Elizabeth of Vindobona (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 3)

by Alma Boykin

  “I was hungry,” Lewis informed the new arrivals. For some reason Ann blushed as red as the trim on her riding habit and Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. She did not look at Lazlo.

  “I see, your grace,” Elizabeth replied, struggling to keep her tone mild and innocent. Anticipating the Diligence? Or just Lewis being Lewis? Probably the latter: Ann would never let him have his way without a formal marriage. She’d been hurt far too badly once before. And for all his faults Archduke Lewis of Babenburg was not a cad. An idiot, Elizabeth mused, and an unobservant twit on occasion, and irritating much of the time, but not a cad.

  She waved a fly away and caught Lazlo watching her, an amused expression in his eyes. “Yes?”

  “Nothing of great importance, my lady,” he assured her. She knew him too well to believe him, but this wasn’t the time or place to ask.

  Or did she really know him? Lewis and Ann got their horses and the two couples rode back to the manor hill via the river. Elizabeth thought back and realized that Lazlo had been watching over her and protecting her for at least the past five years. She’d been so preoccupied with duty and with trying to keep Lewis at bay that she’d never realized it was Lazlo who’d been courting her, giving her little gifts. She trusted him with her life and her troops, valued his judgment, admired his courage and honesty, but she’d never thought about loving him. Did she?

  He must have caught her quizzical expression because he asked, “Something amuses you, my lady?”

  “Oh, just thinking that love is nothing like the author of The Duke of Parma’s Daughter seemed to believe.”

  He frowned at his horse’s ears. “That’s the one that was so popular three, four years ago, my lady? Where she falls madly in love with a brigand who proves to be a Frankonian prince in disguise?”

  “Among other things, yes.”

  “One of my nieces found a copy, my lady.” He rolled his eyes. “Her father wanted to tan her hide, and her mother says the author would not know love if it bit him. But he was an expert in lust, or so my sister avers.”

  “I got that impression. Such that I wondered if he were related to whoever commissioned the art in the second bedroom from the head of the stairs.”

  Archduke Lewis must have heard her. That or he inhaled a bug, because a sudden, violent coughing fit struck him. The archduke’s paroxysms alarmed his horse, making it shy, snorting, eyes rolling. Lazlo cleared his throat, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, judging by the gleam in his eye.

  Ann turned in her saddle. “I told you not to look in there, my lady.”

  “Why not? As I said at the time, the painter did excellent work, even with such repetitive subject matter.”

  That set Lewis off again. I do not want to know, Elizabeth decided firmly.

  Three days later, Elizabeth and Lazlo managed to sneak off to the chapel together. The fuss over Lewis having a Diligence issued for himself and Ann Starland took all attention away from the manor’s other residents, and they both sent their usual escorts away “to help with the preparations for the formal ceremony.” Elizabeth discovered that her hands were shaking as she waited. Then she heard footsteps and spun around to find Lazlo standing behind her, smiling.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him her hand and they walked up to stand before the altar.

  Two forms of marriage existed in the church. The formal ceremony, with candles, witnesses, and a full worship service, was the approved form. But the older form, dating to the lean years following the Great Fires, held equal validity in the eyes of Godown and the law, if not of the gossips. Lazlo took both of her hands between his and looked in her eyes. “Godown as my witness, I, Lazlo Kirlin Destefani, take Elizabeth Antonia von Sarmas to be my wife. To her I pledge my love and my loyalty, until death do us part.”

  She swallowed hard, removing her hands from his grip before placing them around his. “G-Godown as my witness, I, Elizabeth Antonia von Sarmas, take Lazlo Kirlin Destefani to be my husband. To him I pledge my love and my loyalty, until death do us part.”

  Then Elizabeth unlocked the side of the altar and removed the manor registry. It contained the records of all births, deaths, marriages, first anointings, and confirmations. She and Lazlo entered their names, the date, and signed the record, listing Godown as their witness. She returned the book to its storage space and re-locked the small, snug door. Only she and the priest, and probably Archduke Lewis, had keys.

  Lazlo and Elizabeth kissed again. That was all there was, and it was enough. Later that afternoon they found a private place and consummated the marriage. “I know what we’re supposed to do, but I’ve never done this before,” she confided to Lazlo.

