knows, had some of us warned you of the dangers beyond the second levee, you might have been spared your injuries. Your situation informs the rest of us to be more willing to look after all our foreign neighbors."
Ragoczy made a show of pondering these possibilities, and finally said, "I cannot do anything against the mandate of Augustus, no matter how helpful it may be."
"No, no. Of course not. But consider the advantages if we pool our information, and help those coming here to avoid the pitfalls they may encounter." He waved his hand to emphasize that he had no intention to undermine Ragoczy's mission. "But insofar as we must deal with this place, and the whims of the Czar, don't you think that whenever it is practicable, that we agree to provide each other whatever information we may have for the purpose of protecting ourselves and our delegacies from any untoward development."
Saint-Germain responded carefully. "You must have instances in mind."
"Actually, the attack you sustained was the incident that made me aware of the advantage of sharing intelligence as I have mentioned already. Had you been told that there were gangs out in the marshes, you might have been better prepared for such an eventuality as your ambush. And it struck me that there were other aspects of intelligence that could be shared, as well."
"Oh. Were we ambushed?" Saint-Germain asked.
"Don't you know?" Von Altenburg was shocked to learn this.
"No. I recall leaving the house with Vladimir Pavlovich, and I have a few incoherent impressions of being struck with a club, but once we reached the second levee, I have no clear recollection of anything else until the Finnish Watch found me. They were the ones who brought me to the care-house." He saw something flicker in von Altenburg's eyes. "Why: have you heard something?"
"No, nothing. Nothing." He wiped his lips with his handkerchief. "I assumed, as did everyone, that there had to have been an ambush. How else could you and the supervisor have been overpowered? Those gangs lie in wait for the reckless, and had you been warned, you might have had a better outcome."
"No doubt," said Saint-Germain, wondering what was behind this offer. "It is an interesting proposition, Graf; one that, as you say, has advantages. I would like a day or two to think it over."
For the first time, von Altenburg became huffy. "I'd think the advantages of such an arrangement would be obvious."
"Oh, they are," said Saint-Germain smoothly. "But, do you know, I have learned over the years that sometimes a tempting offer conceals difficulties that come to light only after the offer has been accepted." He gave a self-deprecating smile. "I do not say that is your intention to lure me into an agreement that would redound to my disadvantage, but before we pledge our mutual support, we may both want to understand where the limits of the agreement lie," he went on, forestalling van Altenburg's protests. "I believe it would be prudent to anticipate possible problems before they arise. Such matters are more easily set aside than undone."
"Understandable, understandable," von Altenburg grumbled. "I do take your point, Herzog. Given your reception in Sankt Piterburkh, a little reserve may be wise." He poured more wine and took a long sip. "How long are you assigned here?"
This abrupt change of subject bemused Saint-Germain, who nonetheless answered the question. "It depends on my usefulness. Augustus of Poland did not set a limit on my mission. Either the King, or my wife, may call a halt to our assignment."
"Not you?" Von Altenburg was surprised by this news.
"No, not I. Keep in mind that my wife is Polish--I am Hungarian, which is why you inquired about the current uprising." He inclined his head.
"That you are," said von Altenburg. "That you are."
The room was warming steadily; Hroger left the stove, bowed to the two men near the windows, and went off to the third room of the house.
"He seems an attentive servant," von Altenburg remarked.
"He is; he has been with me half my life." Saint-Germain had a swift recollection of a day in Imperial Rome when he had come upon a badly beaten man in the shadow of the unfinished Flavian Circus,
when Rogerian had been dying from a beating; Saint-Germain had restored him to life and gained a loyal companion. "I trust him implicitly."
"A rare encomium," said von Altenburg, and in three large swallows finished the wine. "Well, Herzog, I don't want to tire you, nor do I want to keep my horses standing on such a windy day, so I'll take my leave." He got to his feet, and offered a bow with a flourish. "Thank you for receiving me. And thank you for hearing me out."
"You are most welcome, Graf." He nodded his head to answer the bow. "I anticipate our next meeting with pleasure."
