When the Saints
Page 19
“Just what was all that in aid of?” he demanded. She had deliberately provoked that confrontation, and he couldn’t see why.
“Don’t ask me!” she said furiously. “Why did you lip him like that?”
Because the royal turd had called the Magnuses a litter. Wulf didn’t answer.
She said, “If you really do let them tie your hands, then there won’t be any doubt that you’re using talent. You’ll be breaking the first commandment to powder.”
“You don’t imagine I have any intention of turning up? To perform like a juggler for that bunch of daffodils?”
Konrad might be as celibate and virtuous as a saint, but he posed as an effemid aer for nate lecher. No real man would serve such an ambiguous jackanapes or be seen within a league of him.
They turned the corner and almost collided with another procession, this time entirely female. The leader was young and soberly dressed in dove gray. She clasped a missal in both hands and kept her eyes sedately lowered, but she wore a tiara, and must be Princess Laima. She was followed by a couple of ladies-in-waiting of about her own age, and three much older nuns.
Darina stepped aside and curtseyed. Wulf repeated his floor-sweeping bow. The princess spared them one very fast glance and then dropped her gaze to the tiles again, pacing on by, no doubt heading for an evening visit to her dying grandfather.
“Friendly little miss,” Wulf remarked softly after the parade had safely vanished around the corner. Of course, Darina was a fallen woman and he was dressed like a laborer.
“She’s twice the man her brother is.”
He laughed, and suddenly the rage drained out of him and he remembered how tired he was. When they reached her door, he opened it for her. “Thank you for a fascinating evening, my lady. But you will have to solve Crown Prince Konrad’s problems without me. I must consider my reputation.”
He stepped into limbo.
Now what? The pale nothingness of limbo seemed very restful after palace, castle, and battlefield; it might be a good place to indulge in that sleep time he needed so much. No one could disturb him there. Or could they? More than anything else, he needed instruction in the uses of talent. He knew where to go for that.
CHAPTER 25
Two days ago, Otto had waited on Cardinal Zdenek in his office, but in daylight. By night the place seemed airless and more menacing. The luxuries of gilt and mirrors, of rich drapes and crystal chandeliers, all failed to lighten it or soften its vaunting arrogance. The scraggy old man was leaning forward on his throne, glaring furiously, with little red patches of rage glowing on the milky skin above his white beard and long yellow teeth. He held out his ring for them to kiss—earl first, then baron.
And he left them both on their knees. Otto held a title created back in the twelfth century, and Zdenek was the son of a butcher. Anton belonged to the premier chivalric order in the kingdom, but this glorified upstart clerk considered that he had put him there, so he could treat both noblemen like errant schoolboys called before their magister. Worse, he was deliberately humbling them in front of a witness, for when Otto risked a backward glance, he confirmed that the friar was still present, now seated at a desk behind the door.
“What does it take, Count Anton, to win your loyalty?” the old scoundrel raged, snarling down at them, spraying spit. “Five days ago I created you out of nothing. I found you in an old woman’s bed, swiving her for money, and I made you one of the wealthiest landowners in the country. I deeded you one of the finest countd aerago I creies in the land. I promoted you from cannon fodder to the highest order of chivalry and gave you the hand of a great and beautiful heiress, whom you have now deflowered and plan to hand down to your juvenile brother so he can have his turn with her. What thanks is that?”
Anton’s face was redder than the cardinal’s robes. “But I am exceedingly grateful to Your Eminence, and I know of no reason whatever for Your Eminence to accuse me otherwise. It is true that Lady Madlenka has indicated that she loves my—”
“Loves! Loves? Romantic childish rubbish! Take a switch to her backside and teach her where her loyalty lies. Three or four good beatings will soon change her heart. Let me hear no idle jabber of love.”
