“Anything that could bring about the downfall of the Konige and the end of the possibility of peace with Hungary could be nothing less,” said Smiricti. He glowered at the floor. “If you need a woman—and I must suppose you do—it can be arranged. No slut or drab, but a woman of standing. Not one of the Konige’s Court, of course, but someone well-born and not unpleasing to the senses. There are many widows, some of them quite young women, who would be glad to have a rich foreign lover. None of them would want to marry, for that would lose them whatever their husbands had left to them, so that shouldn’t worry you.” He was talking rapidly now, as if trying to explain as much as he could before his nerve failed.
“You need not bother, Counselor Smiricti,” said Rakoczy.
“But if you had a woman, the rumors would cease, or lessen. The Konige would not want her Court to be compromised, and she wouldn’t object to you taking a woman as your … companion.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands extended. “Truly, if such an arrangement can be made, you would have less to compromise you. You have only to tell me what your tastes are and a suitable mistress will be found.”
“It is unnecessary, I assure you,” said Rakoczy.
Smiricti shook his head woefully. “If you won’t take a mistress, then your situation may become … difficult, for as a member of the Konige’s Court, your actions must reflect upon her, as her countryman.” He wrung his hands.
Rakoczy gestured reassurance. “Counselor, calm yourself. I will do nothing to disgrace the Konige; you have my Word on it.”
“That may not be for you to decide, not the way calumnies of this sort develop, especially in so closed a world as the Konige’s Court is,” Smiricti said fretfully. “Remember, rumors can have lives of their own, and once they have started, very little is needed to keep them in motion. A word, a look, a smile, a gesture—nothing more is necessary.”
“Then I will be careful.” Rakoczy stood. “Counselor, I thank you for your concern, and your discretion. I will consider what you have said to me, and I will weigh your recommendation carefully. After the banquet, I will give you my decision.”
“I had hoped you might present your mistress at the banquet. That should put an end to all but the most—”
“Outrageous whispers?” Rakoczy suggested. “Perhaps. But since there are spies in my household, such a ploy may lead to more suspicions rather than fewer.” He ducked his head respectfully.
“But we must do something.” Smiricti got to his feet. “Comes, I implore you to reflect upon the danger to which you expose yourself, for we are all in jeopardy: the Konige, her ladies, you, and I, as your primary deputy in Praha.”
Rakoczy studied the Counselor. “You may tell Konige Kunigunde that I will need a little time to consider what is to be done, and when I have reached a decision, I will inform her of what it is, and if she is in agreement, I will inform you. Will that satisfy you?”
Smiricti could think of nothing to say; he lowered his head, his color still high. “Of course, Comes. Whatever you think best.”
As he walked toward the door, Rakoczy had the odd sensation that Smiricti’s gaze was boring holes into his back.
* * *
Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens at her horse-farm in Flanders, written in Imperial Latin on vellum, carried by private courier and delivered twenty-eight days after it was written.
To my most dear, most exacerbating friend, Ragoczy Sanct’ Germain Franciscus, or whatever name you use now, the greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens on this, the 19th day of May in the Christian year 1269,
It is six moths since your last letter reached me, and I am curious to know how you have found the Konige’s Court of Bohemia, and since you haven’t anticipated my desire to learn how you are faring, I have taken pen in hand to inquire for myself. I know how much you dislike being coerced, and this semi-exile Konig Bela has imposed upon you can only be seen as coercion. But you have it in you to accommodate difficult circumstances, so I trust you have established yourself in the Konige’s good graces and that you have had no more disagreements with her grandfather.
Did Mansion Belcrady turn out to be all you had been promised, glazed windows and all? You certainly paid well enough to have it precisely as you instructed it should be. If not, how far from your expectations was it, and how much have you had to do to make it suitable for you? My manse here in Flanders needs much done to it, and Niklos has hired a dozen workers from Ghent to come and make it as it should be. They are supposed to arrive in July and work through September. I have agreed to pay them quite handsomely, of course, to ensure their best efforts. And I would not like the local authorities to decide I had cheated honest men, for my claim to this property is shaky at best, and it would take very little to have the magistrate cancel my claim entirely, although the title, as the law requires, is held by my so-called half-brother, Niklos Aulirios.
