses. Sepp did not know as much as he would have liked about the military situation because officers did not share all they knew with the men, but he knew much more than people on the street. If Sepp were to get worried, the two vintners decided, then the situation would have to be very serious. Sepp was not permitted to stray from the wall day or night, and so was present whenever an attack came on either side. Like the other huntsmen assigned to the wall he functioned as a sniper, and so stared across the wall all day studying the enemy, and noticing his activities. If he did not always know what his own side was up to, he compensated for this by his accurate reading of the enemy. In exchange for the first bottle of wine they brought him as a gift, Sepp proposed to his new Styrian friends that they might like to be at the walls the next day when the soldiers were paid. Payday was an important event. Not all soldiers succeeded in making it from one payday to the next without getting into debt, though Sepp himself was frugal and always held back a reserve. The city council several times ordered the prices of staples brought down to pre-siege levels for the sake of the garrison soldiers particularly, since their wages were small. But even if his pay did not go very far, the very fact of being paid reminded each defender that he was still alive, still valued for his services, and perhaps still a candidate to survive this accursed siege. Thus when the paymaster came up under guard, a tremendous shout would go up and down the wall. A band would play, and women approach to offer bread and other foodstuffs for sale, to collect on debts, talk with the soldiers, and help them spend their pay.

- 63 One night in late July the brothers-in-law came to the wall, but were unable to find Sepp. There was a huge crowd of soldiers on the street behind the bastion. The soldier who accompanied them was sure they would find Sepp there. As they approached, they were struck by the silence. Could it be gambling? No, it was not gambling. From the center of the crowd, which they had difficulty penetrating, they heard a kind of hoarse chant, in another language. The voice sometimes rose and the chanting became very fast, then slowed, stopped for a moment, and started again. From a man next to them, the newcomers learned that a Tatar, one of the devil's boys, not a boy at all but a thin fellow in his thirties, had been taken between the lines and was being flayed alive. God in Heaven, do Austrians really do this? — this was Sebastian's first thought. After a few minutes the voice broke, and a long pitiful cry of defeat and pain replaced the chanting. There was a sudden violent movement, a cough, arid the voice stopped. Someone had stepped forward and killed the Tatar with a thrust of his dagger. Angry curses exploded from several mouths. Some watchers would have liked more of this unaccustomed fun, though most had probably had more than enough. The crowd parted, some left, and the Purgstallers saw a slim body as dark as bloody liver. Sepp was the man who had killed the Tatar with his dagger, and there were a few who were ready to pick a fight with him, and would have had they not feared the army's penalties on brawling, and Sepp's own mood. Sepp pretended to be calm but was not. His hands were trembling as he wiped the dagger blade with a piece of the dead man's clothing. Then he wanted to wash his hands, so they all moved away together to find water. It was left to no one in particular to move the body. There were no more dogs alive in the city to help with the job of removal. Why had they flayed the captive? This was the question they put to Sepp. It seemed that an Imperial courier had been caught outside the glacis, and the Turks had celebrated his capture by impaling him on something like a pike right where the Austrians could watch him die. The Tatar, who had been caught the same day with a hook on a long pole, was chosen to atone for the other side's sins. "That's the way it is", said Sepp. "He stepped the wrong way and was elected. It's not like a court of law, is it? The few who get caught pay for the many who don't get caught. My God, he was a brave fellow! He scarcely made a sound. I would have yelled like hell."

- 64 The flaying had not been authorized, but neither was it forbidden. The stage was set for abuse of captives by the fact that both Austrians and the Turks were now summarily killing at least some of the captives they were taking. Both sides were now so short on provisions that they could not afford to feed captives. On the Turkish side the thousands of village men and women who had been doing the digging had already been rounded up and sent to Buda in chains. From there they would be sent down the Danube on barges to an unknown destiny on the Turkish side of the border. Now all the digging would have to be done by the Turks and their auxiliaries. The trench system was by now mostly complete, and very close to the moat. Most of the digging now was done in the mines underground. Mines dug by Turkish sappers exploded with increasing frequency during July. The people became used to them, though there was always intense curiosity and a flurry of rumors would arise about what damage might have been caused by each explosion. Mines were set off in pairs. The damage done was such that the two key bastions on the Austrian side of the glacis were in serious danger of collapsing even at the beginning of August. All depended on accurate calculations by the Turkish diggers. The Austrian side also dug some mines, but did not get very far with what had become a Turkish specialty. To avoid surprises Starhemberg ordered that each building on the south side of the city nearest the Turks should have a person stationed in the basement day and night, to listen for digging. On one occasion, tunnels met accidentally and there was a vicious fight underground which ended with an explosion. I never wanted to be a Janissary and never will be one. My specialty is tunneling. I am too young to have been at Candia. At Candia the Moslems did a world of tunneling and took the fortress, and that was how they took Crete. I was apprenticed to a veteran sapper who was there. He taught me all the tricks. I am a strong digger and I can take the heat. If one cannot take the heat, there is no point in trying to be a sapper. It is as hot as hell in the tunnels, especially in the middle of summer. The air in there gets bad, very bad. You need a strong heart, the heart of a wrestler, if are going to dig in one of those hot airless tunnels for very long. If you can stand the heat, and the work, and the bad air, then you are a real sapper. Our siege here at Vienna will only succeed by tunneling. The army knows that the artillery we brought is not anywhere near enough nor good enough for this siege. Our artillery is weak.

- 65 We did not even hear we were going to Vienna until we came to Osiyek Esseg, where the long bridge is located. That's when they told us where we were going. Our commander, the Grand Vezir Kara Mustafa gave the order. The army thinks that the whole idea is his own. The Sultan we left in Belgrade. Perhaps he didn't even know where we were going! This sounds impossible, but that is what the army now believes. We shoot off our guns day after day but that is just to keep the infidels off balance. With a little luck we also do some damage. The army thinks that Kara Mustafa does not want to do too much damage to the city because he expects to take a lot of booty here. That man is very rich. They say he brought a whole train of wagons with his own treasures in them. In place of cannons, which we are short of, he has brought baubles for his ladies. Naturally he wants more of the same, and naturally the army also wants to get its hands on some booty, just like him, so as to have something to show back home. It would be good to take home something unusual. Since the city passed up its chance to surrender, that means we will have the right to plunder for three days if we just once get inside those gates. I know one man who already has got hold of a music box, a strange infidel thing. He bought it somehow from someone inside the city. This is something you could not easily find in Istanbul, and I would love to have one for myself. Austrian finches you can sometimes buy in Istanbul, but not music boxes, no. I am not one of those who rushed to get himself a slave, even though they are very cheaply gotten just now. I live simply back home and have no use for a slave, who has to be fed. Now if you think that I did not want a woman, that's quite another matter. Of course I was in on that and I did have one Austrian woman for a while. She dug trenches during the day, but at night she slept with me. I paid a certain price for her, and when I got tired of her I sold her for less than I bought her. That's to be expected. That's the way it's done. In the end the same woman will be worth almost nothing. She was nothing special, but few of these infidel women are. Anyway, as far as I'm concerned women are second best for a man. You either understand me or you don't. I'm not going to explain. In Vienna there was superstition everywhere. The devil was sighted daily. Earlier explanations for the Turkish invasion, which centered on Hungarian grievances, were soon replaced by transcendental and cataclysmic explanations. The Empire was about to fall. The Turks were punishment for Austria's sins. The time of the anti-Christ had arrived, or perhaps even the second coming of Christ

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Himself. The city authorities were aware of the danger of runaway panic, and tried to offset this by organizing frequent religious processions and demonstrations. Hardly a day went by without some kind of procession, with relics, and banners, and long lines of penitents. Whereas the religious orders had been hard to persuade when it came to taking in the wounded, or the homeless, or giving shelter to the Imperial regimentals being held in reserve, they proved more than willing to carry out the ceaseless religious demonstrations urged on them by the city authorities. Jesuit plays were put on in the open air on squares surrounding the city's many churches. These plays were mostly about the trials and sacrifices of the saints. Many women turned out regularly to join processions to follow Vienna's relics, honor the saints, and plead for intercession with the Almighty to spare the martyred city. And there were the daily masses, which did not let up during the months of the siege. But not everyone turned out went for these religious events. A majority of the besieged were less than fervent Catholics. Although they watched the processions, they were mostly occupied with the problems of living as well as they could under siege conditions. Homeless people who had not found a place to squat roamed the streets. Among them were many, including children who had no choice but to beg. And then there were those who were never available to help at the walls when the call went out, who sought to enjoy to the utmost what they thought might be their last days on earth, or perhaps with luck the end of the world altogether. These were the strollers — worldly denizens of the city's narrowest and dirtiest streets. They included magicians and other entertainers, prostitutes, fortunetellers, card players, gamblers, and rootless flaneurs. Drifters like these did not simply wait for opportunities to come to them; instead they would accost burgers on the streets at all hours, trying to tempt them, trick them, fleece them, and in the meantime have a good time of it. Though meat, fruits and vegetables had become impossibly scarce, the city's supply of wine and ale did not fail. Bawdiness and bacchanalia ruled in many streets. The Purgstallers were not immune to the attractions offered in the streets. One clear evening while it was still light, the two of them decided to explore some parts of Vienna they had not yet seen. They chose the north end, near the Rotenturm, passing St. Stephen's cathedral on their way. They found a neighborhood where dice games were under way in every other alley, as well as shell games, clowning, and various buskers. They stopped to watch an extremely funny mimic

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who was imitating figures from high society — a baron with a broken sword, a burger too fat to move, a lascivious nun, as well as familiar types from the other end of society, and ending with an imitation of himself. The response was appreciative but the crowd was small and poor. One could only wonder how often this fellow had to repeat his performance in order to raise the price of a solid meal. Klaus, already behaving like a typical Viennese spectator, and fascinated by this piece of theater, asked to see the whole sequence again. Meanwhile Sebastian had been distracted by a wheedling slicker at the edge of the crowd. Would the young sir be needing anything special by way of food for his family, or other useful objects? The man hinted that he had on hand a trove of rare foods. Sebastian assumed he might have gotten them as the result of so many apartments being temporarily occupied. Wouldn't it be nice to surprise the ladies. Sebastian had only a little money in his pocket, just a few coins, indeed he had never in his life had much money in his pocket. But because of his preoccupation with his aunt, he felt the universal lover's urge to please a suddenly important woman with something pleasurable and unexpected, a lover's gift. What occurred to him first was chocolate bon bons, since his aunt obviously loved chocolate. Or if not chocolate, at least sugar. Yes, said the entrepreneur, by all means, just follow him. "Don't go with him", said Klaus, "you don't know him". But he could not persuade Sebastian not to follow the wheedler, and yet did not want to miss a second performance by the mimic. So Sebastian went alone, while his guide, wearing a red velvet jacket, led him quickly through a series of passageways, so twisted that when you looked back you could not see how you'd come. What with the sameness of the mouse colored walls and narrow archways, Sebastian could not hope to retrace his steps. Later he realized that this was all part of a plan. At one point he saw through an open ground floor window men and women locked in an orgy. The women were outnumbered but didn't seem to mind, and paid no attention to onlookers. Sebastian would have stopped to watch but his guide hurried him along. They came to yet one more darkened doorway in an unlit alleyway, and the red-jacketed guide stepped within. From both sides Sebastian felt arms grab him and pull him into the darkened space. He was quickly overwhelmed. His three captors shouted viciously, called him a worthless turd and demanded all the money he was carrying. Apparently they thought he was well to do because he was better dressed than they were. As it turned out they were violently disappointed with their catch. After they snatched the few

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coins they found in his pockets, one of these ugly fellows hit Sebastian across the face with a heavy stick, stunning him and drawing blood. This was doubtless punishment for Sebastian's poverty. Perhaps they meant to kill him. It certainly felt like it. Just at this moment Klaus the hunter stepped through the door into the half-light, his dagger in hand. "Leave off," shouted Klaus, kicking one of them in the groin, another in the behind. The men swore and disappeared past Klaus, whose real concern was Sebastian, with his jaw and ear now decorated with blood. "Dummy! I told you not to go with that fellow. From now on you will carry a dagger too. And you want to become a soldier! You had better learn to defend yourself better than that." Sebastian had no comeback to this avalanche of criticism. Generally tolerant, Klaus was made eloquent by having been made to miss another performance by the mimic. Thinking the better of it after a moment, Klaus had tailed his brother-in-law just in time to save him from these rude hosts. After the adventurers calmed down, they continued their walk through the entertainers' quarter. When they arrived back at Aunt Hedi's apartment, Klaus gave his brother-in-law an extra dagger which he had in his luggage. After this incident, Sebastian, who had never worn a weapon before, never went out unarmed. The two wanderers did not relate quite all that had happened to the two ladies, not wanting them to know too much about their wanderings in the city. Instead it was Anna Maria who lit up the evening with a story which made them all laugh and groan. From others in their building, she heard a story that day which was now spreading across Vienna. Somewhere in the city there was a man, a villager, who had made his own narrow escape. His own village to the southeast of Vienna had been sacked by Tatars at the start of the siege. He and his wife had watched from inside a pile of barrels while the Tatars went through their routine triage of captives, killing some on the spot, and lining up and chaining others who seemed to them to have commercial value. Badly shaken, the couple in question hid until dusk. After some days spent in a grove, the man had finally made it to the city walls after the gates were closed, and had to be hoisted into the city with ropes. Sadly for him, his wife was not with him when he was raised up the walls. It seemed there was a grove of pear trees where the man and his wife, for lack of better cover, decided to hide. The pears were getting just ripe enough to eat. But she was one of those wives who is very free with her opinions. While they were alone in the grove, she found many reasons to complain, not only about their situation, but about her

- 69 husband too. While they were up in trees Tatar bands on horseback had passed nearby several times, perhaps sweeping the countryside for survivors like themselves. Finally they were discovered. The husband was high up in one tree reaching for some pears, while his wife, further down, was berating him for heaven knows what, perhaps a poor choice of pears. She persisted in this despite his warnings to be quiet. Just then a Tatar band passed by, and heard her complaining in the tree. They rode up and threatened her, so that she was forced to climb down. The husband said nothing and somehow went unnoticed. His good wife, generally so free with her opinions, was kind enough to hold her tongue at least for this crucial moment. The Tatars carried her off, and probably gave her the usual treatment allotted to new women prisoners. One could imagine that they used her, abused her, and sold her. In any case, her partner in a pear tree never saw her again. There was speculation whether he was not better off without such a harridan. Also whether she might survive to cause misery in faraway Turkey or Crimea. But no one could know her end of the story, which was only one of many which went round during the siege. It was around the end of July when Starhemberg, the city's commander, or else his secret war council, or else the city council itself issued a decree saying that all males not heretofore registered should appear in St. Stephen's square at such and such a time and be counted. The two from Purgstall had until then faithfully answered appeals whenever there was an emergency at the wall. Both the Loibel and Burg bastions were in worse and worse shape because of the mining and the almost daily explosions beneath or near the walls. The two had taken turns in the ground floor of their own building listening for digging, even though they considered themselves too far from the walls to be reached by tunneling. Yet despite their many hours digging, their participation in the cattle raid, their listening duties at night, and their general cooperation with every request of the authorities (except for the dismantling of their roof, which no one else had done either) the two had remained among the unregistered, probably because they were new to the city and did not belong to a vocational group or some other association. Perhaps the authorities never did succeed in registering all the eligible adult males in the city. But Klaus and Sebastian, joining many hundreds like themselves, converged at the center of the city on the day of the public muster to demonstrate their willingness to follow directions, and to help save the city if they could. To their amazement the square where they assembled was ringed by poles, and on them the

- 70 heads of Turks who had died at the walls. This was evidence of a new mood among the defenders, who were now prepared to answer every outrage on the Moslem side with outrages of their own. Sepp had told them about heads displayed at the wall, but this was the first time they had inspected them up close. They found the sight grim, yet fascinating. In the center of the square stood the yellow and black Habsburg standard, the Madonna on one side and a cross on the other. Around the sides of the square, lower down on the same poles topped by heads were posters showing St. George and the dragon. These were also decorated with inspiring captions: Austria ever victorious! God save Vienna! Inside the city hopes flagged as the bastions sagged. If the Emperor's friends did not come soon it would be too late. Did the Emperor really understand their situation? Few knew that all of Europe was watching their fate, and that Polish, Bavarian, and Franconian troops were already mustering for the march to Vienna. Nor could one know that Leopold and the advisors with him up the Danube were following events at Vienna closely, and had been warned by courageous couriers who had escaped through the walls that the city could hold out only six weeks longer, perhaps not that, and certainly not more. Help was coming but the people of the city did not know it. The unregistered men of the city, mostly refugees f r o m the countryside, lined up around plank tables at which burgher officials sat. The roar of male voices could be heard from the square even before one entered it. Officials were charged with writing down the names of these expendables, their physical descriptions, and a description of their whereabouts if no exact address were possible. The Purgstallers were registered as living on the fourth floor of a building on a side street off the Long Street, not far f r o m the Auersperg palace, behind the crucial Burg and Loibel Bastions. "And why have we not heard of you until now?" asked a bumptious official. "Vienna needs every man." Klaus flared. "Excuse me, my dear fellow", put in Klaus, speaking for them both. "If you had been at the walls yourself, you would have met us many times when the call went out for volunteers. We helped put out the armory fire in the first days of the siege. We helped haul down straw roofs when that was ordered. We collected firewood from destroyed buildings when that decree went out. We were in on the recent cattle raid that brought twenty-three oxen into the city. We have done our part by listening for digging under our building. I am surprised you have no record of our contribution to the war effort. If you can find any fault with our performance, please tell us now. We are both

- 71 from knightly families by the way, and we don't like being questioned by the likes of you." "So., so..., you think you have been very helpful, do you?" countered the table warrior. "Your noble background, if you are not lying, is of no interest to the city of Vienna, which is fighting for its life. You really should pay a fine, because we have no record of you at all. But don't think you will escape from now on. Now we know who you are and where you are, and you will be hearing from us." In vain did Klaus fume and protest. The sour-faced official waved them away, and turned to his next victims with what turned out to be his routine spiel. A bit shaken, but also relieved, the brothers-in-law did not leave the square, but wandered along the line of poles, gaping at the row of Turkish heads. A few heads wore expressions which were wide-eyed with anger or alarm, but most were relaxed in sleepy indifference. For them the siege was over. Meanwhile other registrants were causing angry scenes with arrogant officials. There were arguments going on at all the tables. A bugle sounded, preceded by a roll of drums. Into the square rode a high officer of the garrison, not Starhemburg himself but another senior officer with a lace collar peeking from under his breastplate. This personage started to address the motley crowd from horseback. Just the sight of a man on horseback was by then a rarity. Horses in the city were now for eating, not for riding. No doubt the speaker was aware of this and of the effect he was making. It took some minutes for the crowd to calm down, pushing forward to hear the man speak. "Pay attention!" Just as the officer spoke, enemy mortars thundered. "Aha, thank you Turks, for full military honors. Now listen to this. One third of our garrison, and many of our bravest have already fallen, or are wounded. This ancient Christian city, Vienna, seat of the Holy Roman Empire of the German nation, now needs every man, regardless of his rank or his record, to be ready to help the garrison at a moment's notice. Dysentery has begun its ravages among us. It is thought that dysentery is caused by poor diet, and by drinking water instead of wine or beer. Tell this to your families, all of you! In addition, anyone caught shirking when there is a general callup for whatever reason short of death or serious illness, will get his just deserts. Right now we are building new walls behind the two bastions under heaviest attack. We need to tear up cobbles from all over the city. Not tomorrow, today. You are all now commanded, immediately following this meeting, to start tearing up cobbles from your own

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streets to carry to the walls. Don't waste time. If you don't have wheelbarrows, make them or use doors if you have to". "Now before you start, there is a matter of justice which cannot wait. Bring out the prisoner." Even this rough audience gasped with surprise when guards behind the officer led forward a boy of about thirteen, blondish, thin and ragged. His hands were bound behind him and he did not look up. "This boy is a traitor. Ordinarily we would take age into account. But he has been trafficking with the enemy, selling our military secrets, or even giving them away. He has been carefully questioned, and the authorities have no doubt about the seriousness of his crimes. Since he has betrayed the city, he will be hanged as an adult. Guards, take him and hang him high so that all can see." Two guards now led the boy to one of the poles, which could now be seen to be rigged as a gibbet, without a head at the top. The boy, shivering violently, was pushed up a ladder which was leaning against the pole. Before his hesitating feet reached the top, the rope was jerked and the boy fell free — free of the ladder but not of the rope. He began to dance, mouth gaping wildly. The crowd roared, though some, like the Purgstallers, remained silent and grim. The Purgstallers had been caught by surprise, like everyone else in the square. Who was the boy and how had he come to this end? Had he found a way over the wall, and wandered close to the enemy to satisfy his curiosity, or to show himself daring? Had he been adopted at one of the enemy's campfires, fed perhaps, and then questioned about the city in a friendly way? Did he in fact know enough about the city's state of defense to have been of use to the enemy? The authorities apparently thought so. And now this anonymous boy, with no family to defend him, had already breathed his last breath and could find no more air anywhere. The body leapt several times and then was still, the face now turning skywards, a wet spot showing in the breeches. This was not the first human execution the two vintners had seen, but it seemed like the worst because it was carried out so suddenly. The sight made Sebastian's knees weak. The boy was much younger than himself. Perhaps anyone might end like this who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Suppose the boy really were a traitor, wouldn't his arrest have been enough? No, returned Klaus, he had been hanged as an example to the Viennese, most of whom were taking the defense of the city as their due, something the Emperor owed them. Some city dwellers from the first seemed to think the defense must succeed because God was on their side. But as far as most refugees were concerned and

- 73 now even many city dwellers, there were no guarantees. Anything could happen. Within the hour, the two volunteers, joined by students and by other men from their neighborhood, started tearing up cobbles in the street in front of their own building. This was not difficult in itself once the surface was opened. But the stench released from under the cobbling was terrible. So this was what lay beneath the surface of the Imperial capital — a slough of corruption! Piling the cobble onto makeshift sledges, the volunteers pulled them to the bastions with ropes, heaving in unison. With cobble coming from all over the city, there was soon enough to reinforce the bastions. The foreman in charge told them to stop, but to be ready for another callup at any time. A day or two later, the two Styrians were shocked to hear that Sepp the Franconian had been wounded. They had to question his comrades near the wall to find out how he was and where he had been taken. These men said that Sepp's arm had been clipped off by a cannon ball, and that he was lying in at a convent across the city which had been seized for use as a hospital on the insistence of Starhemburg himself. It was late afternoon before the two found the convent, attached to a neighborhood church. How did it happen? One moment I was standing inside the scarp, not even in full view, and the next moment I was on the ground minus my right arm. My life as a soldier is over — I knew that in the first moment. Now what about my life without an arm? That is the question I now have to answer. I wish I could say that I was acted bravely but in fact I fainted. When they cauterized the stump at the wall and put on pitch, I didn't even see it coming. Down I went and I woke up screaming. Now I'm lying in this stinking ward with other fellows who are down on their luck. Many of them have dysentery. How am I supposed to sleep with my shoulder sizzling this way? I haven't the slightest idea when I will get up off this pallet, or where I will go when I do. Well, yes, if I recover some strength, I will certainly go back to Wurzburg, my hometown, assuming that Vienna is really liberated by our allies and that we don't all end up Turkish slaves. If that were to happen my end would come quick enough. But I have never believed that we would lose. My family will be sympathetic, of course, but how am I going to be useful now that I have lost an arm? My people were never prosperous, otherwise I wouldn't have enlisted when the recruiters came

_ 74 to town, oh so long ago. My brothers are saddlers, which is a two handed job if there ever was one. Thank heavens I am not married, or my situation would be still worse. Yes, there is Lisl, whom I met here after the siege began. I like her fine, as I suppose many have before me. Thank God she is not in a family way. She certainly is not going to get in that condition now, not by me as the father. Will I ever see her again? Once she hears what has happened to me, will she really seek me out? In her place I suppose I would already be looking for my next prospect. Oh, God, how am I to live through this? I cannot sleep. And it hurts, Jesus, how it hurts! How am I to sleep? When his Styrian friends entered the convent where Sepp lay groaning, a sister led them to the back wing. The smell of the place assaulted them immediately, the stench of long unwashed bodies, of blood, stale urine, pus and feces. The room used as a ward was vast — not very light but vast, used for hanging laundry in the winter. Now it was crowded with the pallets on which the wounded lay — miserable, dirty and mostly silent except for occasional curses or groans. Although there were no other human visitors, a horde of buzzing flies were making the most of their opportunities. Most of the wounded were still and pale, gunpowder still dark on their faces. There was no sign of anyone providing care of any kind. Was this the best the convent could do? Was this the best the army could do? Was there no surgeon on hand, or surgeon's assistants who could take care of these poor fellows? Searching the ward where the wounded lay in rows, the Styrian visitors found their Sepp. The tall veteran with the swooping mustaches looked back at them sadly, diminished by more than an arm. His face and clothing were blackened by battle. He was lying in the same uniform in which he had been carried into the ward. An ugly cauterized stump was attracting flies. Sepp blinked his eyes, and tried to sit up, but the pain was too much. "For heavens sake, man, just lie back. We want to see how you are." "As you see, I am losing weight. Otherwise I'm all right. Sepp pretended to laugh." "This place is terrible. Do they feed you? How can you clean yourself? How do you relieve yourself?" "You wouldn't believe it, but there are two regimentals who have been assigned to help us. If I yell right now, one of them will come in his own good time. Yes, they feed us bread, wine, moldy

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cheese. We don't see a bit of the meat that we sometimes get on the walls. I am not complaining. But as to relieving oneself, that is the nightmare." " D o you want to go now?" offered Sebastian. And when Sepp admitted that he did, Sebastian accompanied him slowly and painfully to the room being used as a latrine, which proved to be a horror. Sepp's pain was no surprise, but his extreme weakness was. He could not stand straight without help and one had to be extremely careful not to let the dark stump touch anything. Realizing that Sepp was also thirsty, the brothers-in-law gave him some of their own village wine, from a bottle they had brought with them. Conversation was difficult. They made a kind of bandage, then gave Sepp news of the wall. They then sat in silence with him for a while, and promised that one or the other would visit him daily as long as the siege lasted. But the next day when Klaus came Sepp was delirious. Within three days he was dead. There were no longer any questions about the unlucky huntsman's future back home. Early in August the two crucial bastions came under heavy attack both from new mines exploded down below, and from a battering by heavy guns which the Turks had installed directly on the counterscarp facing the two bastions. Whenever the guns fired, there was some new damage to be repaired. At one point the Viennese garrison, though inexperienced at mining, succeeded in blowing up a section of the counterscarp from below. Meanwhile the experienced Turkish sappers never stopped digging. There were new explosions every day or two, causing sections of wall to drop away. Each time this meant an emergency of manpower as volunteers from the city rushed to help repair the bastions, as well as build secondary walls behind the melting ramparts, backing up to the buildings behind them. Throughout August Sebastian and Klaus had done far more than their share in these volunteer musters since they lived close to the bastions and were aware of each attack. The same could not be said of many other able-bodied men, including very probably the proud official who had questioned the two in St. Stephen's square. Each time volunteers were called to the walls, the demands of the situation were different. The soldiers themselves did a large part of the pioneer work on the walls, but needed help almost every night in rebuilding by morning those sections of the scarp which had been blown away during the day. For these nightly emergencies every man within reach was seized by the collar, willing or not, and led to the walls to labor by torchlight. There was an outburst of yelling at each

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callup. The garrison had no high opinion of the way most of the city was taking the siege, the way they were depending on the garrison to do it all. But when they saw that a volunteer was actually on the walls and hard at work, why then he was a real fellow, someone you could talk with. So a kind of understanding developed between soldiers who were always on duty at the walls, and those volunteers whose faces become known to the garrison. "Aren't you the hick who dropped iron on my head last night?" "I thought you were asking for it." "Even if I did ask for it, I don't want it on my head, you country lout." "With a head like yours, you have little to worry about." Etc., etc. In August there were desperate moments when waves of Turks, many of them naked to the waist in the warm air, would attack on their own without seeming to wait for a command bearing — besides their swords — their shovels, pickaxes, and other makeshift weapons. This happened every time explosions in the mines opened up holes in the wall. The garrison's regimentals fought back desperately, and did not hesitate to take heads, a practice they had learned from the enemy. Impromptu duels fought in the moat and on the scarp usually ended in death, often at the hands of third parties who intervened without invitation. The two sides, who were now at the same level, glared at each other across the cluttered moat between them. Taunts flew which needed no translation, or were instantly understood since there were some on the Turkish side who knew some German. Strange faces became familiar without becoming welcome. The stench of rotting bodies, blood, and feces on the warm air was hard to bear even for veterans. A belief arose that the Turks had lost eleven to twelve thousand men, and were now themselves very short of provisions. Could this mean that the Turks might go home and that the city was right to hope? Townsmen had not been asked to bear arms, since this was left to the Imperial regimentals on the walls. But townsmen who were often on the walls to help with repairs could not expect to always escape injury. One evening it fell to the two vintners from Styria to help repair a type of sort of barbed iron discouragement called chevaux de frise, embedded in bags of wool and sand, and backed up by wooden stakes on top of a secondary wall which had been constructed behind the Burg bastion. Before they had finished there was an explosion underground, followed by a human roar, and hoarse war cries sounding something

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like "alakbal!" Half-naked attackers broke through to where the construction was going on and the defenders on the walls turned as one man to face them. Sebastian found himself face to face with a barefoot, bald, square Turkish sapper who seemed about to remove his head with a shovel. Sebastian stepped back involuntarily and ended up lying stunned on his back in the ditch below. Klaus rushed over to now assist a regimental in pushing the Turkish assailant back where he had come from, then turned back to inspect Sebastian, who was lying in the ditch, for bodily damage. Sebastian was merely shaken by the fall, and bleeding from a gash on his head. Klaus put his arm around his shoulders and with him walked slowly homeward. As they crept along Sebastian felt in this taciturn hunter the kindliness and sympathy he might have expected from a brother. Klaus really was a brother now, and the two had shared many experiences. "Klaus, you are a good man." "Not only am I good, I remember the way home." They laughed. Back at the apartment, the exhausted men tried to clean themselves with the cloths provided by Hedi. Sebastian, bleeding, was the grudging target of Klaus's jokes. "If you want to know, ask him in Turkish!" said Klaus to the ladies. "I saw him talking to a Turk a little while ago." The women railed at Klaus, but laughed in spite of themselves. The night was warm. They all drank more wine than usual and talked about home. The talk turned serious as they returned to their frequent theme, namely how the elder Winklers might be faring by themselves. Hedi had seen Heinz a couple years earlier when he was in Vienna on business, but had not seen Sebastian's father for over a decade, even though they lived only a few days away. Now the rumor had it that the "devil boys" had gone up the Danube quite a long way, but how far had they gotten into Styria? Unfortunately they would have to wait until the siege was over to have their answer, since any communication between Vienna and the world outside was the exclusive business of the war council. That night Hedi was thoughtful and tender. She had almost lost, it seemed, the current object of her affections. One must make the most of life the lovers agreed, whispering in the dark. In August the city's mood evolved. Gone were the posturing and hysteria of the first days. Now people were trying to be realistic about their chances. Hopefully the allies would arrive in time, but if not, then what? There were only rumors to go by. Was the Emperor still at Passau, or had he come back to Linz, as rumor had it? Were the Polish cavalry actually on their way with all their feathers flying? One could

- 78 only hope. Vienna's cats had disappeared in July. In August even rats were no longer seen. Many people were knocked off their feet by dysentery, even for a time the commandant himself. Decrees multiplied, often aimed at the religious orders, which seemed to have their eyes fixed on eternity, rather than upon Vienna's prospects for life and death. One morning the family awoke to find their street blocked by a chain at one end, as if chains could stop the invader! In August the city's defense committee insisted on seeing all wooden shingles come down, not just straw roofs, not only in order to protect buildings from fire but so that the shingles could be used for the nightly campfires at the wall. In this respect the garrison was in direct competition with the citizenry, which needed shingles for its own cooking fires. By this time most people found it more difficult to buy even flour or meal because of price gouging. The city's attempts to hold prices down for the sake of the Emperor's poorly paid soldiers were being ignored. Human feces were everywhere, creating a holiday for flies. Hunger showed in the faces of the poor. Ragged people, including children, wandered the streets endlessly, listlessly, some creeping, some fainting in doorways. Collections were proposed but were not successful, since each family was too worried about its own chances to be generous. City government, to its credit, continued to collect children to put up in hospitals which served as orphanages. The Purgstaller family knew they were exceptionally well off because of the plentiful provisions they had brought from the village. Was it a bad conscience which caused the two ladies of the household to go down to the street in search of a child they had recently noticed? Anna Maria was now very obviously pregnant, and grateful that her unborn child was not deprived of nourishment as were those of other pregnant women in Vienna at that time. But shouldn't she and Hedi do something to help if they could? So one morning in August the two of them descended into the street together to seek out a little girl they had noticed in a passageway the day before. The girl was still there. Apparently she had been foraging, or begging because she was eating something. What was her name?, they asked. "Elfie". The child seemed to be about six years old. Where was her family?, they asked. She didn't know. They had disappeared some days before. The two ladies did not dare ask what she had eaten so far. They decided to take her home with them, feed and dress her, then take her to an orphanage run by one of the better religious orders they knew about. The rumor was that the city was doing its best to supply its temporary orphanages and its hospitals with sufficient food and wine

- 1 9 for a daily ration for each inmate. Thank heaven that the city, though hard pressed to prepare its walls in time for the siege, at least did not neglect to lay in provisions, though not as much as it might have done, as events were to show. Elfie turned out to be an unusual child. Although underweight for her age and very dirty, she had a big voice, was keenly curious, had a gift for observation, and an outgoing manner. Apparently she was not sorry for herself though she had good reason to be. The Purgstall family quickly promoted this girl child to become their chief entertainment. Elfie was consulted about everything, and had lots of opinions. The women cut up old garments to make things for her to wear. Old Gladys found a corner and put together a kind of bed. Her departure to the orphanage was postponed each day, until the heretofore childless Hedi had to admit that she had no such intention, and wanted to keep Elfie as her own. The little girl smiled when asked about it. She had no objection. After mid-August the situation in front of the two crumbling bastions became more desperate each day. The Turks now had a curving covered passageway built inside the moat itself, so that the Imperials could neither see them to fire on them, nor be sure when they might be mustering for an assault. No-man's land had shortened up to a few arm's lengths, and attacks could be hurled against the Austrian scarp in seconds, forcing extreme vigilance on the defenders. Count Starhemburg was forced to order crossfire batteries trained between the two threatened bastions in order to clear the walls of attackers, even though such crossfire would cost lives among the defenders. Several sallies were organized by the Imperials in an effort to find and blow up mines in progress. The arrows and stones launched by the armload from the Turkish mortars took their toll. The defenders were exhausted by the stress of listening for assaults, and their numbers continued to dwindle. There was a problem finding space in the city where troops on rotation could rest, or even space for the wounded, or for those suffering from dysentery. There were rumors of frustration in higher councils over the lack of public spirit shown both by the public generally and by the religious orders, which continued to trust in God's assistance to save the city, rather than the garrison's. Masses and processions continued uninterrupted even during assaults which the whole city could hear. Elfie too noticed the many processions, and would stop to stare and ask questions, not all of which were answerable. Why did so many people walk in the processions? "Because it makes them feel better", she was told. As a result EVfie

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would run over to processions while the family was out on the streets, and ask people if they were feeling better. The vintner family never suffered from dysentery, though there was dysentery all around them, even in their building. Fortunately for the family, they did not have to depend much upon f o o d purchases. Their source of water was not better than their neighbors', but they had more wine. Since the two men were available to bring whatever was necessary from the outside, the women found not much reason to venture out, especially as Anna Maria was getting so heavy. The aunt and her niece spent long days deep in conversation. They studied the street together from their open windows, counted bodies as they passed, and in general kept track of events in their street. Once a stray piece of lead shot, apparently a ricochet, found its way through the window. Hedi kept it as a souvenir. The din in the street was terrific whenever there was a battle going on. When the firing started, they could see nothing of the action from their windows, but could see the smoke, smell the gunpowder, and hear the rattle of matchlocks and the boom of mortar explosions echoing in their street as if they were surrounded from all sides. When action was heavy, they had to step away from the windows to hear each other speak. When the sound of battle filled the street, little Elfie would rush to the window, lean out to see if the street was empty, and then run to one or another of the women, throwing her arms around her protector's legs and burying her head in her skirts. One morning late in August, footsteps and shouts in the street alerted the top floor to an extraordinary scene unfolding beyond the walls. From the cries of the excited crowd streaming toward the walls, the family received the news that the Turks were bringing forward hundreds of villagers from their rear, and in full view of the walls beheading them. Mobs of men now rushed to the walls to join the garrison as witnesses to the shocking spectacle. The soldiers decided that the Turks were no longer able to feed the remaining prisoners and had decided to get rid of them, using the spectacle to terrorize the people of the city and break the resistance of their leaders. The awfulness of the scene was sharpened by the deliberate precision with which it was done. Austrian prisoners, mostly villagers but with some captured soldiers among them, were lined up in ranks of three, stretching back in two long columns. Turkish headsmen using swords waited at the head of each column. A Turkish band made their usual barbarian noises while the master of ceremonies, a gaudily attired officer from some unknown corps in the besieging horde, gave the

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signal for the blades to fall. At regular intervals this apocalyptic dandy would let fall his heavy baton on an empty barrelhead, making an ominous report. With each blow of the baton heads flew off, blood spurted or gushed, and bodies were pushed into the ditches prepared for them by the waiting executioners. There was a constant grumbling among the villagers as they neared the ditch. Some wept, shouted or cursed before dying, while others crossed themselves and waited silent as stones for the death stroke. A few who tried to escape their fate were cut down or shot by Turkish infantrymen and dragged back to the pit and dumped. The sight of the Emperor's subjects being slaughtered like kine brought tears to the eyes and curses to the lips of the watching Imperial troops on the walls, the newcomers alongside them, and officers summoned to observe. Sometimes a watcher saw a familiar face among the condemned and would call out. But if the Turks expected the watchers to be terrified by the sight, they were wrong. Mainly the effect was to intensify the hatred of the besieged. Before this it was seldom that Turkish captives were tormented. But in the next few days there were rumours of other such incidents. When they heard the anger in the street below the Purgstall family tried to stay calm. But Anna Maria's defenses were weakened. Fear and anguish showed in her face, and she wept uncontrollably while Hedi and Gladys tried to distract her. How, she wanted to know, was she to bring a child into such a world? And where was God when the Austrians, His loyal flock, needed Him most. Anna Maria was no theologian, and this question came naturally to her lips. The evening of the massacre the family tried to eat, but Anna Maria, who now needed the nourishment more than anyone, refused her food. Conversation at supper was muted and unnatural. As elsewhere in the city, a sense of grim reality and deadly high stakes was inescapable. That night, perhaps out of pique, or to show bravado, the garrison shot off rockets in the direction of the Turkish camp, which answered them with mortar. The besieged took heart from the display and talked endlessly about rescue being on the way. In the night Anna Maria cried out several times in pain. In the first light of the new day Aunt Hedi woke Sebastian to tell him that his sister had aborted. Her nephew asked what he could do. "Nothing, really. The fetus is dead. Gladys and I know what to do. There is no midwife in this neighborhood and it is too late anyway. But if you really want to help, you and Klaus can take Elfie out onto the streets and walk her around until we get the apartment in order, and see

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to your sister's comfort. The rest is in God's hands." So the two Purgstallers, taking Elfie in tow, made an early morning tour. Even though the child was with them, the two men were drawn to the walls, thinking they might talk with men who had known Sepp. "You have to realize", said some men at the walls, "that we cannot expect to hold out here more than two more weeks at most. The Turks are now standing where we used to stand, and we have been thrown back on the new walls which good men like yourselves helped to build. But these new walls are not so strong. And now the number of their tunnels has multiplied to such an extent that in these coming days we can expect more explosions down below than ever." The Purgstallers did not hear in the voices of the exhausted soldiers acceptance of defeat, but they did not hear optimism either. The fate of the city was in the hands of a garrison which no longer believed that it could survive without help. Only the arrival of a relief army could save them: not a nice message to bring back to one's family, so that the two of them decided not to reveal all they had heard to the women at home. Sebastian watched as his sister slipped into the depression of a young mother who has lost her firstborn. Everyone conspired to convince her that it was not uncommon to miscarry on the first occasion, that she should by no means take it as a sign from heaven, etc. But Anna Maria was not easily consoled, and watched dully out the window, scarcely changing position as the light on the building opposite changed and faded with the passing of the day. That night she confided to Sebastian that she was sad not only about the child she would never see (they had taken the fetus away immediately) but because she had a bad dream about their father. In the dream he was surrounded in the woods by men. Then he jumped into the river and seemed to be shouting and drowning. "He is getting old now, almost fifty. We should not have let him stay behind." "My dear sister, do you really think we could have changed his mind? I know how he was thinking. For him the most important thing is that you, his only daughter, should be safe and sound, or as safe as possible, because you are the one who is going to produce the next generation, with or without the Winkler name. Saving our village was his next priority, and nothing could stop him from trying. Don't worry, Uncle Heinz will watch out for him." "I will tell you something horrible", replied his sister. "When Muti died I did not cry. That was wrong of me, I know, but that's the truth. But I swear to you if Vati dies, I won't know what I will do with

- 83 myself. All my life he has helped and supported me more than any other father I ever heard of. Now I have a bad feeling about Vati." "Well now, we cannot really know about that, can we? Not until the siege is over. And that will be any day now. Fall is coming. And no Turk is going to hang around Vienna for Christmas, you can be sure." "But we can't last much longer, you know that", said his sister. "Our own provisions are running out, and we are among the best provided houses in the city. Oh God, I wish it were over. " She wept bitterly. Nothing could save her from her melancholy that day, and her brother gave up trying. September began with daily explosions and daily assaults. From what could be learned at the wall, the Grand Vezir was now aware that the limits to his own campaign season had arrived. The Janissaries had let it be known that they were not bound to stay in their trenches forever, citing their traditional limit of such and such a number of days in siege. In response to this challenge from below, which threatened both his own prospects of wholesale booty, and the dangerous wager he had made to gain a spectacular victory, the Turkish commandant now ordered maximum pressure put on the garrison. Death, wounds and dysentery had reduced the defenders on the wall to not more than 4,000 able bodied men. These were by now not only exhausted by continuous service but starting to lose the confidence of the professional. The host outside the walls now outnumbered the surviving garrison by more than twenty to one. Given the sacrifices on both sides, the climactic moment could not be far off. As September began it was still very warm. When rain fell on the morning of the fourth, it brought momentary relief. But just after noon that day the city shook with the shock of a yet another giant mine under the Burg bastion. The two men from Purgstall did not have to be told. They knew there would be a general muster of volunteers. Without waiting they ran toward the stricken bastion. As they approached they could see a hole in the wall thirty feet wide. Through the hole on the other side they could already see the accursed horses' tails on poles. This meant that an organized assault was already starting, since these horses' tails served the Turks as battle standards. As the Turks came charging through the breach they were met by volley after volley from flintlocks, matchlocks, and pistols. Just as Uncle Heinz had predicted, it proved finally impossible for the Turks to stand up to the disciplined and relentless discharge of firearms in their faces, plus grenades, and even flaming pitch thrown from nearby parts of the wall. Sebastian and Klaus the Hunter watched transfixed as OT\C

- 84 wave of attackers followed another. They were armed with no more than their daggers, expecting to be put to work in reconstruction. At one point a party of Turkish desperados left all their companions behind and sprang through the wall, heading directly at the two gaping Styrians. Imperials sprang forward and swung with their swords, shouting. Sebastian saw one Turk lose a hand, which sailed to Sebastian's feet. This Turk in confusion cried out to Allah. His agony was cut short by three near simultaneous saber strokes, and his companions were driven back by the rallying Imperials. Leaving scores of men broken and bleeding in the breach, the Turks scrambled back into the moat. From under the covered passageway in the moat, and through openings in the counterscarp opposite, which was covered with pelts, the Turks now unleashed their own barrage of flintlock fire, stones, grenades and arrows upon the Austrian defenders. As bad as the music of battle became that day, Sebastian could hear that the Turkish firing was not organized in thunderous volleys such as he had heard coming from the Austrians. The enemy's fire was at times heavier, at times lighter, like a spring shower rather than a summer downpour. Defenders fell, but not in such numbers as had the attackers, who seemed to decide finally after two more hours that their effort had failed. After firing stopped, the two sides ignored each other as if by mutual assent as they carried away the wounded and dead. About a hundred and twenty Austrian soldiers were carried away on pallets. Because the Turks failed to gather in all their wounded before sundown, those still lying in the breach and in the moat were dispatched immediately after dark without mercy by Austrian desperadoes, who liked to remove the heads. This was risky work, even in the dark, so that the Turks managed to shoot a couple of these fellows as they went about their grisly business. The Grand Vezir must have been furious at this latest failure because that night his artillery kept up a barrage without cease. After dark, despite the barrage, a mixed gang of soldiers and citizen volunteers — sweating, cursing, and colliding with one another like ants transferring eggs — rushed to fill the new breach with sandbags, blocks, and beams torn from ruined roofs in the city, all topped with a kind of barbed wire called "Spanish rider". But even while seized with reconstruction, all the while climbing over rubble of all sizes and shapes, no one could ignore the pervasive stench. At midnight following this last attack the Viennese saw some of their own rockets fired in a high arc from St. Stephen's cathedral, not as apparently as weapons, but as signals. As signals! To whom were the

- 85 rockets signaling? Were the allies finally near? Sebastian sprained his ankle badly and had to wait on a side street until Klaus came to help him home yet one more time. When they made it to the top of the stairs, the women learned that Sebastian was not really wounded, and groaned with relief. The ladies had seen them from the window and feared the worst. The atmosphere on the streets changed the next day. People seemed more friendly to one another, and more eager to be helpful. Anna Maria, who had been pale and speechless for days, began to smile and to help with chores. Another general assault by the Turks on the eighth of September failed quickly. Apparently the attackers had lost some of their zeal. Then the Viennese noticed something which made their spirits rise still further. Whereas the Turkish side had never bothered to build defenses for themselves against the possibility of the city being relieved, now for the first time they were making new lines towards the west, as though expecting an attack from that direction. The besiegers obviously knew more about the movements of the longed-for army of relief than did the besieged. The sound level from the Turkish camp rose, signifying confusion, at least so it was interpreted. On the night after this last failed assault, some jubilant Viennese on upper floors facing west spied a fire beacon lit at Schweinburg (today Kahlenburg), the highest peak of the Wienerwald. This was not a signal to tell them that Turks were coming, as before, but to the contrary a signal that the Allies were coming, or had already arrived. People now heard that the Austrian cavalry led by Lorraine, who had been watching the whole course of the siege from the north side of the Danube, had broken camp. This could mean they were moving to meet the army of relief! The massive allied assault upon the Turkish camp which came on the 12th of September Was therefore no longer a complete surprise. What was surprising in retrospect was that the besiegers in their arrogance had not taken precautions against being disturbed during their siege, measures which any European army of the period would have thought indispensable. The Moslems paid a high price for this arrogance. Since they lacked appropriate defenses, it took less than a single day, starting from early morning, for the allied forces to sweep the Turks from their trenches, and to start them running from Austria. When the German reinforcements caught sight of the Poles, people in the city could all hear the enormous shout of joy and greeting delivered by one Christian host to another

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For the people who had actually borne the burden of living through the tense months of siege it was the sounds of that great battle and not the sights that stood out in memory. Access to the walls was not easy, and by the time one got through to them the battle was already swirling away. But no one would forget the unholy din of that day of retribution — bullets like hail upon the roof, the pop of glass grenades, the toof of mortars, and the unending roar from the guns and throats of attackers and defenders, whinnying horses, screaming men. The noise came from all directions. Women waited at their windows while men tried to find a place on the walls. The roar filled the street in the morning, reached a peak at mid-day, then gradually died down as the townspeople began to celebrate. The Poles had played a leading role among the relief forces, and approached the city by their own line of march, which had been agreed among the commanders converging on Vienna. The whizzing sound of their winged cavalry amazed all who had never before witnessed Polish charges. But since they were hungry for souvenirs as well as just plain hungry, the Poles could not be bothered to pursue and finally destroy the besiegers while there was so much exotic booty left behind. They immediately fell to plundering the Turkish camp, starting with the luxurious pavilions occupied by the Grand Vezir and other high officers. Without the cooperation of the flying Poles, organized pursuit by the relieving forces was not practicable, so that most of the surviving Turks made their way to Hungary. The morning after this reversal of fortune, city dwellers, drunk with victory, or simply drunk, poured out through the city gates to join allied troops who were already at work plundering the camps of the Turks. The young would-be military officer Sebastian Winkler, still limping on his injured ankle, and his brave and cheerful brother-in-law Klaus rose early to be among their number. Some of the wonderful pavilions which they had glimpsed from the city walls had already been taken down by Polish cavalrymen, who on the day before had circled back to the area instead of pursuing the enemy toward Hungary. But there were the entrenchments, a vast termites' nest. Here there was a good chance, so they thought, that they might find a trophy for Vati and Heinz, a gift for Aunt Hedi, even a trinket for little Elfie. Klaus would be searching for something special to console his wife for her recent loss. Speed was important since many eyes were now scanning the network of trenches. Other bodies, mostly Turkish soldiers, lay scattered and unburied. Some few men were not quite dead, but there was

- 87 no one around yet to decide what to do with them and they were avoided by booty hunters unless they were wearing something of interest. Probably nothing good would happen to them. Along with dead and dying Turks, there were some Polish wounded, laid on dung heaps in order to take advantage of the warmth generated by the manure. Whether it was out of a sense of decency or whether it was the smell, these were passed over by the booty hunters. The two vintners noticed two long trenches which had been filled in. Klaus, with his usual practical bent, decided that the Turks had probably used the trenches as mass graves. "You remember those Austrians who were beheaded? I'll bet you that this is where they are." "Do you think they buried Christians and Moslems together?" ventured Sebastian. "Really, I don't know, but my guess is that they were not much concerned with that." The two did not linger long enough to investigate further. Avoiding the fallen, they decided not to search near the walls or to head back along the converging trenches, but to get ahead of the other booty hunters who were also looking at the trenches. They chose one of the main trenches and followed it back, not stopping until they were near the far end of it. "We've got the wrong trench ¡"shouted Klaus. "Quick, over here!" What had caught his eye were musical instruments lined up on one side of a parallel trench. These would make strange, perhaps useless souvenirs they agreed, but there was not much time to choose before other booty hunters reached the spot. Klaus seized a vertical set of metal chimes, brightly polished and adorned with horsetails, while Sebastian grabbed some wooden reed instruments and a ceramic drum. Surely one of these would amuse Elfie, while the others might serve as souvenirs in his aunt's apartment, or perhaps could be sold later on. The Styrians were disappointed not to find flintlocks or swords, whereas others did. Probably there was enough order in the Turkish retreat so that most light weapons disappeared along with the flying Turks on their way to the fortress at Buda. Most of the other items they saw following the trenches back toward the walls were worn out clothes and digging tools, hardly tempting. Then they found something they could hardly have expected. "Oh my God", said Klaus, "look at this". It was a small book, written by hand in fluid Turkish script. When they opened it, they found illustrations of erotic activities involving men and women, with colored illustrations. "I've never seen anything like this', said Klaus, " and I can guarantee that your sister hasn't either."

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Sebastian laughed. "You're not going to give that to Anna Maria!" "Don't you think she might find it amusing?" "Maybe she would, but I think it was meant for men. Why don't you keep it for yourself? Or I'll take it. " "Oh no, you won't", said Klaus. It was decided that instead of presenting the little book as a present to his convalescing wife, Klaus would keep it among his own things, a souvenir of the siege of Vienna which he decided he might present to his own son when he had one. Surely it would make a fine joke, and was actually not a bad souvenir. They also found course meal in a cloth bag, not of a familiar type, but still smelling good, and something the ladies would probably know how to use. Thus loaded down, the pair quit the field at midday, while other booty hunters kept looking. On their way from the trenches they moved into a level field, unmarred by trenches, where the Turks had pitched big tent-pavilions, the biggest of them decorated with fantastic motifs and colors. These must have been where their corps commanders had sheltered it seemed. A l l had become the booty of one or another military unit of the allies relieving Vienna. Those which were not already taken down were being carefully guarded. The two Styrian booty hunters saw that there was a commotion in a pavilion which was still standing. T w o Polish guards had gone inside the tent, leaving the door awry. The two slipped in without being challenged. Some twenty Polish soldiers inside were too excited and too busy to notice their entry. The Poles had been in the field for weeks, and filled the tent with the yeasty spoor of unwashed bodies. In the darkened rear of the tent four young women were seated on the ground, their faces expressionless. They were not dressed in Turkish finery, which suggested that they were servants of some kind. The women had been hiding under woven bags, which had just now been emptied by the Poles who claimed the tent. Had these women been abandoned? Had they hidden themselves deliberately? If so, why? There was a standoff while the intrigued horsemen apparently deliberated these questions, all speaking at once. They addressed the women in Polish, without a response. Then one woman spoke in a language no one understood. "Magyars!" cried one of the Poles. The women were apparently Hungarians, swept up in the tide of war and brought here by the Turks against their will back when the siege began. Soon there were tentative smiles, suggesting that the women were glad to be back among Christians. Their relief was short-lived. A couple of the Poles advanced

- 89 on the women, who, misunderstanding their advance, rose to their feet. But the approaching Poles were parting their clothes and twirling their mustachios. The boldest were at once pulled back by their fellows. There ensued an argument over priority. There seemed to be no officer or elder among them to settle matters. Dice appeared. The women, glum and disillusioned, sank to their knees. Now they were complaining loudly in their strange tongue, and they no longer had the blank faces they had worn before. Just then these soldiers noticed the two Styrian booty hunters, and turned on them. "Aus, hinaus", they cried, pushing them back to the door of the Roughly ejected, the brothers-in-law listened for a while outside, feeling helpless to have any influence on what was happening inside. From the tent they heard round after round of jeering and laughter, and the complaints and grunting of the women, as one man after another pounced upon them. "Let's get out of here", said Klaus after a time. "Let's not say anything about this at home." "Why should these women have to pay the bill for the siege of Vienna?" asked Sebastian after a time. "Look", answered Klaus, who being a little older was less surprised by what was happening. "What do you think these women were doing while the Turks were here? Probably about the same thing they are doing now. Besides, these Polish fellows, whatever you may say against them, all came here prepared to die for Vienna. Now they are feeling lucky to be alive. How else will they be rewarded for their troubles?" This argument seemed hard to answer. Clambering back through a city gate over a maze of trenches and barriers, they continued to discuss what they had seen. Would the women find their way back to Hungary? Presumably, since Poland was far away. Surely they wouldn't take the women with them. Finally they fell silent, realizing they would never know the outcome. The captured bag of meal became fritters, once some cooking oil was located, even though the cost of the oil made the fritters an exorbitant dish. The ladies were given a chance to study the erotic manual, and there were things in it which made them shriek. So it was true what people said about the Turks! Most of the Turkish musical instruments which they found went to Aunt Hedi, who had generously taken them in. She thought she might sell them later if she could find buyers. Elfie immediately took charge of the chimes, and all agreed that she showed the talent to match her enthusiasm. By now they all knew Elfie as a spontaneous dancer, who started each day with spinning and leaping. Even without the chimes she provided her own music, piping

- 90 higher and more sweetly than any bird. Playing with her, and watching her had become habits which no one saw any reason to give up. The streets were full of people. Rumors went around that returning apartment owners would soon drive squatters out of their temporary quarters. The Emperor himself was said to be returning to Vienna shortly, and would meet with the Polish king Sobieski, who outshone him in his appointed role as savior of the city. People were now a little embarrassed for their music-loving Emperor, but never mind, there could be only one Archduke of Austria-cum-Holy Roman Emperor. He had nothing to fear from rivals, and certainly not from the hefty Polish king. Even before the meeting of the Archduke and the Pole Sobieski, villagers who were sheltering in the city were streaming out the city gates on their way home, poorer than when they came two months before, but relieved to be alive, cheering the allied troops they came across, including the picturesque befeathered Poles on their horses. Tragically for the Purgstall family, somewhere in that swirl of humanity Elfie disappeared. The family grieved her loss, but decided that her own parents, whoever they were, must have come back to the neighborhood, and taken back their little girl. Probably this happened while she was playing in the entrance or the courtyard with other children. They were all heartbroken, especially Aunt Hedi, who had begun to see in Elfie the child she had never borne. Now, too late, they regretted having allowed Elfie to play unsupervised at the entrance to the street. But what does one do with a little girl who wants to play all the time? Is there any substitute for other children? On the third day after the allied attack Uncle Heinz showed up. He had known much earlier than the besieged about the imminent relief of Vienna, and had started to prepare for his own trip as soon as he was aware of allied troops passing through his vicinity. Heinz knew well where his sister's apartment was and therefore needed no guide. He climbed the stairs slowly, carrying his bag, and waited in the gloom of dusk for the heavy door to open. He found the whole refugee family at home. Their delight at his coming changed to alarm when they studied his face. Heinz embraced his estranged sister and asked to sit down. "Where's Vati?" demanded Anna Maria, feeling suddenly weak, and sitting herself opposite him. "It's just as you feared", replied Uncle Heinz. "He won't be coming. Your father, my dear ones, was killed by 'devils' boys' long ago at the beginning of the siege, only two days after you left. They came in such a swarm and so suddenly that we had no time to hide. You

- 91 three did the right thing. We old heads were not so wise as we thought and we accomplished nothing by staying in the village. Your father was killed in the stream. He was fetching water for the horses,, Me they chased into a chicken coop and then set fire to it. Luckily for me that coop is not so well built and I was able to roll out the back into the weeds. Of course when they found our wine stores they got drunk. While they were celebrating I got as far away as I could. Later I dragged your father's body out of the stream and buried him. The bastards didn't even want anything. They didn't even try for captives. They just came to kill and burn." "Ach, ach, ach! Mein Gott!" Anna Maria was in anguish. She had sustained a third loss, the most awful of them all, within the same week. First the miscarriage, then Elfie gone, now this. This news was what they had all feared. The men were silent, stunned. Aunt Hedi sat down by her stricken niece and put her arms around her. Klaus recovered first. "Well, Uncle Heinz, you survived, and that's something we can be thankful for." "I might say the same about you. You have come through the worst siege in our long history and are apparently no worse for wear". (He did not know yet about the miscarriage.) "I've brought some provisions. They 're down in the entrance. I paid someone to watch them, but we'd better go down to check on them and talk later." And so the men, despite the grim news, were obliged to do the practical thing. Sebastian, eyes brimming, almost stumbled on the stairs. When Uncle Heinz noticed this, he urged Sebastian to go back to the apartment. "Don't worry, Klaus and I can handle it." Klaus told him about the miscarriage on the stairs. Returning to the apartment, they all drank something, wanting to soften the pain, except for Anna Maria, who went to bed by herself, mewing with pain. "Your father had a good life", said Uncle Heinz, trying to console them for a loss to which he was already reconciled. "We have other things we must talk about when you're ready." "Go ahead", said Klaus. First they discussed the future of the properties so recently transferred to Klaus. Heinz was not about to let this young fellow Klaus think he could manage them on his own, and clearly considered himself far more knowledgeable about winemaking. There was a little resentment in Klaus's voice over this, the first time it had emerged. Klaus had thought he would have no interference in managing the property which Anna Maria had brought with her to the marriage. But as they talked and the wine flowed, both parties relaxed, a partnership seemed about to be born, and Klaus looked likely to accept

- 92 Heinz's tutelage in connection with the vines. Heinz for the first time in his life felt himself assuming the patriarchal role as the eldest survivor, and although he had never been a man to assert himself much, now began to feel himself responsible to take on Vati's role in the family's eyes. Then it was Sebastian's turn. Sebastian easily accepted his uncle's authority and really did feel that Heinz spoke with his father's voice. He reminded his uncle that the two elders had started discussing his own future just before the departure of the younger generation for Vienna. The third man in the discussion was Father Rolf, who had just learned that he was to be reassigned to Graz. Apparently his superiors thought Rolf would be a better teacher than a pastor, and he may actually have shared that opinion. In any case, he had been ordered to prepare to leave the parish to take up new duties as Latin teacher at a school for young nobles being organized at Graz just as the siege began. Father Rolfs new assignment had struck the two elder Winklers as fortuitous. The Graz school would suit Sebastian's ambitions perfectly. The new school, typical for its time, was intended to prepare young nobles and exceptional boys chosen by their parish priests to become junior military officers, or else junior officials at the province level, or perhaps recruits drawn into the service of some great aristocratic house. And since Father Rolf would be there, Sebastian need not be left friendless in faraway Graz. Besides, it would be cheaper for the family if Sebastian studied in Graz than if he studied in Vienna, which was an important consideration. The fact that some of the buildings belonging to the Winklers had been burned served to strengthen the economic argument. At the time Sebastian was surprised and pleased to see that despite the grim emergency his elders were taking the time to give attention to his future. Graz! Why not? Graz had the reputation of being almost a frontier town, a bulwark for all the Austrian homelands facing the hostile Ottoman provinces to the south. Graz had a massive armory, and was the regional center from which all the border forces to the south were commanded, forces which had primary responsibility for warding off the perennial Moslem raids aimed at the southern provinces. The Bosnians who manned the border on the other side were not a Turkish people at all, yet were staunch Moslems and good fighters. Most of the so-called Turkish garrisons in Hungary were manned not by Turks but by these Bosnians. This Balkan people was especially dangerous as an enemy because they spoke almost the same language as

- 93 the Croats of the Habsburgs' southern provinces. One had to watch out for their tricks. Sebastian recalled a story of how a caravan of Bosnians crossing the Una River into Habsburg territory and then sought refuge at nightfall at a Habsburg fort guarding the river. "They are after us, "they shouted, "let us in or we're done for". So the garrison took mercy on these poor souls from across the river. But once inside the gate, these same poor souls revealed their true identity and fell upon the garrison. Now, finally, they revealed the red tunics of Moslem frontiersmen which they had deliberately hidden before entering. As the elder Winklers saw it at the time, there was no better place from which to enter the Imperial service than the new school at Graz, which seemed to have been bypassed during the enemy's advance on Vienna. They understood that Sebastian needed years of schooling to be useful and would have to enter into service without much financial backing. Sebastian did not like the idea of further schooling, since he had so far taken little pleasure from his studies. But as he was to discover, there was much more to the schooling at Graz than he could have imagined. "My dear young champion", said his Uncle Heinz, alluding to Sebastian's record as a wrestler, "later you will discover what an advantage schooling gives you and you are certain to thank us. Besides, it was your father's dying wish. So make the best of it. Obviously you are too young now to command troops. What would you do with these years anyway?" All these were fairly persuasive arguments. Sebastian pleaded with his uncle as they sat up late knee to knee on that first night to tell him everything he could about his father's death. How was it that they were surprised and unable to take shelter somewhere? "Oh well, if you wish. It's not nice to talk about, but I understand your wanting to know. Whether you tell your sister and the others I leave to you, but I advise you not to. As I told you, the "devil's boys" caught your father near the bank of the stream. He was fetching water for the horses, as I said. Perhaps they came in with their hooves wrapped so as not to make any sound, I don't know. But it was so swift that we had no warning whatever. When they found him there they made him kneel on the bank and then beheaded him. I saw it from a distance. I cannot tell you any final words, but I can tell you your father was perfectly still, like a soldier. It was an execution. After those bastards left I buried his remains, but without a marker as yet. I'll show you where when you come home."

- 94 "Let me come home with you, Uncle. I think I've seen enough of Vienna." "No journey home for you, I'm afraid. You need to report to Graz immediately. A new school year is starting right now, and there is no mercy shown to stragglers. Oh, and Sebastian. You and your aunt are not fooling anyone, surely you know that. It's time you were away. I'm surprised at her especially, taking on a young dog like you. Your departure is all for the best, and I mean it. You'd better say goodbye. You'll need clothes which you can buy in Graz. I'm going to give you a certain sum to get started at school. Guard it carefully because cash is not easy to come by, especially not now. The fees I have already sent ahead with Father Rolf, whom by the way you really ought to confess to, if his superiors still allow him to hear confessions, or even if they don't. Don't worry, he will understand. Frankly I no longer confess and may burn in hell for all I know, but I freely recommend it to you, as you still have your life ahead of you, which I hope will not be excessively sinful. Though really, Sebastian, you have made quite a start. You realize that, don't you? I do hope you will not shock too many priests in your time." So that was it. His uncle knew very well what was going on and wanted him out of Vienna. "Damn", thought Sebastian. What would his aunt say about this? The next morning the mismatched lovers went together with Gladys to a newly reopened green market in their district. Fruits and vegetables for those who could afford the prices had appeared in the city as soon as the plundering of the enemy camp stopped. Some strange bartering took place at the market in which souvenirs from the Turkish camp were exchanged for fresh food. Like everyone else, the refugee family from Styria was keen to have fresh fruits to eat, and now exchanged one of the exotic woodwinds for some overripe plums. Not since 1526 had Vienna seen a siege by the Turks. But because the Allies did not organize an effective pursuit, and had not pressed their advantage, the enemy was now licking his wounds further down the Danube. This did not prevent the city breathing the bright new air of victory. But the air of victory was mixed with the smell of death: there was no way that so many dead could be buried as quickly as people would have liked, and escape from the lingering stench depended on the direction of prevailing breezes. Frequently holding their noses, the Styrian vintner family passed through still filthy streets on their way to see celebrations and processions at the city center. Students trailing banners ran past shouting, embracing any women or girls who

- 95 pleased them. A couple of them embraced Aunt Hedi, who seemed to enjoy it despite her protests. The students' joie de vivre struck a chord in onlookers, who shouted after them. Church bells pealed endlessly and guns were fired in an ecstasy of relief. Since he feared talking openly with her about what his uncle had said, it was finally on the way home that Sebastian whispered to his aunt what had passed between him and Heinz. She stopped in the street and looked at him gravely, so he thought. Actually she was relieved, but couldn't say so. As she gazed upon his face, she knew that her life was about to change again, and that there would no longer be a part for Sebastian in it. Someone who was close to her had fled with the Emperor and would return; it would be embarrassing for the two men to meet. "Surely you will write to me?" she said finally after a long pause. "Yes, of course. I'm sure you will find it incredibly exciting to hear what I am studying in dear old Graz." The aspiring officer felt a pang of disappointment, seeing that the lady was taking his words with unexpected composure. They had become so close. Surely she would miss him — surely she would. I suppose that / should never have started this little affair with my nephew. But under the circumstances it seemed not to matter very much, and he is sweet. I should be grateful that Heinz said something to him about it, though I hope Heinz doesn't think he is going to preach to me about it. After all, his own record in these matters is not something to brag about. I ought to know as well as anyone. I like my little Sebastian, there's no denying it. What woman would not like to amuse her for a while with a good-looking fellow so much younger than she was. But there you are. He is at the very beginning of his life. He has no property of his own, and by the look of it he may never have any since he is walking away from everything his family is able to offer. God only knows what will become of him. Become a soldier? Hah! I don't know any rich soldiers personally and I don't expect to meet one any time soon. It will only be a question of time, perhaps only days, before Sebastian finds someone new. And now that the siege is over, God be praised, my own dear sponsor will be coming back from Passau with the Emperor. He could show up at any time. So it is a convenience really if Sebastian leaves now, which appears to be what is going to happen. Poor goodhearted young fellow. He probably thinks I will miss him

- 96 terribly. Perhaps I will, but enough is enough. I need my allowance from my regular sponsor and I have to be ready for him when he shows up on my doorstep. I just hope he has not enjoyed himself too much while upriver with the Emperor. Oh, unhappy thought! The Purgstall family left Vienna as part of a human stream running in directions the reverse of those taken two months earlier. Those leaving the battered city were the country people who had sought shelter there, including many who were still hungry and who had squatted in other people's apartments during the siege. Approaching the city were the well-to-do and their retainers who had sheltered with the Emperor upriver. The two streams regarded each other with mutual distaste, one regarding the other as shirkers, the other regarding the first as nobodies. Walking out one of the city gates together, the vintners first passed the looted trenches, then parted ways at a crossroads where one road lead to Graz, the direction in which Sebastian was headed. They shared a new closeness because of all they had been through together. Anna Maria was recovering from her depression and she and her young husband were looking forward to their homecoming even though they knew they would find a lot of burnt out ruins. But the grapes might be awaiting harvest, since the raiders had not taken the time to harm them. Uncle Heinz took Sebastian by the arm for a last word of advice. "Try to find good company, for heaven's sake. I'll be too far away to look over your shoulder so you will have to watch out for yourself. And see Father Rolf right away when you arrive." They all embraced, invoking God's blessings on each other. Sebastian lingered at the crossroads, watching as his relatives disappeared along a path leading to the Wienerwald.

GRAZ, SEPTEMBER 1683 On the road to Graz, the footsore student stopped at Brack, where he put up at an inn. It was a novelty for him to have enough money in his pocket to be able to afford to stay in an inn, and he enjoyed his moment of prosperity. He declined the offer to share a bed with another traveler, giving the innkeeper the impression that here was a young man of substance. He was carrying nails with him, so that he could nail himself into his room at night, as the best guarantee of security. This would work well providing there was no fire.