Otto, who had the great good fortune to be married to a woman of both spirit and intelligence, reflected sadly that Zdenek’s views would be those of most men, including Bishop Ugne. Yet for centuries the noblemen of Europe had made a habit of riding away on crusades and leaving their lands and families in the care of their wives, and the wives had done just as good a job of running them as their menfolk would have done. Otto himself had no fears for Dobkov’s management while it was in Branka’s hands. Women might know otherwise, but most men still thought that only they could make wise decisions.
The butcher’s son had not done. “And if not gratitude, why not a little loyalty, eh? Why are you consorting with traitors, tell me that!”
Anton’s flush of fury faded abruptly to pallor. “Traitors? I am a loyal servant of King Konrad and know nothing of traitors, Your Eminence.”
“What about Hedwig Schlutz? She likes to be styled Marquessa Darina, but she is no more a marquessa than you are. Even less. You expect me to believe that you are ignorant of the current politics of Jorgary? You must know how things stand between the crown prince and his grandfather.”
Otto resisted a strong temptation to purse his lips or even whistle, but Anton needed no prompting to find the correct riposte.
“Your Eminence is accusing Crown Prince Konrad of treason? I was certainly not aware that matters had descended to that level. Furthermore,” he said quickly, “the woman I knew only as Marquessa Darina is obviously a Speaker, because she materialized in our presence uninvited and without coming through the door. To defy a Speaker would be rank insanity. She informed our brother that the crown prince wished to thank him for defeating the Wend army—news she could have only learned by supernatural means—and she led him away. Wulfgang is guilty only of courtesy to a presumed lady, Your Eminence. That hardly calls for accusations of treason!”
“Brother Daniel?” the cardinal snapped. “Where is Wulfgang Magnus at the moment?” Either he was a very good guesser or the friar had given him a signal.
“He is just approaching the king’s quarters, Eminence.”
The long yellow teeth appeared again. “For what purpose, I wonder?”
Anton’s face shone wetly and his mustache was wilting. Otto decided to carry the load for a while.
“Your Eminence, for more than three centuries our family has never wavered in its loyalty to the House of Jorgar. I am confident that His Majesty has no more faithful subject than our brother Wulfgang. He has today performed legendary service and does not deserve your slurs upon his honor. May I suggest that he is being taken to meet the king because His Majesty has expressed a wish to thank him in person?”
Of course he hadn’t. They all knew that the king had been at death’s door for weeks.
Zdenek paused for a moment to appraise this new opponent. The old villain must know that Otto would be a tougher foe, for he was almost twice Anton’s age, with many more years of experience, and he was not the cardinal’s own creation, as Anton was.
“We do not trouble His Majesty with business at this time of night. His convalescence requires extensive bed rest.”
Just by raising an eyebrow, Otto said: Even to bring him the glad news of the greatest victory in the history of Jorgary? It is true that he is in his final coma, then?
The Spider heard every syllable of that silent look. “His Majesty’s health,” he said bitingly, “is cause for concern, but he still attends to business. That said, he trusts me to handle all but the most vital affairs for him. No regency has been appointed and we have no expectation of one.” The heir apparent is still only the heir apparent.
“This is glad news, Your Eminence. We pray daily for His Majesty’s speedy recovery and long life.” We’re still on your side.
“And recent events at Ca
rdice will not be discussed in Mauvnik until the count’s official report arrives.”
Otto now saw Zdenek as a frightened, almost pathetic, old man. His power, his great wealth, even his life’s work—all were in jeopardy and likely to vanish the moment the king stopped breathing. His cardinal’s hat might save him from the headsman’s ax, but he could hardly hope for a lesser penalty than lifetime exile. He would fight viciously, giving no quarter, a boar at bay. Perhaps he had seen a secret weapon in Wulf, a new and powerful weapon, whereas Wulf in the prince’s hands would be disaster.
“You Magnuses show your loyalty in strange ways, Baron. Consorting with foreign-based, illegal, secret, Satanic cults like the so-called Saints, for example.”
