Book III: The Wolf and the lamb: Chapter III

Chapter III: The Wolf's Den

Across the valley, in the dark foot hills, Lieutenant Loccriccio upon his own steed approached the gate of the dark Castle Verfluchter Todd, the intent of his visit yet unclear. Upon the stone posts of the gate and wall was the word “INGVLFR” and below was the crest that beheld a bust of a double-headed woman from which two growling wolves were seen. He cautiously entered the grounds following the dark wood-lined path to the castle itself. There he found the entire building dark and quiet but for the evening wind that rustled through the black trees around him.

The Lieutenant’s training and sharp senses told him that he was being watched from the woods, and he slowly dismounted his steed, drawing his blade, he turned to face the dark woods, and thus he spake, “Lo, who goes there? Show yourself! I am an officer of the Imperial Majesty, and I am here to seek the counsel of the Reverend Custos Morum.”

The softly rustling wind turned into a rumbling growl as a black beast, all covered in thick coat of fur and the snarling face of a wolf emerged from the shadows. It held the limbs and sharp claws of a wolf, but stood upon its hind quarters as if it were a man. In one bloody hand it held the severed arm of another maiden and shreds of flesh hung from its sharpened teeth. The beast did answer thusly, “Brother Úlfhéðnar, you are late.”

Using his blade to point at the beast’s bloody mouth, Loccriccio spoke once more, “By Lycaon’s curse, you have supped upon the flesh of another human!”

The beast recalled a popular Christian invocation in it’s native Slavic tongue, “U volka v zubakh -Egorii dal,” then it laid bare his fangs in a ghastly smile and, “If a wolf has something in its teeth, St. George gave it,” the beast then snorted loudly as if to laugh at its own joke, “Aye, Master von Fockewülfe has called on the body of Úlfhéðnar as the purifiers of the Faith,” was the beasts reply, and lifting the severed limb in offering to Loccraccio, he continued thusly, “the humans are like chattle and are weak and corrupt, and Master von Fockewülfe, the Ulbrecht of our Pacte, has called for a holy Lycourgos to cleanse the earth of the weak and corrupt.”

At the sight of the limb, strong and powerful urges swelled from deep within Loccriccio’s soul, but he is able to suppress the dark urges and steps back from the beast’s offering. At this the beast howls into the night, and growls at the Lieutenant, “Ho, what is this? That a Brother Úlfhéðnar resists the Lycourgos? You have lived among the humans and far too long in their midst…I have seen with mine own eyes how you look upon that human, Amelie. Perhaps you have been corrupted as well…”

With a flick and flash of his blade, Loccriccio draws blood from the beast’s arm, cutting deep into its flesh. “By Saint James, hold your tongue or have it cut out by my hand! I am still a Brother Úlfhéðnar and senior to you among the Pacte!” The beast yelped at the deep wound and dropped the severed limb, as Loccriccio continued to speak, “Who has called for this bloodrage? Speak or I shall dine on your flesh for speaking such heresy.”

The beast growled and hissed before he replied, “Brother Könner, the younger von Fockewülfe, driven is he to madness at the spurring of his advances by the Abbess, he has called for this blood rage under the Lycourgos. The whole Úlfhéðnar debate it now in the chambers beneath the catacombs.”

Behind the castle, Loccriccio enters the ancient crypt of Greigor that leads beneath the castle into the catacombs below. After descending several levels of winding catacombs, Loccriccio comes upon two broad doors and enters the one on the left. Upon entering the scent of blood was strong and again he felt the dark urges rise from within his body. In the small chamber were a number of benches and small orifices cut into the rock wall. Within each and upon several of the benches were neatly folded articles of clothing. Finding one such orifice empty, Loccriccio divested himself of all metallic substances and disrobed. After which, Loccriccio succumbed to the blood scent and the call of the beast and his flesh tore and bones cracked as his form changed to that of a Lupine or Were-Wolf as the ancient Norse called them. From his mouth, his human teeth fell as his true fangs emerged from his gums, as did his fingernails and toenails to be replaced by his claws.

Having changed into his ancient form, Loccriccio entered the Great Hall of Ingúlfr, there at the far end was the tomb of Ingúlfr herself, the Matriarch of the Pacte des Loups. Upon the wall of the chamber above the tomb was the same crest as was found at the castle gate. Under the crest was the year 1015. The great hall that hosted several hundred Lupines was devoid of any metallic objects or furnishing but for the tomb itself. The Fockewülfes were descendants of the 11th Century Russian Prince of Polotsk. Prince Vassiley was considered to have been a Were-wolf, capable of superhuman strength and speeds. As the spread of Christianity into Northern Europe brought persecution, many were hunted to extinction, some did survive, and some feigned conversion to Christianity to avoid persecution, Vassiley was among them. He created a dark cult under the guise of conversion, and saw himself and his Úlfhéðnar followers as “Purifiers of the Faith,” to cleanse the earth of what he saw as the weak and corrupt.

In the year 1015, Vassiley and his kin were hunted to the last man and driven from Polotsk, his wife escaped with her unborn son and took refuge with a young count as distant relatives of Count Greigor von Fockewülfe, who took pity on the comely and lovely damsel in distress. The child born was named Hrodulf and bore the count’s name. Unknown to the poor Count, the young lady he had taken pity on and rescued was Ingúlfr Rogneda of Polotsk, a Lupine and chief wife to Vassiley.

According to the legend, Ingúlfr was chief Conchobhar or wolf-lover. It is said that there are women who, in consequence of deadly sins, are condemned to spend part of their lives in wolf’s form. In a typical account, a condemned woman is visited by a wolfskin-toting spirit, Liulfr, who orders her to wear the skin, which causes her to acquire frightful cravings for human flesh soon after. With her better nature overcome, the she-wolf devours human flesh. She wanders only at night, with doors and locks springing open at her approach. Once the son was born and named heir by Count Greigor von Fockewülfe, Ingúlfr one night turned on her surprised rescuer and devoured him in whole. Serving as regent for the heir, she slowly sought out and gathered survivors of the Diaspora to her household. By the time Hrodulf was of majority, Ingúlfr had built a strong following within the Castle Verfluchter Todd. These were her descendants and followers known as the Úlfhéðnar or Pacte des Loups. Their dark work was called Lycourgos or Wolf’s Work. Loccriccio himself is of the royal blood of Vassiley and a cousin to Könner, the younger von Fockewülfe, this fact, of course, was kept secret from the Colonel and Gabrielle Émilie.

As he entered he first kept his tongue still and listened upon the words of the Ulbrecht, Master von Fockewülfe, who was by blood and title the leader of the Pacte. The Ulbrecht spoke of the holy Lycourgos that had been given to Vassiley by the Angel Gabriel to cleanse and purify the followers of Cain, the weak and corrupt humans. As the Ulbrecht spoke of this holy order, Loccriccio looked among the crowds of howling Lupines for the counsel he truly sought. He found that which he sought in a far corner of the hall, surrounded by her own loyal followers. Her name was Ylva, and she was chief Conchobhar, or wolf-lover, to the Ulbrecht, Master von Fockewülfe. Remaining in the outer fringe of the Pacte, Loccriccio made his way towards the Conchobhar.

Loccriccio is the favored son of Ylva’s sister, and he often sought his Aunt’s counsel in many matters. Ylva is a Lupine, but is not as malicious as the rest of the Pacte. A distinction is often made between voluntary and involuntary were-wolves or Lupines. The former are generally thought to have made a pact, usually with the Devil, and morph into were-wolves at night to indulge in mischievous acts. Involuntary were-wolves, on the other hand, are such by an accident of birth or health. In some cultures, individuals born during a new moon or suffering from epilepsy were considered likely to be were-wolves.

Ylva was born of two human parents out of wed-lock; a wealthy and married marquis and his servant girl. The child’s existence was kept a secret, and as Ylva was about to be born, the two travel to a different principality to search for a mid-wife. On the way, her parents are attacked by a were-wolf whom her father kills with a knife made of pure silver, but the mother is bit by the were-wolf. The mother dies at child birth, and the father abandons her with the mid-wife. When Ylva first came across the Count von Fockewülfe and heard him preach of Chrsitian values, she saw this as a way of overcoming her sinful birth, and her “punishment” by turning into a wolf and her thirst for blood. Ylva represented a minority within the Pacte, though growing in number, that took the Christian conversion to heart, and tried to live within its “non-harm” doctrine, they were largely responsible for the livestock killings rather than hunting women. As the victims were all female, and being female herself, she found this fundamentally at odds with her own human half.

Escaping notice, Loccriccio was able to find his way to his favored aunt. Upon laying eyes on her nephew, Ylva embraced him warmly with joy in her heart, and thus did Loccriccio greet his dear aunt, “Mistress Ylva, since I have known your help; my hope is in you. You have always been sweet medicine to the unhappy, and have come very promptly to those who put themselves under your protection. Mistress, still and unfailing is my allegiance to you and I call on you now in my troubles, dear aunt, oh my sweet advocate; therefore my heart adores you, only in you do I find ease and true comfort for my cares.”

With a warm smile Ylva answered, “Dear nephew, I am gladdened by your presence in these troubling times.” Then the smile fading from her countenance, she turned to the Ulbrecht, her husband, who spoke at the center of the hall which was drenched in the blood and torn limbs of several victims plucked this very night. “You uncle seeks to wed your cousin to the fair Abbess-Princess Sophia, as her royal line and extensive estates bring hope of reviving the glory of Prince Vassiley.” Loccriccio could see his cousin standing at the foot of Ingúlfr’s tomb. Ylva continued her speech to her young ward, “but your young captain, the fair and handsome, Gustav has spoiled your uncle’s designs as Guatav has captured the favor of Princess Sophia. In a jealous rage, your cousin has called for this blood rage to exterminate the race of Cain.”

Loccriccio responded to her aunt’s words, “Have we naught forgotten our own persecution, that we should impart the same harm on others? The blood spilt on these floors do nothing to bring honor to us or to our ancestors nor does it erase the injustice done to us in past.”

“You speak with wisdom, dear nephew,” was Ylva’s reply, “address the Úlfhéðnar as you have claim as your cousin does and you shall have my strength at your back.”

At this Loccriccio made his way to the front, and at his sight, the Ulbrecht turned his attention to him. “Dear nephew, what have you to report to your Ulbrecht?”

