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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “So I think,” said Rakoczy, again wondering why the welcome-tray had still not been offered to his guest. He went to the door and looked out into the main hall, where the glaziers stood on ladders, fitting in the fourth window and putting shutter-levers into place; neither Barnon nor Pacar was anywhere in the large room.

  “You needn’t trouble yourself, Comes,” said Smiricti.

  “You are a guest in my manse, Counselor,” Rakoczy reminded him, offering him a slight nod.

  “Still, I came unannounced,” said Smiricti as if making excuses for his servants. “You have no need to—”

  “You say your men in my household speak well of me—then let me requite their good opinion of me.”

  Smiricti allowed himself to be persuaded. “I will accept your hospitality with gratitude.”

  Rakoczy clapped his hands loudly. “Barnon!” he called out. “Barnon! Where are you?”

  “He isn’t in the manse,” said Smiricti, sounding defeated. “He has left Mansion Belcrady.”

  “Why is that?” Rakoczy asked.

  “Because I sent him away, as soon as he informed you of my arrival. The Episcopus ordered me to do so.” A little color rose in his face. “He is my man, you see, and the Episcopus wants him out of here, so that others of his own choosing may take his place.”

  “Then Barnon is one of the two?” Rakoczy shook his head, wondering why he had not seen Barnon’s divided loyalty.

  “Yes. I had hoped to keep that from you for a little longer.” He offered a jittery smile. “You will have to assign another to his duties.”

  “Someone who may or may not be your man, as well? Or shall I assume that anyone I hire is in the pay of others?” Rakoczy made a gesture of apology and stepped out into the main hall. “Hruther! Have a welcome-tray prepared for the Counselor!” Then he returned to the withdrawing room, certain that Hruther would attend to this courtesy.

  Now Smiricti was truly chagrined. “Comes, it isn’t necessary.”

  Rakoczy held up his small hand. “This is not just for you; I will not have my servants say I neglected a guest.”

  “Even one who has abused you as I have done?” Smiricti looked truly shocked.

  Rakoczy sighed, a short, hard sound. “You forget that exiles cannot afford to ignore the customs of their hosts. Servants talk, whether by assignment or by inclination, and what they say, I need hardly remind you, is often noted by others. You are a man of position and authority in Praha and you deserve to be received well, as all the household knows: you will be, for my sake as well as yours.” He had a brief, uncomfortable recollection of his time in Tunis, before he was seized and made a slave to the Emir’s son.

  “You are too severe,” Smiricti said, a suggestion of relief in his voice. “I don’t expect any display of welcome from you, not today.”

  “I should hope you will not mind accepting my hospitality. I will be diligent, for the sake of the Episcopus’ man and my reputation.” Rakoczy came across the room and drew up the small upholstered bench to the table, straddling it as he sat. “Since you are being forthright with me, let me press you on a few points.”

  “I suppose I owe you that much,” said Smiricti, suddenly cautious.

  “Then, if you can explain it to me, why has the Episcopus taken this opportunity to claim jurisdiction over me and my household?”

  Smiricti slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. I believe he is exceeding his authority, but my opinion has little weight with the Konige; with the Konig away she depends heavily on the Episcopus, who is the Konig’s deputy in Praha during his absence.” He got up and went to the newly glazed window. “If it were left to me, I would only keep one spy in your household, Comes. The Episcopus has taken that possibility out of my hands.” For a short while he remained silent. “And I am alleviated from bearing a burden because of it.”

  Rakoczy heard him out, outwardly unfazed by Smiricti’s admission. “Then the Council is no longer … concerned with me and my affairs?”

  “By order of the Episcopus, we are not,” said Smiricti. “Keep in mind that the Konige must have consented to this.”

  “Of course,” Rakoczy said, swinging around on his seat to motion Hruther into the room, a welcome-tray in his hands. “Place it on the table if you would, Hruther.”

  As he did, Hruther said, “I am told Barnon is no longer in the manse. I have taken the liberty of telling Pacar and Kornemon that he has gone to find Estephe.”

