Saint-Germain 24: An Embarrassment of Riches: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  The Konige’s current ladies-in-waiting stood around the throne, each in her newest formal Court garments, displaying the wealth and beauty of Bohemia and the grandeur of its Court. All the women wore cloth-of-gold huchines over their bleihauts, the long, open-sleeved garments the most opulent sign of luxury in all the sumptuous display. Only Milica of Olmutz was absent so that she could take care of the Konige’s daughters.

  In the broad corridor beyond the reception hall, the new arrivals waited with their escorts. Two of the women, new to the Court, fretted, fidgeted, and tried to hide it; they both were still weary from their long journey and as yet unsettled in their own quarters. The third woman, Rozsa of Borsod, affected a kind of boredom to remind all those around her that she was accustomed to the rituals and trials of Court life. Her displeasure was the ache in her back from standing too long; her pregnancy was beginning to show, her breasts had become larger, and she was hungrier than she wanted to admit.

  As the younger of the two new ladies-in-waiting, Iliska of Szousa was the most restive; she made mincing steps around her brother, who was escorting her, shaking her hands as if to rid herself of her edginess.

  “Stop it,” her brother hissed in Magyar.

  “I’m nervous,” Iliska answered in an undervoice. She stroked the elaborate belt of braided silver that hung low on her waist; her bleihaut was of Hungarian cut, with deep sleeves edged in more silver thread, setting off her blue-silk chainse.

  The escorts of the other two women ignored Iliska’s complaints, their attention on the reception room and the magnificent Konige’s Court.

  “Why do we have to go through all this elaborate ceremony?” Iliska bounced on her toes. “Why can’t we just join the Konige at table? We could be more easily introduced there, couldn’t we?”

  “You know the answer, sister mine: that would do no honor to Bohemia and its territories and it would insult Hungary, into the bargain.” He reached out his hand. “Be still and comport yourself with dignity. You are a Konige’s woman now. You are observed.”

  “Why must I do that? Doesn’t the Court ever get excited?” She rounded on Rozsa. “You have been here before. Do we always have to behave as if we were watching the Pope celebrate Mass?”

  “When there are strangers present, yes we do,” said Rozsa, her mouth turned down in disapproval. “If the occasion is made a Court function, then we are more than ourselves, and we must never forget that.” Her ruby-colored silken bleihaut was lavishly embroidered with patterns of birds flying worked in thread that ranged from wine to purple to black, and her chainse was golden Persian silk. She tried to smile at the newcomers, but only achieved a rictus.

  “Are you glad to be back at Court?” Iliska persisted.

  “Under the circumstances, yes, I am.”

  “Iliska, be quiet,” her brother ordered her.

  She paid no attention. “Under what circumstances?” When she received no answer she bounced closer to Rozsa. “Tell me; what circumstances?”

  “Why ask me? I would have thought that you’d worm it out of my escorts while we came here,” said Rozsa, her patience strained.

  “I didn’t realize you might have more than the honor of serving the Konige to bring you back to the Court,” said Iliska, offering a brazen grin. “Traveling in your condition shows dedication.”

  “It shows prudence, you child; Bela is ailing and my husband is away,” Rozsa said sharply, hoping to quell Iliska’s questions. “I am here at the behest of my husband, and the pleasure of the Konige.”

  “You have a task to perform,” Iliska decided aloud.

  “As have you, as have we all,” said Rozsa, growing more weary of their game.

  “Then you will know if we will be presented to Golden Otakar before he and his army departs, or whether this will be our presentation for both Konige and Konig.” There was a hard light in her honey-colored eyes.

  “Do be quiet,” said Antal, glaring at his sister. “This isn’t the time.”

  “We’re waiting. Why can’t we talk while we wait?” She glared at him. “If we must remain still, can’t we talk?”

  “We wait at the pleasure of the Konige,” said Antal. “Be grateful you are here and ask God to give you contentment for it.”

  “But must we all keep silent?” Iliska flung up her hands in frustration.

  Kustansze of Lugoj gave Iliska a hard look. “We are waiting upon Episcopus Fauvinel, who has been delayed with the Konig’s men. He has blessed the criminals being hanged from the walls and now he is saying the farewell Mass for the Konig’s army, since it departs tomorrow at dawn, and the men wish to be shriven before they go.”