  He looked away, as if suddenly distracted, before admitting, “I have. Just, um, follow my lead.” She did, and although uncomfortable, it didn’t hurt as much as she’d feared. Afterwards she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it slowed. He smelled of sweat and soap, and horse.

  “Do I smell like horse?”

  “Do you…” He began laughing, and she felt his chest and stomach shaking. “No, my lady my love, you do not smell of horse.”

  Looking back, Elizabeth wondered if they should have anticipated what happened next. The spring passed so quietly, so uneventfully (aside from the wedding), and the crops and herbs and flowers looked so promising that she should have known it could not last. Not on their corrupt and sinful world. After her and Lazlo’s marriage, they spent most of the next three weeks scrambling to ready the military contingent and to avoid the wedding preparations. At one point Elizabeth and Lt. Sparli rode to Crownpoint on Peilovna estate, across the river, to confer with Count Theobald Peilov about his troops. Dear, sweet Godown but I am so happy to get away from Donatello manor, Elizabeth prayed as they rode. It’s a good thing the people more-or-less like his grace and Lady Ann. Otherwise we’d have an exodus.

  The low point, to Elizabeth’s way of thinking, came the afternoon that she arrived at the manor hot, sweaty, bruised, and very hungry, to find the servants all busy with building a bower from greenery out in the herb garden. Mina apologized, “I’m sorry, my lady, but we needed all hands to arrange the weeping bough and blue-eye branches.”

  “When is supper?”

  “Whenever you want it, my lady. There is bread and cold meats set out in the kitchen.”

  Elizabeth, who had her heart set on something hearty, meaty, and served by someone else, closed her eyes. Do not swear at Mina, do not swear at Mina, she ordered herself until the anger subsided just enough. “Very well. You are dismissed back to your earlier work.”

  Elizabeth filled a pail of wash water from the courtyard pump and wondered why she was not happy for Ann and Lewis. She remembered the trick for carrying a bucket up stairs without slopping, and as she wiped off the worst of the dirt and sweat, she tried to sort out her lack of feelings. Should she feel bad about not feeling happy? No, that made no sense. And she was not unhappy about their getting married, well, except for how it interfered with her wishes and comfort. At least she was not expected to have a new dress like Ann’s with its layers and headpiece and endless meters of trim. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. Too tall, too square, too bland, too ugly, it’s a good thing that Godown gave me a mind to compensate for everything else I lack. She sighed before scolding herself for envy.

  Perhaps, she mused as she carried out the slop water, Godown had made her different for His own reasons and it was as simple as that. Before her flight from Frankonia, she’d dreamed of a good marriage in part because it meant she’d been released from her vows and was no longer under King Laurence’s direct control. And, well, every woman got married, unless their vocation began at a very early age. And even then their families could require two children before letting the woman join an order, if she had no brothers or not enough brothers and sisters. Elizabeth’s own dreams of marriage had vanished when she first met Aquila Starland and he recognized her military talents. And she could n
ot remember ever getting giddy or wistful over men like the other ladies did. I am as I am made and that’s that, she decided. She lugged the bucket back down the stairs and hurled the slop water out onto the work patio behind the manor house along with all her pent-up anger. If she wasn’t on campaign, she should not have been dumping her own slops!

  Two days before Ann and Lewis’s ceremony Elizabeth and Lazlo managed to sneak away again after observing another infantry drill. “Did your sisters make such a fuss before their weddings?” They’d found a nook in one of the Lander ruins, hid their horses, and indulged in a quick moment of passion. As she re-tied the laces on her breast support, Elizabeth wondered yet again why she could not wear her nice uniform to the ceremony, instead of the somewhat new and utterly uncomfortable concoction Mina and Ann had devised for her. The lace scratched terribly and the tight lacing made her panic, afraid of smothering.

  Lazlo gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. Worse, they fed off eachother. As soon as one calmed down, another began to flutter and twitter and they all started up again. And a few times mother got weepy, and then the aunts, and then,” he pulled his waistcoat on so hard the back seams strained. “The poor men slept in the barn sometimes, just to get away.”