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Upon arriving Sebastian had studied the horses in the courtyard of the inn. Horses now seemed almost exotic after having become so scarce during the siege. Noticing his attention, a dark-skinned young Gypsy fellow in a ragged shirt and wide-brimmed black hat approached and offered to sell him a horse. This Sebastian could not afford, though he continued to gaze at the handsome animals, mentally making his choice for an imaginary purchase. The young horse dealer must have handed him off to a relative because when Sebastian had finished his supper a fat Gypsy woman confronted him in the courtyard, grabbed his hand and began to tell his fortune. To his own surprise, Sebastian was tickled to be the center of such a transcendent adventure. He neither believed nor disbelieved, but felt a warm trickle of interest down his neck as she read his palm. "God bless your mother for giving birth to you", she began. "I see that you have a kind heart, which is so rare in these times. Oh my son, you will live a long time and will have many lovers. You are very fortunate in this. But my son, you will not be so successful in your profession, which I see is soldiering. You are too good-hearted to be a successful soldier. Oh my, what about this? You will travel much and you will be present at great battles. As a result you will fall sick for a long time. But you will be cured by a woman, a Gypsy woman will cure you! Yes! Yes! Do not doubt it. More strange experiences, not so clear. Oh, you become a prisoner. But you live through that and later you will have a family of your own. I am so glad for you. It's a good fortune, an extraordinary fortune really." Sebastian, who had been listening with fascination to his life story, which was pleased to hear involved many lovers and ended well, now was astonished as the fat old Gypsy leaned forward and with a quick jerk plucked a hair from his forehead. "Show me your money", she said. Without intending it at all, Sebastian removed his modest store of kreutzers from his pocket and put the coins under her nose. Without speaking she took the coins and thrust them in her bosom, all the while holding his gaze. The young man realized in a very remote way, as though regarding the scene from above, that he should not be allowing this. But he could not help himself. The woman smiled and chucked him under the chin. "That's it, my dear. Enjoy your supper. And remember, it's all true." He ate meat in the kitchen on a portable trestle table he shared with the other guests, paying for the wine, wishing he had his own wine to drink. Luckily for him he had paid for the supper in advance, along with his bed. The Gypsy woman disappeared. Sebastian had not a

- 98 single coin left, a fact which amazed him and enraged him whenever he thought about it afterwards. How had she managed to get away with this? What was wrong with him that he could not see it happening, or perhaps seeing it, could not stop it? He must have been bewitched, though a part of him resisted this conclusion. His pride had been injured and there was no way of getting back his kreutzers. The following day the suddenly impoverished youth continued his journey on foot through a landscape made mysterious by early autumn mist. Youth and pride prevented him from asking anyone's help. By noon he was very hungry but could buy nothing, and had to resort to esculation, using his scanty knowledge to sample plants he saw along the road. But this was an unsatisfactory effort which left him very hungry. He finally stole some grapes from an unshorn hillside, all the time hearing what he himself would say if he found someone stealing grapes from his vineyard. At nightfall he lay in the grass, and found sleep almost impossible because of hunger, damp and cold. As if that were not enough, he found that he was lying in the middle of some kind of shimmering, glowing matrix, for which he had no explanation. He quickly decided that it would not harm him, but changed his position anyway. It was mid-September. After a night in the open he reached the walls of Graz at mid-day, more hungry and tired than he could remember ever being. Now he must seek out Father Rolf and surprise him with a request for charity. He asked directions to the new school for nobles, and was misdirected, so that he had to start all over again on another side of Graz. But meanwhile he saw several parts of the southern capital, and was impressed. Sebastian found Rolf standing on the west-facing balcony of a two-story school where he was now appointed to teach, a building which formerly served as a seminary dormitory. To his amazement Rolf was wearing a tonsure and was wearing a monk's cloak. Apparently he had become a monk, and was no longer Father Rolf, but "Brother" Rolf, a transformation which was not easy to understand. To Sebastian the change suggested that something bad must have happened to the teacher he had always admired. What could explain the change? But before he got a chance to discover anything about his former Latin tutor, he was forced to explain why he was looking as he did. "So, you let a Gypsy woman fleece you and found you couldn't stop her? You are probably right, you must have been bewitched. Something similar once happened to me, but don't expect me to tell you all about it. It is a matter for the confessional. And by the way, you

- 9 9 must not confess to me any longer. I no longer have the authority to hear confessions." Sebastian was startled at these words, which "Brother" Rolf did not try to explain. "Come in, come in, share my dinner". The two sat down to a stew of organ meats, which Sebastian considered the best thing he'd ever eaten. Like other Austrians of all classes, Rolf was fond of organ meats and blood sausage. After their supper the restored wanderer was again in a good mood. He was ready to listen closely to anyone who could relieve the hunger which had caught up with him on the road to Graz. "Hunger is the best cook", said Rolf. Brother Rolf now took it upon himself to outline the education which had been agreed between him and the elder Winklers. Uncle Heinz had already given Sebastian a vague idea of what his schooling might consist of, but Brother Rolf was ready with specifics. "First, my boy, you must resume your study of Latin, which is my own subject, as you know. Our Latin is far from being the same as the Latin of the ancients, you know. All the same it is the language of educated people everywhere, and it is your key to studying cosmography, law, and history, which will be useful to you even though you do not intend to work with the pen. Another language even more important for an officer who is going to serve our Emperor will be Italian. Yes, I know you will say that French, the language of the Emperor's main enemy, is more important. But just remember that the cities of Italy are still the premier school for all of Christendom. Not to mention that His Grace the Holy Father resides in Italy at Rome. As you will see right here at your new school, young nobles who can afford to take the grand tour as part of their education always start with Venice and then go on to other Italian cities during their months of wandering. There is so much to see, so much to learn. Along with the Italian language you will have the opportunity to learn the arts. These things will make you a real noble, things your father, may he rest in peace, never knew. "Then there are the purely military skills which you will need to become a successful general. You must learn engineering and fortifications according to the master of that art, the Frenchman Vauban, who learned all he knew from the Italians. And along with that you need to understand the opposite art of mining, which I gather was our weakness in the recent siege. You must master artillery, and this involves mathematics, which you never showed any love for. You must learn to read maps, and even to make maps. You must be familiar with pontoon bridges and other military structures. You have to learn pike drill and firearms, even if you don't use these weapons yourself. If

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you're going to become a competent officer you have to know everything you will want your men to know. "Along with fortifications, it is good to have an understanding of architecture generally, in which the Italians are past-masters. Fencing, especially the saber, you must learn well. And riding of course, especially if you aspire to the cavalry. Hunting from horseback must become like second nature. Don't worry about paying for all this. There is an understanding about that with your uncle just as there was with your father, God rest his soul. "Sebastian, you will need to learn social skills, which you will use when dealing with other officers of noble background. No more wrestling in the mud. Some music would not hurt you, perhaps even singing, while you accompany yourself on the lute. As I recall from what your sainted mother told me, you did appreciate the music of the mass. You must learn dancing. Don't laugh! Not Gypsy dancing either, but rather the allemande, the gavotte, the sarabande, and especially the minuet so beloved of the French. Also you will learn to appreciate the commedia dell'arte. I think you will appreciate the new forms of singing and dancing which the Venetians call "opere". Frankly, Sebastian, you must also learn to move better, not like a common country boy. You must have noticed that higher nobles have their own way of presenting themselves, of walking, standing, and gesturing. You must learn to move as well as them if you want to become a general or a field marshal, and advise our Emperor on military affairs. "And bowing, no doubt I must learn how to bow properly", added Sebastian, hiding his growing discomfort. "Of course" replied the monk with a smile. And Sebastian — most important — you must have friends of the right sort, friends who can help you. I have in mind a certain young noble from a very good family near Steyr, just arrived like yourself, with whom you could share a room. His name is Egon Hochmut. Believe me when I say that he can afford to room by himself, but the school regulation is that first year students must room together. If you accept, my guess is that you won't be sorry. You will hear others say that young Hochmut is an eccentric. You may even think so yourself. Never mind. We are all a little eccentric in the end. He and his family could easily help you with your military career, assuming you get on well. I am sure they will help you if you just let it happen. "So, Sebastian, it seems you will have plenty to do in your student years here. I think you will like Graz, which mercifully has fewer distractions than Vienna of the sort which are the downfall even

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of serious students. Besides you have already had a taste of Vienna's distractions, am I right? You will need new clothes. Your uncle has put aside a modest sum for this purpose which I now hand over to you. You will find that there are now shops which offer clothes ready to wear, and these are the cheapest, but of course not the best. Please don't buy bright colors. Get good boots, you'll need them. When you return from buying clothes, I can introduce you to your new roommate. Be careful how you begin with him. He is as proud as a Spaniard." With Vienna in mind, the new student's first impressions of Graz were very favorable. Not nearly so large as Vienna, and not nearly so dirty, Graz had quite a different air about it. One could see green hills roundabout from almost every street corner. There was a military flavor to the city. Border troops were not ordinarily to be seen on its streets, but their officers often found occasions to visit Graz in the distinctive garb of the frontier, which might include such countrified flourishes such as furs, feathers, and rawhide leather. And then there were the students themselves, who from Sebastian's point of view dressed quite smartly, and often in a way that suggested military ambitions. The townspeople seemed quite used to the students, even to their pranks, and accepted their presence as part of their municipal mission, which they all understood to be to guard well the southern reaches of the Empire. So Sebastian quickly got used to having ordinary townspeople greet him as if they knew exactly who he was and what he was up to. Students were a part of the milieu of Graz. It seemed odd that Graz, which was always on guard against raids from across the Sava, had entirely escaped the not-so-tender embrace of the Turkish war campaign of the summer just past. During that autumn which followed the siege of Vienna, people heard that Imperial forces sent out from the capital were engaged in an effort to recover some forts at the northern bend of the Danube. In the south, cavalry units under orders from Graz harassed the Moslems homeward over the long bridge at Esseg on the Drava River. These southern squadrons then rode through the mostly empty Slavonian wastes between the Sava and the Drava, taking vengeance on any Moslems left behind. Their exploits were reported to Vienna through the southern command at Graz, and with each new success, the spirit of the town rose. Thus the provincial center where Sebastian had agreed to study began to ride on a crest of confidence which lasted throughout the fall of his first year of study there. Like all the other students, Sebastian would soon be seized by the spirit of righteous vengeance which now infected all the Austrians and all their allies.

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On his return from the street of ready-to-wear clothing, where despite Brother Rolfs warning he had purchased some clothes with interesting colors, Sebastian paused to contemplate the solid seminary building which housed the students of his new school. The vast building, as he soon found out, had a kind of sinister reputation, not because of its past as a seminary, but because of the way it was funded. The holy order which built its seminary there had an outstanding international record in examining witches and had sent untold numbers to the stake. Like most clerical inquisitorial authorities north of the Pyrenees, their order was authorized to appropriate any property which accused witches might possess in advance of their trial, and so had accumulated the means to build this particular seminary. But times were changing, and recently it had been quietly agreed between clerical and secular authorities that the Habsburgs now stood in more real danger from the French than from witches. So somehow — Sebastian never found out how — a seminary meant to train witch hunters became a school to train servants for the Empire. The solid gray building stood in a park at the edge of the city. Probably there had been an intention earlier to minimize contact between its inmates and the townspeople. Toward the end of that first day Brother Rolf accompanied Sebastian to a room on the top floor of the building fronting on a wide balcony with a commanding view of the park. A couple of students were hanging their laundry. When they reached the room, Brother Rolf excused himself with a smile. Inside the room sat Egon Hochmut, a small wiry fellow in expensive clothing, probably not even as old as Sebastian, but very self-confident. He was smoking a long clay pipe which smelled good. "Winkler? I am Hochmut". Instead of rising, which he might have if Sebastian were his social peer, Hochmut waved a hand towards a seat. He apparently had assessed Sebastian's social background quite accurately. "I hear that your family has vineyards, Winkler. I hope this means that we will be receiving a barrel of your best from time to time." "I hope so too But I forgot to ask my uncle to arrange that. Perhaps I can write a letter to him about it." "Please do. Winkler, I have a pipe for you, since I heard you do not smoke, or at least haven't started yet. Even if you are not yet a smoker, I trust you will become one. That way we can smoke a pipe of peace together whenever the occasion calls for it. That's an Iroquois custom, they tell me, much nicer than torturing Jesuits."

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Sebastian thus learned during their first minutes together that Egon Hochmut, whatever his faults, was generous, perhaps because he could afford to be. Sebastian picked up the proffered clay pipe, as long as his arm, and filled it with tobacco from Virginia. What luxury! With Hochmut as his guide he enjoyed the first smoke of his life. Student life, as he discovered, would have some advantages over living at home. True, he would have to empty his own slops, make his own bed, and launder his own clothes. But he need not answer to anyone about how he used his time, except of course the faculty. He could smoke, he could drink, he could come and go as he pleased. "Winkler, how is it this Brother Rolf, your very own village priest turns up here? We have only a few clerics here, since this school is being sponsored by the state, yet you manage to have it staffed with your friends." "I knew Brother Rolf as Father Rolf, the best priest you could ask for. But perhaps he got into trouble with the Church and somehow he has become a monk. Why exactly he came here I can't say. To teach Latin apparently." "What they say is that he is a Jansenist." "Pardon, a what?" "Well the Jesuit brothers think he is not in step with the times. Jansenists believe in predestination, which the Jesuits don't accept. Not that I care. I don't give a pipe full of Virginia for religion of any kind." He was smart, this Egon, he was brash, and he was full of himself. Egon Hochmut was going to be a handful, it was clear. Sebastian turned the subject away from religion, an area which he knew less about but cared somewhat more about than his new roommate. Instead he asked about the town. "What about Graz, do you like it?" "Graz is Graz. It'll do until I'm old enough to buy my commission. At least we're fairly near the center here. Near it without being a part of it. But look what we're missing while we're sitting here. The Emperor's men have got the Turks on the run. They are set to drive them out of Hungary. Now is the time to pour it on, by God, but we are sentenced to school. I suppose your family is just like mine, school first and only then the commission." "Well, it's not so much my family. I lived through the siege this summer, and I don't think it's such a bad idea to get some military training." Here a difference between became apparent, one of them being impetuous and self-confident, the other more cautious and circumspect.

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"By God yes, the siege. I envy you that experience. Tell me, did you get scared?" "Off and on, yes, we were all a bit scared, all of us. But deep down we trusted in God's help." "God's help! Winkler, you must be joking. Well, if it helped you to think so, so be it. I'm sure our Emperor would agree with you. Well now, tell me. What did you learn about military affairs during the great siege of 1683?" "Not to give in." "Not to give in! Oh, that's good. Let's remember not to give in when we face the Turks one day. Not to give in, hah. I'll tell you what I'm going to do to them when I get a chance. I'm going to put it to them so hot... that my name will become synonymous with sudden death. They'll teach their kids to hide under the bed when they hear my name, like Janos Hunyadi back in the old days." "Bravo", said Sebastian ironically. "I wish we'd had you with us when we needed you. Well, I suppose there's time for all that when the time comes. Meanwhile what do we do in Graz that is any fun?" "Winkler, my good fellow, glad you asked. First of all, I have been assured you are not a beer drinker. Otherwise I couldn't stand to have you as a roommate. Now we shall have to go forthwith into the burg, where I shall show you the best and cheapest establishments — where to eat, where to get the best wine, even ... Winkler, tell me, do you like wenches?" "Of course", said Sebastian, though in truth he was a little bit put off by this new frame of reference he had just tacitly accepted. "But just now I can hardly afford to eat, much less anything else." "Think nothing of it, Winkler. Money is not your problem. You have more serious problems, I'm sure. We just haven't identified them yet." With the sun sinking behind the hills, the two cadets, so different in character, yet mated by a chemistry which is quickly sensed by young males, set out on the cobbled roadway leading into town, following a path which was to become so familiar to Sebastian that many years later he would walk it in his dreams. While they ate their supper in Egon's locale of choice in his street of choice, Sebastian recounted the meeting with the Gypsy woman who had told his fortune, including the inexplicable powerlessness which cost him all his money. They laughed until they cried, pounding their glasses on the table. "Are you satisfied with your future? I mean whatever she told you about your future?" asked Hochmut.

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"Yes, and no. I liked the part about living a long time and knowing many beautiful women, but I didn't like something else she said." Hochmut asked what that was. Sebastian was unwilling to divulge the Gypsy's words about his choice of careers, either fearing she might be right, or that to speak of it might be bad luck. Hochmut insisted on knowing, but Sebastian would not tell him. "Well, whatever it was, it couldn't be that important. Tell me, Winkler, what's your sign?" "What do you mean?" "What is the month, the day, and if possible the hour of your birth, assuming you know them?" Hochmut suddenly realized that his companion knew nothing of the ancient art of astrology, perhaps because it was incompatible with his Catholicism. So he proceeded to expound on it. Sebastian was skeptical. "Oh, yes, I've heard about astrology but I never paid it the least attention. My Latin tutor told me that Julius Caesar had no faith in astrology." "I'm not sure you remember it right. Soothsaying is not truthsaying, and divination is not astrology. If he had listened better to the astrologers, they might have kept him out of the Senate when it was bad for his health." "But since the Senators were determined, they might have gotten him on another day." Thus was born between them the grounds for a fruitless and undying controversy which became the source of great entertainment. It centered upon Hochmut's uncritical defense of astrology. Since Hochmut was in most ways more sophisticated than Sebastian, the newcomer was glad to have this Achilles heel to work on. Not only was Hochmut liable to take direction from the stars, he was more than usually superstitious. Sebastian had no difficulty from then on in getting his goat with a swift lunge in that direction. But being young, they both had a facility for tolerating in the other mental differences which might have bothered older people a lot more. What was important at that point in their lives was the good chemistry between them, improved by their shared appreciation of wine. Their return to their quarters on that first evening they managed with much stumbling, bumbling and laughter — the first of many such evenings. The wenches Hochmut had referred to so airily did not make an appearance. Sebastian began to suspect that in this area at least, Hochmut had less experience than himself. The weather was brisk by

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the time they arrived back at the school. Both of them tipsy, it was all they could do to light the stove in their room. Autumn had come. The next day, Sebastian had an opportunity to see the entire corps of students assembled for prayer at the door of the new school's chapel. There were thirty-six students and eight faculty. Four of the eight faculty wore the cloth, two being Jesuits, one of them the rector. These led the way in. Of the whispering, jostling students who stumbled after them, just four were from Graz. Sixteen were from other southern locations near the border. A few spoke German with heavy accents owing to their being Slavs. As for the remainder, Sebastian discovered that his own village was closer to Vienna than anyone else's. Like Hochmut, he was apparently outside the catchment area planned for the new school, probably owing to the understanding between the elder Winklers and "Brother" Rolf. Never mind. Except for an occasional hint of longing for his aunt, Sebastian had had his fill of Vienna for the time being, and relished starting school so close to the southern frontier, which was bound to become a war zone. On this first day, the rector, a Spaniard with a Spanish accent, looked around the assembly and saw that he now had his full complement of students for the year. He marked the occasion with a stern sermon which was meant to make an impression and in fact did make an impression on Sebastian, who was the last student to arrive at the school. As the rector started his sermon he looked directly at Sebastian. He reminded the students that their souls were fashioned from spirit, not matter, and were therefore eternal! It would be the mission of the school to prepare the souls of its students so that they could take their rightful place in a great chain of being, their own place destined to be just one step below the angels. This was God's ultimate purpose. Those who merited this glorious destiny would honor and worship the perfection of their Maker's creations by living spiritual lives. No one should surrender to the baser side of his nature, no one should indulge his appetites, greed, or lust for this would endanger, indeed prevent, his taking part in the sublime design of the Maker, who though merciful is all-seeing. Sebastian was somewhat shocked by the rector's prologue for the school year. He had never heard Brother Rolf nor anyone else talk with such elevated severity. This was a different spirit, more disciplined than Sebastian was used to, perhaps the result of being Spanish, or of being a Jesuit. But what would this mean with respect to the taverns and the widows' quarter, which he and Hochmut had just visited? As time would show, nothing much.

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Prayer had never been Sebastian's forte, but prayer was a daily requirement at the new academy. Probably most of the half-formed Christians who made up the student corps dreamed their way through the morning prayers, or found tactics to avoid being too seriously engaged on behalf of their souls. There was no choir as there had been at Gaming, and after the shock of the rector's initial sermon had worn off, the sermons of other faculty members seemed very predictable, too abstract to engage their imaginations, and always too long regardless of their length. On the first day after Sebastian's arrival, an appeal was made for volunteers to help put on a play. This first play was only one of several Jesuit plays which would be put on during the school year under the direction of the faculty. The clerical faculty were under no illusions as to the shortcomings of the daily services, and so felt obliged to augment the daily prayers and sermons with school plays, perhaps the most effective device then available to influence young minds. Glancing at each other, Sebastian and his roommate allowed themselves to be drafted. The first play of this first season told the story of St. George and the Dragon. The play was to be performed outside in the paved yard in front of the former seminary, the same space in which the students mustered to go to prayer each morning. The scene was mounted on a wooden platform surrounded with curtains which moved with the breezes, and a wooden stairway hidden from view. Perhaps because he dressed better than other students, had a distinctly self-possessed presence, and already took pains to keep his hair well combed and powdered, Hochmut was chosen to play St. George. Sebastian's broad shoulders were chosen along with those of the sturdy Croatian Vuk to hold up the honor of the dragon, a creature made of wood and leather which needed the strength and length of two in order to drag it up onto and down off the stage. Sebastian and Vuk practiced snarling and shrieking as they imagined a dragon might sound. Meanwhile the dapper Egon Hochmut enjoyed himself while practicing the death thrust which would save all Christendom, and would justify the victory oration which was to follow. Given the events of the year, it was not too difficult to imagine the dragon as representing the Turks, which perhaps explains the genuine enthusiasm with which the students cheered the dragon's ignominious and noisy death at the hands of the dandy champion Egon Hochmut. And in fact the dragon really did suffer terribly for the reason that St. George, aware of the dragons' true constitution, made sure to

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pummel the ugly beast fore and aft with his wooden sword before dispatching it. So great were the sounds of dying that the cook came hurrying out of the kitchen to watch. The faculty were pleased with the effect. From the Jesuit point of view the play was a good beginning. If emotions could actually be aroused, this might pave the way for more serious participation in the sacraments — especially the Eucharist, and Confession. As faculty saw it, participation in the sacraments strengthened faith, and faith would strengthen the Empire, just as it always had in the past. From Sebastian's point of view, the play had the merit of introducing him to the Croatian frontiersman Vuk, who soon became a close companion of the two new roommates. Vuk was a year older than the two Austrians, calm and thoughtful, also a very sharp card player who quickly taught the newcomers the games current at the school. Vuk had free-thinking tendencies, whom some would call a libertine, one who tended to disregard all authority. His career at the school was destined to be marked by several interviews with the rector, who did not approve of him and was often tempted to send him home. One cause for the rector's displeasure was that Vuk was one of those students whose Latin was poor. The language of the new academy was supposed to be Latin, just as at the university. But since some students had difficulty understanding, the instruction was finally mostly in German. As partners at cards, what held the trio back was that only Hochmut could afford to lose. After an embarrassing beginning which led to Hochmut's forgiving Sebastian's debt in kreutzers, the latter declined to play any more. Sebastian feared jeopardizing his "honor", a new ideal which was starting to play a part in his imagination. Vuk, on the other hand, gambled all the time, not because he could afford to lose, but because he won more often than he lost. So what had started as a three-way pastime became a two-way pastime, with Sebastian watching the other two by candlelight from over their shoulders. It never occurred to them not to play for money. Vuk had been at the school among the earliest arrivals and was therefore a good source of information about how things were run. He also was a source of information about life on the frontier, where both the roommates thought it likely that they would begin their military careers. Vuk often spoke of Zagreb, the hilltop capital of Croatia, served by a regional market, evidently very Austrian in style. Soon the two northerners began to revise their prejudice about frontiersmen being of necessity more backward than they were. Quite to the contrary.

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The three of them discussed their rector, whom Egon and Sebastian rather liked, or at least respected. "Did you know he is a Platonist?" asked Vuk. No, they did not. They had thought that all the faculty had the usual Aristotelian convictions. "I've even heard he's a Stoic." But Vuk was unable to explain what a Stoic was. "Well, you must have noticed that the school is called an Academy. That was the rector's idea, in order to bring to mind the academy of Plato. He likes to say that Plato would have been a Christian but was born too soon to have the choice. According to the rector, Plato believed in souls. " Didn't Plato propose holding wives in common? That certainly is not Christian." "It may not be Christian, but it is certainly an idea which deserves discussing." And so they did. Egon objected that such an arrangement was not conducive to honor, and whatever its other merits would inevitably lead to the breakup of all aristocratic estates. They should leave such ideas to the cannibals of the New World. "Look", said Vuk. "If you have ten wives to choose from every night, you don't need a large estate. On the other hand, how else could one afford ten wives?" "Would it not be natural?" This was Sebastian's concern. "It seems to me, considering all the animals I know anything about, that every male of every kind will try to get as many females as he can and will not share them with other males. Surely it might work the same for human males also. If there were no religion to forbid it." They reviewed the advantages and disadvantages. The best idea might be to find some kind of middle way. Perhaps like the ancient Spartans they had heard about, they might persuade older married men to regard it as an honor to share their wives with young warriors such as these three expected to become. At least until they themselves married. Then on the basis of their experience, they could choose what to do with their own wives. "Wait", said Egon, "how do we know that older men's wives would be any more interesting than the widows we already can choose from over in the district? Why change the rules for nothing?" And so the Platonic discourse ran its course, though they sometimes revived this discussion when drinking in the district with the widows. The scheme was a source of much hilarity and the widows introduced variations they had not thought of themselves. In the Graz academy curriculum Latin, Italian, mathematics, cosmography and history had priority during this first year. Cosmography combined astronomy with other topics connected -with

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the earth and its continents, rivers, mountains, oceans, etc. Most of this was quite new to Sebastian, who enjoyed the worldwide scope of this study called "cosmography". History classes brought more surprises for the young rustic squire. He and his classmates got a far better sense of what their forbears the Romans had actually accomplished, and now felt more deeply their future responsibilities as champions and defenders of the Holy Roman Empire, just now headed by their own Archduke Leopold. As for that other, eastern, Roman empire with its center at Constantinople, what a pity it was that the Greeks, so-called "orthodox" Christians, had let it fall into the hands of the Turks without a proper fight! The Styrian roommates, neither of them great enthusiasts for Latin, were charmed to discover that Italian was far easier, and that one had an advantage in Italian from prior study of Latin. Signor Cristofiore, the Italian lay teacher, was a great ambassador for the cities of northern Italy, where, so he said, the high point of every European art had been achieved. The enthusiastic signore, whose splendid habit included a head of dark curls, spent much of each class extolling Italian excellence in art, music, architecture, and the humanities — all in Italian, which gradually they began to understand. Through him the students learned more about what the humanities had come to mean in civilized Italy than they possibly could from Father Rolf their Latin teacher, whose approach was clerical, and whose own Latin was larded with the scholastic vocabulary which had crept into the language since ancient days. Since the signore's birthplace of Cremona was the one place in the world where the best stringed instruments were made, the students listened bemused while Signor Cristofiore expanded on the technology of making musical instruments, even sketching some of the subtle parts and proportions required to make instruments sing the way they should. Listening to this man from Cremona, most students felt a growing appetite to see for themselves what all the fuss was about, so that a sojourn in Italy began to seem necessary at the earliest possible moment. It was thanks to Cristofiore that many of their fellow students heard for the first time how fine music sounds. Students mostly knew the popular music of their homes, mostly small towns, or places in the country. Most had heard the organ played, at least from the street, but only a few had heard an instrumental ensemble using a continuo. Knowing this, Cristofiore arranged that the entire student corps, by now forty students plus faculty, be admitted as standees at a concert of strings held in the Landhaus of Graz during the month of November.

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The intended audience were all provincial nobles and official families, but Cristofiore persuaded the Landhaus intendant to reserve room at the back of the sculpted baroque concert salon for the young academicians to hear what he called "real music". To hear Italian music written for strings came as a pleasant shock to Sebastian. How was he to understand the powerful effect that these sounds had on him? To his surprise tears came, and he had to move to the rear and hide his face from his companions. He would never find a way to explain the magic of music, which seemed to exist quite independent of all other the arts. How was it that these sounds seemed to reach within and bring out such a deep response, as though the composer of these sounds had secret access to one's mind and could set it vibrating as though it were itself a stringed instrument. His experience that first evening at the Landhaus opened his eyes to what humans might achieve with God's help. Human creativity, if not natural in the sense that everyone can create, certainly did not violate nature, and so must be part of nature. As the students returned to the school, walking as one body in the crisp November night, Sebastian decided not to reveal to others how deeply he had been affected. He did not want to invite the derision of other students, not all of whom were so deeply touched. Not everyone approved of Signor Cristofiore. He was disdained by Doctor Schlitt, an unkempt and rawboned lay teacher from Austria, who taught the cosmography and history classes. Schlitt was a follower of the Frenchman Descartes, and was rumored to have a high opinion of Galileo and other cosmologists and astronomers. More than once Schlitt intimated to his classes that Cristofiore was an odd sort of Christian, who believed in the unacceptable, even heretical beliefs of Hermetism. Egon Hochmut naturally shared Schlitt's skeptical attitude toward Cristofiore. His own admiration for Doctor Schlitt was founded on their mutual devotion to astrology, and its sister science astronomy, between which neither saw any contradiction. It was said that Schlitt had worked out a long-term horoscope for Hochmut and he did not deny it. Perhaps it confirmed his belief that he was destined for greatness. One day Egon, perhaps because Schlitt had put him up to it, approached Cristofiore before morning chapel, and asked him without introduction whether he was a Hermetic. "As you see, my son, all us teachers live like hermits", was the reply. Hochmut realized that the Italian was playing with him, and would not give a serious answer. Yet, despite such rumors, Cristofiore was the most popular teacher at the school, far more so than Doctor Schlitt.

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One evening as they lay smoking their clay pipes, with their feet up on the only table in their room, Sebastian opened a conversation about Doctor Schlitt. "If Schlitt is a Cartesian as you say, and neglects Aristotle in favor of the cosmologists of our own age, why does the rector allow it? We know the rector is faithful to the Greeks." "I dare say he didn't know all about Doctor Schlitt when he chose him for the faculty. And men change; even if you think you know them. Even inside our sainted church there is room for a lot of disagreement. Doctor Schlitt is simply far better informed than the rector about the advances of natural philosophy in recent years." "Like Galileo? Wasn't he the man who said that the earth rotates on its axis and turns around the sun?" "No, you Styrian lout, that was Copernicus, almost a hundred years before Galileo. Galileo simply reaffirmed his work." Egon took pleasure in correcting Sebastian, showing up the ignorance of this village upstart, whom in fact he liked. As for himself, he could never admit ignorance. "Why should it take a hundred years to reaffirm the obvious?" "Don't let our rector hear you say that it is obvious. As a Jesuit, he is bound to follow the Pope, and the Pope still hasn't agreed that the earth moves around the sun. Not even Kepler could make an impression on the Pope, as Dr. Schlitt has pointed out to me in private." Silence. Sebastian had apparently forgotten who Kepler was. "And do you know where Kepler first made his name?" More silence. "Right here in Graz, you hayseed." "Ah, right, and his mother was a witch." "His mother was not a witch. A little loony maybe (hah!) but not a witch. It took him five years to clear her name, just in time for her to die." "Listen Hochmut, I know you have a better head than mine, but if you don't stop showing off all second hand knowledge which you acquired yesterday, I am going to orbit around this table like the sun and burn you to an ember." "You are hopeless. Didn't we just agree that it is the earth which moves around the sun?" Already around the table, Sebastian dumped his howling roommate off his chair. There was a winter break for those who could afford the journey home. This was not only a question of money but of time, since journeying to the further provinces meant many days on the road. Egon and Sebastian were among those who did not take the opportunity to leave. They were both enjoying the freedom of living on their own, free

at least of family supervision, and thought that they would make up for missing winter holidays with their families by traveling together in summer to visit both their homes. During the winter break they would study hard together, play in town, and thus make the best use of the break between classes, or at least that is what they said. The rector surprised them however. All those who remained at school were ordered to help replenish the school's supply of firewood, which until now they had taken for granted. The financial situation of the new school was far from ideal, which one might have guessed from the monotonous thin gruel served up in the student mess. One way to alleviate the unexpected delay of funds was to have the students cut their own firewood, which the school would then arrange to have transported. The place of cutting was negotiated with the city, wood cutting rights not being a touchy question around a city so large as Graz. On the days when wood was cut, students who had remained at school rose early in the cold and dark, and were sledded to a forest about two hours distant. There the two roommates did some of the hardest work of their lives, hardly what scholars like themselves expected to find themselves doing. Often when not actually cutting with the poor axes provided by the school, they pounded their hands together to ward off cold, and jumped around in the snow to keep the blood circulating, just as the English doctor Harvey might have recommended. Since cutting wood was the best antidote to the cold, and since the students were scarcely dressed for this work, no one shirked but instead worked hard on purpose, so that the woodcutters returned to their rooms at night almost too tired to eat. The student woodcutters naturally developed proprietary feelings for the wood they had cut but the rector took it all away to be used by the school as a whole. After waiting too long for transport back to Graz, Sebastian got chilled and had to be treated. The rector arranged that the cook, who slept in the kitchen, would accompany Sebastian to a bathhouse near the middle of Graz where one might take a medicinal bath. The rector was sure that Sebastian's humors were out of balance. The cook told her trembling ward that there had once been many more such public baths in Graz, but they had been mostly closed down by the authorities many years before to control public morality, which was deemed a greater problem than public hygiene. When they arrived the bath was occupied by women, so that Sebastian had to wait in a warm dark anteroom for the men's turn to come. There he was provided with a sheet to put on in the bath. The bath itself was aromatic with herbs, and Sebastian began to enjoy the experience of alternately stewing and rinsing, meanwhile

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coughing up phlegm. He stayed for a long time, and when he emerged felt weak and vulnerable. The street seemed very cold afterwards and he hurried back to the school and let Hochmut put wood in the stove while he lay himself down. The next day he was himself again. Even during their first year at the Graz academy military students were encouraged to master the physical disciplines which future officers would need. All students could participate, but those who knew they would enter the military usually took them more seriously. Afternoon classes in fencing were always full. Other students noticed that Sebastian had a talent for the saber, and he found this gratifying. Saber work symbolized the violent and heroic side of military life and augured well for Sebastian's future. Practice sessions nearly always resulted in long bruises on the torso, despite the leather tunics which the students wore for protection. But as his skill increased, it was usually Sebastian's opponents who went to bed aching from his flashing blade. The Purgstaller began to enjoy subjecting the dapper St. George and all other comers to punishing encounters with his accelerating blade. On the other hand, Sebastian did not have the feel for horses which Hochmut had, or for that matter Vuk the Croat. The school had no stable of its own and could not in fact afford one. But the school used its influence to get access on a regular basis to a stable of post horses which was maintained by the provincial government. These were not ideal mounts for training, but good enough so that some development was possible. Interested students could hike across town and present themselves early in the morning for an hour of riding or jumping, such jumping as could be managed. At the stables it was Sebastian who learned his limits. He could ride after a fashion but it seemed pretty clear that he would never really understand horses and they would never really understand him. "Never mind", said Hochmut. "Let me command the cavalry, while you can command dragoons." As everyone by now knew, dragoons were like flying infantry. It was not necessary for them to be great horsemen, only to transport themselves quickly from one part of the battlefield to the other, and then to fight on foot with their carbines, pistols, grenades and finally sabers. The dragoons, as a branch of the military, were just coming into their own at this time, increasingly favored as an answer to the problem of swift deployment in the age of firearms. Sebastian therefore made his choice of services early on, based on his uneven talents. He did not waste time imagining himself a cavalryman doing a caracola, and spinning to face his enemies, as Hochmut would do. His fantasies ran instead to stunning

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victories owing to his quick action as the officer of a flying column of dragoons. It was owing to his skill as a swordsman man that Sebastian had to fight a duel. Fortunately he won it. There was a student named Vetter from Salzburg, who like Sebastian had decided that his own skill with the blade was all that could be hoped for. But unlike Sebastian Vetter was very jealous of his blood lines, and considered himself a cut above most other students in that regard. It was just a question of time before their two weapons clashed. It happened because certain classmates were eager to see Vetter humbled. During their first encounter in class Sebastian found that he stayed cool, whereas Vetter got flustered and lost his usual confidence. Sebastian bested him and then repeated the performance. But Vetter refused to concede defeat. What happened then reflected the social distance which Vetter believed separated him from this minor noble whose family raised grapes. Instead of confronting Sebastian directly, he went into the town and actually hired a couple of fellows who were supposed to beat up on the vintner, since in Austria of that period a real noble did not like to dirty his hands by fighting with a social inferior. But the other students were soon privy to this plan, and feeling themselves offended by Vetter, set about to incite a real duel which would put the Salzburg noble in his place. Thus Sebastian, without in the slightest desiring it, was made the school champion against this social bully. When Sebastian expressed some reluctance after learning of the arrangements made for the duel by his self-elected seconds, he got a lecture on honor from his roommate Hochmut. "God in Heaven" shouted Hochmut, "you must do it, or your name will suffer. I won't even share a room with you any more, I'll ask for someone else." A f t e r calming down, Hochmut offered to guarantee Sebastian's victory by hanging around his neck a crystal dedicated to Jupiter, which had once even been used to capture someone's spirit. The crystal was sure to do the trick. The duel could not be fought inside the school since the Jesuit rector had forbidden dueling and would come down hard on anyone who violated the rule. Thus the contest took place off campus early one morning on one of the coldest days of January. The site chosen by the seconds was on the other side of the park which surrounded the school, out of sight of any faculty. N o leather vests or wire grills would be permitted this time. The loser must bear the marks of the struggle. On this the seconds were pleased to agree. It was also agreed that the face was to be spared, if at all possible. Sebastian found he was not so calm once the protective clothing had been removed as he had been before.

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But Vetter was not calm either, and having been twice beaten by this opponent in earlier encounters, was not at his best. The burly Vetter rushed at Sebastian, displaying his usual aggressive style, and hoping to intimidate the vintner. Sebastian parried without thinking, again mystified and grateful that by this point in his development as a fencer his limbs had a mind of their own. These wise, swift limbs quickly reestablished their superiority over Vetter's slower limbs and the brief duel ended when Sebastian's indwelling spirit spotted a way to nick Vetter on his far shoulder without doing him serious harm. This, by prior agreement, ended the duel. Vetter swore and spat in anger, but allowed himself to be led away supported by his seconds. The pugnacious aristocrat from Salzburg managed never to speak directly to the upstart vintner. Sebastian on the other hand became the momentary hero of at least half his class. Fellows he had not spoken with before beat him merrily about the back and shoulders, and he discovered the peculiar, almost sensual joy of receiving a spontaneous accolade from male peers. The faculty learned of the duel immediately, but as Vetter took care not to show his injury to anyone, teachers looked away, so that the regime established by the rector was at least formally preserved. Dancing, as taught by Signor Cristofiore, had aroused some indignation in these rustic young fellows, and at first there were no young ladies of any kind who were available to contend with them. At first it was all the man from Cremona could do to obtain even a token result from such rude and callow youths by beating out time with his cane, as sweating young "couples" swirled on the floor of the pretended salon. But comedy came to his rescue, and the dancing sessions became the occasion for hilarious entertainment. The delicate niceties which the Italian taught became a source of even greater entertainment in ribald nighttime scenes which were beyond his imagination. The "wenches" which Hochmut had lost no time in mentioning upon Sebastian's arrival turned out to be mostly widows, real or supposed. These were of various ages and conditions and tended to live in a particular quarter of Graz, perhaps following the suggestion of city fathers. Students who could afford it frequently sought the company of the widows. Those who could not afford it, and Sebastian was one of these, might nonetheless accompany, hoping that a companion who was better off might take pity on them, and arrange a second go at whomever was involved. Some widows did not seem to mind and took an amiable and practical approach to it all. Others refused. Sebastian sometimes wondered whether this doubling up was really natural, but

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how could one know? Natural or not, he was grateful for the relief. Sebastian usually went to the quarter with Hochmut, who was in this respect, as in all others, a generous friend. After drinking for a while and joking with the other men present, some of them students from other schools, the roommates would disappear up the stairs or around the corner with the same woman. On the way they would conjugate in Latin: "amarem, amares, amaret, amaremus, amaretis, amarent." On one of

these occasions, when by chance

some

town

musicians were present, a group of students, on the forbearance of the town dwellers who had paid the band, decided to practice their dancing, not by themselves this time but with the help of the widows on hand in the general room. Some of the women showed their legs, which brought hoots of appreciation. What made the occasion really amusing was that the music, which was of the popular sort, had nothing to do with the ballroom dance steps which the classmates wanted to show off. In the end the entire assembly, young men and widows alike, abandoned themselves to laughter. Signor Cristofiore was not kept informed about the dancing done by his students in other quarters of the town. Quite independently he concluded that his students might welcome an occasion to try out their newly acquired dancing legs with young ladies equally in need of practice, and so set about to have them invited en masse to one of the city's seasonal balls. Like the concert, this also was held at the ornate Landhaus, this time to mark the onset of Fasching, the pre-Lenten season of latitude. Fellow students were busy for days beforehand cleaning and mending clothes, powdering their hair, some of them for the first time, and practicing their steps. This would be the first real opportunity to see the most desirable young ladies of Graz other than on the street. When the evening came there was still snow on the ground. N o matter. The students walked in a body to the Landhaus, arrived a bit early, and listened to the impressive ballroom orchestra which the organizers has gotten together. The Fasching ball being among the largest of the year, there were numerous young ladies there alongside their mothers and aunts, and in fact they outnumbered the students. The problem lay in getting started. They were all accompanied by chaperones, and these seemed less than eager to allow the girls' acquaintance with unknown and unprepossessing students. But the girls made up for this. They soon broke with their chaperones and met the students halfway, in a cheery, forward Alpine way. While many of the older women at the ball wore

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masks, which custom allowed them so as to flirt unobserved, the young ladies did not. Being unmarried, they had no need to hide. The maidens had their own set of standards and saw the students through different eyes than did their chaperones. Although there was some mismatch of dancing aptitudes between new partners, practice paid off as the evening went on. The students were often pleased to recognize the music being played. Signor Cristofiore, standing off to the side, was pleased to watch them dancing like real chevaliers, not with perfection perhaps but with promise. Attendance at the Fasching Ball would thereafter become a tradition for the students of the new academy. Many a romance would bloom in this way, and under the very noses of the chaperones. Walking on their way home from the ball, the academy boys got a little surprise. Perhaps they had been a little too free in spreading the news of their upcoming ordeal, worse yet may have bragged about it in the taverns. Waiting for them in ambush behind some conifers by the snowy path were a dozen mysterious figures whom they quickly recognized as gymnasium louts from across town. With the academy boys strung out on the path, the gymnasium boys had a momentary advantage until reinforcements came up. Sebastian and Egon were among those who were surprised by the first snowballs. Quickly recovering, they joyously rolled projectiles of their own, and counterattacked, all the while laughing themselves into a helpless state. The worst danger passed and the gymnasium boys made a retreat before superior forces, all the time braying like the donkeys they undoubtedly were. In the Lenten season after the Fasching ball there passed along the main streets of Graz the religious processions which were usual at that time of year. The climactic procession, which was supposed to depict the Passion of Christ, was for once altered during this year following the siege. Instead of having Roman soldiers harassing Jesus along the stations of the cross, the organizers of the procession substituted wild-looking Turkish Janissaries with their bizarre sleevelike headgear. This aroused razzing, heckling reactions in the onlookers lining the streets, who booed the Savior's tormentors furiously. If ever those Turks came to Graz ...! In fact the citizens of Graz were well aware that a new campaign season was about to open, and that Austrian military forces had made plans to pursue and punish the enemy. Around town there were posters on walls showing devils in Turkish costume being chased or overtaken by angels dressed like Austrians. One poster in the center of town showed a map of Austria

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which stretched to the Bosphorus. Preaching in pulpits across the city had an enthusiastic and militant tone. Recruiting for a new border regiment went on for about a week in one of the main squares. Military officers sat around tables, ready to hand a florin to any bumpkin fit to sign up. Music, wine, and food were provided gratis all day long for this was the kind of thoughtful, paternal treatment which recruits could expect during their years of service. After a week, the recruiters moved on to other smaller towns. The gymnasium students learned that a new regiment, and perhaps yet others, would be used to garrison the territories which the authorities firmly believed would be falling into Habsburg hands in the near future. At least one student from the school tried to sign up, but when the recruiters found out how old he was and what he was doing in Graz, they refused to take him. The student body took what advantage of whatever free wine they could get away with. Some students could not afford to drink, and welcomed relief from water, even though the water of Graz was exceptionally good and very available. Complaining about the higher price of wine during their first year at Graz, the roommates made a most useful discovery. Vuk the Croatian, though he loved wine just as much as they, seemed not to suffer as much from the lack of it. He would close his door and come out smiling, followed by a ripe fragrance not at all like wine. It seems that the Croat had his own store of an aqua vitae distilled in his home province. One day he decided to share some with his two classmates since he could no longer resist their threats. The transparent spirits of his distant homeland, which Croats called slivovitsa, made a deep impression on the Austrians. Apparently not all good things came from the West. Why had no one told them before that something so wonderful and so obviously beneficial could be made from mere plums? Vuk ran out of this slivovitsa long before the supply of wine was restored. But his friends, his dear and loyal friends, never forgot the novel experience, and were constantly hounding him for another taste of that wonderful rotten ambrosia from the lands along the Sava. Spring turned to summer. As the streets became smellier the study of verb tenses and noun cases became easier. Sebastian and Egon laid plans for their six-week summer vacation. They decided they would leave the school together and visit with each others' families, first the Hochmuts, then the Winklers. Egon's pedigreed family lived near Steyr, and were obviously very rich. Egon always acted as though money were the last thing on his mind. Profligacy being very far from his own

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mentality, Sebastian voiced misgivings about the prospect of taking the young Hochmut to visit his far more humble family estate. But Egon reassured him on this point, and told him not to worry. Sebastian then sent a letter to his family by means of a passing carter, as he had done several times before, which explained their plans. Before leaving school, Sebastian had a talk with Brother Rolf, who seemed pleased with his protege's progress at the school, since before he had not had been fully confident of Sebastian's potential as a scholar. From Brother Rolf Sebastian learned that the Emperor's forces intended to besiege Buda, the main Turkish stronghold on the middle Danube. This time there would be a different set of allies, since Russia and the Venetians had recently joined the Holy Alliance. Both thirsted for the kill, now that the weakness of the Turks had been demonstrated. Sebastian complained about it to his teacher. "What a cheat, I will be missing all the action." "Be patient", countered Rolf, "there will be lots for you to do when you put on the uniform. The Emperor has plenty of work cut out for his officers, especially those who are well prepared for their work." The horseback journey through Styria took a couple days, with Egon paying the way, including the rent of horses from one post to another. Egon composed poetry as they rode along, with Sebastian nodding in approval. When he finally caught sight of his father's estate, Hochmut sprang from his horse and spread his arms wide: "one day I will be the master here." Sebastian was impressed. The fields were wide and well used, the buildings large. However when Sebastian met the father of his roommate, he realized that the father's demise was not likely to be any time soon. Hochmut Sr. was as fit as his son, energetic, and a paragon of good manners. "Please feel at home here, my dear Winkler, and tell us how we can make your visit pleasant. You should know," turning to his son, "that you have arrived just in time for the christening of your little cousin." There was a sad story behind this, since the boy child had been borne by a Caesarean cut, and the mother, Hochmut Jr.'s aunt, had died within days. Her funeral was to be delayed for a while, perhaps even weeks, while befitting arrangements were made. But there would be no delay in the christening. Since Austrian infants often died in infancy, there was no time to lose. The family considered that the best tribute to the martyred mother was a swift christening. Sebastian now had his first experience of life on a major estate belonging to an old rich family with its own traditions and its own proud history. Watching Hochmut Sr. was an education in how to be an

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aristocrat. The resemblance to his son was very strong, and he was little more than twice his son's age. The father's grace was enhanced by carefully chosen clothes, flawless powdered hair, and a measured and dramatic way of moving and gesturing. He astonished Sebastian after their first meal together by accompanying himself on a lute, singing in Italian. When Sebastian was urged to sing something too, he had to admit that he was not ready to do so. Perhaps he would have to remedy that shortcoming soon, having heard how well this aristocrat could play the lute. So! N o wonder the son was so jealous of his honor, moved so well, and cared so little for money. A l l these things he took directly from his father. They were proud, these Hochmuts. Sebastian was reminded of the old Austrian saying: "Who wallows in vice like a swine, can scarcely boast a noble line." The opposite corollary was also true. Everything the family did, they did with style and conviction. Sebastian could see he had a lot to learn, and was grateful anew to Brother Rolf for arranging his acquaintance with the son of this admirable family. Frau Hochmut was no great beauty and was worn out by pregnancies. Perhaps because of these vital services to the family she was treated with the greatest respect. But she was reclusive, and Sebastian saw little of her. The palatial estate of the Hochmuts was incomparably more grand than that of the Winklers. Nothing could demonstrate more dramatically the difference between the lower nobility of Austria, typically countryside Ritters, and families like the Hochmuts with their titles and their connections in Vienna, than the houses they lived in. Unlike any house Sebastian had been in so far, the stone and mortar palace of the Hochmuts contained separate retreats for man and wife, a chapel, and a ballroom located underneath the long dining room on the second floor. There was even an empty room for him, which gave him a jolt of pleasure. Windows were of glass, and there were servants. In honor of his son's return, the elder Hochmut had arranged a hunt, so that their first steps outside the palace they called home would be to visit their hounds, bred to run down boars. The stable and kennels formed a part of the hof complex. Sebastian hesitated to ask how large a corps of peasants supported all this, and indeed never did find out. The hunt, which would be from horseback, was to take place the day following their arrival. A

group of relatives and neighbors gathered at the hour

appointed, and they all rode off behind the baying and slavering hounds to a forest reserve which belonged to the family. Here the hounds

took

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off as though they were masters of the forest. Peasants had been recruited to beat along the periphery. Within less than an hour the hounds had found a boar, and were attacking it with noisy enthusiasm, signaling their find to the following party of horsemen. But boars were hard to kill. Until the party arrived, the dogs could not overcome this gruesome giant, with shoulders as high as a man's, and grisly hairs as thick as wires all over its body. Hochmut Sr. signaled that his son would make the kill with his hunting pike, a stout heavy weapon about four paces long. Now Sebastian could see what a head start his roommate had acquired in the art of riding and how well he knew how to make use of it. But it took some time for the son to get the right angle on the wheeling, snarling boar. In the end, father and son killed the boar together, and not before two hounds had received fatal wounds. Sebastian realized afterwards from the way his ears rang, just how loud the howls of dogs and the snarls of the quarry had been. What a hellish racket! Hunting from horseback, in his secret opinion, was an acquired taste, and one he did not care for much. The scene had been exciting, true, but the death of the giant quarry aroused his pity. The rest of the hunting party treated the event as great fun and regretted nothing, not even the death of the hounds. There was to be no ball, out of respect for the missing mother. Had there been a ball, said the son of the family, there would surely have been fireworks. Now they would have to satisfy themselves with the banquet which was to follow the christening. Seating at the banquet was planned to the last detail, something the vintner had not encountered before. There was much else to catch his interest, especially the elaborate menu, which offered an endless train of meat and fish dishes. He was seated next to his friend Egon, close to Hochmut Sr., and much higher above the salt, he supposed, than if he had come to the table unaccompanied by a family member. The father treated Sebastian with apparent respect from first to last, whatever his real opinions were. To do otherwise would have been a departure from the elaborate good manners which he and his family wore like a coat of arms. After three weeks spent at home with the Hochmuts, during which time other high hunts for large game came and went, and the time came for the other half of the summer plan. Before they left the estate Hochmut Sr. had a private dinner with both young men. He seemed to be pleased that his own son had formed a close alliance, even with this

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lesser noble Sebastian. On the eve of their departure, he had thoughts of the future on his mind. "The two of you were born to help see Austria through to a brilliant destiny. I envy you, Sebastian, that you stayed in Vienna throughout last year's siege, while the rest of us were content to watch from a safe distance. Mark my words, what was begun with that terrible siege, which Austria did not ask for and did nothing to deserve, will not end until we have driven the Turks from Europe, God willing. 1 cannot claim to have heard if from the Lord above, but my instincts tell me that He has had enough of this outlandish Moslem religion, and is ready to give our Christians the chance to reverse a century and a half of suffering brought on us by the Sultans and their armies. "I envy you both that you may be the instruments of the Emperor in this historic struggle. After you have finished your schooling, it is my hope that you will serve together and support one another as brother officers. Winkler, I understand that my son was one of your seconds during a duel which you won recently. I was very pleased to hear that you are so fast with the saber. With luck you will not have to fight another duel, because no one will want another taste of trouble at your hands. Lads, stay together and be good to each other. Great days are coming. You will both be generals before this is over, and we look forward to hearing how troops under your command have advanced to Constantinople, to the very heart of the Moslem empire." With these words, Hochmut Sr. embraced them both in turn, gripping their hands hard, shaking with emotion. Trotting along the road to the Winklers' village, Sebastian tried to prepare his partner for the far more modest circumstances of his family's estate. They passed more than one burnt-out village, and Sebastian tried to explain that what awaited them might be no better than that. To his own surprise, he was right. No one had bothered to tell him that Tatars had burned to the ground the house he had grown up in. When they dismounted at last, they found that Uncle Heinz was living alone in the main wine barn, while Anna Maria, once again pregnant, was living in her husband's house. Perhaps with a determined effort Uncle Heinz might have rebuilt the Winkler house, but Uncle Heinz seemed scarcely to care, now slept in the main barn, and ate his meals elsewhere around the village, in houses where he was more or less welcome. Heinz Winkler had changed a bit after a year of managing the vineyards in partnership with his neighbor Klaus. He now had more an air of authority, as if to fill a vacuum left by his brother's departure fiom

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this world. He took the two young men to view his brother's grave. They crossed themselves. "Your father would have been proud of your ability with a saber," said Heinz, "but I'm not sure he would like to hear that you fought a duel over nothing." "Uncle, it was not a serious affair. The seconds saw to it that no one would get seriously hurt." "Well, let us not dwell on it. I have prepared places for you in the second barn, up in the loft where it is cleaner. I hope your fancy friend is not bothered by these modest accommodations." In fact Egon was amused, and not at all put out, as Sebastian had feared. Perhaps he would learn as much from this more humble experience as Sebastian had learned at the elaborate Hochmut estate. It made Hochmut laugh to sleep directly on straw, for him a novelty. Together the young men bathed in the same stream, almost the same spot where Sebastian had surveyed the nubile Tudi, then strode to the village, and visited the house of Anna Maria and Klaus the Hunter. "How does it go with the vines?" asked Sebastian. "Not too bad", said Klaus. "I am learning a lot from your uncle, I must admit, so I have learned to put up with his little habits as the price of my education. Anyway we are going to be able to put something of our earnings aside this year. Don't let him tell you that he can't afford to rebuild the house or that I would not help. That's not true. I'm terribly sorry about your father," putting a hand on Sebastians's shoulder. " It must be difficult for you." Klaus was right. The world Sebastian returned to was not at all the one he had left a little over a year before. Even the buildings seemed smaller, and the vineyards shorter, than he remembered them. Sebastian was now haunted by vivid memories of his father, and felt more alone in the world than he had ever been before. Even if he were to succeed spectacularly at school and in the army, with no Vati to brag to it would not mean as much. Anna Maria put on a farewell supper when the time came for their departure. At supper the visitors managed to talk Heinz into letting them have two barrels of wine to take back to school. "Uncle Heinz, you should give them some of the red, which we saved from the year mother died", said Anna Maria. Sebastian was glad for the suggestion. White was good, but in winter red was better, particularly the red of '79, which they had frequently enjoyed together. So a wagon was found which was rented for the journey, and a village lad hired to help bring the wine with them back to Graz. Now they would have enough for Vuk also, and could perhaps barter with him for more of his

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slivovitsa. The trip back to Graz was bound to be slow, since they had to wait for the wagon; but this would be compensated by their never being out of wine for the whole school year. "I almost forgot", said Heinz, who waved with both arms as the students began their journey back to school. "Greetings from your aunt." Uncle and nephew exchanged rueful smiles. Army recruiters showed up in Graz in each of the three years Sebastian studied there. He could have joined the ranks at any time. But he knew that joining the ranks as his Uncle Heinz had done was far from the right way to start a lifetime military career. Somehow he had to find a way to obtain a commission, which would cost money. He and Hochmut, being of the same age, both felt cheated by destiny as the war against the invaders continued without them. Hochmut could afford a commission at any time, but had been forbidden by his father to cut short his education. Vuk too was thwarted in his ambition to become an officer. He had been called home when his older brother died of blood poisoning. Vuk was now the heir apparent in his family and would be expected to help establish a second estate for his family on territory which had just been liberated from Turkish rule in Slavonia, lying between the Sava and Drava Rivers. Since immediate resettlement of this dangerous noman's-land was very much in Vienna's interest, rules for acquiring such frontier estates were deliberately relaxed, providing one's family was solid and Catholic. Who could say how Vuk would end up living on the frontier? Perhaps rich or perhaps dead. Progress in the war to retake Hungary from the Turks was uneven. Nonetheless Archduke Leopold was confident of divine support and determined to pursue the war. In this he had the backing of the Pope, who provided indispensable subsidies with which to pay troops. Poles had fought in the 1684 campaigns, but after that had turned to tend to their own national goals in the north. Within six months of the relief of Vienna, the Pope approved a new alliance which brought in the Venetians. The Venetian Senate launched a formidable fleet and loaded it with German mercenaries, intending to avenge themselves for the loss of Crete two decades before by seizing the Adriatic coast. Even the French, impressed by the pseudo-Crusade, signed a truce in the year after the siege which for the time being removed the threat on Austria's western front, still the main worry for the Imperial war council. As for the main task, that of retaking the great Hungarian plain, this would fall to the Austrians themselves, reinforced by troops rented from the small standing armies now being established by the Empire's

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German princes. In 1684, during the first school year at the new Graz academy, where Sebastian and Egon were cursing their fate, Imperials besieged the Turkish stronghold at Buda, just below the bend in the Danube. On this first attempt the Turks proved too strong to dislodge, so that the siege had to be lifted in the fall. In the south the war went better. At the end of the campaign season students at the academy overheard frontier officers on leave recounting their exploits on the Croat frontier, where they attacked fortresses which had stood unchallenged for decades. This was hard for the students to bear. The Sava was so close! Surely there was a place in all this excitement for willing daredevils.

VENICE, 1686 Most of the so-called "Crusaders" who had supported the wouldbe Hungarian king Thokoly against the Emperor in 1683 switched sides when they realized how successful and determined the Habsburg effort on the eastern front was becoming. In the southwest those Hungarians who had remained in Imperial service helped fight the Turks in campaigns on the Sava-Drava frontier. Campaigning in 1685 still was not decisive. But in 1686 the Imperials and their German mercenaries took Buda on the second try after a siege even longer than the one Vienna had lived through. The slaughter of the surrendering defenders reflected the frustrations of a very long siege. The same summer saw the Imperials also active in the south of Hungary, where Imperial troops fighting under Ludwig of Baden burned most of the strategic long bridge over the Drava River at Esseg (Osiyek). This commander was the same one who burned the suburbs of Vienna in 1683, before the Turks settled into their siege. In the fall of 1686, after three summers of fighting, the Imperials were preparing for a major effort the following year by forming new units and reinforcing others. General Herberstein of the Karlovac command stopped over in Graz on his way to Vienna, leaving recruiting officers behind him. Posters appeared on the streets of the Styrian capital which showed troops firing flintlocks at the fleeing enemy. The newly painted posters also showed the long blades which were now being attached to the muzzles of their flintlocks. Students at Sebastian's academy now learned the French name for them: they were "bayonets". Though they looked less formidable, they were apparently

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more efficient than the old massed pikes, so that few soldiers carried the pike into battle any more. Among the Imperial recruiting officers who visited Graz that fall was a stout and forceful colonel named Peter Berenger. Like all the recruiters, he promised glory and the prospect of promotion in the coming season to young Styrian men who could pay for a commission. Berenger himself was not a noble, but still a very striking figure who dressed in a uniform of his own design, including a broad brimmed hat topped with feathers, an embossed tunic, and a bright piece of cloth at the neck which he called a "kravat". He was himself an infantry officer but was authorized to recruit officers for horse regiments as well, which is where both Sebastian and Hochmut saw their future. Egon Hochmut wrote his father yet once again and this time received his father's permission to buy a captain's commission. His father sent a promissory note drawn on the house of Oppenheim, a wellknown banker in Vienna. This would enable young Hochmut to commit himself to report at the frontier fortress at Karlovac in the following spring to take over a cavalry squadron of 150 men. For Hochmut money was no problem. For Sebastian it was. When Sebastian wrote to inform his own uncle of the price of a commission, there was a discouraging silence of several weeks during which the recruiters had already folded their tables and left. The letter which finally arrived urged him to reconsider his plans, hinting that a civil post might be easier to obtain, and cheaper for the family. "He knows that I could never stand being a clerk", fumed Sebastian. "Why is he tormenting me this way?" "Look", said his roommate from Steyr, "I'm sure I can get my father to finance your commission on commercial terms. Y o u understand you would have to pay back the loan later when and as you can." "Unfortunately I know what paying back would mean. I would have to squeeze my own men, and deny them their pay, food, and proper clothes. Not to mention fodder for the nags I'd have to buy. I've heard all about it." "Don't be an idiot, for heaven's sake. There are sergeants who know how these things are done, and without compromising either your honor or the welfare of the squadron. Or your horses, if you get the right man." "If that's so, why haven't I heard about it?"

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"Look, your honor as a noble, since that is what you call yourself, is not at stake just because you owe some money. There are many men of good family, and I mean really good family, who lose nothing by borrowing more than they can repay, or by losing at cards, etc. etc. Money is not what honor is all about." "Then what is honor all about, pray tell? Tell me, would your father not complain if I didn't pay him back?" The two were standing together on the long wooden balcony of their academy dormitory. Other students, some of them also officer candidates, were on the balcony and drew close to them beside the railing as these friends argued. "My father", said Egon, "would much rather hear that you had actually accomplished something on the battlefield than to get back his florins, I can assure you. There is always money to be had. As for honor, you should know by now what it is, having fought a duel in your first year here." This got a rise out of the listeners, who remembered Sebastian's satisfying defeat of the unpopular Vetter. "I didn't duel for honor. I was tricked into it by my classmates." At this the listeners groaned and jeered. "Nonetheless you fought it, and that is what honor is all about." "What? Honor is all about what?" "Your name, my good man, your name. It doesn't really matter whether you are titled or not, so long as you show that you are ready to defend the Winkler name. You know, show some courage, demand your rights. Show that you don't give a damn about the consequences so long as you win the day. That is what honor is all about." Sebastian understood, but lacked conviction. That same day the two roommates agreed to look up Colonel Berenger, who was said to be still in Graz. When they found him, he was living in that part of the city which all the students knew about — the widows' district. It was there that the two friends, like so many others, had laughed and drank themselves sick, and also had gotten sick with the usual diseases, which while not so serious as they feared, worried them a lot at the time. The colonel was with a woman they knew, the gorgeously plump Agnes, whom their student crowd had nicknamed "Agony" because of the perfervid style with which she performed her office. "Fine", said Berenger, when he learned their proposition. He addressed Hochmut, with whom he already had an understanding. "Your friend is ready to buy a commission but with borrowed money. It's been done before, believe me, a lot. But if he can't produce the money now, he will have to produce it before training starts in Karlovac in March.

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Understood? Otherwise some other young fellow will sit in that saddle instead of him." Turning to Sebastian, "I presume you know how to ride as well as our friend here," and he indicated Hochmut. "As well as any dragoon must." "And you know what weapons?" "Pike drill, matchlock and flintlock drill, saber, pistols, these were all part of our training at school." "Oh, I can imagine how well you know pike drill. Well, never mind. The dragoons don't even carry pikes anyway. What about the saber?" "He's great", put in Egon. He's won a duel. "And he's not bad with pistols either." "Well, well, we shall see. It shouldn't surprise you that the main thing is the fee. Besides that, the army hopes for the best young officers it can get. Not so many want to serve as you might think. Afraid of getting their heads blown off, I should say. But that's what we're all here for, isn't it? To serve the Emperor should be our chief pride in life, even if it means carrying our heads tucked under our arms, ya? Anyway I'm glad to see you two are not the shirking type. I welcome you both to a great fraternity: You and other fine fellows like yourselves are going to take back Hungary from the Turks, and send them floating down the Danube like so many dead fish." "Here you are, young captains, have something to drink. It's on me. By the way, I have a suggestion for you." Here he slipped into a conspiratorial whisper. "If you really want do well in His Imperial Majesty's army, it's just like anywhere else in life. Everything depends on whom you know. What you should do, the two of you, is to slip away from school and go down to Venice and meet some of our commanders while they are at cards, or whatever else it is they do down there in Venice, eh? Heh, heh." Here he patted Agnes's broad behind. "When? When do you think we should go?" "Well, I should say the sooner the better. Once the regiments are back in their barracks, and in a few cases even before that, our brave commanders slip their leashes and go someplace nice for winter, where they can rest up. If not to Vienna, very likely some spa, and especially to Venice, now that Venice is at war as our ally. That's one of the nice things about being an officer. I've no doubt that for some people Carnival has already begun. If you ask around a bit in Venice, you're likely to find at least one of our top commanders — old Lothringen himself, or Max Emmanuel of Bavaria, or Ludwig of Baden, who burned the bridge at Esseg. These are the kind of men you want to meet.

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"And be careful now how you do it. You've got to use a little diplomacy. Wait until they're winning at cards, or after they've eaten and drunk and are feeling good. Then you sidle up and try to be of service. If you do it right, it can't hurt you and could possibly do you a lot of good. You won't find them in anything like an inn, as there are no good inns in Venice. They will be found staying as guests in the homes of important Venetian families. So you have to locate them when they are out in the city, on the Piazzetta, or over the water at Lido. So when you go, get to know the gaming places right away, starting with the Ridotto. Get to know these places, but only as spectators, if you don't mind my advice. If you start to gamble yourself, you're on a slippery path. Believe me, I know." The Jesuit rector was surprisingly agreeable to their leaving mid-semester, even congratulatory. After all, his new academy had as its mission to produce the officials and officers which the Empire needed. A number of other students were also signing up as officers on the southern front within the frontier service. However the rector flatly refused to discuss any refund of tuition. The school was still in difficulty and he had to prepare for their replacements. But the two of them would be free to use their room until they had to report for service. It was now the end of November. Egon's plan was to travel at top speed to Steyr, and to obtain from his father additional funds with which to make the expedition to Venice, and hopefully also the money to pay for Sebastian's commission. The two rode on rented post horses most of the way to Steyr. Hochmut branched off over roads already lightly dusted with snow. Sebastian turned in the direction of the Vienna woods, and his family's village. When Sebastian got home he went first to his sister, hoping to learn from her what his uncle's mood was. He found Anna Maria playing with little Georg, his new nephew. Georg lacked one ear, but was otherwise a happy burbling infant. Sebastian held his nephew as they talked. "Well, to tell you the truth" said Anna Maria, "Uncle Heinz has changed somewhat while you've been away at school. He's become very serious about the vineyards, and as you know, he wasn't before. I know he refused to pay for your commission, because he complained to us about it. Klaus would gladly have spoken out on your behalf, but as you know the two of them are cooperating closely now. Everything depends on their getting along. Uncle Heinz pinches every kreutzer for the vineyards, and hasn't even rebuilt our old house. He's happy to sleep in the barn. A strange man he's become, don't you think?"

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So it was through his sister that Sebastian learned how things stood. He was alone now. Would Vati have been any more understanding? He hoped so but he would never know for sure. Vati also had an economizing streak. Sebastian talked for a while with Klaus, then with his uncle, but there was no sign that anything had changed in his favor. Did Uncle Heinz resent it that his nephew wanted to become an officer, whereas he had stayed in the ranks? Possibly, but Sebastian was not the man to bring this ungenerous thought into the open. After two nights in the same barn with Heinz, Sebastian was ready to leave again, praying that his friend Egon had been more successful. And indeed he had been. When the two linked up again in Graz, where Sebastian was the first to arrive, Hochmut was in a triumphant mood. They could go to Venice with his father's blessings, though just for a few weeks. They would have to be quick. December was beginning and Hochmut had promised to try to be home for Christmas, or at least by Sylvester, to celebrate the New Year with his family. So the two bought new clothes, got rid of old ones, and placed a few other possessions in heavy trunks, which the rector would keep safe for them. The road to Venice took a week. The friends dismounted on the Veneto side, where they rested a day and had their clothes cleaned. Leaving with a hostler the horses they had rented for their return, they embarked on an early morning galley, manned by prisoners, which connected the mainland with the Serenissima. Watching the unhappy prisoners gave them their first look at the strange world they were entering, a world with rules of its own. This was their first experience at sea. The day was bright but hazy, so that Venice sprang up suddenly in the mist. They heard the winter playground even before they saw it when they were passed by a barrel organ mounted on a barge which was going full blast. They watched as other passengers dropped coins into an outstretched hat. The ferry stopped a few minutes short of the Piazzetta. The reason for this, as they soon learned, was that there was someone hanging by the neck between the high columns on the piazza, which was where the gallows were located. To land near a hanging would leave a bad first impression of the pleasure capital of all Europe. Carrying their bags, the two Alpine tourists wandered into the great public space which served as the center of politics and polite conversation in Venice. Now they gaped at the gallows. They were a little put off that they were herded by a commoner away from that side of the square where the Doge's palace stood. That part of the square was

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being used by grave circumambulating figures in heavy cloaks, walking in twos and threes. These, they soon understood, were the senators. Senators were not to be disturbed in their deliberations, especially not by tourists. Such was the custom. But the rest of the huge square was theirs to explore as long as they liked. The square was full of life along its edges, where men in dark wool clothing sat and stood in cafes or in wine shops, talking and gesticulating economically under the shelter of long rows of arches. The visitors saw they could use some guidance in this strange new world. They needed a suitable place to put up and they had already decided they needed to be near the main gaming houses, wherever those were. They had heard of a guide service called the "codega", which could get you anywhere you wanted to go, even in the depths of night, on the unlit back streets or back canals of the watery city. But before they found a guide a gondolier found them, and herded them into his elegantly crafted gondola, which waited in funereal dignity at the side of the giant piazzetta which opened to the sea. When they explained in Cristofioric Italian what they needed, the tall muscular gondolier instantly understood. They watched him as he poled his gondola from the bow, a procedure which seemed improbable until one actually saw it. Noticing their admiration, the gondolier decided to lighten his labors by doing something else which every gondolier of the time could do — he broke into song. Nor was he alone. Other gondoliers whom they passed, and even some of their passengers, picked up the melody and tried to outdo him! Their newfound gondolier convinced them that they didn't really need a guide so long as they were ready to hire a gondola. And they would need to rent a gondola to get almost anywhere they really wanted to go, since virtually every building in Venice opened to the water on at least one side. So saying, the gondolier-guide left the two at a house just off the Mercería, a commercial street which led from the Piazzetta to the Rialto, another center of Venetian social life. From there it was just a short way to the Ridotto, he explained, and they could even get there on foot. When they were shown their room on the upper floor of a huge building, the Austrians were astonished to find fine drapes, polished furniture, and soft beds, far superior to what was to be found in Austrian inns. The building seemed to be a sort of palace, part of which was rented out, part of which was apparently being kept out of bounds. Elsewhere on their floor there were other individuals living behind locked doors. Were these other boarders impoverished nobles who were

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drawing rents from their ancestral home? That was what they assumed. But since the other inmates were partitioned off and did not appear, there was no way to confirm this assumption. There was no place to eat inside the building but this was not a problem. Nearby were numerous stalls at street level which sold cooked meat, fritters, seafood, including miniature octopuses, and various pastas, virtually all new foods to the young Austrians. Most of it looked amazingly good, no matter how unusual. They started their experience with the food of Venice by ordering a dish of potatoes and fish baked in olive oil, seasoned with sage and ground hard cheese. Ottimo! Not for nothing had the Venetians lived a thousand years by this lagoon. They knew how to eat! After finishing their meal on the street, the two visitors returned to their rooms to dress in their best, so as to make their way forthwith to the Ridotto, a gaming house of international renown. By the time they arrived at the Ridotto, it was mid-afternoon. By asking frequently as they walked, they did not get lost, but found they had to pass along narrow streets which did not look promising at all. It would have been more direct to take a gondola but also more expensive, and they had decided to find their way on their own. As they rounded one corner, a pile of garbage confronted them of monumental size and memorable content. A family of pigs was picking the best from these offerings, not at all like Vienna under siege, where pigs had been the first animals to disappear from the streets, and humans had replaced them as scavengers. The face of the Ridotto was flat but carefully trimmed like so many Italian buildings, plain except for the gala gondola stations at the waterside entrance. Into the main entrance and out onto the quay there swayed a trickle of players, most of them men, and most of them masked. Sebastian asked the doorman if there were many Austrians or Germans inside. "I wouldn't know Signore", he answered, "so many wear masks these days. But you will surely hear German spoken inside, and other languages too." As they passed into the interconnecting salons with their many tables, the former students were impressed by the seeming calm which reigned, though there was an undercurrent of whispering. Both winning and losing took place in almost complete silence. There were scores of players, and a sprinkling of women. Almost all the women were masked with the peculiar beaks customary at Carnival. But why? To make it easier to flirt, like women at the balls in Graz? Because their husbands did not want them to gamble? Because they were not supposed to be out of the house in the first place? Perhaps

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mostly the latter, since by now the two visitors had noticed that there seemed to be few women of rank on the streets, and those few that there were went hobbling along on raised clogs, supported by servants so as not to fall down. All these women wore black. The two Austrians were soon drawn to a table where a game resembling faro was underway. There seemed to be quite a number of international players at this table, though no uniforms which might show a military connection, far less military rank. How were they to find anyone of interest to them in this milieu of whispering masks? In fact they never did solve this dilemma during the whole of their stay. They did meet Germans that day and on other days, and even heard a rumor that Ludwig of Baden, who had burned the bridge at Esseg, was somewhere in the city. But who could say where? Some great noble house no doubt. Or perhaps Baden did not gamble and would not show up at the Ridotto at all. So after some hours of rather dull observation the two decided to do something more interesting. Before leaving however, Hochmut lingered long enough to try the faro-like game himself. Sebastian was not tempted, not only because he had no money to spare, being in all things the guest of Hochmut, but because he was one of those lucky individuals in whom the gambling instinct burns low, or not at all. On this occasion Hochmut risked little of his money because he was on strange ground, and because he was not used to the Venetian cards, which looked completely different from those at home. He was being watched with interest by one of the dealers, who was — who knows whom? — perhaps an informer. They had been warned in advance that Venice was full of informers, that foreigners were hardly exempt from surveillance, but that little ever came of it, at least for Venice's cosseted tourists. Somewhere far behind scenes there existed ten potent magistrates who ran the city-state's security system. But who were they and where were they? It seemed that the best policy was not to worry about it. Perhaps the terrible Ten preferred simply to know, rather than to do anything about what they knew. And yet there was that man hanging between the columns at one side of the square. As they were about to leave the Ridotto, so as to make use of the remaining light, a masked figure pushed rudely past Hochmut, actually shoving the trim student officer out of the way. Hochmut reacted immediately with the brio Sebastian had come to expect from him. "Come with me Signore, we will settle this outside", hissed Hochmut in Italian. And he sped for the door in pursuit of the masked man, who was much taller than him. Gamblers looked up from the tables but no one

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made a move to follow, apparently more interested in the stakes, than in any contretemps. Outside the offender made short work of the offended. Instead of listening to the challenge which Hochmut was composing, he simply shoved Hochmut off the quay into the water, turned on his heel, and disappeared. "Dueling Venetian style" was what they decided to call the incident later. When Hochmut was lifted from the none-too-fragrant water, he was burning with rage. How could one avenge oneself on a man wearing a mask? Here was one of the peculiarities of life in Venice which seemed hardest to accept. But other tourists they met said that such wayward aggression was extremely rare, and they defended the Venetians as being polite to a fault, and accommodating to visitors, even in time of war. But for an hour or two, as they returned to their quarters where he could dry out, Hochmut fumed. His honor had been infringed and he could do nothing about it. He especially resented the fact that the incident had been witnessed by his roommate, the humble Ritter from Purgstall. Considering the matter later, Sebastian concluded that there are moments in life when one must tolerate being a laughingstock or a fool, because there is no way out of it. But he did not say this aloud. Hochmut changed his clothes, they ate again near their quarters, and sought out a gondola. It was getting dark by this time. They asked the gondolier to show them a place where they might find (ahem) ladies they could talk with. The gondolier understood immediately. "Ah" he said, "L'Onorato Mestiere". The "honored profession", as the Venetians called it, was concentrated on certain smaller canals near the Rialto, such as the Ca Rampano. The Venetian attitude seemed to be more than just tolerant. As the visitors learned gradually, Venetians really enjoyed having their prostitutes near at hand rather than simply tolerating them, with the result that the practitioners were allowed to bend the regulations at every turn simply by paying modest fines (bribes?) to agents of the Ten. The boatman poled silently up quiet watery lanes where the buildings almost met overhead. Stucco walls were covered with green moss. Cloacal aromas hovered at each turning. As he poled along, their guide provided them unasked with the kind of lullaby which might put seekers in the mood for love, or its surrogate. From unseen rooms male or female voices, some very good, replied in kind, so that the watery canal echoed like an opera theater backstage. The gondola slowed and the two friends saw in the gloaming arms and faces in the windows above. A few remarkably good-looking women, most of them with the red-gold hair then cultivated at Venice, called out in French or German,

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depending upon their instant appraisals. "Messieurs!... Gnadige Herren! ..look up here!" The two young visitors laughed and waved. They came to the end of their love canal without making up their minds. Perhaps the gondolier could recommend an address. "Certainly" said he, and the gondola turned around and soon deposited them at a doorway almost hidden in moss. He would wait for them however long it took, since it would not be easy for them, or rather impossible, to make their way back without him. A deal was struck and the young officers-to-be stumbled up poorly lit stone stairs. At the top of the stairs they were met by a coterie of well-dressed women, who studied them as they approached. They took the seats proffered. Hochmut, eager perhaps to shake off his recent humiliation, was the first to indicate his choice, a blonde woman a shade taller than himself. The couple disappeared down a candlelit corridor with many doors. Sebastian found himself studying a graceful person whose luxuriant hair was apparently treated with henna, darker than the favored red-gold of other Venetians. He gazed upon her at length, indicated his readiness, and followed her down the same creaking corridor. Her small room was lit by the failing light through an arched window. Dyed parchment was all that stood between the room and the chill of December, but in one corner there stood a tall ceramic stove like those in Vienna, which kept the room as warm as the anteroom of a public bath. There were touches of luxury in the room which were typical of Venice. Along one wall there were silk tapestries illustrated with mythic figures, including plump women falling out of their vestments. These figures were lit by a flickering candelabra hanging from the wall. As though inspired by the tapestry, there now ensued a slow ritual disrobing performed by this very real woman in the room with Sebastian. The newcomer felt his breath grow short as she revealed herself. What she unveiled was a magnificent temple of luminous flesh with entrances darkened by shadows, glowing in the ochre light. How strange, he thought, that a woman of such seeming distinction would sell herself to a man for whatever reason. He did not ask himself whether it was strange that he had agreed to buy this woman with borrowed money. His body began to respond without his bidding. He felt himself rising to the occasion. He hesitated, embarrassed that his desire was so quick and so obvious, even in the darkened room. Switching his gaze to another of the silk tapestries on the wall, Sebastian saw one figure who somehow resembled this woman he had chosen, a young matron dressed in a blood-colored robe, bearing what seemed to be an unguent jar in one hand. Under the image were the

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words: "Noli me tangere —", something biblical perhaps. Attempting a distraction, he ventured to ask who this matron was. "Can't you guess?" The visitor paused. He thought back to a colored glass window in the Carthusian church at Gaming which he had attended with his mother, a window which also showed a richly robed woman with a jar of in her hand, kneeling in a darkened cave. "Is this Magdalene?" he asked, hoping for an excuse to delay undressing. The prostitute laughed, pulled his ear, and began to deprive her shy customer of his clothes. Without comment or any sign of surprise, she grasped the upright pistil, gently tugged on it, and led him to her bed. There was no passion in her lovemaking — how could there be? Still, she seemed to enjoy what she was doing, as one might enjoy a good meal. She did everything very well, moving, changing position, deliberately and without any inhibition. She moved slowly, sensing that he liked that, breathing in his ear and into his hair, letting down her fluid, and surrounding him with compliant flesh. She was clean, not only clean but wonderfully fragrant. She had apparently used a perfume composed of imported spices which filled the dimly lit room. How fine this was, how unlike being with the unimproved widows of Graz, and other women he had known so far! Admittedly she might be diseased because of her profession, but he and Hochmut had arrived at a philosophy on this score. They had decided that men who chose soldiering must be willing to risk their lives in bed as well as on the battlefield. Life for a soldier might well be short. And so, comforted by this bit of philosophy, Sebastian breathed in this woman, tasted her, and pretended for a time that she was good and kind by nature, and that she enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed her. He was grateful. No wonder the Venetians called this the "honored profession". What other vocation could produce such relief, pleasure, gratitude? In an interval when they lay quietly, she asked him how he had learned Italian. He explained a little about his life. "I want you to come back to me", she said when he was about to leave. "I like you and I want to talk to you more. Don't worry, I'm not looking for a husband. I just like you. Ask for Magdalena. Yes! And if you don't mind, please bathe before you come here. As I am clean for you, why not be clean for me?" Sebastian felt embarrassed, even though she had made this request as politely as she could. He resolved to do as she asked. Before the room was fully dark, she had lit a candle. With the candle burning down, Hochmut was heard outside the door grumbling. "What did you do? Fall in?" Hochmut had hit it right. Sebastian had fallen .. .but into what? Did it mean anything?

