The Left-Handed God Page 28
A female voice called, “Come.”
He depressed the handle and opened the door into the bed chamber—and what a bed chamber! It was large enough to contain an ordinary man’s house. A gilded and carved bed dominated it, its canopy and hangings of white silk with golden embroideries of birds, flowers, and butterflies. An embroidered scene of a shepherd and shepherdess hung at its head, and the cover was of deep blue velvet trimmed in gold. This was turned back invitingly to show white lace-trimmed linens covering the plumpest of pillows and featherbeds. Eberau swallowed hard: the bed of a sovereign was the stage to start his climb to power. He turned his head to look at the woman of his dreams.
Elisabeth Augusta was en negligee, seated at a small, inlaid desk with her back to him. Otherwise the room was empty, its drapes drawn and its several white and gilded doors closed.
Eberau closed the doors softly behind him. He took a few quick steps toward Elisabeth Augusta and flung himself at her feet. “I came, my goddess,” he said, catching her left hand and kissing it. “I came on the wings of a hundred angels to pay homage to my Venus, my Aphrodite. I am yours to do with as you please, to live or to die at your feet.”
She drew back her hand, too quickly he thought, but then he knew that she was a passionate woman.
“Eberau! What does he want?”
Surely a rhetorical question.
She rose and backed away, but in the direction of the bed. He jumped up eagerly and followed. It was a game she wanted, and he looked forward to it. Already he gauged the distance, the heaving bosom. “My beloved,” he said and thought, In a moment, my dear! Oh, how you shall enjoy this.
She cried, “Au secours!”
He stopped and made shushing noises. She had a remarkably loud voice for a gently raised princess. No market woman could have outdone her. Was she calling her French maid? But perhaps the cry for help was part of the game. Yes, surely she had made certain they would be private and wanted him to play the ravisher. He leaped forward and seized Elizabeth Augusta around her ample middle. The impetus carried her back, and they fell across the bed with him on top of her. She struggled and cried out for help, pummeling him with her fists. He pulled apart her silken negligee and seized her heaving breasts with firm hands, laughing as she struggled. Reading Captain de Sade’s tales would stand him in good stead in this case.
At that moment the doors burst open and people spilled in.
Eberau climbed off the half naked body of the Electress and backed away as he took in the incomprehensible arrival of several large, liveried lackeys. And that was not all, for here came His Highness, the Elector, himself, followed by Moritz.
He realized in an instant that this had been a trap, that he had been set up from the beginning. His hand plunged into his coat pocket and pulled out the pistol.
“Don’t touch me!” he snarled at a brawny manservant who came toward him.
Behind him, Elisabeth Augusta, that lying strumpet, wailed accusations. He waved his pistol around the circle of men closing in on him. “Stay away. It’s not true,” he cried. “She sent for me. She invited me to her bed. What was I to do but obey? I’m her subject.”
That was as far as he got. At least six of the lackeys jumped him. The pistol fired, shattering a large mirror. They threw him face down and tied his hands and feet with rope, and then they carried him away, bucking, shouting, and cursing. It took all six to subdue him, and they did not mind how they did it.
Epilogue
In time, Stiebel and Augusta were deemed sufficiently recovered for the strenuous homeward journey.
Frau von Langsdorff did not want to leave Mannheim. Seutter had given her generous funds for new clothes for herself and Augusta, and they had been shopping for fabrics and shoes and patterns for robes in the latest French fashion. For once, her interest shifted from herself to Augusta, soon be wed and in need of a trousseau fitting for the wife of a city councilman. Among her friends and neighbors, such splendor must reflect on the bride’s mother.
Seutter was so happy that he sometimes felt dizzy. How beautiful his dearest girl was in her fine new clothes and new hairstyle! He was very conscious of his own figure beside hers and took some pains to make himself fashionable. And since the worries and exertions of the past days and weeks had taken his appetite away, his new appearance was a great improvement. Yet in his foolish, loving heart, he knew what he was and would remain: a middle-aged, plain-faced man with too much belly and too little hair who did not deserve such happiness.
Stiebel and Franz dealt gingerly with each other. Franz felt a good deal of shame, and Stiebel was afraid that his angry outburst had done irreparable harm to Franz’s trust.
Toward the end of their stay in Mannheim, they received a visit. Herr von Moritz, soberly dressed in black to match a sober face, asked to speak to Stiebel and Franz privately.
“I trust I see you recovered, sir?” Moritz said to Stiebel. “I should have been greatly grieved to mourn your demise along with the other troubles caused by that unspeakable villain.”
Stiebel thanked him and waited.
“As you may have heard—gossip travels on wings hereabouts—it was thought best to have Eberau confined as a dangerous lunatic. His Highness is very conscious of his spouse’s reputation. In truth, I attended the man’s arrest and can attest to his maniacal behavior.”
“So all is safe now?” Stiebel asked.
