Anyway, it was all now in Arno's capable hands, and Siegfried wouldn't even have to see them except at a distance. Now he could devote himself to the hunt without a second thought.
He entered through the side door of the Lesser Hall to find most of the castle populace still breaking their fast. The queen, of course, was nowhere to be seen, nor were her ladies-in-waiting; they ate quietly and decorously in the queen's chambers, leaving the Lesser Hall to the men and the noblewomen of lesser rank. Siegfried took his seat at the empty High Table and waited for a page to bring him food and drink while he surveyed the lower tables with an eye to a new conquest.
He had a policy of not taking a new girl from the same class and rank as the old, which meant that the kitchen, the dairy, and the domestic servants were out of consideration. There were serving wenches, however—
Wait a moment—who's that sitting next to Hans the Black? Too old to be a daughter, surely— The couple in question sat among the unlanded knights; freedmen, but only a single step in rank above common tradesmen, men who usually owned nothing more than the clothing on their backs, their horse, and their armor and weapons. These were men who moved from court to court, either fighting in tourneys for the prize money, or serving one of the landed gentry in hopes of doing something to earn a small parcel of land and serfs of their own. It wasn't unusual to see a woman at that table, for men who had settled into the garrison often took mistresses from among the servants, or even wives from others of their rank, but Siegfried thought he knew most of them. She can't be his wife; he's not married; he'd have come to me for permission if he'd decided to get married. Sister or some other kin? The young woman was doll-like in her prettiness, with sweet blue eyes, cheeks that had never felt the touch of the sun or a harsh wind, and golden hair peeking out from under her coif. She wasn't dressed in the homespun of a servant, so she wasn't a mistress. Her gown was of good quality wool, but plain and a touch threadbare. So, if not a clandestine wife, she was a poor relation to Sir Hans, which meant that if she welcomed Siegfried's embrace, she'd be grateful for some fine presents of fabric and jewels. He wouldn't interfere with another man's wife, but anything else was fair game. Hans was of low enough rank that he wouldn't dare protest if Siegfried took his sister, so long as it was with the woman's consent.
When the page arrived with his breakfast of boiled eggs, bacon, and bread, he asked the boy for the woman's identity. The pages knew everything and everybody; they had to, for their well-being depended on knowing who was who and what rank every individual in the Court held. Being asked to carry notes about the way they were, the pages had to know relationships among the folk of the castle, or they'd soon find themselves in trouble.
The adolescent had a swift reply, as Siegfried had expected. "That's Sir Hans' widowed sister-in-law, Adelaide. His brother left her in his keeping and she just arrived a few days ago; he's hoping to find someone to take her off his hands, but she hasn't any dower but her face." The page shrugged, and continued, knowing that he could be free with his tongue around Siegfried. "There's plenty of pretty faces here, and with higher rank than the widow of a landless knight—she'll be on his keep for a good while, I guess. Without a dowry, even the Church wouldn't take her except as a drudge."
Siegfried thanked the boy, and turned to his breakfast, thoroughly satisfied. A poor widow? Perfect. No bother about lost virginity, Sir Hans would probably be relieved to find Siegfried taking over her board and keep, however temporary the arrangement, and when Siegfried tired of her, he could provide her with a generous dowry that would see her safely married to a knight of better rank than her brother-in-law. Ha. Maybe even Benno, if he takes a fancy to her. Benno's had my girls before, and his parents wouldn't object to the wench if some land came with her. In Siegfried's experience, the only difference in paying off a serving wench and paying off a highborn leman was the size of the pension and the amount of pretty posturing that had to be done when the game was over.
He'd have to court her, of course, but that would simply add zest to the inevitable conquest. He began to watch the woman, finally catching her eye so that she saw he was looking at her and no other. He smiled at her, slowly, and nodded. She didn't simper, thank God—she did blush a little, and said something to her brother-in-law. Sir Hans turned and saw that Siegfried was still looking; he raised an eyebrow to bring Siegfried's attention to him, then smiled and nodded, ever so slightly. Siegfried's interest had been noted, understood, and a silent agreement had been reached, all without anyone actually saying anything.
