“I did not take it, she gave it to me,” Marcus insisted. “And as I said, for all the rest— all the rest— she was clearly seasoned. She’s a beautiful woman, sire, she is enchantingly beautiful. She is also a harlot.” The back of his mouth tasted like tin; he felt as if a solid, heavy bar of it stretched from his gut up his throat.
“For the love of Christ,” Konrad said hoarsely, then sat down in his leather chair and did not move.
“May I be excused?” Marcus asked.
“No, you may not,” he snapped. “I did not make this mess, I am only the victim of it— you will have to do the dirty work.” He groaned a little. “And then I will end up with that Besançon bitch.”
They sat in tense silence, punctuated occasionally by Konrad’s indignant cursing and the hounds’ soft whining as they pressed their worried canine noses against his fingertips. He ignored them, which only increased their solicitude.
Finally Willem and Jouglet appeared together in the doorway.
“Not Jouglet,” Marcus and Konrad said in the same voice, with the same gesture pointing at the minstrel to leave. The two in the doorway exchanged glances.
“Very well, sire. Willem my friend, shall I see you at supper?”
“Yes,” said Willem and, without thinking, almost kissed the minstrel. He chucked her on the shoulder in a chummy sort of way instead, and she slipped away down into the red stone courtyard.
“Willem, step inside and shut the door,” the emperor said gruffly. “Keep the boys outside. And the dogs.” The pages, after summoning the hounds, retreated again, but they were starting to look extremely curious.
The three men stared at one another: Willem with confusion; Konrad with muted fury; Marcus with a very real combination of fear and guilt. “Yes, sire?” Willem asked, bowing. “What do you need of me?”
“Marcus has a little question to ask you about your sister,” Konrad said in a tight voice. “You must answer honestly. Our futures both rest on it.”
* * *
Jouglet had decided to wait in sight of the king’s receiving-room door for the trio to emerge. Two pages and a guard waited outside the door, looking like banished pets. Jouglet played half-penny prick with the cook’s children, who were alarmingly talented at knife throwing. Upstairs, the three men were secluded for as long as it might take to walk a mile. She had a bad feeling about this— which accelerated to alarm when she saw Willem emerge. His face was colorless beneath his light brown beard. He looked shaky as he passed the guard and pages, and began to descend the steps to the courtyard. She shooed the children off and ran up the steps to meet him halfway. “What is it?” she asked.
He did not look at her; he seemed incapable of turning his head. “I need to be alone,” he said tonelessly and kept walking past her down the stairs. She started descending with him, but he brushed her away, as if she were a small dog he did not want to pay attention to. Confused, she looked back up toward the king’s door; Marcus had come out onto the landing. He looked as distraught as Willem, but his face was red, and he seemed frightened, or cowed. “Willem,” he called down miserably, but the knight, without looking back at him, shook his head with the same stunned slowness and continued walking down the steps; at the bottom he turned left and then left again, to begin the descent down to the stable. Workers and a knight or two, crossing the small courtyard on their own business, looked up at Marcus with curiosity, and then down at Willem as he descended.
“What’s happened?” the minstrel demanded, running back up the steps to meet Marcus. “Marcus, tell me what’s wrong. I’ve never seen him like that.”
“Jouglet,” Marcus said with frustration, glancing at the guard and boys, who were openly eavesdropping. “It is not a topic for public discussion.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” She looked down at the half-dozen people who were taking an interest in what was happening. “Go away,” she ordered.
“You’re the worst gossip in the Empire,” Marcus said irritably. “There are some things, Jouglet, that must be respected, there are some secrets that should not see the light of day.” His throat constricted; he was still shaken by what he had just done. Not ecstatic; not relieved. He hoped those feelings would come later; for now he was just shaken. He had achieved his goal: Lienor would never be the empress. He had expected Willem to attack him, and now almost wished for that. No doubt it was yet to come.
“What has happened?” Jouglet demanded again as they stepped off the stairs into the courtyard.