As awkward as your circumstances are, you have behaved honorably toward your dependents, and have preserved your fief. The Konig and his son are still at odds with your fief in the middle of their dispute. But you have faced more daunting situations than this one and emerged from them without too many bruises, which is probably necessary, given your capacity for taking on other people’s problems. From all you have said and I have heard, Konig Bela is a hard man to bargain with. It does not surprise me that he would hold your fiefdom hostage to keep his son from being able to wage war; I am only surprised to learn that Konig Otakar hasn’t taken it into his head to try something similar. But he is off on campaign, so perhaps it hasn’t occurred to him yet; I suspect that in time he will want to make the most of you or be rid of you. Why, of all things, did Konig Bela decide to keep you so close at hand? If I were he, I would have banished you to a very distant place, where you could do no mischief. Trapped between Bela and Otakar, as you are, must test even your expert statesmanship. How long do you plan to endure it? You needn’t worry: I won’t maunder on about your problems; most certainly you comprehend them more thoroughly than I do.
Niklos has been working with three new foals; there are six more due to drop in the next month. We bred late last year because of the weather, which was unusually stormy, and two of the mares didn’t settle. This year the spring was later in coming than in the past ten years. The farmers here say that the weather is growing cooler, more like what it was when the Goths sacked Roma—I will not remind you how many hundreds of years ago that was. There was hard flooding not far from here, and two small villages were partially destroyed by the high waters. My horse-farm sits on raised land, and the two creeks that run through it, although they may fill their banks, have not yet overflowed, but I have ordered the banks be built up and reinforced with stout logs. If we should have another hard winter, I may have to order some heavier barriers erected so that there will be little flooding here.
I’ve had word from Sanza Pari that there has been trouble there, and in Roma itself. Apparently there have been riots in the countryside and peasants have marched on the city to demand a resolution to the question of the Pope. A number of them were killed, and the Cardinal Archbishops retreated to the Palazzo Laterano, where they tried again to decide who should succeed Clement IV. Tobaldo Visconti has the most desire for the post, which ought to disqualify him, by the Church’s peculiar rules. Ever since Conradin came to Roma, and was betrayed and beheaded at Naples, there has been terrible unrest in the country, and, of course, Roma has taken the brunt of it. Much as I love my native earth, I am glad to be away from it just now.
Przemysl Otakar II seems to be making a name of himself—from what news I have heard, he is taking land from the Hungarians and claiming most of Austria. If Flanders were nearer to Bohemia than it is, I might be concerned enough to seek out a new place to live, but as it is, I believe it is unlikely that he will turn his attention to Flanders for some time. But you must feel his ambitions all around you. Perhaps it’s just as well that he is on campaign and not in Praha to impose upon you more
than Konig Bela has done.
In your letter that you dispatched to me as you left Santu-Germaniu, you said it was your intention to form no close alliances while in the Konige’s Court; while I understand the reason for your decision, I think it may be unwise. In your unusual position I believe it would be prudent to have at least one woman in Kunigunde’s Court willing to support your interests, and perhaps help to sustain you, as I have at present a most interesting young scribe to sustain me. I realize there may be risks involved, but I also know that you have enough isolation there to have it be hazardous to you. So I am asking you to reconsider. I would rejoice for you if you decided to take a lover; I am sure that Rogerian agrees with me. Why deny yourself having the one thing that most nurtures you?
If you find that you must depart from Bohemia at any time, I ask you to join me here in Flanders. There is relative peace in this region, and I think we might not rouse suspicions about our true natures for a year or two. I have a trunk of your native earth in my cellar, if that is any incentive. Rogerian would be more than welcome, too.
Keep yourself safe, my oldest, dearest friend. I don’t think I could bear it if you were to suffer the True Death before I do.
