With the sweat pouring down his face, Andy turned to me and said, “Do me one last service, Michael, and find me a priest. If you haven’t brought one within the hour I shall take this girl under my arm and fly with her from Vienna, leaving you to shift for yourself.”
He spoke so desperately that I feared he might do as he threatened. I set my teeth grimly, therefore, and went in search of our hostess. This vigilant woman was still up, selling wine to her customers and emptying the purses of those who slept. She told me of a trustworthy priest who was ready at any hour of the day or night to perform his sacred office without indiscreet questions, so long as he was liberally paid. It was not the first time he had been summoned to the house, and twice that week he had administered the Viaticum and Extreme Unction to customers who had come to blows over questions of religion. I gave her a gold piece and she sent a pot boy for the priest, in the belief that somehow or other I had got the better of Andy in a struggle for the girl and that he now lay at the point of death. When I returned to our room Andy snatched his hand from Eva’s neck with a scowl at me. But he quickly regained his good humor and said, “Forgive me for speaking to you so sharply just now, my dear Michael. This is the happiest moment of my life, and I could never have dared to hope that such a lovely and well-born girl could grow fond of me.”
Just then we heard the ringing of the priest’s bell outside. What was my amazement when I opened the door to admit him to find that I knew that bluish, puffy face with its crimson beak of a nose. There in a cassock, tonsured and with a stubble of beard, stood the man who during my student years in Paris had given me my first dearly bought lesson in the falsehood and treachery of the world.
“In the name of the Compassionate!” I cried. “May all the saints protect us, Reverend Father, but are you not Master Julien d’Avril, the blackguard from Paris? Where did you steal that cassock and how comes it that you were never hanged? Surely there is some justice in the world?”
It was indeed Julien d’Avril, though greatly aged and more drink sodden than ever. At first he turned ashy pale. Then, like the fox he was, he quickly recovered himself, enfolded me in his malodorous embrace and with tears of emotion exclaimed, “Ah, my dear boy, my dear Michael de Finlandia! What happiness to see again your open, honest face. Blessed be the hour that unites us once more. How is it with you, and why do you need the services of Holy Church so urgently as to drag an old man out of bed?”
With this unlooked-for meeting I may fitly end the story of the siege of Vienna, and having conscientiously told all and hidden nothing of my share in this unhappy campaign, I will begin a new book about my subsequent adventures.
BOOK 6.
ANDY too was much shaken when he recognized Julien d’Avril, but he soon recovered and showed him the reverence due to his cloth.
“The past is forgotten,” he said, “and I bear you no grudge, Master Julien, although at one time I would gladly have flayed you alive and hung your hide to dry on the branch of a tree. But no one is free from guilt and who am I to cast the first stone? Tell me one thing-are you a properly ordained priest, empowered to administer the Sacraments?”
Julien looked at him reproachfully and replied, “Can you doubt it? Forget my former sin-polluted name and call me Father Julianus, for so I am known to all Vienna as a pious army chaplain. I have brought with me the Host and the holy oil, and wait to serve you, though I can see no one here at the point of death.”
Andy said, “Reverend Father Julianus, produce your sacrament of marriage and read the necessary words over me and this Hungarian orphan girl; she must tell you her own name, as my stiff tongue can’t get round it.”
Father Julianus showed no surprise, and his eyes wandered abstractedly over the bare shoulders of the bride as he remarked, “Your purpose is praiseworthy, but what has the mistress of the house to say to it? Have you paid her for the girl? She incurs much trouble and expense in her profession and I should be loath to do her an injury, for we’re good customers to one another.”
Andy stared at him uncomprehendingly, but Father Julianus raised his hand and went on, “Don’t think I doubt your sincerity or mean to slight your bride in any way. Many a marriage embarked upon in the heat of the moment or in a fit of drunkenness turns out well, and a prostitute often makes the best wife for a professional soldier. She gathers firewood for him, carries his cooking pot, and washes his clothes. Nevertheless allow me as an experienced curer of souls to suggest that you would be wise to sleep on the idea.”
When at last Andy grasped the chaplain’s meaning he flew into a passion, drew his sword, and would certainly have stabbed Father Julianus to death had I not sprung between them. I reproached our guest very volubly for his suspicions, and explained that Andy’s sweetheart was of noble birth and the heiress to a great Hungarian estate. The wedding must necessarily be a quiet one, I said, because of the unhappy conditions prevailing in her own country. Father Julianus should have three ducats for uniting them and an extra ducat for the poor box.
But Father Julianus only half believed me; peering at all three of us suspiciously, he said, “There’s something fishy about this affair. You wouldn’t have summoned me at this time of night and to a brothel if you had nothing to hide. I won’t risk my neck by being a party to it-at any rate not for four ducats.”
Andy in his madness made no attempt to bargain, but offered the blackguard twenty Hungarian ducats, which only made him the more suspicious. Nevertheless he opened his book, read the necessary benedictions, and joined the pair in matrimony without further remark. Even in his impious mouth the ancient Latin words had a solemn sound.
Finally he asked Andy for the ring, that he might set it upon the bride’s finger and declare them man and wife. In his extremity Andy asked me for Grand Vizier Ibrahim’s valuable diamond ring-a request so outrageous as to do more than anything to convince me that his mind was unhinged. Storm and swear as I would, he snatched it from my purse by force and handed it to Father Julianus, who slipped it on the girl’s finger. So it left our possession for ever.
At the sight of this magnificent stone Father Julianus looked much disconcerted and seemed to wonder what sort of men we really were. He brought the ceremony speedily to a close, pronounced the benediction with all the power and authority of Holy Church, swept the coins rapidly into his greasy purse, and prepared to leave. He said, “I have talked myself dry and will gladly drink to your welfare and success if you wish it. No doubt you will stay here for the rest of the night to fulfill the first obligations of matrimony, and I will visit you again to bestow the blessing of the Lord upon you both.”
I suspected that we had walked into a trap, but Andy caught Father Julianus by the ear, poured wine down his throat, and said hospitably, “Drink, dear Father. For once at least swallow enough to know that you have drunk. Tonight I care not what it costs. Michael can fetch us another couple of flagons of this nectar.”
Father Julianus struggled violently, spluttered and protested, but Andy forced his swollen nose into the stoup and bade me fetch more wine. When he released him for a moment the pious Father at once began accusing us of treachery and cursing us for renegades, and swore that the first time he saw us in Paris he could smell the sulphurous fumes of heresy about us. Andy soothed him, saying, “This is for your own good, dear Father Julianus, but if you’d rather have your throat cut I’ve nothing against it. Don’t tempt me too far, for I can’t forget your dastardly desertion of us at the inn outside Paris, when you left us a curt letter as sole memento of all our cares and troubles.”