Hroger appeared again, and went to hold the door for Graf von Altenburg.
"It will be in a day or two, Graf," Saint-Germain assured him.
"Good. Good." He bowed again, and stepped through the door, signaling to his coachman.
"What was he after?" Hroger asked in English once the door was closed.
Saint-Germain shook his head slowly. "I wish I knew."
Text of a letter from Mungo Laurie, Scottish engineer, to his wife in Edinburgh; carried by ship and delivered two months after it was written.
To my most-dear spouse, and light of my life, the affectionate greetings of your husband.
My dear Hepzibah, my mouselet,
Thanks be to God, we arrived safely in this new city of Russia. We made good time, for even with three ports-of-call along the way, we were here in five weeks. The
Royal Standard
has come through two storms and fields of icebergs without harm, and the Captain, Kenneth Montgomery, is confident of a swift return. This should be in your hands in good time.
Five of us have been set the task of making a plan for dredging a proper harbor, for at present ships must anchor off-shore for fear of raking their underbellies on the shoals of sand and silt nearer the islands
where the first buildings have been erected. We have been given a crew of three hundred men, some Swedes, but most of them from the southern reaches of Russia. This is a daunting task, for there is little equipment in place for such a project, no matter how many men we're allotted, although we have been assured that the Czar will have such �gines sent from Amsterdam in the next few weeks. It appears he ordered them at the end of last summer and expects delivery by the middle of June. Barges are already under construction for our use.
This city is filled with industry. Everywhere one sees men working in their hundreds at draining the marshes, sinking piles into the earth, building up embankments and securing them with logs against the day when the logs will be replaced with quarried stone. On the land, carts arrive frequently with loads of logs, to be met by sawyers, who cut the lengths before the wood is ferried across. The sound of hammers and the clunk and groan of the treadmills create a din that is worse than a brawl on market-day. When you think that just over a year ago, there was nothing here but marshes and a few fishermen's huts, the buildings already here are remarkable in their number. The Swedish fortress is a small place, yet the Czar's village has expanded beyond its limits, and this island, called the Island of Hares, where the construction is centered, is supposed to be filled with houses and official palaces in a matter of four or five years.
I have not yet seen the Czar, although there is constant talk about him. If the reports are to be believed, the man is a giant: they say he is more than six and a half feet tall! One of the English shipwrights, a good-natured fellow named Tarquin Humphries, saw him when he was in England a few years since, and says that the man was taller than that.
Our housing is in the Foreign Quarter, which is to be expected. It is where all the foreigners who are not in work-gangs are housed, from servants to titled masters. There are strict rules for the houses in the city, but in the Foreign Quarter, there is some leeway in how the houses are built. We have a two-room house that fourteen of us share, the others being assigned similar quarters, and there is a Russian bath-house but a short walk from the door. This house is composed of a room filled with bunks and a room in which we eat and amuse
ourselves. We have been allowed two extra windows. The houses are all of wood, but we're told that one day they will all be of masonry. The Czar has ordered that there be palaces in stone by the end of this decade, and a viable port as well. One cannot say this Peter lacks ambitions, but how he can prosecute this Swedish war and complete his city, I can't fathom.
Forgive me, my mouselet, for not writing longer, but Captain Montgomery has sent his ensign for any letters we may have, so I must close, but I promise I will write again soon, and as often as I may. Even such things as paper are in short supply here, so if you have the opportunity to acquire a supply, please dispatch it with my fur-lined cloak and my elk-hide boots: we're told the winters here are fierce.
Until I see you again, do not doubt that my love is with you from sunrise to sunrise every day of my life.
