Risky though it was on such a stretch of road, Gutesohnes whipped his team to a gallop, shouting encouragement to the horses as the coach lurched along the coach-route cut into the steepest side of the mountain above the River Orbe under a brassy sky that made the coachman squint as much as the rising dust. "Half a league, my comrades!" he yelled at the horses as he held the reins with straining hands in a frantic effort to retain what little control he had left; he tried not to listen for the hoofbeats of the horses of the highwaymen behind him.

"There are trees ahead," Ragoczy called out through the carriage's open window. "They may have confederates waiting there."

"I'll be alert," Gutesohnes shouted back. "Just two days from Yvoire. Two days! You'd think we'd be safe, so close to home."

"The men are desperate," said Ragoczy, half-emerging from the on-side window, one of his pistols in his hand. "Not that I will be able to hit anything, but it may back them off. You say there are five men?"

"Yes. I saw five," Gutesohnes cried out.

"We turn on-side shortly, do we not? And the road descends?"

"Less than half a league," said Gutesohnes, his voice going ragged.

"Very good," said Ragoczy, and sighted the barrel of his pistol to the rear of the coach; the vehicle swayed dangerously, but Ragoczy kept himself in place. "I will fire above their heads-let us see if that slows them down." His pistol had two barrels and both were charged. As the turn brought the road behind the coach into view again, he took what aim he could, then pulled one trigger, and almost immediately, the other. The knuckles of his hand on which the barrels rested burned through his glove, but he remained in position to see if he had done any damage to their pursuers. Unable to discern what had become of the group of cloaked-and-masked men, he slipped back into the coach, blowing on his knuckles to cool the welts; Hero was hanging onto the hand-straps and doing her best to maintain her composure.

"They warned us in Cossonay that there are bandits about," she said without accusing him in any way as she watched him put down his double-barreled pistol and take a smaller pistol from under the armrest. "This could have been avoided. We should have employed out-riders."

"So they did warn us, and we might well have avoided this, had we heeded them," Ragoczy agreed as he inspected the pistol before readying himself to shoot at the outlaws once again. "And we know now that out-riders would be helpful, so long as they assisted us and not them. I hope our second coach is more fortunate than we have been." He gestured toward the rear of their vehicle. "There have been times that such warnings were ploys to put travelers into the hands of brigands, who posed as out-riders."

She considered this unpleasant possibility. "Yes. That could happen."

"One must weigh the possibilities and make the best decisions under the circumstances."

"They can go faster than we can, can't they?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. "They'll overtake us."

"They can, but not safely. As we topped the last rise, one of their men was crowded to the edge of the road; he and his mount fell, and they are somewhere down the canyon. The highwaymen are now without their leader and his deputy: their horses are tiring rapidly." He did not add that soon it would be unsafe for the four gray Kladrubers pulling the coach to continue at this precipitous pace, and that they, too, were becoming exhausted; the team of fine Bohemian carriage horses had been his most extravagant purchase in Liege and it offended him that they should be put at risk.

"Yes. The servants-their coach should not be far behind us. Do you think they'll be set upon, as we have been? Isn't there some way to warn them?"

"The indication of a fall from the road ought to alert them that something is wrong," said Ragoczy. "I doubt these highwaymen will strike again at anyone today, not after that fall." He had great confidence in Rogier's ability to deal with whatever he encountered, but he kept that thought to himself.

Sighing, Hero clung more tightly to the hand-strap. "I hope you're right."

"They have lost a horse and I am assuming the rider was injured, too. Neither man nor horse will be easily brought up from the fall." He remembered many times when he had been forced to out-run pursuers: it was an experience he never got used to. "Can you charge my pistols for me?"