Experienced warrior that he was, Otto wheeled his front to repulse this attack from the flank. “Your Eminence, none of us had heard of these Saints people until an hole haur ago. The woman Justina represented to us that she had been sent by you to aid Wulfgang. Was this a lie?”
The cardinal leaned back on his throne as if his back was aching and regarded his guests with distaste. “You are fools, both of you. The Church is attracted to Satanism like flies to rotting meat. The Inquisition especially loves rich victims, because when a man is charged with heresy, his property is automatically confiscated. It will be returned only when he is cleared of all charges against him.”
Which would be never, of course. Anton turned a look of horror on Otto, who had a brief vision of Branka and the children being driven out of Dobkov into winter snows.
“Oh, yes,” Zdenek said wearily. “You are in danger, both of you, not just your Satanist baby brother. Does the future hold a candlelight party, with Magnuses as the candles?”
“What do you recommend we do, Your Eminence?” Otto inquired.
The spanking was over and the bargaining had begun.
“What is the Magnus boy at now, Brother Daniel?”
“He did not enter the royal bedchamber,” the friar said softly. “He was apparently returning to the marquessa’s quarters, but they have stopped to speak with His Highness.”
The butcher’s son pulled a face. “Listen to what is said. My lords, I am not without influence with the Church. The boy is three years short of his majority, so one or other of you two must be his legal guardian. If you have any sense, you will explain to him that the fate of your entire family may rest upon his loyalty to the throne. See that he pledges his loyalty to me, His Majesty’s first minister, and not to that evil coven of witches. Then I may be able to persuade Archbishop Svaty that his powers are now safely under control, and by destroying the Wend heretics he has served the Church as well as the kingdom. Do I have your words of honor on that, my lords?”
Now would not be a good time to inquire about the one-third share of Wulf that Zdenek had promised to the coven of witches, according to Brother Daniel’s comments earlier. Nor to mention the late Fathers Azuolas and Vilhelmas.
Anton left the response to Otto, who said, “You have our word, Your Eminence, that we shall do all in our power to persuade our brother to comply with your wishes, in the certain knowledge that they are also His Majesty’s wishes.”
Wulf was a Speaker. How did you rule Speakers? Moreover, ever since early childhood, Wulf had made mules seem biddable as sheepdogs. Even Father had rarely managed to bully him into doing anything he did not want to do. Now, with love in his heart and a spectacular military victory under his belt, he would certainly go his own way, quietly, politely, and implacably.
The butcher’s son held out his ring to be kissed. “You have my leave, my lords. Brotmy pleher Daniel will see you back to Castle Gallant.”
CHAPTER 26
The solar was an untidy mess, littered with empty wine bottles and remains of snacks, but Justina had long since learned to ignore surroundings. Settled in the most comfortable chair, she was happy enough, keeping one eye on what Wulf was doing with the Darina slut and Zdenek with the count and baron. Once in a while she would spare a glance for Umbral and Sixtus IV, but more than two conversations were hard to follow.
Suddenly Wulf was there, peering around in the candlelight and looking almost asleep on his feet. “What happened to Joan of Arc?”
She did not even blink at this curious query. “She was condemned to death for heresy by a panel of French bishops and the English burned her. Sit down.”
“No,” he said. “How? Why could she save France and not herself? How could she defeat armies and not escape from a jail?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Make it short!” he roared. “I haven’t got time for more of your stupid games. Tell me!” Menace normally meant nothing to Speakers, but he was a killer and as powerful as any.
Justina folded her hands calmly. He was wearing the Magnus dagger, so she addressed her remarks to that, not wanting to strain her neck. Otto must have bestowed it on him. Well earned, of course.
“Speakers must be controlled. Even Speakers agree on that. Our talent is too dangerous otherwise, as you have demonstrated. You have a hair-trigger temper and kill men on impulse. So we submit to jessing. Each of us has sworn an oath to a workaday, our cadger, never to use our talent without our cadger’s permission. That’s all, quite simple. I am jessed by Lady Umbral, head of our order. That Darina slut was jessed by a man in Italy, who has contracted out her services to Cardinal Zdenek. Both she and her cadger belong to the Saints.”
