When the Saints

by Dave Duncan

“I’m not at all sure you do, sire.”

  “Do what?”

  “Want to know. It’s very bad news. I mean, I am a loyal subject of the House of Jorgar, and I began picking up worrisome rumors. I stress that I have no hard evidence and I am not completely sure of my facts, but it felt like my duty to—”

  “Evidence of what?” The prince hadn’t slackened his pace at all, and yet he was giving all his attention to Wulf. He must have remarkable faith in his horse and his own horsemanship.

  How to convince him? Konrad was not among the Wise. Told that Wulf was a Speaker, he would either flee in terror or scream for the Church. And even sorcery had given Wulf no hard facts.

  His father had always said that truth was safer than lies because it was easier to remember. “Treason, sire. The brewing of a plot to depose you very soon after your grandfather’s passing.”

  Konrad’s sudden pallor showed through its coating of dust and a long day’s sun- and windburn. Deposed monarchs had the life expectancies of mayflies. Everyone knew that, even stupid princes. But he did not scoff, so he must have at least considered the possibility.

  “I will have their heads! Who are they? Give me names!”

  “Names I do not have. It may reach up to the Assembly of Nobles.”

  The prince’s muttered blasphemy suddenly changed to a shout of annoyance as the cavalcade came to a ford. The stream was flowing rapidly, and severaۀy, and sl minutes were needed to cross. Then he dug in his spurs, yelling for Wulf to close up again. Other courtiers were looking disgruntled at this blatant favoritism.

  “Talk!”

  “Yes, sire.” First lay a foundation of truth. “You know my brother was serving in the cavalry. I was his varlet and had much time on my hands.” Now build an edifice of lies. “I overheard some nasty jokes about ‘King Konrad the Brief.’ I accompanied my brother for a couple of days on his way north, and then doubled back to join my wife. Being known in the stable, I could prowl around, and I made it my business to do so. What the marquessa told me last night confirmed my suspicions. There is a plot forming in the shadows. Of course I may be worrying unnecessarily, and nothing may come of it.”

  “That slime Zdenek is behind it, I’ll wager. I swear that the first thing I will do when I succeed is throw him in a dungeon.”

  “And who will replace him?”

  “I will. I intend to rule, not just reign.”

  Heaven preserve Jorgary! “A very noble sacrifice, sire.”

  The horses had slowed to a walk for a stony hill. The prince scowled at Wulf, suspecting mockery. “What does that mean?”

  “Just that the old man works all day and half the night. No more hunting for you, sire. No grand balls or late parties. No wrestling, no jousting. Just reading all those reports would keep a team of clerks working from dawn to dusk. Your life will be nothing but drudgery.”

  Konrad’s scowl became a glare at such impertinent back talk. But he had to believe what Wulf was saying. “I’ll find some senior underlings for the routine. Maybe two or three good ministers to do the rough work, and I’ll supervise.”

  “An excellent idea, sire. Of course they will have to be trained.”

  Probably no one had dared question any of the lummox’s harebrained declarations since he was shoulder-high. He shot Wulf another suspicious glance. “Now what are you getting at?”

  “If Your Highness is really asking my opinion, I would suggest you tell the Scarlet Spider to start training his successor.”

  “I can’t tell him a damned thing! Nothing! He just nods very solemnly and then ignores everything I say.”

  Wulf just smiled until the pause was obvious, then said, “I could suggest some orders he would accept from you already, sire. Sadly, we all know that your accession is only a matter of days away. So there are certain instructions he would have to take now, without waiting for your grandfather to die. I don’t know for a fact that His Eۀct that minence is involved in the plot against you, but I am sure the plotters will want to enlist him as soon as possible. Of course, the Assembly of Nobles—if that is who is behind this, as I suspect—are a quarrelsome bunch.” No one had ever told him so, but any collection of nobles was certain to be a quarrelsome bunch. “So it seems likely that their plan will be to keep Zdenek on, running the country for them and their puppet king.”

  “What puppet king?”

  “Whoever they choose to receive the crown matrimonial.” That was what Otto had called it.