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The vintner's son questioned the waiting gondolier carefully about how to return to the same address. The two adventurers were carried back to the vast palatial pension. Nearby they found a wineshop they had not noticed before. They ordered Malvasia, a Greek wine highly esteemed by the Venetians, and very different from any wine of the Austrian lands. After drinking for a while, they both admitted to being tired, but were really drunk. Turning away from this world of water, with palaces docked like ships, they took to their beds. As they turned in Sebastian could see that lamps were still blazing on the Merceria. Many people were still out. The next morning the two friends roused themselves early so as not to waste the day. They had decided in advance that they must visit the arsenale, one of the wonders of the world, judging by the way people spoke about it. The day was bright, and there was no barrier to their walking, as the arsenale was a mere half an hour away along a well-known route. They noticed that many Venetians rose late; some streets were almost empty in the early morning. On their way, they were accosted more than once by men asking to be their guide — one with a mask, possibly a noble who had lost all he had at cards, another a less appealing individual, whose wheedling tone set one's teeth on edge. Other morning wanderers were on the street as well, some speaking German, Spanish, French, — even English! As they moved along the bank toward the arsenale, the impression of the city as an island was very strong, and the thought of its thousand year history haunting. A mist-encumbered sun shone across the lagoon, beyond which there lay the remains of the watery empire which Venice was fighting to reconstruct. The arsenale was the centerpiece of that struggle, where the building and launching of galleys was a daily affair. That morning it was the busiest part of the city. Many galleys and also some larger vessels sheltered in sheds, with their prows poking out in the morning air. Some of these were being repaired after service in faraway places, others prepared for their initial launching. Still others rode at anchor, ready to move as soon as their admiral signaled the start of the new season. The Austrians asked directions to the Capitano del Golfo, hoping to get some idea of how things worked at the center of this naval empire, which was so unlike their own. The Capitano was not in his office. They got the impression, which time confirmed, that his function was little more than honorary. Perhaps the Venetian engine of war was so well greased that it needed little direction, a comforting thought, since the Venetians were their allies.

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Wandering among the bustling navvies of the port, the duo spied two galleys ready for launching. Beside the two galleys being readied stood the wretches who were to row them, all shackled. Not all the galleys of Venice were rowed by slaves or prisoners, but these galleys were. The clothes of these rough fellows were made of gray wool, filthy and in tatters, their faces likewise gray and bearded. They looked without interest at what was going on around them, as if it was all the same to them if their frail crafts returned to port or sank in a storm, as sometimes happened. "Sebastian, do you know any Hungarian?" asked Hochmut. "Maybe there are Protestants here whom the Emperor sold to Venice in order to avoid executing them." "Not a word," said Sebastian. So then they spoke German loudly, so that these men could hear. Sure enough, it got a rise out a couple of the rowers, who groaned, rolled up their sleeves, and held out filthy hands. "For the love of Christ," said one, "spare us some money. I'll pray for you while I row." "Attenzione, Signori". The boss was watching, a uniformed bosun who wagged a finger at the tourists. Clearly the oarsmen were forbidden to talk with outsiders. The two visitors turned to the boss instead. "Where are these galleys headed?" "Cattaro". That was on the Dalmatian coast, quite a distance in this cold part of the year. "But why?" The bosun, perhaps regretting that he had said as much as he had, turned his back. "Well, anyway, we are allies against the Turks. Good luck in your campaign this year!" said Hochmut. "Grazie, signori." The bosun made a half-turn as if to speak, then turned away again. Not far from the arsenale, the friends found a rather good café, which served them, of all things, whipped cream on wafers. What a marvelous breakfast! They must try to import this custom into their own country. They wandered on and decided to cross to the famous island of Giudecca, where many wealthy families maintained garden apartments and which had its own yearly festival. Even from a distance one could see barges loaded down with growing flowers. They took a gondola. But before they reached the Giudecca, they passed a hospital on a small island, part of a religious complex which also included a

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convent, and a church. From the church marvelous singing could be heard across the water — seemingly a choir of girls. Perhaps these were inmates of the convent who were not nuns but rather Venetian daughters whose innocence was under the guarantee of the Church. "No, no, not nuns", confirmed the gondolier. "Young ladies whose families have sent them there, poor little signiorine. Not for them the painful arrows of love." And he broke into song. "Can we go ashore there?" "Signore, don't you see? The Doge himself is there. No room today. But we can get closer and you can hear these little angels sing. So nicely they sing, no?" The gondolier was right. The girls were singing wonderfully, music which went directly to Sebastian's heart. He felt his throat tighten, tears brimming in his eyes, his usual response to music after he had been away from it for a while. The voices shimmered like ripples on the shining waters. This was music composed here in Venice itself for the world to wonder at. What a fortunate jewel of a city — not only beautiful to contemplate, but also the creator of so much beauty! "Who is the composer?" asked Sebastian, always more interested in such things than Hochmut. "Signore, I don't know. One of the Gabrielis perhaps. Or maybe Monteverdi. We have lots of composers in Venice, and lots of poets, librettists, playwrights, painters, architects, sculptors, uhh...artists of every kind. Any one of our thousand composers might have written that music. There's lots more where that came from." "You count Monteverdi as a Venetian?" asked Sebastian, remembering that Cristofiore had claimed him as a product of his own city. "Wasn't he from Cremona?" "Signore, a man has to be born somewhere, but if he has talent he rushes to Venice as soon as he is able." Egon was not so patient a listener as was Sebastian. He was pleased well enough by music, but not ready to sit for more than an hour of it. He asked the gondolier if he could find out if there were any Imperial commanders at the concert. Could they get closer so he could ask the other boatmen? Of course they could. So they drifted up to a bank of gondolas parked at one side of the island complex. Yes, said someone, the Venetian admiral Morosini was inside with the Doge, and had as his guest Graf Konigsmark, the hero of recent victories over the Turks in the Morea, the tip of Greece far to the south. This was not the answer that Egon had hoped for. No one seemed to know if, or where, or with whom Imperial generals from the Danube front might be staying.

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Perhaps the traditional discretion of the gondoliers was protecting their privacy. And because the church on the island was already filled to capacity, or because they were uninvited, or because the Doge was there, the two of them were not allowed to land. Disappointed in their quest for commanders of the Danube campaigns, the two again headed for Giudecca, where they could see at a distance that something was going on. When they arrived at the gardenbedecked island, they came upon a performance of commedia del arte under way in a garden which was open to the street, being watched by a crowd of over a hundred. The breaths of the performers could be seen in the air. The Austrians had great difficulty following the language, which was Venetian dialect, not the Italian that they knew. But there was so much slapstick body language that they could understand at least half of the action. The players wore masks and were

obviously

inventing dialogue and pranks as they went along. The Venetians who watched appreciated the ribaldry enormously. The women or pseudowomen onstage were equipped with enormous false buttocks and flapping breasts. The movements of the actors were broader and funnier than anything they had seen in Austria, so they stayed until the end of the performance, even contributing some small coins when approached by the players. After the commedia performance was over the friends wandered the Giudecca hoping to meet ladies from abroad, but they were not successful in this. Instead they satisfied themselves with views from new angles of the low and knobby skyline of Venice. They sat in a café and tried an aromatic aquavit called grappa, something new to them, in which raisins had been soaked. Excellent, they thought, a worthy cousin of the slivovitsa of the Croats, which their absent friend Vuk had introduced them to long ago when they had started school together. That afternoon they had the good fortune to stumble upon a Venetian commercial court which was in session. Probably no guide would have thought to take them there, since lawsuits were taken for granted as a part of the daily reality of life in Venice. A s they entered the visitors' side of the court, they saw a lawyer in action, naked to the waist and sweating despite the chill, actually beating his breast as he shouted his particulars in front of bored judges. A s they later were told, there was nothing unusual in this. The more dramatically a lawyer conducted his case before the court, the better he could be expected to be paid.

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That evening the two friends split up for the first time since coming to Venice. Sebastian wanted to return to his Magdalena, while Hochmut wanted to graze in other pastures, surprised that Sebastian preferred to return again to whence he had started. Sebastian knew better than to explain. He arrived in the right canal earlier than before. His heart was beating fast. He had timed his visit earlier because he wanted to see her better in the afternoon light, to perfect his vision of her so as to hold here in memory and to be sure that his senses were not deceiving him. He was disappointed to see another man, apparently a Venetian well up in his years, pull on a mask after leaving her room. Magdalena greeted her new admirer without surprise. A whiff of acacia mingled with the aroma of the copious spices which she used. She offered him a drink of chocolate made in the Venetian manner, a smooth and heavenly ambrosia, pale, thick, and slightly sweet. By this act, so it seemed to him, she ministered to him of her substance, like the real Magdalena. They were silent for a time as they drank. Then she stood and began to disrobe. As the silk parted, his gaze fell to what seemed to him her swollen parts. Otherwise she was as she had seemed to him the night before. Her teeth were good, though a little darkened by wine. The dark nipples were almost the color of her hair. Her hips and thighs were powerful and shapely. Her navel was perfectly round, deep and tender. A navel! She too was born of woman, like any man. His expectation filled the room. She sat down opposite him on a stool, loosely draped in the silken wrap, and contemplated her young customer. Her face, he now realized, was more kindly than pretty. She watched him closely, studying what? His youth? His confusion? He felt a powerful rush of desire — but also a sharp pang of jealousy. It was nonsense to feel jealousy over a prostitute, yet... "Sebastino, my love, you are feeling something towards me?" "No, it's all right. I'm simply cold." This was a lie. "I understand you quite well, my dear, but really you must not be disturbed. Don't deny it, Sebastino, it's to be expected what you are feeling. I take it as a compliment." Sebastian was glad that she questioned him no further but merely smiled and studied his face. Mercifully she did not laugh. She rose. Disregarding his gaze, she washed herself behind a curtain, then emerged with her hands raised beneath an upraised cascade of thick, dark, red hair. Her skin was fine, her limbs shapely and firm despite her sedentary way of life. She was almost as tall as him. Was it

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because they were almost of the same height that he had felt that they were somehow akin, somehow on the same path? She was not his age but about ten years older. Her maturity kept him on his guard. How many secrets had she hidden about her person? How many others had felt the same pangs of jealousy? Had she ever experienced jealousy herself, if so — when and whom? God only knew how many men she had known. How could she be interested in any of them? How could she be interested in him? She stood naked in front of him. "I know what you want from me, dear, but what do you want from life?" " I am going to fight the battles of my Emperor. I am going to uphold his honor, and my own." "What is this thing you call your honor? Tell me about it." This was a question for which he should find an answer easily, so it seemed to him. Surely she did not torture her other customers this way. He took a deep breath. "Well, as I understand it, an honorable man fights to protect whatever he deems of real value — his sovereign's rights, his family, the will of God, his own good name." "Oh, and how can one know the will of God?" asked the strange and desirable woman, as she massaged her breasts with ointment. She was toying with him apparently. "Am I fulfilling the will of God?" "Really, I don't know. I suppose so. I know I am grateful to you. What you do seems good to me." "But what about my honor, my woman's honor?" "Strange, but I never think about women having honor. That is my fault, I suppose. I would say that a woman's honor is at risk if she goes outside her marriage, or is raped, something like that." He was getting uncomfortable. They had moved onto unfamiliar ground. It wouldn't do to offend her, even though he was paying for her time, even if she were not serious at all but just having fun with him. She chose not to reply to him this time. She crossed the distance between them. He felt her breath on his neck once again, and abandoned himself as before to her practiced gossamer caresses, her shameless knowledge, the agreement of her wonderful body. What did it matter how many men there had been so long as he felt such well-being, such good fortune in finding her. What did it matter so long as she was truly with him now and nowhere else? They lay quietly as their breathing returned to normal. She watched his face. Had she been thinking all the while? Probably. "Listen to me, my little Sebastino. Honor was invented by men and by roosters. That's how we chickens lost our freedom. The old rooster

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crows, the silly chickens listen, and neither the rooster nor the chickens has the slightest idea of what they are talking about. Then along comes the man with the ax, and presto, finito! "Sebastino, if you ever hear a woman talking about her honor, you know she is just being foolish, and has been listening to some foolish man. Oh, we know a lot about this so-called honor in Venice — too much. Now Sebastino, what I advise you is just learn to enjoy women. That perhaps is God's will. Just don't try to own them, my dear. And it's even worse if they own you. If you beget a child with a woman and you know it is yours, be happy with that. Instead of trying to own women, just support them, just help them. Enjoy them as they are. Women are people. They can't guarantee that they will always love you just as you don't know if you will always love them." "Is this your philosophy?" "That is not all of what I believe, my dear, it is just what occurs to me to tell you now. If we come to know each other better we can talk more about these things which we Venetians understand better than anyone else." "More serious things?" "There is nothing more serious under the sun than what I have been saying just now." She smiled warmly and kissed him warmly. He stayed late and felt himself drift in and out of sleep. He did not want to leave and she did not ask him to leave. He could not pull himself away from this magnetic creature. Finally he knew he must return to his lodgings. Hochmut would be wondering, and perhaps would come looking for him. He felt himself to be under a spell. He must regain his identity and resume his normal life. He gave her some coins. She accepted his coins but did not count them. On the threshold she startled him by plucking a hair from his chest while gazing into his face. He felt undone. "You are a nice man, Sebastino. Come back when you can." During the three weeks they were there the two friends attended a few opera-ballets, where they watched the Venetians eat, drink, flirt, and gossip their way through performances, almost oblivious of proceedings on stage. At one performance they bought seats next to a party of Englishmen, who hooted and guffawed at the women on stage, at the way they deliberately left their skirts awry, perhaps to amuse the foreigners. The operas were not all interesting, and not all good music but this never prevented audiences from enjoying them as social occasions.

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The two Austrians took more interest in churches than they did at home. They found services in Venice to be as elaborately choreographed and composed as if they were a form of theater. Churchgoers were scarcely more orderly than opera audiences. They did not eat and drink, but they did whisper continually and move around. Almost daily there were processions of some kind circling some church. These were led by deacons carrying relics, and offered an occasion for pious outbursts and weeping on the part of wives and mothers who had too much to bear in life. The few men who joined these processions were less visibly moved than their womenfolk. One day the visitors chanced upon a gorgeous procession of floats headed by the aged Doge, who was seated on a dais as it was carried from his gilded barge. The Doge, so they heard from a Venetian standing near them, was not all as powerful as they might imagine, but instead remained firmly under the thumb of the Senate in all matters of consequence. The purpose of this particular procession was to give thanks for Venice's recent triumphs in the Morea, where as husband of the seas Venice was more fortunate than any could have hoped against its old Moslem rival. It seemed as if every guild in the city, starting with the navvies of the arsenale, had their place in the procession. It impressed the two how readily the Venetian public could enjoy themselves without going to extremes, as if poor people and rich people were all agreed on everything touching the city's fame and fortune. There was no glimpse of that famous red lantern which would have signaled the approach of the city's magistrates, on the lookout for disorder. On this historic occasion all was well ordered and well received, enthusiastic, yet without any excesses. Sebastian returned to the mysterious Magdalena daily, sometimes accompanied to that house by Egon, but usually not. The bonding pair talked about life, death, and God's intentions for his human children, and some matters which Sebastian had never discussed with any other person. Through all this he had the recurrent thought that her long experience with men had given her a bias which he could never fully trust, though she obviously enjoyed their sessions, and talked intelligently about life. After a time she explained to him something about her own origins. She was the daughter of a distinguished family! From her earliest years she had taken an interest in the career of Mary Magdalena, the intimate of Jesus, and had resolved to live as she imagined that famous lady had lived. With Jesus' companion as her inspiration, she had lived licentiously as soon as she was able, which in time caused her tears of remorse. When they found

- 1 4 6 out, her family abandoned any plans for her involving their lineage and estate. Surprising to Sebastian, the family now seemed to accept her obsession. She said she met with her brothers now and then when she returned to the family's rural palazzo on special occasions. It sounded to Sebastian as though the brothers had their own odd ways, and were hardly devoted to the family's welfare except when some action was unavoidable. "What about this remorse?", Sebastian wanted to know. Oh, yes, remorse. It had started with tears while she was still just a girl. She once passed much time crying and praying, but not any longer. It would disturb her clientele. On certain days she visited a charitable house on the isle of Giudecca which she helped to support. The aim of the house was to redeem maidens from the very style of life which she had chosen for herself. She approved of redemption f o r them, but she was not herself ready to retire. Of course one day she would have to, but not yet. "It is difficult to change one's way of life suddenly, don't you think?" she asked. "I have learned much about the world in my profession, and am often the most informed person in my family on issues of public consequence. I learn amazing things from my clientele. N o , I don't like them all equally well", she said, anticipating his question, "but I find most men sympathetic. So long as they don't start to think that they own me. And I teach them to wash themselves if they want to come back. Luckily for me, with you this has not been a problem." Sebastian's understanding of her evolved a long way before he had to depart Venice. The woman who had seemed so mysterious at the start began gradually to appear simply more eccentric instead. Her views on relations between men and women were however disturbing. Surely people don't really live like that. Surely marriage is not just a casual agreement between friends. What would become of the children? How would she know anyway? She was not a woman who would ever be anyone's wife. Instead of children, she had her waifs on Giudecca. Still he knew he could never forget her. Despite the ten or so years difference in their ages, she had always listened to him attentively and treated him with respect. He was going to miss her spices, her perfect navel, her kindness, even her surprising opinions! It was silly really, how deeply he had come to feel about this woman whose profession after all was pleasing men, all kinds of men. But what was he to her? He would never know.

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La commedia e finita. I liked him, as I have liked many others. Men are the same in some ways, but different in other ways. I liked his blond hair and good looks. Also he is tall, which I like, and quite clean really, once I mentioned the matter to him. Nothing special in bed, but that is the least of my worries. I was pleased when he came back to me, what woman wouldn't be, such a young fellow? This was something which went beyond the usual. It is good for me to know someone a bit, so I can relax and stop worrying about bad surprises. What if he had been a Venetian, and not a foreign tourist? Would that have made a difference? No, I don't think so. Suppose I brought someone like him home to my family and said "I'm going to marry this one." I'm sure they would laugh themselves sick, and in the end so would I. No, it's better this way. Not everyone is cut out for marriage. I've made my bed near the Rialto and I don't mind it. It's my life. But he did have a special quality, this Austrian fellow. Let's see, what exactly? I think he has not known many women, certainly fewer than Venetian boys his age. He looked at me as though he were expecting to learn something about the ways of God by going to bed with me. That's it! He considered me mysterious, as if I have special knowledge of some kind. But there is nothing mysterious about me. It's all in his head. Still, let him think so, let them all think so, these men. He '11 go away from Venice now, and he '11 think of me, I know he will. He may never come again, but when he thinks of Venice, he '11 think of Magdalena. Good, let him remember me that way. It snowed during their last week in Venice. The canals had not frozen, and instead released their cloacal mists and vapors day and night. The two young men never did find the Danube commanders they were looking for. But otherwise there was little to regret. They had had the time of their lives and felt they knew more about the world, and certainly more about the Venetians! It was all money well spent! Except that one morning Egon woke up worried about a red sore which had appeared near the head of his penis, which he showed to Sebastian. He was mightily relieved some days later during their ride back into Austria when the sore disappeared.

PART TWO KARLOVAC,

THE DANUBE AND THE BALKANS

KARLOVAC 1687 The road through Styria toward Upper Austria was already drifted with snow as the two riders began their journey towards the Hochmut estate. Hochmut's own mount had to be killed after breaking a leg in a snow drift, so he bought another, a battered nag but better than nothing. Between them they had almost no money left. Since they had traveled light, and were not carrying bedding, they had to settle for what villagers could offer, and soon were covered with welts left by fleas and other invisible things. They both knew the trick of throwing fleas into hot water, but where could one find hot water in all this whiteness? They recalled an opera aria that they had heard in Venice together: "When Pain from Bliss is Born, and Love to Pain Transformed". They invented German words to put it to and sang it endlessly as they struggled back into snowbound Austria, laughing at their own misery. As they passed through Styria, there was some autumn slaughtering still going on — the last pigs of the season. At one village they found an old woman standing by the snowy road, facing away from the village. They asked what was wrong. "Can't stand the sight of blood, and can't stand the shrieking." To take a break from their exhausting ride, and hoping for food, the two dismounted and went into the village. There they saw pig carcasses hanging side by side, pink inside after being bled, and spread-eagled as though crucified. While some villagers dressed the hanging pigs, other villagers had started to make blood pudding, but not soon enough for the two travelers to enjoy it. After resting a bit, and eating hard bread and cheese, they mounted up and hurried on. Once they crossed the River Enns and neared the town of Steyer, Hochmut saw a familiar road, gave a cry of joy and whipped up his nag. The first thing they would do, they agreed, was to call for hot water. For days the flea-bitten duo were scarcely able to hold their reins with their freezing hands. It had been a long time since they had changed their clothes and they could smell themselves even in the cold. They were

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not presentable, they agreed, but perhaps could escape notice if they approached the Hochmut estate from downwind. Delayed by the snow, they arrived just after Christmas, instead of just before as originally planned. Hochmut's family showered lamentations upon him, basting him for self-indulgence and belittling his excuses. Fortunately there was plenty of food left over from Christmas in the kitchen of the large Hochmut household and plenty of help getting at it. Like other grand households, the Hochmuts were served for a few years at a time by young villagers of both sexes who would later leave the household as their opportunities arose to marry and perchance take over a holding which they had inherited or married into. There had been a crop failure in that region, so that recruits for the household were momentarily more plentiful than usual. Among them were some pretty girls whose merriment and nubility could scarcely be concealed under becoming female livery. Fresh from their Venetian experience, the two travelers gazed with enhanced awareness upon these promising surroundings. Smoking meats appeared, so that the ravenous riders began their recovery in the kitchen, scratching as they ate. They ate pheasant and dumplings drowned in pheasant gravy. Excellent! Wonderful! Sebastian wondered how it was that he had never eaten pheasant before. Meanwhile water was being heated and blankets brought so that they could wait in a side room with a fire going while their clothes were being washed and dried at fireside. They conspired to expose themselves quite by accident in front of giggling servant girls carrying in basins of hot water. Sebastian waited alone after their bath while Egon talked with his dapper father in the long library that was Hochmut Sr.'s pride. Sebastian knew the conversation involved him, since he and Egon had been discussing his prospects for weeks. Hochmut Sr. would not be surprised by the debt Sebastian had incurred with his son, and would be ready to propose a solution. It was understood in advance that Sebastian was to take an army commission financed by Egon's father, and would go to the army in the company of his academy roommate. He would pay back his debt somehow (he could not yet foresee how), from money advanced to pay for the new unit he was to organize. The immediate source of the funds was the Imperial War Council, which had received a subsidy from the Pope to continue the war against the Turks. That was the plan so far.

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When Sebastian was called into the warm library, he was wearing dry but slightly shrunken clothes smelling of wood smoke. Hochmut Sr., as usual elegantly dressed in velvet and lace, was seated behind an inlaid table, not far from a glowing fireplace. Beside him stood a short, middle aged man in village winter garb, holding a widebrimmed hat of the Wallenstein type. The man was watching Sebastian intently. Apparently he was not a noble, and as it turned out not a family member either. This stranger, Sebastian now learned, was Jakob Fuss, and he was to be part of the bargain cooked up between the Hochmuts, Sr. and Jr. Fuss, so Sebastian heard later, had saved Hochmut Sr.'s life from an enraged bear during one of the high hunts that this family favored. The father acknowledged that he had a debt to the old soldier, who like Sebastian's Uncle Heinz, had served long ago under Montecuccoli, a general ennobled for his services in Hungary. Fuss was hoping to go back into the army, this time as Sebastian's sergeant. His long experience with infantry would be invaluable for Sebastian, the new commander of a dragoon company still to be recruited. As for Fuss, he hoped to improve his own prospects with savings from the subsidy money, though most of these savings would go to Sebastian. Fuss was ready to show the new officer how this was done within the very liberal standards of their times. When Sebastian heard the quantity of florins that the Imperial War Council was prepared to provide in order to raise the new regiment, then divided by ten to arrive at the figure that pertained to his own new company, he was surprised. It seemed a lot. At least it was a sum he had never dealt with before. On the other hand he learned that out of that amount a company commander would have to provide wages for his men, the costs of purchasing weapons, horses and fodder, and at times quarters allowances. From their wage, soldiers would in turn pay for their own food, clothing, and lodging, either by having it deducted or by paying in coin. Weaponry was purchased from regiment. Would that really be enough money for one year's operations, he asked. "Never you mind, sir, it will suffice, you'll see", said Sergeantto-be Fuss in a hoarse whisper. "I can guarantee it. I know all the tricks and I'll show you how it's done." Sebastian had to strain to hear what Fuss was saying, and wondered how it was that he couldn't speak more loudly. Was the man sick? This was not something he would say in front of Hochmut Sr., who seemed to be waiting for his reaction. After all it was the only offer on the table and he knew that this so-called 'Sergeant' Fuss was part of the bargain.

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"Very good", said the prospective dragoon captain. "I will look to you for advice on all matters relating to our new company, and especially on how we are to make our livings out of it. When do you advise that we start out to join this new regiment?" "Why, didn't we mention it?" said Hochmut Sr. "You'll be having to leave almost immediately, by Sylvester morn at latest, as sadly so must our Egon. His is an established regiment waiting for him at Karlovac. Your regiment doesn't actually exist yet. But since your regiment must be ready to campaign this summer, you will have more than enough work to do between now and then, you and Sergeant Fuss. Right Sergeant?" "Quite right, your honor", came the hoarsely whispered reply. "We should leave after mass on Sunday, weather permitting." The sergeant then bowed to his benefactor and excused himself. Hochmut Sr. wanted to honor his son's friend with a chess game. Sebastian accepted but warned his host that his son always beat him. The elder man smiled. He imagined that Sebastian was exaggerating his ineptness. But during the game that followed it become clear to him that Sebastian was only telling the truth. The father delayed the kill for some minutes, then ended the game crisply. "Never mind", said the master of the estate. "Well, young Sebastian, there's still plenty of time before supper". "I hear you're a great saber man. Much more important than chess, wouldn't you say, Egon?" He turned to his son, who had been watching them with amusement. "He had me as a chess teacher, so I was careful not to teach him too much", said Egon gracefully. Rather than more chess, Hochmut Sr. now proposed a bout with foils, surprising his son, who had almost never seen his father fence. Sebastian had used the foil a lot before taking up the saber and was sure he could show the older man a thing or two. When news of the bout spread through the great house, the servants of the large household came to the doors of the dance salon they were using to peek in. To the astonishment of both Sebastian and Hochmut Jr., the father was a past master with the foil. He quickly punctured Sebastian's self- possession without actually hurting him physically. "Thunderweather!" burst out Egon in admiration, "I never realized." When the two duelists began to overheat, they agreed to lay aside the foils and play cards until supper. To the astonishment of the younger men, Egon's father also excelled at cards, and knew all the games current at Venice. How was that possible? Surely he must have learned a lot while they were at school.

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When they were again alone, Sebastian questioned his constant companion about Fuss. Egon told him that as far as he knew, Fuss's voice was gone for good. That rasping whisper had been his normal voice since a bear had clawed his throat in that hunting incident involving Hochmut Sr. But Fuss had recovered. The reason he was now on the market as a sergeant-in-waiting was that he had been ruined, having lost all his possessions in a fire started by lightning. This was on top of losing his wife and children through epidemic, so that like Job, he had been beaten down to the ground, and now was trying to rise again. If he hadn't earlier spent all his savings buying exemption from his dues to Hochmut Sr., he might not have had to resort to the military option. But alas he had bought the exemptions and so no longer had the means to save himself all this trouble. "But that's ridiculous", said Sebastian. "How can I have a noncom whose voice won't carry to the end of a library table, much less to the end of a parade ground." Egon conceded that this didn't make the best sense. Probably Sebastian would have to find a soldier with a far better voice who could relay Fuss's commands to his company. In any case, it was no good trying to reject him on these grounds. Very likely Fuss meant more to Hochmut Sr. than did any young Styrian with a brand new commission. So they dropped the subject for the time being and instead turned to shaking their heads over the range of Hochmut Sr.'s accomplishments. An interview with Fuss the next day centered on preparations for their journey. This time they would be traveling with a cart, driven by Fuss, loaded with everything they could think of, including bedding. They would stop at Graz on the way to Karlovac and would pick up clothing and other personal objects that they had left in the rector's care. They were technically truants, and would not complete their fourth year of study. But the rector was not displeased to learn that they had already found places in the Imperial forces preparing for the summer campaign. The primary aim of the academy was after all to train officers and officials for the Emperor's service. Sebastian felt the need to leave the Hochmuts and stop at his own home near Purgstall. The Winkler village was only a half-day's ride off the route to Graz. He made his apologies to Hochmut Sr. and the three travelers agreed to meet at Graz the following week. The rector, they were sure, would let them use their room on a temporary basis, especially because he had made it clear that there would be no refund of tuition for the remaining months of the year.

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As Sebastian approached his old village he reproached himself with his neglect of the family. He had not returned more than once a year, yet his uncle's support for his education had never faltered. He slowed his horse to gaze upon the hat-like roofs of the snow-laden village. A few neighbors out to tend their animals recognized him and shouted their greetings. He could not help laughing in delight. It was nice to be remembered. But he could feel that he had changed, or that they had changed. He found the village smaller than he remembered it from the last visit. He was now the best-educated man in the district! He would not find it easy to communicate even to his family how differently the world now looked to him. Despite daily chapel services at the academy, his own grip on religion was now weaker, instead of stronger. Moreover he had heard discussions of Imperial policies and church politics that his family and his village had no inkling about. But these were only some of the many ways in which his understanding of the world now differed from that of the seventeen year old who had fled to Vienna. By chance the first family member he met was his sister Anna Maria, with his own three-year-old niece clinging to her skirts. His first move, even before greeting his sister, was to pick up the tot and try to kiss her. But Little Resi was not having anything to do with this leather clad stranger. She protested noisily, reaching for her mother, to whom Sebastian now turned his attention. "Sebastian, my dear," said Anna Maria, "watch out for your uncle. He is not in the best of moods, even at Christmas time. We were hoping you would show up, though we guessed that you might go home with your friend Egon after Venice. Uncle Heinz and my man Klaus have been arguing. Uncle thinks Klaus does not care enough about how wine should be made and just wants to make money out of it. But the truth is if you ask me, he is sorry that papa and he gave so many vines to Klaus when we were married. Myself I don't care but I wish they would not argue. Also Uncle drinks too much and is now fatter and cannot do as much with women as he used to. I think that has been bad for his mood. He won't talk about it but I notice he doesn't visit so much around the neighborhood as he used to. He refuses to blame it on wine, though he should. Sebastian, wouldn't it be nice if you stayed here and could keep the peace between them? We all miss you." Sebastian carefully considered his response. "I'm sorry, Anna, but the die is cast. I am to take command of a dragoon company at Karlovac and fight for the Emperor this summer. Please look at this

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positively. Who knows, perhaps I will have a chance to distinguish myself and get promoted. This could help the family." "I just want you to come back alive", said his sister. "Come in. I'll call Uncle Heinz." But Sebastian preferred to look up his uncle in the barn by himself as he had done on earlier visits. He wanted to get a sense of how this strange, wine-bibbing, skirt-chasing bachelor was now living, and how his views might have changed. Ripples of laughter greeted Sebastian as he crossed the village and approached the main wine barn which Uncle Heinz had made his home for the last few years. He could hear his uncle's distinctive deep hee haw, but who were the other celebrants? Was this really the melancholy man his sister was complaining about? Opening the heavy barn door, the returned nephew tried to make sense of the gathering inside. Apparently the people inside were itinerant players, three men and a ribald woman with wild blonde hair whose skirt happened to be lofting just as Sebastian stepped into the barn. They had all been drinking, clearly, and two of the three men had lost their balance and were now lying on top of barrels. To whom did the woman belong, he wondered. Was she announcing her availability, or what? It had taken him years to read women's intentions but the raised skirt was hard to miss. "Sebastian! Home from the wars! Oh no, I'm wrong. He's on his way to the wars." His portly uncle surprised Sebastian with his affectionate mood. He embraced his nephew, releasing a cloud of wine fumes mixed with something else equally yeasty, then peered into his face. "Ah, you're wondering who my new friends are. Well, they were just in the good town of Lunz, where almost the whole populace enjoyed their performances after the Christmas masses were over. They say they're very funny. That's by their account. We were just discussing prospects for a performance at Purgstall. But whether or not they do a performance in Purgstall, I've invited them to stay with me until they move on. As an old soldier I know the value of a good barn, and it seems they do too." "Not all barns have such charming livestock as yours," put in the ribald woman. " Are you really going to tell me you are related to this handsome young fellow?" "Sebastian, you arrived not a moment too soon. This great actress is ready for anything it seems, but I, sadly, am not", said his uncle. "Would you kindly do the honors? Show her what you have learned in Graz. Dancing! Surely she would like to dance whatever they showed you at the academy." The actress cheerfully agreed to this, upon

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which the only one of the mummers who remained on his feet began to beat out a rhythm on an empty barrel. For a while the two dancers pretended to be at a ball, while the other mummers guffawed from their fallen positions. It was decided that Sebastian would stay with them that night and sleep in the barn on straw. He was at first out of tune with the mood of the revelers, but after some wine-bibbing of his own, began to approach their state of merriment. As evening came, Sebastian saw an opportunity to talk seriously with his uncle, explaining to him that this was no ordinary school year break, and that he had been offered a commission. The bad part, he thought, was that they would lose the rest of the year's tuition. Uncle Heinz was not dismayed. "Sebastian, think nothing of it. There is a certain amount of unavoidable waste in life. As for the commission, I suppose I should envy you, because I could never afford one. I ate a lot of crap, the customary crap, for lack of one. But that's all now in the past, and I wouldn't now accept a commission even to be a general, even to be commander-in-chief. But that's my life. You must lead yours. God bless you my boy. Bring us victory and get Hungary back for us." Wine, memories of days past, and a real affection between these surviving Winklers brought on more good-natured aromatic hugs. The next morning Uncle Heinz offered Sebastian his choice of horses. But none looked better than the one he was already riding. Sebastian did not however refuse the handful of florins that his uncle gave him. Now in a cheerful mood, Sebastian went back to his sister's house and talked with her and with Klaus, while flirting with Resi from behind his hands until the child started to laugh. Klaus was adamant that Uncle Heinz ought to step back and stick to the carting contracts, and leave him in charge of all the vines. But if Sebastian should ever change his mind, he was welcome to return home and become partner number three. "After all", said the hunter, "we lived through the siege of Vienna together. God in Heaven, that was something!" Sebastian left his village late that morning after a final farewell to his uncle and the humorous blonde. The blonde chided Sebastian for missing the upcoming performance. "My dear," said the departing hero, I shall always remember you as a superb performer." They all of them laughed, smote their foreheads, and slapped their thighs. Two days later, in Graz, Sebastian found his fellow travelers waiting for him at the academy. They had just burned some of Hochmut's old clothes, after giving some away. Egon could afford such things. Soon he would dress as a cavalryman should, and would wear a

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cuirass, a wide belt that crossed over one shoulder, boots up to his thighs, and would always have a saber at his side. With Fuss's help, Egon had already packed the wagon they would use to carry their things to Karlovac. Egon told Sebastian that Father Rolf wanted to talk with him alone. Snow was falling when Sebastian found Rolf in his simply furnished room, warming his backside at the stove while reading. "You ran away when the time came to cut firewood this year, so 1 can't thank you for keeping me warm." They made jokes about the school. Then the tone changed. "Sebastian, you are at a crossroads in your life. Speaking frankly, I'm not sure you've made the right choice, though I understand why you wanted to become a soldier." " A n officer", replied Sebastian, thinking of his uncle's recent remarks. "Of course, an officer. But I wonder what will happen to you when the killing starts. I'm not sure this is the right path for you at all, though of course you will be rewarded for doing it by our worldly authorities. How will bloodshed affect you when the going gets rough? How will it affect your Catholic faith, I wonder?" "Father Rolf, Christians have been killing each other on the battlefield for hundreds of years without it endangering their faith, as far as I know. I think I will bear up as well as the next man. And these are not even Christians w e will be fighting. Is it not our duty as Catholics to kill Moslems? Think of what Marco D'Aviano would say. Kill them or convert them!" "I wish it were so simple. Moslems are God's children too, just misguided. So much depends on you. W e can't know what conclusions most men draw from their experiences in war because in general they don't talk about them. Your Uncle Heinz is a good example. Did he ever tell you how his soldier's life affected his religious faith? No. And I'm afraid a soldier's services, however brave and well meant, are not what the Church calls good works. Oh I know what you will say — that the Pope himself is financing this campaign, and that is true. But the Pope doesn't know you and I do." "Oh, and do you not think I am predestined to go to heaven?" "I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing. Since when have you given thought to predestination? " "With all due respect, Father, Egon Hochmut and I have discussed your own case seriously, and have decided that you are probably one of those clerics who believe in predestination."

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"Well, I am impressed. I suppose you have heard some people say that I am a Jansenist, but if I were, do you think I would be allowed to teach in a Jesuit school? Do be careful, won't you, what you say about people! But my real concern, Sebastian, is not for my situation in this world of ours, but for your situation in the next world. Let us suppose for a moment that I have indeed thought of you as being among those elected for salvation, let us say that." "Oh good, but how so?" "It's not something I will try to support with logic, though I believe it nonetheless. Let us say that it will hurt my eyes if you return home a hero if this means killing people, even Moslems. I warn you to look after your soul" "But if I am of the elect, it doesn't matter what I do, am I right?" "All I can say, Captain, is that your behavior must reflect who you are. If you are of the elect, as I believe, then you have no business on the battlefield. You'd be far better off in some other branch of state service, even if you have little appetite for it." Sebastian felt a thrill in being addressed as "Captain", despite the priest's misgivings about his choice of paths. This saintly man, the priest of Sebastian's childhood, had baptized him and taught him Latin. It was a revelation that he considered Sebastian to be among those elected for salvation without regard to his good works. Rolf had never talked theology with Sebastian before beyond the customary catechism, and only now was Sebastian beginning to have a sense of how far his childhood priest might have departed from dogmas approved by Rome. The "captain" would have to consider this strange matter of election for salvation when he found himself alone. As they parted, Father Rolf told Sebastian that he would pray for him. Sebastian accepted the priest's blessings, feeling as he did so that Father Rolf was trying to read his mind. They then discussed Sebastian's family back at Purgstall. From what was said one had the feeling that Father Rolf did not regard the entire family as being elected for salvation. They parted, who knew for how long, the priest standing in his door watching his former pupil, parishioner, neighbor and student walk away for what might be the last time in this life. Sebastian joined Egon in order to find Fuss, whom they had promised to lead to the widows' quarter. They loaded the cart for their departure the next day, putting it near the kitchen where the cook could keep an eye on it. They then rode across the bridge into town with Fuss riding the carthorse, and turned south inside the walls toward the widows' quarter, the same route the two roommates had so often tramped

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on foot when they were students. When they arrived, they caused a stir among the regulars, who had not seen them for quite a while. The newly minted captains sensed that the gymnasium students they found drinking in their usual haunts were looking at them differently now that their status had changed from civil to military. The widows seemed impressed as well and there was much flattery and repartee. "Where is your uniform? I'll bet you'll look really handsome." "No more handsome than I do without." "You mean without your uniform, or without your clothes?" The room rippled with laughter. "Without my clothes. You understand I have to wear a scabbard even when I have no clothes on." "Oh, really, trying to frighten us? Let's see what you have in that scabbard." "Only too happy to show you. Any of you ladies want a fencing lesson?" First the new captains made sure that Fuss found what he was looking for, and then made their own choices. Sebastian could not help thinking back to Venice. Whoever said that women were all alike was a fool. When would he ever find another woman so pleasing as the mysterious, or was it the eccentric Magadalena? But he couldn't go through life looking for her. The road to Karlovac was long, and the cart, which was not the best, had to be repaired more than once. They passed through Marburg and crossed the Drava River, then through Zagreb, crossing the Sava River, both of them handsome towns with reasonably good lodgings. They were on some nights guests at monasteries, which they came to prefer for their relative cleanliness. Rather suddenly the faces, the manners, the dress, even the smell of the burgers and peasantry changed as they passed south into Croatia. They were now among Slavs, Catholics like the Austrians, but different. The Croats usually had Hungarian landlords; they recognized the Austrian archduke as their king, yet were hostile to the idea of being ruled from Vienna. Croat villagers generally spoke no German, though most nobles they met did, since German was the language of Habsburg administration. The Austrians now felt themselves among strangers, despite their still being in a Habsburg province. Croatia was not a part of the grand tour that was expected of young nobles who went in for education. Everyone they met could guess without being told who these strangers were, where they were headed, and why. They met other junior army officers going to their units on the road south of Zagreb and fell in with them. These fellows were not scholars, but rather the type of

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nobles who rode to hunt with their dogs in full voice, and who signed their names with some difficulty. From them they learned that a campaign along the Drava was being planned for early summer. This made Sebastian anxious, for he knew how much there was to accomplish before the campaign started. When they first caught sight of the fortress of Karlovac, guarding the south bank of the River Kupa, the Austrian trio stopped their horses to study it. The fortress and the town within it lay on flat land, close to the river that they were guarding. Even though it was already a century old, the fortress was not some old vertical stone walled relic from centuries ago that could be blown through in a jiffy. Instead it looked a hexagonal star with sharply angled, steeply sloping walls almost in the modern Vauban style, immediately bringing to mind lessons on military architecture which the two friends had suffered through at school. The walls of the Karlovac fortress were not high compared to old style castles, but thick, solid and earth-filled, and carefully laid out so that fire from each wall could rake the adjoining walls, as well as the moat surrounding them. The effect was formidable, as intended. No wonder that Karlovac had never been attacked! Sergeant Fuss approved. He had seen modern fortresses like this in the north of Hungary, but had not known that Karlovac was constructed in the same way. Urged on by their young companions, the trio crossed the wooden bridge over the Kupa, and approached the walls of the fortress where they were questioned at the gate by the guards on duty. In the center of the town, which had been laid out on a grid, there stood the massive building which housed the Generalitat, the military headquarters of the Croatian region. The building was several stories high, with rows of severely trimmed windows. Before it was a square where troops could be reviewed, and next to that a church. The square was almost empty. Sebastian felt a growing anxiety. How does one present oneself? The two new captains went in together, leaving Fuss outside to watch their goods. The interior was dimly lit and cold — colder than the square outside. They were directed by the guard at the entrance to an office at one end of a ground floor corridor. They could see someone moving around in front of a fireplace. At a table on one side of the room sat a cadaverous personage, his black wig framing thin sunken cheeks. This turned out to be Colonel Graditch, the adjutant of the Karlovac garrison. He was the only senior officer in Karlovac at the time, and the only senior officer the newcomers would see for many weeks, since the

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other ranking officers were on leave on their respective estates, or at Vienna, or still taking the waters somewhere. Karlovac, they learned, was commanded by the president of the war council at Graz, who seldom visited here. The two new captains might never meet or even catch sight of the real commander. Graditch shouted with satisfaction when the two introduced themselves, banging on the table with his fists. "Captain Hochmut, your company awaits you. They are stationed within the fortress, not far from here. Yours is an established regiment with an excellent record. They played a big role at Buda last year, where they joined the final assault on foot, not the way the cavalry prefers to fight, but they did it very well. But even an established unit needs continuous discipline. Only some of the company commanders of your regiment are here, and your arrival is very timely, very welcome. Please meet with your fellow officers, then with your subordinates, and see to the welfare and discipline of your men. Above all please be sure they are not involved in any rackets that could bring discredit on your regiment. Your company is I think now short of horses, and you will have to see to that when the snows melt. Meanwhile I think you might want to help your dragoon friend here, who is the man with the real problems. "Captain Winkler, you seem to have a funny name! But there is nothing else which is funny about you I'm sure. You have your work cut out for you, Captain. Did you bring a non-com with you? It was my understanding that you would. You are the first of the new dragoon captains to make his appearance, a situation that commends you already. As you know, your regiment is just now being formed for the new campaign season. Most of the recruiting will be done by your regiment as a whole, and that is the regiment's problem. However there are no buildings in which to house the regiment as yet, not your company either. So the first thing you will have to do is to recruit a pioneer team of at least ten men to start building barracks outside the walls, in fact well away from the walls, since fodder and pasture are always in short supply for our horse-mounted units. And the further you are away from the walls, the nearer you will be to a supply of wood which is suitable for building, or for firewood. An immediate reconnaissance of your situation is in order. The snow is not very deep, so this is not so difficult." "If it please the colonel (Sebastian was not yet sure how to address a superior officer), "could you give some advice about recruiting? I'm sure our good sergeant Fuss knows something about the matter, but he is new in these parts. How long will the recruitment

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period be? What advance of pay should I offer? And in which direction shall we head in order to recruit? Where can we draw provisions for ourselves and whatever men we are able to find?" Sebastian was beginning to feel the full weight of his responsibilities, and so far he did not like the feeling very well. "Most such questions are routine. I will have our quartermaster explain them to you. Moreover, Captain Hochmut here should be able to help you, if he is willing. His situation is less demanding than yours, and I suspect he will have enough time on his hands so that he can accompany you. However, about the recruiting, I'm glad you asked, because there is one sensitive matter of the utmost importance." "Sensitive?" "Yes. You see, most of the peasants hereabouts are under obligation to their landlords, to whom they owe various taxes and dues. If you were to go recruiting in the wrong villages, there would be trouble for sure. Don't think for the moment that our Archduke and Emperor is so all-powerful that he can trample on the rights or interests of his nobles, especially his Croatian and Hungarian nobles, whom he needs now more than ever. Yes, I see you are puzzled, but that is because you don't understand our situation yet. Be patient. Besides these Croat peasants there is another population hereabouts with different origins. They call themselves Vlahs, but they are really Rascians, or Serbs. They are herders. Some of them crossed over to our side of the Sava long ago. Wherever the Turks drove out the Hungarians, the Vlahs came in. These people are great fighters, which is why those who have been around for some time have been organized into a frontier defense system. From these older frontier Vlahs we demand military duty instead of the taxes that their Croat neighbors pay. Surely you must have heard of them?" "Well, yes, heard of them. You mean that my company will be made up of Vlahs?" "Not so fast, Captain. Each of these organized Vlah villages has a duty to defend our province. Instead of paying taxes, each village sends out its quota of fighters when called upon, to fight under their own officers. Meanwhile the elders and some of the brothers stay at home to take care of the household. But — note that I say but. Most of these villages have only one or two households that are very large — father, sons, grandsons, you name it. So there are always a few young men here and there who are at loose ends. Voila ! These are your recruits.

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They will be surprised to hear that you are authorized to recruit them instead of their being recruited by their own people, but you just point out that these are unusual times. The Emperor has need of their help, and you have been sent by the Emperor. Still, you have to be very careful to see that you are in the right village, one of the organized villages, and that you are not stealing men from villages that are on noble estates. Especially you must stay away from the estates of the bishop and cathedral of Zagreb, and the estates of the Erdody family. That would mean real trouble. Understood?" "How will I know which villages are which?" "Captain Winkler, I see you will go far. My quartermaster will make a sort of map for you. We don't know every nook and cranny ourselves, so the map won't be perfect. But he will also give you a list of names of all the older organized villages within reach, and by asking and asking you can sort them out. I advise you not to lose time. Bring your recruits back and put them to work building their own barracks. Perhaps your colonel, who is not here yet, will reward you if you are able to provide some barrack space for his other new recruits. The quartermaster will loan you any materials you will need for building. Log construction is doubtless the right thing, or split logs — there is a kind of standard design you should learn and follow. Well, sir! "By the way, gentlemen, there is a letter here addressed to you both. It's from some Croat fellow, I think. Vuk something — Gavrila? — Gavrilov? And by the way, Winkler, you and your non-com had better start learning some Vlahisch words. Your recruits will probably meet you half way and start to learn German, but you'll have the jump on them of you can speak some Vlahisch stuff, which is a sort of Slavisch, I believe. Gentlemen, good luck. I will see you again at the officers' mess. Captain Winkler, you and your non-com will have temporary lodging here in this building, while Captain Hochmut has a room already waiting for him at his regiment. At least I trust so." Hochmut's regiment did not have a room waiting for him. The two young captains, along with Fuss the Whisperer, were once again roommates, this time in the vast Generalitat building, where comfort was not a prime consideration. There was no mess in the building where they could eat, though they could make the short walk to the officersonly mess. Or if they chose, they could buy provisions from the market in the square and prepare meals over a fireplace like enlisted soldiers did, an option they did not take too seriously since none of the three could cook beyond grilling meat. They agreed they would spend as little time in this grim room as they could.

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Sitting on luggage they had unloaded from the cart, in a dim room that Fuss was straggling m a n f u l l y to heat, the newly commissioned captains studied the unsealed letter from Vuk, their old cardsharp friend, in the failing winter light. In it Vuk explained that he'd heard about their Venetian escapade from another former student at their academy, and about their assignments to Karlovac. They should know, said Vuk, that his own plantation (for that is what it was) was not very far away from them, located at the very frontier they were all supposed to be guarding, almost in no mans' land. Acting under orders from his father, Vuk had taken a cheap government lease on land near Sisak, a fort located downstream from Karlovac on the Kupa River, much nearer than Karlovac was to the back and forth border skirmishes of the last few years. He would be most honored to have them as his guests in his "village", which he had named Balik. They would be able to get directions to Balik if they got as far as Sisak. What good luck! Wouldn't it be amusing to walk in on their old friend while out recruiting for Sebastian's company, and thus all in the line of duty. But first they would have to get hold of the quartermaster's map. As it turned out, the quartermaster had no map except of the main strong points on the Kupa. But he was able to tell them that none of the Vlah villages where recruiting was encouraged actually lay in the direction of Sisak. Still, even though the best villages for recruiting lay in another direction, Vuk's two old friends were determined to surprise the card sharp with a visit, and made preparations immediately to start recruiting in that direction. Surely no one would look too hard at whatever recruits they found. So it was that three days after reading their Croat friend's letter the two captains, accompanied by Sergeant Fuss, entered the so-called village of Balik, Vuk's own creation. Balik was less a village than a large fortified farm. Rough low buildings of split logs were joined to each other by a stockade made of saplings. To the visitors' amazement the handful of men inside the palisade were not Croats, but apparently Turks wearing the remnants of red tunics, and shackled by chains around their ankles. The prisoners were shucking corn, raking acorns together in heaps, and tending to some pigs. What a fate for Moslems! There were no women in sight. The visitors learned from a burly man armed with a heavy cudgel who seemed to be an overseer and knew some German, that their friend Vuk was away hunting. They would have to wait. The overseer, whose name was Pipo, showed them into a mud-caulked shed with narrow window slits looking on the yard, which was built higher than surrounding sheds. This served as the master's cabin. Pipo offered them cider while

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they waited, getting up occasionally to peer through the doorway of the shed at the workers outside. When Vuk did finally show up, daylight was almost gone. The Croat's joy at the reunion was clear from the shout he gave from the gate of the stockade enclosure. The captains shouted back some choice insults they had thought of while waiting. They pounded each other on the back and shoulders. Clearly their card sharp friend was starved for familiar company at this frontier hideaway. Vuk was carrying birds in his game bag, including quail and pheasant. He had a better notion of cooking than the Austrians, and set about to make them all a feast of the game birds, roasting them at the fireplace, after Pipo bled and plucked them. Upon their request, he poured instead of cider some of the well-remembered plum brandy, followed by some pear brandy and even by some apricot brandy. The friends gossiped and joked as Vuk tended to the birds. Pipo meanwhile made something from corn meal. Yes, Vuk explained, he was developing this plantation with Moslem prisoners of war he had bought cheaply from border commanders. He was using these slaves to clear swamps when weather permitted. It was not very profitable now, but could become so after the marshes were well drained and after traffic on the River Kupa began to pick up. Why the shackles? Well, if there were no shackles these Moslem fellows would disappear in a flash, since they did not enjoy the swamp work and were not even used to heavy work of this sort, being soldiers by profession. No, they were not Turks at all but Moslem Bosnians whose language was close to that of the Croats, and they were not all that far away from their own homes beyond the Bosnian frontier just to the south. Vuk could not expect to keep them prisoners forever, but for the time being the arrangement made practical sense, he thought. Perhaps later on he could attract Croat settlers from his father's village. Ransoms? Hardly. There was not a man among them whose family could or would pay a ransom. But one must not pity them. They were lucky not to be dead as they might well have been if they had not been captured. His greatest fear, Vuk allowed, was that a Moslem raid might find his plantation and it might be he and not they who would end his life as a slave, or just end his life, period. When the birds were ready, Vuk invited Pipo to sit with them, and they made their feast. The meal contained, besides the birds in hand, fermented cabbage water, pinkish, clear, and smelling magnificently, and also warm cornbread with a crumbly white cheese baked into it, which made the cornbread glossy and fragrant. Never had the Austrians had a more delicious meal, so they swore with oaths, fu\\

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of compliments for their host. "You can't get all these things in summer", said Vuk. "Fermented cabbage is a cold weather dish. You came at the right time." What did the Bosnians eat? The Bosnians", Vuk explained, ate a lot of fish from the river to go with their corn meal. They didn't have much choice about it. That's why they called the farm Balik, which meant "fish" in Turkish. One of the Bosnians was almost constantly chained to the riverbank, fishing for the others, even in winter. It was very cheap. The prisoners didn't like it of course because they didn't eat much fish where they came from. Otherwise, said Vuk, they knew very well how to prepare food, better than he did, and he sometimes provided them with what they needed to make their own boreks, and other Moslem dishes he did not know the names of. In fact, he conceded, they were not bad fellows. He could get along with them easily, except that they were fanatic Moslems who rejected all other religions, and considered him an infidel. He would work them until he got his swamps drained, then he might just let them go if he could find Croats who were willing to move there. Eventually he was sure they would escape anyway. Meanwhile it was a little dangerous working them this hard on a diet of river fish. "Tell us" asked Egon, when they were all drunk and before they made their beds on sacking along the walls, "what do you do for women? We haven't seen a one yet." "Aha," responded Vuk. "I'll tell you what. I can't go with you to help you recruit. In fact I dare not go away anywhere for very long. But tomorrow I'll show you how to get to a couple of unregistered Vlah villages not far from here where your recruiting prospects should be pretty good. Your chances of getting a good result will be much better if Pipo is along since he speaks their language and he knows their ways. You can double back this way tomorrow afternoon and we will by then have found musicians so that we can do some dancing at the chardak." "What's a chardak?" "I'm sure you've seen them already but didn't know what we call them. Those are the blockhouses along the river. They are mostly two floors high, with at least a couple arquebuses on the second floor. That's where we do our dancing, on the second floor, or when it's warm, outside. There really are some women around here, as you will see. I just don't dare to bring them around here. Don't worry, you don't have to dance with each other."

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Everything unfolded as Vuk had foreseen. In the two villages that Vuk recommended, Pipo did most of the talking, though the presence of the Austrians and the flash of money lent credibility to the proceedings. These villages were quite small, hamlets with two or three sprawling houses. Their size Pipo explained by the fact that Vlah families were large, three generations living together, with each married son and his wife and children occupying their own rooms. The trick now was to find unattached youths who had not yet married and were not needed at home to sow and reap, extra males not yet registered for military obligations along the frontier. Most of the registered Vlahs had seen service in the last three years of fighting against the Turks, and this had raised their morale and also their tendency to make demands. Vlah villages outside the system had also become ambitious. Here all was done through the patriarchs of the families, grizzly, grim looking men who knew their own worth. These elders did indeed bargain for advantages, but after Pipo explained many times that the only thing the Austrian captains could offer was a promise of pay, that in the end was enough. Later the recruiters found out that these family elders were not actually the same leaders who rallied troops in that part of the frontier, a fact that later caused trouble between them. After many a slivovitsa proffered and accepted, five young Vlahs were recruited from the first two villages. This was half the number needed to start building barracks. The young recruits did not know it, and would not like it when they found out, but their first duty as soldiers would be to cut down trees and split logs. They looked as if they were up to the job. Perhaps because these Vlahs wore tall furs hats, they gave the impression of being taller than the Austrians. They were also rough, and dirty. All of them knew how to handle firearms and, if one took them at their word, horses too. These were part of the frontier tradition they were born into. The young recruits looked healthy despite their shabbiness, and apparently not unhappy with the fate negotiated by their elders. Only a couple of them looked as young as Sebastian, who was destined to be their captain. He would have to form the habit of giving orders to these bear-men, something altogether new for him. As they led the recruits along the trail from the villages, the young Vlahs began banter back and forth along the trail, sometimes roaring with laughter. Sebastian wondered. Were the jokes about him? Pipo would not say and Egon could not help him either. He would have to learn this language, Vlahisch or whatever they called it, as soon as he could since these were men now under his command. What abovrt

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Fuss, now stumbling along on foot alongside the Vlah recruits? How would Fuss communicate? Would he learn this Vlahisch too, or would the recruits learn German? Sebastian was still mulling this over as they returned to Vuk's plantation. There the recruits gaped at the Bosnians, and traded jibes with them, so it seemed, since they all understood each other. Strange business. Late that afternoon, leaving Fuss and Pipo behind with the recruits, Vuk led the two captains on horseback across snowy fields to the chardak near the Kupa, where a f e w frontier musicians, this time Croats and not Gypsies, awaited them with a noisy reed instrument something like a flageolet, and large and a set of stringed instruments of various sizes which somewhat resembled lutes. Word had gone out that Vuk would be paying. They could expect more people as evening came. The visitors glanced into the lower floor of the chardak and saw that it served as a storehouse and stable, and though unheated, had plenty of hay. Soon they would discover its other uses. A s evening came the second f l o o r of the stone and timber chardak vibrated with music. It was music unlike any the Austrians had heard in their lives — loud, mad, quick music that made the heart race. The dancing was done in lines and circles, all new to them. They saw they had to learn dancing all over again, but quickly began to catch on. Soon they were hopping alongside other circling bodies, locked arm in arm, stomping so hard that the plank floor of the chardak bounced continuously. The two-man garrison was happy to join in. Women had appeared, their hair oiled and perfumed, their faces, hands and colorful costumes soon grimy with smoke. The women who showed up were eager to dance and easy to talk with. There was corn bread, eggs, cheese and plum brandy. The odor of stale sweat on yeasty bodies rose strong and pungent, while the music seemed to go faster and faster. Though simple enough to learn, the dances were exhausting. Sebastian sat out for a while on one of the lamp lit benches that encircled the chardak's upper floor. Beside him, also resting was a rather handsome woman in her late twenties with arms as big as thighs. Her hair was oiled and braided into a nest, with coins, bits of silver, and even a bit of mirror glass embedded in it. Her husband was in the Austrian army and she knew some German. The husband was away on duty. She was several years older than her husband, as it turned out not an unusual arrangement on the frontier. A s Sebastian learned later, these self-reliant and all-too-experienced women tended to marry younger husbands. The cynicism of each sex matched that of the other.

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He was startled that this woman, whose name was Draga, swore like a man, grinning all the while. Sebastian felt himself on dangerous ground. This Draga was married, yet here she was dancing with strangers while her husband was away on duty. His growing interest got the better of his sense of propriety. She appeared amenable and seemed glad to dance next to him. Finally he asked her if she would like to descend into the lower floor where they could, er — cool off and talk. Oh no, she said, she was married, she couldn't possibly do that. Sebastian felt foolish. She did not seem surprised by his request and continued smiling at him — but to what purpose? They continued to dance, but Sebastian could not avoid a change of mood. He was ready to leave before the evening ended. As time passed she showed less interest in him, and instead danced alongside other men. Finally the musicians downed their instruments, ate and drank their fill, and left. By that time this Draga had disappeared along with one of the soldiers of the tiny garrison. The evening was over. "Why didn't you do something with her?" demanded Vuk on the dark trail back to the plantation. The lower floor is full of hay. That's what it's there for, for heaven's sake". "Because she's married. She told me." "Ah, my dear fellow, I should have warned you. Around here all affairs begin with a lie. She was just testing you in the usual way, to see if you were really interested. You have disappointed her for sure." "What was I supposed to do?" "Why just ignore what she says and carry on as though she had said yes. I can assure you about this one. I've been with her myself. That's our chief amusement on the frontier, wives as well as husbands. You can be sure that her husband would be in no way surprised." Sebastian groaned. He still had much to learn about women. The next day the little caravan was off early, and the recruits marched back to Karlovac with Fuss, while the two captains, this time without Pipo, headed to other villages. Without his help, they found only three recruits to take back with them. Sebastian would have to manage for the time being with eight builders. This meant getting them back to Karlovac and making sure that Fuss got them axes and got them started. Fuss would know what to do of course, but as Sebastian kept reminding myself, in the end he was himself responsible as their captain.

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As the small recruiting party passed along the riverside they saw otters playing on the ice, sliding down sluices they had made for themselves in the banks of snow. The land was flat hereabouts but abounded with wild life. Good hunting agreed the two captains, not the deer, boar, or bear of the high hunts back home, but plenty of birds, rabbits, squirrels, and when the ice melted, fish, and perhaps crayfish. Leading the three recruits, who were on foot, they slipped and slid along the Kupa on horseback until Karlovac was in sight, marveling as they went at the formidable line of fortified places that guarded the Habsburg frontier against the other side. Cold and tired, the captains were also fiercely hungry, but had to help Fuss find a place for the new recruits to sleep before they could retire to the officers' mess. They arrived early for the evening meal, ate the leftovers offered, and waited for other officers to gather while they warmed themselves at the fireside. Graditch the adjutant was one of the first to arrive, accompanied by a couple of other captains. "Aha, you're back. Success?" And Sebastian had to explain that he had not found ten, but only eight recruits. "That's not bad really. You were only gone a couple days. Anyway", said the adjutant, "I expect you'll get by for a while with your eight, if they're up to snuff. Get going on cutting your lumber right away, would you Winkler? But don't let it keep you from the shooting match we've arranged tomorrow afternoon on the square." The competition, they discovered, was with pistols, and was voluntary. Sebastian was not very interested in competing, being far from the best shot, but Egon, with a much longer hunting background, was hot to try it, and declared himself a contestant. "Good, good," said Graditch. "We like to see what our new officers can do." The junior officers who assembled for supper that day were mostly Styrians, with a scattering of young men from other places, giving the mess an international feel, as though it were a Venetian hostel. Some officers were colorfully attired in velvet and lace, with plumed hats cocked and half cocked, some wore leather and fur trim giving them a frontier flavor. The non-Styrians tended to clump into national groups, talking with brio and attacking their soup, meat, and bread with lusty appetites. There were a few Bavarians and other Germans, some Hungarians or Hungarian-speaking Croats, Italians, and even Spaniards. They were almost all junior officers because senior officers were still on leave on their various estates, or were taking the waters, or were on tour somewhere. They would show up when the weather got a little warmer. It was the same every year with respect to late arrivals.

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After supper was over the card playing began, and the nationally sorted diners re-sorted themselves to play cards. Some tables exploded with ribaldry, others were silent and intent, their players bent on winning. Sebastian refrained for the usual reason — his poverty. After watching half the evening, he made his way to the cavernous Generalitat. Egon, playing the part of the devil-may-care cavalry officer to the hilt, stayed behind, displaying his customary recklessness. Though he was far from being the cleverest player, he had the deepest pockets. Among the Styrian crowd, it was Egon who stood out as the most cultivated in dress and manners, an impression he promoted. The next day Egon showed up for the pistol shoot organized on the square. To everyone's surprise, a Spaniard won the shoot, though Egon did not do badly. While most officers were at the tournament, Sebastian and Fuss had work to do. The night before the shooting contest, the two drew up their plans. Their eight recruits were also jammed into an upper room of the Generalitat, with permission to camp there until there was a roof to put them under. They were eating at one of the infantry barracks, and would have a pittance withheld from their pay for each meal they did not prepare themselves, so said Fuss, who would serve as their paymaster until the new dragoon regiment shaped up. Sebastian asked Fuss many questions, trying to fit the older man's experience to their present circumstances, not always successfully. When should they go for more recruits? They would take their pick, said Fuss, after the new regiment's recruiting campaign in early spring. The longer they delayed recruiting, the more money they would save from the allotment for their company, all allotments being made on the basis of a full roster. With respect to horses, there was a similar calculation. The animals they needed to haul timber would be loaned by the quartermaster along with axes and chains. As for the new company's own mounts, these could wait until the whole regiment purchased, so that Sebastian and Fuss could make an additional profit from Sebastian's allotment for his new company. Sebastian sighed but assented to these tricks, aware of his debt to Hochmut Sr. "God in Heaven, exploded Sebastian, when do we start training? Do we wait until we see the enemy? " "Not quite, sir," rasped Fuss, standing close to his ear. "Perhaps in April we can start."