The hall fell silent and all eyes were upon Loccraccio as he spoke, “By order of the Princess Sophia, Colonel Hussenpepper has increased the patrols and presence in the outlying areas, as well as doubling the guards at the Abbey.” Then looking about the hall, he continued, “I come to plead with my Ulbrecht and this Úlfhéðnar to cease this blood rage and to speak on behalf of those…”

At these words several among the Úlfhéðnar whispered amongst them, and the Ulbrecht sensing this interrupted the young officer and called upon Loccraccio to join the Lycourgos, “Dear nephew, have you forgotten what your true nature is,” then waving his bloodied hand over the carnage at his feet, “the race of Cain is powerless to stop us; there measures are futile. Come, dear cousin, embrace your fate and destiny and join us in our Lycougos…” at this the Ulbrecht raised a severed hand from the floor and tossed it at Loccraccio’s feet, but Loccraccio stayed his hand and calmed his heart for his love of Amelie did cause him to hesitate.

There was now more talk among the Úlfhéðnar as there was whispers of treason and heresy. Now Könner stepped forward to challenge his cousin, “Dear Cuz, how can we take your counsel? Were you not stripped of your command and title? Lo, what heresy you speak of? You dare ask this Úlfhéðnar to abandon the Lycourgos! Dare you with such contempt turn your back on your Ulbrecht and the Úlfhéðnar?”

The beast who first challenged Loccraccio at the gate now stepped forward and with raised fist cried of “Heretic!” and “Traitor!” Others followed suit. Könner continued with his attack, “Benafacio, I hear hasty words from the Úlfhéðnar, but I still embrace you as a cousin and brother, whence you came and what came you here to do? Or should we believe this heavy charge?”

“I issue from the House of Vassiley, my cousin. Before her death, my mother was second wife to the Ulbrecht and as such I have claim and cause to address this Úlfhéðnar,” was Loccriccio words as he looked at the angry faces about him, “I come here to subdue my passions and improve myself in faith.”

An elder of loyalty to Ylva stepped forward and spoke, “Tis true the royal blood of Vassiley runs through his veins as well. Let him speak and be heard; the law commands it.” At this many others also agreed.

Yet Könner pressed on, “What madness! You speak of Faith, dear cousin, yet you turn your back on the Úlfhéðnar and our Ulbrecht!”

Loccriccio stepped forward, “I turn my back on all that is wrong and sinful against the Lord, our God. In God’s Holy Name, let us remove the veil that so confuses and blinds our sight; let our groans pierce the heavens, each one demanding of God pardon for those transgressions which we committed at all ages. Fathers and sons, brothers,” here he paused and looked once again about him in the great hall, “relations, friends, and women friends, whom we have greatly loved, with whom we ate drank and sported many a day with, many graceful and beautiful creatures, ladies, maidens, and valiant young men who are enjoying their youth under the earth, and other gentlemen, let the sleeping soul arouse its senses and awake to contemplate how life passes, how death approaches so silently; how quickly pleasure goes, and how once remembered, it give us pain. How, we see it, any time in the past was better.”

The beast who called Loccriccio a heretic weaves his way amongst the throngs, silently hunting Loccriccio from behind, waiting to pounce and silence his divisive voice. He moves with little notice among the Úlfhéðnar, but there is one set of eyes that he does not escape. Loccriccio unaware continues to address the Úlfhéðnar, “Brothers and sisters, if we see the present, how it has gone and is over in a flash, if we should judge wisely, we will count the future as already past. Let no one at all deceive himself by thinking that what he is expecting will last longer than what he has already seen. For everything will pass in the same manner.”

Könner moved himself in a manner that took Loccricio’s attention away from the stalker behind him. Könner spoke to his cousin as to keep him distracted, “You presume, Cuz, to call us ‘men’ and ‘gentlemen’ as if we are of the same line as the sons of Cain? Of whom is this ‘beautiful creature,’ this lady and maiden – have you been enchanted and deceived by the perfumed harlot, Amelie, that you do not recognize your own kin?”

Then turning to the body of Úlfhéðnars around him, Könner demanded, “We must strike at this very place and cut out this malignancy of weakness and corruption. We shall the take the abbey as our prize. We shall drink their blood as nectar and feast on their sweet and tender meat!”

Loccriccio answered firmly, eyes fixed upon his cousin, “Cousin, your jealousy clouds your judgment. By sacred decree of Mother Ingúlfr, no harm shall pass into the walls of the Abbey or upon those who dwell within. The Abbey has always been beyond our reach as all the women were of the Royal houses of Europe, and if one were to be killed it would bring unwanted and outside inquiry, and possibly additional soldiers to hunt us down. This law has been put in place and agreed upon by the Ulbrecht and Conchobhar. Follow this path and surely a fate worse than Vassiley shall fall upon all our heads!”

Distracted, Loccriccio feels the presence behind him but far too late as the beast is already in flight with talons bare to rend his flesh. In mid-flight another strikes at the beast, for the hunter is hunted still, and both tumble in the midst of the great hall. It is Ylva who has struck out against the beastly assassin and her teeth drink deeply of the assassin’s blood; her claws tear at his flesh. He scampers into the crowd as his attempt was thwarted. Immediately, she takes her station in front of Loccriccio as several of her most able guards encircle him. Ylva turned to face Loccriccio, “By your mother’s honor, I have taught you well and brave Benafaccio you speak wisely before this Úlfhéðnar. Treachery and danger stalk you here, go now with my guardians and seek safety, and I will come to you when it is safe. Go! Now! I command it!”

With little choice, Loccraccio flees with Ylva’s warriors. Könner leaps at his own mother, growling “Mother dear, the time has come!” The two then lock in desperate battle, teeth and claw alike bite and rend the flesh as the two tangle in bloody combat.

Stepping aside, the Ulbrecht, yells unto the crowd, “It has began, he who subdues the Conchobhar is the new Ulbrecht, thus I so command!”

Ylva circles to the left and Könner circles opposite, as Ylva pleads one last time with her son, “My darling son, heed your cousin’s wise counsel do not condemn our people to another holocaust!”

The elder von Fockewülfe, Hrodulf, spurs his son on as a sign of strength and to assert his right to lead the coven. Mother and son grapple in violent combat; teeth knawing and claws slashing. No strike goes unanswered as the two struggle. Though both have supporters among the Úlfhéðnar, none dare interfere as the law is clear in such contests which are necessary for the right of accession. Though she was more cunning and wise in her attacks, Könner possessed the strength of his youth and after hours of pitched combat, it is Könner’s brute strength that prevailed, and thus he mounted his own mother and mated with her, signifying he is now the Ulbrecht of the Pacte, the Alpha Wolf. Ylva is left whimpering as Hrodulf watches from the shadows.

Bloodied and torn, the victor nonetheless, Könner stands above his subdued mother, and proclaims “As the new Ulbrecht, I hereby repeal the contract between my father and mother as the law permits. None shall find sanctuary and refuge in the palace or the abbey from this day forward.”

Her male followers encircle Ylva as the females tend to her wounds. The elder von Fockewülfe, Hrodulf approaches his son in confidence as the great hall empties of its occupants. Hrodulf eyes the guarded circle around the whimpering Ylva, and whispers to Könner, “I fear there are a number of Úlfhéðnars who are sympathetic to your cousin and mother, we must strike now at the abbey and palace as a show of strength. Punish your traitorous cousin and at the same time you strike at the very heart of the waning human authority in this land.” Turning to the shadows, he waves forth the same beast that once did lunge at Loccriccio.

“This is Dirk von Dijk,” Hrodulf points to the lurking beast in the shadows with yellowed teeth and eyes, “he serves on your cousin’s detail. He knows of a breach in the palace walls that has yet to be mended. He is loyal to us and holds a blood grudge against your cousin. Send him as your Geirolf, as your wolf-assassin, to feast upon the precious Amelie.”

Könner licks at his own wounded shoulder, and looks upon his yelping mother, and then at the Geirolf and growls, “When the time is ready, I shall send for you.” And the three depart the great hall.

Ylva lifts her badly mauled face and speaks to one of her nursemaids. She whispers in her ear and then commands her, “Go…and warn dear Bonefaccio.” Without hesitation the nursemaid departs by another way beneath the great hall that leads to the heavy woods outside the servant's cottage.

In his study in the castle high above the great hall, Hrodulf writes an urgent message to his eminence, the Cardinal asking for a dispatch of troops. Having changed back to human form, the Reverend Custos Morum is in private counsel with his son. As he writes, he inquires of his son, “Are you sure of this?”

Könner leaned upon the hearth of the fireplace and stared intently into the dancing flames. “It is as I have told you before. I have seen so with my own eyes, the Captain is a woman in the false guise of a man, and has seduced the Princess Abbess in her very garden,” Könner then turning to face his father at his desk, “I hid behind a rose bush and saw the two in unholy embrace. At first I did not believe mine own eyes, and moved in closer to confirm what I saw. In my haste I startled a flock of quail, but the two were so consumed by their sin that neither took notice. In the eyes of the Holy Mother Church, this sin they must recant or be burned at the stake as the Holy Mother Church had done to the Witch of Lorraine.”

“We must not expose her until the Cardinal’s men arrive,” spoke the Reverend Custos Morum, “we shall force the Colonel’s hand and make him deal with her himself so that the army shall not oppose us.”

“For sooth, Father, they shall have no choice,” Quoth Könner.

“With the Cardinal’s troops here, the Colonel shall not risk a confrontation between crown and cross with the army away at war. Of this I am certain.” As he spoke, the Reverend Custos Morum, dabbed his letter with wax from his candle and pressed his seal upon the wax. He called for his coachman and bid him to take this most urgent message to the Cardinal.

Book III: The Wolf and the lamb; Chapter II

Chapter III. Far and Away

A thousand leagues; a thousand leagues; a thousand leagues more. Last night’s storm had exhausted itself, and a brand new sun rose into clear blue skies. The most holy Christian army in smart columns and ordered lines stood in full array with crisp uniforms and clean faces; their banners waved proudly in the dawn’s breaking light. Officers with polished sabers drawn stood smartly before their companies, and the cavalry’s horses anxiously pawed at the earth; their riders fixed with stern young faces. Before them lay a field of pristine snow with ne’er a hare’s track upon its crystal surface, and beyond the field was a small crest of a hill upon which the Turks set their defenses and trenches upon. Beyond that three leagues or more sat the shame of the Georgian crown, the fallen Sukhumi.