  “Would that I could do the same,” she muttered. She buttoned her blouse, pulled on the overskirt, then her waistcoat, and finally Lazlo helped her with her jacket, caressing her hands and rubbing her shoulders as he did. “If you keep doing that we’ll be missed,” she warned him, heart starting to flutter again.

  He gave her an utterly lascivious look, caressing her cheek before stepping out of arm’s reach. “How many layers do you wear?”

  “What?” She blinked at him.

  “I asked how many layers do you wear.” He waved at her skirts. “There’s a field tent there at the very least.”

  She pulled on her gloves and counted as she walked over to where Ricardo waited. “Six, plus the waistcoat and jacket. More for formal events or in winter.”

  “No wonder my sisters were always late for everything,” and he shook his head and steadied Ricardo while she tightened the black horse’s girth and removed the nosebag.

  “Oh? And who is it that started the fashion for breeches and codpieces, might I inquire?”

  He did not reply. She suspected that wherever humans went among the stars, someone reinvented certain things, including clothes that showed off the anatomy. Or tried to show it off, she wrinkled her nose. Count Peilov’s court wardrobe, and his dress armor, well, she reminded herself, the less she thought about it, the better off she’d be.

  “My lady, refresh my memory,” Lazlo called from the other side of his horse. “When does the first wedding vigil begin?”

  She led Ricardo to a convenient rock and used it to get a bit of help mounting before replying, “Sundown tomorrow starts the all-night vigil. It ends with the sunrise liturgy. That’s for the women. Then the men have a shorter night vigil, sunset to the tenth hour, the night before the wedding.”

  “Ah. That’s a blessing, my lady. Godown forgive me, but I dreaded the idea of spending all night on my knees, then having to stand for the ceremony.”

  “You develop callouses and a strong back,” she reminisced. “And it is permitted, and is often part of the liturgy of the great vigils, to stand, bow, even move between altars and chapels. Godown knows the limits of endurance.” And this wedding is testing them. At least with Miranda Starland’s wedding, I had diplomatic and military duties to tend to and wasn’t required to attend her and Princess Ildiko.

  She must have made a face, because Lazlo raised his eyebrows. “Remembering Lady Miranda’s wedding,” she told him. “I doubt this will be quite as, hmm, exotic. There’s not room for his grace and one of the other archdukes to ride into the chapel.”

  Lazlo blanched. “My lady, please; do not give his grace any ideas!”

  “Do I want to know?”

  He shook his head, shoulders tight, the epitome of stubbornness. “No, my lady, you do not. I will simply say that his grace’s creativity is much greater than I had previously surmised.”

  It must be bad, if Lazlo’s being that formal. Oh dear. “I see.” She changed the topic as they began riding back to the manor house. “The get of the Oberland mares. I do not care for how slender their legs are.”

  He considered her words, eyes scanning the road ahead of them for loose stock and farm wagons. “His grace hoped they would thicken with age, my lady.” After more thought he said, “A double cross, say add Tivoliner and, ah,” he shook his head and swirled one hand. “Those southern light draft horses. The ones that only come in pale brown.”

  She pummeled her memory. “Like Lord Karyo rides. I can’t think of the name either.”

  “That’s it, my lady. Tivoliner might mellow the temperament, while the draft cross brings in sturdy legs and solid wind.”

  “Thank you, Major. I’ll suggest it to Master Sims and his grace, once the excitement calms down.”

  After the fluttering, fuss, and seemingly-endless interruptions, the women’s vigil struck Elizabeth as a sweet relief. She knelt beside Ann, received the blessing from Fr. Arnold, and began reciting the first sequence of bead prayers. She rarely did the full sequence, but tonight seemed to be a good time for them. Holy Godown, Lord of Mercy, hear the petitions of Thy servants, she prayed, fingers touching the cool glass of the first bead, feeling the imperfections and worn spots. The beads, like their owner, contained beauty despite their flaws. She’d found them tucked into a drawer in her office a few days before, a wedding gift from Lazlo.

  She reached the tenth sequence, invoking Godown’s help in times of war, before the first of the other women surrendered to sleep. The warm, still chapel, lit only by the massive Presence lamp and altar candles, did not inspire wakefulness. Elizabeth fought off a yawn as she finished the sequence.