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"That scarcely seems enough time. Remember, Fuss these are dragoons we are training. They need to move together and work together under battle conditions. They will just barely be getting to know each other before we are flung into battle. They might well bolt, and there would be hell to pay." "Not from what I have heard about these Vlahs, sir", answered Fuss. "These are not your usual peasants. These fellows are born fighters, born to shoot and ride. We just have to get them to move together — the rest they already know. They know weapons, they know horses. I think it will be easy to train them to maneuver together. The real problem probably will be discipline. They are born thieves. But I'll handle that with your backing, sir." They had a chance to test Fuss's optimism the day of the pistol shoot, when it got light. Egon was scarcely awake when they left. Their party of ten, leading two oxen, headed out of Karlovac towards the nearest woods. Sebastian had been instructed to build the first of ten barracks that would house the dragoon regiment, close to the Kupa River at some distance from the fortress. Proximity to the river would ease the problem of moving fodder and finding pasture once the horses arrived. The barracks would not have the protection of the fortress at Karlovac, it was true, but no one expected the Turks to recover any time soon from the drubbing they had received in the last four years, and certainly no one expected to see them on the attack this far up the Kupa. The practical experience of the Vlah recruits immediately came into play. Building with timber was something they had seen done, and done themselves, all their lives. After conferring, they rejected the first woods they were led to in favor of another one more suitable, though further, and they were right. There were not enough axes, so the young Vlahs took turns. They swung their axes easily, and chained and dragged the logs so quickly that the ox team could not keep up, with the result that there was time to spend around the fire before the oxen returned. But the quartermaster could release neither more axes nor a second ox team, so that the bottleneck persisted. The barrack took shape within three weeks. The biggest problem was constructing fireplaces, since the stones were so cold and hard to handle. No recruit had gloves, so they used new pelts to protect their hands from the biting cold. Since the barrack had to be long enough to house the eighty men usual in a dragoon company, they would need four fireplaces, eighty bedsteads, and a latrine. They also foresaw that they would need a stable, and set about building one, though there were as yet no horses. This first stable was simply a

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shelter against the wind, open on one side. It would be several weeks before other barracks and other stables were built by recruits who made up other companies of the new regiment. Sebastian began to wonder why Colonel Graditch had put such heat under him, since other company captains for the dragoon regiment were not even present yet. This was only the first of many times during the next year that the young vintner would be puzzled by orders he received from superiors. Discipline was not the immediate problem Fuss had feared; the frontiersmen were used to cooperating. But given their rough upbringing, one could see that if one frontiersman turned on another in anger, the outcome might be lethal. Therefore Sebastian, helped by Feliks, a recruit who knew some German, took pains to explain the military code of conduct to which they were all subject. Dueling and fighting were forbidden. Punishment for both was confinement, a horrible punishment for men brought up on the fields and marshes. Fortunately it turned out that although these Vlahs often wrestled and fought for sport, they did not get angry over it. They missed their plum brandy, they talked about hunting and about women, and they told long stories around the fire. There was stealing, habitual among the Vlahs, but their differences they settled among themselves. Serious problems of discipline came only later, and generally involved women. To pass time after working on the snowbound fields, the recruits took up smoking. None could afford to form the habit yet, but jointly they bought a pipe and tobacco and took turns, coughing and spitting, laughing at each other's discomfort. Feliks, who understood German the best, was the indispensable liaison between the Vlah work team and the two Austrians. Fortunately Feliks had a good voice and a good ear so that he quickly became Fuss's mouthpiece. Sebastian found he could leave Fuss to watch the work without him being there and began to take advantage of this by sheltering at a nearby village. Sometimes he would relieve Fuss if the sergeant seemed to be suffering from the cold. Either might have warmed himself by wielding an ax, but the Vlahs would not tolerate it. That was their job. Feliks began to improve his German from the first day, and proved an apt teacher as well, so that the two Austrians, both the captain and his sergeant, started to understand a little of what was going on among their recruits. Cutting timber was not work which bothered the recruits. Instead they complained about the food at the infantry regiment mess. Could they not have an allowance in order to pay for their own provisions, which they would then prepare themselves, like

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the men of the cavalry regiment housed within the fortress? Also, as the two officers discovered, the Vlahs were used to eating wild fowl and other game, but having left their firearms behind, now had no means of hunting them. The eight recruits started to cook for themselves as soon as they were installed in the primitive barrack they had built, which though rough had plenty of room for the time being. They soon had a system for stocking firewood, rotating the cooking, fishing through the ice, and trapping game from the plentiful stocks along the river. From the town Fuss brought cornmeal, flour, cabbages, salt, and cheese, deducting these from pay. Sebastian continued to spend his nights at the Generalitat, but insisted that Fuss make himself comfortable at the new barrack, with the eight. This was a notable sacrifice on Fuss's part because the eight recruits were ripened by their labors and not at all interested in bathing before spring came. Fuss slept at a distance from the men at another fireplace. Having completed their own the company was under orders to start building barracks for recruits yet to be recruited. This the men began to do, but without the same energy they had shown when building their own barrack. When a room was found for Egon at his regiment, Sebastian was left alone in the Generalitat. Wanting to start training as soon as possible, he approached Colonel Graditch to get permission to find more men. Graditch refused, saying that there was now a contract recruiter coming who would recruit for the new regiment as a whole. Instead of visiting the villages one by one, the Vlah villages of the Generalitat would now be instructed to send all their extra young men to Karlovac to talk with the recruiter. That way the army could attract not only enough men for Sebastian's new regiment, but enough to fill gaps in the established regiments as well. Sebastian would have his opportunity to select men from a pool of new recruits along with other commissioned captains when they had all arrived at post. When the new recruits were selected they would join in construction of their own barracks. Sebastian now became aware of changes in his friend Egon Hochmut. Egon quickly fell into the habit of gambling nightly. Although not a bad card player, he was hardly the best or the luckiest, and he lost heavily in the first few weeks. An appeal sent to his father was answered with a warning. Apparently there was a limit to what Hochmut Sr. would tolerate. However the debts were handled, Egon stopped playing regularly. Also, to Sebastian's growing distaste, Egon began to spend much time at Graditch's table in the mess. Sebastian

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now saw a new side to his friend. Egon seemed determined to have friends as high in the chain of command as he could go, "just in case". In case of what, Sebastian wondered. His friend's new manner put a barrier between them. Egon now heard things which Sebastian had not, and his manner began to suggest a distance between them that had not been there before. One thing the two schoolmates continued to have in common was an interest in women, an interest provided for at Karlovac, just as it had been at Graz. This garrison town also had a widows' district, at least a district where a few women, some with children at home, could be approached with impunity. When the army was on the move, some of these women followed as best they could, at a distance if necessary, accepting the risks involved and just as eager for the spoils of war as were the men. There were also a couple taverns in that part of town, and usually a pair of Gypsy musicians available if someone would pay. The limit on carousing was the limit on pay. Soldiers had little money to spare, so it was usually officers who went to that part of town. Although he now avoided gambling entirely, Sebastian hoarded just enough to indulge this other pastime. He and Egon visited the taverns together, sometimes reminiscing about Venice. If their conversation had changed slightly from before, their appetites were unchanged. The musicians would accept almost anything, and they sometimes called for music. Sebastian discovered his father's taste for the cembalo, and requested it whenever he saw this instrument on the scene. The women of the taverns did not look quite like those of Graz, being almost all women from the nearby districts populated by Slavs. Oiled hair was normal and they dressed differently. They were more clannish than the widows of Graz, more inclined to joke with each other and less inclined to joke with men. Like the women at Balik they swore with ease in both Slavic and German. The local beer was almost as good as that of Graz or Vienna, but the wines were not, so that the newcomers now favored beer or ale, or sometimes plum brandy when it was available. Grilled meats were plentiful and cheap. Sometimes they ate a cornmeal pudding called pura, which had tasted better at Vuk's village, where there had been cheese in it. Someone said the corn meal that went into it had come from the New World., but who could be sure? Now corn was being raised along the Danube. February had almost run out when Peter Berenger arrived at Karlovac, the same stout, self-confident recruiting officer the former roommates had met in Graz. Berenger was accompanied by four more young Styrian captains, would-be dragoons like Sebastian, freshly

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hatched from provincial towns, with the ink on their commissions still wet. One of them was from their old academy in Graz. Like Sebastian these newcomers had no troops at all to start with and were a bit dismayed to see the difficulties lying ahead of them. After getting settled into the Generalitat, they all came out of Karlovac together to see the first dragoon barrack and the beginnings of others. When would their own be finished? They complained at the lack of progress and did not think to thank anyone for what was done so far. "To hell with them — let them build their own", so said Sebastian to Fuss. Berenger had been briefed in Graz about what to expect. There was trouble brewing in the Karlovac Generalitat among the older Vlah militia, starting in the very villages that Sebastian had visited. Veteran frontiersmen did not like seeing the new Vlah recruits put directly under the command of young Styrian officers, since this challenged the traditional practice of leaving them under the command of their own village voyvodas. Nor did the veterans like having the recruits trained for campaigns that would take them away from the main fortresses. Their defense of the Empire up to that point had been stationary. Campaigning far afield was not in keeping with their ancient understanding with the Emperor, and the Emperor ought to remember and stick to his word. "Nonetheless," said Berenger, "we're going to do it anyway, but we have to be careful to sweeten the pot for these village voyvodas. They don't like losing their authority, and one can understand that." "How are you going to do it?", put in one of the instant captains. "Well now," answered Berenger. "Wouldn't you like to know? That's why they brought in a professional like me with years of recruiting under his belt. You will see. I'll have the voyvodas eating out of my hands." Sebastian and Hochmut took Berenger to the drinking quarter of Karlovac, and listened while he explained his mandate. "No more scouring the countryside for Vlahs on a free lance basis. I will recruit the new regiment. Graditch doesn't understand the frontier, even though he should. He's been here long enough. Many of these so-called Vlahs are really Croat peasants who are putting on airs, pretending to have Vlah privileges. If you scratch the surface you will find that many of them are Catholics, which is a dead giveaway. But the way they live is not much different. The Generalitat needs a lot of men in a hurry for this year's campaign, 800 for your dragoon regiment alone. We cannot simply scour the countryside for them. Never fear. I know how to do

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this. This is not the first time I've raised troops for the Emperor on the frontier. What I will do is to send word to all the service villages in the border defense system — through the voyvodas mind you — and order all available men to show up here. Y o u can be sure that we will see a lot of men who are not from service villages but from landlord villages as well. Never mind. We'll sign them up too. The Emperor needs them all, and their landlords can wait until we are done with them." Berenger was a man who knew how to enjoy himself and apparently had made plenty of money out of recruiting. He was liberal in buying drinks. Perhaps he earned his living by per capita fees, like a slave trader — a good business, in any case. Berenger asked for and got a room to himself in the Generalitat. He sent out his circular and in a f e w days began to enlist the clumps of lean and hungry bodies that showed up in the square. In front of his booth there were hung posters and flags, with a drummer banging away alongside. The young officers present, who included Sebastian and those who had recently arrived, took their recruits by rotation to avoid any appearance of favoritism. They did not all make as good an impression on Sebastian as the first men he had picked himself. But by mid-March the first l i v e dragoon companies were complete, eighty men apiece. The Styrian roommates discovered a chink in Berenger's armor. Themselves good drinkers, they could hardly criticize a thirst in anyone else. But this itinerant colonel's drinking regularly took on a heroic aspect that was out of the ordinary. Most people simply could not afford it, but Berenger could, perhaps because he had no family to support, or if he had he never spoke of them. A f t e r hours of conviviality, his thirst would start to accelerate. He ended by switching from wine, or beer, to any kind of fruit brandy available. Then his conversation would soon lapse into monologues about past loves, or his campaigns in Hungary, which one gathered had not been much fun. Finally he would slump noiselessly from his seat, and it would be up to the proprietor to decide what to do with him. If, for instance he were drinking with the young captains, it would become the duty of these beneficiaries to carry him back to his room in the

Generalitat.

Hopefully by the next day he would revive enough to resume his official function as chief recruiter, though this was not guaranteed. Having lived through a f e w of these episodes, which involved their liberating a cart from the side of the square to carry a human load, and then enlisting the assistance of sentries on duty to help carry the heavy man to his room, the two former roommates began to consider another approach. Surely it was their duty to preserve the honor of the

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army by discouraging these almost suicidal drinking bouts. Yes, it would be a favor to the itinerant colonel, even if he at first resented unasked for attention. So what occurred to them was to rent a coffin from a carpenter whom they had noticed, and keep it in readiness for the next such bout. This they did, though it took a lot of persuasion to rent the coffin instead of buying it. The carpenter never did understand. Having no other place for it, they kept the rented coffin in Sebastian's room disguised by some cloth he bought in the market. They had not to wait very long before the recruiter again passed out from too much brandy. After carting him to the Generalitat in the usual way, they got the assistance of the sentries, who now were in on the joke, in putting their plan into execution. First they carried the coffin to Berenger's room, then placed the colonel in it, lying in state with his limbs straight. To complete the effect, they placed new candles at the foot and head of the coffin and lit them. It was unfortunate, they agreed, that they could not afford to wait for the exact moment when their drinking companion might revive. Berenger descended slowly to the square around noon the next day. When he saw his would-be benefactors watching for his appearance, he turned his back on them and ambled off, looking for a breakfast. When he saw them again in the evening at their usual taverna, he was not in a mood to buy drinks for anyone. His opinion of his companions had changed. He now saw them in a new light, as dangerous and undependable fellows. It took hours of drinking to bring him back to halfway normal conversation. But the unusual therapy, which his young friends had not really believed in, actually did work. After that Berenger ended his evenings like everyone else. As far as the young captains could tell, Berenger's days of heroic drinking were over, or would be postponed for another time and place. Other new young captains struggled to get their barracks thrown up in cold wet weather, Sebastian and Fuss turned to training their men with the weaponry they would be issued — sabers, pistols, and hopefully carbines. They would not be carrying grenades like the infantry, would not be protected by cuirasses like the cavalry, but would learn to fight like devil with what they had. So it happened that Sebastian was the first of the dragoon captains to apply for the weapons he needed so that he could train his men. He would have to pay for the weapons from his allotment, but was determined to have the best weapons available regardless of cost.

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Colonel Graditch balked over the carbines. The dragoons, he said were a kind of shock troops who could work just as well with pistols and with some old matchlocks that he could sell them at a good price, forty per company. Sebastian was angry but tried not to show it. He was sure there were carbines in storage, even some of the newfangled bayonets they had heard about. Who were they being saved for? What would his own company, his own regiment, look like in the field if they were not armed as well as other dragoons who had already been fighting in Hungary for the Emperor's cause for years? He froze. He would not assent to the arrangement, but was not yet so confident of himself that he would try to argue Graditch down. Graditch was obviously displeased. "Better accept", counseled Hochmut, don't get Graditch working against you." But Sebastian made allowances f o r his old friend's new tendency to curry favor. Egon, he now knew, would not buck authority. For the time being Sebastian would pay for sabers and pistols, but would not sign for matchlocks. Sebastian now turned to other dragoon captains for support. They too resisted. They visited the adjutant as a group and tried to insist that they be allowed to see all the arms on hand. The adjutant refused. The other captains followed Sebastian's example and accepted only sabers and pistols. They would await the arrival of the new dragoon marshal, whose name they did not even know yet. Surely he would use his influence to resolve the matter in their favor. Meanwhile the captain from Purgstall found himself branded a troublemaker. "Watch out", warned Egon when they were alone together. " Graditch will be looking for a way to catch you out." Drilling with saber and pistol absorbed the full attention of all the

dragoon

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once

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building

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Sebastian's men grumbled that they were drilling without the horses that would be carrying them into battle, but since Fuss and Sebastian were deliberately delaying purchase of horses so as to save money, there was little they could say about it. Not all the men had held pistols before but all had handled f o w l i n g pieces, so that the men took naturally to target practice with pistols. N o problem there. Saber was another matter, since almost none had ever touched one before. This fortunately was Sebastian's forte, so he worked out drills with blades wrapped to prevent accidents. The men took to it, first posing, then laughing and panting as they tried out their new blades. True, at first they swung with more gusto than skill, but they would get better as time went on.

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In mid-March the new dragoon marshal arrived. Graf Feltzer was said to be a veteran of the Vienna siege, where he had served with Lothringen's cavalry. The Graf had a noble bearing and knew horses well, all the worse for his subordinates, some of whom did not. He soon reviewed his incomplete companies and saw little to make him happy. Perhaps the frontiersmen would make good dragoons, but so far this seemed a dubious experiment. He wanted first of all some kind of uniform, at least a flash of color so that he could tell his own men at a glance. A solution was found — to distribute swatches from a bolt of bright cloth, so that each man in the new regiment would wear a scarf that identified the regiment. The effect was striking and turned out to be good for morale. Men who had taken no pride in their rough clothing looked better once they started to wear the scarves. The new marshal knew perfectly well why no horses had yet been purchased. He ordered that purchasing begin forthwith. The word went out to horse dealers from nearby districts in Hungary, mostly Gypsies. Within days strings of horses began to be offered outside the gate of the fortress. Neither Fuss nor Sebastian were experts on horseflesh, but some of their men knew horses well and a couple even knew shoeing, at least the kind practiced on the frontier. The horses offered were naturally diverse — old, young, tall, short, with and without striking faults. The cavalry buyers, who fortunately needed only a few new mounts, would pay the best money for the best horses. Dragoons could afford to be less picky than cavalry, since they generally did not fight from horseback but used the horses to get to the battlefield, and from one part of the front to another, dismounting to fight. Fuss kept track of what was being paid and usually prevailed over the horse dealers, after the cavalry had stopped buying. The company's one-sided stable began to fill up. The new marshal ordered that drills on horseback must start without delay, and without waiting for full stables. Since Sebastian's company was ahead of the others in every way, Graf Feltzer would attend their exercises first of all. There was now a rush to purchase saddles and other tack, some of it salvaged from past battles by the quartermaster, but most of it new and expensive, bought from the stocks of a Hungarian saddler in town. Until there was sufficient tack for all, experienced riders would drill bareback. Fuss, with his interpreter Feliks at his side, was at the center of the whole purchasing effort, sweating and groaning over the expense, since his own fortunes were tied to the company's, like Sebastian's. When the marshal discovered that a couple of the new men among Sebastian's recruits knew how to shoe horses, his reward was to

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remove them from Sebastian's' company and reassign them to do shoeing for the regiment as a whole. Since most horses had been purchased with poor shoes, and in most cases no shoes at all, these new smiths had their hands full. They were ordered to work inside the fortress with the cavalry smiths, going to and from their barracks each morning and evening. In this way the dragoons ended up being as well shoed as the cavalry. The new dragoon marshal also settled the weapons question in favor of carbines, using his own authority to make Graditch yield. The commander in chief at Karlovac was also the commander at Graz, but since he seldom visited Karlovac, it was unlikely that he would interfere. Who knew to whom Graditch had intended to sell the carbines he was holding back? No doubt he had a deal in mind that now collapsed. Sebastian was relieved that his own stance on the carbines was now supported, whatever the consequences for his future relations with Graditch. He got the impression that the marshal had heard the story of his refusal of Graditch's offer, and approved of his determination to have the best weapons available. Now all the dragoons would be armed with carbines. Toward the end of March while at mess, there came shocking news, which Egon was the first to hear, at Graditch's table of course. He came over to Sebastian's table with a grave expression. Vuk and his overseer Pipo had been killed by their Bosnians. The erstwhile slaves had escaped and were now all back across the frontier. "Dammit", exploded Sebastian. "Vuk got careless. Since he could talk the same language with them, this must have lulled his judgment. How else could this have happened? Moslem bastards." Egon soon heard further details from Graditch. The Bosnians had killed Vuk with a shovel. They must have hated Pipo because they drove nails into his head. And Vuk's schoolmates had envied the Croat's leaving the academy early! After their first shock the two friends agreed that they ought to arrange a mass for Vuk. There was a church adjacent to the Generalitat. Neither had ever attended there before. They were disappointed to find that the priest seemed to be one of those that the Church could dp without, a fat and lethargic man of the cloth who agreed to do the mass for a consideration. At the time they had agreed upon they were accosted at the door of the church by a pack of army veterans who were missing arms or legs. Feeling it would be bad luck to avoid them, Vuk's old schoolmates put coins in their outstretched cups. They found themselves almost alone in the church while the mass was performed.

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The only others present were a clutch of old women in black, doubtless regulars. There was no choir. The service did little to ease their hearts. A part of their past had been wrenched away. They drafted a letter to Vuk's father, who lived in Zagreb, telling him of the mass, and of their sorrow, and asking if there were anything they could do. They did not expect a reply from him but did in fact receive one in a few days in which the older man thanked them for their concern. His grief for his son was coupled with his regret that his hopes for a boost to the family fortunes had now been dashed. However he accepted God's will, and he wished them all success in taking their revenge upon the infidels on the behalf of his son. Around the end of March Berenger's recruiting program had produced enough rough fellows to fill the 800 places in the new dragoon regiment plus some replacements for other regiments stationed at Karlovac. The remaining barracks were still being built when Berenger, with his pockets jingling, left the post in order to recruit for regiments stationed on the Danube. Graf Feltzer, the new dragoon marshal, soon took personal charge of training, being by far the most experienced cavalryman in the new regiment. He wasted no time in borrowing cavalry veterans to help with training from the cavalry regiment at Karlovac. Among these cavalry veterans was Egon Hochmut, who though not an experienced officer, was already recognized as an outstanding rider. The cavalrymen were alarmed by the condition of some of the new horses. Many of these underfed mounts had thrush, a hoof disease, from standing in unclean stables. Many were also wormy and probably had been when they were purchased. The new dragoons were obliged to clean their stables daily, and to groom and watch their mounts carefully, even before some of them had learned to ride. As Feltzer explained to the assembled officers and non-coms who oversaw training, "Horses can do great things for us but they cannot be expected to take care of themselves." Horses, it turned out, were rather complicated creatures with needs of their own. Feltzer saw a need for extra mounts. Purchases were continued until each company had twenty extra mounts in reserve. Before the marshal's arrival, Sebastian and Fuss had dreamt about rustling additional horses from across the Bosnian frontier without having to pay for them. They now saw that without explicit orders they could do nothing of the sort. Sebastian would have to pay for each horse just like the other newly commissioned officers, who saw their hopes for savings reduced in order to purchase the extra animals. Feltzer also

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insisted that each company's non-coms be chosen immediately, if necessary from men with no previous military experience, which was generally the case. Since each of the men chosen received premium pay, this too would erode the earnings of the officers. No sooner had drilling begun than it became obvious that the cavalry frame of mind of the training officers had to be taken into account. Dragoons almost never charged frontally on horseback in ranks like the cavalry. Instead they had to learn to advance in single, double, and triple columns wherever they were ordered on the battlefield. Some cavalry maneuvers turned out to be useless. New ones were now invented for Feltzer's dragoons. Some recruits sat their mounts well, many did not. But all learned to somehow stay in the saddle at a trot, a canter, or a gallop, their weapons firmly in place. Because these country boys were all familiar with some kind of firearm, that part or their training went well and quickly. Most of them were marksmen of sorts, and liked the carbines, even though their shortness limited their accuracy. Pistols were another matter. These were mostly new in their experience. Since powder for training purposes was in short supply, each recruit was restricted to four shots with pistol at targets set up on fences. A good deal of hilarity resulted from the condition of the fence after pistol shoots were over. Few could hit the targets at all. But it was agreed that a point blank discharge of pistols into the faces of the enemy ought to be discouraging, and would certainly make their faces dirty. Even Graf Feltzer laughed. Sebastian's own experience with the saber was put to good use, and he trained men in other companies as well as his own. None of the dragoons became real swordsmen in this first spring of their military careers, but they did learn to whack away by the numbers. One could only hope that the Janissaries they would face would also be raw recruits, since experienced Turks were good at using their long swords. A few bayonets did appear but were assigned to another company. The intention of the Generalitat was to experiment with them. Dragoons, who often fought at close quarters, were a good choice for this. But the long new bayonets were stuck into the carbines with plugs, so one could not shoot and use a bayonet at the same time. No one was eager to be part of the experiment. Joint maneuvers already started before the end of April, restricted to the area just outside the fortress. The idea was to get infantry, cavalry, and dragoons moving together in limited configurations before trying anything more ambitious, which might require crossing rough terrain, of which there was an abundance near the

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Kupa. During the maneuvers Graf Feltzer noticed Fuss's special handicap, and the fact that Feliks, one of his new subordinates, stayed at Fuss's side at all times in order to relay orders to Sebastian's columns. The marshal drew Sebastian aside to question him about this arrangement. Sebastian explained the conditions under which he had accepted his commission. Feltzer responded with good-natured concern. What would happen if in the heat of battle Fuss's subordinates were disabled and unable to give orders for him? Sebastian replied that in that case he would himself give the orders. Feltzer allowed that he had never heard of such an arrangement, and did not like it, but thought he could live with it if Sebastian could. Late in April, exactly four years after his sister's wedding, Sebastian was surprised to overhear his men singing something in unison. He asked what the song was and was told that it was traditional on St. George's Day. The song celebrated the exploits of hayduks, legendary but real bandits past and present who lived in the woods and made life as difficult as they could for the Moslem occupiers on the other side of the frontier. Sebastian could not understand the words, but Feliks translated: "Hayduks hide in the mountains, and take their ease in the bush, "Then down from the mountains descending, they hit the Turks in a rush. "Like wolves who fatten on sheepfolds, let them fatten on our old oppressors, "Let revenge be the harvest they reap, let them punish with pain the aggressors." After the end of April maneuvers, there was a desertion, and as luck would have it, from Sebastian's own company. In fact the deserter was one of the original eight who had built the first barrack, a man with an otherwise good record of behavior. The rumor was that his sweetheart back home was taking up with his brother. The cavalry brought him back in chains. Graditch called Sebastian in and demanded that he make an example of the bedraggled deserter. "How do you mean that?" "I mean that you will hang him from that tree which the planners of this fortress so wisely left available on the far side of the square." "But surely not all deserters are hung!"

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"That's not up to you. I am ordering you to do it. We are weeks away from an engagement with the enemy and we cannot tolerate desertions. So do it, Captain, that's an order." Graditch stiffened, glaring at Sebastian. Sebastian found it hard to breathe, as if he had been punched in the stomach. It was as though a raven had flown in through the window. He could follow Graditch's logic all too well. The belief among his fellow officers was that if one punished relentlessly without making exceptions, then there would be less need for punishments. Sebastian had long ago decided that he was capable of killing the enemy. Others did so, why not he? But nothing in his imagination had prepared him for an execution. He cursed, confided in others, and delayed. He went to Graf Feltzer for advice. The marshal hid his sympathies, and backed the reasoning behind the order. "Look, Captain Winkler, an execution at the beginning of your commission is not such a bad thing. It helps make your reputation, and henceforth your men will know better than to trifle with you." Sebastian went to Egon for sympathy but was astonished to find that his friend was more bloody-minded than even Graditch had been, without a trace of sympathy for the runaway. What could one expect from Egon? What a toady he had become! Fuss shrugged. He had seen these things before. Other new dragoon captains also shrugged, a little embarrassed perhaps by their colleague's obvious distress. Sebastian interviewed the fugitive, who was a pitiful figure and had obviously suffered terribly since being caught. Sebastian tried hard to hide his own inner conflict. The man replied dully, as though he were already beyond caring. He had to return home. Yes, he understood the risk that he was running. He did not plead for mercy, and already knew that he would be hung. Young Captain Winkler decided to pray, which was never his habit. No answer came. He dreamt that night of the Kupa River in winter with its frozen round-walled fortresses, all snowbound, but with women on the battlements showing their breasts, as they had in Venice. Under the black river ice he saw the gasping, grimacing faces of men. Who were they? He awoke feeling depressed, wishing that he could sleep again, but he could not. He delayed acting, hoping that the execution question would somehow resolve itself without his having to be involved. To the contrary, Graf Feltzer now ordered Sebastian to do his duty and get on with it. The day came. Early one chilly spring morning, in a light drizzle and under lowering skies, the troops of the garrison were

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assembled and the fugitive was hung from the old plane tree in the square. The men watched with blank faces that hid both pity and curiosity. When the stool was kicked out from under the silent, glum ghost of a man, so young and still unmarried, whispers could be heard, groans and murmuring, then more silence until the man had stopped dancing and was still, his breeches wet, his tongue protruding from his darkened face. A couple junior officers made jokes. But the sight of the hanging man was sickening to the young officer who had recruited him. Although it was Fuss who had rasped the order, and Feliks who had relayed it, Sebastian was forced to watch, in his role as company commander. If this is right, thought Sebastian, then the world is all wrong. That morning he hated himself and he hated the army, feeling himself weak, useless, stupid, cowardly, and most of all alone. If the world was a theater, as some said, then no more humiliating part could have been invented for Sebastian than his experience that day on the parade ground. After a day of paralysis and gloom, he wrote a letter to Father Rolf, knowing that no matter what the priest replied, nothing would bring back the fugitive. When he sat down to write it, the spring weather had suddenly improved miraculously, so that he threw open the window as he sat to write. Fresh, balmy air and weak sunshine flooded into the dim room, making nonsense of his dismal mood. "God's Greetings, Father Rolf. You will always be my priest, Father Rolf, even though you say that you no longer are. Father, I need absolution from you as my priest for something I have done. Let us agree that you are still my priest, at least just now, and that you are hearing my confession. Today I ordered my men to hang a deserter from in front of my own company, one of my own recruits. It was horrible. The entire garrison, about 3600 men were brought out to witness it. I think the soldiers hated seeing a comrade die like that, so uselessly. Myself, I loathed it. I didn't want to do it, but I was repeatedly ordered to do it by my superior officers — to make an example of a deserter, so they said. The junior officers seem to approve; they see things differently than do the men, it is clear. But I am burdened with a sense of my own sin and guilt over this hanging business. And yet I don't see how I could have avoided it. My superiors tell me that many men will die in battle anyway. That this deserter is just the first of many who will die and not to worry about it. That to stop desertions is the duty of us all and will help preserve strength and discipline in our army, which is not as large as we wish it were. I don't see how I could have refused this order, which came from the Generalitat

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and which was seconded by my own regimental colonel. And yet, Father Rolf, even if I did the right thing I don't feel right about it. Was this not a sin, as 1 feel it to be? And if it is, can you absolve me? With deepest respect, waiting for your counsel, Sebastian Winkler, Captain with Feltzer's Dragoons"

Father Rolf: I was afraid of something like this. Young Winkler does not know himself and I was unable to teach him everything he needs to know about life. For his sake, I have prayed many times. He should never have chosen a military career, yet it was hard to tell him what else he should do, since he is not satisfied to stay in his own village and tend the vines. How I wish he were! His character is too soft for a soldier, the same as his uncle's — no, even softer. This affair with the deserter! I'm afraid it will be followed by other scenes far more difficult, when hundreds and even thousands will die with no clear reason. If he cannot live this down, how will he live the life of a soldier? What shall I tell him? I must answer. Shall I tell him that killing is not necessarily murder, not necessarily sinful unless done with hate? That what he did was for the general good? That God has forgiven both the man he executed and him as well? I remember how he and a couple of his classmates came to me one day asking about Galileo Galilei. Was it true that the Church had punished him, and why? That they believed with Galilei that Kopernik was right, that the earth is not circled by the sun. What was it I told them? That the universe is surely perfect anyway, even if not centered on the earth? Or was it that the earth is not perfect, but rather a battleground between virtue and sin, good and evil? But how can I tell him that? Would it really relieve what he is feeling? I see in this my own problems in my role as priest. I had begun to judge my parishioners, and later even my students as well, as if I were myself God in His Heaven. I had opinions about each one and consigned each one to heaven or hell. Now I realize that this was never my business to do this and I have repented sincerely. I admitted this error to my own confessors, whenever it was pointed out. Thank heavens I am now in a school rather than in a parish, and no longer try to judge people as either forgiven through grace, or not. But that is no help just now. I must answer young Winkler somehow. I must think this through and pray for understanding.

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Sebastian read Father Rolfs letter with disappointment. His priest was perhaps the finest man Sebastian had ever known, yet he seemed less concerned with the execution of this Vlah than he was with reassuring Sebastian. Why did every one else seem to take the Vlah's death so lightly? While others might forget it, he would have to live with it forever. He might even meet him the fellow in the hereafter. And he was hounded by the recurring vision, a kind of daydream, in which he saw the dancing feet of the hanging man. Would they always kick and dance? He read the priest's letter many times, then burned it and headed for the street where the taverns were located. It was now the First of May. The festivities interrupted the young captain's preoccupation with death. The lackluster garrison town was transformed as villagers from the region crowded the square, wearing whatever flowers they found on the way. A plump young woman of the town was chosen as queen for a day. Mummers in animal skins shook themselves into exhaustion. Ribald placards popped up, and a stage was erected on which shameless itinerant actors performed. On the square there were jugglers, gymnasts, and one lone faro dealer. Two peasant bands tried to outdo each other, each paid well to serenade under certain windows. There was circle dancing by young men and women around a pole set up in the center of the square. A fight broke out, first involving only two young fellows, but this grew rapidly until it involved perhaps twenty of them, thumping on each other like tavern keepers thumping barrels to see if they were empty. No one tried to stop the melee but after a time it stopped of itself, and ended with jeering and the usual stock of insults. The two sides parted, both looking well satisfied with their performance. Sebastian now knew enough Slavisch to be understood, and having drunk himself to the point of indiscretion, approached one of the disheveled fighters, puffing and blowing, to ask him what had caused the fight. "Around here it's always the same, either property or a woman. In this case it was a woman." "Who is the gracious lady who caused this Mayday massacre?" "There are guys from the same village who are trying to marry the same girl. That's her over there with her friends. She comes from another village." He pointed to a band of giggling girls with flowers in their oiled hair. Sebastian tried to provoke an expanded reply. "Why don't they marry someone from their own village?" "Oh, we never marry girls from our own village. We know too much about them." They both laughed.

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The chaotic activities on the side streets reminded Sebastian of Viennese streets during the siege. A ribald parade wound around the main square. In the parade masked figures, some on stilts, vied with one another to mock the city's mayor, the commandant faraway in Graz, the Jesuits, and even the Pope himself. It was forbidden to take offense at anything that might befall one on 1 May. Luckily for Sebastian something did. It lifted his mood to bump into a fish walking vertically with gawping mouth pointed skyward. The giant fish wouldn't let the drunken captain go, and kept bumping into him on purpose. Before finally giving up, the fish spoke: "What's wrong, captain? You look like a fish out of water." Just then someone poured a pail of slops on Sebastian from a window in a side street, so that he really did have some swimming to do. He was disgusted but felt better when he laughed. He had already had plenty of beer and now undertook to get seriously, conscientiously drunk. In the afternoon he sang together with the villagers, without even knowing the words. Then he laughed uncontrollably. Then he wept.

THE SECOND BATTLE OF MOHACS, 1687 In the spring of 1687 an ice plug formed in the upper Danube, damming up the normal springtime flow. Waters piled up behind the ice plug until it melted, so that in late spring the river began to flood its banks in the middle reaches below the fortress at Buda. The fortress, which had been the center of the Turkish administration in Hungary, had been torn from the hands of the Turks only the year before, following a second attempt by Leopold's Imperials and their German allies. Now it would be the mission of the Imperial forces to clear the entire western shore of the Danube down to and including Esseg (Osijek), a fort that then controlled the Danube-Drava junction. Along the course of the river drowned vegetation lay on the banks decaying while fish and birds revived. For resident pelicans and cranes there was a plentiful harvest of fish and frogs. But for Leopold's troops, the endless marshes and swamps along the Danube made progress on their march southward along the banks laborious, unpleasant and uneven. Down the right bank of the river past Buda came one Imperial army under the command of Duke Karl of Lothringen (Charles of Lorraine). Lothringen was the aging cavalry commander who had watched over Vienna throughout the summer of 1683 while waiting for the Emperor's allies to come. The coming summer of 1687, though he

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could not know it, would be his last in command of the Emperor's troops. Marching simultaneously down the left bank of the Danube came the army of Lothringen's youthful rival for the Emperor's favor, Leopold's own son-in-law Max Emmanuel, Elector of Bavaria. "Blue Max", as he was soon known because of the uniform he wore, was also a veteran of the Vienna siege, and was now on campaign with many of his own troops. The Duke and the Elector were seriously at odds, which is why the Emperor and the war council had decided to have them march down opposite sides of the Danube. In early July, the Elector's men headed eastward into Hungary. Their expedition in that direction failed, largely because of a scarcity of provisions. They could not get at their enemy beyond the dunes and salted wastes of southern Hungary. These wastelands along the east flowing river, emptied of people by a century and a half of Turkish occupation, had long served as a buffer between the two empires, and once again performed this function. After the failure of the Elector's initiative in the east, the rival commanders agreed to rendezvous so that their two armies acting together might then take Esseg (Osijek), the Turkish stronghold that guarded the Danube's juncture with the Drava River. For as long as anyone could remember, it was by using the long bridge at Esseg that the Turks entered western Hungary when on the offensive. If Esseg could be taken, the Turkish grip on southern Hungary could be smashed. Slavonia, the fertile but almost empty frontier zone between the Sava and the Drava Rivers, could then be taken, settled, and made as productive as it had been before the coming of the Turks. Coming to meet them a Moslem army of a size at least equal to the two Imperial forces taken together approached Esseg from the southeast. There were just these two bridges across the lower Danube in this period, one far to the east at Petrovaradin, the other here at Esseg. Control of either was crucial for the invasion plans of either side. The bridge near Esseg extended for miles on a plank walkway that crossed the marshes at the junction. Because of its strategic value, this bridge had been burned and at least partially destroyed several times during earlier military operations, most recently in 1683 following the allied success at Vienna, and just the year before, in 1686. But just as often as it was destroyed, the Turks stubbornly rebuilt it, so that in 1687 it was again usable. Let the Imperials come, they would find the defenders already there, entrenched behind freshly dug fortifications in front of Esseg. This time around Leopold's men would find the long bridge well protected.

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Meanwhile at Karlovac, well to the west, first cavalry, then infantry regiments had marched out of the star shaped fort in June to join Lothringen's main army marching down the right bank of the Danube. The newly raised dragoon regiment at Karlovac was left behind, deemed not yet quite ready for battle. The garrison commander, who arrived at the fortress just in time to start the campaign season, ordered an immediate review of all the troops. The review took place on a fine spring morning. Feltzer, the new dragoon regiment colonel, and Graditch the fortress adjutant accompanied the commandant, riding at his side. Graditch had been openly hostile to Sebastian ever since the dispute over the carbines. As the two senior officers passed in front of Sebastian's company, the tall, cadaverous Graditch muttered something in the commandant's ear. Pausing their mounts, the two sat staring for a while at the green Captain Winkler, who struggled to maintain his composure under their double scrutiny. Without addressing him, they then moved past to view the other new dragoon companies. Apparently the three reviewing officers agreed that the new dragoons were for the moment still too raw to call up. Feltzer was informed that his new charges would be held at Karlovac, practicing large-scale maneuvers until the last possible moment. When Lothringen did summon this new regiment of 800 dragoons some weeks after the departure of the other regiments, he gave them an assignment they could hardly have expected. Instead of riding to battle on their newly purchased nags, they were to take up oars and man a fleet of rafts being prepared far up the Drava near its junction with the Mur. These were to be ferried three days downstream to the vicinity of Siklos, on the Drava, where a pontoon bridge was being constructed to carry the combined Imperial armies across the Drava to the south bank of the river, where Esseg was located. After crossing, the combined Imperial forces would launch their attack. It was mid-July, well into the campaign season, when the new Karlovac dragoons saddled up and hurried northward to the Mur to launch rafts. These they loaded with provisions provided by the war council at Graz. Company commanders, along with some of their men, had to escort trains of riderless mounts along the banks of the Drava, while keeping an eye on the progress of the rafts on the river itself. Some of this took place in the dark, since the operation was late in getting started. Now Sebastian was especially glad for the advice and experience of his whispering sergeant, and he took pains to keep Fuss near him. Despite bars, rapids and islets in the river, the flotilla slipped

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quickly downstream, so that the oarsmen actually had to slow up in places to allow the horse trains, which were slowed down by bogs, to catch up. It was not the laughing and swearing oarsmen who had the most trouble, but their comrades on the banks, leading strings of stumbling and blowing horses through thick woods along the uneven riverbank. Hurrying to reach the pontoon bridge near Siklos, the dragoon oarsmen rowed the whole last night by torchlight, while their fellow dragoons struggled to keep control along the bank, dodging branches and cursing each other amid the excited horses. More than once they startled herds of deer and wild pigs as they went. "Fuss, how far is it?" "Just up ahead, sir, don't you worry." This was the hourly refrain. When the rafters arrived at their destination upriver from Esseg, they found the main Imperial army under Lothringen's command encamped on the north side of the Drava, awaiting transport across the river. Not far to their rear was the second smaller army, which just after returning from southern Hungary had crossed west over the Danube at Baje, located a little to the north. In swift succession, the two Imperial forces crossed the Drava on their own new pontoon bridge, then bivouacked jointly near Valpovo, on the south side of the Drava. Since Valpovo was occupied by an enemy garrison, the joint force bypassed the town, and began the planned advance on Esseg. Why the two armies had split up in the first place was not at all apparent to the newly arrived units. They knew nothing of the rivalry between the commanding generals. Officers in the main army heard simply that the original mission of the smaller army had to be abandoned because it was impossible to find either food and forage anywhere near the River Tisza. Now the two armies, about 50,000 men, would advance together eastward on foot along the south bank of the Drava toward the junction. Since the terrain was marshy all of them dismounted before crossing. Horses and artillery were left guarded on the north shore of the river near their pontoons. The crossing of the main army over the Drava took hours. Some of the Karlovac infantry were ordered to stay behind in trenches dug to guard the bridge, whereas the Karlovac dragoons crossed with the main army. Sebastian now saw what other Imperial dragoons who had come south looked like. He had to admire them. They wore whitish wool felt cloaks that doubled as ground cloths at night, three-cornered black hats, and tunics of red, blue and green. They had none of the earthen coloration of the Vlah dragoons. Even weathered by dust from the long

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march along the Danube, the older established dragoon regiments made an impressive show. They also had carbines, which reminded Sebastian of his own bitter fight over these weapons. The dragoons of Graf Feltzer's regiment now joined up with infantry and some dismounted cavalry from Karlovac, who had come earlier, to join in the attack on Esseg. Graditch had accompanied the Karlovac units and Sebastian had spotted him a number of times, always in the company of other staff officers. Egon was surely among them. Colonel Feltzer, decked out with a black wig and a bright diagonal sash, had crossed the river with his men, then fell back with the other high ranking officers as their troops slogged eastward. None of the new Karlovac troops had ever seen an army of this size on the move, and they were just now getting a sense of the huge scale of the enterprise to which they were committed. One could not see the whole army all at once, but one could feel its immense size in the muttering and cursing of unseen men who were struggling to advance through the marshes, hear the clatter and catch the glint of weapons, and all the time the harsh whisper, the soughing sound of thousands of feet. The united army left a massive track on the boggy vegetation as it dragged itself through the heavily wooded marshes. At first the new men felt a surge of enthusiasm, despite the difficulties of the march while short on provisions, encouraged by the sheer size and apparent professionalism of the Imperial forces that they had just joined. Through the trees that crowded the banks of the river, the attackers caught glimpses of the towers on the enemy's famous pontoon bridge, severed and burned so often, and just as often rebuilt. The bridge was rumored to be a thousand paces long, the longest bridge imaginable. They felt a growing sense of the importance of their mission. But after a two-day slog within sight of the river, everyone in the attacking ranks was suffering from the muggy summer air. There was little water with which to replace what they lost in sweat, and no salt to be had. The Imperials struggled to keep their boots from being swallowed by muck. Their cumbersome approach through the marshes could not possibly catch the Turks off guard. Doubt began to undercut the initial confidence, not only among new men who had yet to see their first battle, but the veterans alongside them. When the Imperials reached the Turkish embankments on the third day after the crossing, they realized they had a serious problem. The Turks were equally numerous, and quite ready to defend. The Moslems had learned from their bitter experiences at Vienna in '83 and at Buda in '86. On this occasion they appeared to be deeply dug in

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around Esseg in a modern way, with both ends of their trenches ending at the river's edge. They were well hidden, and served by cannon which had been brought up the Danube on their own barges. The Imperials by contrast had been obliged to leave their cannon on the north bank of the river since their pontoons could not bear their weight, nor had they thought they would need them. As the defenders, the Turks, prompted by their French and Hungarian advisors, now had a huge advantage over the muddy Imperials emerging from the marshes. The watery places in front of their embankments formed an effective barrier to any rush, however fiery. If the Imperials expected to take Esseg they realized they would have to crawl on their knees to do it, with Turkish cannon balls whizzing overhead. Sebastian looked around him at the men under his command. He had ultimate authority over them owing to the structure of the army. But whenever there was a problem his dragoons looked first not to him, but to Fuss the Whisperer and Feliks, his mouthpiece. He could scarcely blame them. The whole company would watch while Fuss delivered instructions with a crooked smile into Feliks's ear. The product of long experience, Fuss's natural authority had to be regarded as a blessing. Hochmut Sr. had been right. Sebastian was grateful for Fuss's presence during the journey down the river, and grateful again during this advance along the Drava. Of the men in their new Vlah company, only Sebastian and Fuss had ever heard cannons fired before, but it was to Fuss that the men looked now for reassurance. Sebastian heard Feliks' bright young voice, relaying Fuss's advice to his huddled dragoons. "Fuss says get down. Don't bunch up, and don't show yourselves. Check your carbines and pistols. Don't move forward again until you are ordered." None of this was really necessary to say, but it reassured the new dragoons just to be told to do what they were already doing, or not doing. Their exasperation began to take a toll. It did not take a general for the huddled Imperials to realize that their army had failed to reconnoiter. What could the commanders have been thinking? While higher officers conferred behind them in their sullied finery, the many thousands under their command lay in sweat and mud, trying to hide from the unrelenting cannon fire. Before noon Turkish cavalry sallies spewed forth, and wended their way along avenues of solid ground that the Turks had mapped out but the Imperials had not. Since the Imperial cavalry had not been able to bring their horses across the river but instead had dismounted to advance alongside the infantry, there was no way for them to answer the Turkish charges by counter charges. As

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Turkish gunners found their distance, bloody smears began to appear all along the front. How long would it take for their commanders to realize their mistake? "My God, Fuss, whose idea was this?" "I dunno, sir, but I wish he was in front of me and not behind me." Scores of dead and wounded were carried away as the army awaited the dreaded order to attack across the bogs. Each cannonball had its own personal song as it passed overhead. "Whooee — whinnng — whiffff — whopp- peeuyeee — paduu — womp — werrrrrr." For the first time since Vienna, Sebastian felt his old terror of getting in the way of a flying cannon ball. Some balls that fell short sank into the mire in front of them. To the amazement of the new men, one could actually see cannon balls arc through the air, giving a person perhaps one or two seconds to roll, step, or jump left or right, rightly or wrongly. The war was getting personal. Even if the Turkish gunners were not aiming at individuals, each of their shots had a destination, addressed to a particular person or persons. Where was that Imperial artillery now that they needed it? Sitting on the north bank of the Drava River, of course. Where was their own cavalry, which might have stormed the Turkish flank? Down on their knees or down on their bellies, like everyone else. Overhead the July sun was punishing. Canteens went dry. By midafternoon on this long third day men in the ranks lay still waiting for orders. The frontier dragoons, their own Colonel Feltzer nowhere in sight, were hunkered down alongside an Austrian infantry regiment who looked just as disgusted as they did. That day Sebastian got his first look since Vienna at Turkish cavalry as they sallied forth along their well selected paths, swirling around and wheeling past the huddled Imperials. If their main job was to discourage an assault, they were being quite effective. One troop of cavalry attacked the Karlovac dragoons where they lay, coming along from their left front, slashing with long curved swords and uttering their daunting battle cries. Attacked so suddenly and without time to organize a volley, the earthbound dragoons fired willy-nilly, while the Turkish cavalry came down upon their shoulders and heads with lances and swords. After the horsemen passed the dragoons counted their casualties. Two men from Sebastian's own company were hauled back for burial. Three more would be sent back to Karlovac after being seen by the surgeon. Sebastian learned later that glass suction cups would be used by the surgeon on the sword wounds these men had suffered. Suction,

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and mandrake root were the usual things, for whatever they were worth. But the outlook for the wounded was not good. Only when a man's wounds healed could he be said to be out of danger on the Hungarian plain. N o riders had fallen, and there were no prisoners to be taken. N o w that he had seen them with his own eyes, Sebastian realized how good the Turkish cavalry really were — how well they sat their mounts, how well they rode and maneuvered. The Turkish horsemen who glared down on them looked like tough, competent fellows, human yet strange, shouting in their strange language. And what horses! They were magnificent! The horses might as well be a different species from the Imperial horses, given that the Imperials generally bought theirs on the cheap in order to save money. The loose bright garments and the swirling, slashing attack of the Turkish cavalry had made the Karlovac dragoons look simply rustic. Cavalry was a Turkish forte, and one could see why. In mid-afternoon, after the sweating, mumbling Imperials had waited for six hours, hopelessly bogged down, it turned out that there would be no general assault. N o one seemed to regret it. The enemy was professionally dug in, as Europeans would be. Their side had not even brought mortars with them, whereas the Turks had brought their eighty cannon to bear on the Imperials as soon as they saw them. The Imperial cavalry were on their bellies. And there were no provisions since a quick success had been assumed. The smaller army from the east had arrived on the scene hungry. The Duke and his staff finally made up their minds. The situation was too difficult. If they could not break in and eat whatever the Turks had brought with them up the Danube, they would have to leave. Remembering what his uncle once told him, Sebastian wondered if perhaps Lothringen were not of the Montecuccoli school of avoiding the worst. In Montecuccoli's time the first and last principle was always to survive to fight again, so that the enemy would never find you quite defenseless, make an end of you, and force your sovereign to signing a bad peace. Well before twilight on this day, after misspent hours staring at the trap prepared by the Turks, the disgusted Imperials were ordered back towards the place where they had crossed the river. The marshes proved a barrier to pursuit just as they had been a barrier to the attack. A l l felt safer as soon as the armies disengaged, and they could make their way back to the Drava crossing.

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But the aftertaste of their retreat was bitter. The aborted attack was a humiliation, compounded by the fact that even before returning across the river the Turkish cavalry had raised hell with troops left to guard the baggage and the boats and rafts they had brought with them. This seemed to be a reply to the Imperials' own attack on the Turkish pontoons, which was meant to prevent the Turks crossing over but had not had that effect. To have to cross back over the Drava without having accomplished anything! No one could be happy about it. The army was in a bad mood, grievously frustrated, though also relieved not to have been ordered to rush across the marshes at Esseg. Having crossed the Drava again, the dual army moved eastward in the last days of July in the direction of Mohacs island, enclosed within two branches of the Danube. Everyone wondered what this might mean. Would they simply give up and leave this region to fight elsewhere? But before reaching the Mohacs area the order came down to camp along the road while drinking water and other provisions were being sought. As had been the case near the Tisza River, there was very little to be found on this part of the Danube that an army could use. They were too near the frontier and population was sparse. There was not even sufficient pasture, so that horses had to be dispersed over large areas and protected by a heavy guard. Foragers ranged in all directions, seeking food for the halted army. The Turks did not make it easy for the foragers. They had crossed the river en masse using the long plank bridge, which their pioneers had repaired, and were now dug in on the triangle of territory formed, by the two rivers. Perhaps their commander, one Suleyman Pasha, believed that the Imperials were now afraid of him, since they had failed to attack him at Esseg. Turkish cavalry moved about freely, though their army showed no sign yet of advancing on the Imperials. Could it be that the Duke was trying to wait them out, in order to tempt them from their new entrenchments? If so it was not working. Day after day passed while the Austrian armies waited for orders. Rumors drifted up and down the line of waiting troops. One rumor was that their Venetian allies were having great successes along the Adriatic coast. Why shouldn't they do as well? Sebastian's company tried to amuse themselves, like other units strung out along the Mohacs road. One of the Vlahs produced a crystal from his pack. Using it to peer into faraway mountains, he professed to read the future. "Our armies are about to win a great victory over the Turks and we will drive them into the river". "Which river? Go back and find out which river, damn you."

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There were two musicians in Sebastian's company. One played a whistle, and one played some kind of reed instrument, about all they could manage to carry in their meager baggage. Out came the whistle and the reed. Perked up by lively Vlah and Croat tunes, the men danced in circles, gripping each other's shoulders. Drums were improvised and the music got louder, while all the men took turns dancing. Even Fuss and Sebastian learned the steps. One Croat, a townsman with experience as a puppeteer, drew howls of laughter with an improvised puppet representing the Duke, ponderously weighing his armies' options. Their commander would not have found it funny if he had overheard. Sebastian eventually asked him to put the puppet away. Sebastian dreamt about the future. Throughout his short life the southern frontier had been a zone of the greatest danger, the haunt of frontier warriors from both sides. Travelers seldom passed there, nor would anyone settle there because of the danger. Could it really be possible, he wondered, if not this year, then another year, that their army might really drive the Turks back over the Drava, and even back over the Sava? He remembered the confidence of Berenger the recruiting contractor. The territory was certainly worth having. Slavonia, the overgrown trapezoid lying between the two rivers, could surely be brought under cultivation quickly if only the Turks could be driven out in a convincing manner, so that they would never return. It would be too late for Vuk, of course, and too late for Pipo, but it would be a glorious accomplishment if the Imperials could bring Slavonia into the Imperial fold. Sebastian was aware, as the whole army was more or less aware, that the island they called Mohacs marked the scene of a great battle that had been fought a century and a half earlier, and that the Christian side had lost. People believed that the battle at Mohacs had brought down the old Hungarian kingdom, and bringing in its wake a Turkish occupation which now stretched back beyond memory. Surely the Duke and his lieutenants, the Elector of Bavaria, and the Prince of Baden, were completely aware of the potential rewards. Would they give up this choice region without a fight? Yet neither the Duke nor the Turks seemed in any hurry to move in these last July days. The Austrian army stood in seeming hesitation on the Mohacs road until mid-August. Then suddenly an order came down from either the Duke, or from Vienna, to turn around and march off in the opposite direction, back from Mohacs. Officers at company level were told that they were headed for the town called Siklos, and after that to Funfkirchen (Pecs). These were fortresses in the vicinity which had

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been taken and garrisoned by the Prince of Baden only the year before, in late fall, even as Sebastian and Hochmut were on the road to Venice. Their idea apparently was to demolish Siklos and Pecs so the Turks could neither take them nor use them. So this was how they would leave! If that was all their commanders had in mind, hissed the younger officers to one another, it was quite a climb down from earlier plans. Instead of driving the Turks from their Drava stronghold, now the Austrians were going to empty out the region they had come to conquer. What in the world? This was hard to bear. The Karlovac dragoons, being part of the main army under the command of the Duke of Lothringen, now marched west in the morning, away from the Danube along the road leading from Mohacs. But while the Duke's men marched west, the Turks attacked the Elector's forces, which by their position on the road formed the rearguard, as well as the left wing of the moving armies. The Duke's vanguard could hear nothing of what was happening with the rearguard behind them. While headed west toward Siklos, the larger army had circled past a series of moraines, and then descended into a ravine into which the overgrown road had dug its way over the centuries. The length and depth of the wooded ravine prevented the Duke's people from hearing the sounds of battle behind them. Sebastian's own company had been in the ravine for some time when two cavalry men on horseback came rushing up from behind. "Where's the Duke?", they cried, reining up in a cloud of dust. "Keep going, he's way up forward. What's going on?" "We're under all out attack." And on they went. But it seemed that the Duke was not convinced that the main force of the Turks was really behind him, because a long time passed without orders. Units along the road halted where they were but hesitated to go back to help the rearguard without orders from the Duke. Sebastian's company could now hear artillery, but could the Duke's staff hear it? Puzzled, the men swore and groaned but waited where they were without moving. More riders, clothing in disarray and horses blowing, rushed past looking for the Duke. Towards noon there finally came down the line an order to reverse the direction of march tout de suite. Some staff officers now came hurrying back down the line. As they passed, they swore at the dragoons for not moving fast enough. In a great rush the main army was now struggling back through the ravine, mounted troops like the dragoons pushing past the panting infantry. As they approached the moraines from the southwest, they were in time to see

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Imperial troops from their left wing army attacking the Turkish trenches. They soon learned that there had been one hell of a fight in the morning and that the main army had missed it. The left wing ought to have been overcome by sheer numbers, but instead was now having at the foe, with the Imperial dragoons leading the way into the Turkish trenches. In front of the relieving forces stood bushy, broken fields that were difficult to cross even when empty of the enemy. Seeing the situation with his own eyes, the Duke immediately ordered his own forces across these fields to follow in behind the Elector's troops. Some troops of the left wing were already fighting at one end of the Turkish trenches, planted there with their standards flying. Once the Duke's men rushed across these fields to join the Elector's men on these ramparts, the outcome of the battle was no longer in doubt. The cannons that should have halted the Imperial assaults stood useless behind the ramparts, and were seized by the onrushing troops. "Quick, quick! Close up!", cried the officers. The Karlovac dragoons followed in over the trenches, mingling with other units on foot and horseback. Everyone began to chase the flustered Turks. One could see Hungarian horsemen among them. Trenches were littered with Turkish dead and dying. Turkish survivors were now running for their beloved bridge, sauve qui pent. Once they got to the bridge they would be hard to follow. So the game now was to catch them before they got to the bridge, as every officer realized without being told. While trying to round up his men so that they could advance in an organized way, the vintner captain came across a bleeding Turk who had crawled up against a tree trunk. The young captain's first thought was that the man looked surprisingly old, even grizzled. The Turk was lying against the tree and apparently did not expect mercy. He was simply waiting for death, however delivered. Sebastian's hesitated. The man should be taken prisoner, since he was no longer a danger to anyone. Leaving the wounded Turk he tried once more find his men. When he came across some of them, he found them dismounted, searching dead men for souvenirs. Sebastian felt a rush of anger. "Where is Fuss?" "Captain sir, he's behind us doing just what we are doing." Sebastian suddenly saw how raw his Vlah troops were, how lacking in discipline. And his trusted sergeant was no better, far more interested in personal gain than in doing his job properly. One could hope that these dragoon scavengers would escape blame but would they? "You men stay together, while I find Sergeant Fuss."

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When he came upon the sergeant, he was amazed by the older man's unembarrassed greeting, delivered with a crooked grin. "Oh, there you are sir", he croaked, "I was just going to look for you. Slim pickings I'm afraid. They've left what little they own across the river. But you never know, there's a lot of luck involved." "Fuss, don't try to diddle me. Our men should be chasing them like all the others." "Well, captain sir, there's plenty of men to do that kind of work. It's not difficult once they start running." For a moment Sebastian considered hitting him, regretting his dependency on the old veteran. He would never succeed in gathering his scavengers without Fuss's help, yet here was Fuss himself going through the exotic clothing of the dead Turks. His own disgust was plain to Fuss. "Now there, sir, it's really too late to get started. We should have laid out the plan to the men before we got started." This was an infuriating half-truth. It really was too late. Standing in a kind of eddy behind the killing zone, captain and sergeant now began to piece together what they could of what must have happened to the left wing while the Duke's men were in the ravine. From what they understand, the Turks had almost overcome the Imperials more than once, but had finally been overcome by the usual Austrian forte, disciplined volleys of flintlocks, which the Turks could not stand up to, however bravely they fought as individuals. The Imperial cavalry and dragoons had also attacked them that day without letup. Demoralized, the Turks fell back on their ramparts. They had heard that the young Prince of Savoy, already famous for his valor, had led his own dragoons into the trenches. Brave fellow! He even managed to plant his standard. It was getting dark by the time the vintner captain and his croaking sergeant assembled all their Vlah dragoons and their wandering horses. Feliks showed up, bearing a Turkish sword inscribed with Arabic writing. It was gently curved, like the bill of an avocet, very formidable, but not as formidable as a lead ball in the face. "Feliks, did I not order you to stay with Sergeant Fuss at all times?" "You did sir, but the sergeant he disappeared on me." While this was being sorted out, another dragoon captain showed up and told them that Graf Feltzer had ordered all the Karlovac dragoons to make camp in his vicinity. Feltzer wanted to see all his officers in the morning as soon as the sun was up. Sebastian had the impression that none of their regiment had covered themselves with glory. Probably other Vlah units had stopped to scavenge just as his

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men had. The regiment camped and lit the usual smudge fires, their only protection against mosquitoes. No one slept very well in this marshy land, partly because the ground was damp, but also because of the smudge fires, the lesser of two evils compared with the mosquitoes and other biting insects. Sebastian lay against his saddle worrying about what the morning sun might bring. Up early the next day, Feltzer gathered his captains around him, all of whom had just tasted the first battle of their lives, not counting the disgrace in front of Esseg. He stood in front of his tent hatless, looking sour and determined. At his side stood Sebastian's nemesis, the Karlovac adjutant Colonel Graditch, who was smiling grimly. Next to Graditch was Sebastian's old roommate Hochmut. So this is where bootlicking had brought him! Graditch now shouted in a rough voice. "Our armies have just won a glorious victory, a victory which yesterday no one could have predicted. Already there is talk of its being called the second battle of Mohacs to commemorate, more than commemorate — to annihilate — the memory of the catastrophe of the last century. There are many, many enemy dead. The pileup in front of the long bridge is immense. Our men did the Turks in by the thousands, with little help, 1 am afraid, from the Karlovac dragoons." He paused, letting that sink in. The young officers had no comeback. From their silence Sebastian knew that other dragoon units had behaved much like his. "Now this morning there is another matter to be dealt with which falls under your purview. Besides the many who were killed, our side has taken many prisoners, who have been gathered in a field near here. To be exact there are about two thousand of them, more than two for every one of our Karlovac dragoons. Your duty this morning as Imperial officers will be to send these prisoners to their Maker. We cannot feed them, and we cannot send them back where they came from or we would soon be facing them again. These prisoners will be parceled out among your companies as soon as you are ready. Let us not take more time than is necessary. Your dragoons will finish their task by mid-day. It doesn't matter how you do it, that's up to you. Just get it done by noon." The effect of these words on the assembled officers was sobering. It was all very well to have been present at a great Austrian victory, but this was scarcely the way one would choose to celebrate. For some minutes silence overtook them. A man near Sebastian swore under his breath. Graditch turned to his own subaltern and told him to show these dragoons officers the field in question. The young captains

- 203 followed this guide along a muddy path, all of them convinced that this ghastly assignment was punishment for their collective lack of zeal. Or perhaps it was the intent of the high command to give these new units experience in killing before leading them further into Hungary. By the time they reached the field, some of the newly commissioned captains had started to treat the matter with humor, and were inventing what passed for witticisms. After all, it was not they who would do the dying. For Sebastian the long rows of Turks sitting on their haunches, or kneeling in prayer, seemed the strangest, saddest spectacle he had ever seen. Except for some who were praying, the Turks were silent. Most of the kneeling men gazed wide-eyed on the young officers who had entered the field, others gazed inwardly, or at the ground in front of them. The prisoners were guarded by pike men, standing around the edge of the field. The most prominent prisoners, for whom some ransom might be possible, had already been separated out. The remaining prisoners all knew what they themselves might have done had the situation been reversed, and expected the worst. Sebastian watched his fellow officers. None of them, as far as he knew, had had as much education as he had. They were for the most part the younger sons of propertied Styrian families who were able to finance the purchase of a commission. He suddenly realized how easy it was going to be for these yokels, for so he saw them, to kill off all these Turks. These young commission holders had all had plenty of experience as hunters, and were used to killing animals. All that was needed now was to look upon these prisoners not as humans, but as some kind of game. And they would do just that, he was sure. After watching the prisoners some minutes, and joking about how they would go about it, the tyro executioners left in a group to give orders to their companies camped not far away. Sebastian froze with horror. He felt himself trapped in a totally unexpected situation. He could not, would not, give an order to kill disarmed men, even though the logic of Graditch's words was impossible to refute. "Fuss", he began, realizing that he depended on the veteran too much by far. "Captain, sir !" "Fuss, I cannot order our men to kill these Turks. Our company is supposed to kill about two hundred of them. Fuss, I cannot stomach it." He now heard himself pleading. "Help me out of this Fuss. What am I to do?"

- 204 "Now don't you worry sir. This sort of thing is quite usual in wartime, and it's not as difficult as it sounds." And here Fuss gave him that crooked smile, which to Sebastian was starting to suggest a crooked understanding of the world. "Just you leave it to me. Only thing is, sir, you had better accompany us to the place. You can close your eyes if you wish, but don't let them other officers see that you ain't there with us." The vintner-lieutenant followed along dazed in the wake of his own sergeant. Their own company reached the killing field after the slaughter had already begun. Sebastian noticed that Graditch and Feltzer were watching from another side of the field, standing with a number of staff officers he had never seen before, all dressed up in their sashes, wigs, and boots. Egon Hochmut was with them, grinning and laughing like the others. Some of the company commanders who had preceded them to the field had decided that beheading was the most practical, speedy and economical means of dispatch, and there were already heads and headless bodies lying about. The pike men had cut down would-be escapees. Blood made the ground slippery in places and there were strange odors, not only the odor of blood, which Sebastian already knew, but another sharp overlay. Yes, that was it — fear. Some other dragoon companies, such as Sebastian's, preferred execution by shooting. Sebastian watched transfixed but did not interfere as Fuss had his Vlahs lined up their two hundred Turks in rows, then cut them down with carbines. In the minutes before death, all these Turks began praying in the Moslem fashion, which meant that they stood in unison with hands together in front of them, then threw themselves to their knees with their faces down on the ground. Fuss considerately waited until they again stood up before having Feliks give his command to shoot. In spite of good Vlah marksmanship, death was not guaranteed. Some of the dying moaned, or crawled. This meant that an additional shot to the head, or a thrust with the sword if necessary. Sebastian watched all this numbly, able to see and hear, but unable to think. How long did he watch this scene? He could not say. Colonel Graditch appeared at his side, having approached him from the rear. "Fine work with those carbines, Winkler. Now that I see how well your men use them, they seem almost a good investment. One shot should always be enough, I should add, but we won't insist on perfection. Just a little zeal, eh Winkler?" Sebastian was forced to face him, to suffer the derision on his sneering cadaverous face. The ambitious Egon Hochmut stood at his elbow.

- 205 "Yes, Colonel, if you say so sir." Sebastian was ashamed to hear himself. Now it was Egon's turn. "Winkler, I thought you would show us some swordsmanship. What's wrong?" "I'll draw my sword when it pleases me", he heard himself say, addressing the man who had been his intimate. Graditch took snuff. The two walked away, the adjutant a head taller than his companion. The day was getting hot and the dragoons had now earned a rest. "Come away now, sir, it's all over", whispered Fuss, with what seemed like a fatherly concern for his pale and shaken captain. "Just pretend it's like any other day. Why should you give a damn, sir, a person like yourself? It's not your responsibility. It was I who gave the order now didn't I, sir?" This was a well-meant lie. Feliks was perhaps feeling some of what Sebastian was feeling. Although he had relayed each order to the company in a precise high voice, he stumbled repeatedly on the way back to their encampment, and seemed to want to turn from the path into the brush, only to be brought back to the path by a tug from Fuss. "What did you think of that bit of business, eh?" called out one of the dragoon captains along the way. "What a way to start the day, eh Winkler? Winkler, what's wrong? Buck up! We're damn lucky it was them and not us, right? I've just heard we're all being assigned to go on campaign in Slavonia with General Dunewald. We're going to be mopping up on the other side of the Drava. Who knows, maybe we'll all get a chance to carve out estates for ourselves. Wouldn't you like to be a magnate one day? A Zrinsky, eh? We ought to get something out of all this." Sebastian swore under his breath. "Look at him! He doesn't give a damn, the bastard." He knew that he was shaking and walking badly and that others could see it. Noticing this, Fuss drew Sebastian away from the line of those returning to their campsites. "Look here, captain sir. Them fellows we just did in....they took their chances just like we did. There's no big difference being killed during a battle or afterwards. You know very well sir it could have been them killing us. Every man who wears the cloth of any army (and here he took hold of his own sleeve) has given away his right to a peaceful life, or a peaceful end. He has thrown himself onto the wheel of chance, he has, like those skeletons we seen up on wheels left out in the open. Sure some soldiers survive, but it's all a matter of chance. It's like gambling sir, just like gambling. And the odds are not in our favor, by no means. We could win something for

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ourselves, and I hope to, and you do too. But sir, we stand to lose it all. Small gains versus huge losses — those ain't good odds but those are our odds." "What you say doesn't help, not in my view." But Fuss had started Sebastian thinking. So this was what he could tell his grandchildren about the glorious battle of Mohacs. That his part in it had been to kill prisoners. Wonderful! Better not to have grandchildren, or if he had them, to remain silent about his experiences like his uncle had all his life. Suddenly Sebastian had this thought — perhaps it was because of scenes like these that his uncle had never wanted to talk about his past. Had he too been ordered to kill prisoners? Sebastian would never know. "What I'm saying sir", continued Fuss, "is that we've all of us, them and us, given away our best odds in life as soon as we put on army cloth. We're gambling, sir, correct me if I'm wrong. Heaven knows why we do it. Not for the Emperor, I don't think, though we wish him well. Not for the Almighty, who is probably not amused by all these goings on. To save Vienna, that's worth doing, but this here is different. Of course the odds for surviving and making something out of war are a lot better for higher ups, men with titles. But that's not you or me, sir, we're taking our chances. If you can tell me why we do it, please do. You know sir that these Moslem fellows think they fly directly to heaven if they die at our hands. I hope for their sakes they do. And if the Almighty up there will do that for Moslems, I suppose he might do the same for our side. But you shouldn't worry about it sir. It's all taken care of either way, that's what I say." This was a long speech for Fuss to rasp out, and he had a coughing fit. Sebastian declined to answer, not persuaded, yet impressed by his sergeant's richly foliated sophism. He noticed sourly that Fuss had lumped them both together as commoners. What was he in Fuss's eyes? — he could never be sure. Composing themselves silently, the two soldiers followed the path back to the encampment. There they found their company in an elated mood, laughing and joking. They had just heard that they would be camping that night inside the abandoned Turkish camp, eating the enemy's provisions and looking for more souvenirs. I could have done a lot worse. This young captain of mine is open to reason, God bless him. We've been making a pretty good thing out of his commission, and he has yet to raise difficulties about our methods. To the contrary he has been fairly generous with the proceeds,

- 207 considering it is his commission, not mine. He sends his florins on to Graz, which I'll be damned if I'll do. I don't trust bankers. I have a good place for my savings at Karlovac. Trouble is I don't know when I'll get back there. Money is a nuisance, but one can't manage without it. I must tell Hochmut Sr., if I live to see him, that I'm grateful for his bringing us together. It's true that his son Egon is not so close to us as he was. Considers himself a sort of prince he does, too good for us it seems. But that is perhaps an advantage for myself, since I'm not having to compete with him for the captain's attention. But oh my this Winkler thinks he is a military man, and he doesn't realize yet what that means. You can't be a soldier in our times and not get your hands dirty, or should I say bloody. I would have suggested trying for a hostage or two just now, but I don't think he is ready for that yet. The men like him well enough, but he's not always hard enough with them when it matters. And at other times he's too strict, not letting them do the things that all troops do in enemy territory. So it's more liking than respect that they feel. The hanging at Karlovac probably did his reputation good. The men know that he will hang a man if he has to. They don't forget that hanging. And now the captain is miserable for having missed this socalled Battle of Mohacs. I'm not, but I'm not going to tell him that. We're alive after all. After you've been through as many battles as I have, you don't complain about the ones you missed. Maybe when I was younger I might, but not any more. That evening, in the abandoned Turkish camp, Sebastian was visited by his opportunist friend Egon. "Winkler, do you realize how close we came to losing that battle? "It seems to me that by the time we came on the scene, the left wing scarcely needed our help." "Perhaps so, but none of that was foreordained, you can be sure." Sebastian sensed that Hochmut-the-well-connected was about to demonstrate how much more he knew about yesterday's battle than he did. "The Bavarians were almost overrun. What helped them survive until we got there was that the terrain was so bad that the Janissaries had to attack in columns in between the bushes. They scarcely got to use their swords at all, thanks be to God. If their commander had more guts, our men would have been overrun. Instead he thought he was

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saving his own ass by sitting all day in his nice new trenches. Shows you how wrong you can be. "As for our side, what with the Duke consulting a textbook before making his move, and Dunewald getting lost in the woods on his way to battle, we almost lost the day. We have Blue Max and Baden to thank for being the wonderful monsters that they are. They attacked when ninety-nine of a hundred officers would have hunkered down. And did you see that funny looking fellow the Duke of Savoy up on the ramparts. Really, what guts! Frankly I wish that Baden were in command of the army. He already has one hell of a reputation for a man so young. When he sets out to do something he always does it, like the forts he took last fall — Siklos and Pecs. And what he doesn't think can be done, he doesn't try. With a man like that in command, you not only win battles, you stay alive." "What about that affair on the Tisza just a month ago, when they all turned around and came back ?" "Actually that proves my point. Supplies failed to reach them and there was nothing to be done about it. There's nothing to live on in that part of Hungary and it's almost the same story here. So they didn't attempt the impossible, which was to their credit. Besides, Baden was not the commander of that expedition, the Elector was, a brave man for certain, but he doesn't have Baden's talent, not to my way of thinking". Sebastian listened to all this, wondering if these were really Egon's opinions, or someone else's. He was torn between his own keen interest in what information Hochmut had and his own need to disguise his relative ignorance of the events just passed. Hochmut was not getting any easier to tolerate, and took no pains to hide the fact that he was patronizing his old roommate. The two smoked a pipe together but the conversation between them did not find the old well-beaten pathways. Before leaving, Egon condescended to impart some advice to his onetime roommate. "Winkler, it was noticed that you were less than enthusiastic this morning in carrying out your duties." Sebastian tried to put him off the trail. "And did my company kill fewer than did others?" "It was not that you didn't obey orders, it was your attitude. An officer must be an example to his men. Also yesterday someone saw you leave that old Turk sitting under a tree, without even touching him. You're getting the wrong kind of reputation. I know you're no coward, but you're soft hearted. I'm telling you this for your own good."

- 209 Sebastian declined to thank his would-be benefactor and instead spat into the fire. Did he really have to be grateful for this sort of sermon? Egon hesitated for a moment in silence, then knocked the remaining tobacco from his pipe and departed, wending his way among the smudge fires without looking back. He was also angry. Sebastian was left alone with his thoughts, oblivious to the muttering of his men at fires nearby. He was not the praying sort, and did not feel like praying now. But for the first time in a long time he tried to understand what God's point of view might be. When the stork seizes the frog, which side is God on? Yes, they had killed the Turkish prisoners, but had he not seen the Turks do the same at Vienna? He was involved, of course, and in some measure responsible, even if the Turks would have died anyway. He recalled how he had started to shake and could not stop shaking for hours. Others had noticed, judging from what Hochmut had said. But shake or not shake he had done nothing to stop the killings. Nor could he have. He could not have stopped what happened, of that he was sure. But facing God that would not matter. He was there and had done nothing. Was the Heavenly Father really on the side of the Austrians? Why should He need to act through the Austrians, or through anyone for any reason? Was He not all-powerful? He stirred his fire. Was God really close by, as he had been led to believe as a child? Close to him now at the fireside? Or was God really far, far away? Would he ever see God on His throne in the heavens? Did he really want to? Wouldn't it be simpler and just as good if one just disappeared into the earth when one died and had done with it? Why not? But not yet, no please not yet. Sebastian saw before him, as he would for the rest of his days, the ranks of praying Turks, how they had ignored their earthly doom, how they had prostrated themselves humbly, as if praying at home, then risen, awaiting patiently, almost indifferently, the death shot, the death cut. He admired them. Not a man among them, as far as he could remember, failed to accept his death. Would he face death as well when his time came? What awaited the dead Turks now? Would God receive them into heaven as the Turks were said to believe, or would he send some to hell, after weighing their souls along with Christian soldiers who died in the same battles? Sebastian supposed that Father Rolf, or any priest, or any Christian probably, would object to such speculation. Others seemed so sure. He was not. Just then something exploded in the fire and splattered Sebastian's clothes with sparks, burning his hands and face. It seemed like a warning.

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The next day, Lothringen's bifurcated army split once more, the main army headed across the Danube and Hungary, in the direction of Transylvania. The Turkish dead were left unburied, some of them still floating in the river. As his own column passed the battlefield, Sebastian saw ravens and buzzards dropping out of the sky to join the dogs and foxes that had already been drawn to the feast. There would be no victory during the rest of the season that could compare with this almost accidental victory at Mohacs. As for Slavonia, which was now almost emptied of Turks, the Karlovac dragoons were assigned with other units to go with General Dunewald, whose job it was to pursue fugitives in hiding, and to take over towns now left undefended. Most of the departing foe was known to have fallen back toward Belgrade, which Serbs called the "Door to Hungary". By their sudden departure, the defeated Turks made it easy for the Austrians to pick up the prizes they let drop behind them all the way to Belgrade. Serving with Dunewald, Sebastian's company played their part in a series of swift pounces that did marvels for their morale. The crucial fortress at Esseg, so recently unobtainable, fell with little resistance. The campaign on the Sava continued right into winter. One town after another opened its doors. When the Imperials reached Petrovaradin, not very far from Belgrade, and settled down into winter quarters, they learned more about repercussions of the year's campaigns on the Moslem side. Suleyman, the Turkish commander at Mohacs, had been sacrificed to furious mobs in Istanbul. The reigning Sultan Mehmet was himself forced from the throne and replaced by his own brother, all as a result of their crushing defeat at Mohacs. As for the Austrian side, the wintering troops received word that the Emperor had gone to Pressburg to accept the Hungarian crown — a rich prize, which came to the dynasty for its zeal and success in winning back most of Hungary from the Turks. Most soldiers thought it served the Hungarians right — Calvinist bastards!

TO THE HELD OF BLACKBIRDS, 1689 In early October 1689, the Imperials serving under the Prince of Baden were deep in Balkan territory. Nish was now in Austrian hands. Baden now chose to split his forces and chase after Thokoly, the pretender king of the Hungarians, whom the Turks had unleashed to make trouble in Transylvania, on the north side of the Danube.