"I know how to," she said. "Where is your-"

"In the small leather box, in the other armrest, the one with the broad shoulder-strap. You can save me some time if you would tend to my pistols." He pulled himself half out the window and fired again, just as Gutesohnes applied the brake to help the horses slow down as the road began its sharp descent. Ragoczy swore an oath in a language only he understood, his hand trembling with the rattle of the carriage. His arm, jolted by the tightening of the brake, was off-aim, but that proved a lucky chance as the shot struck high in the chest of the lead horse of the five highwaymen. The horse staggered and went down, tumbling down the road, legs flailing, taking his rider and unseating, in addition to the stricken horse's rider, two of the men who tried-and failed-to get over their fallen companion.

Gutesohnes managed to pull his team in to an edgy trot, holding the Kladrubers in as he regained control of the coach and his team. "How many now, Comte?" he called back as the coach swung into a grove of trees and was slowed still more by their encroaching presence.

"They're falling back, and not a moment too soon," said Ragoczy loudly enough to be heard inside the coach and on the driving-box. "I'm sorry about the horses. They meant us no harm."

"No, that they did not," agreed Gutesohnes, tugging back on the reins to keep the team from breaking into a run.

Ragoczy slid back into the coach window, narrowly avoiding a collision with a massive tree-trunk growing at the edge of the road. "I think we're safe for now," he said to Hero as she handed him his recharged pistol.

"They aren't following us," she said uncertainly.

"No. And no one is emerging from the forest ahead of us." He stowed the pistol in the armrest along with his cartridge-box. "For now we seem to be safe. If there are no more problems, we will reach Lausanne tonight, and be back at Chateau Ragoczy by nightfall tomorrow." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I don't think any robbers are bold enough to venture as far as the lake."

She shook her head as she began to weep. "I'm ... I'm sorry," she stammered.

"Why should you be?" he asked, holding out his hands to her.

"Because ... because ..." She sobbed openly.

"Because you are calm when things are dangerous and upset when the danger is past?" he suggested, having seen this kind of behavior on many previous occasions.

"Distraught," she admitted, still crying but also laughing. She pulled a small handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. "I'm ... abashed."

"Abashed? There is no need," he said, moving onto her seat and putting his arm around her. "You are reliable beyond all reckoning. You have no cause to feel abashed."

She bristled at this. "What do you mean, I have no cause?"

"I understand you do feel abashed," he went on, "and it saddens me that you do not value yourself highly enough to see that you deserve your name, and that you have done better than almost anyone-man or woman-could hope to have done." He felt her relax under his arm, and he leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I hold you in high regard, whether you do or not."

She raised her face, her eyes red and still filling with tears. "You always know what to say to brighten my mood," she said, shaking her head slowly.

He kissed her cheek. "You make it sound as if I indulge you, which is not the case."

"So you say," she murmured while she crumpled her handkerchief and wiped her face with it. "Oh, what's the purpose of reassurance, but to help us forget our failings?"

"I would rather think it has to do with comfort, and the reiterance of pledges of devotion." He took her hand which did not contain her handkerchief and brought it to his lips. "I am grateful to you for charging my pistol," he went on evenly. "Yours is a very useful skill."

She laughed a little. "One you knew I possessed."

"No," he corrected gently, "one I hoped you possessed. With your travels, I thought it likely that you had been taught to shoot."

"Oh, yes," she said, more grimly but no longer weeping. "My father insisted."

"Very good," Ragoczy approved, and pulled her a little closer to him. "You have forgot nothing."

She straightened up. "I should hope not. He would have slapped me silly if I had failed to learn something so important."

He bit back the sharp remark that rose in his thoughts, and instead, he kissed her hand again. "I thank you for being ready to help in a difficult situation."

"It was that," she agreed, and gave a long, slow sigh as she settled against his shoulder. "I wish I didn't seem to unravel when difficult situations end."

"Better then than in the middle of them," he said, noticing the coach was going at a walk now, over more deeply rutted road, although it was no longer descending steeply. There were farmhouses in sight, and the first signs of a village ahead. He tapped on the ceiling of the coach to gain Gutesohnes' attention, then called out, "Why are we slowing down? Is the team worn out?"