Your husband,
Mungo Laurie
on the 6th day of June, 1704
3
Heer Lodewick Kerstan van Hoek stood in the window of the care-house using a magnifying lens to study the state of Saint-Germain's knuckles, shaking his head, ruminating on the damage he saw; when he spoke, it was in Dutch, so that their discussion would be private. "I don't know that I'd recommend removing the splint from your hand quite yet, Hercegek. I know you expected to be able to go to bandages by now, but I can't recommend it. Hands are tricky, and if they heal badly, well--it hasn't been quite four weeks since your injuries. Your ribs will have to remain wrapped for another month at least, and you'd be doing yourself a favor if you continued to avoid strain." He
was somewhat taller than Saint-Germain, thin as a stork, longheaded, and scholarly of manner; his clothes were well-made, of Dutch cut in a deep-brown shade of fine wool, his chemise simple white linen with only bands to serve as a neck-cloth. His only ornament was silver buckles on his shoes. Nearly forty and showing his age, he regarded his patient narrowly. "Yet you seem a robust fellow; you've a good, deep chest and sturdy musculature. In spite of the beating you took, you're a strapping figure of a man, a good indication that you're recovering."
"A fortunate accident of birth," said Saint-Germain, inclining his head. His Dutch was a bit old-fashioned but not so much that he and van Hoek had any trouble understanding each other. Today he had donned a coat and knee-britches of cerulean-blue velvet; his waistcoat was dove-gray satin heavily embroidered in silver, and the leg-hose on his right leg was the same dove-gray. More for fashion than necessity, he carried a cane topped with a large, polished black sapphire, and, at Hroger's recommendation, he wore the English wig.
"As is so much of life--we see it every day," said van Hoek with a sigh. "I am going to bandage your leg again, but not splint it. The bruise on the bone has subsided and you have no inflammation of the ankle or the knee that I can observe, which shows that your circulation is not impeded. That's what I worry about--impediments to circulation." He nodded toward the most recent addition among those needing treatment. "Not like that poor devil. I don't think his hand can be saved. It was caught between rolling logs and was crushed in the palm. I can only hope that the hand doesn't putrefy, for if it does, he'll lose most of his arm. As it is, I fear he'll lose the hand, and soon. The bones can't be set, and the fingers will be useless."
"Can you do that procedure?" Saint-Germain asked.
"Remove a hand? Oh, yes. I don't like having to, however," said van Hoek, his eyes turning sad. "Such a loss is so final."
"A bad situation," said Saint-Germain, who paused thoughtfully before saying, "I have a remedy that may be of use to you. It aids in reducing the severity of putrescence in a wound, or from an illness. If you would permit me, I would like to bring some to you, for you and
Ludmilla Borisevna to use. It would be small enough recompense for what you have done for me." Lacking a laboratory in Sankt Piterburkh, and with little likelihood of being allowed to build one, Saint-Germain had brought a generous supply of the sovereign remedy with him from Poland in hermetically sealed jars.
Van Hoek looked mildly troubled. "Not one of those compounds the peasants make, is it? Rancid fat and boiled nettles and who-knows-what in it?"
"I learned its ingredients a long time ago, and it has served me well through my travels," said Saint-Germain. "I had it from a physician of great reputation, but if you would prefer I not--"
"If Ludmilla Borisevna approves, I'm willing to try it out, and to thank you for caring about this injured man. So many of those in the Foreign Quarter are unwilling to extend their help to us that sometimes I despair. This is the only place where they can come if they're hurt; you'd think they would want us to--" He cleared his throat. "That is the trouble with this work. So many men are injured. We see only the supervisors, you know. The regular workmen are sent to the Russian priests, who give them pages of Scripture and bathe the hurt in Holy Water. Then they're left to their own devices. A great many of them die. Just three days ago, five men died working on the Naval Headquarters, where the Czar plans to have his Admiralty. A beam fell, crushing them. They were blessed and sent off to the other side of the river. There's a grave-pit over there."
Saint-Germain had heard about the incident, but said only, "How heavy are the losses among the common laborers?"
"Oh, quite heavy. With the long days, they're worked sixteen hours a day. They have poor food and bad water, and they sleep in tents on damp ground. The summer will be worse: Swamp Fever is everywhere in the summer, and not just the workers die from it." Van Hoek went back across the room, calling out in Russian as he went, "Kyril, if you would, bring me some bandages, the wide ones, if you please."