Upon the hill, a full corps of elite Janissary Troops lay in wait with canons in support of their lines. The Janissaries have been likened to the Roman Praetorian Guard and they had no equivalent in the Christian armies of the time, where the feudal lords raised troops only during wartime. The Janissaries waged war as one part of a well organized military machine. The Ottoman army had a corps to prepare the road, a corps to pitch the tents ahead, a corps to bake the bread. The cebeci corps carried and distributed weapons and ammunition. The Janissary corps had its own internal medical auxiliaries: Muslim and Jewish surgeons who would travel with the corps during campaigns and had organized methods of moving the wounded and the sick to traveling hospitals behind the lines. These seasoned warriors earned their reputation at the siege of Vienna and Constantinople, where their combat and the reputation of their engineers in explosives and mining were greatly confirmed. These differences, along with a war-record that was impressive, made the Janissaries into a formidable foe.

A great silence sat upon the moment as if the entire world was caught in mid-breath, twixt inhaling and exhaling. To the left of his column, Ishmael saw the Georgian and Russian General Staff conferring with one another. Other officers on horse back looked through spy glasses at the enemy positions on the hill. As he watched the officers fuss and fret, the Commandant General sat upon his steady steed eyes fixed calmly upon the enemy on the hill. He looks down upon his officers and silently nods. Ishmael watches as he calmly trots his mount to the front of his column. Colored banners flash in the morning air, and the artillery and rockets send forth their deadly barrage upon the distant hill, two regiments of horse gallop into the fray with banners streaming from their polished lances. A young trooper speaks out of turn, “The game is a foot! There will be glory in it for us all!”

The Captain looks over his shoulder, and Ishmael silences the young lad, “Order in the ranks.”

The Commandant General steers his steed before the column and shouts over the din, “In peace perhaps there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But when the drums of war echo in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger, my good men, and stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, hold hard the breath and end up every spirit to his full height. On, on, you noblest of men, whose blood is from fathers of warrior born. Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, have in these parts from morn till eve fought and sheathed their swords for lack of argument. I say to you, brave fellows, dishonour not your mothers; now attest that those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach these barbarian hordes how to war.” Then the commandant General raised his saber and pointed it at one of the soldiers before him, “And you, good yeoman, whose limbs were made in Mother Russia, show us here the mettle of your forbearers and let us swear that you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; for there is none of you so mean and base, that hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you, one and all, stand before me like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. We, as Caesar did, do stand upon the Rubicon, where the austere words of our noble diplomats has fallen on deaf ears, and all that is left is but to cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the hounds of war. The game’s afoot: follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry: God for Emperor and Mother Russia!”

And so did the regiments as three columns advanced and did cry “God for Emperor and Mother Russia!” In the early morn, the Christian troops marched down upon the cursed Turks, and heard continually the discharges of their artillery that did turn the pristine snow to chard and cindered earth. The Turks who being advanced thither, were fortified with parapets of earth and great stones, to hinder the advance of the Christian army from the north, who notwithstanding did advance. The vanguard of the Horse and Foot, with Ishmael’s own regiment in the center formation, began a long and bloody skirmish with the Turks, disputing every foot of ground with ferocious endeavor. As earth yawned and belched with every canon shot horse and man did tumble upwards, and sink into the crimson soaked ground.

Ahead of them the earth did belch with fire and smoke and up went the Commandant General’s mount, and laid him flat upon the sinking earth. With the chevron of horse fast out-distancing the regiments of foot and upon sight of their felled commander did pause and waiver. Three columns of foot came to a stand still as officers and men gathered their fallen leader, who was without a mount, but was none the worse except muddy and dazed. Noting that his columns of foot had been left in the open by his vanguard of cavalry, the Commandant General yelled to his officers, “Pikemen to the flanks!” and so punctually it was executed by his officers and men. But it was no easy task, as the earth churned by hoof and boot became a muddy grave that seemed to grasp at every boot and step. Many a man Ishmael did note lost a boot, if not both, in their advance. No less had the outer columns set their pikes did the Turkish cavalry fall upon them having sensed their vulnerability. Ishmael’s regiment being in the center column was seized with the task to move forward still. The Commandant General seized upon the Colonel of the regiment and ordered the advance, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; lest we close this distance with our own noble dead!”

Ahead of them, Ishmael did see through the battery smoke, that the vanguard of horse did reach the enemy’s trenches and parapets and vigorously attacked it with two thousand men; and by the Turks’ endless workings, trenchings, and minings, was reduced to almost its last gasp. The Janissaries planted mines before their own parapets that did explode and rend both man and beast as the vanguard of horse approached lines. The Turks fired upon them continually against their approaches with batteries of canon and mortar, along with the artillery from their bastions and ramparts at Sukhumi; consisting of seventy five pieces of cannon, fourteen cannons for battery, and some mortar pieces therein. The attackers, animated by the sight of the Commandant General alive still, answered vigorously from their positions, and great volleys of musquets were discharged from both sides, intermingled with great quantities of granados as well, as the Janissaries were well suited for such.

Despite the furious defense, the vanguard of horse seconded by a column of foot, was able to breach the line. Bayonet and steel render flesh as if it where dry straw and a great effusion of blood did spill. As they came upon the enemy’s parapets, Ishmael was among a half dozen soldiers when the Janissaries exploded a mine. There was a deafening roar as Ishmael felt the earth give way beneath his very feet, but instead of falling into the open earth, Ishmael fell upwards, head over foot. The widening blast of earth and fire engulfed the men before him shredding uniforms and tearing limbs from sockets. For a moment he seemed to float in mid-air and looked upon the endless blue sky. Just as sudden he was flat on his back, sinking into the bloody earth. Ishmael dazed, tried to sit up and saw the young lad who Ishmael silenced in the ranks before. He lay on his belly, his face charred and bloody. The poor fellow was trying to push himself up but had no arms past his elbows and his legs were splintered like dry wood.

As Ishamael stood on wobbly legs, a Janissary charged at him and he quickly drew up his musquet and fired upon a charging Janissary with sword drawn high. His musquet shot punching through the left eye socket caving in the soldier’s face. Another did charge and with bayonet Ishmael did spill his entrails upon the ground. A ball from a Janissary’s musquet tore at Ishmael’s shoulder sleeve, tearing cloth but not flesh. Then a Janissary charged with fixed bayonet. Ishmael met him with a high guard, and with a downward slash parried the Janissary’s bayonet thrust, and with the upward blow cleaved the Turk from his belly to his chin. Five men fell to his right and ten men to his left. When yet another foe, who shrieked with blood crazed eyes, slashed at Ishmael, who all but dodged the blow. His tunic torn open revealed a shallow gash that did seep some blood. At the blow, Ishmael dropped his saber, as Janissary with blood crazed eyes raised his saber for yet another blow when his left temple was crushed by musquet shot as his eyes that only moments below held such fire were now left dangling lifeless from a crushed and shattered skull. Picking up his saber once again, Ishmael called upon his comrades, “into the breach, lads, into the breach!”

After a great profusion of cannon and musquet shot, bombs, granadoes, and all sorts of fire works, which has changed and disfigured this quiet field; after a resistance so valiant, and the loss of so many brave officers and soldiers, four companies of foot entered into the enemy’s trenches, but found nothing but dead bodies littered about, and men and parts of men. Having been repulsed by the enemy and put into flight, the Janissaries did quit their camps and withdrew to the safety of the city’s bastions and barricades. Meeting with his Captain and the Commandant General, and all was left was three companies of foot and less than all but two companies of horse. The Commandant General quickly declared a victory before someone else thought otherwise. At this the brave Ishmael looked down upon his foot to find it bare and missing a boot. Ishmael thought quietly to himself it is going to be a long winter.

With the passage of time, winter’s layers do give way to spring’s first blooms, and the songbirds return to flit among the rosebuds and fruit trees at the garden in Arvfurstens Palats. Gabrielle Émilie was stirred from her slumber by Badin’s thick fingers softly caressing her cheek. She awoke to a morning serenade of songbirds amidst the tender fold of her silk beddings. Badin served her breakfast. The tray and tea pot was made of pure silver, and the meal and tea were served on gilded porcelain. Now she had to prepare herself to inspect the guard details for the morning watch, but first she would have breakfast. It was another sumptuous meal with fine grains and tender meats and fresh eggs. The tea was hot and there was also fresh fruit this morning. “Breakfast is served, My Lady.” Badin whispered softly. He had risen earlier and had already fetched her breakfast. He continued on, “I must leave to go and tend to my Mistress, the Abbess Sophia.” Gabrielle Émilie turned to face Badin and with a warm smile simply nodded her head, as she did not wish to stir from her warm beddings.

As Badin was about to leave, Gabrielle Émilie did rise from her warm folds and still in the nude padded over to Badin who stood at the door ready to leave. She lifted herself on the tips of her toes and placed a hand of his shoulder to steady herself. Her bare breast brushed against his broad chest as she planted a soft kiss upon his cheek. “Your impassioned visits warm me so, and are a sweet repose to this cold role I play.” Then stepping back to allow him to take in her full form, she continued, “You have been a gentle lover and a kind ear, but I fear that…” She could finish the words as she looked away from his hazel eyes.

Badin then stepped towards her and with his hand upon her chin turned her face to his. “I entered your bed chamber a servant, and here you allowed me to stay a man. I did partake in your sweet embrace knowing that your heart did belong to another and I, like you, have left my love, my sweet wife, in my ancient land when I was torn from black Africa’s strand. For years, I have endured the cruel separation and though now I have been given my freedom, I know not what to do with it for a servant’s life is all I have known – I have walked these halls, and upon these streets a ghost of a man; an empty shell. Here I have grown old and wonder if even my own family, my dear mother, have any memory of me.”

“An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless his soul charges him to clap his hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress. You have given me my soul in return for your sweet repose and that I am grateful for, so, My Lady, let us not complicate such a simple thing.” And with that, Badin did kiss her deeply and turned and exited the room. Donning her under shirt, she gazed out into the garden below where winter was in full retreat and spring was in its early hour. As it always is, her mind would wonder what bloody and dark horrors her sweet Ishmael was enduring in that far away field, and how no matter what she does, her heart seemed empty without him.

As she sat down for breakfast she thought of her conversations with Badin and the honest discourse they have had over the subject, and as well recalled a poem, the Mistress Abbess read to her recently after one of her harpsichord lessons in her salon. As she ate, she penned the following correspondence to her true love so far, far away:

“My Love,

I'll tell you something honest now, my love:
it's very bad for me to live apart from you.
There's no way I can have a happy heart
without some place outside myself to move.

So, if there's anything imperfect in my life,
blame Love. He is the cause of all my strife.
in my green youth he got a hold of me,
while I was exercising both my body and soul
in a hundred thousand ingenious feats of skill
which, in no time at all, he seduced me.

