The Black Chalice

by Marie Jakober

  that fact his heart was mighty in combat.

  Wolfram von Eschenbach

  * * *

  They waited for Karelian in a half circle just inside the gates. Reini. Adelaide. Father Thomas. The steward and the captain of the guard. And immediately behind them, a great cluster of knights and friends and servants.

  From the battlements above, the sound of cheers and banging shields welled out, crashing against the heights of the Schildberge and echoing back across the valley of the Maren. Here below, for a brief and blurring moment, no one shouted at all.

  Grooms ran to hold his horse. He did not immediately dismount. He looked at them, one after another. He looked up at the high walls ringed with triumphant men, and he felt — for the first time in his life — that he was truly lord of Lys.

  Reinhard stepped forward and bowed deeply.

  “Welcome, my lord. I thank God you are safe returned.”

  “And you were never so glad to see anyone in your life,” Karelian replied, smiling and sliding off his mount. “At least not since Acre.”

  “Not even then, my lord,” the castellan said. His voice was unsteady. He would have knelt, he was so deeply moved; but instead of letting him, Karelian wrapped him in his arms.

  “Thank you, Reini. You are as I judged you, my friend: the very best of men.”

  “I did no more than my duty, my lord.”

  “That is more than most men can manage, sometimes,” Karelian said, and moved past him towards Adelaide.

  She took a few steps forward, then stood absolutely still, staring at him as though he were a ghost.

  “Lady…?”

  She touched his mail shirt lightly on the sleeve, like a child, and looked up, tears welling from her eyes.

  “I thought….” she whispered. “I thought you weren’t… ever….”

  Ever coming back? He tried to smile. He was astonished by the pain in her eyes, the fog of bewildered longing. He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth.

  Just once, there in the courtyard. A hundred times more in her small stone chamber in the tower, naked and tangled on the bed, sating themselves in the broad light of day. Still she kissed him, and ran her hands over his flesh as though she feared he was not real.

  “You were hiding for a long time,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “There was darkness all around you. I was sure you were dead.”

  “I was close to it.”

  She pressed herself against him, as if her slender body could be a barrier against even the possibility of death. She was beginning to love him, to see him as she had once seen Rudi Selven, as someone different, someone strange and perilous and therefore… finally… safe.

  It should have troubled him, perhaps, but it did not. She was his wife. With luck she would give him a child or two; with more luck he would live to see them grow. If he seemed to her more and more like Selven, if he came to be for her the elf-kin, the prince who would take her to the sea; if in the end the edges blurred altogether and she could no longer tell them apart, well, what of it? Men wove stranger half-truths than hers to bend the world till they could bear it.

  They feasted that night in Schildberge castle— feasted and reveled with a wildness which bordered on ecstasy. Sometimes Karelian shared in the intensity of their triumph; sometimes he stood apart from it, marveling at it even as he understood its nature. Something had come unbound. The borders of the world had shifted, and something had come unbound.

  They never stopped asking him questions: where had he been, would there be war in earnest now, how many men did Konrad have, what of Gottfried’s crystal, where had it come from and what could it really do and why didn’t the Church condemn him and how in the name of all the saints had he, Karelian, come from Franconia to the hills of the Schildberge without anybody seeing him…?

  They had heard rumors, of course, all sorts of rumors. Right from the start Reinhard had been sending out spies, and most of them got back safely.

  “We heard what Prince Konrad did to you, my lord. I couldn’t believe he would be such a fool—”

  “The king is young, my friends, and inexperienced. He will learn.”

  The wine was rich, unwatered. Karelian drank deeply, savoring it all, the wine and the victory and the truth he kept quietly hidden like a pearl. Konrad was hardly a fool. It would have been nice to tell his people so, to let them laugh and slap each other’s backs and pound their cups against the table for the sheer delight of it. Tell them about a winter night in Franconia, himself and Konrad while the whole world slept, pacing about a quiet, carefully guarded tent, weaving their tapestry of war with exquisite cunning and care.

