Chapter 2

As the carriage sped along, the unpaved, tree-lined avenues that wound past the stately mansions on the outskirts of Vienna soon narrowed into the cobbled streets of the imperial city. Kassandra sat on the edge of the seat, her heart fluttering with excitement as she gazed out the carriage window at the busy streets and bustling market squares.

Everywhere she looked was a blur of color and motion: early afternoon shoppers with overloaded baskets dodging the open carts and fine carriages that choked the narrow streets; hawkers with their trays of trinkets vying with one another for space on the busiest corners; flower girls in bright, patterned aprons selling their garlands of autumn blooms to passersby.

“A lovely bouquet for yer mistress, dearie?” a buxom flower girl called out to her as the carriage inched its way along the crowded street.

Kassandra smiled, shaking her head. The girl merely shrugged and sauntered over to another carriage.

“Ah, now there’s a fine gentleman to buy a posy for yer wife…or yer mistress, whichever she may be!”

Kassandra blushed as the flower girl’s hearty laughter was lost in the raucous cacophony of the street. She wondered fleetingly what it must be like to be so bold…and so free.

Suddenly, with a loud crash, the carriage came to a jarring halt, accompanied by the frantic neighing of terrified horses, the sound of splintering wood, then furious oaths and curses. Kassandra was flung to the opposite side of the vehicle, her fall fortunately broken by the well-padded seat.

“Look to your horse, man, not your blasted cart!” Zoltan shouted at the top of his lungs, followed by a streak of coarse obscenities in his native Hungarian. Then he jumped from his seat to the ground and pulled open the carriage door. “Are ye all right, milady?” he asked, his swarthy face a mask of anxious concern.

“Yes…yes, I’m fine,” Kassandra assured him shakily, righting herself in the seat. A rush of pity surged through her. The poor man, red-faced and sweating profusely despite the cool air, looked in a much worse state than she.

Kassandra smiled brightly at him, her tone reassuring. “Truly, you can see that I am unharmed, Zoltan. But what has happened?”

Zoltan shook his head grimly, wiping the perspiration from his brow with a massive hand. “Ah, it’s an awful thing, milady. Two carts have collided just ahead, and a fine horse is down, its leg broken, looks like to me.”

“How terrible!” Kassandra gasped, feeling a sick knot in her stomach at the thought of the stricken creature. She loved horses. Riding was like life to her.

“A pity it is, too, those damn fools. Rushing along the crowded street like that, their carts full of heavy water barrels. I’d like to take my whip to ‘em both!”

“Is there anything we can do?” Kassandra asked, peering out the window at the curious crowd pressing in around the accident.

“No, milady. They’ll see to it soon enough.” Grunting his displeasure, Zoltan glanced over his shoulder at the wreckage strewn about the street just twenty feet away. “It’s fortunate we were no closer, else we might have been caught in the middle. Now we’ll have to wait until the mess is cleared away…hopefully no more than a half hour.”

Kassandra sat back against the seat at this news, her mind racing. A half hour! That was far too much precious time to waste sitting in this carriage.

No, she decided quickly, she would set out on her own and meet Zoltan later in the afternoon. This place was as good as any other to begin her stroll, though she would have wished it had been under different circumstances. Yet now she would not have Zoltan dogging her every step with the carriage.

Gathering her cape around her, Kassandra held out her hand to him. “Please help me down, Zoltan.”

The coachman did as she requested, a puzzled look on his face. “Milady?”

“I have far too much to do this afternoon to spare even a half hour,” Kassandra said, stepping onto the cobbled street. She quickly looked about her to get her bearings, recognizing the name of the street posted high on a corner sign. She was in the market district. She turned back to Zoltan. “I shall meet you at four o’clock in the square in front of St. Stephen’s Cathedral. That should give me enough time to complete my errands.”

“Ye shall walk, milady?” Zoltan asked, incredulous. These English! Why would she choose to walk about the city when she had a fine carriage at her beck and call? He shrugged. It was not for him to say what the nobility could, or could not do.

“Yes,” Kassandra murmured, reaching inside her bag. She pulled out a few coins and handed them to him. “I know there must be taverns nearby where you can find some refreshment, Zoltan. Now I must be on my way.”

“Thank ye, milady.” Zoltan nodded, the coins heavy in his hand, and flashed a toothy grin. The promise of a frothy mug of beer or two and a hearty lunch of sausage and fried potatoes cheered him considerably, especially after the miserable disaster he had witnessed. He tipped his cap to her. “St. Stephen’s Cathedral, then, at four o’clock.”

Kassandra barely heard him as she hurried away from the carriage and down a crowded side street, a sense of exhilaration coursing through her.

She was on her own…at last! And with an entire afternoon to spend exactly as she wished!

Such sights, sounds, and smells surrounded her as she strolled up one twisting street and down another. Common people of many races—Germanic, Latin, Slav—passed by her, their languages as diverse as the rustic costumes they wore. Street urchins, most of them accomplished pickpockets, careened through the crowds, preying lightheartedly on the nobility: men clad in black velvet coats lined with rose-colored satin over embroidered gold waistcoats, with powdered periwigs, white silk stockings, and red-heeled shoes; and their ladies wrapped in capes trimmed with luxurious fur, or edged with bright red satin and gold lace.