  Iliska pursed her lips in annoyance. “Doesn’t he know it’s ill-mannered to keep the Konige’s Court dependent on him to begin, but unable to on his account because he can’t be bothered to arrive when everyone else does? Can’t another religious open the Court if the Episcopus is attending to the Konig? It’s allowed in Hungary.”

  “Bohemia isn’t Hungary,” Kustansze reminded Iliska as if she were talking to a child of eight.

  “We are in a foreign land, for the sake of the Konige Kunigunde and Konig Bela.” Rozsa stared directly at Iliska. “And don’t forget that the Episcopus has as many spies in the Konige’s household as anyone. Nothing you say, and nothing you do, will go unnoticed. Nothing.” Something self-satisfied flickered in her face, but vanished before Iliska was sure it was there.

  “All right—I’ll be quiet,” Iliska said, sulking.

  Kustansze managed a near-smile. “Cultivate patience, Iliska. You’ll need it at Court.”

  Iliska gave a heavy sigh. “We shouldn’t have to stand here like this.”

  “Yes, we should,” said Kustansze, reaching up to push a holding pin into the elaborate braid that encircled her head. “It is required of us for the Konige’s sake.”

  “Will you both be quiet,” Rozsa exclaimed. “We are being overheard. Keep that in your thoughts at all times.”

  “Spies.” Iliska sighed. “Everyone knows spies can be bought.”

  “Iliska, hold your tongue,” Antal told her more forcefully as he raised his hand. “You wouldn’t want to make your courtisy with a mark on your face.”

  Iliska glowered at him, then turned away, her lower lip quivering in fear and chagrin. She muttered something about unfairness and the ill-conduct of brothers. The others pointedly looked away from her, for which she was grateful, but she suspected it was because they wanted to divorce themselves from her jejune behavior. A short while later, she sighed again and said, “At least the windows are open.”

  “On the Konige’s order,” Kustansze reminded her.

  “Of course,” said Iliska; she had taken the end of her long white veil in her hands and was pressing minute pleats into the cloth.

  A sudden squeal of buisines announced the arrival of the Episcopus, and a second ostentation informed all of Vaclav Castle that the Konig was accompanying the Episcopus. Servants rushed to man the doors of the reception hall, almost shoving the women and their escorts aside in their haste.

  “Move to the wall,” Rozsa recommended. “The Konig is going to pass.”

  Iliska glanced at her brother, giving him a wicked grin. “And you said he wouldn’t have time for the Konige’s Court.”

  “He may not linger. Don’t assume he’ll notice you,” Antal said blightingly.

  “Of course,” Iliska said, slipping next to the window so that the light would fall on her face.

  “Courtisy him, but do not speak unless he addresses you,” Rozsa reminded the other two women. “And the Episcopus as well.”

  The doors at the end of the broad corridor banged open, and the Konig’s German Guards strode toward the reception room, their armor shining, their weapons jangling as they walked. At their rear came Otakar himself, crowned and in full armor but for his helmet. His breastplate and the chain mail of his coif were gilded, and his new ceremonial sword with its gem-encrusted hilt hung in a jeweled scabba
rd. He barely glanced at the women and their escorts, the women courtisying, the men kneeling, but went directly into the reception hall of the Konige’s Court, her herald crying out his name as he came into the hall.

  “Remain as you are,” Rozsa warned Iliska, who was starting to rise. “The Episcopus is coming.”

  Iliska clicked her tongue but remained in the half-crouch position of the courtisy. “Where is he, then?” she whispered.

  As if responding to her remark, a company of Trinitarian and Assumptionist monks entered the corridor in double-file, two of them bearing a large golden monstrance between them. At their rear came Episcopus Fauvinel, his vestments and miter glistening with gold and silver thread and studded with pearls and diamonds. He carried a tall crozier that thumped with every second step he took. He paused long enough to make the sign of the cross over the three women and their escorts, then passed on into the reception hall to the greeting of the herald’s stentorian voice.