"Nothing like that," answered Gutesohnes. "The team can go on to Lausanne if they aren't pushed again. No, Saint-Ivroc is less than a league ahead. You know Saint-Ivroc."

"Very small," Ragoczy recalled. "Maybe fifteen houses at most, and a market-square with a trough and a fountain."

"And a tavern for the marketers. No posting inn," Gutesohnes added. "Do you want to stop?"

"Why?" Ragoczy asked.

"To make a report?"

"To whom? For all we know, the highwaymen live here. In remote places like this, robbery is often the only way to make a living." Ragoczy considered for the better part of a minute, then said, "If the coach seems sound and the team is all right, give them a chance to drink at the village trough, and then we will continue on, at an easy pace."

"Very good," said Gutesohnes, and pulled the team down to a slower walk so that the coach rolled into the town as inconspicuously as possible.

"Would you like to step down?" Ragoczy asked Hero as he felt the coach finally stop moving.

"No, not really. Not here," she answered. "It is all so empty. Is it just that it's mid-day and they're all at dinner?"

"Perhaps. You need not alight if that is what you want," he said as he opened the door and let down the steps. Descending, he went to the front of the team and patted the neck of the off-side wheeler. "I am sorry that you had to do that."

"Better than being stolen by those roughians," said Gutesohnes as he climbed down from the driving-box. "And you wonder why I prefer being a courier."

"You might still be set upon by highwaymen," said Ragoczy as he reached up into the bottom of the driving-box for the wooden pail, which he took to the trough and filled for the wheeler nearest him; the leaders had sunk their noses into the water. He held the pail while the horse drank, then went and refilled it for the other wheeler. Looking about, he said, "The square is truly deserted just now."

"It's mid-day, or close enough, as you see. Most places are shut for the dinner hour. And many of the town's young men died in the recent wars, or so I have heard." Gutesohnes made a quick survey of the square. "There is one open door, I see."

"Where?"

Gutesohnes cocked his head toward the tavern that faced the market-square. "I'm going to get something to eat and drink."

"As suits you best," said Ragoczy, then added, "Will you bring a bottle of cider for my companion?" He offered the pail of water to the second wheeler, holding it while the gray gelding did his best to shove his nose through the bottom of the pail.

"Certainly," said Gutesohnes, already striding away toward the tavern.

Hero leaned out the window of the coach. "You are not going to join him, are you?"

"No, I am not," he said. "We should be traveling soon." He pulled a twig from the nearest horse's mane. "I want to reach Lausanne before sunset."

"You fear more highwaymen?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Highwaymen? No." He put the empty pail back on the floor of the driving-box. "Nothing so obvious. I want a chance to inspect the coach thoroughly and make any repairs needed before we venture on."

"Do you think repairs will be necessary? This coach is so new, and we have not used it too harshly." She sounded worried.

"I think the axles should be inspected, and the wheel-rims. The harness may also have sustained damage and may need repair. And after the way we careened down the mountainside, I think the springs must need adjusting." He patted the rump of the wheeler and saw a cloud of dust rise from the gray coat. "And the horses will need to be groomed carefully. When we get them back to Chateau Ragoczy, they will have to be bathed."

"Well, if you will drive gray horses ..." she said. "They show every speck of dust and grime."

"That they do," he said. "I'll want to clean my pistols and charge them again."

"Will you trust your team to your grooms?" she asked.

"If they were the liver sorrels, I would probably brush them down myself. But these Kladrubers are not so attached to their people as the liver sorrels are." He watched a cat with a mouse in its jaws sneak past the trough and into an alley between two closed buildings. "The horses will need three days of rest after such work as they have had."

"Will you bring the liver sorrels back from Liege any time soon?" Hero asked. "I do so like them."