Kassandra had never before seen a city where the aristocrats mixed so freely with the common people…so unlike London. And it seemed the entire town was composed of palaces, whether they be the homes of the wealthy, middle-class, or the poor. Four-story buildings towered above the shadowed streets, their gleaming white facades decorated with all manner of fine stucco ornamentation. A wide variety of shops occupied the first floors of these buildings, some with fine glass windows through which passersby could watch the workers inside—jewelers, leather-smiths, tailors, and dressmakers—busily plying their trade. Kassandra paused here and there to admire carefully arranged displays of fans, embroidered handkerchiefs, and comfit boxes, the finest adorned with delicate wreaths of jewels and pearls.

Luscious, mouth-watering aromas wafted into the street from pastry shops, bakeries, and sausage makers’ shops. Kassandra’s stomach soon growled hungrily, reminding her she had not eaten since early that morning. She stopped to buy a buttery roll filled with sweetened cream, then ate it as she walked along, reveling in her independence and contemplating life in all its diversity and richness. She had waited a long time for a day such as this one!

Rounding a corner, Kassandra paused in the doorway of a coffeehouse and finished the last of her pastry. A rousing blare of trumpets and the thunderous beating of drums took her by surprise and she peered down the street, amazed at the great throng of people moving ever closer. Overcome by curiosity, she stepped from the doorway and walked toward the lively din. It appeared to be some sort of procession…

Two small boys brushed by her, their ruddy cheeks flushed with excitement as they jostled and pushed each other down the street.

“Wait!” Kassandra called after them. “Would you tell me what’s going on?”

The boys stopped in their tracks and turned around. One lad, overcome by shyness, blushed awkwardly and shuffled his feet. But the other piped up, eager to share his important news.

“It’s the Hungarian oxen, miss! They’ve just arrived from the country and they’re taking ‘em down to the slaughterhouse.” He bobbed his head to her, then sharply elbowed his friend, who did the same. Then they scurried on their way.

A cattle parade. Kassandra had heard of this strange custom from Isabel, who had told her the Viennese loved pageantry of any kind. The lamentable procession of oxen on their way to the slaughterhouse qualified as entertainment of the highest order, especially because it was free.

She watched in amazement as householders and shopkeepers left their homes and shops to throng in the street with their wives and children, all jockeying to get the best view. Shrieks of boisterous laughter rent the air, already charged with a carnival-like atmosphere.

Kassandra pressed her back against a wall as the procession moved past her. The roar was deafening as the trumpeters and drummers marched by, followed by dragoons on horseback, their swords drawn and flashing in the sun, who encircled the frightened oxen and herded them onward. Young boys goaded the oxen with long, sharpened sticks—Kassandra gasped as she spied the two she had spoken with earlier diving into the fray—while mastiffs snapped at the beasts’ legs and barked ferociously at any laggards.

Kassandra felt a wave of pity at the sight of the miserable creatures, clearly terrified by all the shouting and noise. Unable to watch such cruelty any longer, she turned away and began to struggle through the onlookers to a nearby side street.

Suddenly a great cry of alarm went up as a large black ox broke away from the herd and charged at the crowd, bellowing in rage. Whirling, Kassandra dodged just in time to escape the maddened animal’s horns, only to find herself swept down the street in the midst of the screaming throng.

For a terrifying moment it seemed she would be dragged under and trampled, but, clawing and kicking, she managed to fight her way back to the side of the street. Spying a half-open door, she lunged for it and nearly tripped inside a large, dimly lit room. She slammed the door behind her and leaned on it for a moment, gasping for breath. Then she stumbled to a nearby table and collapsed in a chair.

Burying her face in her hands, Kassandra listened dazedly as the screams of the crowd carried on down the street.

Everything had happened so fast! Her breasts rose and fell rapidly beneath the bodice of her gown; her throat felt raw and parched. She struggled against the swamping sensation of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her, and fought back the tears that burned her eyes.

Sweet Lord, she could have been killed… A shuddering sigh escaped her at this numbing realization. Suddenly chilled, she reached behind her to draw her cloak around her body, only to find it was no longer there.

It must have been wrenched from her shoulders during her struggles, she thought, her mind reeling. She looked down at the skirt of her gown. The flowered fabric was grimy and torn, and ripped on one side from the muddied hem almost to her thigh. With trembling fingers she touched her head, only to discover her lace cap was also missing. Her hair, tangled and snarled, had fallen from its pins to frame her face in riotous disarray. And her bag was gone, along with her money.

The dress and the money are no matter, at least you are unharmed, Kassandra chided herself, still astounded that she had so narrowly escaped death. Somewhat calmed, she gazed nervously about the large room. She was in some sort of a tavern, that much she knew.

The dense, smoke-filled air stung her eyes. Kassandra blinked, wiped them with the back of her hand, and then looked up again…straight into the eyes of a stranger staring boldly at her from across the room.