  “Thank you,” Rakoczy said, glancing at Smiricti. “That should satisfy them for a while—would you agree?”

  Smiricti came back from the window and sat down. “You have a clever manservant.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Rakoczy, pouring a cup of wine for his guest and indicating the bread, cheese, butter, and sausages set out for him on the welcome-tray. “If you would select what pleases you.”

  “It would please me to take my leave of you,” said Smiricti, coming back to the table and looking over the bounty set out for him. “But I will have some wine and bread so that no one can say that I disdained your cordiality.” With that, he took the cup of wine and drank half the contents in a single gulp. “You have excellent wine.”

  “Thank you,” Rakoczy responded ironically.

  As he sat down again, Smiricti held out the cup for more. “I should probably ask if you are aware of your enemies at Court, as a gesture of respect.”

  “I suppose I have them,” said Rakoczy carefully.

  “You may be certain of it,” said Smiricti; he drank avidly again. “And not just the Episcopus. There are others.”

  “Ah?” Rakoczy turned the whole strength of his dark eyes on Smiricti, and waited for him to speak.

  Smiricti took a sausage in his fingers and began to chew. “You have … angered some of the Konige’s … waiting-ladies … and their families.” He licked away the grease from where it had run down his palm.

  “How have I angered them?” Rakoczy was puzzled, thinking again that his position at the Konige’s Court had become untenable.

  “You have disappointed some. You know what women are: they set their sights on what they want and become outraged if they cannot attain it.”

  What had Rozsa done now? he wondered. “It has never been my intent to offend anyone in the Konige’s Court.”

  “Then marry, Comes, and put an end to foolish jealousies. So long as you have no wife, the Konige’s ladies will vie for you, for your fortune, for your title.” He laughed and took another sausage. “Even without the title, you are too rich not to have women eager to wed you. No doubt you can have your pick of the Konige’s Court.”

  “It is not advisable for me to marry,” Rakoczy said.

  “Certainly that is a prudent answer, but it won’t keep the ladies from trying to win you. They woo as heartily as anyone.” He laughed again and drank the rest of his wine, then waited for the Comes to pour him another cup. “More than half the Konige’s ladies are Hungarian. You are Hungarian. They have lands. You have lands. Those things would be sufficient for them to be interested, but you have wealth, and that”—he quaffed most of the contents of his cup in sarcastic salute—“ensures their attention.”

  “Without a fortune, I would be a poor match, in spite of my lands and tittle,” said Rakoczy, once more refilling the Counselor’s cup.

  “True enough, but since you are a very rich man…” He shrugged to finish his thought.

  “In what way does this lead to enemies? It may bring envy, but enemies?” Rakoczy gave himself a little time to consider who among the Konige’s Court would have reason to call him an enemy.

  “Envy is reason enough,” said Smiricti, pulling a handful of bread from the oblong loaf on the tray. “So is ambition.”

  “Whom do you believe could be so envious or so ambitious as to become my enemy?” Rakoczy asked, watching Smiricti sway in his chair, and realized that the man was well and truly drunk.

  “Best not to know,” Smiricti said, wagging an admonitory finger
at his host as he raised his cup and drained it.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Frater Sandor at Sant-Gidius in western Hungary near Pressburg, to Kunigunde of Halicz, Konige of Bavaria, at Praha, carried by Royal courier and delivered eighteen days after it was written.

  To the most excellent Kunigunde of Halicz, Konige of Bohemia, the greetings of the Hieronymite monk and scribe to Konig Bela of Hungary, on this, the seventh day of May in the 1270th Year of Grace,

  Dear Royal,

  It is with a grieving heart that I write to you to inform you of the death of your grandfather, Konig Bela of Hungary, yesterday. He had been stricken with a fever five days since, and was brought here to be cared for by the monks. I accompanied him so that he might continue to exercise the obligations of his rule. From the time he arrived here, it was his intention to return to the field of battle as soon as his body was healed.