Oh, my love, whenever you read
these writings of mine, so full of love and need---
all the worries, grudges, tears, sobs, and regret
that the piteous music of these songs has set---
please don't condemn me for simplicity
because of my youthful weakness. If it be
that I'm in error, who, under the skies,
can praise herself for not having one vice?...

So why suddenly do I laugh and at the same time cry
And in pleasure many a grief endure
My happiness wanes and yet it lasts unchanged
All at once I dry up and grow green

Thus I suffer love's inconstancies
And when I think the pain is most intense
Without thinking, it is gone again.

Then when I feel my joys certain
And my hour of greatest delight arrived
I find my pain beginning all over once again.

Oh, My Love, when you read these words,
sigh with me, for the sorrows you have heard!
And maybe one day I'll do the same for you,
helping your voice sound more true
as you tell about your pain and your sad trial,
lamenting in vain for times gone this long while.

Whatever hardness lodges in your heart,
Love will always conquer it through her special art,
and the more you have made her your enemy,
the worse she'll act when you are at her mercy.

With great affection and much love,

Gabrielle”

After which she sealed the letter and affixed upon it the seal of the Princess Abbess as she was her chief officer. After she had donned her uniform, she checked herself upon a mirror, and having been ensured that all was in place; she descended down to the mail hall where she observed the changing of the guard and inspected the oncoming relief. After which she inquired of the Sergeant of the Guard if he had been to the palace. The sergeant replied, “No, Good Sir, we travel there now with today’s relief.”

“Very well,” replied the young Captain, “I shall accompany your detail.” And so the troop moved on to the palace to relieve the guard detail there. The short distance was easily covered and was uneventful. They traveled through the center of Stiftsdamen, where merchants opened their shops and prepared their wares for the morning’s business. There was notably a heavy presence of soldiers as promised by the good colonel. But still there where hard cast looks placed upon the traveling soldiers as there was yet another victim felled but a fortnight ago.

Upon their arrival at the palace, Arvfurstens Palats, a corporal greeted them with some trepidation. “Good sirs, we have found wolf’s tracks within the walls of the Palace.” With some urgency the young captain and the sergeant dismounted and followed the corporal. The corporal led them to the chicken coop where a there saw several planks of wood gnawed at and pried away. Clearly there were claw and bite marks on the planks as well as pieces of carcass from several dead hens. On the bare earth, the corporal pointed out several prints that appeared to be that of a wolf. They then followed the tracks past the stables and into the garden. At the stables, the captain took notice of a second set of tracks that seemed to follow the first when he pointed it out to the corporal, the corporal stated he had noticed the second set but though they were one and the same.

Captain Émilie squatted down and held her fist over a paw print of the first set and it was about the size of her clenched fist, then he moved it over the second set that came from behind the stables, the print was significantly larger than the her fist. The sergeant agreed, “They are two separate tracks.”

Captain Émilie looked up at the Corporal, “Was there a disturbance in the stables last night?”

The corporal replied, “Yes sir. As a matter of fact, it was a strange thing. I was at the main gate with the night watch and the Count von Fockewülfe’s coachman…”

“The Reverend Custos Morum?” Interrupted the Captain.

“No Sir. His son.” Answered the corporal, “The young Count von Fockewülfe had called upon the Abbess Princess last night with a gift of a magnificent gelding with a finely embroidered saddle that according to the coachman was purchased in Paris.”

“Upon his arrival,” continued the corporal, “he presented the horse to the Abbess who was most polite and grateful, and invited the young count in for tea in her study. You see, according to the Abbess’ handmaid, the young count has been courting the Abbess for the better part of a year’s time, seeking her hand in marriage, but the Abbess though is polite and cordial, finds the young count to be dull and unattractive.”

“I am not interested in the gossip of a chambermaid,” the captain growled with the empty banter, “what of the disturbance?” At first, Captain Émilie thought her harshness was due to her impatience with the corporal’s narrative, but in her heart she felt the pang of jealousy over the count’s attentions towards the Abbess Sophia.

“Begging your pardon sir, but that is what I was getting to.” Answered the corporal.

“Then get to it, man!” barked the Sergeant, sharing what appeared to him was the captain’s impatience.

“Well sir, upon leaving the young count seemed terribly upset, and before climbing into his coach asked to check on the gelding which had been housed in the stable. Well, I seeing no harm in it allowed him to do so, while I waited at the coach with two of my men. It was not too long after the young count left for the stables that there was a frightful commotion that came from there and fearing he had been harmed or injured rushed to investigate with my men.” The corporal then nodded his head towards the stables.

“So I bid the coachman to stay his place, and went with my two soldiers to investigate. When we entered the stables all the horses were in such an uproar, it took the three of us a quarter of an hour to settle the horses down. When we exited the stable, I saw the gate guard letting the count’s coach pass through the gate, so I assumed the count had passed us in the night and left with his coach as we did not see him in the stables or the premises since.”

“And that was the only disturbance?” inquired the captain.

“Yes sir. For the entire evening until first light when we heard the commotion at the hen house and discovered these tracks.” Replied the corporal.

From there they followed the tracks which led into the garden where the two then separated. The larger tracks skirted a hedge of rose bushes that were opposite of the terrace doors and patio, while the smaller tracks headed towards the back wall. The corporal explained that behind a row of rose bushes that lined the back wall there was a breach in the wall that lay undetected as it was concealed by the rose bushes. The captain gave instructions for the corporal to send to Stiftsdamen for a mason to repair the breach and clear the outer walls of any hedges so that such a breach would not go undetected again. The captain ordered that the work be done first thing tomorrow and gave commands to the sergeant to bring an additional detail tomorrow to assist with the work and to alert Lieutenant Loccraccio of the tracks.

As the sergeant and corporal departed to carry out her commands and attend to the changing of the guard, the captain curious about the second and larger set of tracks followed it as they skirted the hedges towards an enclosed area where there lay a fountain and a small bench. The hedge was about a man’s height, but at some points there would be a break in the hedge where one could see a view of the patio and terrace doors. The paths in the garden where covered with gravel, but on the edges where the hedge grew, there was about a foot of bare soil. The captain further took note that while the smaller prints intermittently fell on both the gravel path and the bare soil; the larger print took great care to remain on the bare soil only. As the captain walked along the gravel on the path she could hear the gravel crunch with every footfall. It then occurred to her that the beast was avoiding the gravel intentionally. The smaller beast which had already gorged itself upon the hens was merely trying to escape, while this larger beast was stalking prey.

At one point, the captain once again glanced down and her attention was caught by a particular print that had been pressed into a patch of wet soil. As she leaned closer to examine it, the soil around the print appeared to still be moist and fresh. Almost instantly the hair on her neck stood on end as she felt she was being watched. She cautiously rose and looked about her with her blade half drawn. All around her she found instead the sounds of spring and the soft rustling of the wind upon the rose bushes.

Inside the captain found The Abbess Sophia in the salon engaged in a fencing lesson with another lady, one the captain had not yet made her acquaintance. The Abbess exhibited to the captain’s observance an adapt skill with her blade, yet her counter was even more skilled with the blade. After a short period, the Abbess noticed the Captain’s presence and lowered her blade, “Ah, me dear captain, your corporal alerted me to the tracks this morning and warned me to stay indoors, are we safe, dear Captain?” The Abbess paused to catch her breath as her cheeks were flushed from the exertion, “may I inquire of the situation?”

The captain walked towards the two ladies and applauded the two, “Bravissimo, My Grace, never have I seen a finer exhibition of swordsmanship.”

The Abbess smiled in return taken by the captain’s approval, she then turned and waved her free hand at the young lady who unlike the Abbess wore trousers, “My dear Captain, might I introduce my instructor, Senora Catalina Díaz Ramírez de Guzmán freshly returned from the new world where she spent some time as a shopkeeper among other things.”

The captain acknowledged Senora de Guzmán with a cordial bow of the head, which the Senora returned instead of the usual curtsy. “My compliments, madam,” said the Captain Émilie, “for your exceptional skills.” Then the captain turned her attention to the Abbess once again, “As to the situation you inquire of, I believe we are safe for the time being, but my men have discovered a breach in the wall and I have given instructions for its repair first thing on the morrow.” Then the captain inquired, “Are you concerned, My Grace?”

“My dear captain, thanks to Senora de Guzmán, I can handle a blade as good as any man, and further more, I am safe in the knowledge that I have you as a protector as well. It is the people of this valley who I am the most concerned for; those who do not have a regiment at their beck and call. Did you not hear of the poor girl who was killed a fortnight ago?” Asked the Abbess with genuine concern on her voice.

“Aye, My Grace, and this morning as I rode through Stiftsdamen I felt the heavy looks cast at my direction by the good people of that burg,” was the captain’s reply. Her men had reported to her that the people in the villages were growing restless and there was plenty of talk of the army’s incompetence in the matter. “I fear in the last week, we have had to put three and four men in chains for attacking the soldiers on patrol in Stiftsdamen and Ingolstadt alone,” the captain continued, “the people are turning their frustration and anger on the soldiers out of helplessness.”

Then the Senora de Guzmán walked up to the captain and looked her sternly in the eyes and spoke directly to the captain, “I think it foolish to keep secrets. You know if it is true what I have heard, that a dark enemy in the night works violence and slaughter on the good people of this land?”

The captain nodded and replied, “I am afraid, My Lady, that what you have heard is true. A dark vexation; a curse plagues this land--if change will ever come, relief from this evil--and how this seething sorrow might become cooled; I know not when or where it should come.”

At that moment, Badin entered the salon trailed by a maiden who carried with her a silvery tray adorned with tea and biscuits and fresh fruit and the three retired to the couches by the fireplace. The Abbess handed her blade to Badin, while Senora de Guzmán sheathed hers in her own scabbard. She defiantly said, “I surrender my blade to no man.”

Smiling the Abbess Princess remarked of her instructor, “At 19, Senora de Guzmán was living in Saña, Peru, where she'd found work as a shopkeeper. In a theater one Sunday, a man had the audacity to block her view, which resulted in a heated argument between the two. The next day, the man stalked the Senora outside her work, a move that infuriated her. She chased the man down with a saw-toothed dagger and her first rapier…”

“I gave him a slash worth ten stitches and stabbed his friend for good measure,” scoffed the senora as Badin poured the tea quietly and the three took their seats by the fireplace. “For that transgression I spent a month’s time in the town’s jail.”

“An impressive tale, My Lady, and quite an adventure…” The captain remarked as she took her cup of tea, “This Peru that you speak of, where women are shopkeepers and swordsmen, is a brave new world indeed.” In her own mind, Captain Émilie was very intrigued and taken by this brash woman in trousers.