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Another smaller army under the command of Marshal Piccolomini was now on its way to the field of Kosovo, the "Field of Blackbirds", where three hundred years before Serbian feudal forces had been humbled by the monolithic Turkish juggernaut coming from the east. Captain Sebastian Winkler's company was a part of this smaller army. To boost his army's size Piccolomini had taken many Serbs along with him, volunteers who had answered the call to drive out the Turks that Baden had issued in the June of the year. The Marshals' small army had paused on the banks of a small river while on their way to Kosovo. The day was warm despite heavy rains in recent weeks. Captain Winkler looked into the faces of his men, most of whom he had known almost three years. He could call out the name of each man, even stark naked. Most of them had dropped their sweat-stained clothes in the river, and were bathing, shouting, laughing, and splashing each other, glad for a break in the strenuous ride. The Serb volunteers moving with them also took the opportunity to douse themselves, jumping in among the Imperials helter skelter. Rascian voices roared and boomed. The clothes the Serbs shed were as outlandish and flea-ridden as those of Turks — cloaks, tunics, baggy trousers of homespun linen and wool, but mostly earthen-colored instead of the brighter colors favored by Moslems. All the volunteers had shaven heads and sweeping mustaches. One of the mustachios dropped down alongside Sebastian, a big man with a scar in his side from some warlike encounter. Apparently he was the chief of a band of horsemen, who enjoyed the respect of his men. He had discovered that Sebastian could speak his language, and had deliberately drawn close in order to talk with him. "Captain! Brother! How goes it?" "Very well, thank you. How far to Kosovo?" And so the two naked men, one blonde, the other bald, started a conversation. The Serbian leader's name was George Georgevich, or George son of George. George claimed to have been fighting the Turks for years on his own, which if true would make him one of the hayduks celebrated in the songs Sebastian had heard many times in his Vlah encampments. Marshal Piccolomini, something of a diplomat, was encouraging all his own officers to fraternize with the Serbs. His own troops were not anywhere near numerous enough to succeed in his mission of cutting through to the Adriatic and sealing off Bosnia from the south without rousing all the Serbs they met on their way to help them. There were now as many Serb volunteers headed toward Kosovo as there were

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Imperials. Over the past two years many Serbs had come running, even fighting battles of their own, when they heard of the Austrian victories in Hungary. Some Austrian officers were Serbs. The Austrians were glad to have as many of these volunteers as they could. The Serbs were good fighters, especially the hayduks, though unlike the Imperials, they would not have to stay around if the going got really rough, unless they felt like it. And just how rough might the going get? Sebastian wanted to know, and started to question George son of George. "What about our Venetian allies? Are they going to help us break through to the Adriatic and cut off Bosnia from the south?" "Captain, brother of mine, what are you asking? You know that the Venetians have left a garrison in Cetinje! Fuck no, brother, the Venetians don't want to share the water with nobody, and certainly not with the Austrians." "But they are our allies, right?" "Sure, allies until we meet up with them. Then we shall see. Tell me Captain, why is our army so fucking small? Don't the Austrians know that once the Turks wake up, they are going to send a really big fucking army our way? We Serbs have a saying — armies bring other armies. The next army they send against us will be gigantic." "Why are you complaining? The Prince of Baden has just taken Nish from the Turks, and now he's sending us with General Piccolomini to help our brothers the Serbs. But the Serbs have got to rise up to help us if we are going to bottle up the Bosnians. We are not able to do the job all by ourselves. You have to help us." Sebastian waited for the hayduk's reaction. Did this Serb think that all his countrymen would respond to the Emperor's call for help? "Brother, my people are so sick of the Turks, from their fucking bahsheesh to their fucking baklava, they would follow the devil if he promised to fight the Turks. And by God some people say I am the devil." The hayduk laughed uproariously, falling backward into the stream at his own good joke. "Yes, the Serbs will all rise up. But they have to be sure that you Austrians are as serious as they are, and won't walk off and leave them behind." "I hope you're right about your countrymen." Sebastian knew, as this man apparently did not, that Austrian taxes were heavier than on the Turkish side. Would the Emperor really be better off with these outlandish ragamuffins inside his borders? Better leave that for others to decide. Wringing out his clothes and throwing them on the bank,

- 213 Sebastian excused himself and turned away, withdrawing among his own men. How was it anyway, he asked himself, that the army had ended up so deep in the Balkans, the devil's own playground, with fleas in every human habitation? Was this really what Vienna wanted? After Belgrade had been taken by the Imperials the year before, other top commanders were ordered to go to the western end of the Empire to fight against the damned French, taking most of the troops with them. This had left the Margrave of Baden, "Louis the Turk" as he began to be called, to command the small forces that were left facing the Turks. And now Baden had split his army, deep in the Balkans, still without enough supplies to go further, still without even pay for his men. What kept the army going was mostly Baden's own brilliant reputation. This foreign general was famous for his daring yet equally famous for his prudence, not only among the Austrians, but also by now even among the Serbs. Thank God for him. Whether or not Vienna approved of his every move, Sebastian and the other officers were ready to follow Baden's lead. If Baden wanted to send them with General Piccolomini to rouse the Kosovars, so be it. Sebastian looked around him at his men, most of them still naked, drying their clothes over fires. At least the water plus the fire would drive most of the fleas out. A few of Sebastian's first recruits from 1687 had been killed and replaced. By this point in time, after battling across the Morava to the Turkish palisade at Nish, his company was under strength. This was not a situation he regretted altogether, since as a company commander he received the same annual allotment regardless, and could pocket the wages of the fallen, until at the close of each campaign season he was obliged to recruit replacements and bring his unit up to strength. This was one of the tricks Fuss had taught him by which the two partners had connived to accumulate the modest hoards of florins that they both coveted. What he would do with the purse he had finagled with Fuss's help Sebastian was not ready to say. He was gradually less attracted to army life, now that he had learned from experience what to expect from it. Yet he had no definite alternative. He had forwarded florins to a banker in Graz, but when and why would he use them? Back home his sister and brother-in-law would surely make room for him on their estate if that was what he asked for, but would he now want the country life that had bored him before? The wider world still tempted him, and by this he did not mean the swamps and deserts of Hungary. To support his dream of travels in Europe he would have to find some new situation, perhaps

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even some kind of commerce, following his uncle's example. But he had better stay with the army until he could make up his mind. Still unmarried, he persuaded himself that time was on his side. For Fuss there could be no return to another life. Fuss and Feliks had been killed by Turkish sabers during the last year's campaign on the Sava, the sergeant and his mouthpiece overcome in an instant. This happened during the fighting at Derventa, in Bosnia, when the dragoons were so busy defending themselves that one scarcely had time to notice what had happened to the fallen. One minute the duo had been fighting at Sebastian's side, the next moment they lay bleeding and motionless. Fuss had been popular with the men. After the battle the men felt the loss keenly, even though by that time they were inured to sudden death. Where were Fuss's own florins? Sebastian had no idea. They were not with a banker, and not with some widow, since Fuss had no family of his own. Fuss's own house and household had been wiped out by fire and plague long before he joined his fortunes to Sebastian's. Probably Fuss had hidden the florins in the earth somewhere, and perhaps they would never turn up. What a damn shame that he never told Sebastian where they were! Sebastian now had a new sergeant, a Croat named Pavel who knew German pretty well. Pavel was no more experienced than Sebastian was, and would not give advice unless asked. But Pavel had the respect of the men, and because he saved his young captain a lot of time and trouble in following through on commands, he was worth his premium pay. Meanwhile Sebastian had gotten used to giving orders himself rather than through a non-com and had come to enjoy it. He still relied a lot on what the dead Sergeant Fuss had taught him in practical matters, especially what he could expect from his rough recruits under the diverse situations which life in the field presented. Without Fuss, he had since made some mistakes, but which of his fellow commission holders had not? It was Fuss who had taught Sebastian not to interfere too much or too soon when he found his men scavenging, as at Mohacs, or abusing prisoners, or even molesting women, as happened a few times in Slavonia. Fuss explained over and over that tradition sanctioned different behavior in wartime, and that most of these men would not have joined up in the first place if they thought that they would be denied these simple pleasures. "You mean, you depraved desperado, that I am not to control my own men? You mean I have to abandon my own sense of right and wrong? What kind of an officer am I then?"

- 215 "Be practical, sir. It's the results that count, by which I mean the military results. It's like jumping horses. If you insist too strongly before a hedge, or if you apply the spur without limit, the horse may just throw you. Or it may trick you, you pulling one way and the horse another. No, you've got to allow the men a bit of rein, sir. Then when they've had their little fun, you sneak up on them and throw the bridle back on. That's what I says anyway. It's always worked for me." "Let's be honest, Fuss, you're right alongside them when they do these things, and you do them too." Fuss sputtered. "Sir, I'm no better than the next man. But if you'll do as I say, we'll have a much easier time of it. Just remember, sir. We're ordering these men to kill, and to take chances with their lives that they never would otherwise. We're asking them to undergo great hardships. All this for very little pay. They don't have the opportunities which you and I do, sir. We'd better let them have a little fun, sinful though it may be. As for the women, well! They expect it, just as the men expect it. Most run away, but some don't run too fast." On the strength of Fuss's advice Sebastian had somehow led his men to understand that if he saw something going on that shouldn't be going on, he would apply customary sanctions, including corporal punishment. But if something happened and he didn't see it and didn't hear of it, well he couldn't help that, could he. This pleased Fuss no end. His captain had struck just the right note. In effect Sebastian's dragoons behaved neither better nor worse than men from other companies, but took more care to hide it. Sebastian realized that his was really the usual laxity common among the commission holders, but excused it on two grounds: first, that he had to get the same results from his men, certainly no worse, than other officers; secondly, that he could not begin to upgrade the manners of any part of the army, including his own company, unless he could command the whole army, which he never would. Egon Hochmut showed up that evening by the river, catching his old roommate half dressed at fireside. Sebastian's attitude toward his opportunist friend had improved a lot, after having seen him in action at Derventa the year before. Hochmut had with him a superior brand of tobacco, just as one might expect of a wealthy cavalryman who spent all his time with his superiors. The two ex-roommates lit long clay pipes. Hochmut was in a high mood. "By God, Baden is brilliant! He let the Turks make the same mistake they made at Mohacs. When our army stopped moving, the way it did at Grabovac, the Turks think we are scared of them. You remember

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how it rained so we could scarcely move? But the Markgrave was simply waiting for pay and supplies. Then he hits them at Batochina, and manages to catch their forces split up on two sides of the Morava. He crosses the river, then recrosses, camps in the fog under their very noses, and hits them again. Then he drives them all the way up the Morava to Nish. And do you realize this man is only 34 years old. I love him! It just shows you what can be done by a man of talent. Of course he has the right sort of background, and he knows how to use it." Sebastian was buoyed by his friend's enthusiasm, wondering at the same time what had brought on this rare visit. "So instead of waiting for supplies any longer, like most other generals would, Baden takes the measure of his enemy and decides to take Nish away from them, so we can just take over whatever provisions the Turks have got in there. Were they surprised! We ate their supper. I count that a little risque, but it was brilliant. After all, the Turks were defending, yet they outnumbered us two to one." Sebastian was humoring Hochmut's mood, surprised and pleased that his old roommate with the highly placed friends had ridden over to seek him out. He broke out a flask of local rakiya that he had been hoarding for a special occasion. It brought back memories of Vuk. "Genius is what I call it", said Hochmut. "He gauged the enemy's capabilities and mood exactly. I only wish we had chased them all the way to Sofia. We should have killed a lot more while we had the chance. God, how I wish you had joined the cavalry, Winkler. We could have done the job together. But riding is not your forte, is it! " "I like to think that I ride better now than I used to. I like my mare and she likes me. And if you'd looked over your shoulder on the road to Sofia, you would have seen the dragoons right behind you." In fact Sebastian remembered the mopping up after Nish with some discomfort. The Imperials had chased the Turks in the direction of Sofia, only to find themselves stymied by rocky gorges, in which the fleeing army had installed some artillery. Pursuit by the Imperials slowed and stopped. As the dragoons followed the cavalry to the gorges, Sebastian had passed up some opportunities to kill Turkish stragglers. He supposed that his men had noticed. In truth, he did not practice the ruthlessness that he preached to them. Why was it so easy for others, he wondered, but so distasteful to him? Hochmut went on. "It seems you are not going to congratulate me. Haven't you heard that I now have my own regiment? My colonel was injured badly during the assault on Nish, and now I am to replace him."

- 217 "No, I hadn't heard. My God, can you afford that?" Sebastian tried to cover his amazement. "It's being arranged.", came the breezy reply. "Well of course, congratulations, Egon, or should I say Colonel Hochmut?" The sudden promotion would explain the alteration in dress that Sebastian had noticed. Hochmut now wore a sash of blue, new boots, and was letting his hair grow longer. Sebastian felt a wave of envy first of all. Yes, Hochmut was brave but... Didn't this just show what could happen if one had that backing which Hochmut flaunts? Still, Sebastian now had a colonel for a friend. And Hochmut had taken the trouble to look him up. Perhaps their old friendship still had some life in it. Or was Egon just looking for an audience? Yes, probably. And yet, they had been through a lot together and he still liked him, cockerel that he was. "My dear Sebastian, I have to tell you something. I've been thinking it over. It's about your reputation in the army." Sebastian could feel it coming. "You haven't the fighting edge your men need to see in you as an example to themselves. Everyone has noticed. Fortunately for you it hasn't damaged the effectiveness of your company. In the past, that was because you had Fuss there to back you up, I should imagine. But Fuss is gone now." "We do our duty, I think, with or without Fuss, God rest his soul." "Yes you do you duty, but you could do it better. You can never hope for a promotion, my dear Winkler, until you show more spirit. Also let's be frank. If you had the backing that I do, good things would be bound to happen for you. You only have to cooperate with fate. But without backing such as mine it's up to you to find influential friends. Whether you like them or not, you need them. You have to cultivate them., believe me. I know that isn't your way, you Styrian lout, but if you don't, you will suffer for it. You will be forever a captain." Some money would also help, thought Sebastian ungenerously. Uncomfortable, Sebastian now steered the conversation on to other paths. They talked about Graz. Then their long smoke together ended and Hochmut returned to be with his friends. Curious that they had come so far into the Balkans together. Surely it was just luck that they both were riding to Kosovo with Piccolomini, even if not in the same unit. What awaited them there? Drying his clothes at fireside alongside his own men, Sebastian let his mind drift back over the fighting of the last two years. That first fall after Mohacs, his own dragoons had been assigned to follow

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General Dunewald through Slavonia, "the land between two rivers". There followed several seizures of lightly defended places, just right for blooding new troops, giving them the confidence they needed in themselves and their officers. Dunewald easily took Esseg, near the Danube junction, where his soldiers, who were mostly villagers themselves, gawked at the plank streets that the Moslems had laid down over marshy ground. Then it was on to other fortified but weakly held towns, taken more by burning than by fighting, until colder weather forced a halt. From prisoners they learned that the places they had "conquered" so easily were being defended mostly by Bosnian cavalrymen who had been ousted from other places in Hungary. They were unused to fighting behind walls, they were plainly demoralized, and they hadn't been paid for over a year. "Good", said General Dunewald, "we couldn't have asked for anything better". That first winter after Mohacs found Sebastian and his dragoons at Pozega, a town with almost 1000 houses, which had been the center of a Turkish government district. Most of the houses stood empty. Officers at company level were forbidden to return home that winter, and had to wait it out with their men until the new campaign season began. The commander in charge at Pozega was extremely strict, so much so that the Slavonian volunteers who were with them during the season all voted with their feet and left. Some said that they were going back to the other side to avoid the higher Austrian taxes. What loyalty! Which side would they be on the next time they met them? Sebastian remembered his quarters at Pozega with satisfaction. He had been billeted in an abandoned house that was in very good order. The few remaining Turks of Pozega (actually Bosnians, most of them) occupied houses that were cubical, looking like mini-fortresses, somewhat like the chardak he visited the winter before, where the dancing had taken place. The first floor was for animals, the second for the inhabitants. The second floor was fairly easy to keep warm, as the animals below provided some heat, which rose upward through the house. There was no furniture of the Austrian type, yet the place was comfortable enough. Around the main room above there was a covered bench with windows on three of four sides. Windows were small however, and covered with vellum, not glass, so to see those views one had to open the door. The kitchen off the main room had no ceiling, so that smoke went directly up to through the attic and out. It must have been airy and pleasant in summer, he decided. He learned that the Bosnian families who fled the town did not dance at all, but they did have their own sad songs, laments called sevdalias which were played

- 219 on something like lutes. Contrary to their religion they knew all about drinking, not wine but hard stuff made from plums, or grapes. They had taken it all with them, and Sebastian had to find his own, which turned out to be difficult. During the campaigns of '87 Sebastian learned that most of the so-called Turks living all over that region were not real Turks who spoke Turkish, but Bosnian Moslems from the region directly to their south who spoke the same language as his Vlahs, more or less, though with some differences which stemmed from their differences of religion. He decided to apply himself to the widely used Vlah language during the winter, so that he could improve his rapport with his own men and prepare himself to be helpful in questioning Bosnians when the need arose. The Vlah language proved to be not overly difficult, certainly not for a student of Latin, and he was very pleased when he was able to bypass Feliks in speaking directly with the men of his command, who now felt he belonged to them. They were fortunate that first winter to have at the Pozega garrison a young Belgian officer, one Jean-Paul, who showed them how to make use of the frozen river just outside the town. Working by himself, this Jean-Paul had fashioned wooden shoes, implanting long iron nails of the Carinthian type parallel and lengthwise on their bottoms. Taking some of the soldiers with him to riverside, he showed them how he could use these shoes to slip across the ice with astonishing speed. Soon every other man in the garrison was at work making for him wooden clogs with iron runners underneath and leather straps above. Some of these failed totally, but most worked after a fashion. Working together, the first-time skaters cleared a stretch of ice. After that there were daily races, mock fights, and even a game that they made up using a leather ball and sticks. One or two soldiers got hurt playing these games, but not seriously enough to cause concern. Even the captains of the wintering garrison took part, happy to have the distraction. The skating season ended abruptly one day when optimism was overcome by the changing season. The ice gave way, two men fell through, then sopping and freezing were rushed away to find a fire to warm themselves. The few remaining women of Pozega were chaste, but fortunately for the soldiers not all of the women in surrounding villages were. Moslem women who had not fled were practically never seen, hiding themselves indoors. But there were two sisters and their friends of no particular religion who entertained men daily for very modest sums in a village nearby, often accepting game caught with snares, fish

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caught through the ice, cloth, pelts — even bread one heard. The elder brother was in on it, and far from minding, tended the fire, intervening only when there were too many visitors at once. Officers held themselves aloof from this particular household. Sebastian was not quite comfortable with the other company commanders, being better educated, but put himself on a good footing by hosting card games in the house where he was billeted. Sometimes the amorous captains succeeded in recruiting a female guest of uncertain charms, but not easily and not often. Dunewald fell ill. The men who had served with him were assigned to serve under the Prince of Baden during the next campaign season. Baden's small army was ordered to complete the conquest of Slavonia. A much larger army commanded by the Duke of Lothringen was assigned to take the great fortress at Belgrade. But Lothringen fell deathly ill before he even got near Belgrade, leaving that honor to Max Emmanuel of Bavaria, known as "Blue Max". The latter, like Baden, was a young man full of confidence. Luck ran with him. He took his troops across the Danube, and without encountering the resistance one might expect quickly wrenched Belgrade from its 10,000 defenders. Also word had reached the Austrian camps that Moraine, the Venetian commander, had been elected Doge earlier in the year. Things were looking up. Morosini would be sure to keep the Venetians in the war. As for the smaller army under Baden, it besieged and took without great trouble a series of poorly manned forts along the Sava River, the boundary between Slavonia and Bosnia. But there was the one snag at Derventa. No — that was far more than a snag, that was a near catastrophe. Sebastian remembered that battle as the forge on which he was shaped, the battle in which he learned what he was capable of when his back was up. His dragoons had been assigned to Marshal Piccolomini, a popular commander who was not only capable but had a first rate temperament. Their first task had been to escort a pontoon bridge down the Sava River so that it could be used by the main army in the assault on Belgrade. Then they rejoined Baden's army for the campaign along the Sava. Baden already had a great reputation among the troops raised at Karlovac as a general who always accomplished what he set out to do, partly because he was as bold as conditions warranted, partly because he was also prudent, and would not attempt the impossible. This Prince was ready to use to the limit the Austrian fusillade, the flintlock discipline that the Turks had not mastered fully. Sure enough, much as Baden had calculated, the smaller army of the Sava was able to besiege

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and overcome several forts on the Una, Sava and Drina Rivers during the course of the summer. These were not as easy to take as the lightly defended towns of the year before, and had to be besieged. But fall they did, one result being that Feltzer's regiment of dragoons won a solid reputation in the army commanded by Piccolomini. Brod was the last of the Sava forts to fall. Then Baden got wind of the approach of a Moslem army coming to meet them, which had been raised by the governor of Bosnia. According to Baden's information, the army coming to meet them was about the same size as his own, therefore not a problem. On their way to meet the enemy on his own ground, Sebastian studied the Bosnian countryside. Nearer the Sava he saw many village dwellings that were made of sod, low down so that one only noticed them when one was almost upon them, unless there was a fire going inside. Many Bosnian mills and fisheries were located on barges in the middle of rivers, especially which were near the towns along the Sava. He was charmed by the softly rounded hills that surrounded them as they marched inland. The countryside had a female quality at odds with the martial reputation of the Bosnians. Houses were usually cubical two story houses, occasionally even three stories, each as solid as a little fort. One could see their thick doors, with bolts which could be drawn against intruders if need be. The houses were generally in clusters, their pyramidal thatch roofs beetling over a row of windows on the upper floor, looking like so many eyes peering out from under their hats at the invaders. They were charming, and reminded Sebastian of clusters of mushrooms back home. There were also some one-story shacks of poor construction, probably occupied by landless peasants, no doubt Serbs under Moslem rule. All these structures, barns as well as houses, had steep roofs looking like hats, probably to keep off snow. The scene would have pleased a child like little Resi. Their column saw almost no one along the road. Probably people had hidden in the woods or on hilltops — wisely he thought. For some reason whereas roads in Austria tended to be along river bottoms, roads in Bosnia tended to be along ridgelines. Apparently few wagons plied these rock-studded roads, for all one could see along them were hoof marks, and droppings. Alas Baden's information was wrong! At the last minute, as the Imperials closed with the Bosnian army near Derventa, some way south of Brod, the Imperials finally sensed that the army facing them was over twice their own size. Too late to back off, Baden's army smashed into the enemy army. Piccolomini's dragoons were the first to meet the enemy's cavalry charges. The dragoons were at some disadvantage, since they dismounted to fight, while the Bosnian cavalry fought from

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the saddle. The dragoon captains and their sergeants struggled to organize effective volleys while under repeated frontal attack. The dragoons were in this respect as well rehearsed as infantrymen, and managed to stand unbroken, even when a gap opened between them and the infantry regiment accompanying them. But the enemy's numerous cavalry always returned, slashing at them with their long curving swords. When the enemy broke into their midst, the dragoons had to abandon volley fire and to defend themselves piecemeal, using their swords. Sergeant Fuss and his mouthpiece Feliks fell together in a bleeding heap, horses leaping over them. Sebastian's own mare fell on him, pinning him for a moment. Helped to his feet, he saw that the fighting was now swirling away, as the result of a flank attack by Imperial cavalry. Sebastian saw his former roommate, the spectacularly garbed Egon Hochmut, at the head of his cavalry, slashing right and left, leading the charge that in fact saved their hides. Sebastian was deeply impressed. Egon was brave, and though the Bosnian cavalry were not yet beaten, the flank charge of the Imperial cavalry gave the dragoons the respite they needed. Hearing the shouts of the clashing cavalry, Sebastian understood that the Bosnian army must be made up mostly of Slavs, men who probably could not even speak Turkish. Owing to his winter's study, he could actually understand some of their shouts during battle. Among the opposing troops were some who wore white skullcaps. These were Moslem Albanians irregulars. It was these Albanians who managed to break through to where Baden himself stood on a rise watching the battle from horseback. The Imperial commander actually had to draw his sword and strike about him in order to save himself, luckily to good effect. From a distance, his men watched this with horror, then relief as their commander fought off his attackers. The incident became part of Baden's personal legend. Wave after wave of enemy cavalry were beaten off but at a cost. With his non-coms down, Sebastian had to organize volley fire on his own. The men obeyed perfectly, the result not only of training but of shared experience. They trusted him. Sebastian now operated as though in a dream, shocked over the loss of Fuss and Feliks, aware that this battle might be bad for his own health as well. Yet he felt satisfaction, even in this state of mind, in ordering the volleys himself. There was always an anxious moment while the men reloaded, swearing at their carbines, and hoping that the Bosnians would give them time. This was not always the case. Twice his dragoons had to defend themselves by

- 223 firing at random before they were all ready, and using their blades. This made a great difference for the enemy was brave, and as good with the blades as they were. More men went down. But when volley fire was prepared in time, the enemy veered away from the roar and the smoke, leaving casualties behind. In the end their charges ceased. The Imperials now pursued on horseback, overtaking the enemy foot, some of whom were Janissaries, easily identified by their sleevelike trailing headgear. Seeing themselves abandoned by their own cavalry, the Janissaries turned in order to pull Imperial horsemen from their saddles. This was the closest Sebastian came to being killed. Two wild-eyed panting Janissaries pulled at his boots and stirrups, while a third pulled at the tail of his mare. Falling, Sebastian rolled to his feet. With one boot off, he lay about with his sword, so that two of the three gave up the effort. The third, who had been pulling on the tail, grabbed him by the collar, twisting it so that Sebastian could scarcely draw breath. The duo were locked too close even to use swords. Out of Sebastian's mouth came a Vlah curse he had often heard the past winter, delivered full force in the man's face. "Fuck your mother!" Loosening his grip, the amazed Bosnian Janissary was grabbed and battered by a two of Sebastian's men, using the butts of their empty carbines, breaking the man's skull open so that the brains showed. The dragoon regiments now closed with their own infantry, and together they pursued the unnerved Janissaries. This time there was no pause to search for booty, since the enemy had no camp nearby. Sebastian struggled, alone as never before, to keep his men together, in hot pursuit of the fleeing enemy. The killing went on for hours. Sebastian, now a harder man than he had been, simply looked away from the bloodletting that came so naturally to his Vlahs. By the end of the day about 5,000 enemy dead lay unburied, while 2,000 others were made prisoner by Baden's small army. Days later an exchange took place. As their reward for victory, Baden's men took booty from the slain, especially horses and engraved swords and matchlocks, and red tunics stained by war. Sebastian knew he had done well in the Battle of Derventa. He had again earned the confidence of his men, who before had sometimes grumbled about his scruples. Colonel Feltzer had noticed his zeal in keeping up the pursuit, and commended him personally to the commander himself. When a weary Louis of Baden called his officers together after the battle to congratulate them, Sebastian had the impression that Baden was looking directly at him. As for Sebastian's

- 224 brief locution to the Bosnian who had pulled his mare's tail, this now became part of his own legend. Men in his company howled with laughter when recounting this encounter with the unlucky Janissary. "That's our captain, damn if he isn't something else again. Wish I had his wits." He now belonged to them fully. Inspired by his experience, Sebastian resolved to get for his company the new device called the "bayonet" which they had all heard about, so that none of his men should find themselves as helpless as he had been when hugging the Bosnian Janissary. The bayonet was not without fault. Once the plug was thrust into the barrel, the carbine or flintlock could not be fired. On the other hand, it was a lethal weapon at close quarters, and did not need to be reloaded. When his men went into winter quarters at Zvornik, which was Baden's last conquest on the Drina in the fall of 1688, Sebastian campaigned to obtain the new device. But obtaining the bayonet proved impossible. Nowhere was it available yet in the army under Baden's command. What did become available that year were flintlocks with paper cartridges. They were expensive, but Sebastian managed to equip half of the men remaining after the losses of the season with the new cartridges, promising the others to equip them too in the coming year. Sebastian brought his mind back to the present world of 1689. The Batocina and Nish campaigns were now behind them. With their clothes still drying on their backs, Piccolomini's men gave up their bath and laundry and continued the march toward Kosovo, guided by their Serbian volunteers. Baden's army, which was much larger than their own, was probably now at Vidin on the Danube, much nearer to home than they were, or at least nearer the Danube lifeline. Piccolomini's army, on the other hand, was headed away from the Danube into territory that was utterly strange to the Austrians — Ottoman territory, the Sultan's own marches. They would be completely dependent upon the friendliness and cooperation of wild-eyed natives, Christians perhaps, but only in a certain sense. Could they actually reach the Adriatic? Like other officers, perhaps like the generals themselves, Sebastian wondered if the mission could really be accomplished. Certainly it would be interesting to bathe in the same sea he had seen at Venice, the vast sea beyond the lagoon. He had seen the Adriatic on a headquarters map. There would be many a mountain pass, not to mention the burning question of cooperation with their Venetian allies. This had all started out as a project of the Pope's. But that was years ago. Now it would require a lot of luck to succeed.

- 225 They passed through hills into the region called Kosovo. Soils here were supposed to be fertile, yet there were vast stretches with neither houses nor sign of agriculture. Occasional mud brick houses clustered behind high mud brick walls, with nearly flat roofs, probably because winters here were mild. Most walls had towers built into them, with slits for firearms instead of windows, a grim contrast to the beautiful countryside. Peasant women whom they spotted all wore red aprons. Here and there the passing army also saw Albanians wearing the whitish skull caps which Sebastian had first seen at Derventa, as well as Tsintsars and Gypsies dressed somewhat like Turks, but with differences between them which were obvious to their Serb companions. Their march ended at Pristina, a town of 3,000 houses, the largest in the Kosovo region. Just then there was no Turkish force of importance west of the Morava River, and no resistance to their progress. Their small army's reception by the Christian population was gladdening. People standing along the dirt streets raised their arms, cheering them on and shouting that they would stick with the Austrians through thick and thin. Marshal Piccolomini and other officers in his column pretended to feel the confidence that the people seemed to expect from them. They cried out to people along the way that the Austrian Emperor pitied their circumstances and with God's help intended to free them forever from the Turkish yoke. Sheep were being roasted and soon smoking meat and flat bread were thrust into the hands of the mixed soldatesca, all pleased to have a free meal. In the middle of their meal a large force of Serb volunteers arrived, almost as numerous as the Austrians, accompanied by their own priest. These also swore loyalty to the invading Austrians, and then looked around for something to eat. Marshal Piccolomini now sent emissaries to all the main towns of the region, accompanied by Serbian guides whose role it was to give them credibility. They would reach as many Christians as possible in order to bind them to the Austrian cause. There was a rumor that the Serbian Patriarch of Pec would be brought back from Cetinje, near the Adriatic, where he had taken refuge with the Venetians. The marshal had sent him a message saying that he would choose a new patriarch if he didn't return. Impressed by this logic, the patriarch had agreed to return to meet with Piccolomini somewhere in Kosovo. But without waiting for his return, Piccolomini decided to march south to Skopje, the main town of the Vardar River valley, straddling the route to the Aegean. And beyond Skopje his soldiers might conceivably continue on south to

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Solun (Salonica) the main Turkish port on the Aegean. The small army soon found itself picking its way through the Vardar gorge, and emerged into the Skopje basin toward the end of October. Christians whom they saw along the way waved their greetings. It seemed as if the Turkish cause had collapsed and a new era was opening. Surely the Emperor's soldiers would not come so far in vain. Sebastian felt his usual excitement at being on his sure-footed mare, moving as part of the army. To his dismay, his company was being shadowed by the rough followers of George son of George. The hayduk had been ordered to accompany a contingent of Imperials to Novi Pazar but had declined to do so. He said that he had never seen Skopje before and now was his chance. Besides, his good friend Captain Winkler needed the company of real fighting men. It was George who commented on the country they were passing through, making sense out of it for the Austrians. "Look, look, that's a real Turkish farm. You can tell by the bottles on the chimney. That means there are marriageable daughters there. "Look, look at those poor bastards," said George, pointing at a walled village. "Christians they are, just like we are. They work the land for the Turks, poor bastards. Some good looking women though, by God." To Sebastian's question about why the land looked so empty and was yet fertile, George's reply was that people were overtaxed, and either ran away or refused to work very hard. "Brother, the harder you work, the more they take away from you. Surely that don't surprise you." "Look over there, Captain, those are Tsintsars, merchants." He pointed at a mule train making off in another direction. "Real smart people, them Tsintsars." Later on, "See them Gypsies? Watch out for them, Captain. They all work for the Turks. Some of them are Moslems, some of them nothing. You never know. As soon as we pass, they will tell the Turks what we are doing. We ought to kill them all." "George, we are not here to kill everyone we see, we are here to make allies as far as I know." By talking to people they found on the road, Serbs with the Austrian column learned that Skopje was undefended, but also that there was plague there. The word spread quickly The Skopje they found was a large city — 10,000 houses, perhaps more. Here and there minarets and poplars reached skyward. But whereas in Pristina the streets had been full of people, in Skopje they were empty, save for packs of roving dogs. Their horses rattled down narrow cobble streets lined with cantilevered houses fronting gardens within. Some doors were ajar

- 227 allowing a glance within. The houses were mostly of adobe, reinforced with wooden beams and faced with stucco. No two were quite alike. A few old people showed their faces peeping from the windows but one could not tell from their expressions whether they were Christians or Moslems. If they were Christians, they hid any enthusiasm they felt toward the invaders. The horsemen clattered down cobble stone streets that seemed mostly deserted, shop fronts covered with canopies. It seemed there would be no resistance. Most inhabitants had fled to escape the plague. When they reached the center, they were astonished to find a clock tower at the side of a lead roofed covered bazaar, and nearby the long, arching stone bridge which would carry them over to the south bank of the Vardar, which passed through Skopje on its way to the Aegean. The mounted columns of horsemen rested for a bit while interrogations of civilians took place in the town center. Crossing the river, the Marshal stationed himself on the massive hill south of the city where he could look down on the city. Far down below, near the center of Skopje, was the smaller hill where the city's fortress stood. Once he understood where everything was, and had listened to the accounts of some captured informants, he ordered the city burned. He could not hold this city but he could destroy it, humiliating its defenders. When George son of George heard the order that came down, he went into a frenzy. His personal priority, he announced, was to open the prison that formed a part of the fortress on the smaller hill. This had not even occurred to the Imperials, but to George it was the right thing to do, since there were bound to be men there who were no worse than he was himself, who had merely killed someone or stolen a horse. Sebastian's men were ordered to follow the hayduk and burn as they went, something his men would enjoy doing. This town would burn well, with all its thatched roofs and wooden walls and floors. Nothing like a good fire. But on their way back into the city they met an unexpected group of horsemen, apparently Turks. No sooner was he sure that they were Turks and not Serbs, than Sebastian took an arrow in the chest. He vomited from the shock; his breath came hard. His chest began to fill with blood. His men pursued the handful of Turks, but he could not. The wounded captain fell from his horse, pulling at the painful stick. What a fate! He had been felled by an arrow, an old fashioned weapon which scarcely counted any longer more in modern warfare. And it stung like fire! Sebastian looked around him at the strange city, wondering whether George had found anyone worth saving. For a time he gazed at the cobbles on which he was lying, which were now slick with his own blood.

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Some of his men returned, bringing a barber with them. When the arrow came out their captain fainted. "He cannot be moved", he heard someone say. Well then, he would have to die alone thought the stricken captain, since Piccolomini's forces, as he knew, would now head back north to the Plain of Blackbirds, the scene of the ancient Serb defeat at the hands of the Turks. He asked to be left. Did anyone understand him? He could not tell. They bring him to me, this Austrian fellow, carrying him on a blanket soaked with blood, with blood dripping down. This big Serb gadjo is yelling at me, calling me a Gypsy bitch, and I am yelling back, "Take him away, I don't want him. What do you expect me to do with this one?", I say. "He don't have any more blood. I'm a healer but I don't do miracles. And besides I don't like soldiers." He says, " Shit, woman, do what you have to do, there is no other way". They give me some money, not enough for this, according to me, and these fellows leave in a big hurry. I don't see them no more since that day. I look at the money and I think — I should just take this money and let this Austrian die. Who will know? His friends, if they are his friends, they never come back, I'm sure. They burn Skopje for no reason at all, as far as I can see. Oh yes, they say they burn it because there is a plague. And it's true there is a plague. But I never hear of burning down a city to fight the plague. When there is a plague, people just leave and come back later. That's why Skopje is empty when they come, these gadjo bastards. The people ran away. Now look at it. What do they care? I look at this Austrian with a hole in his chest. He is a real mess. All the blood is out, he is white. Like he's dead, if you pardon me saying so. But I see that he is tall, blond, and in my opinion goodlooking. One thing you have to understand about Dritta. I always want a blond child, don't ask me why. Take a look at me, typical Kalderash, dark like a crow. I have two nice girls, but they are dark like me, and dark like their father, yes that one. Who is their father? I tell you. He is one no good tinner, who puts tin inside copper pots. Maybe he is not even alive anymore. What do I care? In those days he drinks and then beats me like a kilim, until his arms get tired, until he falls asleep. One day I get tired of being his kilim and I fix him good. I wait for the end of the month, my month. Then while he's asleep I put my skirts over his face for a while. Smell that you bastard. He may not know it but he is polluted now, really polluted. He will never be lucky again, especially since he don't know about it.

- 229 Then I clear out for good, and I take my girls with me. I don't need this so-called husband to raise my girls because I know herbs, I'm a healer. So I live alone now for a long time near Skopje I sell herbs to gadjos, telling them what to buy, what to take to get well. I'm far from my people, who live near the sea. I think they don't even know where I am, at least I hope not. My father is furious when I leave, you can imagine. My husband's people want back the bride price for sure. Never mind. It's not my father that my husband is beating every day. So now this is what happens. I do my best for this blond Austrian. And I am really surprised because I have saved him finally, helping him make new blood, good blood. It takes some time but he is young and strong. He's not quite the same fellow now, it's true, because he has some trouble breathing. But he's alive, maybe live a long time. Now here's a good chance to get my blond baby. Maybe a boy, maybe a girl. Sure, people will look at my blonde baby and say how did this happen? Never mind, they don't have to know. And he don't have to know either. Sebastian understood little at first about where he was or what was going on. He remembered taking an arrow in the chest and lying in the cobbled street. Cobbles were the last thing he'd seen. Egon was there, he thought, and George son of George. Now he was alone in this one room house, lying on a sort of quilt on an earthen floor behind a curtain. At first he was perfectly content to lie all day and all night without moving. Breathing was painful, coughing torture. He spat old blood from time to time, and he could hear himself breathing. The room was warm. There was a fire going all the time. For a long time he had a fever and could not think. There was no reason to think beyond wondering where the all the others had gone. How nice it was to sleep. There were two girls in the room. On the other side of the curtain he could hear their whispering and giggling. His niece Resi would be almost their age. Strange. What was Resi doing while he lay here? And Elfie? Sebastian woke one day to find a woman bending over him with a bowl of soup. She insisted that he feed himself. The soup was delicious, thick with gravy, and with meat in it. This woman's nose was slashed on one side, how or why he never found out. She was tall and thin, and smelled of herbs he slowly realized. The woman insisted on washing him, all of him, with warm water. It was very pleasant once he got used to it. But when he had to relieve himself, he didn't want her

- 230 help. She understood and let him do this by himself, though it caused him pain. Everything was done smoothly, if not quite noiselessly, on the other side of the curtain. On the opposite side of the room there was a door and two small windows, covered with taut skins, which let in an amber light. When the door was opened, he would pull aside the curtain in time to see out past their wrapped feet. Outside he could see bare branches swaying back and forth. They were not in the city, but where were they? It seemed that the woman might have burned his clothes because he couldn't see them anywhere in the room. He did not really care about this or anything else. He woke only to sink back into lassitude. Night and day were not very different. The pain lessened, but the weakness continued. He began to have long reveries about Purgstall and his old life. One day he studied the soup she gave him. It tasted good, and as usual had meat in it. She was now speaking to him in a Vlahisch dialect that he mostly understood. She asked him how he was feeling. He said he was fine. At least it was true that he was feeling better and did not sleep all the time as before. She said her name was Dritta, and she learned his name too, but pronounced it Basti. She opened the curtain and he saw that the floor was strewn with dry, sweet smelling grasses. That was what she smelled of — grass. She opened the door for a while and the air from outside smelled good too, fresh and cold. What month was it anyway? Was it still winter, he asked. She said it was March. Lord.! Seven years had passed since his sister's wedding. What had he gained in that time beside experiences of a dubious kind, and a few florins that were far from where he lay? He was just another contract captain, and now he had become nothing at all unless he could find his way home and collect his florins on the way. More days passed and the woman Dritta was making him take a strange beverage that reminded him of cooked apples, a tasty paste made of nuts and seeds and figs, or so it seemed, and then roasted meat, which pleased him. He could feel his strength returning. Why was she doing all this and who had asked her to do it? These questions started to bother him. Where were his comrades now? This was not a hospital, that he could see. The girls in this one room household, formerly quiet, were now growing noisy, and were curious about him. His pleas for privacy fell on deaf ears. The girls wore braids joined at the ends, kerchiefs, and long skirts like their mother, like little adults. Now they would come to his bedside, pull aside the curtain and assail him with questions that he often could not understand in their childish dialect,

- 231 giggling wildly and conspiring with one another to outwit him. One day when he was bathing and their mother was out, they deliberately surprised him behind his curtain. "Basti, you look silly!" He covered himself in an instant. "Where are you from, Basti ?" "From Austria, far to the north of here. It is a land with big mountains, bigger than mountains around here, and snow, lots of snow. Little girls in Austria are not so naughty as you are and they let one bathe by oneself." "Are you a soldier? Our mama says you are. Where is your horse? What happened to you?" But their mama came in and put a stop to the interrogation. The girls were always more quiet when mama was around. Sebastian now watched the woman more closely all the time. If she had a husband, Sebastian never saw him. This Dritta, as she called herself, was no beauty. She was a woman still of child bearing years, hawk nosed and bony, tall and lanky. Unlike her daughters she had coins in her braids. She spoke little but was obeyed without question by her daughters so long as she was in the room. The two girls spent much of each day washing things. Sebastian's shirt they always washed separately from their own things; then he had to wait beneath the quilt for it to dry. Their mother even washed their meat before cooking it. Was there a special reason for so much washing?, he wondered. One day, after he had begun to be more active and even to wash himself, he was tweaked by the arbiter of this disciplined female household. "Basti, did you not use that cloth to wash your bottom?," she asked him. Yes, he had. "And now you are going to use it on your face? Pfft, Basti, you are a very dirty person. Give it to me." She took the cloth away. There were rules, he was finding, a lot of them, connected to washing. Now he was given two cloths, one for his face, and one for other parts. He was allowed to start feeding himself too. The days were growing noticeably lighter and longer, the air milder as it came through the open door. This new man Basti now looked out the door as much as he could, though he was forbidden to go out. There were other small houses but not very near, donkeys in the fields nearby, and other householders moving about their in gardens. The nearest household seemed preoccupied with loading donkeys with kegs. Of water? Were they selling water? Milk? Beer? Wine? Apparently they were not very far from some market place. There were many wooden utensils in Dritta's cabin that she and the girls were carving and apparently selling

- 232 in the market. Her market activities were her second vocation, and kept her away part of the time. Her visits to the market she called "trampa", a word quite new to him. While she was away, she forbade Basti from going outside. Because he had almost no clothes other than his much-mended shirt, this prohibition was easily obeyed. He noticed that if anyone approached his or her own little house, Dritta would shoo him back behind the curtain. It must be that his situation was dangerous, he reasoned, so he complied. The girls too seemed to have their instructions not to allow anyone near. When so much as a cat wandered in the girls would shoo it away vigorously. Cats are dirty, so they informed him. Basti began to question Dritta to find out what she could tell him about the way the Austrian campaign in Kosovo was going. Perhaps he could yet escape and rejoin his company. "Oh, the Austrians. They run away. First from Skopje, then they run away from Kosovo. Now they run back to Nish, maybe soon they run all the way across the Danube. The Tatars have come to Skopje and to Kosovo also." "What do you mean, Tatars? From the Crimea? You must mean Turks." "No, no, Tatars. I can't even understand these fellows. They are not Turks." "The 'devil's boys' here? Working for the Sultan like always? You mean you've seen them? Where?" "When I go to the market I see them once with Serbs who are prisoners. Strange. They look strange. " "Wait, wait, I can't believe this. You say the Austrians have gone away and the Tatars are taking prisoners? "Yes, Basti, believe this. Those Tatars they come with the Turks and sweep up all the Serbs they can find. They chain them up and take them away, men, women and children. From Skopje and from Kosovo too. And your leader Piko is dead from the plague. He got to Prizren, he lie down and poof! Serves him right for burning Skopje, stupid fellow. Why he does that? And that Serb hayduk who brings you here, the Tatars kill him in a bad way. "How do you mean?" "They sit him on a stick. Pfft." She showed him with her hands. Sebastian swallowed hard. The news about Piccolomini was a shock, the news about George even worse. Whatever happened to him now, please God not that. How did she know these things and could he trust

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her? His head now clear, he pondered his future. If what she said was true he was in deep trouble. A retreat by the Austrians would leave him deep in enemy territory, or already had. "Don't worry, Basti, we take good care of you. No one knows you here. The girls say nothing." But this did not comfort the Styrian captain even a little. Their intentions might be good, but they were only human. He began to be afraid, to lose sleep, and to puzzle out how he might leave and make his way home. How could he manage it? For the moment he had no clothes, no horse, no weapon and no money to buy them. Would Dritta help him get these things? She didn't seem inclined in the least to favor Austrians. Surely the comrades who brought him here must have realized that. What had they expected — that he should fly out of here like a bird? Winter was finally over and he could now move about the house, though he was still forbidden to walk outside. Dritta made him a new shirt and pants but not shoes. The girls resumed their questions and together they invented games. From the girls he learned that the neighbors were selling boza, a drink made from millet, that they sold in Skopje, or what was left of Skopje. The girls wanted him to tell stories. He amazed himself that he was able to amuse them despite his odd dialect, and he took pains to embellish stories so as to keep the girls amazed too. One day, in the middle of story time with the girls, Dritta came in carrying fresh green onions. These wonderful sprouts were a sign of spring. Basti greedily tasted the first green vegetables he had seen for months. That night Dritta touched him. He was astonished. She had talked with him but little, and until now had not given the least sign of being interested in him in that way. In fact, he realized, he had never seen so much as her knees. Yet suddenly here she was — insistent, even determined. Though they were in almost complete darkness, there was no doubting what she wanted. He did what she wanted and did it again and again on that first night. Their union started pleasantly enough but soon he was feeling pain in his chest. He coughed and tried to explain (as if she didn't know) that he was a wounded man. She patted him sympathetically but did not ease up at all on account of the pain. No doubt she considered him cured. She seemed to know exactly what he was capable of, pain or no pain. She spoke of their "going behind the hedge", which he knew had something to do with these trysts. This must be what a succubus is like, he decided, thinking back to nighttime talk back in his student

- 234 days. Such talk seemed hilarious at the time. Now it seemed much less funny. For a week the nightly demands continued, always in the dark. At no time did he see her naked, though he learned things about her that were not obvious in the daylight. Suddenly Dritta's night visits stopped. This seemed as strange to Sebastian as when she started. What had he done or not done? Eventually he decided that she must be menstruating and that perhaps he ought to feel relieved. Sooner or later she would want to resume and he would be ready. What else was there to do in this one room cabin? But this was not to be. On a misty day a couple weeks after her nightly descents had ceased, and Sebastian had begun to miss them, he heard Dritta talking to someone outside the house. This other person was a man, a man with a ruined voice, speaking not Vlahisch but some other language. She was apparently bilingual. He hoped the topic was not himself. There was a pause, the voices dropped, and suddenly the door was flung open. In the door stood a lean dark-faced, bowlegged fellow, carrying a lance and a bow. He scowled at Sebastian and addressed him as "giaour", which Sebastian by this time knew meant "infidel". The bowman stood staring. Had Dritta sold him out? He would never know. Too late now to plan an escape. God help me now, he thought. This fellow has a lance and I have nothing. One good thrust and I am done for.

PART THREE ISTANBUL

ISTANBUL, 1690 After recovering enough to attend to his wounds Sebastian recalled that a second Turk, a real ruffian, had appeared in the hour of his capture. The two soldiers had led their prize to a tree, and holding his arms from both sides they had slammed him against the trunk, breaking his nose. He passed out. It was the pain of his broken nose that brought him back. The woman had gone. As he thought this over later, the fact that she was nowhere to be seen strengthened his suspicion that she did not love him in the least and had knowingly delivered him over to his enemies. Over the next few days the Styrian captive passed through the valley of the shadow of death. He was given a pair of crude leather sandals as a substitute for shoes, and a felt cloak that stank. He was largely ignored by his captors, until he was pushed into a line of men with nooses around their necks, all as miserable as himself. Their guards, armed with whips as well as lances, were preparing to drive this sad column south along the Vardar River like so many cattle. Sebastian was breathing through his mouth. He was in great pain because of the dislocated septum in his nose, but managed to set the nose himself by using his fingers and stuffing his nostrils with leaves. His chest hurt while walking. Weeks on his back had drained much of his strength, and he often stumbled. By now his only consolation was the likelihood that everyone who had known him at home in Austria, and in the Austrian army, now believed him dead. That was the way he now wanted it. How could he explain to others what he could scarcely believe himself? An Austrian captain a prisoner of the Turks? This should not happen, and yet it had. Austria now seemed far away, his life a disaster. For the Turkish drovers it was business as usual. Along the road south, which closely followed the river, they picked up more prisoners, gaunt peasants speaking something akin to Vlahisch. These had been captured when Tatar cavalry retook the region around Skopje. Any talking among these human cattle was rewarded with a sting of the whip. As the prisoners marched it rained cold. Those wearing raw

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leather sandals were soon barefoot as the sandals melted away. Although the road was a beaten path, it was not free of stones. The pain of his naked feet distracted Sebastian from the pains in his face and chest. His feet, now covered with cuts and bruises, became his main concern. Boys who were fishing in the river threw stones at the prisoners, but fortunately their aim was poor, and the stones less than lethal. The prisoners were fed with stale hard flatbread, which some supplemented with the edible plants they recognized by the side of the path and furtively grabbed at. At night they were herded into abandoned ruins, forbidden to remove their nooses from around their necks. Fleas awaited them at every shelter. Sebastian would never have survived without his stinking felt cloak, to which he knew he owed his life. He slept badly despite being exhausted, and like the others was soon covered with welts left by their insect hosts. Escape looked impossible. From what he had heard, he knew that the closest remnant of the Austrian army was at Nish, a week distant even on horseback. He thought of suicide for the first time in his life. But as a Catholic, he could not. "God's time is the best time", so people said. One night the prisoners slept in a sheep shed, a little warmer than usual because of the straw left there, soiled though it was. Here Sebastian had a very strange dream. He found himself in a vast dark building, much like the Generalitat at Karlovac. To his surprise he found that he had become a black man, like the black man he had seen dead in Bosnia. A door opened in front of him. In the door stood Brother Rolf, with light shining from behind him. Sebastian began to advance toward the door. But Rolf, putting a finger to his lips so as to shush him, and smiling, swung the door shut. Then the door opened again, to total darkness. This time standing in the door was a runty figure painted black and white, whom Sebastian was sure was the Devil. The sleeping Styrian felt a stifling dread, and could not stop himself from letting out a howl. He kept on howling in his dream. But the runt was doing nothing at all. Dread and tension subsided by degrees. The Devil spoke. He said that there had been persons who worshipped him, but these were persons who were interested in stirring up trouble. In the future there would be order and harmony. When Sebastian asked him whether he was indeed the Devil, the runt replied that he could remember when the first star had been born. But, said the runt, now there were just too many stars to count. Amused by this absurdity, the Styrian prisoner laughed and woke up.

- 237 After some days the ragged column limped into the port of Thessaloniki. There they were led through narrow, ill smelling streets some lined with small shops. Strangely garbed inhabitants with dark faces either took little notice of them, or stared without sympathy. Suddenly down a side street Sebastian glimpsed the glittering blue sea awash in sunlight. They had arrived at the Aegean, a ward of the Mediterranean. His heart pounded faster in spite of his misery. This was the first he had seen of the sea since he and Egon had crossed the lagoon at Venice. What a glorious blue! Just then a young man, most likely a Christian or a Jew, stepped fearlessly up to the column with a vast bouquet of honey suckle which he thrust for a moment under the nose of each prisoner in the column. The Moslem guards permitted this for a moment, then shooed the flower seller away. Sebastian felt a surge of hope. Flowers were surely a good omen! Some way along the sea front they arrived at an impressive round tower that they understood to be their destination. They stopped outside while their own guards negotiated with the prison guards. They were going in. Out of the bright street they were led into corridors so dark that they had to hold on to one another for fear of falling. Guards distributed the newcomers to cells with tiny windows, holding several men each. Each cell stank worse than the next. Perhaps because the prison guards assumed that he was a Serb, or perhaps because they didn't care who he was, Sebastian ended up in a cell with some of the Serbs who had been with him in the column. The nooses now came off. Sebastian could understand the Vlahisch tongue well enough but did not speak it like a Serb. The Serbs in the cell wanted to know exactly who he was. Here Sebastian made a great mistake, telling them not only that he was an Austrian from Styria, but also that he had served with Piccolomini as an officer of Leopold's army. This produced a violent reaction. All the men who had been in the column from Skopje had lost homes, had been separated from their families, and were themselves now expecting to be enslaved. Most of their former neighbors had fled south toward Belgrade to get away from the Tatars, and were probably dying along the road. From the moment Sebastian admitted to being an Austrian, staying in the same cell with the others became impossible. One big aggressive Serb began to shout, pushing him against the dank stonewall of the cell. All the Serbs in the cell were furious with all Austrians everywhere because the Emperor's men had deceived them, deserted them, and left them at the mercy of the returning Turks. His

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cellmates quickly passed from shouting at the Styrian to pummeling him as their rage mounted out of control. Sebastian raised his arms to defend himself but suddenly found himself on his back on the ground, being kicked in the ribs and stomach. Hearing the commotion, a guard came, quite ready to assert his authority over these heathen dregs by thrashing about him with his baton. Seeing Sebastian on the ground, and realizing that this merchandise might come to harm, he pushed the battered Styrian into another cell, a cell full of men speaking another language. The new language turned out to be Greek. This second cell was at least safe. The inmates made room for him, even offering him water. However the stench was no less. Since they had no language in common, it was some time before these Greeks could understand where Sebastian had come from. The Styrian captain was naturally now hesitant to communicate as freely as before, and sat against a wall, a bit warmer now because of the cell being crowded, but still in constant pain, wondering whether he would survive and whether he really wanted to survive. The food of the prison was at least a step up from what the column had eaten on the road. Now there were dried peas along with the bread. But with the perpetual darkness, filth, and stench, Sebastian's thoughts again tended to suicide. Perhaps he would have found a way to act on these thoughts had it not been for an amazing visit on the third day of his confinement. "Get up!" The guards were shouting. The prisoners had already had their first meal of the day, so they knew that it was not for that reason that they had been roused from their usual stupor. Light poured into the cell from torches, and a ruddy well-fed face topped by a turban thrust up to the cell door peering into the gloom. "Hey, Austrian! Giaour!" The man with the ruddy face was speaking something like Vlahisch. Sebastian assumed he must be a Bosnian Moslem, and a man of high rank, since the guards were following his orders. Peering at the stout figure belonging to the ruddy face, Sebastian was amazed to see that the visitor's attire included a white turban, a sky blue azure cloak set off against a red vest, and a green striped cummerbund. One had to hand it to the Moslems — they were sure to use every color under the sun. The door opened and one of the guards, bearing a torch and blinking in the gloom, eventually found the man he was looking for, poking his baton into Sebastian's side. The Bosnian then inspected the strange prisoner. "How is it that an Austrian captain shows up here?" the overbearing Bosnian wanted to know.

- 239 "I came to Skopje with Piceolomini and was wounded", said Sebastian, indicating his chest. "After lying around for a while taking it easy I was discovered and was offered a new situation. And here I am." "Do you know what happened to your commander?" "Yes, I did hear. He was killed by the plague, right?" "Yes, the plague. A just reward for what he did to Skopje. He should have stayed at home and never come. Yourself likewise. And how is it that you speak our language? Not very well perhaps, but you do understand me." "My regiment was made up of Vlahs and Croats, even some Serbs." "An Austrian who commanded Vlahs! What about that? You could be useful. No, not to myself. But my brother will be very interested in having an Austrian at hand. He will know what to do with a man like yourself." The man with the azure cloak began to bargain with the guards, leaving Sebastian in the dark as the torches moved away. It seemed the prison guards were not authorized to sell their prisoners, and had to fetch one of the drovers who had come with the column. After some bargaining a price was struck. Sebastian was ordered out of the darkness, emerging into the blinding light of a spring morning, following the man with the azure cloak. The Bosnian placed a noose around his neck once more and mounted his horse, a fine chestnut mare which reminded Sebastian of his own lost mare. Sebastian had no choice but to follow behind, like a calf bought at market. If his dragoons could see him now! Thank God they could not! After wending their way along the ill smelling lanes well furnished with puddles, the two came upon a wider and better lane leading to the upper town. Fortunately the Bosnian grandee was in no great hurry and so slowed his pace so that the prisoner could follow without difficulty. "What happened to your nose?" he called over his shoulder. "It was struck by a tree." "They shouldn't have done that, probably." Sebastian was not pleased to hear the "probably" in the Bosnian's reply. But upon reflection he could see that a man who had collided with a tree was doubtless easier to handle, and could be slung over a horse like baggage, so it was a practical thing to do. What other charms would the future hold? They came to a row of two story houses standing out against the brilliant spring sky, parallel to the shoreline. Like the houses at Skopje, these had lower walls of adobe, and second floors of wooden

- 240 planks, unpainted but graced by latticed windows. The first floor of each house was blind to the street, with just a single unwelcoming gate. Above the adobe walls the wooden floor were cantilevered, thrusting over the street. From behind the wooden grills hidden inmates could watch the street unobserved. Sebastian noticed a movement at one window, and a face behind the glint of glass. They stopped. "I have relatives in this house. It's time you knew that my name is Ferhat Efendi. I am a chavush, an Imperial chavush, quite a high position in our system of government. Don't forget to call me Efendi, but you will speak only if I address you, especially here in this house". So said the man in the azure cloak and the white turban. "If you ever forget, I'll poke you one. And now, my little captain" (he said this even though Sebastian was half a head taller than himself), "this is where we spend the night. What is your name anyway?" When Sebastian told him, the man promptly changed the unwieldy Sebastian to something shorter, at first Basti, then Basit, then Basti again. The Bosnian chavush dismounted and tapped smartly on the heavy wooden gate in the wall which abutted the house. From inside came the sound of running footsteps. The door swung open on an inner world of greenery and carved woodwork. It looked inviting in spite of the circumstances. The servants who came to the gate spoke Bosnian to Sebastian's new master, moving like men who knew their place, and making a great fuss over the Imperial chavush. Apparently this whole household was Bosnian, transplanted from north of the Balkans to the polyglot port of Thessaloniki. The new man they now called "Basti" had heard no other language he recognized on the way up the hill and so decided that at least he was lucky to have entered a household where he could understand the language. Sebastian was handed over to one of the menservants, whose job it was to get him cleaned up and fed. He was told to follow this manservant, who was armed with a cudgel, back down the hill to where a hamam stood. Here Sebastian was to have the first bath of his life administered in the Moslem fashion, which later he learned had been the Roman fashion as well. First he was shown to the master of the baths. The fat bald master of the bath scraped his arm with a wooden spatula. From the man's expression, Sebastian could see that he was being regarded as a filthy specimen. And why not? Was it his fault that he had been sleeping under a cape which stank, in cells full of stinking men?

- 241 The bath turned out to be a regenerative experience, a rebirth which changed Sebastian's view of his prospects. Perhaps suicide would not be necessary. Everything now depended upon the Bosnian buyer and the new household. "My God", he mused. "Here I am nothing but a prisoner, a slave even. This morning I was miserable. Yet here I am enjoying a bath at someone else's expense." And in truth the ancient system of bathing he discovered that day had long ago been designed to put every bather at ease, using a combination of waters of varying temperatures, hot and warm vapors, towels large and small, and even warm stone beds on which to rest. From overhead there were shafts of light falling from apertures in the bathhouse domes. Other bathers, their loins covered with towels, gazed at Sebastian with interest when they heard from his keeper, who also bathed, that the newcomer was an Austrian. Not only was he an Austrian, he had been a captain. All this was conveyed in some other language, which Sebastian assumed was Turkish. "Filthy giaour, look — he's not been circumcised," said one old fellow. But others quieted the grumbler. They apparently thought that such abuse of a stranger was not right. Some bathers were being massaged, but this was not a luxury a slave could expect. Sebastian instead busied himself with his nose, pulling out the melting detritus and trying to recover his old way of breathing. Perhaps one day he would return to the bath and get the full treatment. After they had dried themselves his Bosnian keeper unwrapped a bundle he had been carrying. Inside there was a gown similar to the keeper's own, which the Austrian prisoner was now expected to put on to replace the rags he wore when he entered. No cloak, no turban, no bright colors as yet, no shoes either, only the simple cloth of the gown, and a wide belt. But it was clean for once and large enough to fit anyone. Pulling the gown over his head, Sebastian felt a little silly, because it suggested a garment for sleeping which some of the rich people wore back in Austria. But every one else around him, including the servant who had brought him, wore similar garments, so that he quickly got over this embarrassment. "Come with me", ordered the servant. He led Sebastian away from the bathhouse toward the port, passing again through narrow dark streets where the newcomer had to watch his footing carefully, trying to avoid unpleasant piles and puddles. After some minutes, they emerged through a gate onto the waterfront, shocked by the blue sea beyond. "This is what I wanted to show you", said the Bosnian servant. "Take a look at that ship." Sebastian had seen the galleys at Venice and had

- 242 seen sails at a distance, but this was the first time he had had a close look at a sailing ship. It was dark sloop, low to the water, fitted out with seaworn tackle. Sailors with sunburned faces, half dressed in nondescript clothes, were unloading from the deck, which was almost level with the quayside. "Look at them", said the servant. "These are your real enemies. These are the French. If you get too close, you could end up on a French galley, eating sea biscuit for the rest of your life." Sebastian looked at them with interest. He had never talked with a real Frenchman, though there had been Belgians at Graz. He had heard there were French advisors at Esseg who had helped the Turks with their fortifications before the battle of Mohacs, but he had never actually seen any at the time. "What are they doing here?" "They've come from Egypt I think, carrying sugar and coffee." "What will they carry away?" "Maybe nothing. They are probably interested in buying wheat, but they won't get it here. That's forbidden. But that won't prevent them from making a purchase at sea from another vessel, if they can. I just thought you might like to see your enemy. The French are the ones who are really keen on the war. They keep pushing us Moslems from behind." Picking their way back along noisome lanes to the house on the hill above the town, now brilliantly lit by the late afternoon sun, the begowned former captain was let inside with his keeper, then left alone in a storeroom at ground level. The setting sun came in over the adobe walls. No one seemed to be watching him. On the other hand he had no shoes, so that even if he got past the gate to the street, he would have to walk barefoot. What chance did that give him? He had better postpone his escape until he had shoes at least, better yet an opportunity to steal a horse. Soon after nightfall on this evening in early spring there came the call to prayer from a mosque nearby, and then more distant voices as other mosques took up the call. "Allah akbar!" The call to prayer started with the same cry Sebastian had heard on the battlefield. There was much to think about. Escape looked unlikely for the moment. Suicide was still a possibility depending upon how things turned out, though as a Catholic, he would rather not do that. He saw that he was now completely dependent on the whims of others, and did not even know whether he was to live as part of this household, or was to be taken elsewhere. He had even less control over his own life now than he had

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when he was in the army, and condemned to spend the winter in an unknown place. This thought brought a bitter smile to his lips. Sebastian and his Bosnian buyer remained at the house in the upper town for three days. During those days there was nothing to do but wait. Everyone else in the household, even the servants, slept on the floor above, while he had as companions horses and donkeys of the household. From outside came the cries of sellers hawking their wares, among which were fish, announced by a ghostly cry of "balik", the name of that village in Slavonia where Vuk's plantation had been. On the floor above his head were women's quarters, impossible for Sebastian to see into, while opposite him on the other side of the house was where men of the household stayed. He could watch the men as they came and went. This entire arrangement seemed odd to the Austrian. How and when did the men and women ever get together? On the second night there was a party on the men's side. A number of men gathered for a meal, and wine was drunk. Sebastian could smell the marvelous fumes of wine as he gazed at the floor opposite, and it made him long for a drink. But that was the old life. This wine was not being poured for him. Nor was the party for him, nor was he invited to attend. Instead he had to listen while Bosnian cronies told their jokes, always well appreciated, and sang their wistful songs. Sebastian had to eat their leftovers, and not the best of them, and not right away. But one of the dishes he thus inherited was pilav, made with rice, which was totally new to him. He liked it immediately. The evening of the party a committee made up of these Bosnians in their outlandish costumes came down together to the courtyard to see what an Austrian looked like. They asked some questions, made their jokes, then went back up. Fortunately no one asked him to dance, sing, or do tricks. Every day brought something unexpected, some new humiliation whether or not intended as such. Never once did he see a woman of this household. Three days of waiting passed which he was glad to have, since he was still recuperating. His feet were still a problem. If he were to escape, he would need good feet. Suddenly early on the fourth morning he was abruptly wakened, as though he were still in the army. Without warning the Imperial chavush descended from his place on the second floor, and appeared in the doorway to tell Sebastian to make himself ready to travel. This was easily done since the new servant had no possessions whatsoever. He was supplied with a little flat bread, which he was told to stick in his belt. There were fond and ribald goodbyes for the chavush but not for the new servant. As they emerged through the gate into the street,

- 244 Sebastian found that he was to ride a horse, inferior at a glance, which was tied by a thong to the halter of the mare he so admired. He still had no shoes, which meant they were taking no chances with him. He was allowed to take with him the clean felt cloak he had been using to sleep in since he had joined the household. As they wended their way through the still cool lanes of the drowsy port, Sebastian wondered whether he would ever come this way again. He would not miss this dirty port but at least he was leaving it under circumstances that were more pleasant than when he entered. The road rose and turned east. As the sun rose Sebastian looked back to see the round tower where luckless jailbirds lay in the darkness. After they had been on the road awhile they entered on a paved section. Ferhat Efendi turned back on his horse to get Sebastian's attention. "You see this pavement? This road was built by the Romans. They did a good job, right?" Sebastian studied the worn paving stones. These were not the first Roman stones he'd seen. There were some remains of city walls and buildings on the Danube, probably Roman, which he had come across during the campaign of the year before. But these particular stones led the way to the city which the Turks called Istanbul, the Greeks Constantinople, and the Serbs Tsarigrad — "Caesar's City". He felt the weight of the past pressing upon these smooth worn stones. Their first evening on the road the Bosnian and the Austrian stopped at a caravan saray, a stone building with a strong wall around it which served as hostel and warehouse. There were some holes around the bottom where someone had carted away stones to build something else. Herds of sheep and goats grazed outside the walls. Beyond them there was an enormous herd of camels waiting to be reloaded with firewood, bound for the distant capital. The chavush was shown respect because of his rank. Sebastian was pleased to find that he was somehow included in that aura of respect by the merchants and drovers who were staying there, though some did stare at his bare feet. For all they knew he might be a Turk, or one of those violent Bosnian frontiersmen. Not all these men were Turks, though they all understood each other well enough. The chavush bought green onions in the caravan saray to go with their flat bread. The well water was brackish. They bedded down early, too tired to listen to stories of the road from the adjoining alcove. On the second day out of Thessaloniki the chavush turned north away from the sea. Without explanation they continued thus until they saw mountains. Sebastian was having to learn to accept not knowing

- 245 where he was going or when, and having to depend completely on the whims of another person. They stopped occasionally along the road while the chavush asked directions or for other information regarding their destination. That evening they arrived at a provincial center of some kind, and the chavush left Sebastian in the road while he went into the largest house of several. He may have been expected. Servants came out, took the horses and showed Sebastian where to sleep — a shed that he would share with a couple shepherds who had come in from the pastures to report on their herds. Sebastian expected that there might be a party with noise and drinking, but instead there was mostly silence. He ate with the shepherds. The next morning the chavush appeared again holding a leather bag, which he fastened under Sebastian's horse. Servants stared at them from the doors. Sebastian knew intuitively from its size and weight what it must contain. He remembered the fate of Kara Mustafa at Belgrade. Failure in the Turkish system was rewarded thus. So this was why they had turned from the well beaten path! And since he was the servant the honor of carrying the bag was his. The chavush seemed unconcerned -. just another day's work, so it seemed. They turned south to return to the Roman road which led to Istanbul, the chavush enjoying a contemplative mood. To Sebastian's amazement the chavush began to sing. The language of the song was Bosnian, so that Sebastian could understand some of it, especially since his new master sang the same songs again and again. The voice he used was soft and full of suffering, the melodies spoke of a tender sadness which the Bosnians called sevda, while all the time the leather sack kept bobbling along under the horse. Overcome with curiosity and genuinely admiring one of the songs, which was like nothing he had ever heard, Sebastian could not resist asking about it. "Ah," said the chavush, "that is a sevdalinka, a Bosnian love song, a song of longing, something which you could have scarcely experienced as I have experienced it. " If you like, I will explain the song to you." And he proceeded to explain every line, first singing it for himself, then repeating the words slowly until his new servant indicated that he could understand. A few of the words were Turkish, most were Bosnian: The The And And

horse complains to Selim Bey, horse complains and jumps, on the horse a chain he ties, to his horse talks thus:

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Now stand, bouquet of gold, oh white one, Did I speak of selling you ? Is it not a wedding of which I speak? Be still, my lamb, be still, and true. "Do you call that a love song?" ventured the Styrian. "It sounds more like a song about a horse." "Pah, you misunderstand, because you are a giaour", chided the chavush. "The song is really about love and longing, but of course the horse enters into it. Didn't you hear the part about the wedding?" "Well, if it is really a song about a wedding, one would expect more about the lady in question. By the way, Ferhat Efendi, may I ask you about the person in the bag? What did he do that brought him to this end ?" "Oh, him. Let's see. How shall I explain this?" He paused for a long time. "In every system there are some bad men. This one was a magistrate, a kadi. Among his other duties, he supervised the collection of taxes, which naturally presents certain opportunities. Right now the High Porte", which Sebastian understood to be the place where vezirs met, "needs every atom of silver or gold which it can find because of this accursed war which you Austrians have brought all this way into our world of Islam. Now a certain amount of cheating is expected. But there is a new Grand Vezir just now and times have changed. Nowadays a kadi must recognize his limits if he wants to survive. This one did not. He was warned, at least I think so, and you see how it ends. I don't know him. I simply carry out orders. If they tell me to bring a head to Istanbul without the man attached, that's what I do. If they wanted the man as well they would have told me." "What do you do with the head?" "Why we display it as a warning to others, what would you think? We don't eat heads." This strange exchange was the starting point for an on again — off again conversation between the two horsemen. For days, as they made their way toward the Moslem capital on the Bosphorus, the chavush took the time to explain the Turkish system of government, which he called "the Ottoman way". It was all very complicated. Sebastian tried to remember as much as he could. All in all he got the impression of an elaborate far-flung empire, larger and even more diverse than the empire centered on Vienna, as far as he understood it. The Turks did things in their own way. What would happen in the Habsburg system, he wondered, if someone fiddled with the tax

- 247 revenues? Probably the provincial assembly that the official had deceived would take care of him in its own way and not very gently, since they would have to make up the difference. But since Sebastian had never heard of such a case, he could only wonder about it. He thought back on his own and Fuss's "earnings." His own florins would sit with the banker in Graz until when? Forever? He had outgrown any embarrassment he at first felt about those earnings, having long since gotten used to the army's games. Certainly if anyone had asked for his head because of those "earnings" he would have been amazed. Under the Austrian military system it was expected that officers steal from their men and even from the government in a certain way. So what? Surely Turkish officers did likewise, did they not? He dared to ask the chavush about it. "Our system is apparently different from yours. Our officers do not have direct responsibility for feeding and paying the men under their command. Therefore they have less opportunity to make money by dipping into the soldiers' pay. But they do make money in other ways. There are always other ways." While on the road they overtook a column of limping captives, apparently headed for the Istanbul slave market or to some other unknown destiny. This group was made of men and women divided into two groups. Serbs? All of them, Sebastian noticed, were adults of working age, no children, no really old faces. They all looked exhausted, their clothes falling off their backs. "Please tell me, Efendi, where these people come from and where they are going." "Well, if you look closely, you will see that there are no pretty girls among them. These miserable giaours are going to be put to work far from where they were born. They will get used to it. You want to know exactly where they are from?" He reined in his horse so that he could ask the guards accompanying. "They are Serbs whom the Tatars caught trying to shelter in the woods over near Nis. They made the wrong move. That happens in life, right captain? " Some days later they left the Roman road which clung to the coast and started to head northward again. Sebastian had been given no explanation, and eventually could hide his curiosity no longer. "Aren't we headed for Istanbul?" "No, my dear, we are headed for Edirne, to the army's winter quarters. That is where our Sultan is living, as well as his new grand vezir, Fazil Mustafa, who is from the great Koprulu family, may Allah protect him. Edirne is a second capital for the Turks, and that is where our little souvenir here will be displayed." Sebastian was puzzled by the

- 248 endearment "my dear", but soon learned that it was used very freely, and did not signify any special attachment. Nonetheless he began to feel that the chavush liked him well enough and was glad to have some company after his grim errand. Turning away from the old Roman road, the two of them found the countryside swollen with spring rain, already turning green. Approaching from the opposite direction came occasional small groups of soldiers, some on horseback, in a variety of garb. The chavush greeted two of the groups on horseback. He explained that they were provincial cavalry. Since they spoke Turkish during these encounters, Sebastian could only guess at what was being said. "They say that Fazil Mustafa has the Sultan's permission for a full scale mobilization this year. No surprise there. They are going to drive your accursed giaour Austrians all the way back to Vienna. But not you, my dear, not you." "I doubt that driving them away will be that easy". "Don't doubt it! If the Sultan sends Moslems to war, they will not stop short of victory. As Allah wills it!" "Please excuse me, but think how many defeats the Moslems have sustained already. How can you be so confident? Where was Allah then? Your empire has many Christians. But will they help you when you need them? Look at those Rascians, Serbs as we call them, do you think they will fight for you if they see the chance to switch sides?" "In the past they have. Now their loyalty is slipping, may their names sink to the bottom. They have no right. They deserve whatever fate is waiting for them. The Serbs have been very bad of late, and they are suffering for it. They are dying on the road to Belgrade. What will they say when we retake Belgrade? We shall see if they still want to fight." "Perhaps the Austrian Emperor will protect them, will give them refuge. I wouldn't be surprised." " B e careful what you say to me. Remember your own position." Sebastian could see that the chavush was getting mad now, but he could not resist saying something further. "Would you let me know please when these victories begin?" "Oh, you will know it without my telling you." The chavush whipped his mare for no apparent reason, and she reared up, not understanding what was wanted. "At home in Istanbul we are surrounded by mosques as well as by churches. When victories take place our Muslims will raise quite a racket, and the mosques will fill up with

- 249 prayers of thanksgiving. Perhaps our Christians and Jews will be less enthusiastic but that shouldn't surprise you." They fell silent for a time, keeping a sort of truce. They slept that night at a well- filled caravan saray. The next day toward sundown traffic on the road multiplied. Now they were being overtaken by horsemen who were also headed toward Edirne, a city that Sebastian remembered from his cosmography class as being named after the Roman Emperor Hadrian. The great mosques of the secondary capital appeared at a distance. South of Edirne, straddling the road, they found a great encampment of tents. Some of the meadows nearby had been churned to mud by horses, and yet there were few horses to be seen. Sebastian studied the camp with keen interest. He noticed that some of the assembled forces wore clothes different from any he had seen at Vienna. "Who are these men?" he asked his companion. "Ah well, Captain Basti, you ought to know. These are Tatars. They came here weeks ago with their prince after clearing your Austrians out of the Kosovo region. They will join the new campaign this coming summer aimed at taking back Belgrade. Who knows, perhaps they will get all the way to Buda, on the road to Vienna. This new grand vezir is keen to make a reputation for himself that is worthy of his family name. Surely every Austrian knows about the Koprulus." But Sebastian could not concentrate his mind on the Koprulus, however great their reputation. He was preoccupied with the details of the Tatar camp. These Tatars were the "devil's boys" who had killed his father by the side of the stream which ran through his village back in Styria, and it was Tatars who had put Sebastian himself into the column headed for Thessaloniki. Had they sold him? Probably. Cheaply? Very probably. And here they were, looking almost like normal humans, yet strange. They were mostly thin, earthen colored men, bowlegged and slight. Their tents looked new, perhaps provided for them by the Sultan. He noticed that among them were some young women, probably captives like himself who now could look forward to a life of slavery. Why no men? Perhaps their commanders had forbidden them to capture taxpaying heads of household. But no, his own column had been made up of men but not women. The aroma of baking bread distracted him from such thoughts, and he thought of the Vienna siege. He asked the chavush about the women. "These women will be gone soon, of that I'm sure. One way or another. Fazil Mustafa has already cleared the army of dancing boys, and other such. There will be no place for that sort of thing on his new campaign. This new grand

- 250 vezir is a serious man. Your Emperor will get a lesson." Sebastian did not answer. Entering the city, the chavush and his captive made their way along a one-sided market street lined with shops, then turned west, looking for the field where the tent pavilions of high officers were to be found. Passersby stared at the Bosnian's leather bag, strapped to Sebastian's horse. They knew perfectly well what it contained. They also knew at a glance that Sebastian's lack of shoes meant that he was a captive. Perhaps for that reason they gazed longer, since this shoeless blonde person did not look like a typical Serb. The two horsemen were not challenged as they neared a rambling house that belonged to the chief gardener, a superior bailiff who had a permanent residence in this alternative capital. Since the bailiff was a permanent resident of Edirne, he had a house rather than the kind of tent pavilion used by most officers. It was to this bailiff that Ferhat Efendi intended to deliver the head. Apparently the guards recognized the chavush, and let him pass without question. Sebastian waited outside with the horses, shivering as the late spring afternoon turned cool. The chavush reappeared at sundown. "Damn it to hell", he hissed. "Now we have to take this stinker to Istanbul, so it can be put on display there. Damn!" Sebastian noticed the "we". Ferhat's superior had changed his mind for him. For Sebastian it seemed to show that the Turkish army was just as arbitrary as the Austrian army. They then made their way to a place on the market street which was lit by lanterns, and there they ate tripe soup and rice prepared as pilav under a flickering light, a meal which Sebastian admitted to himself was quite delicious. Considering that the restaurants in Venice were better by far than what he knew in Austria, and that Turkish food so far was also good, he began to suspect that Vienna might not be the pinnacle of all the human arts to the extent that he had always assumed it to be. What then must the food of Paris be like? Would he ever find out? The chavush paid a coin for places under a broad canvas sheet for the two of them, sleeping alongside several other men, none of them soldiers. There were always tradesmen coming and going to the mustering grounds, and someone had made a good business of offering newcomers a place to overnight cheaply. Wondering why the chavush had not been offered a place to sleep somewhere where he could be with his own kind, Sebastian decided that it had to do with himself. The chavush did not intend that his Austrian purchase should escape. Up early in the morning, , after making a breakfast of a soup made with

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yogurt and cracked wheat, seasoned with sour crystals, Ferhat Efendi and his prisoner joined the mounted traffic starting along the well worn road to Istanbul. Sebastian still had no shoes. Before they left Edirne, the chavush turned aside down a street lined with overhead canopies which protected heaps of miscellaneous clothing, most of it well worn, also wood and iron implements of all kinds, and women's jewelry, most of it fashioned from coins. "This is stuff our army brought with them out of the Balkans last year. Instead of being paid properly they were allowed to loot the Bulgarians to their heart's content, and sell the stuff for whatever they could get. Just look at this worthless trash." The goods displayed were disappointing. Picked over, worn out, faded — one could easily imagine how humble were the households from which these bits and pieces came. Ferhat Efendi said he was looking for something to take back home to Istanbul as a gift, but did not say for whom. Apparently nothing came near to tempting him, though he had the merchants churn through their musty heaps of clothes and carpets many times. Finally he made a gesture as if dusting his off jacket with his hand, a gesture which seemed to say "Enough of this!" Hauling his horse around, Ferhat again pointed them onto the road to Istanbul, at one time Constantinople and now "Threshold of Happiness" for the Ottoman Turks. After a hard day' ride escorting the leather bag, and greeting westbound travelers who were over a certain rank, the two strangely matched riders caught sight of the caravan saray at Burgaz. Sebastian had by now learned to appreciate the convenience of the stone caravan sarays stationed along the main routes of travel in the Moslem domain. Convenient, yes, but comfort was another matter. Ferhat the chavush had explained that these stone-walled way stations were usually endowed and built by high officials from the past, sometimes by the Sultan himself. They offered security from bandits, and allowed tired travelers to get the sleep they needed. They might even serve as a kind of hospital in case one fell ill while traveling. One could also usually count on finding cooked food, fodder, fuel, and other useful things, especially information and human company. At the Burgaz saray, their first night after Edirne, it was information especially which the chavush was seeking. The two riders had left the new Sultan's government behind at Edirne. They knew that the Sultan had been persuaded to stay at Edirne, in order to help attract recruits for the new campaign. Knowing that the grand vezir had already given the signal for the coming campaign in the Balkans, it occurred to Ferhat Efendi that far too few men had mustered given the time which

- 252 had lapsed since the signal was given. Why so few? By questioning a group of merchants unconnected with the army, he confirmed his impression that most people were now seized by pessimism, given the dismal record of defeats in the last few years. Janissary ranks had thinned pitifully. They would have to be filled by men who had no military training. The same was true of other corps. Men with no fighting experience could be trusted only while things were going well, as he knew from his own experience. When the going got rough, they would run. Then if you had the bad fortune to be serving alongside them, you had to run too, or leave this world behind. And what would the new vezir do about it? This was the question on everyone's lips. It was said that the Sultan himself might join the campaign in order to boost morale. Yet some said that this new Sultan was not up to it, and never would be. The new grand vezir would have his hands full. "We do not expect too much from our Sultans these days", Ferhat Efendi confided to his surprised prisoner. "They spend all their lives cooped up with old women, and then one day — pof! — they are dragged out of the harem and told that now they must rule a great empire. The Greeks used to blind the Emperors they didn't want, which was maybe smarter than our own system. We cage candidates for the throne during their whole lives, whether they come to the throne or not. Of course such a person is useless when his cage is opened and then has to find someone like the Koprulus to administer his empire for him. Helpless is what they are! And yet they have power of life and death over the grand vezirs, who are men of vastly greater ability, or at least far greater experience. And...and! This is the most disgraceful thing — any fool can bend the ear of the Sultan when the grand vezir is not around, tell him any kind of story at all, and the Sultan will probably believe it. So the life of the grand vezir hangs by a thread. Be he the best man in the land, he must constantly look over his shoulder instead of concentrating all his energy on the matters he should attend to. This is not the way to run an empire. But no one has asked my advice...unfortunately." The chavush laughed bitterly. Sebastian did not tell him about the Austrian side of things — how the Austrian archduke-Emperor had to cater to the whims of every provincial assembly, jealous of their rights, who always delivered taxes late — if at all. Wouldn't Leopold like to have the power over his high officials that the Sultan had! Heads would roll! On the other hand, any Austrian archduke would be an educated man, and would be bound to understand more of the world than any Sultan who had been cloistered all his life. East or west, it was not a perfect world!