"I may do. They'll be at Chateau Ragoczy before winter, that much I can assure you." He patted the shoulder of the on-side leader as he made his way around toward the door. He began to wonder how much longer Gutesohnes would take for a quick meal; they should be under way soon, he told himself as he checked the horses' mouths, hoping the escape from the highwaymen had not damaged them. He had examined the Kladruber's legs and feet by the time Gutesohnes sauntered back, a sly smile beginning to spread over his face, a bottle of cherry cider in his hand.

"The highwaymen we encountered live in the village up the hill, or so the locals claim. There are nine of them, seven of them were soldiers in Napoleon's army, and have found no way to earn a living but banditry." He handed the bottle to Ragoczy, then grabbed the rail and pulled himself up into the driving-box. "They claim they have tried to get the authorities to remove them from this region, that the bandits are all strangers in the region. The landlord of the tavern offered to buy them passage to America." He laughed-and the sound revealed that he was still shaken from their get-away-and occupied himself with pulling the reins into his hands. "Best get inside, or I may go without you, Comte." He winked broadly to indicate he was joking, not insubordinate.

"You've had a tankard or two of beer, I assume, and will be calmer shortly," said Ragoczy as he climbed up the steps, pulled them up, and closed the door. After he gave the cider to Hero, he tapped the ceiling of the coach to signal that he was ready to depart.

"Is he capable of driving safely?" Hero asked as Ragoczy settled across from her. She began to pry the wax-sealed lid from the bottle, using her pen-knife in her reticule to do it. Settling back against the squabs, she reached for a travel cup in the holder next to the hand-strap, and poured out about a third of the contents of the bottle.

"Oh, yes. This wildness is much more nerves than drink. He is still half-expecting the robbers to resume their chase, and to be forced to risk the team in out-running them." He felt the coach begin to move off at a decorous pace. "You see? There is no reason to worry: the horses will keep him honest. They came through the chase well enough, but the off-side wheeler has a cut on his leg that I suspect is from a bit of flying rock from the roadway. It will need dressing tonight, and perhaps again tomorrow night."

"When we will be back at your chateau," she said quietly.

"So I imagine we will be, if that one stretch of road is still holding its repairs," said Ragoczy as the coach moved on into the lovely early afternoon. Above them seraphic clouds drifted, serene as plainsong, impervious to the crags of rock and ice below, and too exalted to dally over the orchards and field farther down the flanks of the mountains. Orchards and vineyards hung with fruit and the fields were shaggy with grain or filled with grazing cattle, goats, and sheep. The worst of the summer heat had passed, and although the day was warm, it was not stifling.

"When do you expect to come to Lausanne?" Hero yawned, nearly dropping the travel cup as she attempted to block her open mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry. All the excitement is catching up with me."

"Do you want to rest?" he asked, reaching for the concealed lever that would transform the two seats into a bed.

"Yes, but in Lausanne," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "If the day starts to close in and we are still on the road, then I might change my mind, but not just now. Now I want to doze. I wish it could be like this when I travel to visit my children, but it will be rainy or snowing by the time I depart for Austria."

"At least you will finally spend time with your children," said Ragoczy, aware that the Graf von Scharffensee had hoped to discourage Hero's visit by choosing the most inclement part of the year for it.

She smiled wistfully. "I know I have done the right thing, putting them in their grandfather's hands, but I cannot help but miss them." She drank nervously, clearing her throat between sips.

"Perhaps he will relent when he sees how much good your visit does them." He doubted that would be the case, but he was prepared to encourage her as much as possible.

"Do you think they'll be glad to see me-my children?" she asked, and very nearly held her breath as she waited for him to answer.

"I cannot see why they shouldn't," he answered. "You haven't been cruel to them."

"They might think so, I have been away so long." She bit her lower lip and poured out more cider.

"You children probably understand why, in their own way: children comprehend so much more than we assume they do." He stroked her hand. "Do not fear that you have been supplanted in their hearts by their grandfather. They must long for you, as all children long for their parents."

"Are you certain of that?" She had intended to snap at him, but this was a cry of hopelessness.