Laughing fondly, the Abbess explained why the Senora had to leave the new world, “Imagine, my dear Catalina, a striking woman indeed, disguised as a soldier assigned to the office of the governor's secretary, Captain Miguel de Erauso.”

As the senora took a sip of her tea, she wistfully remarked, “Outside of my time here at the Abbey, that time in the governor’s office was perhaps what best could be described as the good life. Alas, chance toyed with me, turning my every scrap of luck into disaster.” At this Captain Émilie found herself becoming much attached to the senora.

“Unfortunately” the Abbess interjected, “the senora’s fondness for women ended that bliss. Dear Catalina especially liked Captain de Erauso’s mistress. A fistfight was provoked between the two and resulted in Catalina losing her position with the governor’s office and being sent away to fight the natives in Paicabí, Chile. She found herself in the middle of one of Spain's bloodiest campaigns against the native population.”

“The conditions were awful and the battles vicious - - there was trampling and killing and slaughtering more men than there are numbers,” added the senora, “it was then that I developed my skills with the blade and musket.”

The Abbess continued her tale, “A gambling incident led to a fatal duel in which dear Catalina, disguised as a man, killed another, running him through with a her rapier. She fled for the church, a safe haven from arrest, but was caught before she was able to reach it. She was thrown in jail, a sheriff came to get her the next morning, and she was sentenced to death by hanging. However, a kind Bishop took pity upon her and managed to arrange a last-minute pardon, whereupon she was released. Moved by her patron’s kindness and gentle looks, Catalina confessed her adventures. When a physical exam proved she was not only a woman but also an ‘intact virgin,’ the bishop told her, “I esteem you as one of the more remarkable people in this world.”

“The bishop arranged for her placement in a convent, where she stayed for over two years. When she was free to leave, and at thirty-nine, she set out for her home country, where news of her exploits preceded her.

Once there, she was honored with two unusual dispensations: the King of Spain granted her a generous pension for her military service, and the Pope gave her permission to wear men’s clothes, which she continues to do so. Now retired, she serves this abbey as our instructor in the martial arts.”

The captain at the end of the tale looked over at the humble figure sipping her tea that, like her, also lived a double life. Finishing her tea, Senora de Guzmán, rose from her seat, and politely excused herself, “My Grace, Captain Émilie, I must take your leave as I have other students to attend to.” The captain rose as well as is the proper custom of a gentleman and an officer when a woman, even one in trousers, leaves the room. After the senora’s departure, the captain confessed to the Abbess that she was greatly impressed by the Senora de Guzmán’s skill with her sword and her adventures.

The Abbess then walked over to the harpsichord and reminded the captain her promise to teach the good captain how to play such an instrument. A broad smile brightened the captain’s countenance at the offer; however, at that moment, Lieutenant Loccraccio arrived and was announced by Badin. With her smile quickly faded and brow furrowed with disappointment, the captain excused herself and said, “Duty calls, My Grace, but perhaps we could start my lessons some other time?” At which she gave a curt bow, and turned to leave.

The Abbess rose from the harpsichord and curtsied answering, “But of course, my dear captain.”

Over the next two months, Senora de Guzmán and Gabrielle Émilie became fast friends and under the instruction and advice of Senora de Guzmán, Gabrielle Émilie vastly improved on her skill as a swordsman. The two kindred spirits regaled each other with tales of their experience in Peru and in Vienna. While at the same time, the Abbess, Canoness Sophia, did make good on her promise and did instruct Gabrielle Émilie on how to play the harpsichord. Together the two did learn to sing and play a number of Monsieur de Machaut’s work, a favorite of the Abbess. Though the most foul and unsettling events continued to plague the valley, and even Lieutenant Loccraccio’s men seemed impotent to deter or even slow down the killings, Gabrielle Émilie found a respite and haven in her lessons with the Canoness Sophia and her camaraderie with Senora de Guzmán.

One afternoon, Gabrielle Émilie sat next to the canoness and watched as she played a familiar tune. The Canoness Sofia upon the harpsichord produced an eloquent, haunting music. He slender fingers weaved passion and refinement to combine in the music a most convincing balance. As the Captain listened, her heart softened as each golden note enchanted her every sense. The Canoness softly asked, “Pray, dear Captain, do you know of Monsieur de Machaut’s work, “Le Remède de Fortune?”

To which the Captain replied, “Ah, ‘The Cure of Ill Fortune,’ why yes, My Grace, I know this work well. It is the only one of its kind that mixes both recited and sung poetry. If I remember my studies, what you play now, is one of the virelais of Le Remède de Fortune.”

Then with an angelic and delicate voice that surprised the Canoness, the Captain, forgetting for a moment her deceptive guise, sang in her native French.

“Douce dame jolie,

Pour dieu ne pensés mie

Que nulle ait signorie

Seur moy fors vous seulement.

Qu'adès sans tricherie

Chierie

Vous ay et humblement

Tous les jours de ma vie

Servie Alas,

Sans villain pensement.

Helas! et je mendie

D'esperance et d'aïe;

Dont ma joie est fenie,

Se pité ne vous en prent.

Douce dame jolie...

Mais vo douce maistrie .

Maistrie

Mon cuer si durement

Qu'elle le contralie

Et lie

En amour tellement

Qu'il n'a de riens envie

Fors d'estre en vo baillie;

Et se ne li ottrie

Vos cuers nul aligement.

Douce dame jolie...

Et quant ma maladie

Garie

Ne sera nullement

Sans vous, douce anemie,

Qui lie

Estes de mon tourment,

A jointes mains deprie

Vo cuer, puis qu'il m'oublie,

Que temprement m'ocie,

Car trop langui longuement.

Douce dame jolie,

Pour dieu ne pensés mie

Que nulle ait signorie

Seur moy fors vous seulement.”

[Sweet, lovely ladyfor god's sake do not think

that I am devoted to any woman but you alone.

For always, without falsehood

I have cherished you, and humbly

served you all the days of my life

without deception.

Alas, I am left begging

for hope and relief; for my joy is at its end

without your compassion.

Your sweet spell rules my heart so harshly,

tormenting and binding it in unbearable love.

[My heart] desires nothing

but to be in your power.

And still, your own heart

renders it no relief.]

The Canoness moved by the Captain’s tender refrains, paused and inquired of the Captain, “What do you know of this work?”

The Captain thought for a moment about her guise, and replied to the dear lady, “My Grace, it was a favorite of my mother’s who as a child sang it perfectly. Even now as you play, I see her at the foot of my bed, singing this very piece to me. In Monsieur de Machaut’s Le Remède de Fortune, the poet is asked by his lady if the poem she has found is by him; the poet, at first ashamed, flees from her and comes to a garden where ‘Hope’ consoles him and teaches him how to be a good lover; and in the end he returns to his lady.”

Smiling, the Canoness rose from her lessons and left her young student at the harpsichord. She walked to a window and studied the wash of color that painted the garden outside. “Come, my dear Captain, walk with me. See! Winter has past; the rains are over and gone! Flowers bloom and carpet the earth and the season of singing has come! Hark! Listen! The cooing of doves and the thrill of the songbirds are heard throughout our garden and the fruit trees form their early fruit. The blossoming vines spread their sweet fragrance. Arise, my darling, my handsome captain.” Turning to the Captain, who sat smiling at the piano, the Canoness cooed, “Come with me, Gustav dear, come with me!” as she pushed open the large, ornate patio doors.

In the fading afternoon, they strolled out into the garden, the Canoness’ delicate hand wrapped about the Captain’s arm. They strolled amongst nature’s brightly painted palette. The afternoon breeze carried on its wing amorous scents of April’s first bloom and the sweet songbirds’ melodies. The Captain looked about the garden and said aloud, “Man holds not a candle to Nature’s symphony, nor can our mortal hand paint such a canvas as this before us now. The best we all can hope for is a sad imitation of the master’s work.”

“You do not believe that man, for all his work, could achieve such beauty?” The Abbess inquired of her escort as the two walked down a path of high hedges towards a small alcove where a fountain lay.

“My Grace, I have seen my share of man’s work, and have found nothing divine in it,” was the captain’s response. Then she walked to a rose bush, and plucked a delicate flower from its thorny branches. Gingerly she held the flower in her cupped hands before the Canoness. “Behold, My Lady, a rose, by any other name is still a rose. Painters may capture its likeness on their canvas, and poets like Messieurs de Meun and de Machaut, may pen countless poems of its beauty, but none may capture that which you hold so gingerly in your hands. ” With that the Captain held up the flower. “De Machaut can not with words convey to you what your flesh feels, the soft brush of petals and the sharp prick of the thorns. Not a thousand portraits can capture the fragrance that fills the very space we stand.”

The Canoness whispered in Latin, “Sub rosa…”

The captain, who herself was schooled in Latin by the man of letters, de Sans-Terre, replied, “The secret of the Rose.”

Intrigued, the Canoness inquired of her escort, “Pray tell, good captain, how the son of a tavern keeper can understand Latin, or for that matter any of the subjects that over the course of these past months you have demonstrated a profound knowledge of?”

At that instant, the Captain pricked her finger upon a thorn and let the rose drop from her grasp. The Canoness then pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and took the offended hand and gently kissed away the drop of blood from the Captain’s finger. Her soft lips were like brush strokes of silken petals, and in a sudden gesture, the Captain pulled away from the Canoness taking two paces backward. The Canoness bent down to pick up the fallen rose. “Some of the other ladies believe that you have a tender wife who waits for you back in Sochi Porad, a peasant girl perhaps…children, no? What secrets do you cloak beneath your tunic?”

“My Lady, I can not allow…” the captain tried to offer a defense but the Canoness would not hear of it.

“Are you like captured Greece, and I, like the Harsh Xerxes?” The Canoness’ voice fell to a whisper, “Why is it that you do not see what has been placed before you? Have you not seen enough tortured men in broken Vienna when war had laid such beauty to waste?” Then almost moved to tears, she turned to keep the captain form seeing her cry, “Bella gerant alii!” {Let others wage war!}

Moved with compassion, the Captain stepped towards the Canoness and placed her hands on the Canoness’ shaking shoulders to comfort her, “Adfirmate, bella detesta matribus {confirmed, war is the horror of all mothers}…but I am…not the man…you think me to be.”