Ha! I thought so. He's willing enough, and she will be, too, with the proper amount of coaxing. Good, my way is clear to her bed. No one wanted to challenge Siegfried to a fight, even over a well-beloved woman, but it was better not to cause any distress to a seasoned fighter. It made for unrest in the ranks, and the lower-ranked fighters had other recourses than a direct challenge anyway. A pebble slung at a horse's rump at the wrong time, or interference in a melee—accidents happened, everyone knew that, but accidents could be made to happen, and Siegfried had no intention of giving anyone the motive to cause one.
Siegfried finished his breakfast in fine humor. The woman finished hers long before he was done with his second course of porridge, and she and her brother-in-law rose to make a place for newcomers. As they were leaving, she glanced back and saw that Siegfried was still watching her. She smiled, colored prettily, dropped her eyes, and followed her brother out of the room.
First signals exchanged—next maneuvers to take place after supper. The dance was well begun.
It might be weeks or even months before he got the widow into his bed, however; for the short term, he required something to take care of his immediate needs.
He left the hall and headed straight for the stables; no message had come to him from his mother, which meant he need not make an appearance in court at her side today. As he walked briskly across the courtyard, he took note of the weather, still holding fine for the haying. The sun shone hot and bright, and there wasn't a hint of breeze; it was going to be a brilliant but sultry summer day, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend it indoors.
Already the promise of heat to come made him feel lazy. He waited at the stable door for the head groom, breathing in the scents of straw and horse sweat, waving his hand to chase away flies buzzing about his head. There wasn't much else for them to buzz around, for the queen was very particular about the state of the stables and courtyard, and horse droppings were cleaned up as soon as they appeared. The bandy-legged head groom hurried to greet him, bowing until his long nose touched his knees. Siegfried repressed a growl; the man's manners were more to his mother's taste than his own, but he couldn't help that.
"Prince Siegfried! What is your wish this morning, sire? Your hunter? Your palfrey?" The man knew his horseflesh, at least, and saw to it that the stables were well-provided with good mounts. "I have some stock just up from the breeding farm, sire. Something fresh and untried?"
Fresh and untried, he thought with amusement, but not in a horse. "My palfrey," he replied aloud. "I expect to be out all day."
The groom bowed again and hurried off. He, of course, would not be doing the actual work—he barked a series of orders to an underling, and shortly a skinny stripling with bad skin arrived with the reins of Siegfried's palfrey in his hands.
Siegfried took the reins, tugged on the saddle girth to make certain it was firm, and mounted the gentle mare. He took her at a walk out of the courtyard and through the main gate over the Wooden drawbridge, letting her set her own pace and pick her own direction.
He rode for some time along the main road, the palfrey's hooves kicking up little puffs of dust as he passed through and past the village, without feeling any wish to stop although the inn there did have very good beer and often had attractive wenches to serve it. His mood at the moment called for the countryside and open air; already by midmorning it was so warm that the birds drowsed in the trees, and only the insects sang. Out in the fields
of ripening hay, waves of heat made the air shimmer, and puffy clouds idled through the hazy sky. In a few more days, if the weather held, there would be a crew of men and women out in those fields, mowing down the sweet hay and leaving it to dry in the hot sun. This is bidding fair to resemble one of those lusty country-folk songs, Siegfried thought with amusement, So—will it be a pretty shepherdess, a milkmaid with a saucy smile, a brown girl in the fields, or something different from any of those?
Hayfields gave way to pastured hills; once he saw sheep grazing off in the distance, and thought about seeing who was tending them. But his mare showed no inclination to move off the road, and he was too lazy to try and change her mind.