Your eternally devoted
Olivia
5
“I have come to you bringing gifts, Comes,” said Rozsa of Borsod as she entered the main hall of Mansion Belcrady; she was arrayed in an elaborately embroidered bleihaut of dull-red samite over a chainse of light Anatolian cotton the color of primroses. Her headdress was high and broad so that her long veil hung down over her gorget, wrapping around her head in such a way that her face appeared to float in a cloud. She had bathed a week ago and had disguised the odor of her sweat with a perfume of sandalwood and roses. “The Konige was very much pleased with the banquet, so lavish and excellent it was, and so magnanimous your hospitality, and she wishes to reward you for it.” She courtisied him, bending her knees to a half-kneel and ducking her head, a degree of recognition usually reserved for Konigs. “Behold in me her envoy.”
Rakoczy nodded respectfully to her. “Dear Royal is much too kind to an exile, and I am much obliged to her for her kindness,” he said, aware that it was more a plea than politesse; he was keenly alert to four of his servants who were listening, and that everything they said was being noted, and that the news of the Konige’s gift would be all through the city by Vespers. He steadied himself and, with superb gentility, swept her a French bow. “Do come into my manse and be welcome, Lady. As the Konige’s envoy, receive the hospitality of Mansion Belcrady in her stead.” Fortunately he was elegantly dressed in a huch of Damascus silk woven red-and-black; beneath was a very white chainse of Italian linen. Braccae of black Hungarian leather and French solers completed his clothing. It was a little more clothing than the hot day called for, but since neither heat nor cold tended to discomfit him, he was not flushed or perspiring.
“Dear Royal wants to make sure a fellow-countryman is properly thanked for his estimable entertainment,” Rozsa countered. She held out the large pouch she carried within the folds of her veil. “This is for you.”
“I should not accept it,” he said, hearing the clinking of coins in it and gauging the weight by the size and hang of the pouch. “It is far too much.”
“To refuse would insult the Konige: is that what you want?” She looked at him through her eyelashes, a faint smile playing at her mouth.
“No, I do not,” he said, accepting the pouch from her; it was quite heavy. “Dear Royal is overly generous, I fear.”
“This from a man who has given the Konige more than twenty fine jewels, and a banquet for her Court with twelve courses and jongleurs, acrobats, troubadours, and players,” Rozsa chided him playfully. “After such munificence, it would be churlish of you to slight her gold.”
“Has she presented such lavish gifts to others of her Court?” Rakoczy asked cautiously, anticipating the jealousy such distinction could inspire.
“No one has ever given her such jewels as you have,” said Rozsa, her eyes lighting with naive greed. “Bohemia is rich in gold, and it is the dear Royal’s to use as she likes.”
Rakoczy bowed in the French fashion once again. “Then convey my deepest appreciation and gratitude to the dear Royal, and assure her of my respectful devotion.” He looked around. “Barnon, will you go to the kitchen and ask Pacar to prepare a tray for our guest?”
Barnon ducked his head. “At once, Comes.”
“Had I known of your visit, a tray would have been waiting for you,” Rakoczy said to Rozsa. “As it is, I hope you will forgive me for the lapse.”
“Certainly,” said Rozsa, her green eyes bright with mischief. “I would not expect you to keep bread and salt on hand all the time in case a guest might happen along. That would diminish the value of the offering.” She laughed. “We needn’t hurry your cook. I have been told to stay with you a while, so that all Praha will know of your favor.” She made a sign of gratitude to punctuate her formal announcement. Then she made herself more at ease, and said to Rakoczy, “I am told you have an herb-garden. I would like to see it. Would you show it to me while your cook readies the tray, Comes?”
“As soon as I deal with this pouch, it will be my honor,” he replied, misgivings working deep within him. He ducked his head and turned toward the stairs. “I will not be long.”