The Abbess then turned to face the young captain, tears streaking in her face, her hand gently caressed the captain’s cheek, “From the moment I met you at the ball, I long pursued you, long desired your embrace, my every thought starts the day to creep, crawls, no, runs, flies to you instead.” In a moment of weakness, the captain, Gabrielle Émilie, turned and kissed the palm of Sophia’s hand, then her perfumed wrist which smelled of sweet lavender. The Canoness Sophia whispered “Amicule, da mihi basilica…{My love, kiss me…}”

Gabrielle Émilie hesitated and slowly withdrew her head from the Canoness’ hand, and took a half a step back and without a word undid her tunic and undershirt, then in silence unbound her breasts for the Canoness to see. Finished, Gabrielle Émilie stood unraveled; her sex, her secret, her sub rosa revealed, she lifted her eyes, held firm, and met Sophia’s gaze and waited for her judgment. When Gabrielle Émilie did speak, she did so in Latin, “Ecce Homo!” {Behold the Man!}

Unbound, Gabrielle Émilie revealed her true figure and form; striking a golden pose as if she were unwrapped from a fine tapestry. Gazing, the Canoness looked upon Gabrielle Émilie’s figure and form and imagined Eden, Eve and the forbidden fruit. The Canoness stepped towards the captain undone and said, “Ars celare artem…” {art conceals art}. Then the Canoness raised her hands and gently pulled her face to hers, and whispered, “It was not your body that seduced me, but your spirit that was my undoing. As long as I have that, I care not what vessel holds it…” Gabrielle Émilie was hesitant, though she did not pull away from the Canoness’ kisses. First, they were tender pecks on her lips; teasing, taunting. One after another, Gabrielle Émilie brought her hands up from her side and placed them on the Canoness’ waist. In the hidden alcove, their garden of hope, the two held their embrace. As their kisses grew deeper and deeper, Gabrielle Émilie’s hands slid up the Abbess’ back, pulling her closer. Sophia’s grip upon the rose loosened and it fell unto the ground, its petals spilling unto the wind. In turn, Sophia’s hands rose to caress her lover’s firm breasts. At the touch Gabrielle Émilie’s body quivered with electric energy. Her fingers worked at undoing Sophia’s gown, as Sophia herself tugged at the fabric and strained to free herself; their tongues probed each others’ hungry mouths.

Sophia thought to herself: My lover is mine and I hers. The wind through the soft rustling rose bushes sounded like gentle laughter to Gabrielle Émilie as petals blew around them in the afternoon breeze, and the spring sun felt warm upon her bare skin. The fountain’s water splashed and gurgled as birds sung their lullabies to their chirping hatchlings. The gravel cracked and crunched beneath their feet as their dancing bodies shifted their weight. Up above, ivory clouds lazily drifted across a canvass of ethereal blue as a hawk in fluid symmetry rode a thermal, dancing on ribbons of air.

Gabrielle Émilie with slow deliberate kisses, warm and sweet, descended from Sofia’s full lips to her neck and down to her bare breast, Sophia sweetly murmured “descensus in cuniculi cavum” {The descent into the cave of the rabbit}. Gabrielle Émilie, awkward at first, felt like a potter thumping wet clay, and Sophia sensing this, with her all obliterating tongue, murmured sweetly, “Gently, sister, gently, pray!”

Gabrielle Émilie murmured, “Open to me, my darling sister, my dove, my flawless one. My head is drenched with your dew, and my hair with the dampness of your sweet nectar.” Gabrielle Émilie continued her descent to her bed of spices, where she browsed among her lilies and sweet roses.

Sophia, with back arched and head tilted back, sighing with every kiss, whispered “collige virgo rosas…” {pick, girl, the roses}

Gabrielle Émilie retorted, “accipe hoc!” {Take that!} And with teasing and playful kisses sent Sopia into convulsions of sweet rapture. After she regained her breath, Sophie cried out, “deliciae…Graecia capta ferum victorem cepit!” {Darling…Captive Greece has conquered her savage victor!}

Gabrielle Émilie pulled Sophia’s trembling body even closer; Sophia’s thighs quivered, her legs almost near collapse, and her stomach tensed with each kiss a sweet torment to the trembling Sophia.

“…beatae memoriae!… Altius! Altius!” {…of blessed memory!... Higher! Higher!}

Sophia cried out, her head was spinning with desire and her heart seemed to pound at her breast and at her temples as every tender kiss from Gabrielle Émilie sent pulses of ecstasy through out her undulating body. “Citius! Fortius!...Venire facias!” {Faster! Harder! You must make me cum!}

With fugitive articulation, Gabrielle Émilie answered her mistress’ command and did live and drank. Then to the lip of Sophia’s trembling vessel she leaned once more; her secret well of life. That quivering lip Gabrielle Émilie did kiss and wondered how many kisses might it take – and give!

Gabrielle Émilie murmurs, “Look at the rose blowing about us-”

Sofia barely conscious replies; “Laughing…” she whispers, “into the world I blow…” as the silken tassel of her purse tears and her warm silky treasure unto the garden flows. Her body shuddered at her sweet release, spent and trembling, Sophia collapsed into her lover’s arms. From behind a quivering rose bush, a flock of doves, startled, rose in mad rush, into the clear blue sky.

That next morn, Badin was the first to rise from her bed at the sound of approaching horses, as he dressed, Gabrielle Émilie mumbled something about breakfast, but Badin had already left to greet the arriving soldiers at the front door. He returned with haste, and informed the sleepy Gabrielle Émilie that the colonel had sent urgent word for her to report to the garrison forthwith. Exhausted from last night’s contest, Gabrielle Émilie needed Badin’s assistance in putting on her uniform and she was forced to leave without breakfast.

Upon her arrival there was a great flurry of activity at the garrison when Gabrielle Émilie arrived to meet with the Colonel. She immediately noticed the coach of the Reverend Custos Morum. There too, Gabrielle Émilie found a crowd of some considerable size swayed to and from against a cordon of armed troops. The citizens armed with clubs and pitchforks yelled, “Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! Beat them down! Down with the army! Down with the crown! Neither has served us well to keep our daughters safe in our own homes!”

Enter the Colonel accompanied by a number of soldiers to address the angry citizens, “What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! My sword, I say!” An officer prepared two lines of soldiers with muskets at the ready, while another line of soldiers struggled to keep the mob at bay.

The Bürger of Ingolstadt, who was among the crowd and was the latest to lose his fair haired daughter to the night stalkers, added his voice to the din, “Will they not hear? What, ho! These beasts that quench the thirst of their pernicious rage upon the innocent blood of our daughters’ veins whilst you sit safe in your fortress keep!” A roar from the crowd did issue in support of the Bürger.

The colonel answered the crowd, “Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- On pain of torture, from those angry hands throw your mistemper’d weapons to the ground,
and hear the sentence of your moved princess: If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away most haste!” The colonel then turned to his second who called upon the soldiers in ordered lines to make ready their weapons and attend to their priming. Again, the colonel warned the crowd, “Once more, on pain of death, all men depart!”

At that moment when all matter of chaos was sure to ensue, the Abbess Princess and Canoness of the district did arrive in her carriage to soothe the angry mob. She walked between the soldiers and the crowd, pushing the men apart and this she said to them, “What madness prevails? Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Give thy thoughts no tongue, or any unproportion’d thought his act.”

The colonel then did spake, “My Grace, though this be madness, yet there is method in it. I do but keep the peace: upon thy name I commanded this rabble ‘put up thy sword,’ or manage it to part these men with me.”

“My Good Lady,” spoke the Bürger of Ingolstadt, “these monstrous beasts of hell’s own spawn whose bloody hands have in a month’s time thrice disturbed quiet of our homes and ne’er a thing has been done to bring an end to this hellish nightmare!”

“So fear of beast, who owns neither shape nor form, drives neighbor to neighbor and friend against friend? What madness prevails, I ask again?” Said the Abbess and to the good Bürger turns, “In Sunday past did you not sit beside the Colonel there and shared thy prayers with him whom you now confront? And you there, sir, good Miller, was that not your youngest daughter this late spring did wed the lad standing in the ranks with musket drawn?”

“What manner of foul beast drives such men from their senses so as to forget who we are? Noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In wisdom, how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And, yet, madness prevails!”

Addressing the crowd, the Abbess continued her plea, “If we are to triumph over the evil that plagues our land, we do so as one; for surely divided we shall fall, as a yearling cut from the herd falls prey to the pack. I beg thee, return to your homes and care for your families.”

Heeding the words of the Abbess and feeling some shame, the crowd began to disperse, and with the Bürger retired to their homes. As the colonel gave his orders to his second to dismiss the soldiers, he noticed Gabrielle Émilie’s approach and greeted her warmly, “Good morrow.” Then with some concern added, “How fare thee? I notice a limp in your stride, pray, are you injured sir?”

Gabrielle Émilie shrugged it off and replied, “I am afraid some wet steps had the best of me. It was a humbling experience, but I am none the worse for wear.”

The Colonel smiled and nodded, “Very well. I am afraid, my dear Gustav, we have had a killing, and I am assembling a detail to investigate. It is a dreadful way to be initiated, but I would greatly appreciate you taking charge of the detail as I must meet with the Abbess over this latest occurrance.” Another Lieutenant approached and saluted the Colonel. “Sir, the detachment is mounted and ready.”

Waving a hand at the Lieutenant, the colonel introduced the two officers, “Captain, Lieutenant Benafacio Loccraccio and his men shall be under your command from henceforth. I’m afraid, that the victim was a servant to the Reverend Custos Morum.” Gabrielle Émilie glanced over her shoulder at the waiting coach and remarked, “That would explain the Most Reverend Father’s coachman.” Nodding affirmatively, the Colonel agreed, “Yes, the victims have been all women, mostly peasants and the like. Since my posting to this garrison, I have orchestrated several hunts to thin out the packs but alas to no avail as the attacks persist. Captain, I shall expect your report upon your return.” At this the two officers mounted the coach and left for the scene.

At a lone cottage, not far from the road, they found the Most Reverend Custos Morum waiting outside the small cottage with his son, Könner, standing behind his father. It stuck Gabrielle Émilie odd that the shorter and elder von Fockewülfe was like a stone wall and unmoving, nor did the elder betray a fraction of emotion, while the younger of the two, shifted uncomfortably in his footsteps, like a nervous mare sensing a wolf nearby. The Captain greeted both the elder and younger von Fockewülfe, and extended her most sincere condolences, while the young Lieutenant Loccraccio tended to the detail of dispatching the soldiers.