“There really are some things that are beyond your understanding,” Marcus said gently. “You are too young, and you do not understand the pressures on the aristocracy regarding private matters. Leave it alone.” A few steps away was the opening to the covered spiral stair that led up to his room, and he stepped toward it.
“I’ll talk to Konrad,” Jouglet announced defiantly. “He tells me everything.” The cook and butler, walking together into the courtyard, glanced at them with curiosity.
“He may not tell you this.” Marcus nodded his head to end the conversation, and disappeared into the stairwell.
She heard a sound above and looked up to see Konrad standing in the doorway, looking dismayed. “Sire!” Jouglet cried out, and again ran up the steps.
He smiled a tired, fatherly smile. “Jouglet, I should have known you’d stick your nose in it at once.”
“Stick my nose in what?” Jouglet begged.
Konrad sighed sadly and then— aware of the attention they were getting— dismissed the ejected attendants down the stairs. He said in a gentle whisper intended only for the minstrel’s hearing, “I will not marry Willem’s sister.”
Jouglet gaped, then rudely and furiously demanded, “Why not?!”
This caught the attention of everyone who was in any room that opened onto the tight and echoing courtyard; in other words, approximately the entire upper palace.
Konrad pursed his lips a moment. Still in a whisper, he answered, “I think Willem is the one who should share that with you, if it is to be shared. It is not my story to tell.” He started to retreat into the room, then looked back and said to Jouglet, “It’s good he has you as a friend. He will need encouragement these next few days.”
“Has something happened to her, sire?” Jouglet demanded frantically. “Is she dead?”
Konrad grimaced. “Almost worse than that.”
Jouglet gasped. “Has she been violated?”
This cemented the attention of all those who had been only half paying attention.
Konrad grimaced harder and shook his head. “It would almost have been better for her if she had been. Then she could at least claim to have an unsullied reputation.” Seeing the minstrel’s consternation, Konrad sighed and gestured Jouglet to come up into his suite. “Willem wouldn’t keep this from you, but he’s too upset to speak right now. Come inside, then, but you must swear to me this will not end up in one of your little songs.”
The instant the door closed behind them, the eavesdroppers in the courtyard and open windows turned to their neighbors with eager speculation.
* * *
There was one hard, angry knock on the door. Marcus took a deep breath and prepared himself to face Willem.
But when he unbolted the door and stepped aside, what flew into his anteroom was half Willem’s size and almost unrecognizable with rage. Jouglet slammed the door closed, hard, then turned on Marcus, who jumped back in surprise and almost tripped. Jouglet leapt at him and had him by the collar, practically spitting on him. “How did you really learn about that rose?” the minstrel hissed.
Marcus was prepared to be confronted, but not this way, and certainly not by this adversary. “I saw it when we lay together,” he said stiffly and wrestled Jouglet off his collar. “Calm yourself, lad. The windows are open, they’ll hear you in the courtyard.”
“You are lying,” Jouglet snarled, shaking a curled fist under his nose. “It never happened. I know that girl, and anyhow, her brother locks her up like
a king’s coffer when he’s away, you would never have had the chance.”
“I explained to His Majesty the details of the story because it concerns him,” Marcus said and coughed, straightening his neat clothes. Wincing, he rubbed his upper arm where Konrad had grabbed him. “It does not concern you. I’m remorseful enough about it, please go away.”
Jouglet ran to the window and heaved the heavy wooden shutters closed. The room darkened and instantly felt smaller. “This is a lady’s honor you are playing with! Her entire life!” she snapped furiously.
“I know that,” Marcus said, barely above a whisper. “I am more concerned with a lady’s honor than anyone at court. Leave me, Jouglet— “
Jouglet stamped one booted foot hard and grunted with frustration. “It is not too late to unsay it, Marcus. You didn’t do it, she didn’t do it. Do not impinge her honor!” And ruin all my plans, she added to herself, almost sick with rage.
“What do you know about a lady’s honor, you hypocrite,” Marcus scoffed. “You’ve never known anything but whores. Get out of my room.”
