Stolen Splendor Read Free Page A

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!
    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.
"Could 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 up 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. The she stumbled to a nearby
table and collapsed in a chair.
    Burying her face in her hands, Kassandra listened
dazedly as the