  God has willed otherwise. Two days ago Konig Bela worsened, his fever increased, and he became disordered in his thoughts. The monks urged him to make Confession and accept Extreme Unction, but he refused, declaring that God would minister to him and restore him. Late in the afternoon he sank into a dreamy swoon, and by sundown, his last breath had left him.

  A company of six knights have been dispatched to Transylvania to inform Konig Bela’s son and heir, Istvan of Transylvania, that his father is dead and now he reigns in all Hungary. The knights will escort him to Pressburg to receive the Crown of Sant-Istvan and the allegiance of the army. There are those who see a good omen in Konig Istvan and Sant-Istvan’s Crown, but my sorrow is too great to consider such matters.

  Since Konig Istvan will want another scribe near him, I will remain at this monastery, although the monks are Benedictines, until the Superior of the Hieronymites sends me otherwhere. This will be the last time I address you, Konige Kunigunde, and so, in our hour of mourning together, I send you my blessing and the assurance that God will console us, as He will welcome Konig Bela to the Glory of Heaven and a place at His Right Hand.

  Gloria in excelsis Deo, Amen,

  Sandor, Hieronymite Frater and scribe

  by my own hand

  5

  “Rozsa of Borsod has been claiming that you have been importuning her, suggesting that she take you for her lover, but I know that’s not true,” said Iliska of Szousa as she laid her hand on Rakoczy’s heavily embroidered sleeve, a desperate smile transfixing her countenance. “I don’t believe what she’s saying. You aren’t like that. You wouldn’t deny me for her.” Her face darkened. “My brother does believe her. He says that you are not a man of honor.”

  The reception hall of the Konige’s Court was filled with courtiers and a number of entertainers who juggled, tumbled, or made music, according to their talents, while the Konige and the Episcopus watched from the dais. The windows had been thrown open and the full light of mid-May streamed into the reception hall, limpid and glowing. A squad of servants passed among the Konige’s Court bearing tankards of wine and plates of bread-and-cheese.

  “It would appear that Rozsa seeks to discredit me: I do not know why.” It was the truth as far as it went, but not an explanation. He ducked his head politely, and tried to step away from Iliska, his black-silk gambeson whispering with his movement.

  “It is a dangerous stance for a married woman to take.” Iliska’s eyes shone with rascality. “That’s why my brother believes her. He says no woman would say so much if her husband might hear of it.”

  “He is trying to look after you,” said Rakoczy.

  Iliska shook her head emphatically. “He’s trying to bend me to his will.” Her voice lowered. “She says she has been troubled in her sleep, all on your account.”

  “That is unfortunate for her,” Rakoczy said, and saw that Antal of Szousa had seen Iliska at his side. He took a determined step back. “Your brother would not like us to talk.”

  “I suppose not,” she said, pouting coquettishly. “But what is he to do about it? He would have to create a disruption in front of the Konige, and that could get him sent back to Hungary.”

  “He can take you back to Szousa with him,” said Rakoczy. “That would mean leaving the Konige’s Court with a blot on your reputation, and your brother would not be pleased, for it would discredit him to have you return to your family unmarried and unpledged.”

  “Do you think that he would dare to take me home? Wouldn’t it disgrace him more than me? Wouldn’t it mean that he neglected his duty?” Iliska demanded; the long, open sleeve of her bleihaut was polished, pale-blue linen lined with flame-colored silk, and as she flung up her arms in frustration, she flickered and shone like a candle.

  “I think that he is entrusted with your protection; he would do anything to keep you safe.” He made a gesture of withdrawal, which she did not acknowledge.

  “Then let him settle matters with you. You are rich enough to make him accept your offer with satisfaction if not gratitude,” said Iliska.

  “I have made you no offer,” Rakoczy reminded her as politely as he could.

  “All because you have allowed Antal to refuse to consider you as a suitor for me.” She shook her head. “You are too modest, Comes. He is supposed to find me an acceptable husband.” She licked her lips.

  “I am not acceptable,” said Rakoczy, holding up his hands to placate her.

  “Rich men are always acceptable, if they are rich enough,” she said, staring at him. “The Konige will agree, and if she does, how can Antal refuse?”