“Tell me why you did this,” Jouglet demanded through clenched teeth. “Willem’s no threat to you, Konrad will give you a duchy someday! What do you gain by such convoluted treachery? I’m not leaving here until I understand the fullness of your mischief. After all I’ve done in your interest!”
“There was no mischief,” Marcus protested, marveling at his new ability to lie so fluidly. Already the bar of cold tin at the back of his throat was disappearing. “I was approached by a beautiful young woman who literally threw herself at me— she did not tell me who she was until afterward. I would still protect her reputation, Jouglet, I would only the emperor had known— if it becomes common knowledge it’s because you are running around shrieking about it, not I. She lost her honor on her own— she’ll lose her reputation thanks to you.”
“Every word out of your mouth is a lie,” Jouglet said at once. “Tell me why you did it.”
“I’ve told you the truth, there’s nothing more to say.” Marcus sighed what he hoped was a condescending sigh and settled before his writing chest as if he were in the middle of something else. He fiddled with his folding scales and tried to think of something he could pretend to have to weigh.
Jouglet clapped. “I have it! You don’t want to lose the betrothal to Alphonse’s pale little spawn.” And with suspicious curiosity, “Why not?”
“You are inventing labyrinthine plots when the truth is far simpler, and more tragic.”
“You don’t want to lose that fat dowry,” Jouglet said triumphantly, then pressed on eagerly, “but Marcus, you idiot, now you can marry Konrad’s bastard— I’ve been cultivating that for years! Konrad will offer her within a day or two, and if he doesn’t, I’ll navigate his thinking in that direction, I promise. What she’ll bring you will dwarf what Alphonse’s daughter could have brought you. This is good! This is to your advantage! Your ambition benefits from my ambition, why the devil are you thwarting it?”
Marcus looked up and shook his head slowly, exhausted by the stress of the day. “I will swear on all that I hold holy, Jouglet, this is not about ambition or dowry lands. And that is the end of the matter. Good day.” He gestured toward the door.
“Whoreson,” Jouglet spat and added warningly, “I’ll disprove it.”
“Go ahead and try,” Marcus said in a disinterested voice. Just let me marry Imogen first.
“Even if it were true, why did you tell Konrad?” Jouglet pressed. “What is served in that?”
“Jouglet,” Marcus said, trying to sound very patient and patronizing. He stood and moved closer to the shuttered window. “If he had married her and then found on their wedding night what she really was, it would have been disastrous. She would be shamed, and he would look like a fool in the eyes of the world. I was trying to avert that greater evil with the pain of my confession. That is the end of this discussion.” He reached out to open the shutter.
“Tell me the truth!” Jouglet shouted and hurled herself on him again.
Marcus wrestled the attack off, surprised by its ferocity. He shoved Jouglet hard to the floor, then pinned the minstrel’s neck under his foot, the freckled face pressed hard against the rushes covering the planks. He shook his head as Jouglet growled in protest. “The proof that I am not lying is that I have nothing left to lose. Nor to gain. I have nothing to fight for. All I ever desired has been taken from me.”
Jouglet made a sneering face from the uncomfortable prone position. “What are you talking about? Do you mean your engagement to Alphonse’s daughter? Are you deaf? I just promised you Konrad’s daughter— “
“It is not a matter of the purse but of the heart,” Marcus said and lifted his foot. He moved away from the window, without opening the shutter.
Jouglet scrambled up, arms raised defensively, with an incredulous look on her face. “You are upset that you will not have Alphonse of Burgundy to call father? Marcus, he’s one of the most repulsive men alive, why would you value him— “
“I value her,” Marcus said sharply. Jouglet looked even more surprised. Very little escaped her attention; this somehow had. It was probably not requited; this had to be some very personal confession that nobody else knew about. Or else, more likely, it was not even true, but a lie intended to confuse the issue. To the best of her knowledge Marcus and Imogen had only even met twice or thrice, and then briefly and in public. Seeing the look on Jouglet’s face, Marcus nodded. “I do not deserve her, but I am in love with her, Jouglet.”