“Oh, yes. He was responsible for all of it. When it became clear that he posed a danger to the Elector and herself, Her Highness bravely offered to assist in the capture. Eberau is now in solitary confinement and will never be released.” He paused and smiled at Stiebel. “You, sir, must be credited with alerting us to this threat, and your help has been duly and gratefully noted. But we beg that you will both keep the details of the unhappy creature’s activities to yourself as they might be interpreted wrongly by enemies of the Kurpfalz. May I have your assurance?”
Stiebel and Franz gave it.
Moritz next reached inside his coat and brought forth a fine leather case. Opening it, he displayed a blue enameled cross of heavy gold, resting on a broad deep blue silk ribbon. This he presented to Stiebel. “His Highness wishes you to have this in recognition of your service to the country.”
Stiebel’s eyes grew large with pleasure. “Dear me, sir. I am speechless.”
Moritz smiled. “A conventional expression of appreciation will do quite well.”
“Oh, please convey my very humblest thanks to His Highness. Should I make my obeisance in person?”
“No. His Highness knows of your ill health and wishes you a safe journey.”
Stiebel fell into a small trance peering at the order. “I hardly deserve…what a very handsome thing it is! The golden lion of the Kurpfalz.”
“Yes. The order of merit. And well deserved. On the back are His Highness’s insignia. Wear it in good health for many years.” Moritz bowed and turned to Franz. “His Highness also wishes to express his regrets that you and your sister should have come to some harm from a member of his court.” He took a folded paper from his coat and presented it to Franz. “This draft may be drawn on the Kurfürst’s banker. Now, if you will allow me, I have some pressing business waiting. Bon voyage, gentlemen.”
*
The day before their departure, Franz returned from a trip to Schwetzingen. He had been so secretive about this that Stiebel thought he had gone to see his little actress.
Franz brought back a large covered wicker basket which he carried into Stiebel’s room with a look of smug pleasure.
Strange rustlings and soft clucking noises came from the wicker container, and Stiebel eyed it nervously. “What’s this?”
“My gift to you, my dear sir. Go ahead, take a look.”
Stiebel inspected the strange present. He undid the string that held down the lid and lifted it a little. Two beaked heads crowned with tufts of white feathers emerged from the gap and surveyed the room with bright eyes, chat
tering to each other.
“Oh, my!” Stiebel breathed. “Oh, my! What very beautiful chickens! Quite the prince and princess of fowls. How did you get them?”
“I persuaded the baron’s nephew to part with these two. They’re Dutch and quite rare. I thought you might like to raise a flock. A little family.”
Stiebel brought out a large white handkerchief, dabbed at his eyes and blew his nose. Then he peered more closely. “Just look at those feathers on their heads—for all the world like plumes. Such regal splendor.” Then he smiled at Franz. “Perhaps we shall have eggs with our breakfasts, Franz.”
About the Author
I. J. Parker was born in Germany. After a university career teaching English and Comparative Literature, she turned to writing. Her mysteries, set in eleventh century Japan, are partially the outcome of research into Asian literature. In 2001, she won the Shamus award for a short story, “Akitada’s First Case.” The Akitada mysteries have been published by St. Martin’s Press, Penguin, and Severn House and are translated into twelve foreign languages. The HOLLOW REED is a two-volume family saga set in twelfth century Japan, THE SWORD MASTER a samurai novel, and THE LEFT-HANDED GOD a historical thriller set in eighteenth century Germany. She lives and writes in Virginia Beach, Virginia.
Contact Information
Please visit my web site here.
You may contact me at my e-mail address here. (I answer all of my mail, and this way you will be contacted when new books come out.)
Books may be ordered from Amazon and Barnes&Noble. Most of the novels are on Kindle here. The short stories are on Kindle and Nook. Please do post Amazon reviews. They help sell books and keep Akitada novels coming.
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Also By I.J.Parker
The Akitada series in chronological order
The Dragon Scroll
Rashomon Gate
Black Arrow
Island of Exiles
The Hell Screen
The Convict’s Sword
The Masuda Affair
The Fires of the Gods
Death on an Autumn River
The Emperor’s Woman
Death of a Doll Maker
The collected stories
Akitada and the Way of Justice (11 stories)
Love and Murder (3 stories)
Akitada’s Holiday (3 stories)
The Historical Novels
The Hollow Reed I: Dream of a Spring Night
The Hollow Reed II: Dust before the Wind
The Sword Master
The Left-Handed God
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Praise for I. J. Parker
Author’s Note
Contents
1 - Freiberg 1762
2 - Lindau 1763
3 - Mannheim
4 - The Journey Home
5 - The Homecoming
6 - Nepomuk Stiebel
7 - Max
8 - Mesmer
9 - The Proposal
10 - Travel Plans
11 - The Betrothal
12 - Gods and Kings
13 - Highway Robbery
14 - Small, Helpless Creatures
15 - The Earthly Paradise
16 - The Good Daughter
17 - A Question of Honor
18 - The Duel
19 - Of Dark Deeds and Darker Desires
20 - Matters of the Heart
21 - What Price Happiness?
Epilogue
About the Author
Contact Information
Also By I.J.Parker