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world, and I shall show none. Perhaps I am a beaten cur, hard bitten and hard biting. But if you had wished otherwise, you could have shown yourself twenty years ago!”
    His eyes searched my face. “Mercenary captain. Who would have thought that you would even survive this long? Much less stand with lace at your throat and two hundred horsemen at your back?”
    “I’m hard to kill, My Lord.”
    “I know.” The angel almost smiled. “You stand there in black velvet, unbowed still. Perhaps there is some hope left in this bleeding continent. Have you never believed in anything?”
    I sat down at the table heavily. Trcka slumbered on in the chair beside me. “I believed in the Winter Queen,” I said. “But she was dross. She and her king fled, and left us to die on the mountain covering her retreat. So I fight no more for queens or thrones. I serve Wallenstein, who pays in gold. I care not for Emperor or Pope or kings.” I looked up at him.
    “You have come so far,” he said, his eyes searching my face, “from that bright girl alive with hope. So far from those days when even I was young. The world is older, now, and a new dark age upon us. This land is drowning in blood, and I do not see the end of it.”
    “You tell me what I know,” I said. “Now the kings of Sweden and France enter in, and there is no end to war.”
    “Yet you live,” he said, and took a breath. “I shall take some hope in that. That battered and changed, you endure. And perhaps you will find your way back from these caves. I cannot tell.”
    “My Lord,” I said, “What will be our fortunes in the field?”
    The angel gave a rueful smile. “I can tell you nothing you do not know. You will meet the King of Sweden in battle, and many brave men will die. You will win, or they will. And whoever prevails will fight again and again.”
    “Will I die, My Lord?” I asked.
    “No,” Michael said. “That would be too easy.”

    I had not spoken of these things to Trcka, nor would I.   When I had awakened in the morning it seemed little more than a foul dream brought on by drink and atmosphere.   And yet I was quite certain that I never wanted to do such things again.   If something of the kind was the reason he had summoned me to Plzen I resolved to refuse even if it were grave disrespect.  
    Our meal was served privately in an upper room, well seasoned fresh cutlets of pork and a dish of stewed apples, sweet Rhenish wine and a pastry thick with almond paste, and brandy to follow.   It was very good.
    "Did it ever occur to you," Trcka asked at last, dabbing at the marzipan in his moustache, "that there are other ways to live?"
    "It occurs to me constantly," I said dryly.   How not?   Trcka should eat well if it were the last pig in Bohemia, and perhaps it was, so ruined was the countryside from fifteen years of war.   I had not eaten thus in my childhood, when a sausage was dinner for us all, and a grand one at that with some cabbage.   At Falkenau the winter would be harsh, but with care we might all see spring.   If I were strict enough with the food now and let no man eat his fill, including myself.
    Trcka laughed as though I had made some great piece of wit.   "I don't mean the food," he said, and his eyes were sober over his glass.   "The ancients did not live thus.   Pax Romana , Roman peace, enduring centuries from one end of the world to the other.   They built roads and temples and towns, bridges that endure today!   In Italy where are waterworks that still faithfully bring water from artesian springs into cities, fresh and pure as mountain air!"
    "What is all that to me?" I asked.
    "I thought you of all people had the imagination to think," Trcka said.   "What might we do if this war were ended?"
    I shrugged.   "I don't know."   It made me angry for reasons I could not fathom and did not wish to.
    "Then what will happen if it does not?" he asked softly.   "Surely you can see that."
    "There will be nothing left," I