- 253 After another day of hard riding the two riders once again caught sight of the shocking blue sea at Silivri. They were now only a day away from the former Byzantine capital, the place where the Roman Emperor Constantine had made his pact so long ago with the priestly hierarchy that the Austrian Emperor was elected to defend. How strange it was to near the birthplace of one's own church, this Rome of the East, already long in the hands of the Turks! At Silivri there was another caravan saray where Ferhat intended to seek information about the mood in the capital. This saray was big and solid, with an ornate gateway. There were two floors, with 60 compartments above for travelers sleeping over the stables and warehouses. In the middle of the courtyard there was a structure new to the Styrian. It looked like a stone tower on stone stilts. At the base were faucets to wash, face, hands and feet. Spiraling upward a curving stone staircase ended at a level well above one's head. There, perched like a turban on the stone columns, was a round room with windows. It was, explained Ferhat Efendi, a chapel where Moslems could fulfill their duty to pray five times daily. To Ferhat's satisfaction, he heard at the caravan saray that the tax reform program of Fazil Mustafa had made this latest Koprulu vezir quite popular among common people. And if the reforms also created some enemies, these were greatly outnumbered by people who were in awe of the Koprulu family, so often successful in the past, people who were willing to give the new grand vezir the benefit of the doubt. The preachers of the capital's main mosques were talking in the vezir's favor, and likewise praying for the success of the new Sultan, Suleyman, despite the rumors of the Sultan's personal fecklessness. But if the streets of the capital were peaceful, yet this was still not bringing many new recruits to Edirne. The failures of recent years had eroded confidence in the luck of the dynasty. Unless Koprulu could deliver some victories in the war with Vienna and Venice, it seemed that recruiting would remain a problem. "Captain, look here!" Ferhat Efendi had found someone he wanted his prisoner to talk with. They were sitting on a pile of bagged fodder under a stone archway with a mixed lot of merchants and soldiers. The language this evening was Turkish, but catching the name of some Balkan place, Sebastian guessed that these men were talking about the war. "Captain Basti, I have found someone here who says he was at Mohacs. Didn't you tell me that you had been there?" "Yes, that's true." Sebastian now wondered if he had been unwise to tell the chavush about his war record, not thinking ahead to the possible consequences. Once again he realized that not only had that

- 254 chimera, his honor, gone with the wind, but that he was now actually dependent on Ferhat Chavush for personal protection. Every day some new detail reminded him of his slave status. And now opposite them in the circle sat the man in question, a wizened fellow who looked as though he had not eaten since that fateful battle. He was looking at Sebastian suspiciously. "He wants to know what part you played in the battle." The chavush took on the interpreters' role. "Tell him I got there late. I was in Lothringen's wing of the army. We rushed backward to the battlefield when the fighting was almost over. I actually took no part in the fighting. What about him?" Ferhat Efendi interpreted, while the circle of men waited gravely in silence, watching the shoeless Austrian prisoner expectantly. "This fellow says he was in the trenches when the Austrians attacked. He says the army of Islam was almost on the point of victory several times, but things went wrong. Our artillery was badly served, and our cavalry was nowhere to be seen when the Austrian horsemen overrode their trenches. Partly he blames their commander of the day, who was too quick to think of his own neck. Even more he blames the Sultan of the time, Mehmet, for being an unlucky Sultan." "But the Sultan was nowhere near the battlefield. We both know that." This was an aside said in a low voice. "Better be quiet, since you don't quite understand. In Islam, luck in battle is somehow the duty of the reigning Sultan. If the Sultan is unlucky, the army will be unlucky also, and vice versa." Ferhat Efendi explained this rapidly, also keeping his voice low. It seemed that they were touching upon delicate matters, and the chavush wanted to move on. "Ferhat Efendi, Please ask him how he survived after the battle. How did he get away?" Ferhat talked with the scarecrow for some time, then explained. "He says he hid under a horse's body until night came, then slipped away in the darkness. Many men were not so lucky, and the Austrians lined them up and killed them the next day." This Sebastian knew was true, but he thought it better to leave off his questions before this went further. The men in the circle grumbled. Ferhat Efendi sensed what Sebastian was thinking . "Well, they are talking about you. Fortunately for you, you are with me, and no one is going to bother you. The battle at Mohacs is long past." The two riders soon withdrew to their own room in the hostel, tended to their horses, and arranged themselves for the night.

- 255 People may wonder why I put my heads in honey. They may say it is a waste of honey. But I can tell you from experience this is the best way. Horses are upset when heads start to stink and I don't like it myself at all. Before I deliver this one, I will have one of our servants wash it carefully and dry it. Fortunately I don't have to do everything myself once I have taken the head from its former owner. That part is hard enough, I can tell you. It is not that people resist. Generally they don't. Every official knows the risk he runs, and deserves what's coming to him. When I show up on the threshold, the people of the household and the man himself usually sense immediately why I am there. There is the usual hospitality. It would be rude to demand the head immediately, so first I accept whatever they offer. When the moment seems right, I communicate in the most polite way possible why I have come. Then I like to give the man in question time to compose himself, and to pray. I prepare myself too. Yes, you may doubt it but I also need to prepare myself so that I can maintain composure, peace of mind. I ask the official in question if he has any small requests I can help him with. Usually he has none. He then removes his turban, after relatives and servants have withdrawn to another room. I don't permit them to watch what is a very private moment. I do not stand in front of the condemned man but off to one side, and I pronounce a blessing on him. Then I pride myself that I accomplish the necessary with one swift well-aimed stroke. If I have been a guest in that household overnight, I do all this in the morning, since it can be unpleasant to overnight in the same household after one has taken a head. It can even be dangerous. I could tell you stories. Also in the old days this sort of thing was done by two or more men. But nowadays to economize, they have us go out alone, relying, all of us, on our delegated authority and on our tradition of obedience. The next day the weather was doubtful from the outset, and the sky grew still more threatening as they neared Istanbul. Sebastian's first view of the thousand year city walls was under a smoky-gray sky. He knew from the lessons in fortifications at Graz that cannon had been used against the Roman walls when the Turks took the city. How else could it have been done? The tawny walls were huge and seemed endless. The two rode briskly through a gap in the walls, passing the Prison of Seven Towers, the last resting place of certain unlucky diplomats who ended their postings as hostages. The chavush said his family's house was only half way into the old city in a district called Samatya. To reach it they rode along inside the walls lining the shore of the Marmara Sea,

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walls which guarded the southern side of the ancient capital. By the time they reached Samatya the chavush and his prisoner were being pelted by fat drops of spring rain. But though he was getting drenched, Sebastian scarcely noticed, making note of every detail around him. He was not surprised to see stately, round mosques made of stone, which looked like great inverted bowls, or like perfect breasts, which he had already seen at Skopje, Thessaloniki, and Edirne. He supposed that the houses of the mighty families would likewise be of stone, and was surprised to find that in fact they were not. Instead even the best and biggest houses were of gray and brown unpainted wood, pleasant to look at, with complicated carpentry, and usually with lots of windows, but nonetheless ramshackle, not at all like the massive smooth-walled buildings of Vienna or Graz. The streets were unpaved and getting more muddy by the minute. On the other hand there were masses of budding trees, gardens, and orchards everywhere within the city walls. The city sprawled within the giant walls, and was not crammed in like Vienna. Scurrying for shelter were people from all the nations that made up this cosmopolitan city. Though the Styrian could not yet tell one from the other, the diversity of their dress was striking. Many he knew to be Christians, not Catholics as in Austria, but mostly the flocks of the Greek Orthodox church, sworn enemies of Rome. The Samatya quarter stood on the slopes of a hill overlooking the Marmara, a few minutes up from the sea wall by the shore. Besides small mosques they passed several churches, which Ferhat waved at with his hand. "That one is Greek, that one is Armenian. Our house is just ahead." They dismounted before a large house with reddish stucco garden walls below, looking more solid that the cantilevered upper floor of weathered wood. Some panes among the many windows on the upper floor contained glass, but most others were covered with something like vellum. All peered out from behind wooden grills. On the street side of the house a garden with trees peeked over the top of the wall around it. Squinting through the rain rolling down his face, Sebastian felt the uncertainty of a pupil at school on his first day. This house held his fate, whatever that would be. He had not managed an escape but had only thought about it. And now here he was, in the capital city of the enemy. Anything could happen to a slave. Better to expect nothing good. Ferhat Efendi banged on the street gate with the butt of his whip and shouted. Feet pattered along a beaten path inside. The face of the gatekeeper showed at a glance the awe in which he chavush was held within the household. The obsequious doorman, dressed in a striped

- 257 robe, greeted the chavush with flattering sighs of welcome and kissed the proffered hand. This man was also a Bosnian, like the chavush, so that Sebastian was able to understand him. This household, he now learned, was Bosnian from top to bottom, except for the wives, who spoke only a little Bosnian. The father of the chavush was dead, as Sebastian knew. Thus it was the older brother was head of household, exercising all the powers of a Moslem pater familias, including dominion over his younger brother in all matters concerning the family. "You stay there", said Ferhat Efendi, pointing to a wooden kiosk in the garden with open sides. The chavush now mounted wooden steps to the upper floor by himself. The sounds of a robust greeting burst from the balcony above. The newcomer shivered in the dripping kiosk in a mood of gathering doubt. Beside him in the kiosk stood the gatekeeper, who had brought the horses into the garden and now waited for instructions, his eyes flitting to the leather bag. While waiting he gazed at the Austrian bemusedly. Other Bosnian menservants in stripes appeared at doors opening onto the garden to take a look at the new servant. Ferhat's older brother Hamdi Efendi was a onetime magistrate who had retired with considerable money, and now lived the life of a respected man of religion. It sounded as if this head of household was very glad to see his military brother. The older brother was gaunt, taller than Ferhat, and had a long white beard. Loss of his dog teeth had left him with withered cheeks. The resemblance between them was so slight that it was no one surprise to learn that they were half brothers by the same father. Since they spoke loudly and took no pains to hide what they were saying, one could hear the warmth of the reception, and also some of the argument which followed. "This could bring us a lot of prestige. An Austrian captain is a rare find." This was Ferhat's opening sally. His older brother was not convinced. "He speaks German — fine. You say he speaks our language — quite unusual! But you say he knows no Turkish? What do you expect me to do with him?" It emerged from what the two brothers said that the chavush had bought the captain from Styria as a present for his older brother. He had thought that the head of household could perhaps sell or present the new slave to the translation office attached to the council of vezirs. Such a gift, he reasoned, might do their family some good, since as a former official the older brother was careful to maintain a wide circle of contacts in government. But Hamdi Efendi was not optimistic about the value of

- 258 the new slave. Ignorance of Turkish outweighed all other considerations. The purchase had probably been a waste of money. "Wait", said Ferhat. "Surely it must do us some good to have an Austrian officer around the house just for the prestige of it. When other families learn of it, they will all want one. I suggest we find a role for him right here in the house. I think he is rather bright. He is going to learn Turkish and as his value increases we will have the use of him." The establishment maintained by the Bosnian brothers numbered twelve people, not including the two wives who belonged to Hamdi, and the three children who would inherit from him. All the others in the household were dependents with varying functions. Two of them were technically slaves like Sebastian, the others poor Bosnian Moslems who were paid a pittance, and therefore lived by and for baksheesh. Regardless of their status, slave or free, all the servants of the household were treated more or less alike. This apparent leveling in their treatment was to amaze the newcomer. The first proof came as other servants made room for him beside their brazier, seeing that he was wet and needed to dry off. This seemed to him a civilized beginning in a precarious situation in which he was keenly aware of his status as a slave. All the servants of the household slept under the same roof and ate from the same kitchen, four women on the second floor on the wives' side of the house, eight men on the lower floor on the brothers' side of the house. After the brothers ate their meals, the remains of their food was augmented and carried to common rooms on opposite sides of the garden, the women above, the men down below. The servants then ate sitting cross-legged on the floor from a flat portable table resting on their knees that disappeared after each meal. For the new man Basti it was an ordeal to sit so, but in time he must get used to it. The two main wings of the house had discontinuous balconies, the women's side of the house accessible to the older brother only through a narrow passage within. Below the second floor was where the menservants lived out most of their lives, eight men sleeping in three rooms, with their backsides up against walls that were softened by sheepskins. The wing of the house opposite the street gate sheltered horses used by the brothers for their official duties, and the donkey they used to go to market, and to fetch water from the burbling fountain that was shared by the neighborhood. In one corner there was the sky-lit bath where the members of the household took turns bathing. There was a cistern alongside. This was for family members only. The servants took turns going to a public hamam in the district. The three children of the

- 259 second wife, two girls and a boy, were the untitled sovereigns of the garden, the boy spoiled by constant loving attention from everyone. Each servant had specific duties, none onerous, since this household was deliberately large and quite prestigious. It was said that almost all the income of the brothers went into the maintenance of their household, especially servants. In Sebastian's opinion the establishment was too large. Because it was so large, everyone had to amuse himself as best he could, and would have been happier being truly busy. The newest slave was almost dry, but still shivering, when the call was heard for the fourth public prayer of the day at the big Samatya mosque at the top of the hill. The arresting sound of the muezzin's voice broke into the damp evening air with the same "Allah Ekber", which Sebastian had heard on battlefields in Slavonia, Bosnia, and Serbia. Except for the women, who prayed at home in their quarters above, and the chavush, who was not as pious as his magistrate brother, the servants were all expected to attend the mosque with the other Moslems from the neighborhood. "Wait", said the new man. "I'm not a Moslem. I can't go." This caused a flurry among the servants. Perhaps there was a theological issue here. They decided to ask the head of household. The older brother limped out onto the balcony and fixed his gaze on the newcomer. He searched for a Bosnian solution. "Do you believe in a supreme being?" he asked. Sebastian conceded that he did. "Then you will go too." Hurrying to arrive at the mosque on time, his new companions realized that their Basti was still shoeless. They cast around for something to put on his naked feet. Not to have footwear would reflect badly on the household. So they gave him rough slippers cut from an old carpet, better than nothing perhaps, but far from being shoes he could run away in. The old magistrate Hamdi Efendi also caused a delay. For some reason he seemed determined to be present at this particular prayer meeting, though all of the household knew that he went to prayers less and less. Perhaps he wished to impress on the new man the degree of discipline that he expected from his household staff. Two of the servants pushed on the old man from behind as he puffed up the hill, trying without success not to groan from the pain of it. Outside the gate the leafy neighborhood looked wonderfully fresh. Muddy footpaths wove back and forth up the slopes between flowering trees, wet new gardens and gray ramshackle houses. Just minutes to the south the sea too was being reborn this day in the final blaze of a flaming sunset. Right and left there were modest Christian

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churches with walled entrances which one might suppose offered some protection in troubled times. But the crown of the hill was occupied by a great mosque, the goal toward which the neighborhood's Moslem men now made their way. The believers were converging on the mosque, where the men removed their shoes and placed them on the side, then slipped in past a hanging leather door. Inside suspended lamps gave off a dim light that was swallowed up by the vast volume of air within the dome. There was the odor of feet. Windows in the alcoves glowed with the setting sun. Soon these went dark. The menservants of the Bosnian household all lined up in a row with the new man among them, while the old former magistrate took his place in the first row of worshippers along with other dignitaries from their neighborhood. Sebastian did just as the others did. He could not see any harm in going along with their customs, so long as he was not committing himself to anything he did not believe in. But the Moslem prayer ritual immediately brought back disturbing memories of the praying men he had seen being executed at Mohacs, so that while others were presumably occupied with praying, he was overtaken by memories which he regretted he could not dislodge at will. The prayer ritual involved standing with one's palms held wide before one's face, bowing from the waist, kneeling, then prostrating oneself with forehead on the floor of the mosque, then upon the example of the prayer leader, rising again by stages to full height, and restarting the cycle. This was done many times, and seemed harmless enough, though the Austrian was glad not to be seen by people he knew back home. He could understand nothing except for "Allah", but this probably didn't matter. Sebastian was taken aback to be congratulated by the others after they left the mosque together. Somehow to them the fact that he had participated seemed tantamount to conversion. They could not resist rejoicing because he has showed such good judgment. They grasped him by the arm, and shook his hand. "We shall now teach you the shahadat" they said, and they did. "There is but one God and his name is Allah and Mohammed is his prophet." The Bosnians obliged him to repeat this, cheering when he finished. "There, you see, you are now a Moslem," they crowed. It was useless to argue with them. The new man decided to go along with their whims, without actually accepting any of the consequences they were trying to impose on him. Surely Allah would understand and would make allowances.

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Arriving back at the big hillside house, the servants continued to pry with questions about his past. He told the truth, but not the whole truth. He left out the executions at Mohacs, and would not admit to having taken part in the burning of Skopje even when they pushed him to say so. He said that he had actually done little there because he had been wounded. But why did the Austrians do it?, they wanted to know. Skopje was beautiful. "Look, our army was very small, even with the Serbs who were riding along. Our commander could not hope to hold Skopje with that small force, and there were a lot of other things that he had to do in Kosovo. So he decided not to leave the city the way he found it. That's the best way I can explain it." This seemed to make sense to the Bosnians, because they stopped badgering him about it. One army was too weak to defend the city, the other was too busy to hold the city, that they understood. The evening meal came soon after their return from the hilltop mosque — onions, flat bread baked on the inner surface of an outdoor oven, and rice cooked in meat stock with some vegetables in it. A basin and towel were passed around so that everyone could wash their hands. Sebastian, being the latest to join the household, was invited to hold a pitcher of water that he poured on the outstretched hands. There was a plate with some meat left in it that had come down from the second floor. The meat was mutton, which Sebastian had first learned to eat when he served in the Balkans. The bits of meat were leftovers, much appreciated by the eight men assigned to the ground floor. They insisted that Sebastian partake too, though the scraps seemed to him scarcely worth eating. "Is it always like this?" he asked. "Not necessarily. Sometimes there is more meat, sometimes none. It depends on a number of things, such as whether there are guests in the house. But don't fret. There is always enough to eat, unless the whole city is starving. Which can happen. " This last caused the whole circle to laugh. Indeed, compared to the very uneven food of army life that he had eaten over the last few years, Sebastian had to admit that there was no reason to complain. He listened as the servants talked. Their speech was larded with expressions connected with Islam. Sometimes he could not understand them. It was like listening to the Vlahisch spoken by his old company, but with some foreign sauce poured over it. A while after the portable table had been taken up, a message came down from above. The new man Basti should come up. The older brother wanted to talk with him. "Watch out", said one of the talkers, a man who seemed to take a special interest in the newcomer. "Be sure

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you careful address him as Efendi. You can't leave that out with his younger brother and you must not leave it out with Muhyiddin Efendi, who is his older brother, and the patron of us all." 'Muhyiddin?" "Muhyiddin is his Moslem name. Hamdi is his Bosnian name. When we talk to him face to face, we say 'Muhyiddin Efendi'. Take my advice. Stay standing except when you are serving him. When you are serving him, kneel on one knee. While standing fold your hands in front of your nuts as if you were in the mosque. Show respect, the more the better. Speak only when spoken to. Don't sit down unless you are invited. And don't turn your back on him when you are leaving. And don't forget to kiss the hem of his robe when you first enter. " "Oh my God, is that really necessary?" "By Allah, it is necessary. Take my word for it. By the way, you should know that Ferhat has a Moslem name too which he uses at the palace. His official name is Fahreddin, but we seldom hear him addressed that way." The newest servant remembered the old adage: when in Rome do as the Romans do. And this was Rome, after all, or at least it was the final capital of the Romans after Rome itself fell. So he would do what others did so far as he could without breaking any principles. But did he still have any principles left? Or any honor? He would have to think about this when he was alone. Groping for the stairway, Sebastian mounted the wooden stairs up to the lamplit room where Hamdi alias Muhyiddin Efendi sat, legs folded, amid pillows of embroidered silk. Remembering the advice of the other servants, he bent forward, awkwardly pressing the hem of the old man's robe to his lips, and standing up again. To this strange gesture the old man said nothing. The advice was good. Sebastian was struck by the simplicity of the room. This was not the way a rich man would live in Austria. The master of the house was smoking a complicated wooden pipe of a design that Sebastian had never seen before. After a long time, the magistrate raised his eyes and spoke. "Do you smoke?" "I used to smoke, Muhyiddin Efendi, but through a simple clay pipe, nothing like yours." "And where did your tobacco come from?" "Virginia, generally." "I too have smoked tobacco from Virginia." He left Sebastian to wonder how the same tobacco could make its way to such widely separated destinations. "But generally I smoke tobacco from Syria, in

- 263 other words from the world of Islam. My snuff on the other hand comes from India." More minutes of silence followed while the old man smoked. "What do you think about our coffee?" Sebastian did not know what to say. He had never tasted coffee. "I think it must be very good, Efendi." "Our coffee comes from Yemen. You know where that is, Captain?" "No, Efendi, I don't." How could it be that he had never heard of this place called Yemen? "Captain Basti, you have lived as a soldier, a man of war. You come from the land of war. Now you will live with us in our land of Islam. Did you know that Islam means peace?" Sebastian shrugged. "Well, it does. And as you will see around you, Moslems are peaceful, tolerant people. You will come to like it here, I am sure." Sebastian was left to wonder how it was that such a peaceful people fought so many battles so far from home. "I see you are wondering about our mission of bringing peace to the world. It is a commandment of our religion that we must bring Islam to all nations and peoples who have not had the advantage of hearing about our prophet Mohammed, and the divine message that came to us through him. After we bring this message to the lands of war so that all nations have the opportunity to know and accept Islam, then peace becomes possible, in fact obligatory. The frontiers of Islam grow all the time, and behind these frontiers peace is guaranteed." Sebastian thought it prudent not to ask questions about the peace in Hungary, or peace in the Balkans, or mention any events in which he was involved which had disturbed that peace. "Muhyiddin Efendi. I see from the churches in this neighborhood that many have remained Christians despite being ruled by the Moslems. Why is that?" "This does not disturb us as Moslems, Captain Basti. We are commanded only to bring the divine message to other nations, not to force it upon them, providing that they have scriptures of their own which we can respect. If then they do not listen, they may worship as they like. We do not prevent them. We have done our duty and they have not listened. If they wish to persist in their religion, this is allowed." Sebastian wondered what would happen if this approach were used by the Austrian authorities. Hardly likely. Religion was far too serious for the Austrians to leave it to chance. If the Moslems did, that was their business. In Austria it would be asking for trouble to leave the

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question of religion to personal choice. But the magistrate seemed to suggest that no one here would bother him about being a Christian. "Captain Basti", resumed the patriarch. "You are of course a Christian. This is understandable. You never heard the message of Islam until now. But I am sure that once you do hear that message, you will want to become a Moslem." There it was. Whole peoples might elect not to listen, but as for himself, a soldier who had actually fought to advance the cause of his Emperor and of Christianity, he was not really going to be left alone. Sebastian said nothing, but stood as he had been instructed earlier, with his hands folded in front of his groin, waiting to see what would happen next. "I have decided that we will keep you in our household, Captain. I want you to have the opportunity to hear about Islam from a competent teacher. We have such a teacher in the mosque where you attended today, your first day under our roof. Later, when you have heard the message of Islam as it should be explained I know that you will choose to become a Moslem. And we will welcome you as our brother. Meanwhile," he said, taking a deep drag from the spice pipe, " you must have a function in this household. Seeing that you are yourself a smoker of Virginia tobacco, or at least were, I shall put you in charge of my tobacco, and of all my pipes. But see here, no one smokes under this roof except myself, you understand? If my younger brother ever smokes, I don't want to know about it. You understand, my dear Captain." Sebastian was puzzled. He already knew that Ferhat smoked a clay pipe. Why should this be a secret? "There is little to learn, captain. You already know almost all about how it is done. Except for the spice pipe, which perhaps you never saw before, am I right? Tomorrow I will explain all about my spices and we will discuss where and how to purchase tobacco. There is a special market in the bazaar. But the tobacco is for me, not for you, my dear Captain. You will also learn how to make coffee. And this too is easy to do. It just takes a moment to grind, that's all." He waved his hand at a thick round mortar in the cupboard that was apparently used for grinding coffee beans. "And Captain, that coffee is for me, and not for anyone else unless I give my permission. My brother has his own supply." "Did my brother Ferhat explain your allowance? No? Well. Each member of our household receives a small weekly allowance. But not enough for you to buy shoes, I fear." Here he smiled just slightly. Sebastian noticed he had a tremor and wheezed. "Don't worry, you will

- 265 soon have shoes, Captain, but they will not the kind that you need to take you back to Austria. For that you will need wings. Better to stay with us and learn about Islam and study Turkish." The magistrate paused to watch the effect his words were having, then raised one hand as a signal to his servant to withdraw. Sebastian edged backward, searching with his hand for the stairs leading down, carefully, slowly, feeling behind him so that he would not fall. What a relief! The interview had been almost pleasant. Now if only he could smoke! When he returned to the common room where he had eaten supper, the new servant was questioned by two of the others about how it had gone. When they learned that Sebastian was to be the old man's tobacconist and coffee man they laughed. "That's how it always starts around here. Later he'll find something else for you. Don't worry, whatever it is it won't be much. There are many hands here to do whatever work there is." Despite its simple furnishings, this household was not poor. The former magistrate demonstrated his importance in the world by keeping a brightly clad household staff far more numerous than it need be. This was apparently the usual way with these Moslem grandees. Thus when the master of the household went out in the world, he made a great show with his train of retainers. Sebastian continued to hold the attention of two of the servants. The one was Bosha, the other Bayko — both tall, dark, and rawboned. Of the two, Bayko, who walked with a limp, was the more talkative. They made him a coffee from their personal supply, the first he had tasted in his life. Interesting — so this was what the fuss was all about. They also told him in whispers that they were not Bosnians at all. They were Montenegrins, clansmen who had been enslaved and brought here to Samatya from the Balkans. There had been some kind of revolt against taxes in their mountainous district a few years back and they had been surrounded while fighting. Almost all the other men of their family were wiped out. They had been Christians, of course, but had converted, and were now studying Turkish as well. "The old man is fanatic", explained Bayko. He takes pleasure from promoting Islam. If you are smart you will convert too, just as we did." Sebastian was disturbed by their words and his face showed it. They could not have been good Christians. Here were two former Christians, never mind what kind, and they seemed to think nothing of converting to Islam. "Obviously you don't understand", said Bayko. "You think we gave up the religion of our fathers just for nothing. No, no, there is much more at stake. Look here. The old man is going to die one of these days. You are a slave just as we are slaves — yes, still. But in Islam,

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when a slave owner dies, his slaves are freed if they have become Moslems. A Christian slave is passed to another master, like any other property. We see that the only way that we are going to be freed, unless we escape, is to become Moslems, so we converted. You don't want to die a slave, do you?" This gave Sebastian something to think about. The mechanism was clear and the door was open. But at what cost! What about honor? If he had any left, it would surely not survive a conversion to Islam. No, he could not do it. "As you wish", said Bayko, his eyes squinted, "but I think you will change your mind. Sooneror later. Don't wait too long because the old man's health is not good at all. He knows his time is coming, and that is probably why he is so enthusiastic about converting slaves like ourselves." The two rawboned "converts" then recounted to the newcomer all they knew about the family that was going to be his universe for the foreseeable future. " The old man", said Bayko, "has many friends in government. He had exceptional luck during his final stint as magistrate to be sent to an area where cotton was grown. In just eighteen months, he found plenty of ways to enrich himself. He was lucky not to have some overzealous vezir to punish him for overstepping the line, much less demand his head in a bag." It was after that eighteen-month stint that Hamdi Efendi had retired and purchased the house. It was then that he took a second wife, and hired most of the servants. The family even had a kind of foundation now, established under Moslem law, so that there would be an income for the family's descendants for generations to come. The foundation took rents from a warehouse in the same zone where the old man had served as magistrate, with an income that was regular if not large. "By the way," added Bayko, "you should know that the first wife is crazy. You will hear her screaming sometimes at night. Don't imagine that anyone is trying to kill her though that it what it sounds like. We don't know what the problem is, though it's likely that she was a little crazy to begin with. The old man married her to get ahead in his profession because she was the daughter of someone important. She has a servant of her own, whom you seldom see. When you do, oh you poor soul, you may wish you hadn't — she's that beautiful." "Oh, come now!" "Really! We call her 'The Catastrophe'. She's that good looking. She was sold out of the palace a couple years ago when the Sultan of the time was desperate for money to pay the army. If this were Montenegro, or even Bosnia, the old man would just grab this little servant and

- 267 squeeze her like a bunch of grapes. But this is Istanbul, the 'threshold of happiness', and he is a Moslem dignitary who has his reputation to look after. Since the young woman in question belongs to his first wife, Istanbul rules do not allow him even to gaze upon her beauty, except perhaps out of the corner of his eye. No man could possibly be happy about that, but then he is getting on in life. Perhaps he suffers less because of it than we would if we were him. Now as for his second wife — that is another story. This second wife is a model of courtesy, and if anyone has an influence on the brothers, she does. Fortunately we think she is a good influence." "What about Ferhat? What's he like, and why isn't he married?" Sebastian was eager to learn as much as he could about the man who had so miraculously appeared in the prison at Thessaloniki, and who had raised him out of an imprisonment he thought he might not survive. "That fish is some other kind of fish", said Bayko. Ferhat Chavush is a different kind of Moslem, actually more typical. He goes to the mosque only when he can't avoid it. He is not so fond of women, in case you hadn't noticed. He has no wife, and if he becomes head of this household, I expect he will let most of us go, even The Catastrophe unless the second wife insists on keeping her. But Ferhat is a good sort, and you can always reason with him. He gets along well enough with his older brother. His real life he leads at his coffehouse and other places we don't even know about. "So we won't see him much. But what about the lodge that you mentioned?" "You're new to Istanbul, but you will soon notice that many Moslem men belong to lodges, which are a little like the confraternities that we have in Christian countries. These lodges have various customs and practices, though they all claim to be Moslem at heart. Many of their members are married, yet they spend a lot of their time at their lodge. Each lodge is headed by a sheyh, usually someone who knows how to preach, and knows how to hold the attention of the membership. The sheyh's deputies lead the members in chanting, or praying, or dancing, while he preaches." "Preaching? What about?" "Well in the case of Ferhat's lodge, we happen to know because he has taken us with him many times. Ferhat's sheyh goes on endlessly about all the bad people 'out there.' They do this, they do that. But not us. Oh, no, we are the elect. We know better. We serve Allah as He should be served, we are not at all tempted like those others, etc, etc. " "You talk as if you are not too impressed. "

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"Even if I am not," said Bayko," I will join a brotherhood if I get a chance. It is the one way to get out of this house on our own that the old man approves. If we can, later we will join a Balkan lodge, because there are many people from Rumeli who attend, even from Montenegro, and we will feel more at home there. Also," here Bayko dropped his voice," they use hashish. And there are women too." Bosha, who had been following the conversation, nodded enthusiastically. "And they drink wine. The Janissaries all used to belong to this fraternity back in the old days when Janissaries were all from the Balkans. Now they've changed and almost anyone can become a Janissary. "In that case, take me with you when you go. Did I not tell you I come from a wine making family?" "Really! What in God's name are you doing here when you could be back home making wine?" "It is a long story. I'll explain it when I understand it myself. "The Montenegrins had arranged that this new man would sleep in their room. They apparently felt some kinship with this Austrian, and Sebastian was glad they did. The trio stayed up late talking in low voices about Montenegro, the Venetians, the Albanians, Kosovo, Austria, and the long war. The war now seemed endless, perhaps even for the French, who as allies of the Turks were always pushing from behind. Sebastian was told that Ferhat Chavush had not been involved in the fighting so far, but that his luck might change, since his duties varied according to current needs. One of these days he might be called up to go on campaign, perhaps even the one now impending. Sebastian began to feel his loneliness slip away the longer they talked. He was given a bag with which to hang belongings from the ceiling of the room, like his new roommates. They all laughed, because he had nothing yet to put in his bag. He also received a sheepskin to sleep on. The pelt was so satisfactory that he wondered why he had never had one before. That night weeping and screaming came from the women's side of the house, anguished screams, as though the woman was being tortured by monsters. Other women's voices were heard trying to comfort the screamer. Was it like this every night, the newcomer wondered. "No", answered Bayko in the dark. It's the first wife. She knows there's someone new in the house, and she doesn't like changes. That's why she is crying. Probably tomorrow night she won't."

- 269 Early the next morning even before it was light they were awakened by the muezzin's call to prayer from the minaret at the hilltop mosque. The call was taken up by other mosques near and far, one after the other, the voices ranging from sweet to awful. The Montenegrins awoke immediately and told the newcomers that as part of the routine of the household, he would have to rise and follow the old man up the hill for the first of the canonical prayers of the day, moreover that he would be expected to go even when the old man did not rise to the occasion, as more and more he did not. It seemed that the overriding concern of the old man was to create the appearance of a pious household. "Every day?" "Every day and five times a day. What kind of Moslems do you take us for?" They all laughed in the dark. A simple breakfast followed the ritual expedition up the hill to the mosque. The sun was now well risen. Presently the new servant was sent up once again to see his master Hamdi Efendi, who had not joined the morning climb. The old man was sitting as before, this time with an unlit pipe before him. "I will now teach you captain, how this pipe is prepared. I think you have not seen one like this before. In fact I had it made especially. It is made of wood as you see, and it has a special compartment that I fill with spices, so that when I pull on it the smoke must perforce pass through the spice compartment, making it a more truly civilized experience. This time I shall light it myself and you are to watch closely. From now on when I want to smoke my pipe, I will call for you and you will know what to expect." The wheezing patriarch rummaged through his tobacco chest and took out a molded plug of tobacco about the size of a baby's fist. "Shaping the tobacco ahead of time is part of your job. Pay attention to its shape. The old man now reached into the wood-burning brazier which sat between them and with a pincers drew out a glowing ember which was smaller than the plug. Placing the ember on top of the tobacco plug, he drew deeply on the pipe again and again. The ember began to dig a hole for itself in the plug. A look of satisfaction spread across the smoker's face. "That's how it's done, my dear Captain. It's a truly civilized way of smoking, wouldn't you say?" Sebastian watched bemused. Was that all there was to it? This was what his life had come down to — lighting an old man's pipe? On the other hand, to be honest, he might easily be dead. He must weather this odd existence somehow and find his way out, like the two Montenegrins, a bit older than himself, whom he now counted on as Ms allies. He withdrew upon the old man's signal and returned below stairs

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to his companions. The children were up and playing in the garden and the servants were either watching or helping them to play. The three pampered children of the household offered a diversion which all the inmates of the house valued highly. Gambling was not allowed in the house and it was not permitted that any of the menservants be seen staring at the harem side of the house. Where else could one gaze then but into the garden where the three children played? Like everyone else, Sebastian soon found himself in competition for their favor and attention. To give himself a good start, he set about to fashion bird whistles out of mud such as were found in Styria. They would not work properly until they could be baked at high heat. He was considering how to solve this problem when unexpectedly some of the women of the household appeared on the harem balcony. He looked up. One of the dark clad women was The Catastrophe, her clean features and dark eyes flashing from behind a shawl that somehow slipped open. He did not need to be told who she was. She looked at Sebastian, not too long but directly, intently. She was breaking the rules. The Catastrophe was still young, and despite the enforced inactivity of a cloistered life, not fat, at least not yet. Her regular features were captive within the dark cloth from which all the women of pious households made their outer garments. Like the other women on the balcony she usually had one corner of the garment in her mouth so that her face was partly obscured. But this did not hide the intense eyes, and the precise black brows so prized in this part of the world. Such fine eyebrows were not a taste that the Styrian had yet formed, but he saw instantly why the Montenegrins were so taken with her. As soon as the young woman had dropped her gaze, Sebastian dropped his. They had communicated something. Her life must be as circumscribed as his promised to be. Being the servant of the elder wife, the screamer, no man in the household could touch her. What sort of personal destiny could she have under those conditions? Ever a servant, never a wife or mother? And what about himself? On Sebastian's second day, when the weather had cleared and one could feel the promise of summer on the breeze, he was told he would go to the bazaar with one of the freeborn servants, who would help him purchase shoes. His guide on this expedition was the gaunt black man whom the household called Arapzade. It was said that he was not a eunuch, the frequent fate of Africans, yet he had perfected the manner of a palace eunuch nonetheless — he was discreet and dignified, except in rare unguarded moments when he laughed the deep, easy laugh of Africa. Arapzade was the majordomo and trustee of the household, who was

- 271 even allowed to handle money for the brothers. He was also the boss of all the servants on the male side of the house, and in charge of any outings that the household might plan to make The old black Moslem led the newest slave along meandering streets and lanes that converged at the hilltop bazaar near the center of the old city. The old city constituted one of the three divisions of the capital, separated from the other two by water. A majority of the old city's inhabitants were Moslems, but there were also Jews, Greeks and Armenians clustered in quarters such as Samatya. The other sections of Istanbul were the Italian suburb of Pera on the north side of the Golden Horn opposite the old city, and the Moslem suburb of Uskudar on the Anatolian side, separated from the other parts of the city by a great channel of salt water, the Bosphorus. It would be a long time before Sebastian had an opportunity to see more of Istanbul than the old city, though he saw shining water in every direction. The excursion with Arapzade began his orientation. Together they picked their way along narrow streets a bit cleaner than those of Vienna. Donkeys and even men were carrying heavy loads on their backs, pushing up against them and demanding the right of way. The remains of animal traffic were heaped up along the streets. One could see how a person who walked the streets of the old city would yearn to rest in one of the city's thousands of walled gardens upon returning home late in the day. But the side streets, though just as dirty, were quiet relative to the side streets of Vienna. As the two servants made their way eastward toward the bazaar, Sebastian saw many unpainted two and three story wooden dwellings, with upper floors that stole the space over the streets, forming dark wooden bowers over the pedestrians below. The few city women abroad were dressed in black or brown from head to toe, whereas women in from the country dressed in a riot of colors. Turbans, mostly white or whitish, bobbed and wavered in the streets. Sebastian realized that he now looked no different from many others, and attracted no attention at all, even with his feet unclad. They passed a bear with his keeper. Everywhere there resounded the harsh or sonorous cries of wandering peddlers who stood on the streets with their faces turned upwards: Fish! Milk! Yogurt! Cheese! Onions! Honey! Arapzade patiently translated each of the cries. He told Sebastian that the older brother had charged him with teaching him Turkish. Turkish was Arapzade's native tongue but he knew Bosnian also, and so could answer the new man's questions.

- 272 Shops fronting on the route they were following often had wooden or metal signs hanging in front of them which signaled what was being sold inside. The first they saw was a string of metal implements, the second a sample lantern of waxed cloth and wires. After a time struggling through dark narrow streets, they passed into a sunny square with a low round dome to one side, the tomb of some long dead Moslem saint. Moslem women clad head to toe in black or brown lined the nearest wall of the tomb, which was festooned with rags, and even wooden spoons. Sebastian noticed some women pushing pieces of paper into chinks in the wall. What was going on here? "Ah", said the black man, "these women are making requests from the saint who is buried here. They beseech his help in bearing children." Sebastian gazed at them. He found himself wondering whether a woman of Vienna or Graz who was having difficulty conceiving a child might not similarly beseech the saints. Or would she seek some other solution? He must find out some day. The street they were following now became wider. On one side they came across a soothsayer who was casting arrowheads for his customers. Beside him another mountebank was offering darts to throw at a target. On their left they passed the massive walls of the Fatih mosque complex, built soon after the conquest. There was a hospital there, and a soup kitchen where a poor person could get a bowl of porridge. Their approach to the bazaar dipped and then rose, leading them up long slopes. On another hilltop up ahead the Suleimaniye mosque complex soared skyward. There a muezzzin could call to prayer from any of the four minarets standing around the giant dome. Jostling crowds were in their way as they approached the bazaar. The shoemakers were not inside the bazaar proper, but Arapzade wanted Sebastian to enter so as to see "the greatest bazaar in the world." At one entrance the majordomo bargained for a pair of woven leather slippers, which he then gave to Sebastian. Nearby they also bought heavy wool stockings to fill the gaps. Comfortable enough and warm, decided Sebastian, but not the kind of footwear one would need for a successful escape Within the tunnel-like entrance of the great bazaar it was dark and cool. A spring breeze was rustling through hanging cloth wares. Arapzade led his companion on an exploratory walk along the main footpaths up and down within the labyrinth. Here and there glass bullseyes of the type found in baths let in some light. Arapzade pointed out the so-called "addicts' bazaar", tobacco shops from which Hamdi would expect Sebastian to fetch his Syrian tobacco. This so-called

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"addicts' bazaar" was near the innermost section, the bedestan, where the most valuable goods were sold. In the inner bazaar wealthy people could find silks, jewels, and expensive perfumes and objects. Or they might wait at home for the sellers of valuable wares to come direct to the buyers, which was especially the case in palace circles. This inner bazaar was guarded by watchmen at night. Business had been very slow for luxuries this year, since no one wanted to show off wealth in wartime. "Neither of us have any real business here because we are anyway both too poor," said the majordomo, letting go a deep laugh. He then escorted his charge to an exit. "There are great bazaars in all the great Islamic cities — Cairo, Damascus, Baghdad, Bukhara, Fez. But I am sure that our bazaar is the greatest of them all." "Wait!" Arapzade paused in front of a kiosk selling sherbet, and as though to make up for his remark about their being poor, he offered a cup of ready-made sherbet to Sebastian. It was delicious, fruit, a concoction of some kind. "We have to get you ready for your first head." "What do you mean, my first head?" "Why, didn't your Balkan friends tell you? The last man to enter service in our household gets the job of washing a head for Ferhat Efendi. You didn't think he would do it himself, did you? He's going to deliver it tomorrow to the palace and it has to be done today. It's your turn now. Don't squirm, Captain Efendi. Remember, you're a soldier." So that was it! Well, so what! He would wash the damned thing and to hell with it! Sebastian tried not to think about the impending task as they made the walk back to Samatya. He wanted to see as much of the city as possible, a city which with all its surprises seemed to him beautiful, even if composed largely of unpainted wood houses, mud walls, and well-annoirited streets. Such a contrast there was between the giant stone mosques, which seemed built for eternity, and the jerrybuilt houses! He knew already that this city was often visited by fire, and had to be rebuilt again and again. When they arrived back at the reddish mansion of the two Bosnian brothers, Sebastian found that preparations had been made for his return. He was directed to a room in the stable below the wing connecting the men's and women's quarters. There waited the leather bag, and two copper pails of water, standing between unoccupied stalls. He saw now that he would not be alone with his grisly assignment. Other men of the household, including the Montenegrins, wanted to see him do it. Squatting down and managing a stony face, Sebastian peeked in the bag. The head and its sauce rolled out. The unfortunate magistrate

- 274 looked as if he were asleep. He was bald, which was good — no hair to wash. His eyes were closed, also good. But within the honeyed mess, there was a good deal of congealed blood around the stump of a neck, which he would now have to remove. He would have to use his hands to do this. With a deep breath, he grabbed the head by the ears and soused it gently up and down in one of the two pails. The second pail would serve for the rinse. "Careful now, don't insult him unnecessarily." This was Ferhat talking. Without turning toward the chavush, who was standing behind him, Sebastian gently laved the head with his hands until honey, blood and water parted ways. "What shall I do with it now?" "First wash the bag, then dry it with this cloth and put it back inside until morning, when we all go to the palace together." Sebastian replaced the head in the bag and washed his hands thoroughly, knowing that the others were watching his every move. His new friends laughed appreciatively. "We've all had our turn. You did it so well, we think we should persuade Ferhat Chavush to add head washing to your other duties." The Montenegrins thought the whole episode very funny and found ways to joke about it all day. Sebastian realized he was now right at home in their eyes. The next morning early, all the male servants save one lined up at the street gate to wait for the chavush to make his appearance. The children were up but were not allowed to descend into the garden. When Ferhat appeared in his freshly washed finery, the procession commenced. The chavush led the way on his mare, putting on a haughty air. Each of the servants took up the long staffs handed to them by Arapzade. They were reminded not to allow any pedestrian to interfere with this bit of state business, on pain of being beaten by the whole household. Ferhat's horse stepped out of the gate and the others followed on foot, the bag with the head carried in the hands of the trusty Arapzade, who held it in front of him like a trophy. The aroma of fresh baked bread assaulted them as they left their own quarter. Even in the early morning, before the streets filled with traffic, the impression they made was dramatic. Men drew back, pulling their donkeys aside. The common people they passed knew they were all part of a grave ritual, and they played their part. The majesty of the state was again being demonstrated. Nothing like a head in a bag to set the world right again! The mini-procession headed east, following the same path which Sebastian and Arapzade had taken the day before. Except that this time they did not stop at the grand bazaar, but continued east toward

- 275 Topkapu Palace, whose name, it was said, meant Cannon Gate. The palace was flanked by two of the greatest mosques of the realm, gigantic gray masses in the morning light. The first worshippers of the day were out of the mosques and onto the streets as the Bosnians passed with their bag. They now picked up an honor guard of street boys, many apprentices, who trailed along behind, careful not to provoke a poke from the many staffs. As they came to that part of the palace wall where heads were put on display for public viewing, the chavush's group found a small band of Bulgarian peasants waiting. "What do they want?" asked Sebastian. "Can't you guess? These fellows are from the district where the magistrate was feathering his nest. Either they happened to be in Istanbul anyway, or heaven forbid they traveled all this way to be here when they heard that their beloved had gotten his just deserts. For them this is a kind of holiday." As Sebastian watched, the dark fellows in peasant clothes pressed close while Arapzade carefully placed the magistrate's head next to others that were ripening in the sun. The Bulgarians grumbled, laughed, and spat. But they knew the rules. Heads belonged to the government, and were not to be touched. While the chavush's household waited on the parade ground, Ferhat Efendi reported to an official inside the palace walls. The same official then came outside the walls to verify the delivery, and to pay the premium. "He gets bahsheesh for each one he brings in, on top of his regular pay. It hasn't always been like this, but this newest Koprulu government is determined to make headway, ha ha ha." The Montenegrins now tried to outdo each other. "The poor magistrate was only trying to get ahead." Whoo ha! " The magistrate had a good head on his shoulders." "He knew where he was heading." "A head in time saves nine." "At least he won't get any more headaches." The parade grounds between the giant mosques and the palace sometimes contained thousands of soldiers, especially on paydays. But none were to be seen this day, since the army was now mustering at Edime. As the chavush's household passed from the parade ground, they neared a soup stall. Sebastian had a sudden urge, but not the needed coin, to buy some tripe soup to settle his stomach. The smell of organ meats made him think of Brother Rolf, who so loved them. He might never see Rolf again. Well, at least he was alive, and though a slave had been handed a staff like the other men of the household, and might really have liked to use it on some unruly passersby on the streets of this legendary city, the Tsarigrad of the Serbs, the Emperor's city, referring probably to Byzantine Emperors long gone.

- 276 On the way back to the Bosnian house at Samatya, Sebastian asked the Montenegrins to tell him more about the family to which they all now belonged. They had fallen back of their leader in single file and were out of earshot. "Where did Hamdi Efendi get his money? Did he come by it honestly?" "Oh, he was probably no better than the man whose head we just now delivered. As you know by now, he had the good fortune to be assigned to a rich district where they were starting to raise cotton, so there was something to be gotten by hook or by crook. Just as important, he had the good luck to get his assignment under a different government, which is to say, a different grand vezir, someone probably more corrupt than he was, who didn't take his responsibilities so seriously as this Koprulu fellow. I tell you, times have changed. They say that even the Sultan may now go on campaign, just like the good old days. That's Koprulu's influence, for certain. It's been a long time since Sultans went on campaign. And a long time I suppose since those Habsburg archdukes risked their necks, am I right?" Sebastian's face inflamed. "Soldiering is a professional matter these days. Our Habsburg archduke Leopold is fortunate in having some very good generals. And a royal figure on the battlefield is not necessarily a good influence, however well meaning he may be. God save me from amateur generals, I've had enough trouble with the professionals." As they walked, they alarmed a tomcat, a ragged denizen of this city of many cats, living by instinct and appetite. The scruffy creature leapt into the air, twisting as it jumped, and made a full circle before it landed. They now saw that the cat had one eye, and had done his midair twirl in order to see his entire horizon before landing, poised for further action, on all four feet. "Hah," said Bayko, that's how a grand vezir must behave these days if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders. He has to know what is being said about him in every quarter of the compass, or otherwise he will soon be dead. You remember the fate of Kara Mustafa? The man who thought he would get rich by laying siege to Vienna?" "I do. I was in Vienna during the siege." This revelation caused a moment of silence, and a change of subject. "Now that he's done his job, Ferhat will disappear for a few days. That's his habit. We don't know where he goes. But every time he brings in a head, he goes someplace for a while. Probably he had a sweetheart somewhere, who knows? By the way, I was the coffee and tobacco boy before you came. You ought to know that old Hamdi also

- 277 uses 'secrets'. And plenty of wine too. Both the brothers are wine drinkers in private, as are most Sultans and all vezirs". "What do you mean — he uses 'secrets'? " "I forget you don't know Turkish. 'Secrets', that's opium. It's forbidden, but some people use it anyway — those who can afford it. You will be buying Hamdi's tobacco. You already know the place. But 'secrets' he buys himself from a peddler, a special peddler who comes and goes like a ghost. No point in going around the streets shouting 'secretsV " "I've never tried the stuff. Is it good?" "So they say. Don't ask me. I'm a slave like yourself. If I have a coin, I'm not going to spend it on opium. I already have enough bad habits. Though if I were rich, it might be a different matter." "What do you do with your allowance?" "What do you think? This is a great city, by Allah. There, I remembered not to say God! And we live in a quarter where the neighbors are all mixed up. We giaours can always find other giaours with whom to spend a coin." "Wait. The two of you are supposed to be Moslems now. That's what you said." "Well, there are Moslems and there are Moslems. We've made our compromises. And if you are smart, you'll do the same. Or do you think you can slip back home through the Balkans without being noticed? Not likely, my dear. " As predicted, by the time they arrived at Samatya, Ferhat Efendi had already departed the procession and ridden off by himself in another direction. The servants crowded through the street door, hoping to find a breakfast waiting. The children, already playing in the garden, cheered their arrival, begging to be entertained. While they ate yogurt soup and cracked wheat, Sebastian pressed the Montenegrins for information about the household he had just joined. "Arapzade has been with the family longest and knows the most. But", said Bayko, sticking his soupspoon back in his green cummerbund, "I'll tell you as much as I know. The Bosnian connection with the Turks goes back two centuries. The brothers belong to an old Bosnian line. This family has never forgotten its connections with the old country, which had a strange religion of its own long before they ever heard of Islam. The brothers are really just half brothers, which is why there is so little resemblance between them. They were raised here in Istanbul but grew up speaking Bosnian as well as Turkish. The

- 278 neighbors speak about five other languages. So in this respect the brother are no different from others except that the brothers are Moslems while most of the neighbors are Christians. They are related to the household in Thessaloniki where you stayed, I believe. All along this family made its way as soldiers, and Ferhat Efendi upholds that tradition. But Muhyiddin saw things differently, and in my opinion rightly. You see, soldiers of rank are like members of the Sultan's household. Not only do they risk their necks on the battlefield, but if they make a mistake in serving the Sultan, they are risking their necks off the battlefield as well. The higher up they go the greater the risk. And if they do manage to put a little fortune together, by hook or by crook, they might just lose it when they die, leaving their family destitute. There is no aristocracy here, as in Austria. Keeping what you have is the problem. "Now this is where Muhyiddin comes in. He knew from early on that if he went to school and became a scholar, his chances of making a fortune and keeping it were far better. As a scholar, there are basically two ways to do this. You can stick to strictly religious duties, and hope to be among the very few who reach high office with the high pay that goes along with that. Or otherwise you can apply to become a magistrate. If you do get a posting as a magistrate, you become part of the Sultan's household, just like a soldier, and you might even end up with your head in a bag if you are not careful. But once you retire from administrative work and retire to your books, no one will touch you, you and your money are safe. Muhyiddin, as I've told you, was lucky in his choice of posts. He made his pile and got out before the winds of reform started to blow. So now the family has its own foundation and need never be poor if they exert themselves. It may not be fair, but that's the way the system works. Anyway, who ever said life was fair? "Why don't the brothers have four wives apiece, since it seems they can afford it?" "Moslems are too smart for that. Since they can have all the women they want without going to the trouble of marrying them, the men marry only for the purpose of producing heirs, nothing else. Unmarried women who work here as servants must take their chances. But in general such women stay with one family their whole lives, so perhaps the difference is not so great as it seems at first glance. Except that the servants do the serving while wives do embroidery." For a moment Sebastian could see his own sister at her embroidery, her only option once her reading lessons ceased.

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Suddenly there was a stir in the street, which prompted the gatekeeper to open the street gate so as to find out what was wrong. Menservants of the household roused Arapzade and followed the limping veteran into the street, trailed by the children. Not far from their door in a neighbor's garden someone had discovered the body of a young woman not yet twenty, lying on her side and wrapped in a vast shawl. Arapzade gently uncovered her face. Who was she? No one seemed to know. Y e t no one seemed either very surprised or upset to find her lying there between the plane trees. Other households opened their doors and sent servants to view the uncovered face. The dead woman had a rather pretty face in Sebastian's opinion. Neighbors thought that she had been suffocated and carried here from another quarter. "What will be done with her?" asked Sebastian. "Why, nothing at all, Captain", said Arapzade. The watchmen will come before evening and make a few inquiries of I he neighbors. But no one will know her. Then the neighbors will expect to have her carried away. And she will be." "What about whoever killed her? Will there be an investigation?" "Not if no one can identify her. You see, this girl has without a doubt been killed by her relatives, most probably her male relatives. This is almost certainly an honor killing. Everyone understands that. And she is probably a Moslem. Everyone understands that also. No one is eager to take away from her family the right to correct her mistake." "What sort of mistake are we talking about?" "A mistake with a man, of course. We can be sure that she comes from a neighborhood quite a ways from here. Even there the only people who are supposed to know her face are the members of her own family. Of course that's assuming she comes from a good family. We can guess that after they corrected her mistake, the men from her family took pains to avoid the city watchmen, or perhaps were able to bribe them, and carried her here, then left her where you saw her under those trees. This is how it ends. Except for the last part. After she is handed over to the palace gardeners, they will take her out on the Bosphorus in a boat, and slip her under the waves. And after that she will be forgotten." As if to seal their growing friendship with yet another secret, the Montenegrins took Sebastian with them when they visited a not too distant laundry, run by Christian women, Armenians apparently since they wore the red footwear that the official dress code prescribed

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for stipulated for Armenians. They had no need to visit the laundry to do laundry, since that was done within the household. They went to visit the laundresses. Not every laundress would bargain for the humble coins scraped together from a slave's allowance, but for a couple of them this was an acceptable supplement to their income. While the holdouts giggled and whispered, the two experienced women would take their customers by turns to the area where bedding was hung. The sheets offered a curtain for their transactions, which were performed standing. "Better than nothing", the Montenegrins agreed. "We don't tell them that we have converted to Islam. They wouldn't like that. Real Moslems make their own arrangements which we either cannot afford, or don't want. " "What do you mean, other arrangements?" "In general, a Moslem fellow, unless he's born into a lucky situation, cannot get at women at all, other than those in his family. And by the time his relatives do help him find a wife, he's been a man for quite a while. Meanwhile it's difficult for him to have any contact with women outside his family, especially if he lives in the city." "So what can he do while waiting to marry?" "Can't you guess?" The Montenegrins laughed. "Naturally they form habits which you are still too young to understand. So, Captain, let us take the world as it is, and be glad for what we have." The captain did, and was grateful. It was supposed to be Arapzade who would teach the newcomer Turkish, since the Montenegrins were not yet sufficiently fluent. But the black majordomo turned out to be an indifferent teacher. Perhaps he thought the task below him. A freeborn Moslem should not have to teach a slave. He had begun by teaching Sebastian just one Turkish word per day. Then the unwilling teacher had an idea which was to change the new man's life. Sebastian would be permitted to attend meetings at a dervish lodge nearby which Arapzade had joined in order to mimic Ferhat, and where he still had some friends. There the problem of teaching the new man Turkish might be solved without any further effort on his part, since he knew that his brother dervishes would waste no time in starting to proselytize, and in Turkish. This was not a Balkan type brotherhood, but another. The Montenegrins would be asked to accompany the new man, despite their yearning to join the Balkan order, and they would be responsible to Arapzade for the timely return of "our captain" after each such outing. All over the old city people like them had to be off the streets by dark or run the risk of

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falling into the hands of the night watchmen, who could make life quite uncomfortable until or unless they received a bribe. Meetings of the dervish lodge took place on two afternoons of the week, after which participants could then go on to an evening service at their mosque, depending upon their habits. The wooden lodge where the brotherhood met was not very far from the Bosnian house, just inside the Samatya district. The dervishes of this lodge believed they did not need to respect all the rules of the established religion because they had reached enlightenment by another route which involved chanting to music, whirling until they reached ecstasy, and in all things following the guidance of their sheyh, whom these dervishes considered a saint, and above criticism. The sheyh, who lived with his wife in a house next to the lodge, was considered as learned as any of the preachers of the capital's great mosques, learned even in the laws of Islam, so that if he chose to could have been a preacher in any one of them, or so the brothers believed. The lodge reminded Sebastian of a sailing boat he had seen at Venice. Inside its gray wooden walls there was a lower deck around the sides where visitors and newcomers sat and watched, while in the middle behind a railing there was a broad inner deck of planks raised up a little above the perimeter. It was on this deck that the sheyh would direct the brothers as they whirled, their feet thumping on the deck, until they reached a trance-like condition so powerful that they forgot all worldly concerns. At the beginning of each session the brothers would listen as the sheyh recited from the Koran, then they would chant, and finally they would whirl in concentric circles, watched over by the sheyh. Sometimes there were initiations. For some reason that Sebastian never heard explained, there were stag horns attached to one wall. From the first moment, it was the music of the dervishes that won Sebastian's heart. As the three servants from the Bosnian household first approached the lodge, they could hear that the afternoon session had already started. Dreamy music that accompanied the chanting lofted from musicians sitting cross-legged in a row off on one side. The moods created by this strange music went beyond anything in his experience. As the chanting voices rose, members of the lodge began to turn and spin, first reciting verses in unison as they spun, finally chanting endlessly a single syllable — "hu, hu, hu". One of the instruments of the little ensemble was something like a cembalo that was struck with a little hammer; another was a sort of violin, though not of the Cremona type; there was a small drum of dog skin held between the knees, and also a wooden flute. The playing seemed

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effortless. The four played together at every session of the lodge and knew each other well. The messages of the music struck the Austrian as sad, contemplative, resigned, yet sweetly so. Above all the liquid voice of the wooden flute won Sebastian's admiration. He could not understand the rituals of the brothers but the sympathetic language of the music fit his own mood. If only he could learn to play like that! The newcomer noticed that as the dervishes whirled they held their hands in a certain way, with one palm up and the other palm down. What could this mean? He asked the Montenegrins, who did not know but said they would try to find out. When they inquired, they were told that the upturned palm received all the blessings that came from Allah, while the downturned palm dispensed these same blessings to others, not only their brother dervishes, but also all the people they came into contact with in daily life. There were at least thirty men at the meeting, some quite young. A couple of them were as fair as some Austrians, but in general they were dark skinned, dark haired, and darkly clad. The rituals went on a long time. Probably Arapzade had intended that Sebastian would learn something f r o m watching. Perhaps the old majordomo hoped that watching would have some effect on him, and gradually it did. Sebastian discovered that he liked the atmosphere. It was tranquil, and seemed sincere, and well meaning. He felt accepted. The spinning of these dervishes in their long brown robes left both spinners and onlookers in an otherworldly state. Ever since leaving Skopje, the Austrian's eyes had been getting used to other ways of dressing, so he easily accepted the garb of the dervishes, the conical felt hats and brown woolen robes, which reminded him of Franciscans. Still the resemblance to Franciscans also reminded him how far he was from home. When they arrived back from the lodge, Arapzade met them and asked the new man immediately what he thought about what he'd seen that afternoon. "I liked it, especially the music. The flute, what do they call it, the ney ? If I could I would learn to play it." "Ha!", replied the majordomo, who sought a way out to get out of teaching. "I know that man who plays the flute. He'll be glad to teach you to play. He's a friend of mine. But you must do your part. You have to learn to speak Turkish. That man's name is Kasim, and while he is teaching you the flute, he can teach you Turkish. We'll send you every afternoon when the old man takes his nap. Now you now know the way. We'll make a dervish out of you yet."

- 283 It seemed strange to this former man of war that he was now occupied with such simple things — making clay whistles for the household's children, lighting the old man's pipe, and now learning to play a wooden flute, all far from soldiering. Sebastian was beginning to feel himself a philosopher. There was no need to hurry, and for the time being no need to escape. True, he was dirt poor as long as he stayed where he was, but perhaps that mattered little. His army savings were safe with his banker in Graz, and the world thought him dead. He might as well be on another planet! It only took one session with Kasim for Sebastian to feel he was on a good path. Kasim, it turned out, was blind from birth, gentle, patient, and good humored. The first word he taught the new pupil was 'merhaba' for 'hello'. Sebastian already knew "merhaba", but did not let on. After several repetitions of this useful word, he showed Sebastian how to hold his wooden flute, and then launched into an impromptu recital. Such was Kasim's concentration that he seemed almost to lose consciousness, as he swayed back and forth with legs folded beneath him. Once or twice he reached out to touch the new pupil to make sure that he was attending him, and not thinking about some youthful escapade. The flute put the newcomer into a kind of dream state. He felt the hair rise on his neck as Kasim played for him, for him, a total stranger. The recital seemed like a benediction from this kind blind man. The liquid voice of the flute curled around them gently, wistfully, floating to the ceiling of the lodge like tobacco smoke. Sebastian felt himself rising, floating, mingling with the liquid sound. This was not like any music he had heard so far in life. This was something very close to him, personal, magical in a different way than contrapuntal harmonies of Italian composers. There was no sense of urgency about this first lesson. Kasim would have continued indefinitely it seemed, if it were not that the brethren of the lodge trickled in and organized themselves for their afternoon rites. Kasim would have to participate too, but showed by gestures that he expected his new pupil to return again before the next session. Sebastian tried to thank him, but Kasim refused thanks. He explained to the Montenegrins that he knew very well that Sebastian had been sent, a phrase which meant nothing to Sebastian, but which he later understood. When Sebastian asked later what Kasim had meant, Bayko said he was sure that Kasim' had meant that Sebastian had been predestined to come to him upon the prompting of another realm, the spiritual realm. The new pupil was thus given to understand that his

- 284 apprenticeship had divine approval. Sebastian did not believe for a minute at this point in his life that such a thing was possible, but was flattered that his new teacher was taking him so seriously. Accompanied by the Montenegrins, the divinely appointed pupil found the path back to the Bosnian house, arriving just in time. The old man was now awake and already calling for his evening pipe of opium. As everyone knew, if he took a pipe at this time of day he would not be going to evening prayers, and the menservants of the household would be going up the hill without him, according to his standing instructions. Hamdi Efendi would not be eating for a long time, and in the kitchen they would have to do their best to keep his food warm and fresh in case he called for it. Sebastian had already been rehearsed in the opium ritual by Bosha and Bayko, who had both performed this function before he came, and he took some satisfaction in getting the wordless ceremony right. The opium pipe was more complicated than the tobacco pipe. With tobacco one could scarcely fail, but with opium one really could fail. The old man's "secrets" were held in a little painted porcelain chest of Chinese make, stored in his cupboard behind a pillow. The freshness of this stuff seemed not to be a concern since the old man just added new to old whenever his "secrets" peddler showed up. There might be some opium in the porcelain box that was years old, mixed with some which was bought yesterday. But it was all good, regardless of age. The stem of the pipe was also made from porcelain, with the same blue on white design as the box. Besides preparing the pipe, Sebastian had been instructed to trim, fill, and light the lamps beforehand, and tend to the brazier, since the old man did not like to be disturbed further once he started smoking. After tending to the lamps, Sebastian kneaded a gob of the dark opium onto the flat surface of the bowl of the pipe, as he had been taught, holding the pipe over the lamp so that the opium would warm gently. Gradually the dark stuff changed color, becoming lighter, almost golden. When the golden paste got soft enough, and the pipe warm enough, Sebastian's duty was to shape it around the hole in the flat surface of the heated pipe, leaving a tiny perforation for the passage of air. The old man, already now reclining on one hip, took the pipe from the new servant and waved him away, but not before the Austrian caught a whiff of the mysterious nutty aroma. To his surprise, Sebastian liked the aroma. Given the chance he might even like to try this stuff. The old man closed his eyes, groaning with anticipation,

- 285 then with quiet satisfaction. Job completed, Sebastian backed away, feeling for the railing of the stairway leading down. Arapzade was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. "Did the old man ask you about the lodge?" he wanted to know, concerned that Hamdi Efendi might not care for his plan to farm out the job of teaching the new servant. "Didn't say a word to me". The old man was taciturn by nature, or had become so, and Sebastian had noticed that he was often in pain because of something growing in his abdomen beneath the gorgeous silk waistband. "Good. I think he has more serious matters on his mind. Now Captain, if I were you, I would give a thought to converting as soon as possible. I know you know why. Or do you want to spend your life as a slave? You know that the Catastrophe has her eye on you. Oh, I'm sure you know. But you don't stand a chance of doing anything about that little lady unless you convert so that you can be freed immediately when the old man dies. That's just the way things are." " Sebastian was stunned. Arapzade knew him better than he realized, and could see his unspoken thoughts. He had been daydreaming about the mysterious maidservant, more than might seem likely for a man of his experience. He knew almost nothing about her. Yet he had come to know from the sweep of that sleeve, from the sound of that small foot, when she might be at the side of the balcony opposite, glancing surreptitiously down toward the room he shared with the Montenegrins. "Where is she from?" he asked Arapzade, attempting to deflect the old man's inquisitive eye. "Her family is from somewhere in the east. She is some kind of Shiite. In Istanbul we have some of everything." "And what is a Shiite, if I may ask?" "Shiites are Moslems who insist they have a dynasty connected with the Prophet, descended by blood. The fact that all the descendants have died out doesn't stop them. What they see is invisible to the human eye. Oh, and another curious thing about these Shiites which might interest you. Some of them practice temporary marriage." "They what?" "I thought that would get your attention. Yes, Shiite women are permitted to enter into contracts with men for a limited period, say a year or two, or for that matter even a month or two. And I can tell you that our Catastrophe needs you just as badly as you need her, Captain. But she hasn't any chance of any kind of marriage until the old man dies. Remember that she belongs not to our master, but to the master's

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first wife, so he never has had contact with her, however much he may have wanted it. And for the same reason she can have no contact with any man so long as her mistress, the master's second wife, stands in the way. She's stuck, just the way you are stuck. Think about that." "I am thinking." Sebastian rallied his wits. "If she's not a slave, why doesn't she leave?" "Because Ferhat Efendi bought her out of the palace harem at a moment when the government was really pressed for money. He bought her to help take care of the first wife. Before that the palace bought her from her family out in the east for service in the palace harem. No, she's not a slave, but they bought her nonetheless. Why the brothers would bring such a beautiful servant into the house is beyond me. She might as well be buried alive, so long as she is looking after the first wife. But by now the master is I'm sure beyond caring even if our customs did permit access to her — which they don't. Her family in the east will no longer take her back. But when the old man dies, may Allah protect him, I predict that things will change quickly around here. Ferhat Efendi will not be interested in maintaining such a big establishment as his brother has. I know him well. He will send most of you away, and spend the income in other ways." "What is to stop Ferhat Efendi from keeping her for himself?" "Oh, he will keep two or three servants, me for sure since we go way back. But not our little Catastrophe. You see, Ferhat Chavush has no interest in women really, and the old man's second wife has another servant, Gul, whom she likes better. No, our little Shiite will have to start a new life one way or another. So you see there is an opportunity for a young fellow like yourself, if the second wife agrees to it. I am way too old for such things, otherwise I wouldn't be giving you this advice." He said this as though to no one in particular, turning his steps toward the family's bathhouse. Sebastian was left alone with his thoughts. He watched the children playing without seeing them. How odd that he was getting used to living in this strange world! Even though he technically a slave, here he was gaining weight eating pilav, beans, flat bread, yogurt, white cheese, rendered butter, and leftovers. He quite liked the Montenegrins. He was treated decently, and to tell the truth, life was easy. He even had a small weekly allowance so that he could take a bit of wine, or smoke with a borrowed pipe, not yet a pipe of his own. As for his duties in the house — a little coffee, tobacco, opium, and not much else. He had taken up the wood flute just to keep himself occupied!