Jouglet, still brandishing her fists, took a step backward and shrugged impatiently. “So be in love with her. What does that have to do with marriage? People don’t marry the one they’re in love with. I will never marry the one I cherish most.”
Marcus made a disgusted expression. “That’s probably because she’s a prostitute.”
“Willem can never marry the woman he’s in love with either.”
“Who would that be, his sister?” Marcus said in a nasty voice, crossing his arms.
Jouglet relaxed the martial stance, considering him with narrowed eyes. “I think you’re the one in love with his sister. You must have met her somehow. This is some twisted way to assure that you can claim her.”
Marcus smiled, pained. “Yes, my tale would serve that end very well, but it is not an end I have the slightest interest in.”
“Oh?” Jouglet challenged, smug and angry, thinking she had solved it. “Do you claim you would not be pleased if the emperor ordered you to marry Lienor now, to protect her brother’s honor?”
This alarming possibility had never crossed his mind. “No, I would not be pleased,” he said firmly. “In fact I would refuse. I know her too well already; she will never make a constant wife. As I told Konrad, I took her maidenhead but I didn’t take her innocence. The flower had been fondled many times before I actually plucked it.”
Jouglet crossed her arms, mimicking him. “That is a neat trick, considering her brother keeps her under guard within the house.”
“No,” Marcus said promptly. “The neat trick is that she knows how to get out in secret. You yourself have gone on ad nauseam about her cleverness. She complained bitterly to me that he is overprotective, because of some childhood mishap. I didn’t press for details; something about being taken prisoner by Alphonse overnight, something about an estate.” He thanked the saints that he had endured the mother’s blathering on about that. Jouglet’s face revealed surprise, and for the first time a hint of uncertainty, and Marcus risked more. “Yes, she told me that she slipped out of the house and found men to…lend herself to, simply to rebel against his strictness. This time she was particularly upset because he was sequestering her for his entire absence, so she decided to undermine him by giving away that which he was most obsessed with protecting.” He felt in control of the situation now and was able to assume a gentle, compassionate tone as he explained in a lower voice, “That is what hurt Willem the most I think, realizing
his own behavior contributed to this regrettable coincidence. He swore her innocence, even when I described the birthmark. It took what I just said for him to yield to the news.” With genuine remorse he finished quietly, “You do not know how dreadful it is to see a great man slain by your very words.”
Jouglet was staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open. Every instinct inside her still shrieked that he was lying…but now he had given an account that was entirely in keeping with Lienor’s character. She would never do it for lust; lust had no hold on her. But to rebel, to make a point? Yes. Lienor just might do that. Might. Might not, but…might. It was no longer in the realm of the unthinkable.
Or perhaps Marcus was more subtle and sophisticated at deceit than she’d realized. In which case keeping an eye on him was more important than ever. So she swallowed the fury, the self-righteousness, the panic, and managed to look extremely sheepish.
“I apologize,” she said in a hoarse whisper, looking down at her fidgeting hands. “Please forgive me. I was so upset on Willem’s account that I lost my head.” And looking up: “It is still very hard for me to believe what you have said, but I no longer feel certain you are lying, especially since I do not know you as a liar.” That was better, more nuanced, than an outright shift in sympathy.
Marcus shrugged. “If that is the most you can bring yourself to say, I feel moderately vindicated. Thank you.” He tried not to listen to his own words.
Jouglet affected a poignant grimace. “I imagine it will be a bit awkward for you around Konrad and Willem for a while. If I can sweeten any bitterness there, please let me know. If you were serious about being in love with Imogen, perhaps I can— “
“That? No,” Marcus said casually, sounding so convincing he spooked himself. “That was a lie, and I apologize for it— you frightened me so with your intensity that I was trying to think of whatever I could to shut you up.”
“Oh, I see,” Jouglet said, risking a small ironic laugh. “So it is my fault that you felt forced to be deceitful.”
Revenge of the Rose Page 26