After the pasture lands, the road entered the first truly wild woods near to the palace. Merchants didn't much like to pass through here, though the foresters kept guard on the road. Bandits did set up in the woods now and again, usually in fall, when there was traffic for the harvest fair on the road. No bandit would attack a mounted man on the main road in broad daylight, however fine his horse and tempting his apparent wealth, so Siegfried didn't hesitate when the mare followed the road in under the trees.
The deep shade gave welcome relief from the burning sun, and horseflies didn't seem to like the shadows. The palfrey picked up her pace and chose a trail leading off the main track, a path that he knew led to the river. She probably wanted a drink—well, so did he, so he didn't turn her back to the road.
Her ears pricked forward as they drew nearer to the stream, showing more interest than the water alone would warrant, and he strained his own ears to pick up what had alerted her.
Irregular splashing—but too much to be fish jumping. Otters, maybe? Beaver? Either would provide some welcome furs when fall arrived, and Siegfried decided to investigate and mark the place. Cautiously, he reined the mare in and then had her move off the path and pick her way, step by careful step, through the undergrowth. A horse would sound much like a deer to another animal, but the beasts could always tell when a human was stalking them, afoot.
As they came to the river, a patch of dull color on the bank caught his eye.
No animal left that! A pile of discarded clothing lay safely above the water, a beribboned, multihued motley, shabby and patched—but there was no sign of the owner, and he couldn't tell from here if it was male or female garb.
There's also no sign of a fight, so whoever took those clothes off, did it because he wanted to. So—
Water splashed again, and he peered out through the sun dazzle, eyes aching a little. With the sun shining full on the water, it was hard to make out anything on the river.
Yes, there was the owner, surfacing like a porpoise, spitting water and shaking her wet head with a musical laugh that told him these were women's garments on the bank.
She was a gypsy, by the black hair and dark skin, which would account for the gay patchwork of clothing. Gypsy... so that's to be the set of the song! Ha! He grinned. Gypsy women had a reputation for passion, a reputation he'd never had the opportunity to test.
Either she's completely alone, or she's slipped off from her clan to bathe in the river. In either case, she's alone now, and I doubt she'd be splashing about like this if she expected anyone to come along. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to race.
The woman reached the shallows and stood up, pulling wet hair away from her face. He bit back an exclamation as his groin tightened and throbbed at the sight of her body, naked as Eve, and as unselfconscious. She wasn't much to look at in the face— rather too brown and angular for his taste—but her body was enough to make a monk forget his vows! High, rounded breasts tipped in dark rose, a flat, tight belly, legs like two young, graceful trees—
He didn't really make up his mind; his throbbing groin made it up for him. He touched his heels to his horse, breaking out from under cover of the brush, just as the woman looked up.
She gasped, and her hands flew to cover herself inadequately. Her pose didn't fool Siegfried; if she'd been afraid, she'd have made a dive into the deepest part of the river where he couldn't reach her. After all, she'd just proved she could swim. Very nice! Just exactly like a bawdy song! I wonder how many times she's put on this little act? He grinned, and sent the palfrey forward another step.
She broke her frozen pose and ran like a deer, splashing along the riverbank, fleeing him on a course that took her through the shallows. But she made no effort to get into deeper water, nor did she bolt into the brush where his horse would have trouble going, which told Siegfried that she didn't really want to escape. Sparkling water fountained around her, and she looked back over her shoulder to see if he was going to give chase.
That was all the spur he needed. Digging his heels into his palfrey's sides, he sent the horse galloping after her, water splashing high with every hoofbeat. She hadn't run more than ten steps before he was at her heels; he swung down out of the saddle as the palfrey overtook her, and snatched her up by the waist, hauling her up in front of him to lie facedown over his legs and the saddle.
The moment his hands touched her, she went limp. So it was a game, little gypsy? Well, we '11 just take it through to the final play! And your garments will make as good a bed as any.