- 287 Ah, but this was just an interlude. A man could not go on like this for long or it would destroy all his manliness. Yes, somehow he would have to leave. But convert to Islam? Marry The Catastrophe? Here was a woman — however beautiful — with whom he had not exchanged two words! These were fateful steps that could of course change his life entirely. He wasn't ready for them. How could he be? He was born a Catholic and would die a Catholic. If he converted, it could not be in his heart, of that he was sure. Yet if he wanted the best from this beautiful city embraced by the sea, its peerless architecture and its endless variety, he would need a future that was more secure. If he remained a slave, Ferhat Efendi might just sell him when the time came. And to whom? Bad enough to be bought once, but be bought twice! No! Escape? That might succeed under the right conditions, but not just now. Later, yes, later. What would he do if this strange Bosnian household no longer wanted his petty services, was no longer amused to have a Styrian captain as a souvenir? Dare he offer his services as a soldier to the Turks? If he did that there was a likelihood that he could end up on some battlefield of the future fighting his old Austrian comrades in arms. No, he could never endanger his honor by doing that, even though he knew that the Turks employed many Christians, such as Thokoly's so-called "crusaders", in their composite armies. If he were free, what would he do with himself in this strange but fascinating city? He had no ready answer. Even if he had, did he want to do it with The Catastrophe at his side? That evening the procession of menservants made their way to the hilltop mosque as usual, once again leaving the ailing magistrate at home. The master had said that he felt badly and would not go to prayers, but the household would attend as usual. Sebastian guessed that the reason this time may have been the pipe which the old man had asked for in mid afternoon. The old man was in pain these days at least a part of the time, and was probably using the opium to suffocate it. As the servants of the household took their usual place by the faucets in the mosque courtyard where ablutions were performed before going into the mosque, an argument broke out which Sebastian could not follow. Some stranger seemed to be objecting to sitting on a stone next to men from the Bosnian household. On the threshold of the mosque, just before entering, Sebastian asked what the fuss was all about. "Look", said Bayko, pulling off his shoes. "Some Moslems don't like us dervish brothers very well. Especially they don't approve of the 'hu-hu-ing' and the whirling, such as at the lodge where you have been going to study

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with Kasim. So every once in a while they try to persuade us that we are not such good Moslems as they are. Which in my case is doubtless true and in your case absolutely true, but never mind. Our Samatya congregation is quite divided in this respect. But at the big mosques nearer to the palace there are some crazies who like to rant and rave about nothing. I've seen terrible fights, and over what? Music and whirling. And why? It's silly, there's no harm in what the dervishes do. But that's people for you. Whatever they don't do themselves must somehow be bad. On the other hand, I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit that some dervishes are crazy too. Not our brothers, to be sure, but there are some crackpots from other orders who actually go around deliberately disturbing the Moslems at the big mosques until they are paid to go away, or else driven off." Sebastian thought back. Had music ever been an issue in the Christian lands? He could not be sure. In any case, he was not about to be discouraged from learning the wooden flute, which from the beginning had seemed to have a soul of its own. Even his first few tentative notes on his borrowed instrument had given him satisfaction. With the days growing warm, and the children playing all day when not napping, he spent hours reworking what blind Kasim taught him at the lodge, adding inventions of his own. Every day the kindly dervish taught him a bit of Turkish, then some air. At first the children listened while he practiced, then they ignored him while they played. It was just the new man Basti. As for Turkish, this Sebastian found far more difficult. Still, he decided that since he was sent, he would try to be the best pupil Kasim had ever had. At the time when his sessions with Kasim started, he had still been thinking about a plan of escape. If he knew some Turkish, it might work. He looked not so different than other members of the household, with his shaved head under the powder blue turban that was standard for their house. Once he knew enough Turkish, he could pass himself off as a Bosnian unless he was among real Bosnians. Then if he could lay hands on a horse, clothes and a bit of cash, he might be able to slip away in the night and be gone, head by a circuitous path toward Nish, where he could find the Austrians. Such were his thoughts while repeating his first words in Turkish. But as he slipped into new habits, and the days grew warmer and longer, the Styrian saw how lucky he had been in joining this particular household. Ferhat the chavush came and went to his strange world at the palace, and other places, while the old man upstairs was content to be alone with his pipes. Meanwhile Sebastian was getting used to Samatya. Since he was soon trusted to leave the household on his own,

- 289 Sebastian had plenty of opportunity to observe the neighborhood he was living in. Unlike most Istanbul neighborhoods, which tended to organize themselves according to religion, this neighborhood was mixed, with Greek, Jews, and Armenians on every side, their servants fetching their water and bargaining for groceries, alongside those from his own household. The fountain they shared was one of the many in the city which had been donated as a charity, this one by a Moslem lady. When Sebastian passed this elegant fountain while the neighbors were drawing their water, he was favorably impressed by the courtesy of the crowd gathered there, the easy manner of the Moslems with the servants of other faiths, doubtless easier relations than those between Catholics and Protestants back home in Austria. Perhaps this was because each of these neighboring nations knew secretly that they were superior to the others and did not have to prove it. The Christian neighbors did not pray five times a day like many Moslems, but there was no doubting their devotion to the modest churches of the neighborhood. Their weddings, christenings and funerals were all rather public affairs, colorful, and rather noisy. Unlike Moslem city women, who never went out without an escort, these Christian and Jewish women daily ventured on the streets together or even alone. All young men in this neighborhood, regardless of religion, were at home at night in their households. Indeed men of all ages were very careful about being out at night, and if they had to be out carried their lamps with them. That way if they met up with a Janissary patrol, it wouldn't look like they were trying to hide. The inmates of neighboring houses knew all about the Bosnian house and even about this Basti, or at least what there was to be known. They looked at him with curiosity in the street, where he passed by himself or as one of the mosque-bound procession. Sometimes they would greet him. In their eyes he was a man from that army which had invaded the Balkans from the Austrian side, and was still encamped at Nish, deep in the Balkans. Sebastian wondered what would have happened if the invaders had come closer. What would these Christian and Jewish neighbors say had the Austrians gotten all the way to Edirne, or even the outskirts of Istanbul? Would they have welcomed the Christian army? Would they have turned on their Moslem neighbors, such as the Bosnian household of which Sebastian was now a member? Or did they prefer living the lives that they knew, under the protection of the Sultan and his vezirs? Impossible to know.

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Early in June of 1690 the Moslem holy month of Ramazan commenced before the new man realized how important this month was for the Moslem community. The first that Sebastian knew of it was when he woke well before dawn to the sound of a big bass drum being beaten on the street in the darkness. The drum paused for some big bangs in front of the Bosnian house before moving on down the hill. "What does this mean? What's happening?" he asked his sleepy roommates in the dark. "Does this have some connection with the war?" "Oh no, we should have told you. No, it's not the war. This is the first day of Ramazan, the month of fasting." They all went back to sleep, not looking forward to the dearth of food which the new day would bring. There was no meal prepared during that day, not for them, nor for anyone in the house it seemed. When Sebastian complained about this to the Montenegrins, they agreed that they should have warned him about what was coming. But on the other hand, how does one prepare for a fast? One just had to live through it. They would be able to eat again just at twilight, but until then they could neither eat nor drink — not even water, nor smoke, since they belonged to a Moslem household. "You mean the neighbors can, and we can't?" "That's right. We Moslems have to make all the sacrifices." They laughed. "Of course, if you were a child, or deathly ill, an exception might be made. But for the rest of us a breach of the fast would require punishment of some kind, a sacrifice perhaps, or a fine." But no one was excused because of Ramazan from attending the mosque. The days and prayers seemed to go on endlessly. The Austrian, who had never fasted in his life, had trouble getting used to it. "Consider yourself lucky", said Bayko. "If you were a stonecutter, you would still have to work all day long without a bite to eat or a drop to drink. That's the law." During the afternoon of that first day of Ramazan, a band of wretched looking dervishes, all of them dirty and in rags, showed up at the street gate, and were allowed to enter. After blessing the house elaborately, they asked for some food to carry away. As the Montenegrins then explained, these dervishes were also forbidden to eat until after sundown, but for the household it was meritorious to give them something to break their fast with, or otherwise to other poor people. After the servants' return from the fourth prayer of the day, with daylight waning, there was a change of atmosphere, as the household began to anticipate the fine meal of the evening. That would commence

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as soon as they heard a cannon fired from the ramparts of the palace. Even more than usual, everyone sat in small groups, talking to distract themselves from the customary pangs of Ramazan. The cannon did finally sound as darkness came, and there was a rush of movement as the women of the house sent forth trays from the kitchen laden with the special foods with which they all broke fast — broad circular crusts of flat bread, freshly baked, dimpled and smelling divinely, studded with burnt sesame seeds, and accompanied by white salt cheese, olives, humus, honey, and lentil soup. Talking ceased for some moments as all fell to, mumbling with satisfaction as they ate, before resuming the chatter halted by the cannon. Ferhat chavush was home for the first night of Ramazan, and set an example by being first up the slope in the dark for the last prayer of the day. Ordinarily this would be the end of the day, but not during Ramazan, when nothing happened quite as usual. The mosque itself was lit with lamps outside as well as inside, right to the tops of the minarets. Lamps appeared everywhere, along pathways and in gardens. There were melodious Koran readings all night long. Pious people slept little, listening to the readings at the mosque, returning home for a while to rest, then returning to the mosque, until the man with the bass drum made his way up the street in the dark, pausing before each Moslem house. Perhaps some pious night owls then slept through the day, as a way to make the month pass more easily. Ferhat chavush disappeared as usual after the first night, and did not reappear again for the whole month. The old man meanwhile kept the fast in his own way, namely not very well, for although abstinence from sex and food was no problem for him, he could not do without his pipes, as his new man was to discover. But it was important to the magistrate that the household should keep up appearances, so that attendance at the mosque was even more strictly observed than usual. The children of the household were eager to be on the streets with other children, and like them would gather shards from which to make additional lamps which they would place in every cranny. While the children of the Bosnian household were not allowed out alone after dark, this was not the case for some other households, whose urchins waylaid men who were bound to or from the mosque. These unfortunates were accosted with demands for money to buy candles and firecrackers, according to an old custom. Finally on the 27th evening of Ramazan, the old magistrate pulled himself erect in order to lead his servants up the hill. This was the Night of Power, the night on which the Prophet was said to have first received holy messages from on high. On that

- 292 night the mosque was crammed, with the crowd spilling over into the courtyard and the street. Watching Hamdi Efendi, Sebastian realized how far pain had bitten into the old man even since his arrival. Still determined to keep up appearances, but his time was coming. On the last night of the month, sweets made with honey, sugar and spices found their way even to the servants' rooms. With the month of fasting ended, Ferhat chavush had finally came home and there was much visiting from other houses. The servants watched the relatives of the Bosnians come and go, embracing, kissing hands, and making jokes in spite of themselves, even though they realized that the old man was sick. The children were allowed to join others, some their relatives, some from the neighborhood, to watch a performance of Black Eye. This was a kind of puppet show that was staged in a garden near their house. The players were a wizened old Jew and his helpers, who cooperated to move figures on sticks on the other side of a sheet of cloth lit from behind, so that their audience had the impression that the silly scenes were taking place on a brightly lit day. The old man was a master of voices. He made Sebastian laugh too, though this particular spectator could only guess at the reasons for the caterwauling and the beatings which the puppets enjoyed giving one another. It brought back operas at Venice that Sebastian had seen and heard but not understood. During that summer news reached Istanbul concerning the progress of the volunteer army raised by the last of the Koprulu vezirs. Invariably the carrier of the news was Ferhat chavush, who would hear the latest news at the palace, then burst through the street gate of the Bosnian house at Samatya shouting out what he'd hear as soon as he dismounted. "Captain, have you heard?", so he would begin, waving his sword at the acacia tree in the middle of the courtyard, slashing off bits which fell to earth. "I knew it, I knew it!! No one can withstand the Moslems when they are well led. Strategy may be our weak side, but by Allah, our soldiers are magnificent. Admit it, captain! Magnificent!" The Turkish army, led this time by the grand vezir himself, made swift progress that summer all the way through the Balkans after a late start from their camp at Edirne. It was said at Istanbul that Fazil Mustafa, the Koprulu vezir, had not wanted an army which was too large, just determined volunteers. This volunteer army now took back Nish after the Austrian garrison surrendered, then massacred the unlucky Serbs within who had thought they would march out alongside the Austrians. The Turks tracked the garrison down the Morava River

- 293 toward Smederovo, took the hulking blackwalled fortress on the Danube, then marched westward along the south shore of the great river. Sebastian and the Montenegrins at first took Ferhat's news of rapid victories with a grain of salt. Granted that the worthy Piccolomini was now dead, what could have happened to the young genius Baden? Surely he would not give up without a decent fight! If this was an Austrian retreat, there must be a logic to it, a strategy they could not fathom. If it was really true that the Austrians were in full flight, then they would be further away with each passing day. Escape would be all the more risky, if that were really so. Sebastian weighed these doubts, all the while practicing his Turkish on the children, and playing his wooden flute. Everyone acknowledged that he had talent. He might even be allowed to play with the others at the lodge, providing that he would convert to Islam. But this was out of the question for a Catholic. Then in September came news the capital had been waiting for throughout the summer. Belgrade had been taken from the Austrians, again with amazingly little difficulty. The explosion of a powder magazine had eased entry into this strategic city, with its history of many sieges. The Turkish army would not stop there, so it was said, but would continue westward upriver to retake all that had been lost in the last few years. Perhaps the Turks might even — so ran the rumor — set siege to Vienna once more. They would surely go at least as far as Esseg, which Sebastian remembered all too well as the first place he had heard cannon balls flying overhead. But how, how, was such a collapse possible? Hearing the news about Belgrade, the ancient door to Hungary, a great shout of joy went: up in the ancient seaside capital. The first news of the victory came to the Bosnian household not from Ferhat this time, but from the peddler who came to supply the old man with opium. "Have you heard?" he said, once inside the gate, "Belgrade has fallen to the Moslems. The mustering ground near the palace is filling up with people and so are the mosques." Their own neighborhood seemed quiet, the streets even more empty than usual. But soon even Christian neighbors had caught the mood, and were hurrying toward the public spaces, seeking the kind of entertainments that suddenly appeared on the streets of Istanbul whenever there was good news for the dynasty. The people of the capital, like people all over the Turkish Empire, had been tormented these last years by special taxes. Now it was time to get their money's worth.

- 294 The menservants of the Bosnian household were permitted to join the crowds converging on the center of the old city, all except Arapzade, who had to stay behind to guard the harem. The old man instructed the majordomo to give each male servant an extra allowance, a few copper coins so that they might join in the festivities, each in his own way. The women servants, alas for them, had to stay home, and begin cooking the best dishes they were capable of in order to mark the occasion. Ferhat chavush would expect it, for there would surely be visitors that night. For the moment Ferhat was nowhere to be seen, but it was more than likely that he would show up with his friends unannounced and would then call for food and drink for his guests until all hours. They might spend the entire night on the men's side. Sebastian too had been kept back for a time, until the old man, tiring of his presence and not wishing to smoke, asked to have his second wife join him in his room. This was unusual since he followed the usual practice of large Moslem houses where men would see wives only in a special salon between the harem side and the men's side. But the old man was ailing, and wanted to be pampered a little by his only sane wife. From her came the order that Sebastian was free to go to the mosque to give thanks along with the Moslems, and then to join the public celebrations until sunset, not later. Apparently the old man assumed that Sebastian was happy over the Belgrade victory. Might the old man be a little out of his mind with fever? Had Sebastian given him the impression that he would convert? Actually Sebastian was perplexed by the Begrade victory but glad to be released for the day, since his curiosity about life in the Moslem capital continued to grow. He bypassed prayers of thanksgiving in the neighborhood mosque, and proceeded directly to the old Byzantine hippodrome, the main mustering ground for the crowds, not far from the palace walls. News of victories was as always celebrated in the Moslem capital by a period of license and horseplay. The streets were crowded with men of all ages as Sebastian neared the hippodrome. The roar of thousands of voices was heard at a distance, a sound almost like the roar of battle. Vienna could never muster a multitude of such size. Some of the crowd were from the covered market, which had closed for the day. Others swarmed into the hippodrome from mosques nearby and were being addressed by impromptu preachers mounted on bags or barrels, who were using the occasion to try their skills. Sebastian looked around him at bearded, excited faces of men who did not notice him in the least, since he looked just like everyone else. How strange it was to observe thus the very men he had met in battle, or their brothers and

- 295 cousins. Their excitement was understandable, but he could not feel as they did. His own mood was as if he were prepared for a wake, and instead had stumbled onto a wedding. Men beat each other about the shoulders, laughed, whirled in the streets, and raised their hands in thanksgiving. Apprentice boys pretended to kill each other with mock weapons, racing through the crowds in pursuit of one another. Here and there country fellows danced side by side in lines, some even without accompanying music, while holding each other tightly by the shoulders. There were also dances in which swords were brandished in mock battle as a part of the dance. A couple of real fights exploded, furious fights. These were quickly subdued by bystanders, who could not tolerate bitterness on such a day. All this excitement imparted an atmosphere of joy and harmony that contrasted favorably with violent scenes he had seen in Vienna after that city's siege was lifted. Although Sebastian could understand little of what people were saying in this hubbub, "Allah", "Inshallah", and "Mashallah" seemed to be on every tongue, and occasionally "Belgrade", and "Koprulu". Sebastian searched in vain over the heads of the multitude for his Montenegrins, knowing they would stand a head taller than most men in the milling throng. Tents had sprung up around the hippodrome. In the afternoon there came an impromptu parade, with floats displaying the artifacts and products of Istanbul's various guilds, joined by floats put together by the main dervish brotherhoods. In the evening there would be fireworks. Outside on this sunny day a variety of entertainers were at their tricks, taking advantage of the crowd's jubilant mood. Vying for attention were fireeaters, sword swallowers, jugglers, tumblers, ropewalkers, magicians, snake and scorpion charmers, fortunetellers, soothsayers, and games of chance. There was something that looked like a giant whirligig, on which one might ride, strapped to a kind of saddle. Greased wrestlers challenged the crowds. There was a gamewhich involved jumping through fire, and a runway where horsemen showed off by hooking hoops with a lance while riding by at speed, an exercise long used by Turkish cavalrymen to maintain their edge. On another runway facing the sea an archery contest was staged. In several tents there were lively plays offering men in women's roles doing outrageous imitations, and engaging in ribaldry and low comedy, apparently the lower the better. Puppets in shadow shows offered more low humor, as far as Sebastian could tell, for the spectators were visibly disapproving at times, alternately groaning and clucking their tongues, yet just as often falling about howling in mirth. Wandering the side streets the crowds found other

- 296 tents with Vlah girls dancing the lascivious "kerchek". All the while sellers wandered with trays of sweets, cakes, and aromatic sesame rings. Even stray madmen, excited beyond endurance, bounced and brayed ecstatically. In other tents troupes of "bunny boys" moved in time to suggestive rhythms supplied by drums and wooden spoons. In these dancers' tents Sebastian heard a kind of music wholly different from the dreamy stuff of the dervish lodges. Reed pipes — mocking, irritating, almost insulting, were backed up by very loud dogskin drums. This was music that fired the blood, earsplitting music to which no one could feel indifferent, alien music, almost threatening, it seemed to him. The Austrian fell into a stupor, wandering from tent to tent, drunk with sound, and determined not to spend unwittingly the few coins he had with him. There was so much to see! He could not even say how he felt about it all. As the day advanced, he grew hungry, not having eaten since breakfast, and so used one precious coin to buy fresh sesame rings. Just as he was thinking about returning to Samatya, he was discovered by his Montenegrins. The tall fellows had no money left, but knew where they could get soup at a charitable kitchen maintained by a funded kitchen that was within walking distance. After wading for a long time through the crowds, the saffron rice they were unexpectedly given with the soup tasted good. The Montenegrins' reaction to the news about Belgrade was as confused as Sebastian's own. What was wrong with those Austrians anyway? Was this the best they could do? It was as though a cloud had burst. Grumbling all the way, the three rather spoiled servants made their way back to Samatya. What wouldn't they have given to know more about those faraway Austrians, and their Hungarian, Croat and Vlahisch allies. Who exactly was responsible for this fiasco? Meanwhile, as they well knew, Moslems who had money in their pockets were taking advantage of the day's celebrations by heading off in the opposite direction, crossing the Horn on taxi boats so as to mingle freely with the uncircumcised in the taverns, just what these three would have liked to do if they could afford it. When they arrived at the Bosnian house, the three were greeted by the sound of wailing. It was the first wife, her voice rising and falling in timeless agony, oppressing everyone within earshot. Inside the street gate they saw Arapzade, staring up at the women's balcony. "She knows there is something quite wrong with the master", he explained, "She has been going on like this for hours. She is upsetting the children. The women have carried the master to the room in between, where he is now lying. I believe he is suddenly in a very bad

- 297 way. Perhaps it was the news about Belgrade that did it, I don't know. I can only tell you to be on you toes. Anything could happen now. Ferhat chavush is not here." When they entered their own room below, the Montenegrins Railed at Sebastian. "For the love of God", they said, forgetting that they were now worshippers of Allah, "make use of this opportunity. Let's go up now to the mosque! We'll tell the imam that you have seen the light. Since the whole city is on fire with the news about the victory at Belgrade, he will believe us. Tell him you want to become a Moslem. Quick Basti, before old Hamdi makes his exit!" Sebastian started to object. "Doesn't this take more time? I'm sure he won't believe us. I know very little about Islam. My heart isn't in this. I need time to think. " He reached for any objection which could buy time. "Come on now," said Bayko, "you don't suppose we know a lot about Islam! Don't be foolish. This is your chance. Do what we did, and you will have your freedom as soon as Hamdi dies. If you hesitate and he dies before you act, Ferhat will sell you for sure, and then your future could be anything. You won't be tobacco boy in your next household., very unlikely. All you have to do is to say the shahadah in front of the imam. Listen. 'There is only one God and his name is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.' That will do it, that's all it takes, believe me, it's that easy." "Is that really all?" Sebastian, remembering his Catholic catechism and confirmation, could scarcely believe the Moslem catechism could be so simple. Yet appallingly consequential. Once this road was taken there was no way back. "That's all. Just remember that once you say those words, you can never take them back, whatever you may feel inside. If a Moslem recants —", Bosha made a swipe across his throat with his sleeve. Above their heads wife number one was howling in full voice. She had been allowed to join the other women in the room in between the sides, and was viewing the wreck that her husband had become. Was he still alive? Better not even to ask. The two Montenegrins forcibly took their Austrian friend by the sleeves and began dragging him to the street gate. Too half-hearted to be able to resist, Sebastian found himself being walked up the hill between the tall ones in the direction of the mosque. When the imam heard Sebastian's story and had peered into the face of the would-be proselyte, he sighed. "Allah is great." The Montenegrins repeated this phrase and seemed to mean it. They had told

- 298 the imam that this humble slave, once a great and famous Austrian warrior, had been devastated when he heard that the Christian side had been bested in the war, and had taken the victory as a sign that Allah was for the Moslems. This explanation the imam accepted at face value. Why should he be surprised that a foreigner would want to join the winning side in this long and exasperating war? The imam had them kneel. "Repeat the shahadah", he commanded. "Say after me - " and he led Sebastian in giving the time worn oath of all true Moslems, formulated in Arabic. Then he finished the conversion ritual by laying his hands on Sebastian's. "Your new name, your Moslem name, my dear, is Abdullah — the slave of Allah." Afterwards the Montenegrins explained that their Moslem names were also Abdullah. This signified to other Moslems that a man was a convert. But none of the three would use this name among themselves, but would with other Moslems. Was this really it? It could not be said that the Austrian did not know what he was doing, yet he did not quite feel himself to be in his right mind at the moment he took that fateful step. He looked around in the softly lit mosque and wondered if God was not there watching. He was quiet as the Montenegrins talked with the imam about the turn the war had taken. While mumbling the inevitable oath, he had been immobilized by several thoughts at once. Now he would get his freedom ! That was the thought foremost in Sebastian's mind as the imam spoke. Surely God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary would not want him to continue living as a slave. Why would they? The three roommates stayed at the mosque long enough to participate in the fourth prayer of the day, then returned home, the tall Montenegrins with their arms around their friend's shoulders, as if he were wounded and needed help, which was almost true. As the three of them left the mosque Sebastian decided to pray that night, lay it all before God, and plead for forgiveness. As they stepped through the street door of the Bosnian house they were met by Ferhat chavush, returned from one of his habitual haunts, or perhaps from the same crowds that they had left on the hippodrome. No, his brother was not dead yet, he said. Then when he heard from the Montenegrins about Sebastian's conversion, he gave them all a piercing look, amused and undeceived. "I hope all your conversions were sincere, my children, because my brother has just freed you all anyhow."

- 299 "What?" cried Sebastian, "Do I hear right?" He saw that he had been rash. He was going to be freed anyway! And now there was no way back! The mosque had been almost empty but there had been a few witnesses, starting with the imam himself. "Yes", said Ferhat, "good Moslems like my brother often free their slaves when they feel death coming. My congratulations to you all!" The three converts fell to their knees. They had all slipped their bonds in the same moment. They gave thanks, sincere thanks, while the chavush smiled his satisfaction. The Montenegrins laughed madly when they were alone, even laughing as Sebastian shook his head. Their plan for Sebastian was a good one but had turned out to be unnecessary. They saw no reason why he should not be as happy as they were upon being freed. What difference did it make that one had converted so long as in the end one was free! All that night the first wife howled, keeping not only their household awake but other houses nearby. Sebastian did not mind it, did not even notice it very much as he composed himself for one of the rare prayers of his lifetime, addressed to the divinities of his childhood. He faced the wall as his companions slept and whispered in the dark. Dear God in Heaven! Dear Jesus, Savior of the sinners of this world! Dear Mary, Mother of God, all merciful ! I am a sinner. You know that I am poor in prayer. I am much at fault for this reason, and for others. I have not prayed much in my life, even when 1 had reason to do so. Perhaps this was because I never felt that my prayers came to anything, or that You were interested in hearing them, whatever others said about it, people like Father Rolf. I only hope that my poverty in prayer does not prevent this prayer tonight from being heard and considered by Our Heavenly Father, and even answered. I have not confessed for years, and perhaps may no longer be allowed to confess, since today I became a Moslem, or so it seems. At least I accepted in front of witnesses that Mohammed was the prophet of Our Heavenly Father. Yet I have always accepted, dear Father in Heaven, that your son is Jesus and was put on earth to save us from our sins. I cannot know how You will look upon this awful act. The Moslems think that their religion is a perfection of Christianity and Judaism, and that Mohammed is the proper successor to Jesus and Moses, whom they accept as prophets. I do not really believe this yet

- 300 in the way that they do, but if by chance this should be true, please, send me a sign. Possibly it is as nothing to You, Dear Father, that I should have consented to accept Islam, for You are all-powerful, all-seeing, all knowing, and may be untouched by trivial human events. As Master of all Nature, You are far above all that You have created, unless perhaps it is also true that You are present in all You have created. Whereas Man, one of your creatures, may be no more than a tiny part of the vastness of the Nature You have created, with no more claim upon your favor and upon immortality, than any animal has. If so, perhaps it is right that men should die like animals and be done with it, regardless of what some say, such as Father Rolf. I admit that I often have this thought, which I hope can be forgiven should it turn out to be wrong and sinful. If on the other hand, Heavenly Father, You actually take a close interest in human affairs as God of the Christians, could it be that you are equally interested in Moslems and are their Allah also, in Jews and are their Jehovah also, and in faraway heathens such as the redskins in America, black people in Africa, hindoos in India, and chinamen in China? But if it is so that You are father to all humans equally, then it cannot insult You, Heavenly Father, that I have given the appearance of accepting Islam this day. If that is the case, You will be indifferent whether I worship in a mosque, a synagogue, a Protestant church, or even — forgive me if I am wrong — perhaps that I pray to You at all. I have had this thought also. I simply don't know if it matters to You, and I wish that I did know. But surely it cannot be that You my creator have willed that I should live in slavery. Surely that could not be what I was intended for, if in fact I am intended for anything. Surely I am of more use to You, and to other humans, as a free man than as a slave. A slave loses his freedom of action and is not even free to serve You — if that is your wish. A slave has no honor to defend. Actually I doubt whether my honor, if ever there was such a thing, survived the massacre of those prisoners at Esseg, perhaps even the hanging at Karlovac. Also my honor may have been annihilated simply by becoming a slave. Or my honor may have been damaged by being emancipated, an act for which I cannot compensate the giver. I do feel gratitude to the old man Hamdi, which may in itself be less than honorable, for how should a free man feel gratitude toward someone who has bought him and taken away his honor in the first place. I admit that I never heard about this thing honor from Father Rolf, who has been my only guide in spiritual matters. It was from Egon that I first became aware of it. And honor may

- 301 be a matter of utmost indifference to You who are master of heaven and earth. On the other hand, dear Father in Heaven, if I have sinned by converting or appearing to convert, and if I have been insincere in this matter rather than just discreet, then I urge You, I beg You, My Maker, to strike me dead this night, if that is your pleasure. I am a soldier and am prepared to die suddenly. If I have offended, please let them find only the ashes in the morning of the servant who has displeased his sovereign on high. Amen. That night there came a rumbling and a shaking such as Sebastian had never experienced in his life. The wooden walls creaked and groaned, the trees moved. Yet there was no wind. The first wife's screams reached a crescendo. Could this be a message to him? Lamps were lit, and worried voices rose in the women's quarters. Arapzade was on his feet, shushing them from below. Just an earthquake, explained the Montenegrins, not unusual at Istanbul, and not usually damaging to wooden structures. After listening for a while for the advent of total destruction, Sebastian fell asleep. In the morning he awoke to find that he was still alive. He was free, yes, but feeling strangely about being in the eyes of the world a Moslem. Sebastian waited for his lazy Montenegrins to wake, wondering what the day would bring. Finally the three converts stepped out into the sunlight, and as they did so, heard the children above their heads asking about the condition of old Hamdi. The old magistrate did not die straight away. He had time to interview the newest Moslem, and give him his blessings. He also arranged through Arapzade that the house would be visited by a specialist in circumcisions. This had been neglected in the case of the Montenegrins, so that the upcoming occasion would be of keenest interest to all three of them. Sebastian complained to them: "By Allah, why didn't you warn me about this?" "We really thought we might get away without it. But it would be dangerous to refuse. Anyway these specialists are supposed to be very good at their job." But no amount of sophistry could hide the very real anxiety on the part of all three. They wondered what effect this might have on their performance as males. Would one regret it later? Or not? "Oh, come now", put in Bayko, "can so many millions of Moslems be wrong? Surely if there were any danger in the practice we would have heard about it. The Moslems would be the first to know of it, and the first to complain."

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"Well of course you are right. He is right, isn't he Bosha? Right Bosha?" Bosha nodded vigorously. There was no delay. Apparently the local circumcision specialist was not too busy, and found it convenient to comply with the wishes of the dying patriarch. He was at the Bosnians' gate in the afternoon, within hours of the need arising. When this very special meister appeared, the gatekeeper stepped into the room occupied by the three men of the west. "Are you ready for this? He wants you to wash yourselves well. You will be needing a clean cloth to staunch the bleeding. I'll see what I can do." Like all the other servants of the household, the gatekeeper was amused by the prospect of the upcoming event, and delighted to do whatever he could to make it a howling success. Next into the room came Arapzade. "What would you like by way of a fortifying meal? For afterwards. The kitchen will make something special for the three of you if you can agree on it. Moslems need all their strength." "Meat, if you please", said Bayko. "We never get enough meat around here." The male servants of the household were crowding into the little room to see if the three would comport themselves as bravely as the young boys who were the usual patients of the specialist. The room proved too small to hold all the would-be witnesses. Arapzade, in his role as master of ceremonies, now ordered that the three should go outside and stand in the garden with their backs turned to the women's apartments. This would not prevent the women from having a good look at their behavior however, as he surely must have intended. The youngest should go first, the Montenegrins decided, so Sebastian was chosen. The specialist was trying to make light of the situation, that was clear to the new convert, even if he could not understand what the man was saying. It was not faith in Allah which mattered in the moment so much as it was faith in this other human being. Breathing deeply, Sebastian turned his head to one side so as not to watch. The meister's hand was deft, firm, and the slash was swift, feeling like a splash of fire right where no one would want it to be. Sebastian felt his breath go out of him, but he managed not to make another sound. This was surely not as bad as a sword thrust, nor as bad as the arrow which in fact he had received only last year, so he was telling himself, as the meister smiled up at him. "Here" said the meister, "would you like it as a souvenir, or should I send it to the kitchen?"

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"Maybe the cats would like it", replied the convert, a bon mot which amused the circle of servants mightily. Blood was now flowing and the cloth which Arapzade proffered was needed to staunch it. Now Sebastian watched to see how the Montenegrins handled the affair. They did very well, betraying not the slightest emotion. The menservants applauded their calm forbearance. This was their first view of the private parts of these three new fellows, who like everyone else took care to cover themselves with towels when they took their baths in the household bathhouse. The supper contained meat, made up into kerftes — little meatballs with green beans and pilaf. The three smothered their mirth as they whiled away the evening talking about their new prospects as Moslems and as free men. Ferhat had said nothing so far, but they all agreed that changes were likely as soon as the old magistrate died. The night passed in reasonable comfort so long as one did not move — not like having an arrow in one's chest, decided Sebastian. The next morning the children of the household had their fun. With the apparent cooperation of the women up above, they were permitted to make up triangular paper hats for the three men, the kind which were customary for circumcised boys, and they planted these on the immobilized converts. The three took this in good part, as was expected of them, and the children jeered madly and danced in front of their door. It would be another day before the converts were comfortable enough to climb up the hill to the mosque, another two before they showed up at their lodge. The first wife now cried every night, her voice following a tragic parabola higher and higher, then waning into hours of whimpering. But on the fifth night after the circumcisions she reached a crescendo of agony in the early morning hours, screaming without stop. The whole house knew without being told that Hamdi Efendi was dead. The upper floor was lit up with lamps on both sides, and though care was taken not to wake the children, no one else slept. Ferhat chavush was not at home, so that Arapzade became the man in charge, except that he acted only after conferring with the second wife, whose quiet influence was as always a force for good in the household. These two pillars of the house thought it best to have the old man washed by an outsider. A man who lived in the quarter was awakened and at dawn came to do the necessary. Ferhat chavush arrived mid-morning to find his half-brother wrapped, washed, and already perfumed, his mouth closed with wool. The women were allowed in to view the deceased, lying now in a simple cotton shroud. The first wife made a great scene.

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All the women were keening, but kept their grief within limits, while the first wife would not, or could not. It ended with Ferhat, who did not like her, ordering that she be taken back to the women's side, and given a drug to quiet her, so that she would not disturb the children further with her screaming. In mid-afternoon, before the third prayer of the day, the menservants took hold of the straps slung under the old man's body, lifted him onto a kind of stretcher which they had made, and carried him on his last journey up the hill toward the mosque. The women stayed behind at the house, silent as the procession passed through the street door. The magistrate's turban rested on his chest. As the procession climbed the slope, passersby who had known the magistrate touched the stretcher. At the mosque the younger brother mumbled a prayer. The imam read verses from the Koran, and spoke words of praise over his distinguished neighbor. After these rituals, the men of the household carried the magistrate to a graveyard close by the mosque that was guarded by cedars. Neighbors stepped in along the way to help carry the coffin, a mark of respect for a man of wealth, and some reputation. Alongside also came a crowd of beggars of every description, some reciting all-purpose elegies of their own composition, who expected and received some bahsheesh distributed by Arapzade in the name of the deceased. It would have been bad luck not to do so. While the party stood, the imam whispered words of advice and comfort into the dead man's left ear. In the cemetery stone pillars, some topped by carved turbans, others without, tilted in all directions. The body of the deceased was slipped from the coffin directly into the ground. On the imam's advice the magistrate was moved so that he was on his right side with his head facing Mecca. The grave was then covered with soil, and a stone placed on top of it. The funeral was over, and not even a day had gone by. Not at all like Austria, said Sebastian, where the bodies of important persons might lie in state for weeks, and funeral processions might be delayed months while waiting to join the right saintly procession. Brother Ferhat did not waste much time after the funeral. The next day he visited with some local official, then asked the second wife to assemble the children, and the servants. They were all told that he was now head of household, and instructed to obey him only, unnecessary words really since they were all a little afraid of the chavush anyway. Any man who had to deliver heads to the government had to be listened to with care. The chavush then bid the servants to

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think about their futures. A few, like old Arapzade, would never be sent away, but some were told to start looking for another situation. Ferhat chavush would help if he could. Among those released were the three converts. There it was. No sooner did one get a little bored than one is punished for complacency. Freedom of a challenging kind had arrived with a shock. This could have been made the Austrian's moment to make his way home to Styria had he really wanted that. But he was starting to realize that he did not, at least not yet. Life in the enemy's capital in wartime was just too interesting. If he could just find a way to make a living! It could do him no harm when he returned to Austria if he knew Turkish. He might get a position as a court interpreter, perhaps even as an envoy, with an envoy's salary. But he could not make up his mind about it immediately. Neither could the Montenegrins. Another shock awaited him, this time a pleasant shock. A few days after the funeral, a servant girl from upstairs delivered a flower to the new man at his door. It was a morning glory, a flower he knew from home. But who was it from? The Montenegrins let Arapzade explain. "This is code. It means that someone has her eye on you. The message is very specific in its way. It means that whoever sent it can meet you in the daytime but not at night." "But who sent it?" "You are supposed to know that. It is our Catastrophe I'm quite sure. Now it is your turn. You must answer her with a flower signifying your reply. Be careful now which flower you choose." "She knows my situation. I'm in no condition to support her. I don't even know how to help myself. But that doesn't mean that I'm not interested. What kind of flower should I use and what should it say?" "That is your affair. Why not send her five anemones? That means a meeting in a graveyard, which she will rightly interpret as our own graveyard where our master Muhyiddin Efendi — May Allah give him rest — lies buried. If you send five of them, than that will mean a meeting at five hours after the second prayer of the day. But don't expect her to come alone and don't expect that this will be kept a secret. The second wife knows about you and her and she will be watching to make sure that you treat the lady properly within your possibilities. The way I see it, she would have gotten rid of this young woman long ago, so that her husband — May Allah grant him peace — would not be tempted. She was brought in to help with wife number one. Now that the master is gone wife number two has a free hand, and the brother will agree."

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"Oh, and by the way, you might include two raisins along with your flower. " "What does that mean?" "That's a powerful compliment. It means that she is as dear to you as your two eyes. She will understand." Sebastian wondered at the speed with which things were changing. What did The Catastrophe intend? Did she really like him that well, when she hadn't even had the chance to talk with him? To find out, he asked Arapzade to help him find five anemones, which were gotten on the sly from a garden in the neighborhood. The five messengers then found their way to the right address on the women's side of the house, again with the mediation of the old majordomo. Sebastian could actually hear the moment of delivery. There was a wave of tittering. Not just The Catastrophe but every woman on that side excepting the mad first wife had apparently been on tenterhooks awaiting his reply. The new convert went up to the hilltop cemetery before five, as far into the quiet reserve as he could go while still having a good view through the cedars all directions. The Catastrophe soon appeared in the company of another servant, one of the cooks, who sat down discreetly on a fallen headstone some distance away with her back turned to the two principals. Fortunately The Catastrophe's knowledge of Bosnian was better than Sebastian's knowledge of Turkish. "You wanted to talk with me?" She gave him a smile of encouragement. "I am very pleased you came", he said, not answering her absurd question. "But I must know your name." "I am Tijen. That is a Persian name. My family is from the east. And your name is Captain Basti." "Sebastian. But everyone calls me Basti because it is easier." He was now being allowed to gaze up close at the woman he had been watching surreptitiously at a distance. To his surprise she was older than he had realized, perhaps older than himself. But there was no denying her beauty. She had let drop her head cloth so that he could get a good look at fine serious eyes, perfect brows, a long proud nose, and alas a small scar on a perfect chin. Her teeth were not quite perfect but her smile was charming. He had only a second to wonder what might lie underneath the black outer garment before he found himself struggling to engage her interest, pretending it was he who had asked for the meeting.

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"You are very beautiful." She dropped her eyes, waiting for him to complete the thought. "I thought about you many times." He imagined he had better make a strong case from the outset if there were to be a second meeting, or indeed if he were to arrive at some result with this woman. "I'm sure that you have heard that I have been freed, along with our Montenegrins. We are all thinking about our future, and which way to turn now that we are free to go." "Ferhat Efendi will let me go too, of that I am sure. He is not a man who would neglect his brother's family, but we already know that he will not keep all of us servants. He doesn't need us all in order to take care of the family." "What will you do now?" "I would like to find a husband." She looked at him directly, challenging him to take her at her word. Sebastian was amazed by her directness, if that was really what it was. After all this was the Orient — surely Moslem women were not supposed to be so direct as this! Hesitating to take her at face value, he temporized, seeking some hidclen meaning. "I don't know what I am going to do", he parried. "I have no connections in Istanbul other than the lodge. I have to find a way to make a living if I am to leave the household. Until I do, I cannot even think about marriage." "Perhaps I can help you, Captain Basti." She paused. "First, I should tell you that I am pregnant." "You? Pregnant! And how will that be a help to me? And how did this happen if you are not married?" Sebastian was taken aback, nonplussed by her openness, yet also aware that she was trying to flatter him by addressing him as "Captain". So that was what was hidden under her black garment — a swollen belly! "This came about because Ferhat Efendi brought home a friend who was not like himself, but rather the type of man who is interested in women. He obliged me to serve this man, a chavush like himself. You may not realize it but when any guest comes to the house we upstairs servants must greet that person in that room in between the two sides. We stand with our hands crossed over our front like this." (She showed him). " Men look us over, and if they like what they see, then we must serve them. This is normal with us. And when he goes away he leaves a gift. Well, usually. "

- 308 "And you expect to find a husband after being made pregnant by a stranger? " In vain Sebastian looked around at the gravestones to find an audience for his indignation. In vain. The Catastrophe's companion was out of earshot. "You are surprised at our idea of hospitality, Captain. Now you understand that I might as well be a slave since I was sold into this household, and must do as I am told. I can't go back to my father's family. It is a question of honor. " "Your family's honor, or do you mean your honor?" This was outrageous. Here was a pregnant woman, and if he was not mistaken, she was proposing their union. Beautiful, there was no denying it, but who would accept such a bargain? "I know what you are thinking Captain Basti. You are thinking that I am a very bold person, perhaps shameless. But I have the gift of insight. I know a person's heart even at a distance. Also you are a Frank, and Franks are different from our men. Franks understand women differently. They are wiser about women's circumstances." "Frankish men are not that different, I'm afraid. As for wisdom, I make no special claim." "Wait. Listen to me, my dear." Again Sebastian was astonished by her presumption. How could she address him like that — her dear? Did she think he was born yesterday, and would allow himself to be bilked? "I have thought about this carefully", she continued. "You and I need each other. We must both find a way to leave this house now that Ferhat Efendi is head of household. This brother may be a strange man but he is not a mean man. He will not drive us out today, but he will not keep us forever. We must both find a way to make a living on our own. As for myself, I do not want to go back into service in someone else's house. I've had enough of that. I want to have a house of my own, for my baby's sake. Nor do I need a husband forever, only for a while, until I find a way to make my way on my own. Perhaps I will sell fabrics house to house when I am older. But right now I'm still too young for that. What I need you can give me. What you need I can give you. Just marry me for two years, and we shall see." "What do you mean, two years? Then what? What can you give me? What can I give you? Lady, I am poor." He was starting to wonder how he could keep up his end of this absurd conversation. And yet he was aroused in spite of himself and could feel himself recruiting under his own clothes at the thought of possessing her, even for two minutes.

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" I must have a man like you, Captain Basti, to protect me at least for a time. After that we shall see. And you need a way to support the both of us for the time being. And I have a plan which should do for both of us." "May I hear it?" "I have a certain amount saved." "Where did you get money, if I may ask?" "Please do not ask. That is my affair. I have enough saved to buy or rent a shop for you, and to rent a house as well. What would you like to sell? It seems you know much about tobacco. Why not tobacco? Or finches perhaps." "Finches? What in the world?" "Yes. Believe it or not, there is a man who comes down the Danube River every year from Austria carrying finches, for which there is a ready market in Istanbul. You might have an advantage in buying from him because you speak his language. Do you like finches?" "Well yes." And there it was. Daring, ingenious, even down to her reading of his personality. She was proposing that they exit the household together as soon as they could. Their meeting was no secret on the upper floor, it was clear, and everyone would help them to leave, including Arapzade, who she claimed had played an active role in setting up their meeting. To seal their understanding, this amazing person, glancing around her, leaned toward him and placed his hand on her mature bosom. "You need a woman, Captain Basti, and I need a man. Say yes before we depart this place." Captain Basti hesitated just for a moment. This could perhaps be some kind of trap. But surely not a trap without an exit, if in fact two years was the limit of his commitment. He let his hand rest on her bosom, feeling the warm springs of life beneath. "Tijen, my dear lady," he began, "I am not against it. Let us say that I must think it over and if everything is as you say, we may proceed." To these words she replied by taking his hand from her bosom and kissing it. His head swam, as though he had just fought a duel, winning it without even trying. Or had he lost it, and not noticed? The Catastrophe left the graveyard first with her companion. Sebastian followed after a decent interval. When he came through the street gate of the Bosnian house, it was almost sundown. The atmosphere had changed. Women were peering down at him from the balcony. Even the Montenegrins had an inkling of what had happened in the graveyard.

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"Congratulations", said Bayko. "So, Captain, you had to come all this way to find a wife." "Wait, my friends, you are a step ahead of me." "But it is a step you will take, don't deny it." "I am thinking, that's all I will say." "Oh, don't be a fool, Captain. If you don't do it, I will." "It was me she asked." Suddenly Sebastian found he was defending his choice. True enough, it was himself she had asked. If this was good luck, why shouldn't he grab it? Everyone has some luck of both kinds in life. Perhaps they are luckiest who recognize good luck when it comes along. He suddenly knew he should indeed accept the woman, even become a merchant of finches, if that were God's will, or Allah's. He would step forward and be anointed. The two tall mountaineers were the first to make the break from the Samatya household as the weather grew colder. Bayko and Bosha had not given up their interest in eventually returning to their mountains, but were not ready to do it yet. When they did return to Montenegro, they intended to do so with some money under their belts, so that they could buy land from any relatives who might have survived the little war over taxes which was the cause of their capture. One could scarcely return to Montenegro and expect to raise money there. Money was always scarce in Montenegro and opportunities almost nonexistent, short of piracy or banditry, choices that no longer appealed to them. On their being freed, they would now act on the plan that had lain dormant during the many months since their arrival at Samatya. Perhaps it was actually their good fortune that Fate had brought them to the largest city in the world, a place where there was always some money to be made for those who knew how to go about it. Their immediate goal would be Shish-hane, a neighborhood just above the admiralty and the arsenal on the south-facing slope of the walled suburb of Pera over on the other side of the Golden Horn. There, as they knew, there were at least a few Moslem Montenegrins, not fake Moslems like themselves, but real converts, who worked at making flintlocks. Neither of these mountaineers was a gunsmith by training, but like all the men from the home country, they knew a good weapon when they saw one. Since good eaters generally make good cooks, they reasoned that they might make their living crafting flintlocks. The Montenegrins were standing orders for flintlocks Stateowned workshops. Many matchlocks handed down from

right. The wartime government had that were difficult to fill in the men were on the march carrying another generation, worn out and

- 311 obsolete. Still others preferred their great curved swords to these antiques. The two converts were sure to be welcomed into the fraternity of contractual armorers, who took up the slack which the official workshops left for them. It was no secret that these personal flintlocks were better anyway than those made in the government's workshops. There was never a lack of customers for them, even before the war. Bayko and Bosha thus made their way, speaking their mountain dialect until it was recognized by an armorer of Montenegrin descent. "Ho brothers, hey!" shouted the rawboned smith. "What brings you to the Land of Happiness, our Well Protected Domain?" Following this half ironic greeting, there was the usual thumping on the back and shoulders customary among these mountaineers. Yes, there was room for them. They could start as polishers before learning the other skills involved. Where to sleep? Why they could sleep at the shop, all the better to get some work out of them, ha, ha, ha. Food was not a problem as long as the city itself had food, haw haw. From earliest morning the metalblackened gunsmiths sent out for food cooked nearby — rice, beans, vegetables, mutton or chicken, which arrived with flat bread under ceramic covers. This they washed down with boza, or with water, or sometimes a sweet sherbet. So the new men started the same day. Evenings inside Pera's walls on the north side of the Golden Horn were for men who could afford it an unending round of eating and drinking, carousing, gaming, storytelling and ribaldry, harassed only somewhat by night patrols whose duty it was to preserve public order. The Montenegrins and Albanians of the flintlock fraternity were some of the best customers of the wine shops of the port, Jews or Christians who would pay a lookout to warn of any trouble advancing on them in the dark. The worst neighborhood, which the Janissaries patrolled with particular care, was the adjacent harbor district that included the Admiralty. Here there were fights every night. But the Janissaries were not angels, any more than were the longshoremen, ship fitters, and seamen of the district that they were sent to control. One could generally reason with them. They had needs of their own. These guardians of public order made allowances for the non-Moslems who they found drinking wine, but were ordered to be less tolerant when the drinkers were Moslems like themselves. Still many of them were very familiar with wine, and the usual entertainments. The trick was to show them the greatest respect and bonhomie, addressing these illiterates as if they were lords of the realm. By flattery and a judicious sharing of drink, tobacco, or food, even Moslems found at Pera's portside wine shops could usually avoid the worst — unless there were one of those

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occasional crackdowns which were an unfortunate feature of life in the Moslem capital, crackdowns which would begin in the old city on the other side, and then jump to the arsenal opposite. Bayko and Bosha took to this style of life as though born to it. They soon found their own favorite tavern, the one most suited to their temperaments, frequented mainly by Balkan ruffians like themselves. They also found their way to a brothel nearby, a warren of many lanes which had been in the same location since the Turks took Constantinople more than two centuries earlier. Fortified by wine, so that they were none too particular about the odors and sights in these lanes, or the variegated charms of the inmates, they made up for their fallow season at Samatya. So naturally did they take to their new surroundings that they soon began to doubt whether it would ever be necessary to re-cross the Balkans, and give up the joys of city life. Only the prospect of siring children, which as yet they did not feel, could distract them from the amusements of the city. The hunting and herding life back home could not compete with this. The Montenegrins visited Sebastian on their day off. They persuaded him that he was wasting his time in Samatya. The sooner he made his break the better. But Sebastian had already given his word to Tijen that he would wait while she found a Shiite cleric who could arrange a temporary marriage, and while she searched for some little house that she could afford to rent from her savings. Also Sebastian had no desire to contribute to the Turkish war effort, even indirectly, by producing weapons. He would have to find work of his own which had nothing to do with the war. But he did accept the invitation of the tall ones to cross the Horn and partake of the pleasures of the Italian quarter, if just for a day. They were ready to pay for everything, and showed him their coins to prove it. They had been circumcised together, they argued, which ought to be a bond for life. They would stick up for each other, come what may, haw haw haw! But these arguments were hardly necessary. Arapzade readily gave his consent when they came for him and they all set out together one fall day in 1690 to cross the Horn and taste the wonders of this new world on the other side. The walk to the Horn was not easy. There were several quarters in between, and narrow streets crowded with Greeks, Armenians, Jews, and Moslems. Besides the living creatures that made walking difficult there was an occasional dead animal, and no apparent prospect of its removal. Dogs clung to the darkest corners, whiling away the daylight hours in watchfulness. The cats they watched in turn watched song birds

- 313 hung in cages on every street, the obvious favorites of the polyglot metropolis. After almost an hour of winding streets, the trio reached the water's edge. There they had their choice of a large flock of small boats that ferried passengers back and forth across the Horn. Disembarking on the Pera side, the tall ones had intended to climb the long slope up to their workshop in order to show Sebastian where they made flintlocks. But rather than delay their pleasures, they stopped instead at a tavern near waterside, before making the ascent. Ah, wine! It had been so long since Sebastian had drunk wine! What was poured was not bad at all, though it was red, not the accustomed white of his youth. He was urged to drink all he wanted and did, so that when they resumed their climb toward the flintlock shop, his breathing was coming hard. He could feel the effort as never before, and realized that the chest wound he had received was the cause, aggravated by the wine. "Well then, never mind the flintlock factory. We can always show you that another time. Let's cut to the left and go straight to the naval district, where there is always plenty of company." And they led him downhill again, to his relief. They were going down into the most notorious neighborhood of all the city's three sections. Here they were greeted by the sound of music, not the usual music for weddings or parades, but music for dancing boys, insulting, taunting. Rough fellows, dirty fellows, some naked to the waist, hung about the streets. Some had obviously had too much to drink, others not enough. The trio was accosted by idlers who urged them to give for the love of Allah, or of God, whichever the case might be, ready to threaten to get what they wanted. But that day the derelicts of the street read the three big strangers as too strong a combination for threats, and so took to wheedling, little good that it did them. The trio turned into a supposed sherbet shop which was really a tavern already well known to the Montenegrins. The shop had a wide open front where wine, arak, and boza stored in barrels and jeroboams in back of the shop were meted out by waiters by the carafe to be poured and drunk at the low tables out front. Inside there were already gathered the denizens who were more or less known to each other, and both drinks and food circulated among the low tables around which these fellows lounged. Up above there were little rooms furnished with little tables and mats made of husks. One fellow would come in carrying an unusual food he had bought in the market and accost the first waiter he came across to have it done up for all his friends. The waiter would then jump, gesticulate, or do something else funny so as to amuse him and rush out to fulfill the command. The next man might also have

- 314 something to be prepared in the unseen kitchen, so that in the end all present fed each other, cosseted each other, and drank each others' health. When some well-irrigated ruffian rose in sudden anger, others would sit him down promptly and humor him along. "What is this arak that they are drinking?" Sebastian wanted to know. "What's this, you consider yourself an educated fellow, and you don't even know about arak? It's lion's milk, brandy with mastic in it. Here", said Bayko, "give this man some arak. We must complete his education." Sebastian tasted carefully. This must be the "maslach" his uncle had told him about, which Turks drank before going into battle. But Sebastian's education that day did not stop with a first taste of this cruel white brandy, smelling of anise, but promising trouble. There was a team of dancing boys in the tavern they had chosen. These were "bunny boys" of the sort that Sebastian had first seen that summer at the time of the Belgrade victory celebration. They were in continuous motion in front of the customers, rough admirers who leered at them, and made remarks. And the boys leered back. These boys were not fully grown, and were beardless. They wore women's cosmetics and costumes which if not quite womanish were at least not like any other clothes. Their guise of femininity disturbed Sebastian. This was unlike anything he had seen in his life. They were not only made up like women, they really behaved like women, women of a certain sort. This artful imitation of women must have provoked every man in the tavern. Sinuous music produced by reeds and strings accompanied the boys', who stopped and started, responding with riffs and jibes at whatever was going in each group. The lascivious movements of the boys brought exclamations and groans of appreciation from rough customers hunched over their small low tables, pulling on their long clay pipes. A boy would approach a table that looked like it was ready, and would either grab one of the watchers by the beard, nose, or ear, or would himself be taken by the hand or by the sleeve by one of the customers. Each coupling was followed by jeering from the others, while the boy and his customer would disappear behind a curtain at the back of the shop. Sebastian's brain was already addled by the new drink arak, so he explained to himself afterward. He was enjoying the release of drunkenness after so many months. The stuff he was drinking was more powerful than wine, but he did not understand that yet. Everything the Montenegrins said was turning out funny, his own replies witty, and

- 315 much appreciated. The rough companions draped every which way around them began to seem like a fine bunch of fellows, if a little lacking in manners. One could not understand what they were saying, yet here was a fraternity of pleasure which required little subtlety in order to communicate. The men roared and applauded at the practiced antics of the boys, and Sebastian himself began to see why they were so excited. The boys were incredibly adroit and skillful. Men who disappeared behind the curtain would emerge some time later with a grin of satisfaction on their face, letting the others think that they were really living. Frequently the boy who had gone with him would be dancing again even before his last customer re-emerged. Then the compass would swing to another table, and the cycle began again with the same result. In time it was Sebastian's turn. The boys saw he was a newcomer, and accepted him as a challenge to their seductive skills. Sebastian was not conscious of any intention of going behind any curtain with anyone. But the Montenegrins took it upon themselves to persuade him that with everyone doing it in a city where most women were sequestered behind high walls, he owed it to himself. "It's a relief", they said. "You should try it. You'll be glad you did." With their eager encouragement, a simpering boy with eyes and brows made up like some little tart, approached their table and gyrated in front of the addled Austrian. Hardly realizing what he was doing, Sebastian found himself taken by the hand and led behind the curtain. It would be, as he discovered, a much less private experience than he had imagined, since some other fellows were lingering there and still others watched through gaps in the curtain. Never mind, he had become used to less than private experiences in the army, even as an officer. The boy was expert and swift. He made it all seem simple and easy, so that before Sebastian knew it he had allowed what so many others also allowed. He made his way back to his leering companions. Yes, he admitted, it was a kind of relief. But he was not prepared for the slump in self esteem which would come upon him as an afterthought in the days following. Now he was just like all the others. When their friend reeled back to the table and kept on drinking, the Montenegrins could see by his movements that they might have a problem on their hands. They ordered sherbet for him, and patted him on the back, congratulating him for his courage in trying new things. The music seemed to get faster but without changing. It got late. Eventually the Montenegrins decided he could not go back to the other side by himself. It was already dark, there was no lantern to loan, and

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there seemed to be a real possibility that he would either fall into the Horn, or lose himself in some warren, or would be accosted by a patrol on his way back, with no way to buy himself out of trouble. The Montenegrins had paid for everything that evening but there were limits to what they would pay for, and bribes for the patrols was not included. When the Alpine reveler awoke in the morning on a pile of rags in an Istanbul flintlock factory, men were already at work around him in the half-light. He remained silent a long time. His head hurt terribly, but that was not all. He felt he was poisoned and immobilized, perhaps for good. Only prior experience saved him from utter despair. About noon he began to move slowly, gingerly, freeing himself from the dirty rags, rising stiffly, and finding his companions at work. He asked for water, thanked them for all they had done to make him so very happy, then began his homeward trek. The Montenegrins had given him fare for the return passage across the Horn. Somehow he found a seat squeezed in among others. Clouds were scudding in an azure sky. The water in the Horn below was indigo, and opened out into yet darker water at the juncture where the Bosphorus feeds the Marmara Sea. Looking out to the open sea, Sebastian could see wooden platforms built high above the waves, with giant nets suspended between long poles, like the new wings of butterflies, ready to be flung down into the water. Men waited on these platforms day and night for schools of fish coming down from the Black Sea, especially when the weather was changing, but otherwise at all times, so that Istanbul was always richly supplied with fish. Behind the platforms in the distance, he could see squadrons of halcyons skimming over the water in close formation, seeming never to touch the surface. Melon-shaped boats, some with oars, some with sails, plied in all directions. Among them there was a galley headed for the point of land where the Sultan's lofty palace seemed to command all the waters. Sebastian had never seen the palace and its harem from the waterside before. He studied it now through an alcoholic haze. What things had happened there and would happen there still? When the ferry landed on the old city side, he noticed a vast mosque at water's edge, and asked the boatman about it using his elementary vocabulary. "That there is the New Mosque, and beside it the New Market," said the man, pointing to a large T-shaped warehouse with a cavernous door open to the water. "You can find everything under the sun in there, cures for every condition, including hangovers. Oh, excuse me, efendi, if I've offended you." He laughed.

- 317 Finding the way back was not so simple. Sebastian really did not want to think. He just wanted to be home in the relative peace of the Bosnian household. But someone had moved all the streets. Many of them were blind alleys that led one into a closed neighborhood where one immediately felt like an intruder. He wandered most of that day in the general direction of Samatya, his misery sharpened now by hunger. Whatever made him think he could drink that milky brandy and not suffer? Bah, what an evening! And then there was that other thing that had happened. Unbelievable! That would not be repeated. His entertainment as he walked was to catalog the symbolic objects that hung outside many shops. Usually these were easy to interpret, the slipper for the slipper maker, the loaf for the baker, but not always. There were some objects that he could not even identify, so that he found himself staring stupidly at hanging objects. In one narrow street Sebastian came across a gap where a house had burned down. Perched on their haunches among the dead ashes, twenty or so men were fondling roosters, arming them with spikes. This was a sport which Sebastian had seen before in Austria — some things were the same everywhere. He stopped to watch. While he watched a fight broke out between the owner of a victorious bird, and the owner of a loser. What the argument was about, Sebastian never did find out. But what made it different from his own country was that the other men watching would not allow the two to continue their struggle. The others grabbed their arms, parted them, and then kept them apart. When he returned to Samatya, Sebastian would ask Arapzade about it, and would be told that otherwise the fighters would kill each other. There were no limits to such fights except what others imposed when they stepped in. Sebastian spent all afternoon watching the fighting birds, their handlers and the gamblers who lived for this game. As the sun went down he again found himself confused about directions, since there was nothing around him he could recognize after the light failed and he could not see the domes of the mosques on the skyline. This led to yet one more humiliating experience. As he stood quietly at a crossroads in confusion, rough hands were laid on his shoulders. Because he had no lantern to light his way, he had broken the law. Punishment was immediate and without benefit of trial. He was put to work with other unfortunates carrying firewood to heat water at one of the city's hamams, while working under guard until dawn. By that time he was wearing the result of his night's work all over his clothes. He was

- 318 exhausted and dirty, and more in need of a bath than any of the hamam's customers, but not able to pay for it. When the wayward servant returned to the Bosnian house, he was greeted with smirks and jests because of his appearance. Everyone understood at once what had happened to him. The house was just then crowded with women, relatives of the second wife. Aloes were being burned day and night, a traditional way to honor guests. It was becoming clear that this lady was now the real head of household on a day to day basis, since Ferhat was not usually around. She had invited these women to visit her, and they apparently were settled in for a long stay, in order to give comfort to the magistrate's widows. There was quite a lot of laughter, which led the menservants to wonder whether the ladies had really met to help mourn the magistrate's death, or whether they had met to discuss finding a new husband. The second wife was still in her thirties, well bred and not bad looking. People who knew her agreed that perhaps she could be persuaded to try her luck again, instead of hiding herself away, as was usual for widows of propertied Moslem men. Together these ladies and the daughters alongside them camped at the baths where they planned a picnic, to follow their visit to the tomb of a saint who was famous for marital problems. There were many such in the old city. After heated argument, they finally settled upon a visit to the tomb of Sultan Ibrahim, who had been Sultan during the years of the Cretan war. This Sultan was not long gone, and was famous for his partiality to women. Outings like these were always well escorted. Most of the servants were to accompany, including Sebastian, but not Tijen, since she was needed at the house to keep the first wife quiet. Since the streets were too narrow in places for a cart, the entire party of ladies traveled through the streets on covered panniers carried by rented mules. The menservants walked alongside to prevent incidents, and to pass in lemonade or other refreshments as requested. The newly betrothed captain was getting a closer look at the women of the household than ever before. Some of them, he now saw, were flirtatious. This was easy to explain given their cloistered lives. They peered about them with keen interest, and even let slip ribald remarks. Arriving at the tomb of the so-called "Crazy" Ibrahim (crazy about women), the black and brown clad women dismounted, attached paper messages and affixed small objects to the outside of the tomb, then tittering and whispering, regained their seats on their panniers. That evening the ladies were up late, ordering everything the overtaxed kitchen could manage. The atmosphere of the house had changed

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abruptly with their visit. Economy seemed for the moment to be an unimportant matter. The children of the deceased magistrate were excited, running around and around. The chavush showed up and greeted them briefly but left almost immediately. Tijen took no part in these gay evenings, being preoccupied with the first wife, the supervision of the children, and the plans for her future with the captain. The year following the news about Belgrade saw Istanbul reborn yet again. The city regained confidence in its ancient mission to spread the news of Islam throughout the world. No, their army had not gotten all the way back to Vienna, or even to Budapest, but yes, an amazing amount of territory had been regained. The Turkish ruling dynasty, the Ottomans, even though represented just now by weak incumbents, had proved it could still be fortunate in war. Perhaps it was not necessary to have a capable Sultan so long as he was fortunate, and blessed with a grand vezir who was capable, and who had the Moslems behind him. The army came home to winter in the vicinity, everywhere greeted as heroes. Praise was heaped on the intrepid Fazil Mustafa, who had led their army all the way back to Hungary. Prayers flew to heaven in praise of a feckless Sultan, newly enthroned, who had presided over such convincing victories. In the early winter, the odd couple, the Styrian convert with his Shiite beauty, found a cleric from her sect to marry them under a two year understanding. They would be truly married with all the responsibility that implied, but not forever. She seemed unconcerned about guarantees for her own security or that of her child. What money they had she controlled. The ceremony was almost invisible. Through her own contacts among resident Shiites the determined Tijen located a tiny unpainted wooden house with two rooms in a quarter located on the other side of the hill from Samatya in the direction of the New Market. This neighborhood was one of those which had been swept by fire during a revolt which took place before Sebastians's arrival. Many new houses made of frame and stucco were colored terra cotta, grassy green, or powder blue. Their own plain house was among the smaller ones but big enough for their flowering love. One of the two rooms was a sofa, a room where benches were built along all the walls, instead of European chairs. Sebastian noticed that their house had been built so that one could not see into the windows of any other house and vice versa. Sebastian's first lesson in living in such a house was that he had to take his shoes off on entry lest he carry in dirt from the city. Whereas the Bosnians had a hamam inside their walls that all occupants could use in turn, the newlyweds would have to walk a ways to find the nearest

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public bathhouse. This did not seem to Sebastian a great hardship, coming as he did from a culture where bathing was itself controversial. Indeed he was cleaner than he had ever been before. They could not afford a fine woven rug, but Tijen saw to it that both rooms had felt mats spread on the floor. The quilts they used at night were rolled up and put into a cabinet within the wall during the day, then spread on the floor over the felt mats at night. The arrangement seemed really comfortable to a soldier who had slept on every sort of surface and in all weather. There was no table to eat from but the Styrian had already become accustomed to eating from a tray, which was then removed. On the tray were a few pieces of porcelain that she had brought from the other house, gifts she said, for visiting ladies. The weather was now cold enough to demand some kind of heating. Just as at the big house of the Bosnian brothers, the solution was to put a fire into a charcoal-fed brazier in the middle of one of the rooms, with a covering under which one could keep one's legs warm. For Sebastian this was not a perfect solution when the weather turned cold, since he found it confining to sit bolt upright with his feet against the brazier and his backside wrapped in a goat hair mat. Not being comfortable to sit cross-legged like his wife, he found that he needed support for his back, whereas his wife was quite comfortable sitting thus by the hour. Sebastian thus sat with his back against a wall bench, feet stretched to the brazier, while she got the full benefit of proximity to the brazier in the middle of the room. When she undressed on their first night together, Sebastian saw that Tijen's figure was unspectacular compared to what he had expected. But when he touched her he discovered that her skin was more smooth and soft than anything he had ever known, a delicate home for such a strong voice. Was there something she used in the baths to keep herself that way? Or had he her mother to thank for this? Gazing on her unveiled face and body in the lamplight he noticed that she had three parallel blue marks on her left forearm. She said that her own parents had made these marks. "But why?" "I was a beautiful child, and they were afraid that someone would snatch me while they were not looking. These marks were made so it would be easier to identify me. But I was not snatched after all. Later, as you know, I was sold to the palace here in Istanbul, but only after I had become a woman. I don't know if my parents had always intended to sell me, but it is plain that they did not want to let me be stolen. But now, my dear, I belong to you." She reached for the vellum lamp, lifted the

- 321 shade and with a tiny explosion of her lips extinguished the candle within. Tijen indicated that she liked to take the superior position in lovemaking, which surprised and pleased him. His idea of a passive, tractable "oriental" wife was starting to change. Her way of making love reflected what she was — she took and gave pleasure frankly and made no pretense of ignorance, the time for that being well past. She made noises. "I could do this all night", she said, her warm body enveloping his. He replied that she was welcome to try. If she exaggerated, it was not by much. But very soon he found that there was a limit to what he could tolerate by way of bodily intimacy. He had to ask for more space in order to sleep better. She did not understand this easily and was apparently far less inhibited than he was. Finally she did accept it, and then would leave him space without being asked, so that he could sleep undisturbed, while she crept under the quilt at the brazier, in which the embers still glowed. As a preparation for their long embraces that winter, he would practice during the evening on his wooden flute, while she knit her dowry. His new wife would talk to her Basti only in Turkish, and refused to answer him if he took the easy way and addressed her in Vlahisch. This was true even when they were locked in an embrace. He never did learn a bookish sort of Turkish, but was soon was fluent in Turkish as spoken in bed and on the streets. After a few couplings she taught him the word for his private parts. "Where I come from this is called the place." Where Tijen came from there were still some women, so she said, who actually worshipped the place, despite being good Moslems in every respect. For a time they joked about his place, her place, trading places, finding one's place in life, and keeping the place clean. In fact she took pains to remain conspicuously clean from head to foot and urged him to do so likewise. But then one night she asked him after they had embraced whether he had not noticed that other men had a bigger place than his. "Surely you must have noticed other men at the hamam!", she whispered, as if accusing him of negligence. This came as an unpleasant shock to her new husband. Whom was he to thank for this intelligence? "How important is this?" he asked. "Any woman will answer you in only one way", she answered, "as far as I know". He said nothing. For some time he refrained from approaching her, causing some embarrassment between them. Then one

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night on an impulse he tried something new, something he had never even heard of before. Her response was instant. She groaned with delight. Very soon she countered with something that she said was entirely new to her, and it was his turn to groan with pleasure. They both worked out what they wanted most, signaling each other with groans and sighs, but not too loudly because of the thin walls. In their tiny wooden house she was always nearby, ready to embrace. Sebastian found nothing false in her, but could not forget that this woman was at least as experienced as himself, and probably more so. Tijen's skill in cooking was just a matter of remembering, since she used to cook in her mother's house. Moreover she had learned a good deal about refined dishes during her months at the palace. If those dishes were often too complicated to duplicate at their simple hearth, still they affected her view of what was possible with food, just as her acquaintance with other men had affected her view of what was possible in life. Sebastian developed a taste for her pilav and beans, her yogurt and puddings, her kebabs and kerftes, her byoreks and flat bread. He got used to eating more vegetables in season than ever before. At first it seemed odd that she declined to eat with him but would serve him his meal and then withdraw into the next room. She said this was the customary way not only among her own people but even more so in the palace where she had served. Only later did he find out that Tijen herself preferred eating alone. For the first time since Venice Sebastian was eating fish from the sea, which were different and more tasty than the freshwater fish he had known back home. He even came to like squid, octopus, eels, and mussels and was charged with bringing these home for Tijen to cook. None of their Moslem neighbors ate fish, considering fish food for other people, but Sebastian insisted on fish once he found out how cheap it could be gotten in the market. The waters around Istanbul produced far more seafood than the city would eat. Fish were especially plentiful after storms, when great schools would come streaming down the Bosphorus looking to escape from the threatening waters of the Black Sea. Now that they were out of the Bosnian house by mutual agreement, and Tijen felt free to be in touch with her own family, Sebastian discovered that he had in-laws somewhere in the east near the Caucasus. Tijen could not write, but sent a letter to her family with the help of one of the scribes who sat in all seasons next to the New Mosque, where ferries waited. She told her family she was married now but not to whom. Nor did she tell them that the marriage was temporary.