  “Can I straighten up now?” Iliska asked impatiently.

  “Yes.” Rozsa rubbed at the small of her back. “It is many, many days until September,” she remarked to Kustansze.

  “And you will feel the days more keenly than we will,” said the Konige’s second cousin. “Especially after June. I know how it was with my children.”

  “You are to return home in June, do I have that right?” Iliska inquired with apparent solicitousness.

  “You know you do,” Rozsa told her. “You’ve asked me about it often enough coming here.”

  Iliska said something under her breath and looked away from Rozsa. “The Konig is bowing to the Konige.”

  “He is in her Court. Of course he bows,” said Rozsa. “Didn’t your father tell you anything about Court?”

  “He told me what I had to do for Szousa, and what I ought not to do,” said Iliska, trying to show more confidence than she felt.

  From the reception hall came a rustle of clothes as the Court knelt, followed by the Episcopus’ voice droning out his blessing on the Konige’s Court and the dear Royals themselves, and admonishing all attending to strive to be worthy of the gracious friendship the dear Royals extended to all, and explaining that failure to be upstanding in the name of the Konige would also mean that the courtier had failed God, Whose Will it was that Konig Otakar and Konige Kunigunde should rule here. Last he called upon all the Konige’s Court to welcome the new-comers and to show them courtesy for the sake of Konige Kunigunde. At the sign from the Episcopus the Court rose, and the Konig went to kneel to his wife and charge her with the safety of Praha in his absence.

  “May God guide me in all ways to serve you, dear Royal, and the Kingdom of Bohemia,” the Konige said to her husband.

  The herald bawled out the names of the women to be presented and their escorts, giving their titles and their estates; in the reception hall, the Konig, his personal guard, and the Episcopus stood aside, leaving an aisle for the women to approach the Konige’s dais.

  “Kustansze of Lugoj, daughter of Kazmir of Lugoj, kinswoman of Konige Kunigunde, escorted by Padnagy Kalman, Dux of Oradea.”

  Kustansze stepped forward and courtisied the Konige. “May God show you all favor, dear Royal,” she said in awkward Bohemian.

  “Be welcome in Bohemia, good cousin,” said the Konige, and nodded to her so that she would step aside.

  “Iliska of Szousa, daughter of the Comes of Szousa,” announced the herald, “escorted by her brother, Antal of Szousa.”

  Iliska felt a warning jab in her side from Antal’s thumb as she stepped away from him to courrtisy the Konige. “The blessings of God and man be with you, dear Royal.”

  “Prettily said,” Konige Kunigunde approved, and waved her away.

  “Rozsa of Borsod, wife of Notay Tibor of Kaposvar,” the herald declared.

  Rozsa’s courtisy was not as deep as Court usually required, but the Konige made allowances for Rozsa’s pregnancy. “I am greatly honored to return to your resplendent Court, dear Royal,” she said, using Milan of Gyula’s arm to steady herself.

  “I am happy to have you here again, Rozsa of Borsod. Kinga has missed you.” For the first time there was animation in Kunigunde’s face. “You will find your friends are glad of your return.” She held up her hand to indicate her ladies-in-waiting. “And I will be happy to have news of my grandfather and my brother.”

  “Dear Royal is all kindness; it will be my most pressing duty to speak with you of all that has been happening at Konig Bela’s Court,” said Rozsa, stepping back and taking a surreptitious glance around the room caught sight of Rakoczy Ferancsi standing with Tirz Agoston of Mures; Rakoczy held a new lyre in his hands, softly testing the strings and listening to Agoston’s instructions as he did. Rozsa kept herself from smiling, but she felt encouraged to find him still at Court; she had plans to see him again.

  Konig Otakar stepped up onto the dais, the Konige’s women moving back from her so that they would not offend the ruler. “I have members of your Court to thank, dear Royal, before I leave for battle, and it is fitting that I do it here.”

  “You are welcome, my Konig,” said Kunigunde, rising to honor him.

  “If you will call forth those who have done service for you to my benefit?” He raised his new ceremonial sword. “I will bestow my thanks upon them.”

  The herald called out, “Hovarth Pisti of Buda.”