"Children may deny their longing, and they may claim to have forgotten it, but very few of them actually do," he said. "I've observed that for myself, down the centuries. Yours cannot be so different, can they."

"I try to anticipate a good reception, but I don't expect one." She looked out at the distant spire of a church. "What village is that, do you know?"

"I regret to say I do not," he answered, recognizing her desire to say nothing more about her coming visit to Scharffensee. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "We have cheese and water and wine still, and a few of those Viennese rolls left." He indicated the small door behind her head that held the food he mentioned.

"No. I will in a while, but just now I'm not ready to eat. The cider will suffice." She put the tips of her fingers together. "We are going along at a good speed, considering. I think your grays could trot forever. For now, I want to look out the window and see nothing but the mountains and the river and the sky."

"Very well," he told her, and kissed her gently before moving back in his seat, where he remained, silent and a bit preoccupied for nearly twenty minutes while she finished her cider and returned the cup to its holder.

"It saddens me to see the seasons change," she remarked as she handed the empty cider-bottle to him.

"Everything changes, soon or late," he said, and was still for another quarter hour. Then he began to speak again, as if continuing a conversation. "There was a time, many centuries ago, shortly after I first came to Egypt," said Ragoczy distantly, "when I often wondered, when I wakened from sleep, if I had died the True Death in my stupor but did not know it. I began to think that perhaps everything I did was the imagining of the dead, that I had not survived but would not admit I had not survived, and so repeated everything I had done in life, but only in my un-dead mind. It took a girl bitten by a rabid dog to jolt me out of that cocoon of delusion."

Hero looked up, mildly startled. "What?"

"It was a long time ago, of course, and I am certain that I was still recovering from the many decades I had spent as a demon in a Babylonian oubliette." He stared off at the mountains beyond the coach. "I had nothing but my own loneliness and the fear of the sacrifices I was regularly provided to sustain me. Being taken to Egypt was the first step in my awakening." He considered the past in silence.

"When did you arrive in Egypt?" She was intrigued and wary at once, not prepared to hear anything she disliked.

"A very long time ago. They took me to Memphis first."

"Who was Pharaoh?" she asked. "Do you remember? Do you recall anything from so long ago?"

"Many of those things would be better forgotten," he said bluntly. "Yet I recall so much of that time."

"Then you do remember?" She looked surprised at this admission. "Truly?"

He nodded slowly. "It was fifteen hundred years before the Christian calendar, and Pharaoh was Hatshepsut." He tried to think of something to say that would reassure Hero; he laughed once, softly. "Hatshepsut was a woman, very imposing and capable, as she had to be to be Pharaoh. She came aboard the ship on which I traveled and I was presented to her as a captive. I had never seen anyone like her."

"Did you love her?" Hero asked, then put her hand to her mouth, shamefaced. "I didn't mean that. It was spiteful of me to speak so."

"No. I did not love anyone then. At my best, I was indifferent." He leaned back as much as the seat of the coach would allow. "Not that a foreign slave would be allowed anywhere near Pharaoh without all her guards around her, and the priests. No, they had better uses for me than as an oddity to entertain Pharaoh: I was made a slave of the Temple of Imhotep, and assigned to care for the dying."

"How awful," said Hero with distaste, for she had seen field hospitals and knew what they were. "How did you manage?"

"Indifferently, at first, both in skill and in attitude. I cared only that the priests were satisfied with my work, nothing more." He felt the road begin to dip again, and said, "Lausanne is about two hours ahead, I think."

"If all goes well," she said.

"If all goes well," he agreed. "I doubt we'll have any trouble on this stretch of road. It is well-traveled once the crossroad is reached, in about half a league." He put his hands together, fingertips touching lightly. "And if there are no more difficulties, we should be at Chateau Ragoczy before dark tomorrow. We will depart early and travel as far as Saint-Gingolph before resting. If we arrive late in the day, we will not continue, but spend the night there. If we have made good speed, we will go on. The horses will suffer otherwise." He looked over at her. "I hope you will not be too disappointed if we have to wait an extra day to return."