  “Your family might not want you to marry an exile,” said Rakoczy. “I understand their position and I esteem them for it.”

  “Why?” Her smile broadened. “Think how you could use my position and restore yourself to Hungary. You will have your fief again, and I will have a rich husband. Then we will all have what we want.” She stepped a little closer to him. “I know you want me; you don’t have to tell me. I am the way for you to restore yourself in Hungary.”

  Rakoczy gave a single, ironic chuckle. “Konig Bela is the way for me to be restored in Hungary, Iliska of Szousa. There is no other for so long as Bela reigns in Hungary.”

  “My family would see to it. They are well-placed in Bela’s favor,” she told him, annoyance sharpening her tone. “They are in good graces with Konig Bela—that’s why I’ve been sent here, as a sign of Szousa’s high standing.”

  “What would your family gain from me?” He shook his head slowly. “No, your brother is right. I am no bargain for you or your House.”

  “Riches. They will gain riches, which they need,” she said as if it were obvious. “Give them half the quantity of jewels that you have offered the Konige, and even my Uncle Szygosmund will be satisfied, and he is the most greedy of them all.” She was about to continue when Antal strode up to them, his features set in severe disapproval.

  “I told you not to associate with this man,” he said to Iliska, his fists balled; he deliberately ignored Rakoczy. “He isn’t worthy of your notice.”

  “Antal!” Iliska exclaimed as he slapped her, then swung around to face Rakoczy.

  “Leave her alone, Comes. I will not have her defamed by you.”

  “As you wish, but do not revile her.” He ducked his head in a show of respect he did not feel.

  “He’s right, Antal. You are—” Iliska protested, stopping abruptly when Antal raised his hand again.

  Satisfied that she would not continue to make a spectacle of herself, he went on in a tension-quieted voice, “If you behave like a willful child, you will be treated as one.” Antal took her by the arm and all but dragged her away, saying loudly so that Rakoczy would hear him, “You are not to speak to the exile again. Do you understand me?”

  Iliska shrieked and strove to break free of his hold upon her. “You won’t reprimand me this way! Not here!”

  “I will, and the Konige will support me,” Antal said, his voice hard; the gathered courtiers made a path for Antal through their midst to the corridor to the chambers of the ladi
es-in-waiting. All conversation was halted, so that Antal’s castigations were heard by everyone. “Be silent. It’s bad enough that you comport yourself so like a strumpet. Have the good sense to control your character, or it will be the nunnery, not the marriage-bed for you.”

  “Antal!” Iliska shrieked, trying to twist out of his grasp; he struck her again, this time with more force.

  “If you will permit, dear Royal,” Antal said, addressing Konige Kunigunde from near the door, “I find I must spend time with my sister to explain our family’s wishes once again.”

  “Go, then,” said the Konige, her wince slight enough to go almost unnoticed; she signaled to Rakoczy to approach her dais. “And you, Comes: I would be grateful if you would depart for now. You must see the wisdom of it. I will summon you again in a few days. The sooner this contention is forgotten, the better it will be for all of you.”

  Rakoczy offered a French bow, recollections of Pentacoste and Odile flickering through his mind. “Dear Royal, I hear and obey.” He went toward the door opposite the one Antal had propelled Iliska through, and found himself facing Rozsa of Borsod, resplendent in a silken, rose-colored bleihaut with broad Hungarian sleeves over a sheer linen chainse and a veil of Mosul-cotton pinned to her golden chaplet.

  “She won’t have you, you know,” Rozsa said, her words silky, her green eyes lambent. “I won’t allow it.”

  This promise struck him emphatically, and although he maintained his composure, he felt an inward trepidation that chilled him. “You need not fret. She will not have me in any case; I will not allow it to happen,” said Rakoczy, adding with a self-deprecating gesture, “She knows nothing of my true nature or what I would need from her, she knows only what she has heard in the troubadours’ songs. I cannot fulfill her dreams.” For an instant, Imbolya’s plea that he turn away from the flesh in favor of God disquieted him; he shut the memory away.