Holding her firmly, he wheeled his horse and returned to the place where her clothing lay, directing the palfrey with his knees to get up onto the bank. Still holding the wench firmly, Siegfried tossed the reins over the palfrey's head, ground-tying her so she wouldn't stray. Then he threw one leg over the horse's back and slid down, slipping the gypsy girl down onto the pile of skirts and petticoats. She stayed limp, and lay completely still where he'd put her, eyes closed, making no move to either fight him or try to run again.
His hands tingled with the feel of her smooth, soft skin, and the sight of her lying on the ground at his feet drove any thoughts whatsoever out of his head. Quickly undoing the knots his servants had so carefully tied this morning, cursing when his fingers fumbled for a moment, he dropped his trews about his knees and fell upon her like a starving beast.
He was so intent on his own pleasure, so wild with need, that at first he didn't notice that she lay like one dead when he took her, making only a low noise in the back of her throat, her eyes still squeezed tightly shut. It didn't matter; by then he was well seated in her, and even her passivity couldn't dampen his lust.
It was over with a few quick thrusts; the fire in his loins exploded into pleasure akin to delirium, a moment of ultimate satiation that curiously turned to dissatisfaction as if touched by the hand of some evil sorcery.
So as he collapsed atop her, knees weak and body exhausted, his main feeling was of disappointment. After a moment he rolled off and stood up, tying his hose again. Her only reaction was to slowly gather up her clothing around her, clutching it to her body, and cower there, staring at his feet.
So much for reputation! He thought with disgust. Stupid bitch!
If she didn't want me, why did she play with me? Why didn't she fight me?
Exasperated, he reached into his belt-pouch and pulled out a handful of coins without looking at them, dropping them where she stared. She still hadn't moved by the time he caught his horse and rode off, not even to touch one of the coins.
The encounter left him entirely unsatisfied, although the ache in his groin was temporarily assuaged. I thought gypsies were supposed to be hot-blooded and lusty, he thought, disgruntled, his mood entirely spoiled. That girl was about as lusty as a nun! In fact, given some of the stories he'd heard about certain convents, the nuns would have been better partners!
His horse, at least, had been perfectly well satisfied with the browsing she'd gotten, and she picked up her feet neatly as he returned the way he had come. I am not going back to the palace yet, he thought, stubbornly, as he left the green shade of the woods and trotted out onto the dusty road again. If nothing else, I am going to have a good sausage and some well-brewed beer. By now his breakfast had worn off. If he couldn't satisfy one appetite, w
ell, he could at least take care of another.
By the time he reached the inn, many of the local craftsmen and merchants had gathered there for their own meals and a chance to catch up on gossip. As soon as Siegfried dismounted, of course, the innkeeper hurried over to wait on him personally, and a pair of portly burghers were only too pleased to give up their little table under the trees to him. Or if they were not pleased, they took care not to show it.
But Siegfried was well-liked in the village, and he persuaded them to share the table with him. It didn't take a great deal of persuading; there was an unspoken understanding that if their prince invited them to be a little less than formal with him, they need not fear his offended pride. But the invitation had to come from him that, too, was understood.
In a very short time, Siegfried had a plate of excellent sausage and sauerkraut in front of him—a dish his mother would have regarded with horror, had it been placed in front of her—and a stein of exceptional beer to wash it down. He stayed silent, listening to the gossip of the village, and marveling at how very like it was to the gossip of the palace. It's a cruder copy of our intrigues, he decided, his good humor restored. Just like they try to copy our dress. We must be like a marvelous play to them.
Although he could while away as much time here as he wished, the rest of the inn's patrons had work to do, and sooner than he would have liked, Siegfried was left alone at his wooden table under the oaks planted in front of the inn. He pondered his empty stein glumly, and was just about to feel sorry for himself, when a comely hand bearing a pitcher refilled the tankard for him.
He let his gaze travel from the hand, to the plump, round arm; from the arm, to the rest of his benefactress.
"Your glass was empty, sire," the woman said, with a little flirt of her rust-colored linen skirts as she stepped back. The prince allowed his gaze to linger, but her only reaction was a broadening of her smile.
The Black Swan Page 7