Wulf scowled and blinked some more. “What’s to keep you from breaking such an oath?”
“Don’t you remember how I warned you to be careful of curses or blessings or oaths? I bound myself with my own talent, so I cannot break my oath without my cadger’s prior approval. My cadger can transfer my loyalty to another, but only with my approval.”
“Then it’s voluntary slavery?”
“No, it’s a partnership. Your cadger cannot give you orders, only permission. You can refuse. Two heads are better than one, you see.”
Wulf nodded, looking either stupid or stupefied.
“I hWul do wish you would sit down, nephew. I will be seeing Lady Umbral in another hour or so. She will be happy to admit you to the Saints and even jess you herself, which is a great honor. There are several hundred of us, scattered all over Europe, plus maybe a few score cadgers and some dozen branchers in training. We can teach you what you still need to learn. I hope we can also defend you from the Church’s wrath.”
The way the Sixtus interview was going, that hope was becoming fainter by the minute.
Wulf abruptly sat down and leaned his arms on his knees to shout at her. “What happened to Joan of Arc?”
Justina sighed. “She was a haggard, like you; a Speaker without training. She went to see the dauphin. He had a panel of clerics examine her…”
“I know all that! Later, why couldn’t she escape from the English jail? How could they burn her when she could defeat their armies?”
“Because she didn’t have her cadger’s permission to escape.”
Wulf sighed as if a shutter had just opened in a darkened room. “The dauphin!”
She nodded. “She swore fealty to the dauphin, but neither he nor Joan knew about Speaking. The clerics of his court did, and they made sure that her oath of loyalty was so worded that it jessed her—they did not want a juvenile female Speaker manipulating the future king of France and ruling over their heads. So they deliberately did not instruct the dauphin in the proper precautions. He told Joan to go and lead his armies to victory, nothing more.”
“You mean she was not allowed to save herself when she was in danger?” Wulf’s face twisted in revulsion. “Swine!”
Justina said, “Quite. But the Saints know how it is done, and we protect our own. The Church does not burn us.”
Then honesty compelled her to add, “Or very rarely. I know of a couple of cases where falcons and their cadgers became extremely corrupt and we turned them over to the Church for justice. They deserved it, believe me. The system isn’t perfect, but it is the
best we have. Even popes have been known to use Speakers for dark purposes.”
“Next question, then. Why wouldn’t you answer my questions this morning?”
“I am answering them now,” she said. “I had to find out how well you had your talent under control, where you rated on the manhood scale, and a few other things.”
“And you concluded?”
“You have nerves of steel and balls to match. In the five generations I have seen, the family has produced no finer Magnus. I am proud to be related to you.”
He blinked. “Then tell me all the other things you held back.”
Justina sighed. “If I told you the moon was blue, would you believe me?”
“No.”
“If you saw it blue, would you believe?”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled at that, which would have been a mistake. Most people would hesitate, suspecting a trap, or waffle about asking for another opinion. Wulf never had doubts.
“You had no handler. Comfort and counsel are what handlers are for. Talent grows in of its own accord and at its own pace, like adult teeth or body hair. We can do little more than advise and reassure. You were taught that the strange powers you were starting to develop were the work of the devil, and you dared not tell people about them. You suppressed them. You invented those Voices.”
“I heard them, I tell you! St. Helen and St. Victorinus.”
She shook her head. “You imagined them. Did they ever tell you anything you didn’t pretty much know already, or could guess? Or that your talent wouldn’t reveal to you? Like the pain you felt when you started experimenting in earnest. That came from guilt and fear of hellfire. Once you gained confidence, the pain disappeared.”
Wulf pouted disbelievingly and straightened up as if his body weighed tons. “What are the words of the jessing oath?”