- 323 In spring an answer came. Her family rejoiced with her but had no plans to come to Istanbul soon. Meanwhile her husband, an educated man born far away, gradually realized that Tijen's company would not satisfy all his needs over the long run. He would give the marriage two years, as they had agreed, then he would see. By then the war would be over and he could go home. But time would show that this estimate was too optimistic. If there was one matter on which the new couple did not see eye to eye, it was Tijen's tendency to superstition. Her confidence in talismans and charms seemed impossible to shake. Around her throat she wore a pendant with a blue eye, which was supposed to protect not only her but all her family, especially her husband and her unborn child. She would attempt to cure colds with tea made from water in which a bit of sacred writing had been dipped. She assumed that the writing on it was sacred, though she could not read a single word, nor even sign her name. She once made a magic circle to help a neighbor's child who had been exposed to someone's evil eye. She believed in evil spirits, ghosts and fairies. She admitted to Sebastian that she had slipped a love potion in his soup before the graveyard rendezvous, but would not tell him what was in it. Nothing could dissuade her, she always knew better, so he gave up trying. Still, Tijen had a sharp sense of humor. Some of this humor was locked up in traditional stories that were beyond the reach of any foreigner. But some things were easily shared, especially stories in which she could act out the parts using her naturally strong and musical voice. These might be reenactments of things happening around them, such as the argument over a carrot that caused a pitched battle involving the whole neighborhood. Or the five young men who all caught a disease from mounting the same dog. Or how Janissaries had questioned a suspect by thrusting a cat in his britches and beating the cat. Some of the stories were far from delicate, but she made them all funny. She also knew a whole array of Nasrettin Hodja stories and could bring them to life by playing all the parts. If some of these stories were puzzling to a foreigner like the Austrian, some were quite transparent, such as the time Nasrettin Hodja's neighbor came to him with a complaint about the situation at his house, which was filled to bursting with relatives bent on a long visit. "Good", said the Hodja, "now bring your donkey into the house also."

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"Impossible", countered the neighbor, and yet he did as the sage Hodja advised him. Naturally he was back in a day complaining that life had now become simply intolerable, and he and his relatives were at each others' throats. "Good", said the Hodja. "Now take the donkey back out of the house." Sure enough, the neighbor was back in a day saying how much better things were at home without that damned donkey. Stories like these lay ready at hand for every situation, and Sebastian himself got good at applying them to their own lives, making her laugh too. Together they laughed themselves sick one evening at the name of a leading admiral on the Turkish side whose name was Mezzomorto, which translated as "half-dead". This name they applied to cats in the neighborhood that appeared weak and shaky. After the Moslem victory at Belgrade, the Grand Vezir celebrated by easing the extra taxes which the government had resorted to during the first years of the war. The mood of the people was now expectant again, despite continuing difficulties and shortages. Perhaps soon the war would be over and life would return to normal. Yet most people were still having great trouble making ends meet. Their troubles were compounded when in the middle of winter the New Market on the bank of the Golden Horn went up in flames. The conflagration left an ugly black hole in the shopping district that surrounded the New Mosque. It was there that much of the Old City's commerce in everyday needs had been concentrated. Now an array of new shops was starting to spring up to take the place of the burnt-out warehouse while it was being repaired. It was in this new district that Tijen was convinced that they should take their chances. With Tijen's guidance and using her savings, Sebastian found a newly erected kiosk for rent near the ruined New Market. It turned out there were no finches available to resell, doubtless because of the war. Instead he took to selling soap, especially a kind of soap made from olive oil and laurel leaves, a good smelling, wholesome product for which there was a growing demand. His kiosk was in a line of other shops selling goods used in the baths — other kinds of soap, emoluments, female salves, small basins, wash cloths, towels of many sizes and qualities, and rough fiber brushes with which to remove old skin. He soon had all the vocabulary he needed for his limited transactions. His business was better than at the other soap shops because animal fats were being bought up by the army so that the price of soap made from fats was simply too high. Many people now switched to using soap from olive oil who had not used it before. Yet

- 325 prices on most everyday goods kept on rising despite the market inspector's warnings, since all were obliged to accept new copper coins of falling value. Instead of keeping coins, practical Tijen insisted that they keep buying and storing soap. Money began to be the donkey in their house and the immediate reason for their marriage ending before the term was up. Tijen was convinced that Sebastian was holding back some earnings, which in fact was true. There were after all life's little pleasures, for which just a bit of money was indispensable, so without arguing about it with her he did indeed hold back a bit for these needs, which at this time in his life included tobacco, and sometimes wine. Since her sense of smell was keen, there was no deceiving her about these expenditures. Her view was that since she had provided the money to rent the store, all the income from it should return to her to manage. This put Sebastian in the position of an employee, a person almost without rights. And yet, as he well knew, she had her own little habits. For instance there was the little enameled box from which she would surreptitiously slip little pastilles laced with hashish, by no means an economical habit, and not one she was ready to share. They argued, and it began to create a distance between them. What had become of that submissive "oriental" wife he had imagined she would be? It seemed it was all a myth. The new soap dealer did not give up his visits to his lodge. The Montenegrins no longer came there, having switched to a Balkan, or Rumeli type lodge on the Pera side above the Admiralty. In any case the trip back across the Horn from their workshop was too far for them. Sebastian found that he would not be hearing much about what went on at the Balkan lodge, since all the members were sworn to secrecy. This naturally led to rumors about their rituals, especially those involving women. When Sebastian asked them about it, they answered with a proverb they had picked up from their lodge brothers: "It is one scandal to do something forbidden, and a second scandal to talk about it." His own lodge was not at all secretive, and was open to all who wanted to join. When he closed his shop at the New Market twice a week before mid-afternoon prayers, he went not to the nearby New Mosque for the public prayers, but instead back to his own lodge at Samatya. Also since he had no boss to answer to, he always felt free to join other vendors nearby in their chief entertainment, namely to gossip, make jokes, and talk politics over coffee sent over from nearby cafes, where the owners kept hot banks of burning sand behind the rows of cups waiting for customers. From these conversations his knowledge of spoken Turkish profited greatly, and he began to discover things

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about the capital's culture that he would not have guessed at. For instance, that in time of plague, which were as frequent here as in the European capitals, only Christians and Jews took the opportunity to run from the city to the nearby islands or villages. Moslems considered this impious behavior. If Allah willed that a person should die, what use was there in running? The walk to the lodge was quite a way, and took him almost past his own house. Arriving at his lodge, he would close out the noise of the streets, breathe in the atmosphere of the wooden ark, and enter into a reverie. When the whirling started he would allow himself to be hypnotized by the rhythm of the dancers. Kasim was always there. Their Turkish lessons had been relaxed since the old magistrate's death, unnecessary now that Sebastian had a Turkish wife. But instruction on the flute continued. The instrument itself was not a problem, as the Austrian took to it easily. He could invent better than Kasim could in the otherworldly spirit of the lodge. Kasim encouraged these inventions and murmured his appreciation whenever he heard something new that Sebastian brought from home. "Keep this up", said Kasim, "and we will have you playing with our ensemble by the time Ramazan returns." The difficult part was to master the Turkish intervals and scales. Also Sebastian never played anything quite the same way twice. He realized that the charm of the otherworldly music of the lodge had its parallel earlier in his life, when he had been more influenced by the singing of the monks than by anything that preachers said. Music was his ladder to heaven. Many of the new words which Kasim was teaching his student as part of the bargain made with the Bosnian household were words which were connected with the dervish approach to life on earth. Sebastian learned that his lodgemates believed that this life is lived at more than one level. Real dervishes were ever watchful of the level they were living on. They believed that the world was sleeping and that only they and their dervish brethren were fully awake. These humble men struggled to be aware of everything they did, not only at the lodge but in their lives outside the lodge. They tried to remain open to everyone around them. Some believed they had been friends with their fellows long before they were born. Some believed that they were the wards of long dead masters, who had in turn still earlier masters. Each was striving in his own way to gain a personal vision of The Creator during the chanting and whirling rituals. There were secrets that could not divulged to the newcomer, not yet. But they were patient. And they were kind.

- 327 By the time the month of Ramazan did return early in the summer of the year following Sebastian's capture, Tijen's time had come too. The women of the neighborhood stood in for her absent relatives and doted on the expectant mother, bringing her soups and little sweets. From the beginning Tijen had been adopted by these neighbors not only as someone needing their advice but as a source of entertainment. No doubt they spread rumors about this woman Tijen and her foreign husband, but then people of the neighborhood were themselves often the source of rumors and could tolerate idiosyncrasies within certain limits. Istanbul was after all an Imperial city, and full of very diverse people. Scratch the surface, some would say, and exotic stories would bob to the surface. In this live and let live neighborhood which did not regard itself too very highly, the awaited infant would be the center of attention, not any rumors about the past. Occasionally Tijen had visits from the women servants of the old Bosnian household. She was on good terms with all of them, perhaps remarkable for a woman of unusual beauty. These visitors brought news about changes taking place. The second wife was indeed about to remarry, this time to be the second wife of yet another cleric, which gave rise to some merry remarks. Ferhat chavush was being called up to join this year's military campaign, which would begin on the Danube where last year's campaign had left off. The children were fine but Arapzade had a cough. The household was smaller now, so there were also stories about servants who had left and found other situations. The visitors were openly curious about Tijen's new husband, and not easily put off by her loyal refusal to give them certain details. The drums of Ramazan brought ideal weather with lush evenings when windows could again be thrown open to capture breezes off the water, while Moslems broke their daylong fasts. Sebastian was now playing with the lodge ensemble, and was genuinely accepted by them as a brother. He found a surprising satisfaction in this novel role. He took their show of fraternity to mean that God was not angry at him, and might even approve of what he had done. He would be very wary now of assuming that God, or Allah, stood on one side or the other of the renewed contest over the possession of Hungary. "Let them sort it out for themselves", he would say to his wife. " For me the war is over." Ramazan also brought the birth of a child whom Sebastian had agreed to accept as his own when he married the strange woman who was bought out of the palace harem. An old Jewish midwife had come clumping to their door with her big cane. She was carrying a low birthing chair with a large hole in the middle, so that the mother could

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drop her child in the most natural way. The birth was easy but Sebastian was not permitted to watch. The little girl arrived with a full head of black hair and a voice as strong as Tijen's own. The new father was allowed to watch just as the midwife was about to cut the cord, wash and salt the baby, swaddle it, and place a bit of sugar in its mouth so as to guarantee not just a strong voice but a sweet one. He was expected to join in as the midwife cried out three times the same "Allah Ekber!" which he had heard on the battlefield, a little strange perhaps coming from a Jewish woman — but then she knew her customers. Neighbors crowded in to admire the newborn. They fastened a blue bead for luck to the cradle that had been prepared. Above the baby's head the mother had insisted that Sebastian suspend a Koran that had been loaned to them by one of the neighbors. When asked the baby's name, he said they must wait to know until the third day after the event, when he would announce it to all. He already knew it would be Mina, which they had agreed beforehand. The neighbor women crowding in to congratulate the mother made her drink a sherbet made of peaches, and another of berries. "May Allah make the mother's breast milk thick and rich", they cried, kissing Tijen's cheeks by turn. Sebastian was now disconcerted to find that he was now expected to arrange the sacrifice of a sheep and then distribute its meat to the poor, for whom their neighbors stood in nicely. This took some time since Sebastian had no experience at this sort of butchery and had to approach the nearest butcher's shop for help. But by sundown it was done. He also had to dispense a fee to the midwife, for which Tijen had long since laid aside bars of the bayleaf soap and some castoff clothes. The little girl's lusty appetite did not respect the fast of the pious. And in those early days, while the baby still stared with that total confusion of the newborn, her father would play his wooden flute to comfort her, pleased that he was just as effective as the midwife's "ninni ninni" lullaby. While he played he contemplated the strange turns which his life had taken so far, and began to feel affection for this daughter who he knew was not even his. When the third day came, he did as he had been instructed by Tijen. He knelt by the mother's side, took the swaddled baby in his lap, and softly whispered her new name into her ear three times -"Mina, Mina, Mina" — and as he did so he felt tears come. He kissed Ms wife and handed back the child. Now he was free to tell the neighbors. On the evening of the sixth day after Mina's birth the neighbor women crowded in to give congratulations in a more formal way. This was the custom, climaxed by the coming of an imam from Tijen's sect,

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who gave a special blessing for the newborn. Had they been able to afford it, or if Tijen's own relatives had lived closer, the parents would have then had musicians playing for them until dawn. "Not this time, my dear", murmured Tijen, "perhaps next time." The next day the young mother rose, had the midwife bind her waist, and undo the baby's swaddling cloth and wash it. By now Sebastian could understand at least part of what was being said around him. Talk of the Sultan's dropsy was on everyone's tongue. While the Sultan lay ill in his palace, the army which had camped near the capital marched away, beginning its campaign earlier than the year before. The vanguard of the army was just entering Sofia when news of the Sultan's death arrived by courier. The main army paused for eight days while awaiting the usual accession bonus. But this time there would be no bonus; there simply was no money to be had for the purpose. A rumor now circulated that the Sultan had not died of dropsy at all, but had been poisoned. Capitalizing on this rumor, palace insiders plotted to remove the grand vezir. But the Koprulu vezir was one step ahead of them, and squelched the conspiracy. The danger passed, a tribute to the prestige, popularity and sagacity of this new commander with the illustrious name, who had led them back to Belgrade only months before. Now the march back up the Danube could resume. A mood of high expectation gripped Istanbul as news of the campaign trickled back. Many high ranking soldiers who had held back the year before had this year volunteered to march to the Danube. Ferhat the chavush was one of these. When Sebastian heard of his going, he was assailed by contradictory feelings. Ferhat was doing his duty — no surprise there. What about himself? Should he feel bound to fight for his own Emperor? Did honor demand this? Thinking it over yet once more, he decided it definitely did not. He wished the Emperor well in an abstract way. If the Austrians were victorious, so be it. But having shared bread with the Turks for the better part of a year, he would take no pleasure in seeing them defeated. Sebastian had no stake in seeing the world turn Moslem. But he had come to respect the religiosity and humanity of the Moslems around him, a respect born in the massacre at Mohacs, where he had played so inglorious a part. Man for man, these Moslems were at least as religious as were people at home, no — more so, since here it was not powerless womenfolk who flocked to worship but above all the men, among them the paragons of the community. Was God for, or against the Moslems? Perhaps neither. Probably neither, otherwise this war

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would have been over long ago. Sebastian had heard what everyone had heard — that the French were spreading money around to keep the Turks in the war, while they fought the Imperials in the west. But this was France's policy, not God's. Sebastian was now plagued by a certain feeling, the uncomfortable sense of being a man out of time and out of place. He was sure he was within his rights in deciding that his fighting days were passed, but the feeling of dislocation sometimes disturbed him when he was alone, without the distraction of his new family, or his wooden flute, or his customers. This was something he could not discuss with his new wife, clever though she was. She would not understand. His family in Austria could not possibly know whether he was dead or alive. Nor had he heard anything about their lives in almost two years. The last he had heard, his brother in law was starting to make brandy, as a way of bringing down transport costs. It would be interesting to taste that brandy. Why hadn't the family thought of that before? He could change this situation and perhaps send a letter home via the one of the western ambassadors, the Dutch or British. But why should he? He preferred to wait, so as to know his own heart better. He wanted to make up his mind about his future before communicating with anyone. So as the summer of 1691 took its course the Austrian bided his time, practiced on his wooden flute, attended his lodge, sold his bayleaf soap, embraced his wife, talking with her in his faulty Turkish, murmuring in bad Turkish to the baby girl Mina. At the end of summer excruciating news exploded like a glass grenade on the streets of the Moslem capital, scattering the hopes so recently born. The army had suffered defeat at Slankamen, northwest of Belgrade, one of the worst defeats ever. The Koprulu vezir was dead. He was no so lucky after all. Was it because the vezir's stars were crossed? Or perhaps the dynasty no longer measured up to its ancient standards? Was God angered by the Moslems? This Koprulu was a great man, and a brave man, and yet his bravery cost us dearly. We should have waited for the Tatars to arrive from the Crimea, even if it took another week or two. If then we had advanced, we would have found the enemy waiting for us somewhere not very far away. Instead the martyred Koprulu — may Allah grant him peace! — accepted the plan of the French advisors to cut off the Emperors' giaours from the fortress at Petrovaradin, which lay behind them up the Danube. At first this looked like a good idea. We even managed to intercept their reinforcements coming down the Danube,

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and took quite a number of boats, wagons and hostages, aside from those we killed. Then we waited for them to try and break out. When they saw we were not moving, and that they were hemmed in on the banks of the Danube, they did attack, again and again, desperately, trying to break out. This cost them dearly. Finally we counterattacked. I swear that we had victory on our side, they were falling back, when our Koprulu was hit by a ball fired into his forehead. He had placed himself at the front of the troops. Sometimes a military commander must go up into the front ranks if the situation is desperate, in order to set an example. But oh, what a horrible mistake! I was quite near to him. There were high-ranking officers deployed all around him. I did not see the ball strike as I was myself under attack. When I turned he was already on the ground with blood spurting from his head. When our drummers realized what had befallen Koprulu they stopped playing. When the army heard that the band was no longer playing, they stopped fighting. The sipahis panicked first, then the infantry. We paid a damnable price. Thank heavens the Imperials did not take Belgrade. But they made a great slaughter of our troops. That giaour Baden with his lucky stars must have been very happy. They say he lead the final charge himself. But the Emperor's men did not have the strength to go on to Belgrade, and it remains in our hands. That at least is a reason to be thankful. But I fear the effects of this incredible defeat upon my fellow Moslems. How long will it be before our side again has the will power and the confidence to raise volunteers and take the field again on a major scale? I fear it may be years. I see no leader of such a quality as the great man we lost at Slankamen. This latest Sultan is a nothing, scarcely better than his brother. Why, why, should the outcome of so great a battle hang on such a freak event, unless it is the will of Allah? I fear Allah may be angry with the Moslems for reasons known only to Him. How I wish I understood what is at the bottom of this! Istanbul grieved. What its large population of Christians and Jews said behind closed doors, one could never know, but its Moslems grieved. Sebastian and Tijen enjoyed the advantage of being insignificant and unnoticed city dwellers hidden away from public events in their tiny house. For them what mattered that fall after the catastrophe at Slankamen was the price of soap, what food was then available in the market, and whether their little daughter was doing well. The flutist convert was now encouraged by the elders at his lodge, and by his blind teacher Kasim, to play solo between the sessions of the lodge ensemble, inventing his own music. Only the zither player

- 332 had done this until then. These unaccompanied inventions, at which Sebastian began to excel, surprising even himself, were called "division" music; they preceded and followed the chanting and the whirling, giving a lone musician an opportunity to embellish the ecstasies of trance and transport which all dervishes were prone to feeling at times. Sebastian found that he had a fund of tears in himself that had surprised him more than once before, most memorably that first time when he had gone along with the execution of the Vlahdeserter at Karlovac. Now he found he could put his nameless grief into his music, and it was understood. Other men too had their fund of sadness, and it helped them all to hear it in his wandering flute. One day it happened that Sebastian's playing caught the ear of a passerby, a native who was not a Moslem. A darkly clad Greek, a physician named Paniotis, just a few years older than Sebastian, stopped outside the lodge as he caught the sound of the Austrian's "division" music. The Greek waited a long time outside. He inquired of the lodge brothers as they emerged from the afternoon session as to who the flute player was, then waited for Sebastian to emerge into an autumn evening already growing dark. When he learned Sebastian's background, he started to talk to him in Italian. It was incredible to him to find a musical Austrian in a sufi lodge. He was not against it, it was just amazing. The young Greek seigneur with the long dark hair had connections with the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate that stood near the shore of the Golden Horn in the old city. It was to that neighborhood that he guided the flutist the next afternoon after the shops around the burnt out New Market had closed for the day. As they neared what Paniotis described as the center of the Orthodox Christian world, the two were arrested in the street by the sound of a male choir coming from a church near the patriarchate. "Listen", said Paniotis, "this is our music. What do you think of it?" They stood in the street together as though frozen, staring at each other with half-smiles, but really concentrating on sound. This was a mode of Christian liturgy that struck the Styrian as wholly different in spirit than the Catholic liturgy he had grown up with. The male voices of the choir were sharp as vinegar on the afternoon air, startling by their clarity and vigor. If voices could be a sign of faith, then the Greeks had a lot of faith. Sebastian shook his head in admiration. "I like it." And they stood still a long time before moving onward.

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Paniotis's family's house, not outwardly very different from a typical house of the Moslem community, was however quite different inside. There were numerous bound books in several languages, a skull, a globe, a telescope and an anatomical chart on the wall. In one side room there were glass tubes and retorts. The lively Paniotis cheerfully, perhaps unaware of what he was doing, quickly set about to establish his educational superiority over the Austrian. He was at ease discussing many branches of study which Sebastiano, his new friend, had scarcely any notion about. He had studied at Padua to be a medical doctor, as it turned out, and had returned only reluctantly to Constantinople (as he insisted on calling Istanbul). He had been deeply impressed by the passion for learning which had surrounded him at Padua. He had wanted to stay on in Italy and live as a scholar, but his family would not have it, so he returned. "Sebastiano, I have a young friend, actually younger than we are. He lives not so far from here. His name is Cantemir and he likes to compose. He is from a distinguished Christian family. We all think he is something special. He's interested in all kinds of music, and I mean all kinds — Istanbul music, ancient Greek music, Italian operas, you name it. Well educated too, in the broadest sense." This made Sebastian uneasy. Was Paniotis implying some comparison? But no, for in the next moment the engaging Paniotis said, "I'm sure you would have much in common. He will be fascinated by your background, in fact your whole story. I don't understand music in a theoretical way but he does, and so do you." "No, no, I don't know a thing about musical theory", replied the Styrian. "I play from the heart, and I have a hard time playing anything the same way twice. I listen to what the other musicians are doing and I follow along. But I am happiest when I can invent all by myself, so that I am not distracted by what the others are playing." "Ah, wonderful! Cantemir will love you. His family is very influential. There is a good chance that some day he may be favored with some important official post. Under the patronage of the palace, of course." He smiled, and paused to measure the effect of these words, so that Sebastian had the impression that he was trying to gauge his own attitude toward the Moslem establishment. He let slip that the Orthodox clergy were aggrieved by this Koprulu because he made them pay a war tax, which they saw as anathema. They then turned from music, which neither of them had much to say about anyway, and returned to the theme of Padua, which Sebastian found exciting and Dr. Paniotis found nostalgic.

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"There is so much going on there in the area of natural law. Aristotelians are completely on the defensive these days, whereas just a few years ago they called the tune everywhere. Take poor Galilei. Now we call him a genius, whereas only a few years ago people were careful to be heard discussing him. But at Padua these days everything is discussible. Padua is a place where you can buy microscopes and telescopes at reasonable prices. I have a telescope myself of the Huygens type. There is some problem with colors, but it is powerful — twenty magnifications! Some night we'll use it together. I would like to show you the moons of Jupiter. We cannot see them now, but when we can 1 will invite you. We discovered them at Padua, you know. I named one of them myself — I call her Io." "You named a moon of Jupiter?" Sebastian was greatly impressed. What an accomplished fellow was this young Greek doctor! On second thought, he seemed to remember that the moons of Jupiter had already been named by Galilei. He now looked askance at his new friend, but decided to say nothing. "Then there is this Englishman Newton. Have you heard of him?" Sebastian admitted he had not. Paniotis burst out: "He has every university in an uproar these last years. I get letters from friends at Padua, and they often mention the fanfara caused by this amazing Newton. I admit I could not understand his mathematics, even if they were under my nose. But they say he has actually reinvented mathematics in order to demonstrate how the heavens work. They say he has shown that physical bodies act on each other at any distance whatsoever. This seems preposterous, right?" "Not preposterous at all, I can assure you. Not a day goes by but I am aware of some physical body that is acting on mine irresistibly. I wouldn't have it any other way." "Be serious. I mean attract each other irresistibly, pull on each other, move toward each other." "Of course if that were really so we would all be lost. We must show some character, we must resist." "Very funny, Sebastiano. But we are talking about celestial bodies, stars. Now, as I understand it, he thinks of these celestial bodies as somehow corrupted, whereas we like to think that they are perfect. Imagine! And they say that besides being a great mathematician, an astronomer and a natural philosopher — he is a great astrologer and alchemist." "Astrologer! Do you believe in that stuff?"

- 335 "Of course I do, don't you? Surely you can accept that if a heavenly body, corrupt or not, has influence strong enough to create tides, it is certainly bound to influence other worldly affairs, right? Of course, Sebastiano, of course. You must not doubt it. At every court in Europe there are astrologers and alchemists who know about these things. "And speaking of corruptible bodies, at Padua we medicos went to great lengths to find out just what makes our own bodies work as they do." He lowered his voice. "At Padua we cut them up, you know. Dead bodies. People don't want to hear about that but how else can we learn the secrets? As they say, God is in the details, as is the devil. I myself was successful in making an analysis of the pineal gland, the seat of the soul, as the great Descartes would have it." "What does the pineal gland look like?" asked Sebastian, remembering Io. "Oh, it's just a bump of sorts, nothing much to look at". He changed the subject. "The tricks we had to play to get hold of bodies in usable condition you wouldn't believe!" Sebastian winced. " Cut up dead bodies. How couldi you stand it? They must stink to high heaven!" "That's right. We wasted a lot of brandy on them, I can tell you. And one never gets quite used to it. All I can tell you is that the experience is so interesting that one is glad to pay that price, or any price." And saying this, he blew his nose softly into a cloth he was carrying. Sebastian gave in to his impulse to give the Greek doctor a ribbing. "Why do you look at me that way, dottore? I hope I don't look to you like a good prospect. I'm still using this body and will have need of it for some time yet." The jest was well taken. "Sebastiano, I am so glad to have met you. There are so few people here who understand such things. Let me take you to Pera, to Galata, where I have friends you will like. Do you go to Pera?" "Well, yes, I have a couple friends there too, but they only employ natural law in the most practical ways." "Meaning?"

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"They are gunmakers at Shish-hane. Fine fellows but not interested in the things that interest you." "Meet me tomorrow", said Paniotis. "I shall find you at your shop. You're near the New Market, yes? It seems I'm out of soap altogether. I'll come mid-afternoon and we can cross over to the other side and meet my friends." When Paniotis showed up the next day, peering from one shop to the other for the right one, he was carrying something long, wrapped in a well — tanned pelt. It was his telescope. They would unwrap it when they found Paniotis's Italian friends on the other side of the Horn. If the sky was clear enough in the evening, they could watch the stars all night if they wished, and return the next day. Hearing this, Sebastian hesitated. The Greek was a bachelor, and probably would not understand that one could not just stay somewhere overnight without preparing the way for that at home. "Oh, come on", insisted Paniotis, surely you are not one of those henpecked husbands who has to ask his wife's permission for everything." Sebastian weakened. Surely he was not. Yet he sensed that he would pay a price. As they crossed the Horn in a little skiff, they caught sight of the Sultan's long graceful galley with its double row of oars, making its way up the Bosphorus as though walking on the water. It was a magnificent sight. "Now that's the way to travel", cried Paniotis. Reaching the other side, they climbed up past the Thursday market, passing Galata tower. The tower was where they kept galley slaves, explained Paniotis. The people living around the tower were a different mix from those living in the old city. Some spoke Italian, and there were Jews speaking a Spanish dialect called Ladino. Paniotis could pick out Armenian, and there were yet other languages unknown to them both. Yet the exotic throng seemed to have no difficulty in their daily dealings with each other. What a Babel! Looking around him with heightened interest, Sebastian noticed shops one could not find on the old city side, selling things like mandolins, books in European languages, or western style tailors and barbers. Paniotis said that Thokoly, the Hungarian puppet king, was living somewhere in Pera with friends, having made a narrow escape at Slankamen. Thokoly here? They might spot him! Sebastian realized that Paniotis offered something that had been was missing in his life for a long time. Good conversation was becoming as important to him as his music. To recover it by accident within a budding friendship came as a pleasant shock. Worldly

- 337 conversation was something that pretty but illiterate Tijen could not give him. Clever though she was, she did not know the wider world. So Sebastian followed, full of curiosity through the doorway of a threestoried stone house where Paniotis knocked on a bronze door. Who were these friends of his anyway? His friends, explained the dottore, bounding up stone stairs, were ship owners from an old seagoing Italian family, born in Istanbul and therefore Levantine as well as Italian. Like other such families, theirs participated both directly and indirectly in commerce along the Black Sea coasts of Bulgaria, Thrace, and Anatolia, sharing both profits and risks alike. Sometimes they carried grain, sometimes lumber, hemp or other shipbuilding materials, whatever was needed at the port of Istanbul. Being private merchants they had to get permission for each voyage. Profits were uneven but nonetheless this family was among the most successful of the shippers in this centuriesold Italian colony. "Dottore!" The first of three Sonnino brothers appeared at the top of the stairs. "Who have you brought with you and what is that you are carrying." Even before the introductions were over, the ebullient Sonninos were oohing and aahing over the telescope that Paniotis was carrying. All three brothers had been treated by the good young Doctor Paniotis for venereal diseases at one time or another, which was how they met. It was not the doctor who revealed this to Sebastian, but an uncle who was present that evening. The pleasure Sebastian felt in talking Italian with Paniotis was enlarged when he met the Sonninos. These were amiable men but virile, talkative and well informed about the world. He soon felt he could talk with them unguardedly, not having to stop and consider their point of view as he had to with everyone else he knew in the city, even the Montenegrins. Sebastian felt at home with them. They had a parrot that talked Italian also, and paintings on the walls, including the portrait of a family patriarch from the last century. In this house one ate pasta and drank wine, almost as if one were in Venice. In fact the family had its connections in the city of the doges, even though none of them had so much as visited there. The brothers knew the Black Sea shores, but had never traveled to the west. "We don't need to", explained one brother. "They come to us, at least in peacetime." Because sailing ships from Venice frequently called at Pera before Venice joined the latest alliance against the Turks, the Sonnino brothers knew some melodies from the many new operas that opened in Venice every year. But they were missing melodies from the years since

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the war started. They were impressed to hear that this new fellow Sebastiano had actually visited Venice, and could hum a couple of songs from the newer operas he had attended during that visit, the same tunes which he and Egon had sung, faking the words, on that cold ride back to Austria. "Did you see the doge?" they wanted to know. Upon hearing that this Sebastiano had in fact seen the doge seated in his ceremonial galley, they were very impressed. "But", said Sebastian, "you know the doge is quite powerless. He is just a figurehead." "Yes, we know that. But actually to see him, that is something, like seeing the Sultan." " Do you play cards, Sebastiano?" When the newcomer replied that he did not play competently, the brothers offered to teach him backgammon, which they called tavola. Wanting to be friendly, Sebastian consented to learn, and discovered that he would be quite good at the new game, since the game rewarded the dexterity of a fencer. So much was he enjoying himself that he let the sun go down and candles be lighted without feeling overly concerned. After they supped on quail and other small birds, Paniotis showed off his telescope by pointing it from the roof, but discovered that cloud cover would hinder their observations. But now Sebastian became alarmed and asked Paniotis if they shouldn't be going. "Sebastiano, you must be joking. The Sonninos have lots of room for guests, isn't that right Nino? To cross the Horn after dark would be asking for trouble from the night watch, and we would end up paying big fines." "Absolutely right", said Nino Sonnino, the square-shouldered younger brother who seemed a little the worse for wear after a treatment by the young Greek doctor which had taken place in another room. "We pay bribes all the time. But that is how business is done here. We certainly don't ladle out money for nothing. But to pay a fine to the police is to lose one's money for nothing. Unless you are so rich you don't care, my dear." No, replied Sebastian, he certainly was not that rich. Regretting belatedly that his amorous Shiite would have no idea where he was, Sebastian stayed the night. In the morning the Italians offered omelets in the Italian style, made with water and olive oil, and fine white bread, different from bread sold on the street. One noticed that the handsome woman who served was either a relative, or was on very good terms with the brothers, since she talked with them in a familiar way. Her name was Paloma. Paniotis

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wanted to stay longer and talk some more with the brothers about the war, etc. They were all a bit puzzled about the behavior of the Austrians, seemingly overpowered the year before, but lately victorious by a whisker at Slankamen. Would either side have the strength to take up the offensive in the coming year? This was their topic after breakfast, as they sipped a liquor of exotic ingredients. Sebastian had to nudge Paniotis to get him to start back to the old city. They finally crossed the Horn about noon. Habit drew Sebastian first to his shop, which lay close to their landing place on the Horn. He opened up for a couple hours until all the kiosks closed for mid-afternoon prayers. Surely his wife was not going to worry about him in the middle of the day. Indeed he might as well stop at the lodge and return home toward sundown, which was his usual pattern. Kasim would be there, and he felt like playing his flute. When he returned home at sundown, Sebastian got a lesson he would not forget. The little lady he had married was not the compliant, understanding Moslem wife of his imagination, ready to tolerate almost anything from her husband. To the contrary, he suddenly saw in her a harridan who attacked him without taking breath. The beautiful face twisted in anger. He heard the strong clear voice at full volume, never mind the neighbors. He found himself at a loss to explain why he had not noticed that the sun was going down on the day before, and why playing backgammon was so much more important than being home with his family, which depended upon him for protection in this biggest city in the world. Her harangue went on for what seemed like hours, followed by a silence which was worse. She was not available for lovemaking that night, and he had to eat a meal which was obviously left over from the night before. The cold weather after the storm lasted three days, as Sebastian came and went. On the fourth day he brought home a gift, a piece of fine cloth, and he was immediately sorry he had not done so before. Tijen thanked him, a little ruefully it seemed to him, but then she talked with him normally, and finally returned to being her usual amorous self. But Sebastian was on notice, and he knew it. He would have to be more careful. While waiting for the reemergence of the wife he knew, he focused his attention on the baby girl Mina. The confusion of the newborn's eyes was being replaced with the beginnings of recognition, and yes! — amusement at being plunked down between two such unlikely parents. Sebastian loved to watch her. He would watch his wife nurse the baby while he played his flute. They arrived at an agreement.

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Sebastian could go to the other side, even stay the night, but never, never without telling her in advance. This foreigner was very attractive to me. He is blond and fair and I like that. I could not know course what kind of mate he would make without some kind of trial. That is the risk which women always take. Men are not always what they seem. I trusted him to bring home all the money he earned from the soap — it was from my savings after all that we rented the shop. But then I realized that he was not bringing it all home. I suspected, and I was right, that he has formed habits that cost money. Opium might be one of them, and that's expensive, though I can't prove it, and I can't smell it on him, and of course he won't admit it. Sometimes when he comes late, I can feel that he is still in another world, groggy and unresponsive. This could be the flute playing, just possibly, but more likely it is from drinking wine or arak, or smoking opium. And how do I know that his heart is really mine? When did he ever bring me a gift of a sort that could win a woman's heart? No, it was always I who brought good things to him, which he does not have the good sense to appreciate as he should. He is not a violent husband, thank heavens, but like most men he likes variety. I think I may have had the best that can be gotten from him. I no longer see strong reasons why we should stay married. What I need now is someone I can depend on completely, an older man perhaps, a man who will appreciate what I have to offer, who has already lived his wilder years. Six more years, as soon as I can safely leave my daughter in the hands of a neighbor, and I will be able to sell fabrics house to house and make good money. I will bring such stories with me that no one will turn me away. Yes, that's what I'll do. It will be fun, and I won't have to obey any stupid man. I already know of a Shiite man in our neighborhood, a widower, who might be the right person. I'll drop a hint. No need to wait for two years to pass. When I am ready I'll see to it that Basti will be happy to leave. The geography of Sebastian's Istanbul was much affected by the friends he had made. The nodes of his existence were now the areas of the Greek patriarchate, his lodge at the edge of Samatya, the New Market area where he had his kiosk, and the Pera neighborhood where he would accompany Paniotis every week or so, sometimes staying overnight, but only after informing Tijen. He also visited his Shishhane Montenegrins but just occasionally, admitting to himself that the Sonninos were now more interesting to him by far. Ferhat, he heard,

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had been much affected by the defeat he witnessed at Slankamen, and had become more religious than before. But he no longer had contact with Ferhat. He no longer frequented the mosque near the Bosnian house where he heard Ferhat now prayed daily. When Sebastian did go back to visit the old house, it was Arapzade he talked with, the old sage who had pointed the way to his liberation. Winter came. Two years had passed since Sebastian's capture and convalescence, but in those two years an amazing amount had happened. He had started as an Austrian captain. Now he was some kind of renegade soap merchant, unsure of his religion and unsure of his future. The only things he could count on were his new habits, among which were his wife's embraces, his baby girl, his flute, his lodge, and his new friends. He was now comfortable speaking basic Turkish with Tijen, his customers and the merchants he'd met who had shops near his. But he had not spoken German in a year, and had not seen a German in a year. This suddenly changed one day in January of the new year. Sebastian was on his way to open his kiosk. Cold air had blown in that morning from the Balkans, and he could see his breath, as he hurried down the crowded slopes to the ruins of the New Market. As he neared the market, he stopped to watch a group of navvies who were laboring to build a dock under the supervision of guards. These he realized were probably galley slaves out of season, since galley slaves were often used for labor of this sort. He looked them over, wondering how he had escaped that grim fate. They were badly dressed, and obviously suffering with the cold. One of them, a middle aged fellow wearing the tattered remnant of some uniform turned toward him and cried out. "Winkler! Captain Winkler!" Sebastian froze. Did he know this scarecrow? Yes, there was something familiar here, but what? He studied the gaunt face, the man's gaze now locked on his own. My God, yes! It was Berenger the recruiter, the colonel in the coffin. But what had happened to him? How had he ended up here? Berenger foresaw his question, and shouted in German. " Taken at Slankamen, just before the big battle. Help me Captain! Get me out of here!" A guard watching this obvious reunion decided it had gone far enough, and nudged Berenger with his blade. "Where are they keeping you?" "Not the tower. In the barracks near the admiralty." The guard hit the prisoner in the head this time, turned him around by the shoulders and pushed him toward the other slaves. Over his shoulder Berenger repeated his appeal. "Help me, Captain, help me get out of

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this shit." Berenger now had to heave to with the others or suffer the consequences. The navvies were unloading logs from a barge, apparently preparing to bolster a dock. Sebastian watched in fascinated horror for some time, then turned away, not wanting to attract more attention to himself from the glowering guards. What if anything could he do for Berenger? The pull of old loyalties was strong . He must do something, but what? That afternoon he went to look up the doctor from Padua, as usual in the last weeks. The Greek doctor was glad to see him, as always, and listened with interest to this unusual dilemma. "Let us confer with our Italian friends, they know the admiralty area and I do not." So without detouring to inform Tijen about this outing, which Paniotis never did see the need of, the two crossed the Horn, huddling beneath a skin supplied by the boatman, who was also cold. Soon they were warming themselves in the well-heated rooms of the timber merchants. The Sonninos were sympathetic. They fell into an animated argument, too fast for Sebastian to follow. Glancing his way only once or twice, their discussion went on for a long time. Finally portly Danilo spoke: "Well, maybe there is a way, but it will take some luck." It turned out the Sonninos knew all the barracks of the galley slaves quite well, since they often contracted for their labor in order to unload lumber and grain from their Black Sea dealings. "Tell you what", said Danilo, "we will try to fix it so that your unlucky colonel will be among the laborers we contract for when next we unload timber some weeks from now. You realize we can't ask for him by name — that would not work at all. But we can ask for all the men of that barrack. After that you will have to lend a hand. We will have to stage a little play and you, Captain, will have to play a leading role. A little risky, unfortunately, but I am sure you are accustomed to risk. You are a soldier." They ordered a dinner from the woman in the kitchen, the one Sebastian had always wondered about. They played tavola while waiting, and Sebastian was complimented on his progress. The meal was excellent when it came, and included pigeons, salami and cheese — a rare meal for the Austrian for at home Tijen served meat sparingly. They also tested an aromatic brandy called grappa that was new to Sebastian and reminded him of the plum brandy of the Vlahs — colorless and powerful. Sebastian could not resist telling his hosts about the coffin. They rolled with laughter and agreed that the captain indeed owed something to the colonel. They were glad to help, providing he kept them out of it. They would tell him well in advance

- 343 about the unloading date. Sebastian excused himself before dark, not wanting any repetition of that first scene with sharp-tongued wife. When he passed the place where the dock was being reinforced it was too late to see Berenger since the slaves had already been taken away for the night. The next day Sebastian wrote a message in German and dropped it on the ground when he saw Berenger watching him. He saw the colonel nod; he had read the message and understood and accepted the rough side of the deal, which was that he would be led away in disguise to the tanners' guild on the date in question. The tanners were a powerful guild on the outskirts of the city near the Seven Towers. By tradition the tanners were permitted to shelter all fugitives from the law. If the escape was successful the fugitive then had to work as a tanner's assistant, the filthiest, smelliest work imaginable. But the colonel would surely survive this better than he could survive life at sea, where the swift demise of oarsmen was taken for granted as a fact of life. After the war was over the colonel would be able to wash himself well, change clothes, and contact any Imperial ambassador who was sent after the peace had been signed. When Sebastian explained all this to Tijen, she accepted it but didn't like it at all. No plan could be free of risk, and if Sebastian were caught they might as well say goodbye, for he could end up dead, in a prison, on a galley, or might even end up as a tanner's assistant himself. But she understood loyalty to old friends. And so she would help him obtain the disguise they would use to cover the tattered uniform of the galley slave after hearing a physical description of the would be fugitive. The formerly substantial colonel was by now a thin man, she understood, like all navvies. The weather would still be cold, so they would find a shepherd's cloak and a head cloth to go with it, to throw over the runaway. Then they had another thought. Considering that the escape would take place at dockside while timber was being unloaded, the best thing would be for the runaway to slip into the water unnoticed. Hopefully he could swim. This plan appealed to the Sonninos, who had many contacts among boatmen, and could arrange that a small boat would wait alongside the dock, covered so as to hide the colonel. If the escape was noticed, the boatman would claim that he was dozing, and had been victimized. But if successful it would be just a matter of drifting out to open water into the daily traffic and rowing around to the Seven Towers area, where one could walk the short distance to the tanners. Sebastian

- 344 would be in the boat too, and would share the risk of finding the tanners and explaining the escapee's dilemma. There was no way of slipping a message to the colonel in advance of the day of his escape. The danger of betrayal was great, and the Sonninos had much to lose. But they were as good as their word, even though there was nothing in it for them. In late March, in weather cold but sunny, and with sea water as cold as it ever got, an unloading of one of their Black Sea timber boats was arranged by contracting to use slaves from a barrack other than their usual one, a barrack which they chose themselves by a pretext. Sebastian was there in a boatman's garb. The boatman was well chosen and seemed to even enjoy the risk. Perhaps he thought he could get away easily if things went wrong. It was half a day before the colonel's chance came. He had been alerted in the morning by a message in German dropped nearby him. He stared at their small boat so often during the morning that the two men waiting for him were uneasy. Fortunately the guards overseeing the unloading paid no attention; escapes were rare without a confederate — out of the question for these gallows birds. The slaves were given their stale bread at midday, and all sat all down on the lee side of the timber boat. The colonel now showed he was still quite astute enough despite months of captivity, and certainly brave enough, to use an opportunity to slip into the water some distance from the small boat where Sebastian and the boatman were waiting for him. His head was hidden by logs floating in the water, so that although the two waiting could see him, no one else could. Their skiff drifted closer to the floating timber. The colonel could swim! Sebastian's heart was in his mouth as the colonel covered the short distance and came around the far side of the small boat. If any of the galley slaves noticed they kept silent. Even before he was out of the water, the recruiter was complaining. "Mein Gott in Himmel, this is so cold!" Sebastian leaned out of the boat, covering the colonel with the cloak, but not succeeding in keeping it dry. With the boatman helping, the former galley slave slipped over the gunwales. Slowly, slowly the small boat pulled away and began the long row toward the Seven Towers on the Marmara side of the old city. The trip took hours, and there was a danger they would end up in the dark if it had taken longer. But the boatman knew the shore, and landed them at an opportune place beyond the city walls. By that time the colonel and the captain had had lots of opportunity to pour out their troubles to one another. Berenger complained that since he was a man without a family to speak of, no one was prepared to pay a ransom for him after his

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capture at Slankamen. His disappointed captors had then sold him as galley bait, and cheaply, since he was middle aged and not worth much. But oh, he was glad to see his old friend Captain Winkler. He would see to it that the captain would never regret this, though for a while after the incident with the coffin he had quite other intentions. But now bygones were bygones. Where was Egon, the colonel's other erstwhile undertaker?, Sebastian wanted to know. The colonel was quite sure that Egon had been at Slankamen, but could not guarantee that he survived. "Our losses were quite heavy, you know. I heard about it afterwards, though I was captured before the main battle began. We were lucky nonetheless, believe me. The Turks had the better of us for a while." Yes, Sebastian had heard as much from Ferhat chavush. They got out of the small boat laughing nervously about the outrageousness of what they were doing. But their laughing stopped as they approached the stinking ward where the tanners were located. The city government had placed guards on the approaches from the water. Once the guards saw them there was no avoiding them, and it was too late to run. Sebastian told a lie. "This man has been sold to the tanners", he said, as they came even with the scowling guards. "He's a bit old to make into leather", replied the sergeant of the guards. "Ah, but he is an experienced tanner. That is why they bought him." "Show me a document", replied the sergeant. Sebastian had nothing to show. Instead he gave the sergeant some coins he had sleeping in his sash, soap savings he had not told his wife about. "It's not enough", said the sergeant. "Here, you! Give me that!" He lifted the wool felt cape from the older man, leaving Berenger shivering. "Get out of here, both of you. No, not that way, that way", and he pointed the two in the direction of a warehouse further away than the one they had started for. Apparently the fugitive route was routine, from which the guards took what little there was to get. The two hurried along over broken ground strewn with sludges, whistling and blowing in relief. The stench already made them wince. Freedom had a price. As they approached the farther warehouse, a man came racing across the field from the nearest warehouse, the one the guard had said not to go to. "This way", he hissed. "This is where you'll get a better deal." The two hesitated. Berenger depended on Sebastian's lead, but the latter was unsure about it.

- 346 "Let's talk with him." Berenger by now knew a few words of Turkish but not enough to speak on his own behalf. Sebastian again lied for him. "This man is a great German war hero, who was captured at Belgrade." This was not true, but Sebastian figured the name Slankamen would have a bad ring to it. "How old is he?" "Oh, he's about forty." This also was a lie. In fact, Sebastian didn't know how old Berenger was but he was certainly older than forty. The questioner laughed. "Well, don't worry about it because we have enough work for the both of you. We have some work that we save just for newcomers. And don't worry about being followed. No one will follow you here." "Hold on", exclaimed Sebastian. "I'm not going to work for you. I just came to show this man the way." This answer did not please the questioner very much. Perhaps he received a bounty for each fugitive he brought in. He turned to Berenger and laid his hand on his shoulder, looked him full in the face, and took him by the arm. "By God", said Berenger, when he understood where they were headed, "perhaps I should have stayed with the galleys. Too late now!" The older man submitted to being lead to the nearer factory, a dark place with one open side. As they neared the open side, a throng of half clad tanners came out to meet them, woofing like dogs. They all laid hands on the colonel's shoulders, and pounded him on the back, laughing and jesting. This was all part of their traditional greeting for newcomers, as their guide explained. The tanners were always glad to see someone new come along since the new man always took the dirtiest job of all, and everyone else moved up a notch. Sebastian followed behind into the dark factory, where line upon line of stone troughs were laden with marinating skins. He stayed only long enough to glance about the dim and reeking factory at puddles of slime, and piles of rotting skins from cattle, sheep, buffalo, horses, and other animals. The stench of rotten eggs overwhelmed even the stench of the skins. He wondered what living here might be like but did not stay around to find out. He told the shaken Berenger that he would come back to check on him in due course. "Yes, by God, you do that." Sebastian then turned to walk back into the city. Old loyalties had been served, but what a fate for an Austrian colonel! He pitied Berenger.

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When he arrived home it was after dark, and his Shiite wife was not surprisingly upset and angry. "Why couldn't you have done all this earlier in the day?" she fumed. He explained that they had to wait until Berenger was ready to make his move. She softened, and served her merchant husband one of his favorite dishes, which she had been keeping warm. After eating her husband held the baby for a while, then picked up his flute and played far into the night.

ZENTA, 1697 In the course of his third year in Istanbul, Sebastian moved to the Pera side of the Horn, a change that raised eyebrows among some fellow merchants, who had expected him to exhibit the usual fervor of the convert. How could a good Moslem live among the Jews, Italians and Franks of Pera? His relations with other neighboring merchants in the New Market area had been good until the falling out with Tijen, and her remarriage. Together he and the other shopkeepers would close their shops to go to prayer, leaving behind just one of their number to watch the wares of them all. They all went to the so-called New Mosque nearby to do their ablutions and pray, first at noon, then at mid-afternoon. Whatever he thought about Islam's claim to being the one true religion, the soap merchant had come to enjoy the everyday ceremonial of the New Mosque. The pious merchants of the market would stand, bow, kneel, and prostrate themselves slowly and repeatedly, giving each man plenty of time to consider how his life conformed or did not conform to the ethics urged upon him by his religion. There was no priest. Everything happened as if by consensus. At the very least it gave one a feeling of peace, which was exactly how Islam translated into other languages — as "peace". His marriage to the Shiite woman Tijen had not lasted even the two years of the contract between them. Mina had not even been weaned when the end came. They were in the end too different. Their lovemaking, without the reinforcement of good conversation, would not suffice. Sebastian could not get from her the mental stimulation which he now realized he needed, nor even convince her that the world was not flat. When she understood that they were not going to survive as a couple, she passed into hurt, secrecy, and stubborn silence. Their lovemaking stopped altogether. At times she would ask to go out while Sebastian watched the baby. When he too walked out carrying the baby, he discovered that no one in the neighborhood knew where she was,

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though the neighbors soon guessed what his situation was. He knew that she was making new plans, and did not try to stop her. Assisted by her own network of co-religionists, she found another man to be her husband, an older man, perhaps not ideal, but closer to her in his understanding of the world than Sebastian ever could have been, however good his intentions. Sebastian missed the baby during the first months after their separation, but this passed gradually after he moved to the Pera side to be near his friends. It was not difficult to reshape his working life, since he was already on a good footing with the Sonninos. They let him accompany the younger brothers on grain gathering voyages to nearby ports. There was also work to be done at their warehouse that he was quite capable of doing. Soon he was entrusted to take the place of one or another brother, acting as the agent of the family in their dealings with the straits regime, and the sellers in various ports. They trusted him. For the Sonninos these voyages were not much fun, and they were glad to share the responsibility with a European whom the Turks took to be a Moslem. Indeed this Sebastiano, as Paniotis had "re-christened" him, could do deals with the authorities easier than the brothers could, since they did not have the advantage of being Moslems. Sebastian on the other hand, loved the sea in all its moods, and even loved the uncertainty and the challenge of finding the right cargoes for his partners at the right price. Sebastian worked hard to justify the brothers' confidence in him, finding new ways to make bribes go farther. He did not go back on his inadvertent profession of Islam — to do that would be dangerous for his health. But the flutist from Samatya no longer went to his old lodge as frequently as before, not because of any falling out, but because of a gentle falling away which was caused by distance and the passage of time. Yet at times he still yearned for the fellowship of the otherworldly dervishes. The war dragged on, but without the crucial battles of the Koprulu years. People said that both sides were too exhausted to make an end of the war by fighting, and that the Turks were only being kept in the war by bribes from the French king. Yet another Sultan had come to power, one who was convinced that only the immorality of the Moslems could explain the military dilemma, especially wine drinking. In all quarters of the city, including giaour Pera, there descended a ban on wine drinking in public. The beatings that Sebastian witnessed were those administered to drunken Moslems, it being considered a greater shame for the followers of Muhammad, than for those of Jesus or Moses. This served to make overindulgence at the Sonninos' house all

- 349 the more attractive, virtually obligatory. But one had to be very careful while going home not to be noticed. For Sebastian this was easy, since he had found a room very close to the house of his new employers. He had only to take a few steps through the dark, after looking around for patrols. He ate many of his meals on the street. He also had not far to go to satisfy another side of his animal nature, since there were a variety of non-Moslem women in Pera who made their living by satisfying men's animal natures, especially one Greek woman who sang in the tavernas, with whom anything was possible except love. She was very responsive, a wonderful quality in women. But Sebastian, living more like a Levantine than like a Moslem, became a patient of Paniotis. It was after his first painful treatment for venereal disease at the dottore's hands that Paniotis showed him the planet Venus using the telescope. "You should see this for your own good, so you know who you are up against." Venus led naturally to Venice. So then they spoke of Venice, as they had several times in the past. But this time Dr. Paniotis expanded on the evenings that he had spent there on canals that were devoted to the honored profession. "There was one woman there. Most extraordinary! She really thought she was Maria Magdalena." "Describe her for me, would you please?" asked Sebastian. He listened while Paniotis described the woman whose memory he still carried bright and intact in his own heart — her room, her clothes, her scents, her tapestry. "Yes, dottore, I knew her too." "Signore Sebastiano. How strange! Can I believe this? You knew her too?" They stared at each other in amazement, like the members of a secret fraternity who had discovered each other accidentally. "Yes, knew her and was for a time her obedient servant. Fortunately I came to myself, and left Venice. But it is all a trick, isn't it, dottore, this love thing — amore, or whatever you want to call it? It is an illusion, don't you agree?" "Yes, it is a trick, my brother. But it is one of God's tricks. A very powerful trick, one we cannot live without." Gradually Sebastian adopted every typical Levantine habit. He learned the mandolin. The Italian community at Pera had a wooden theater where one could see at least fragments of operas that had become famous in Italy, or plays, or other entertainment. Afternoons he would spend on the Pera side at his favorite café among a set of gossips who spoke Italian, and played tavola and bocce. He would end his days at the

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Sonninos' stone house, smoking, drinking wine, eating pasta, cheese and salami, playing chess, gossiping and laughing with them, all the while trying to outdo them. At the Sonninos there was daily traffic in rumors about the army, the vezirs, the palace, and the life going on around them. Often they were joined by the mercurial Paniotis, the philosopher-doctor whose knowledge of politics in the western world was always ahead of their own, fed by his correspondents in Padua. Paniotis was also on good terms with the vezirs' translation office, which was headed by another well-educated Greek, an official who was very well informed. In these later years of the war, Sebastian developed a keen interest in ships and in sailing because of his work as an agent of the Sonninos. He regularly accompanied boats owned or leased by the Sonninos to nearby shores, or even the banks of the Danube, to haul grain, to deal with the local powers that be, and to keep the ship captains honest. He paid bribes continually. Sebastian had gotten used to this, and the Sonninos trusted him not to exaggerate the amount of the bribes. The voyages were often hazardous, but Sebastian found he had an affinity with water. The boats were mostly open to the weather, with little concession to comfort, even for agents. But Sebastian did not get seasick easily, and would even presume to advise at times on how to sail, taking advantage of his own position. At times his lung bothered him, and he had to be careful to stay warm enough at night. But he came to love the itineraries of the grain and timber boats. Was there anything like returning to Istanbul in the month of Ramazan with the skyline lit up with lamps? One day on the grains docks Sebastian was approached by a man who turned out to be a foreign seaman. He was a strangely dressed Englishman, accompanied by a Jewish merchant, who had undertaken to help him find Sebastian. Using a poor Italian, the Englishman said he had been looking for quite some time for Sebastian, and had wasted "molto tempo" in the old city before discovering where he was now working. He was carrying two letters for Sebastian. "That's impossible", said the convert in Italian. "No one knows where I am." "You're wrong there, signore", replied the seaman. He turned over two letters wrapped in waxed paper, looking relieved to be rid of them. He was the bosun of an English vessel, one of the rare ones calling at Istanbul in those years.

- 351 The letters had been a long time in coming by a circuitous route. Yet, here they were. The first letter opened was signed by Colonel Berenger! Donnerwetter! The colonel he first met in Graz had made it back to Austria after escaping from the tanners. But how? Berenger did not explain in the letter, leaving Sebastian to wonder whether this seemingly impossible feat was not as difficult as he had thought. The bosun saw his surprise and explained that the colonel had gotten passage on a ship, but how he did it he did not know. Berenger had reported his Styrian savior's survival to the regiment. Although Sebastian's commission had lapsed, he would be able to obtain another if that were his wish. The other letter was from Anna Maria! Oh, scheist! She now knew not only that he was alive, but that he had not tried to communicate. She would be right to be angry, and reading between the lines he could sense that she was. Dear Sebastian, my dear Brother. Colonel Berenger was good enough to seek us out upon his return to Austria and has informed us that you are alive and living in the enemy's capital. He is extremely grateful to you for helping him escape and for this reason took the trouble to find us and tell us something about your fate. But Brother, how strange all this is! We have lived for years thinking you were dead. Your regiment at Karlovac could tell us only that you were hopelessly wounded at Skopelia and left behind. They assumed you were dead and so did we. Now we know the truth and can rejoice. But Sebastian, when will we see you here at home with us once again? This is where you belong! Re si has a brother now, which makes you twice an uncle. Klaus is making brandy out of our sour wine, adding sugar to make it drinkable. Our dear father and Uncle Heinz would turn over in their graves if they knew, but in fact this has been more profitable than selling wine, since it is easier to transport. The result is that we are doing quite well. Klaus says that you are most extremely welcome to come back to Purgstall and take Uncle's place as his partner. Surely that is preferable to living among the enemy! We asked the good colonel if you too had been enslaved, a terrible thought, but he assured us that you were not. So why have you not written us? Please brother write, or better yet, come as soon as you can. Your sister who loves you, Anna Maria

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But Sebastian did not write. How could he possibly explain? In the spring of 1697 Paniotis was the first to know that the strategic situation of the Habsburgs had changed and that the Imperials would now be able to bring more resources to bear against the Moslems. There was also a rumor that the commander who had made such a name for himself in Italy, the Savoy prince, was returning to the eastern front, which he had left after being wounded when the Imperials took Belgrade. This news startled Sebastian. He vividly remembered seeing the Savoy prince at Mohacs. That prince, at the time no older than Sebastian was now, had been the officer who urged his dragoons over the tops of the fortifications, planting the Habsburg banner in place of the green standard of the Moslems. And now this titan of the war in the west was to command Imperial forces in the east! But what about Egon Hochmut? What had happened to him? Sebastian could not help wondering if his highborn roommate had managed to become a general. Even if that were so, he would not envy him, not any more. It was owing to his experience as a voyager and the position of trust he had now gained with the Sonninos that Sebastian accidentally witnessed the terrible battle of Zenta. As usual, the campaign was preceded with a great parade in the capital. This time the Sultan himself, he who so disapproved of wine, was to accompany the army. This Sultan wanted to be witness to the victories that were bound to come now because of the stiffened morality of the Moslem community. The river flotilla needed additional boats. The Sonninos' boats thus were commandeered along with many others to carry winter wheat up the Danube for the army. Sebastian's job was to try to bring back the Sonnino boats in good condition if that were possible, for which the brothers promised to reward him well. The broad bottomed wheat boats were accompanied by the skiffs of the river flotilla, manned by galley slaves pulling many oars on each side. If Berenger the recruiter had not taken shelter with the tanners, he probably would have been an oarsman in this flotilla. The wheat boats were unloaded at the Iron Gate, where rapids made the middle reaches of the Danube impassable. There all the grain they carried had to be unloaded, and like the boats themselves, loaded on wagons, hauled around the rapids, and reloaded up the river, a laborious ordeal which took weeks to accomplish. Along with the rest of the flotilla, Sebastian was ordered to accompany his cargo to the army, even though like other suppliers, he was not a member of the military. This was a difficult moment for the Styrian because he realized that anything done for the army by anyone would contribute to its

- 353 eventual success, and he did not wish to be implicated. He considered that it might touch on what was left of his honor. But after reflecting upon the consequences for himself and the Sonninos, he went. Passing the battered fortress at Belgrade at the beginning of August, the river flotilla joined a Turkish army which had marched overland from Edirne. The high-minded new Sultan was with them, determined either to retake the Danube fortress of Petrovaradin, which was conveniently situated on the south bank of the Danube, or else to cross the Danube, and outmarch the Imperial army in order to take the town of Szegedin well to the north. Having crossed the Danube and two smaller rivers, each of them presenting a moment of danger, the Turks then made a northward turn to go up the east bank of the Tisza River, a tributary which joined the Danube a ways downstream from Petrovaradin. In this way the Turks calculated that they could shield their comrades at Temisvar, a stronghold to the east which had been under threat from the Imperials, and cross the Tisza River going westward, and advance on Szegedin from the south. The Turkish army of those years had lost much of its former confidence. More than one veteran of past campaigns thought it best to avoid direct confrontation with any large Imperial force on terms which the Austrian commanders had themselves chosen, especially given the formidable reputation of the Savoy prince, recently returned from the battlegrounds of Europe. But the overconfident Sultan ignored this counsel of caution and instead took the advice of the majority of his advisors, who favored the long march to the north to Segedin, crossing three rivers on the way. Obedient to this command from on high, the Turkish army flouted danger repeatedly while crossing rivers. A pontoon bridge had been constructed over the marshy banks of the Tisza River at a place near Zenta, so as to carry the Turks over to the western banks. But at a critical moment, with a large part of the army still to cross over, the waiting Austrians opened artillery fire on their bridge, already under stress from the weight of a mass of pack animals that had drowned during the crossing. The fate of that part of the army that had already crossed to the west side was now sealed, just as the graybeards had warned. While the pious Sultan and his retinue watched helplessly from the eastern bank, standing amid the main part of the army, the Turkish vanguard on the western bank, headed by the grand vezir and including many other high ranking officers, fell back under sudden attack by the Imperials. Immediately as they fell back on the failed bridge, the Turks on the west bank, who were so recently full

— 354 of ardor and hope, all knew that they had been caught in a trap. The entire vanguard was fated to perish in the ensuing slaughter. The Sonnino's grain agent watched transfixed as the outcome of the battle became apparent. Sebastian was not perfectly placed to see all the action, being a way downstream from the collapsed bridge on his boat. But soon the boat he was standing on, already loaded with grain, was being inundated by drifting survivors. Turks who could not swim were desperately attempting to cross back over the Tisza, trying belatedly to learn how to swim. Thousands took their stand in the shallows, determined to give a good account of themselves. The red water soon choked with the drowning and broken bodies of men, horses and mules. A westerly breeze was driving the smoke of battle eastward across the river, so that at times one could not see the bank on which the Moslem main force was watching, paralyzed to a man. But for a moment Sebastian, peering through the acrid man-made mist, caught sight of a gaily attired figure he recognized; it was young Cantemir mounted on his horse on the eastern bank among the Sultan's personal escort. Ferhat Efendi too would be among the chavushes who guarded the Sultan that day but Sebastian could not pick him out. As smoke closed over the east bank once more, Sebastian entered a zone in which time froze. He stared up the river listening to the awful music of battle, the bass line made by the staccato roar of weapons, over it the chaotic uproar of the dying. With an effort Sebastian pried his attention from desperados trying to quit the west bank, and concentrated instead on the Imperials lining the marshy shore behind them, shooting down upon the Turks, or lunging at them with their bayonets. Where was the Savoy prince, their commander? But instead of Eugene, Sebastian caught sight of someone else whom he knew very well, a sight that made his heart jump. Amid the smoke and chaos on the western bank he glimpsed his old roommate Egon. There was no doubt about it. Egon was laying about him as though cutting hay, seemingly oblivious of all danger. He was still a colonel apparently, but what a colonel! Egon Hochmut was surrounded by Croat hussars whom Sebastian recognized as such by the fur trim on the dolmans strapped to their saddles. So that was it! His old friend was now commander of a Hussar unit, and flying his own flag, that of the House of Hochmut which Sebastian had first seen when they rode back from Venice together on that Christmas so long ago. The dizzying work of slaughter swirled along the marshy riverbank. At one moment the grain agent tried to call out: "Bravo Hochmut, bravo!" But he could not even hear himself in the terrific

- 355 roar, the clanging of metal on metal, the popping firearms, the human and animal screaming. His voice caught, his throat seized, and he felt himself sob. How silly! What was he really feeling? Did he really care now how well Egon did his work, or that the Austrians were winning an epic battle? In this moment he realized how far his heart had changed, changed almost without his noticing it. He may have once been a man of war, but that man was gone. He could never be that again. Some Turks swam, but most could not. The doomed vanguard were either desperately resisting the hussars, a few trying in vain to surrender, or they had jumped into the river, splashing and sputtering. The river now ran red. Men and animals, some still alive, drifted downstream, the men clawing at the gunwales, demanding to be helped up, begging to live a little longer. The grizzled pilot of the Sonnino grain boat, who was by now beside himself with fear, kept pulling at the grain agent's sleeve, trying to get him to move downstream and away from the survivors. But Sebastian would not let him move. Soon the grain boat was full of wet, wounded, cursing, groaning men. Other supply boats which had been stationed nearby had already withdrawn downstream, and were also loaded with survivors. An unbidden thought flew like a shot through the agent's mind. If he were to shed these oriental clothes and swim to the bank opposite, if he kept shouting in German, there was a good chance that he might escape, tell some tall story, survive and return to the vineyards of Styria. Now if ever that was possible. But this thought died as soon as it was born. The onetime dragoon knew now, had known for years in fact, that he would not be going back to his homeland. He was content with the irregular life he was living, as happy as he had ever been or ever would be, strange though that might seem were he to try to explain it to his family or his countrymen. He was sorry about the war. He was sorry to see the Turks taking this terrible beating. But the outcome of the battle and the fate of Hungary was God's business, not his. He turned to give an order to the boat's pilot, who was gaping at him in dismay. "We can go now."

EPILOGUE

Sebastian Winkler, known as Basti Chelebi by Moslems who knew him in the old city, and as Sebastiano by his Pera friends, lived on at Istanbul until 1717, when he died of an epidemic disease caused by the renewed fighting at Belgrade. He had become an expert shipper, and almost well to do, but he did not again attempt family life. It was as though in giving up his homeland, and the practice of the religion he had been born into (whatever he may have believed in his heart), and after neglecting opportunities to contact his relatives in Styria, he had lost all incentive to form a family to carry on his own name. What name was there to carry on anyway? Who cared that his surname had once been Winkler? At Istanbul it was only certain Christian and Jewish families who troubled themselves with family names. Moslems used personal names to identify themselves while living, and then sensibly surrendered their names to Allah as they surrendered their bodies, dying with simplicity and humility, permitting themselves to be committed to the soil in shrouds, then left to disintegrate, leaving only memories behind. After tasting life, such as it was, they seemed ready to die and leave their names behind upon passing beyond. How wise they were! Sebastian was determined to do the same. This willingness to accept anonymity was just one of the attitudes which Sebastian unwittingly adopted under the influence of the wider society around him. Accepted by the world around him as a Moslem, he had discovered life in Istanbul to be for the most part sweet once he found the way to make a living. This was especially true during the languid "tulip years" which followed the end of the long war over Hungary. Particularly sweet was the personal life that he had fallen into Pera, where most of his friends lived, friends who argued about science, life, and politics. Whatever their own religion these Levantines understood the sensitivity of his situation, did not press him about his apparent conversion, and did not ask his views on religion, which would only have embarrassed him needlessly. After the war ended Sebastian chanced to meet a Moslem his own age, who was working at the reopened Austrian embassy as an interpreter. It turned out that the reason that Osman Aga spoke excellent German was that, like Sebastian, he had been captured in the

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war years, but by the other side. This Osman had spent most of the war years in service at Vienna, walking the same streets that Sebastian and Klaus had walked only a few years before. When Sebastian questioned him further Osman Aga revealed that he had been captured and held for ransom by Imperial troops operating on the Sava. "What year?" Sebastian wanted to know. It had been 1688, the very year that Sebastian himself had been fighting on the Sava wearing a captain's insignia. They looked at each other with real curiosity. Why had heaven acted on them in such opposite ways? Was there now some reason why they had now met, not really by chance, some reason they could not fathom? After this first encounter in Pera, the two met each other accidentally on several occasions, experiencing again a strong feeling of kinship. But unlike the Austrian, Osman Aga had returned home. Whereas the Austrian had chosen to stay among his erstwhile foes, Osman gladly left behind the years of captivity on the other side and returned to his own people. With his help, Sebastian could have been introduced at the new Habsburg embassy and found his way home. He did not take the opportunity. He had decided to stay, and did not regret it. As for the Moslems in his life, these took their Basti's conversion at face value and counted him as a Moslem too. Most of these were illiterate, not well versed or even interested in theology, even though prepared to die for Islam. Moslems who knew him as "the convert Basti" simply counted him as someone who had seen the light, quite understandably. If they suspected anything different, no one said so. Religion aside, this strange fellow Basti-Sebastiano was lauded even by total strangers for the pensive solos he sent drifting skyward with his wooden flute. His unaccompanied solos could go on for hours, while tavola and card games were set aside. He could hold the denizens of a taverna on the Pera side or of a coffeehouse on the old city side, however rough they might be, in respectful contemplation of their own lives, or of life itself. Whether wine or coffee or arak, Basti-Sebastiano almost never paid, since his listeners vied for the honor. It was known by his admirers that the flutist particularly favored something added to his drink, mastic or cardamom in his coffee, and also perhaps a bit of hashish embedded in a ball of honey. On the old city side, the flutist found a storyteller whom he particularly liked and would often accompany him from one place to another. The storyteller would perform first, then with the attention of the audience still concentrated, Sebastian would follow him with his wooden flute.

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The Styrian flutist favored tavernas and coffee houses that were on hilltops facing the setting sun, where men would gather daily to watch the sun go down. The coffee houses were sometimes even glassed in, with rows of lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and fountains and soft cushions for their customers. But most coffee houses and taverns served from behind a raised platform facing a street or a little park, where customers sat outside in fair weather on tree stumps or on mats of felt or rushes. In those years there were certain kinds of music which got under everyone's skin, Istanbul music which through long habit became understandable to everyone regardless of where they were from, or what religion they professed. If a man were a good musician, he was esteemed wherever he went, and might occasionally have his hand kissed by admirers. The Styrian had the satisfaction of being recognized all over the city as a man with soul. Even rough seamen and stevedores would point him out as "the flutist". If at times Basti-Sebastiano did not show up for a while at his favorite haunts, it was assumed that he was away on a voyage, on board vessels headed for ports on the shores of the surrounding seas where provisions were thought to be had. There he would deal with agas who had control over substantial holdings, or with their middlemen, and negotiate to bring back to Istanbul whatever was on offer. The Sonnino brothers continued to prefer him as their agent, not only because of his proven honesty, but knowing too that as a Moslem he could make better deals, and would not meet the harassment from the straits authorities that had sometimes been their downfall in the past. As time went by, the agent profited from these missions, becoming himself a partner and sharing in the financial risks and rewards of these voyages. At some point he acquired a cat, or rather a cat acquired him. The shaky kitten grew in time into a sleek, soft creature with beautiful markings. It gave Sebastian tremendous pleasure to hold and stroke this cat by the hour despite the cat's habitually scratching him when displeased. Since the creature's only virtue was its beauty, the flutist, in a mood of irony, named it Tijen. Not trusting anyone to take care of his cat while he was away, Sebastian would take this mini-Tijen on his voyages, a source of amusement for the crews. But this lead to her downfall, for she was lost at sea in a storm. In those later years few knew how deeply he had come to feel about the sea, that profound presence which he first felt at Venice, that disturbing blue which he had glimpsed flashing through the city gates of Thessaloniki. Unlike most men around him, he was quite prepared to die at sea. His apparent recklessness was resented by the pilots over

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whom he had sway — they did not want to die at sea. So Sebastian was surprised on one occasion when their overloaded boat had been swamped and their grain was spilling into the sea to hear himself say, "Sweet Jesus, hear my prayer!" Afterwards when they did not sink after all, this seeming miracle made him laugh. So that was what was at the bottom! In the end he and his pilots survived all those storms, their hearts leaping with gratitude and relief when they reached the safe and familiar straits of the capital. Whatever battles had not taught this man of the world about himself, the sea taught him. He did not belittle family life, or friendship, or the wonderful bodies of women. But he did not need human company as much as he needed his own music, and the surrounding seas. Other humans he saw through a refracting lens; they could be wonderful, they could be awful. It was a puzzle why he, and they, varied so much more than other creatures under the sun.He saw how alone he had become, how far from his roots, but he did not mind it. The world was very beautiful, not always kind, but always beautiful. He was pleased to have seen it. One day it would go on without him. When his time came, the man they knew as Basti Chelebi was buried with his flute, buried directly into the earth in a shroud in the Moslem manner, his funeral attended by admirers from all over the city, even those who had only heard him play, and had never spoken with him.