“Most unfortunate, indeed, as she has been in our family’s service since young Könner was but a child. The two had grown up together as children. Her father was a trusted servant of mine, but had passed a number of years ago.” Spoke the Most Reverend Custos Morum as they walked towards the front door. The Captain noticed a series of boot prints leading up to the door and out again to the number that one was almost indistinguishable from the other. Gabrielle Émilie stopped in her tracks which forced a curious look from the Most Reverend Custos Morum. “Whose tracks are these that travel to the cottage and back?” Inquired the Captain, who in truth was Gabrielle Émilie, of the Most Reverend Custos Morum.

“The poor child was a servant of mine as I explained earlier. When she did not show for the morning meal, I thought last night’s rains had prevented her from traversing the path to our palace and sent my coachman to fetch her.” The Reverend Father and Officio of the Index, then turned to gesture to his coachman who stood emotionless by the coach. Then returning to look at the young Captain, His Reverence continued, “My coachman then did rush to fetch my son and I; and we came upon the same most unholy sight as befell my coachman. These tracks you see before you are our own. Clearly you see the wolf’s on track as well?”

“Ay, that I do, Most Reverend Father. One set. Moving away from the house…” the Captain turned and followed the tracks clear in the mud and dirt. It led down the same path as they now walked, but away from the house, and crossed the road and into the heavy woods. “Do pray, Your Reverence, what lies beyond those dark woods?”

“Surely, my good Captain, you wish to examine the body first?” Asked the Most Reverend Custos Morum incredulously. Again the Captain did take note of the young Könner nervous habit as he paced along the length of the coach. The Most Reverend Custos Morum having noticed the young Captain attention’s fall upon the younger von Fockewülfe. “I mean no offense to question the most honorable experience of a hero of the Battle of Vienna, but perhaps you are not as experienced with these matters as being new to these woods. We do not hunt men here, but wild beasts.”

“Wild beasts indeed…and no offense taken, my good sir…” was fair Gabrielle Émilie’s reply upon which he returned the Reverend Father’s scowl with a perfectly rehearsed and most polite smile. She then summoned for the Lieutenant. “Send two men back to the fort and have them return with hounds and a wagon forthwith.” Lieutenant Loccraccio saluted smartly and in turn called upon a sergeant. The sergeant informed the officers of a nearby farm. “Ja, min Kapten, Farmer Claus lives not far from here, and has two of the best hunting dogs in this valley.”

The Captain nodded his consent, and the Lieutenant Loccraccio gave the order. “Very well then, Sergeant dispatch two men to fetch the hounds. Tell the good farmer he shall receive just compensation for his troubles.” The sergeant snapped to attention and gave a smart salute, “Ja herrn.” Then he turned about and left to select the men. Then the Captain instructed the Lieutenant to step off the path, and did the same to the Reverend Father, who begrudgingly complied.

His reverence protested, “This is absurd, Herr Captain, it is obvious the young girl was killed by a wolf!” Gesturing to the bloody tracks once more. The Captain looked around and the cottage front. The ground was untouched. The Captain recalled the ambush laid by Ishmael and Cucombo where they fell three of the King’s guard and how she had noticed Cucombo’s tracks in the snow. “Perhaps, my Reverend Father, and we will track this beast before long I assure you.”

As they entered the cottage, they found the home in complete disarray; tables and chairs were turned over and snapped into pieces as if they were match sticks. The wolf’s bloody tracks were seen though out the dwelling. The young girl’s body lay in her bed in a pool of her own blood. Her nude body lay stiff and gray on top of her beddings. Her nightshirt draped over a bedpost was a curious thing for the Captain. Her throat had been slashed deep by the beast’s claws and it appeared that was the wound were she lost most of her blood. Her left breast had been gnawed away as the beast ate through her ribs. Her left arm dangled over the edge of the bed.

At the foul sight, the Captain felt her stomach tighten and her throat fill with bile, as her first impulse was to empty her stomach of the morning’s meal. The Lieutenant softly commented, “I, too, had a similar reaction when I came upon my first scene.”

The Reverend Father walked to the bedside, and staring down into the wound, he remarked, “The foul beast gnawed through her chest and ate the poor dear’s heart.” The Captain, unable to look upon such a ghastly sight, stepped over to the hearth, and leaned upon it to steady herself. The Reverend Father noticed the lack of color on the Captain’s countenance and inquired, “Are you alright, dear captain?” Then reaching down and clasping the girl’s gray arm, the Reverend Father lifted it up for the captain to see. In her closed fist was a tuft of coarse grayish hair. “Pulled from the beast itself no doubt. I hope this is sufficient for you, Dear Captain?”

Behind the Custos Morum, next to the head of the bed on a small worn stand was a wash basin and beside on the small silk purse was a bar of soap.

Swallowing hard, the Captain responded, “Yes…thank you.” Then glancing down at the hearth, she remarked, “These embers still carry some warmth and the fire must have gone out after her death.” The captain walked to the basin and picked up the soap and upon which she detected the scent rose petals and lavender flowers. She dipped her hand in the water in the basin and confirmed the scent of rose water. She then forced herself towards the bed where the two men stood over the poor lass. As she approached her nose picked up the curious scent of lavenders once sgain. “Pray. Sirs, do you not detect the aroma of fresh cut flowers, yet I fail to see any in this cottage?”

“Hhmmm…Lilacs, I believe.” Answered the lieutenant as the Reverend Father remained silent with disdain so etched on his face like it was carved in stone.

“Nay, tis lavender,” asserted the captain who as a young girl studied and learned her scents and fragrances well under the close supervision of her mother, the queen. Swallowing hard, the captain leaned forward toward the hewn corpse, her sense had not failed, and the poor lass’ bossom had been anointed with perfumed oil. As most of the furniture had been ransacked and splintered, the captain reached gingerly beneath the blood soaked mattress. A few moments time revealed what she was looking for: a silken purse, a match to the one by the basin, with a small vile of perfumed oil. “Truly an expensive indulgence for such a humble maiden,” observed the young captain.

Growing evermore impatient the Reverend Father barked, “Captain, I do not see what this tussie-mussie proves or disproves? Perhaps she had a gentleman caller or a lover, a suitor…she was, God rest her soul, a young woman and a fine specimen at that. Are you to allude that this poor girl’s murderer is not a beast but her lover? I must say, Captain, the marks are plain that no man could do such a deed! I grow impatient with your annoying distractions. ”

The Reverend Father continued on and said “We must prepare her for a proper Christian burial. She will be buried at on our property for her father lies there too. It is only proper.” Then he turned to the Lieutenant, “Dear Benafacio, can you have several of your men help my coachman and prepare the body for transport. I’m afraid, my son, is too moved with grief to be of any good.”

“Of course, Reverend Father.” Lieutenant Loccraccio replied and he went to the door and waved for the Coachman and the soldiers.

As the three exited the cottage, the Captain took note of the excellent condition of the door, within and without. She also noticed that as the Reverend Father pushed the door open, the inside latch was blood stained. The Reverend Father strode towards his coachman and the Lieutenant and the Captain waited at the door. The captain motioned towards the latch and lifted from the latch a single gray hair. She held up the hair for the lieutenant to see. “We hunt a beast, with the Reverend Father I am in agreement with, but what manner of beast it is, I am not entirely sure.”

“What do you mean, Herr Captain? The tracks are clearly plain within?” Asked the lieutenant. Looking at the hair she held between her fingers, “Yes, indeed. For all to see. Yet, this beast knows how to unlatch a door? There are no tracks circling the cottage or approaching the cottage, just inside and running away from the cottage.”

“In fact my dear Lieutenant, the only track leading to the cottage is that of men.” The captain pointed to the tracks in the path.

“Yes, the Reverend Father’s, his coachman and his son, Könner,” explained the Lieutenant.

Then she spotted it. The Captain walked a few feet from the door where she saw a bloody paw print inside of a man’s boot print. She leaned down and placed her fist inside the boot print and over the paw print which was clearly larger than her fist; the same as the one she discovered at the Abbey. At that moment, the Reverend Custos Morum returned with his coachman and the soldiers who trudged past the Captain and into the house. The Reverend Father stopped again with his son standing behind him. Looking down at the Captain, he once again remarked, “I have already explained this once and my patience is wearing thin. My good man and I made those tracks this morning when we first came upon this most horrid scene.”

“Yes, so you explained, dear sir, but not this particular one,” the Captain replied without looking up, “See, the beast’s print lies within the boot print, so that this boot print was made before the beast made its escape. The boot print points to the cottage, and the paw print heads towards the woods. Your servant had a caller that night.”

“You are most peculiar indeed!” Huffed the Reverend Custos Morum, “You insist upon what does not exist!” Replied the Reverend Custos Morum in exasperation. “There is no mystery to unravel, Captain, she was a comely young woman, and without blemish, I am sure she may have had a suitor or two perhaps.”

The Captain then noticed two circular marks in the heel of the boot print and dug at the mud with a finger and pulled out two boot tacks. “Alas, and our suitor is missing two tacks from the heel of his left boot.” As she lifted the tacks from the ground, she looked up at the scowling face of the Reverend Custos Morum and his nervous son who pawed at the earth like a scared gelding. “There was a gentleman caller here last night, who may have seen our beast, perhaps he was wounded as well and that is his blood upon the door latch.” Then turning her gaze to the length of the path, “Tho’ I can not discern from this path, whether his tracks leave the cottage, though I am certain of it as his blood is on the latch.” Then standing up she added, “We may have a survivor who may upon inquiry satisfy my curiosity as to the inconsistencies that confound me.”

“Such as why the beast’s tracks only lead away from the house?” Queried the bewildered Lieutenant Loccraccio.

The nervous Könner, not being able to stand the discussion, quickly strode back to the coach where he paced back and forth once again. The most agitated Reverend Father bellowed, “Perhaps, the poor child did not secure her latch and came home to find the wolf inside? Or by her own error, let the beast in herself?” His face read and out of breath with exasperation.

“I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in…not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.” Remarked the young Captain as she recalled a childhood tale. At this comment, the Lieutenant laughed a bit which drew the ire of the Reverend Father.

“Do you dare mock an Officio of the Index?” Remarked the Elder von Fockewülfe. The smile faded from the Lieutenant’s face, and the Captain answered dryly, “No, sir, I do not mock you. I merely remembered a tale my mother was fond of telling.” In a huff, the stout little man and Officio of the Index, stormed off to the cottage. After the Reverend Father departed from their company, the Captain glanced over at where the young Könner was pawing his feet. At first, the Captain thought at first that the young lad was nervous and that is why he was pawing at the ground like a nervous gelding. Now she knew it was not out of involuntary nervousness, but deliberate malice. The younger Elder von Fockewülfe was trying to smear or stomp something out, and by St. Jove he almost did. But there it was in one of the prints. Not the entire print was legible and in fact, most of it was smeared and stomped over, but what was visible was two round holes in the left heel mark.