“So I hope,” she told him. “While I wait, I will ask one of my escort to be with me, so that no ill-willed gossip will result from my presence in your manse.” She pointed to Ambroz, the carpenter, who had been repairing the shutters and was now watching Rozsa with open admiration. “Will you fetch Pasc to me? He is the leader of my escort. You may know him by his surcote, that has vert, a lion couchant to the sinister or. The others wear Konig Otakar’s device: argent, a lion rampant sable, crowned and charged with a cross on the shoulder or. You should all recognize it, but those of you new to Praha might not.”
Astonished at having been singled out for this honor, Ambroz hurried from the main hall.
“There,” said Rozsa, “that should stop any unkindly words in regard to my visit.” She walked toward the maw of the fireplace. “In winter this will keep you very warm.” No one answered her. “You are fortunate to have so accommodating a master. You would do well to keep it in mind that he has done much for you.”
Unusually rushed, Hruther hurried into the main hall, his manner flustered. He bowed to Rozsa, then hurried to remove the long apron over his short cotton bleihaut and braccae of braided leather. “I’m sorry you have not been properly greeted yet, Rozsa of Borsod. The cook is working right now to make a welcome-tray for you. I ask you to forgive his tardiness. I would have brought you bread and salt myself, but I was tending to duties elsewhere, or you should—”
“It’s not important. You couldn’t have known a tray would be needed,” she said. “The Konige sent me without pages to inform you of my arrival.”
“The Konige is most gracious,” said Hruther with the automatic good manners he had learned over the years, which were measured in centuries.
“Oh, she is, she is,” said Rozsa, all but grinning as she saw Pasc approaching from the entry hall, his hand resting on the quillons of his sword, his stride as deliberate as his eyes were wary. “There you are, Pasc,” she hailed him with a graceful summons of her arm. “There. All our reputations are maintained.”
“Lady,” said Pasc, disapproving of her blithe lack of concern.
“You needn’t admonish me. I am probity itself.” She swung back toward Hruther. “I trust the tray will have enough for Pasc and his men as well as for me?”
“Of course, Lady,” said Hruther. “Your escort shall have bread and wine. It is being prepared even now.” He met her gaze with calm. “The scullions will bring it out to them in the stable.”
“They will be most appreciative,” said Rozsa.
“And their horses may go into the stable to get out of the sun,” Hruther added. “I assume you came in your wa
gon?”
“I did,” she said.
“We will put it in the stable as well, and see that the pony has a pail of water. If you will excuse me, I will attend to the arrangements.” He bowed again and withdrew to the kitchen, where he found Barnon and Pacar locked in a battle of wills, their voices raised enough to make the room echo. “What is it?” Hruther asked in a tone that stopped them for a moment. “What is the reason for all this?” The two men began to speak at once, and Hruther silenced them again. “Pacar, what is the trouble?”
“I am trying to prepare a tray for the guest that is worthy of her; Barnon wants the usual bread and salt alone, which is good enough for the men-at-arms, but hardly suitable for a Konige’s lady-in-waiting.” He folded his arms for emphasis. “I will not be slipshod in my attention to such a guest, and if others must wait on that account, so be it.”
“And in the meantime, the men-at-arms and their horses stand in the sun, at a nobleman’s establishment. Pray God the Lady Rozsa does not hold us in contempt for this,” Barnon complained. “Besides, all this fussing is taking time. A Konige’s lady-in-waiting should not have to wait to be properly welcomed. Offer bread and salt now, and the rest later.” He sounded both worried and angry.
“Pacar,” said Hruther in a manner that gave no room for argument, “if you will, finish preparing the tray for the Konige’s lady-in-waiting. Barnon, be good enough to go out and inform the men-at-arms that they and their mounts and the Lady’s wagon may take shelter in the stable. Tell Illes that water and hay should be offered, and that as soon as the cook has attended to the Konige’s lady-in-waiting, bread, salt, and wine will be provided for them.” He saw that the two men were somewhat mollified. “The Comes will thank you for your good service.”
“I’ll inform the Lady’s escort,” said Barnon, huffy but willing to accommodate the demands. He turned on his heel and tromped out of the kitchen.
Saint-Germain 24: An Embarrassment of Riches: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 8