  The tapestry-weaver came through the assembled Court, not quite strutting, his face flushed with pride. “Dear Royal,” he said as he went on his knee in front of the dais.

  “For the magnificent tapestry that now adorns this hall, and the two others that hang in the Konige’s private apartments, I show you my thanks and bestow upon you this ring”—he took a gold band from his sleeve—“and ask you to wear it in testament to your service to the Konige and the glory of Bohemia. A stipend of ten golden Vaclavs will be paid to you annually for a period of ten years as a sign of our gratitude, and one golden Vaclav annually for a decade to each of your apprentices.”

  Hovarth Pisti put the ring on his middle finger—the only one on which it would not be loose—and lowered his head. “I and mine will thank your generosity for all generations to come.”

  “Most worthy,” murmured the Konige as she signaled the Master Tapestry-Weaver to rise.

  “Tirz Agoston of Mures,” bellowed the herald, and the instrument-maker ducked his head to Rakoczy and went to the dais to kneel.

  Konig Otakar whispered a few words to Rytir Steffal von Passau, the German Guard nearest to him, then turned his attention to Tirz Agoston while Rytir Steffal departed on an errand. “Good musician and maker of instruments,” the Konig said, “you and your instruments have brought many hours of pleasure to the Konige, and have soothed her in times of sadness, for which we are deeply grateful. In recognition of your excellent service, I present you with a badge of your service, set in gold, and dependent from a gold chain, so that all may witness our esteem and thanks. We also bestow upon you a grant of fifty golden Vaclavs to encourage you to help to bring your craft to greater perfection. In addition, we pledge to match that amount for a period of five years to enable your work to continue without hesitation or let.” He took the chain with its pendant badge from his capacious sleeve and dropped it around Tirz Agoston’s neck.

  “I … am overwhelmed by your k-kindness, dear Royal,” Tirz Agoston stammered, touching the links as if he couldn’t believe he wore them, his eyes dazed. “May God reward your goodness.”

  “Most courteous,” said the Konige, motioning him away from the dais.

  “Pader Klothor,” the herald summoned; a buzz of conversation rushed through the hall, for it was unusual to summon the Konige’s treasurer to such events as these.

  A thin, elderly man in Redemptionist priest’s habit came from the corridor leading into the private parts of the Konige’s Court; he carried a ledger as if it were made of solid Bohemian gold. He stopped before Episcopus Fauvinel before he went to the Konig. “Dear Royal,” he said i
n a dusty voice as he went onto his knee.

  “Pader Klothor,” said the Konig, raising his ceremonial sword, “tell the Court the accounting on this splendid symbol of Bohemia’s power that my Konige has presented to me.”

  Obediently the little priest opened the ledger and began to read, “For gold, a measure equal to twenty-eight roundels of lead was used in the hilt, which is ornamented with two diamonds in the pommel, ten white sapphires in the grip, four emeralds, four tourmalines, four peridots, four topazes, four rubies, and ten tiger’s-eyes in the quillons. The blade is of Luccan steel, weighing equal to fifteen roundels of lead. The scabbard is of silver the equivalent of twenty-one roundels of lead ornamented with ten amethysts and eight rose zircons. The gold is the work and the gift of Hrodperht von Ratisbon; the jewels are the gift of Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu.”

  “A princely treasure, provided by men who are not Bohemians, which is an excellent omen, for it says that the reach of this sword extends beyond this kingdom. It is a pledge of greater things to come beyond our present borders, one I will display to all the world when I am Holy Roman Emperor,” the Konig proclaimed, hefting the sword above his head, smiling at the general acclaim. When he lowered the sword, the clamor quieted. “In recognition of this imperial treasure—” He signaled the herald.

  “Hrodperht von Ratisbon,” the herald called.

  The goldsmith made his way to the Konig, kneeling down with a great show of deference. He lowered his head and waited for Otakar to speak.

  “Your workmanship and your gift have distinguished you among the Master Goldsmiths of Praha, and to demonstrate my appreciation, you will henceforth be known as Goldsmith to the Konig. As part of that advancement, you will be awarded a pension of twenty golden Vaclavs a year for life, and for ten years beyond for your heirs.”