  At midnight Ann slumped back. Elizabeth caught her and eased her onto the floor. It seemed appropriate that she was in the middle of the prayers for alertness and watchfulness against the temptations of both flesh and of spirit. The sequence provided time for personal supplications and confession, and Elizabeth squirmed as she recalled some of her less charitable thoughts over the past week. The women’s fuss over Ann meant that they respected and cared for her, Elizabeth reminded herself. Ann had won their affection over the years. Elizabeth they tolerated and feared, but Ann they admired and respected. Elizabeth suspected that the men shared that affection and had passed it on to Lewis.

  By the third hour after midnight, only Elizabeth and one of the youngest kitchen maids remained awake. Elizabeth had moved to kneel before the small image of St. Gerald, her patron, as she prayed for the Babenburgs and their allies against the Turkowi. She also prayed for the souls of the innocents who had died after the Great Fires, in the cold, dark, hungry years before the first governments reappeared and carved out islands of peace, where people could farm without fear of losing all their crops and livestock to the stronger and meaner. Thank you Godown for the Meenonights who preserved the arts of the plow and harness. Thank you for the first Babenburg, lord of the waters. Once again a dull pulse of anger added power to her prayers as she thought of people like Col. Marcy, followers of St. Mou who would deny any salvation to the Landers or those who preserved their technology.

  Her knees ached and throbbed by the time she heard Fr. Arnold and his assistant preparing for the sunrise liturgy. The first glow of morning began lighting the windows, bringing new life to the saints depicted in the colored glass. Elizabeth bit her tongue to keep from squeaking as she stood: the pain in her knees, hips, and back made her eyes water. Once more she knelt before the high altar, turning her eyes to the symbol of Godown hanging above the green-draped table. St. Michael-Herdsman rode across the altar, looking a little tired himself, or so Elizabeth thought. She’d gone fuzzy in the head from exhaustion. I’m not a fifteen-year-old professed postulant anymore, she at last admitted.

  “Blessed be Godown, lord o
f the morning,” Father Arnold’s deep voice called after the dawn bell had rung. The sleepers stirred, and Elizabeth steadied Ann as she got back onto her knees.

  “Blessed be Godown, lord of the morning,” the worshippers chorused, many through yawns.

  After the liturgy, Elizabeth ate a little breakfast, then fell into her bed, not even changing out of her clothes. She slept until early afternoon, another sign that she was no longer as devotionally fit as she once had been.

  She ate supper with the other women, smiling at Lady Ann and trying to enjoy the others’ excitement and happiness. Ann seemed a little overwhelmed, but then she’d never expected anyone to propose to her. After her disastrous encounter during her first visit to court, she and Aquila both had given up on her ever finding someone who would marry her. Elizabeth felt her anger rising at the thought of how one person could so abuse his position to hurt another, and why? Because he’d tired of playing with her. And Elizabeth had heard of women who did the same thing, including her own mother on occasion. I am so glad Mother won’t travel as far as the Empire, she thought yet again.

  Elizabeth helped the servants dress Ann the next morning. Given the number of underskirts, lacings, and underdresses to deal with, it was just as well. I keep forgetting how simple my clothes are compared to everyone else. Despite Lazlo’s complaints, six layers formed a minimum. Ann sported at least eight, not counting the short jacket, detachable train, cape-let, and headdress with veil. Elizabeth, in a pale-pink bodice, red and tan skirt, and cream-colored blouse, felt positively naked after Ann finished dressing. Without meaning to she said aloud, “I do not understand why we have to wear so much of our dowries.”

  “Because it’s tradition, Lady Elizabeth,” Mistress Annie Lei informed her, clearly perturbed that anyone would question the matter.

  Elizabeth kept quiet after that. She followed Ann to the chapel, carrying Ann’s prayer beads and book of devotions. Lazlo, Archduke Lewis, and the men had already made their entrance, and Elizabeth had to smile as she watched Lewis’s face light up when he saw Ann. Neither were young and this was the first match for both. Elizabeth followed Ann down the aisle, standing as Ann’s witness and servant. Count Theobald Peilov did the same for Lewis, and to Elizabeth’s relief she saw that Peilov had worn something decorous.