  Konrad practically screamed. “Laima? Laima wouldn’t do that!”

  “They may leave her no choice, sire.”

  The pallor had faded, but now it returned. They had stopped discussing deposition and moved on to assassination.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes and three tweaks later, the hunt arrived at Kastan Lodge, a minor timber palace on the shore of a small lake. Wulf had seen it a week ago, when the water had been jade green, reflecting the forest around it, but now it was silver below the darkening sky. The sun had set and he had less than twenty-four hours to betroth Princess Laima to Louis of Rouen.

  A haze of wood smoke greeted the visitors as they dismounted, grumbling about stiff muscles and saddle sores. Between the escort and the lodge staff, there must have been two hundred servants fussing around a royal party of thirty or so. The hounds had long gone back to Mauvnik; grooms led away the horses and the hunters climbed four steps to the front door.

  They passed directly into a large hall, open to the rafters and lit by four great chandeliers of a hundred candles each. This was new to Wulf, for last week he had not been allowed indoors. A staircase led up to a gallery flanking three sides of the hall and giving access to bedrooms. He wondered uneasily if it also served as an observation gallery for orgies staged on the main floor, because the furniture there consisted of well-padded divans and thick rugs, not the spare, rustic seating he would have expected in a hunting lodge. Did new boys get hazed, and if so, in what ways? Half a dozen girls were there to greet the hunt—either well-dressed street girls or informally dressed court ladies, who could tell? They squealed with childish delight at being reunited with old friends, kissing the men with more fervor than discrimination. Darina was not among them.

  Darina was dining with a grandfatherly, well-dressed gentleman, just the two of them. Most likely he was her cadger, and she was reporting the results of her meddling.

  Pretty servant girls were proffering silver cups of wine. Manservants were emerging from an upstairs door to carry steaming water buckets along the gallery. The courtiers, now entangled in twos or threes, were congregating at the foot of the stairs, while an elongated young noble stood a few steps up, vaiۀsteps upnly calling for silence. His buck teeth identified him as Lubos, the prince’s chamberlain.

  “Pavel Chlebicek of Podpazi,” announced a slender youth, blocking Wulf’s path. He was dusty and windburned, but last night he had been a true dandy. “Wherever did you get those exquisite duds, my dear Wulfie?”

  “These, Pav?” Wulf’s finery was well used now, much in need of a wash, and reeking of horse. “They were a wedding present from my wife. I can only pray that she came by them honestly.”

  Pavel uttered a shrill titter, but his eyes remained icy. The onlookers’ laughter seemed more genuine.

  Lubos jangled a bunch of keys overhead until he was allowed a hearing. “Your Highness, we are short a room. Where do you wish me to billet Sir Wulfgang?”

  Predictable vulgarity broke out all around.

  This problem had been worrying Wulf since they arrived. When the hunt had overnighted at Kastan last week, he had found a place in the hay barn with the rest of the lowlife. Now he would feel safer under a bush in the forest.

  Konrad smiled as if he, too, had been waiting for this. “It’s my fault for inviting him to join us, so he can double up with me.”

  That produced an outburst of ribaldry ranging from the racy to the openly obscene. Wulf blushed furiously—he could Look through others’ eyes and see
his own face, redder than holly berries. Although that definitely did not help his mood, it seemed to improve everyone else’s.

  As long as they were laughing at him, they did not suspect Satanism.

  CHAPTER 40

  Lubos started handing out tagged keys. Konrad had his own. He led Wulf upstairs and along the gallery to the royal chamber. It was large and luxurious enough to have a separate privy. The bed was also large and luxurious, but there was only one of it, which was to be expected. A bowl of water steamed on a marble-topped table.

  The prince began hauling off his clothes. “You told me your preferences,” he said gruffly. “And, frankly, I’m too tired for games tonight.” His childish sneer showed for a moment. “I hope you aren’t worried about your reputation?”

  “I have no reputation to worry about, sire.” Now Wulf could start to credit Darina’s claim that the royal debauchery was all pretense, but he wouldn’t let down his guard.