  Konrad would have made him captain-general of the empire.

  — I’m honored, my lord, but I can’t possibly accept.

  — Can’t accept? Why? God’s blood, isn’t it enough? What the devil do you want, then?

  — I want the county of Lys back, when it’s over, and your promise that if I’m killed it will pass without question to my son.

  — Your son? But….

  — I have a son, majesty, born in lawful wedlock. He is my heir.

  — Yes, of course; so be it. Lys is yours. Now lead my army.

  — You don’t want that, my lord. At least not yet.

  — You try my patience, Brandeis. I’m giving you a command as your sovereign, and I expect to be obeyed.

  — I have no wish to disobey you, my lord. But consider this: I’ve been presented to the lords of Germany — and to the leaders of the Church — not merely as a sorcerer, but as the agent of a great conspiracy against God. Too many people believe in Gottfried’s stone, my lord. That may change; I’ll wager as the war goes on, more and more disturbing questions will be raised. But right now, he holds the religious high ground. So claim a little of it for yourself, my lord. Keep your distance from the likes of me.

  — I need warleaders more than I need a halo.

  — You have Thuringia. You have other good men. I beg you, my lord, consider. Your father was a Christian king. He did nothing except insist on his autonomy within his own borders, and he was compelled to fight for twenty years to keep his crown. Harold of England was only half-Christian, and he is dead. You may find yourself an enemy of the Church no matter what you do, but there’s no need to invite her enmity.

  — I’m not an enemy of the Church, in God’s name! This has nothing to do with the Church—!

  — Quite beside the point, my lord. You will be portrayed as an enemy of the Church. That will be sufficient.

  — Then be damned to them! If they can’t see who the sorcerer in this quarrel really is, be damned to them!

  — And be damned to the Salian kings as well, my lord? To the whole of Germany?

  — Really, Karelian, if I didn’t owe you so much, I’d have you hanged.

  — Then I will try to keep you in my debt, my lord. I have a plan.

  — I’m listening.

  — Treat me the way any honorable Christian king in difficulty would treat an ally accused of sorcery. Accused, remember, but not convicted. Later, if circumstances change, you may treat me better. For the time being, accept my service because I might yet prove innocent, but keep me out of sight. Surely you have a border post somewhere—

  — A border post? Are you mad? We have a war to fight! I need you here!

  — You need to destroy Gottfried von Heyden. If you do so, there will be no war. If you fail to do so, you will lose the war. That is the whole of your necessity, my lord.

  — All right, if you put it so, all right. How are you going to destroy Gottfried von Heyden sitting in some infernal border post?

  — I have no intention of staying there. His son Theodoric is stripping the Reinmark of men to fatten Gottfried’s army. It’s a reasonable thing to do. The duchy has always been loyal, and you’re hardly in a position to invade.

  — Go on.

  — I won’t take a large force, my lord. But I want good men.
Well-trained men who’ll understand the need for secrecy and speed. We’ll take the duchy right out from under his feet. You won’t know anything about it until it’s over; and of course you’ll grumble that I’m undisciplined and unpredictable. But you’ll have the Reinmark. You’ll name a new duke loyal to yourself— and if the electors accept him as legitimate, we’ll have shifted the balance in the council.

  Konrad had watched him very thoughtfully, for a very long time, until they began to notice the steps of the sentries outside, and the wind-blown snow scrabbling at the walls of the tent. He was not a philosophical sort of man, the young king, which fact made his silent contemplation all the more remarkable.

  When he spoke again his voice was soft— half amused, half admiring, and deeply uneasy.

  — You are shrewd, Karelian. So damnably shrewd I begin to wonder if what Gottfried says about you isn’t true.

  They were wondering everywhere, even here in the taper-wild hall of Schildberge castle. The night was soft as honey with midsummer coming down, the wine tasted of triumph, and something was loose in the Reinmark, an ancient passion cut free and running. Even a rock-hard crusader like Reinhard knew it was there, although he would never admit it, and still less would he ever put a name to it.