Enter the two soldiers who arrived with Farmer Claus and his hounds upon the back of a mule drawn cart. Striding towards the cart, the Captain, called upon his junior officer, “what manner of maiden would undress and lay perfumed and naked before a wild beast as if it were her lover. Did any of the other victims that you have inspected were presented as such?”

“I know of none that would bear herself as such. Pray, good sir, what leads your faculties to such conclusion?” was the lieutenant’s retort.

“I find peculiar, that a woman of humble means, would prepare herself with great care, and not be stirred from her bed by the sight of a hungry beast? Perhaps the answer shall reveal itself once we quarry this beast.” Then turning toward the farmer’s cart, the captain added, “Come, Lieutenant, let us take advantage of the light and hunt this beast of yours,” as she strode toward Farmer Claus.

The Reverend Custos Morum and his nervous son transported the corpse of the young maiden to their castle as the captain led the hunt for the beast’s lair. The dogs picked up the scent and followed it true and the men traveled hard through the woods for the better part of the morning until the sun was at its zenith. The hunting party came upon a dense heavily overgrown portion of the woods that was covered with all manner of thorns and prickly thistles that made it most inhospitable to the men. Farmer Claus reined in his hounds and turned towards the captain as several of his men looked at each other with concerned looks upon their face. The lieutenant turned to a corporal and signaled him to follow and the both skirted around to find another means to proceed.

Farmer Claus then did speak to the Captain Émilie, “I go no further, good sir, nor do my hounds.” Then turning back to face the tangled wood, he said with an ominous voice, “this is cursed lands and I for one wish no part in it.”

The captain stepped forward and inquired, “Speak, man, what do you know of these parts?” The farmer gathered his hounds and prepared to return to his cart without uttering a word. The captain drew her sword and blocked the Farmer’s exit and commanded unto him, “Speak, man, an officer of the crown demands it. Speak or I shall have you in irons.” At this two of the soldiers approached the farmer with muskets leveled.

Reluctantly the farmer told his tale, “When I was but a child, this way was not like this and we could move freely through these parts.” The farmer paused and turned to point into the dark woods. “Now, even the light of day does not fall upon the cursed ground beyond this point.”

Lowering her sword, the captain did inquire of the farmer, “what lies beyond this picket of thorns and thistles?”

The farmer raised his eyes to the tops of the trees and said, “A cliff face of solid rock that rises hundreds of feet to the castle itself. Beyond this point lies dark caverns and caves that lead to the catacombs beneath the castle.”

The lieutenant returns with the corporal in tow. The lieutenant shook his head as he wiped at the sweat on his brow. “I am afraid the way to our left is just as impassable as it is where we now stand.”

The captain turned to the junior officer, and stated “The good farmer has revealed that beyond this dense wood lies cliff rock and the catacombs of a castle. Lieutenant, do you know of what castle he speaks of?”

The lieutenant stopped in his tracks and with surprise looked at the farmer and then at his soldiers about him. Then the lieutenant answered his captain, “There is but one castle in this region… Castle Verfluchter Todd.”

The captain then sheathed her sword, “The Reverend Custos Morum’s residence?”

“Aye, the very same,” replied the lieutenant.

“Then we shall call upon the Reverend Father and inquire if we may inspect the catacombs.” At this the captain turned to return from which they all came. The farmer was quick behind her. The lieutenant gave the order for the soldiers to return as well. Then Lieutenant Loccraccio took the captain by her arm and led her out of earshot from the others. The lieutenant whispered, “Sir, I am for you: and serve as good a man as any. But, I beg, good sir, heed my counsel in this matter, and not call upon the Reverend Father, until you have sought the approval of the colonel.”

The captain looked into the lieutenant’s eyes. “An attractive servant of that house murdered, a missing lover, a nervous son whose boot happens to be missing two tacks, and now the tracks lead straight into their catacombs? Do you think me blind, Loccraccio?” Hissed the captain.

“Nay sir, I think you see as plain as any.” The lieutenant answered quietly, “But the Reverend Father wields the power of the Inquisition and holds loyal the Sheriffs of Ingolstadt and Stiftsdamen. Not to mention the favor of the Holy Cardinal and his men. I beg of you sir, if you but delay this visit and I shall stand shoulder to shoulder with you before the colonel, and if he so commands then I shall accompany you, as your second, to Castle Verfluchter Todd.”

“No.” It was the colonel’s quiet answer. The captain and the lieutenant both stood before the colonel who without a word listened to the captain’s reasoned approach; upon the conclusion of which the colonel turned to the lieutenant and inquired of his opinion. As promised, the lieutenant did lend support to the captain’s plea. Yet, the colonel’s response was but a quiet “No.”

The captain appeared as if she was to speak, but a raised hand from the colonel silenced her speech. The colonel then after a long draw upon his cigar, exhaled and let the smoke rise from his lips, as he explained, “My captain, you are as good an officer as any I have seen, but the army is away at war, and I command but a regiment in a region already torn by religious wars and fractured loyalties. I know that the Reverend Father has dark designs upon the Princess Abbess’ lands and seeks to wed his son to her to gain it, and if not by the nuptials of holy matrimony he will have it by other means. I swear my fealty to the crown, but His Majesty, the Holy Emperor, is far away, and the Cardinal’s men, I fear, are much closer.”

As the two officers left the colonel’s office, the captain turned to his second, “Loccraccio, can I count upon your loyalty?”

“Of course, sir,” was the lieutenant’s reply.

“Is there an apothecarius in these parts?” Inquired Captain Émilie, “One who prepares and sells drugs or compounds for medicinal purposes…”

“Aye, sir, there is such a man. Herr Swartzendrüber owns the Apotheca in Ingolstadt. I have used his services myself and consider him a man of good repute.” Answered Lieutenant Loccraccio.

“Then it is to fair Ingolstadt that I journey this afternoon. Send word to Sergeant Tibbals at the Abbey that I shall return by nightfall,” was Captain Émilie’s parting words as she took her mount.

“Very well, sir,” was all that the lieutenant said as he saluted his superior officer. As Captain Gabrielle Émilie rode out of sight. Loccraccio mounted his steed as well, and pointed its nose towards the Castle Verfluchter Todd.

In Ingolstadt, Gabrielle Émilie tied off her horse in front of a small building which held a sign that had upon it an image of a mortar and pestle. Beneath the mortar and pestle was the word: Apotheca. Inside Gabrielle Émilie came upon Frau Swartzendrüber who sat behind a small counter. Behind her were shelves from floor to ceiling of jars that held all manner plant and fauna. Gabrielle Émilie inquired of the good lady as to where her husband the apothecarius was at present. Frau Swartzendrüber called out to her husband who then appeared from the back room where they did most of their work.

Gabrielle Émilie introduced herself as an officer of the crown, and that the good apothecarius was recommended to her by her second, a Lieutenant Benafacio Loccriccio. The apothecarius was small balding man with gray eyes. Upon sight of Gabrielle Émilie and her captain’s uniform a broad smile crossed the merchant’s jowly face. The apothecarius remembered the lieutenant and appeared to be quite fond of him, “A very good customer is he,” he turned and smiled at his wife who also smiled at the lieutenant’s name. “He is courting the most virtuous Lady Amelie of the Abbey Stiftsdamen. A fine specimen of a young lady, if I may say so. The lieutenant has purchased a number of gifts for the young lady here. Are you perhaps interested in the same for an equally deserving young lady of your liking?”

Gabrielle Émilie then produced for Herr Swartzendrüber’s inspection the silken purses and their contents, a small vile of scented oil and the bar of perfumed soap. Gabrielle Émilie then asked of the apothecarius, “Is this, good sir, the product of your work?”

The apothecarius examined both earnestly and with due care. He then took the soap and held it under his rather oversized and hooked nose that perched above his mustached lip like a vulture and did spake thus, “Scented soaps, my good sir, can be made by mixing Castile soap with aromatic herbs and waters,” then taking a deep breath, he inhaled and took the scent of the soap deeply. His eyes closed, he studied the subtle and different aromas that filled his senses. After a moment, he continued, “it calls for orris, cypress, calamus, rosepetals and lavender flowers ground fine and mixed with soap dissolved in rosewater. Such is how I make my soaps.” Replacing the bar on the counter, Herr Swartzendrüber continued, “This is a bar of soap that I so recently sold to a young lass, a servant at the castle of the Reverend Custos Morum.” Then the apothecarius turned and whispered to his wife who disappeared in back room and moments later produced a large bound ledger. His scarred and stubby fingers scrolled down page after page until he found a name. “Ah, yes, here she is. A pretty lass she was…her name was Frieda Pottsdamm. Poor girl spent two months wages on this bar. I offered her a plain bar of Castilian Soap, but she insisted as she said it was for a special person who was quite found of lavender. ”

Gabrielle Émilie then picked up the vile and handed it to Herr Swartzendrüber, who examined it just as thoroughly as the other. “Essential oils, my dear captain, is something we are proud of here. It can be obtained by distillation or enfleurage which is to soak blossoms or herbs in liquid and collecting the oil that floats to the top. I would recommend blessed thistle, betonye, dill, endive, eyebright, fennell, fumetorie, hop, mints, plantine, roses, the red and damaske types, respies, saxifrage, strawberries, sorrell, suckerie, woodroffe which are good for sweet waters and cakes.” The apothecarius then consulted his ledger once again and then he furrowed his brow of prickly gray hair and said, “I sold no such vial to this young lass, nor did I mix such a perfume with the spike of lavender for any of my customers.”

At this the wife stepped forward and spoke from behind her husband, “My sister whose cousin works at Arvfurstens Palats and waits upon her majesty the Abbess Princess, has told me that the Abbess Princess uses a similar perfume she purchased from the Menagier de Paris. But we make no such concoction here.”

For a moment, Gabrielle Émilie was seized by the memory of the moment in the garden with the Abbess and how her lips caressed Sophia’s delicate wrist and there she found the scent of lavenders as on her neck as well. “Pray good sir and gentle lady, who could make such a concoction?”

The couple stared at each other for a moment, then the apothecarius turned to Gabrielle Émilie and said, "Benedictine monks used lavender as a medicine and a remedy against the Plague, one such monk resides at the church in Stiftsdamen. His name is Brother Stephan. Perhaps this Benedictine can answer your questions, sir.”