"No. No, but I am weary of travel."

"As am I," he said, and fell to watching the sky and the lengthening shadows. "The Kladrubers are wearier still, and Gutesohnes along with them."

The coach passed the crossroad at Renens-en-Haut and continued on toward the lake. There were more houses now, and the promise of a town ahead-Renens-and the road to Lausanne. Gutesohnes pulled the team to a jog-trot and steadied them through increasing traffic. At one point he halted them completely to permit six mounted dragoons to go past them, then set the team moving again.

"I could see the other coach, about a league behind us, while we waited for the dragoons," Gutesohnes called down to Ragoczy.

"Very good. They've closed the gap. I am sure they made an easier passage through the mountains than we did." Ragoczy saw Hero shudder miserably; he softened his voice. "It is over. The highwaymen are gone. We need only concern ourselves with pickpockets and sneak-thieves."

"What a consoling thought," she said, too brightly.

"You understand the risks all travelers take in strange towns," he said, so levelly that she managed to gesture agreement without any sharp words. "It is wise to keep in mind that travelers' inns often cater to those who prey upon them as well as the travelers."

"Why should I fear, since I am with you?" Her banter fooled neither of them, for it was clear from her demeanor that the threat of being robbed frightened her.

"And you will stay in the private parlor I engage for your use. As soon as Rogier is with us, I will task him with ensuring you are not exposed to the unmannerly fellows who are bound to be in the taproom."

The coach lurched to a stop, and Gutesohnes called down, "Sorry. There are pigs loose on the road."

This simple announcement set Hero to giggling, the first indication of her release of tension. "Pigs."

"Probably being driven home from market," said Ragoczy calmly.

Her giggling continued. "I sound so ... missish. I don't ... You'd think I'd never traveled before."

"You are trying to reassure yourself," he said. "That escape this morning was very frightening."

"Even for you?" Her spurt of laughter made her look about in chagrin. "I don't mean anything ... wrong."

The coach began to move again, and Gutesohnes called down, "Which inn?"

"Le Corbeau et Hibou," answered Ragoczy.

"I know the place," Gutesohnes assured him, adding, "The team is very tired."

"They have had a hard day," Ragoczy agreed.

Hero had brought her unmirthful laughter under control, and now she said, "You're very understanding, Comte. But I am appalled to think such a minor disruption could work such a change in me."

He took her hands in his own. "I know you have been about the world, and seen many things, but that does not mean that you are immune from fright. The chase this morning was fairly brief, but it well and truly rattled me. I expect it did much the same for you."

She took a long, slow breath. "Thank you for understanding."

"Le Corbeau et Hibou," called out Gutesohnes. "Right ahead."

Ragoczy lifted her hands and kissed them. "You might thank Gutesohnes, too. We were saved by his driving."

She nodded twice. "I will," she declared, and began to make small repairs to her appearance as the coach swung into the innyard and ostlers ran out to assist the coachman with the horses.

Text of a note from Professor Erich Teich at Heidelberg University, to Wallache Gerhard Winifrith Siefert, Graf von Ravensberg at Ravensberg, Austria; carried by academic courier.

To Graf von Ravensberg, the felicitations from Professor Erich Teich of Heidelberg, on this, the 18thday of September, 1817

My dear Graf,

I thank you for informing me of your forthcoming publication on the properties and character of blood. This will provide a much needed text that many of us have wanted to have to hand in our pursuits. By your innovative work, you may have provided a basic thesis from which all of us concerned with anatomical studies might clarify our thoughts and observations. I congratulate you on your accomplishment, and I look forward to reading your book as soon as it is made available. Now that I have returned to my university I can endorse your work freely. Many others will be equally pleased to learn of your efforts, which will doubtless inspire lively debate from Poland to England.

Wishing you every success

I am

Erich Teich

Professor of Anatomical Studies

Heidelberg

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