  Father Thomas knew, too, and he was wondering most of all. The unsilenceable storyteller barely said a word, and barely touched his wine. He had been the one who slipped back to the manor house to rescue Adelaide’s child. The one who saw the aftermath of carnage, who heard first-hand the tale of wolves leaping out of the ground. He was the one who reminded everyone of the story of Elijah, of the wolves God sent to protect his holy prophet. A perfectly reasonable connection to make, only Thomas knew better than anyone that Karelian was not God’s prophet, he wasn’t God’s man at all.

  * * *

  “Have you any word of Pauli?” Reinhard asked. “We heard rumors he escaped from Gottfried, but no one knows where he went. I thought he might try and find you.”

  “He did. But he’s left my service,” Karelian said.

  Reinhard waited for him to explain. When he did not, the castellan asked bluntly:

  “Well, why would he do that?”

  “He thinks I’m a sorcerer.”

  “God’s teeth! He believes Gottfried?”

  “Yes.”

  It took a moment for Reinhard to absorb it. He had always thought Paul von Ardiun was a singularly bright young man.

  “So where’s he gone to, then? Over to them?” A southwesterly gesture, across the mountains.

  “I don’t know.”

  Reinhard spat. “If he joins up with that villain, he’d best not cross my path again.”

  Nor mine. And least of all hers….

  They walked on. It was full day now, the valley sun-drenched below them, speckled with cattle and goats, with ant-like wagons crawling the roads. Halfway up the mountain, on a broad plateau, the plundered ruins of the siege army’s camp lay scattered in the sun.

  “It must have been difficult for you at first,” Karelian remarked. “Knowing nothing of what happened, or why. Not even knowing if I were alive or dead. Morale seems to have been good.”

  “It was. And is. And if I may give credit where it’s due, my lord, you owe two unlikely people a lot for it. Father Thomas, and the lady Adelaide. He never lost faith in you for a moment. No matter what happened, he had a brave story to explain it. And she… well, in her heart I think she was certain you were dead. Even after we heard you were in Mainz, she never quite believed you’d be back. But it made her stubborn. And very brave— almost fey, if you’ll forgive my saying it. It was as though she saw this fortress as her last stand. If the day had ever come when I saw fit to surrender, she would have forbidden it.”

  It surprised Reinhard to discover such qualities in Adelaide. It did not surprise Karelian at all.

  “And you, Reini? Did you think I’d be back?”

  “In truth, my lord, I didn’t know. We heard you were badly wounded, but you’d gotten away. And then the rumors started, how the devil came and fetched you— that’s why they couldn’t find your body.”

  “He came with half a legion, did they tell you? And there’s forty leagues of burnt forest along the edge of the Schildberge to prove it.” Karelian chuckled. “I guess I kicked up a considerable fuss.”

  Reinhard put his elbows on the wall, stared across the valley for a time, and then looked at his liege.

  “In all seriousness, my lord, will you tell me where you were?”

  Karelian thought for a moment before he answered.

  “Just between the two of us?” he said finally.

  “Aye,” Reinhard said. “I can hold my tongue, my lord.”

  “I was in the lair of Wulfstan.”

  There was a long silence. Reinhard surveyed the countryside again, even more thoughtfully than before.

  “So which is it, my good friend?” Karelian murmured. “Do you think I’m bewitched or merely demented?”

  Reini faced him, and met his gaze without flinching. “If that’s where you say you were, my lord, then as far as I’m concerned that’s where you were. Even a man like me can see the world is turning strange.”

  “It isn’t turning strange, Reini,” Karelian said. “It’s always been strange. We just go for long periods of time trying not to notice.”

  Reinhard responded the only way he could. He began to walk again, and directed the conversation to practical matters.

