Janos kept his face expressionless, since he knew there was no intentional insult involved. True, there might come a time in his old age-assuming he lived that long, which was unlikely-when he would be forced to kill an unarmed woman who attacked him. But to do such a thing now, when he was twenty-five, an experienced cavalry officer, and one of the best swordsmen in the Austrian empire? She might as well have thanked him for not being a coward.
There was such a difference between them, and the ones he had captured. Eddie Junker he understood almost immediately. A few exchanges over the past two days had been enough for the purpose. A sturdy young fellow, from a good down-time family. Lutheran, true, not Catholic. But Janos did not particularly hold that against him, since Junker retained the other virtues of the station he'd been born into. Loyal, quietly courageous, dependable, solicitous of his mistress' well-being.
In their own manner, the same was true of Lannie Yost and Keenan Murphy. A bit hapless in some ways, those two, as their actions with the plane demonstrated. But Janos had learned while still in his teens that some retainers could fumble at things, and one overlooked their failings for their virtues. The position of a nobleman was simply a transient charge given by God; gone in an instant, measured against eternity. In that, as in so many things, Father Drexel's School of Patience was a superb guide.
Young Denise had seemed a bit outside Janos' experience, at first. But eventually he'd realized that was because the fluid class relations of Americans always blurred one's view of them until you understood where to look. Ignore class, and she was not so strange at all. Neither was the Suzi Barclay creature, for that matter. Wild young noblewomen were not common in Hungary, and even less so in Austria. But they were hardly unheard of. What mattered was the way they shaped themselves as time went by. Some wound up quite well, as Janos thought Denise was likely to manage. Others were… hopeless. A nuisance to their families at all times, perhaps never more so than when they reached old age and the obnoxious wretches had to be cared for.
Mostly, he was intrigued by Noelle Stull. Such a perceptive one, she was. He was quite sure that it would never occur to the Barclays or O'Connor to ask him the question she had. Where they would thank him for not killing a woman, when the reason was obvious, she'd wondered why he had decided to kill a man. Even more, what he thought the cost would be.
She was attractive, too, in a way that some young Hungarian noblewomen were and a few Austrian ones. Pretty in a subdued sort of way; slender; far more athletic than most such. He wondered what she'd look like in formal court costume.
He was a little jarred when he realized the direction his thoughts were heading. Just so, a few times in the past, had he gauged a possible marital prospect. In one instance, an assessment that led to his marriage to his now-deceased wife Anna Jakusith de Orbova.
Anna had died a year and a half earlier. This was the first instance since that horrible time when he'd even thought of another woman in those terms.
The thought was preposterous on the face of it, of course.
He realized his silence was making the Barclays and O'Connor uncomfortable. They'd assume he was thinking about them; possibly, even contemplating harsh measures.
"I am pleased to hear she is settling her nerves. Please see to it, though, that she remains unarmed. Just in case."
They nodded.
"Are there any other problems I should know about?"
"Uh, no," said O'Connor. "Everybody else is fine."
Janos wasn't surprised. Barlow and Simmons had wound up attached to the group through happenstance. They were not and never had been part of the inner circles. Nor liked, for that matter.
Truth be told, the episode's outcome had been much as Janos hoped it would. The rest of the up-timers had been far easier to handle since the killings. That would improve their chances of reaching Austria safely.
Marina Barclay looked uncertain. "I guess I should tell you that Billie Jean's threatening to complain to the authorities-the Austrian authorities, I mean-once we get to Vienna. She says she'll press charges against you. Take it all the way up to the emperor, if need be."
"She will certainly have the right to do so, under Austrian law. Even the right to appeal to the emperor, although he rarely takes such appeals under consideration."
Now, all of them looked uncertain. After a few seconds, Marina's husband finally got around to asking.
"Do you, uh… know the emperor? Personally, I mean?"
"Oh, yes. We have been close friends since we were boys."
They stared at him, then started to turn away. Moved by a sudden impulse, Janos cleared his throat.
"Excuse me. If you would satisfy my curiosity? Noelle Stull. What is her family background?"
The three of them looked at each other. By whatever silent communication passed, Peter Barclay assumed the role of spokesman.
"Her family is, uh… Well. Strange. There are several families involved, actually. The Murphys and the Stulls and the Fitzpatricks."
The tale that followed was intricate; complex; even tortuous at points. More than it needed to be, really. It was clear that the up-timers assumed he would find almost all of it incomprehensible.
When they finished, he nodded. "I believe I understand the gist of it. Noelle's true father, Dennis Stull, was betrothed to her mother, Pat Fitzgerald-in their own eyes, at least. Then her family, largely for religious reasons, forced her into a marriage with Francis Murphy. By whom"-he glanced over at the five USE loyalists, readying their camp-"she gave birth to Keenan, over there. During the years that passed, meanwhile, her once-betrothed remained unmarried. Eventually, Pat-Murphy, now, not Fitzgerald, as is your American custom-abandoned her legal husband and went to live with Dennis Stull for many years. By whom she had her daughter Noelle, although the fiction was publicly maintained for over two decades that Noelle was Francis Murphy's daughter. Until it all-'blew up,' was the term you used?-because Francis Murphy was outraged that his long-estranged wife attended the funeral of her lover's mother when she had refused to attend the funeral of his father. So, in a drunken fury, he attempted to murder her at the funeral."
"Well, sort of," said Marina. "Stupid bastard shot into the funeral parlor from outside. The only solid hit he got was on the corpse in the casket. His own son Keenan was the one wrestled him down, and kept him from anything worse."
"The whole thing was a comic opera, really," added her husband, "although it wouldn't have been if Francis had been sober enough to shoot straight. As it is, the only thing they wound up charging him with was attempted murder and desecrating a corpse."
Janos stroked his mustache. "A reasonable legal decision. The latter is certainly a charming one."
The Barclays and O'Connor didn't seem to think it was the least bit charming. "That was Judge Maurice Tito. He wasn't anywhere nearly as prone to be lenient to poor Horace Bolender. Threw the whole damn book at him, the self-righteous bastard."
Janos decided not to pursue that. It was the common characteristic of thieves to believe that one of their own was roughly handled by the law, where favoritism was shown to others.
In truth, there was some substance to the charge. By their own account, the flamboyant conclusion to the long and complex family saga they'd narrated was the product of emotion and unreason, not cold-blooded and premeditated criminal intent. Austrian judges-certainly Hungarian ones-were prone to gauging the two differently also. As was Janos himself, for that matter.
"This must all seem weird to you," said Marina, smiling.
Janos shook his head. "It all sounds quite familiar, actually. I can think of several similar episodes involving Hungarian noble families. Rather mild escapades, actually, compared to other things that have been done by such. When we reach the Danube and can finally relax a bit, remind me to tell you the history of Countess Erzsebet Bathory. She is-was-my maternal grandmother. A Calvinist, true, not a Catholic. But I do not believe a fair man can ascribe cause to effect in this instance. My parents converted to Catholicism when I was two years old, and I was raised in the church. But one of her sons, my uncle Pal Nadasdy, has stubbornly remained a Calvinist to this day, unmoved by all of Ferdinand II's many proffered carrots and occasional brandished stick. Yet I have rarely met a more respectable man."