  The door opened briefly to admit a young manservant, who hastened over to help the prince. No surprise that he was blessed with cherubic good looks.

  “Ah, Nenad! I ހScan manage. See if you can find anything to fit Sir Wulfgang.”

  Nenad changed direction. He walked around Wulf, eyed him for height and scanned him from front, side, and back. Then, instead of heading for one of the cedar chests, which must hold clothes, he went out again, having not spoken a word and hardly even slowing down.

  Stripped to the waist, Konrad went to the wash water. Eyeing his massive back and shoulders, Wulf decided that only sorcery would let him escape humiliation and possibly injury during tomorrow’s wrestling. By the time it was his turn at the basin, Nenad had returned with an armful of clothes, presumably looted from other guests. He had brought two or three of everything, and at least one of everything fit Wulf perfectly. The service at Kastan was impressive, a hint that Konrad’s judgment was more than skin deep. If he didn’t choose the menials himself, he had delegated the job to an aide who did it well.

  When they went downstairs again, six tables in two rows of three were being loaded with food, and wine was flowing. Under the great chandeliers, Sir Wulfgang was meeting everyone, being told their names, bowing, bowing, bowing. His reenactment of Anton’s miraculous jump was described in detail, over and over. Mouthwatering odors left him relatively unmoved after his late dinner at Avlona, but it promoted salivation among hungry hunters, and very soon the party moved to the tables, where he found himself seated at the prince’s right hand. By then he was feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself. What should be a great honor was tasteless when it had been won by cheating.

  During the meal, the hunt was described for the benefit of the ladies, and the prince pontificated on Julius Caesar, Bohemian dancing, and viniculture. Wulf knew enough about grapes to know that Konrad was talking nonsense there, and he suspected that Julius Caesar had never conquered Russia. No one commented, though. Servants kept bringing more food.

  Sir Augustin Vila, who sat on the prince’s left and appeared to be a special crony, rose to propose a toast to the new master of horse, provoking loud cries for a speech. Wulf stood up, said a terse thank-you, and toasted the prince. A whiff of sorcery had made his wine much less potent than anyone else’s, but even so his head was starting to buzz. No one proposed the king’s health, but that would have been hypocritical. They all expected the old man’s death to bring them prosperity.

  He took note of the men who seemed especially resentful of his sudden rise, and also the smiley ones, who might be more dangerous. He tried to analyze expressions—resentful, wistful, disgusted, envious, and so on—except that they kept changing.

  If Konrad truly was a fraud as an orgiast, then at least some of these people must know it, so why were there no secret smirks to suggest that the new boy had a big disappointment coming? How many knew and were loyal enough to keep the secret? Could this be some sort of test? A leader normally expected his cronies to keep his shortcomings confidential. Konrad seemed to be running a reverse deception.

  Whatever the rules, the path to acceptance was to pretend to enjoy the game.

  Eventually the servants were chased away and the doors locked. Quickly the rugs were heaped into one thick pile and all the seats and couches rearranged in a circle around it. Foreplay began almost immediately. Konrad settled on a sofa to watch, and Wulf sat next him, hoping that this was the safest place to be.

  Soon a half-naked Pavel set off up the stairs carrying a wholly naked girl, who squealed and struggled and giggled. The onlookers jeered and shouted “Shy!” as they vanished into a bedroom. Several couples were down on the rugs.

  The prince rose and stretched. “I am fatigued,” he announced. “You will excuse me if I retire early?”

  Wulf leaped up eagerly. “So am I, sire!” he declared. “Absolutely exhausted. I’ll come with you so I don’t waken you later.”

  He glanced swiftly around the faces, but again learned nothing—courtiers made a living out of being inscrutable. He followed the prince upstairs. The others carried on with what they were doing.

  * * *

  Wulf bolted the door. In the light of only four candles and the fire, the big room was dim, but warm. The bed had been turned down on both sides and two silk nightshirts laid out. An ankle-length nightshirt seemed an odd choice of garment if there was seduction planned. Wulf had never worn one, but he certainly intended to do so now.