  “So what’s your next move, then? We can’t take Stavoren with just the men we have here.”

  “No. But we can isolate it. With this castle as a base, we can take every outpost and fortress Gottfried has between Ravensbruck and the mountains, and persuade the good burghers of Karn that Gottfried’s wars will be bad for trade. We’ll gather more men as we go.”

  “And the margravate of Dorn? Your brother has sworn allegiance to the villain.”

  “My brother would swear allegiance to the devil’s painted arse, if he thought he would profit by it. And unswear himself again, just as easily. When we start rattling the walls of Stavoren, he’ll go over to Konrad without blinking an eye.”

  They went down into the courtyard. Now that the siege was broken, and everything would be plentiful again, there was an air of exuberant activity: wagons and men coming and going, cook-houses pouring out rich smells, and clothing being scrubbed in great tubs of long-rationed water. He wandered among the guardsmen and servants, feeling very lordly and good about himself. Everyone was happy, most of all the children. The older ones worked; the younger ones played and harassed their elders for treats. But they all knew enough to bow to his lordship, and wish him good morning, and stand politely aside until he had passed them by.

  Except one, who was scrambling across the cobblestones on all fours, right into the path of the count. A child of about a year, with black hair, and garments much too fine for any servant’s child.

  “Wulfi! Wulfi, you little wretch, come back here this minute!”

  One of Adelaide’s young women was running to snatch the child away. There was a distinct note of alarm in her voice. The youngster was too quick; he reached Karelian before the woman reached him. He stopped about a foot from the count’s feet, and sat, and looked up. Here was someone the child had never seen before, someone quite magnificent- looking; he was intrigued.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord,” the young woman said desperately. “I only turned my back on him for a moment.” She bent, reaching for the child. No doubt she had been cautioned many times to be careful: the youngster must never be a burden or an embarrassment to Karelian; he were best kept out of Karelian’s way….

  “Wulfi, come!”

  Karelian motioned her to be silent, to let the child be. He knew the whole of Schildberge castle was watching him. The cooking and the scrubbing and the loading of carts went carefully on — one did not stop working to stare at his lordship — but they were staring at him nonetheless.

  At first he was a
ngry about it, and then he wanted to laugh. It didn’t take much, did it, to make the world stare?

  He dropped to one knee. The child was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. And bright, too. His quick eyes were taking in everything. He scrambled closer, tugged briefly at the lacings of Karelian’s boot, and then looked up and grinned.

  All of the count’s peers believed he should send this child away. Give him to the nuns to raise, or to the monks. They would feed him out of their Christian goodness… and they would put him to work in their vineyards or their stables or their sculleries, ten or fifteen hours of every day except the Lord’s. They would fill his head with shame for being a bastard. And if he was bright — more importantly, if he was obedient — they would let him study just enough so he could be a monk himself.

  Two thoughts collided in Karelian’s mind at the same instant. The first was of Wulfstan and Rudi Selven; of the tales and legends and whisperings. Perhaps they were true; perhaps they were not. But if they were, then this child might have as high a claim on the name and honors of Brandeis as Karelian did himself. The second thought was that it didn’t matter anyway. He was done being ruled by the judgments of the world.

  I had a father; he gave me his seed, for which I suppose I should be grateful. He gave me nothing else, not even his arm between myself and the rest of his savage get.

  So be damned to them all. I like the look of you, little Wolfram, and I’m keeping you, and men can make of it what they will.

  He brushed the back of his hand lightly across the boy’s face, and then kissed him. His cheek was soft as a petal. Then slowly, the count got to his feet. The nurse was rooted to the stones, her eyes as big as saucers.

  “Take good care of him, Magda,” he said. “He will be lord here one day.”

  Then, with the greatest air of insouciance he could manage, he turned back to Reinhard, and went on evaluating the condition of his fortress.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The Walls of Stavoren

  The demons are attempting to destroy the kingdom of God, and by means of false miracles and lying oracles are