  Konrad chose one side, Wulf went to the other. Last week he had been a varlet sharing a bed with his brother in a garret in Lower Mauvnik, tonight he would sleep beside next month’s king in a bed eight times the size.

  “None of my randy friends appeal to you?” the prince remarked as he undressed.

  “They might have done a month ago, sire. Or maybe next year. Not while my heart is pledged.”

  The candles were extinguished, bed curtains drawn. Wulf lay on his back and waited to find out what would come next. He suspected that Konrad, having been tweaked to trust his new friend, was ready to make confession, and would feel happier doing so in pitch darkness. The room was not quite silent. The fire crackled, and the wildlife downstairs periodically booed, cheered, or chorused, “Shy! Shy!”

  “How many brothers?”

  “Four. I am the youngest of five.”

  “You were lucky. I had two brothers, but only Laima and I survived.”

  “There were times when four brothers felt like four too many, but now I do agree with you. I was lucky.”

  “Only Laima,” Konrad murmured.

  Wulf felt guilty that he had never wondered how the prince and princess felt about each other. Were they close or did they fight? Did he want her to be happy or to remain a permanent spinster? Live close or move far away? Did he see her as only a political bargaining chip, as so many royal families saw daughters, or did he love her?

  Silence.… Then, “Why? Tell me why they want to depose me? Is it this? These parties?”

  “I expect that’s some of it, sire.”

  Konrad snorted. “I know it is. It’s meant to be! I groped a girl when I was fifteen. She tattled and Grandsire ripped me to shreds. He made me promise to stay away from girls, so I started chasing boys instead.” Snigger. “He went utterly rabid! It sort of grew from there.”

  And so did his confession. Once started, he seemed unable to stop. He told what it had been like to survive the smallpox that had wiped out the entire royal family, other than the king himself and two infant grandchildren; what it was like to grow up despised for being scarred and ugly when the beautiful sons had died; how he had been reared by a procession of nuns and priests who tried to twist him to suit their own political ends. Courtiers were self-seeking, as were their children, who should have been his friends. Obviously he had never found anyone to look up to, and never had there been anyone he could completely trust—until now. Having found a truly reliable confidant, he poured out all his woes until he was almost sobbing.

  Wulf had got what he wanted and hated it. He
knew his work had barely begun, and he must stay around for years to keep the puppet dancing on his string. It had been far too easy! Officially it was Darina’s job to stop this sort of treachery. By rights, she should take note of any new friends he acquired, especially any with haloes, and even any sudden changes in his opinions. She should report problems to the Saints. If the Saints were anything like a workadays’ guild, they would aid their own. Lady Umbral would see to the matter.

  But Konrad was not Darina’s client, Zdenek was. In Wulf’s case, Darina had set up the treason herself. So would Zdenek allow the “education” to continue, or would he stop it? Wulf was still sailing between the clashing rocks, for he must outwit and deceive one of the cardinals, either Zdenek or d’Estouteville.

  “So what do I do?” the prince whimpered.

  Last night Wulf had joked about running the country and already he was veering close to that precipice. “It is not up to me to advise you, sire.”

  “Yes it is. No one else dares speak plainly to me. Counsel me, Master of Horse.”

  The simplest advice would be: Make some allies, idiot! You have antagonized everyone in the realm. A prince should have learned that much at his mother’s knee, but Konrad had been a third son, so no one had bothered, until it was too late and there was no one to teach him except a distant at a distnd embittered grandfather.

  “I suggest you start by getting the Church on your side. As soon as your honored grandfather is called to his reward, announce an enormous endowment in his name—a cathedral or monastery, perhaps. The bishops will keep you in power until it’s finished! Promise more to come. Ban all festivities during official mourning. Include your own parties and make sure everyone knows that. If the clergy support you, the nobles will be much more hesitant to oppose you. Moreover, if you will excuse my presumption even farther, your position would be a lot stronger if you produced an heir to put the evil talk to rest. Call Princess Olga back to court.” Tweak!

  “Bah! She’s cold as an icicle.”