An Embarrassment of Riches (36 page)

He returned to her side, his emotions in tumult, but his face revealing little of his consternation. “Would you like me to tell you if you’re right?”

“No,” she said. “Because then I would have to Confess it, and that would be dreadful for us both. Besides, if you tell me, then I will have to give up my imaginings, dangerous though they may be.” She took his hands and pulled him close to her. “If I’m wrong, don’t tell me. I prefer my illusion to whatever might be real, even though both are damnable. Take what you want of me, and let me have the ecstasy of your passion.” Rising up in the chair, she kissed him with an intensity she had never shown before. Their kiss deepened and his hands moved over her slender body, inviting response and apolaustic joy; she clung to him, moving only to give him access to all of her body and to increase her passion. His esurience was made keen by her desire, and, when she achieved her ecstatic culmination, as his lips touched her throat, he succumbed to her fulfillment with rapture fully equal to hers.

*   *   *

Text of a report from Bartech of Tabor, Master Bricklayer in Praha, to Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, written in Church Latin by Frater Jedric, scribe at the Two Fishes Inn, and delivered by Guild messenger the day after it was written.

To the noble foreigner, Comes Santu-Germaniu at Mansion Belcrady, on this, the ninth day of March in the 1270
^th
Year of Grace,

Most esteemed Comes,

We have in hand the plans for your new double-chimney for your bake- and bath-house. I agree that rats’ nests will not so easily be made in flues of your proposed design. I also believe that the rats’ nest where the fire began was not accidentally set alight. The bricks we have taken show that the rats’ nest was touched with oil, or wax, and rats rarely take either of those things for their nests.

We will begin work as soon as the sum we agreed upon is in our hands, and we will work all days but Holy Days and during the Konig’s departure celebration. I will bring eight men with me, and if the weather does not interfere, your chimneys should be finished within a month. If the weather works against us, we may need another ten days to finish the task.

Our work is guaranteed to last through storm, through snow, through rain, although we do not guarantee it will last if it is struck by lightning, or other manifestations of the Will of God.

It is the honor of the Bricklayers’ Guild to serve you.

Bartech of Tabor

Master Bricklayer

(his mark)

by the hand of Frater Jedric, scribe

5

Although the morning was cool, Konige Kunigunde had ordered the windows in her reception hall thrown open, not only to give the room more light, but to provide the new arrivals with an opportunity to view Praha, spread out below Vaclav Castle, a reminder of the power of the Court. There were sprays of blossom-covered branches over the windows, and fresh rushes on the floor. An air of strained expectancy hung over the Court, the delay in the presentation of the new ladies creating restiveness everywhere, for there was to be a parade of the Konig’s army later that afternoon, a grand occasion no one wanted to miss, least of all for the presentation of three Hungarian ladies.

At the far end of the reception hall, Konige Kunigunde sat on her throne that glowed with gold-leaf; she glistened with jewels in her profusion of necklaces. Her crown, too, was studded with pearls and polished gems. Her posture was stiff as the golden cloth of her huchine encouraged her to be, and her face was expressionless; her gaze was fixed on the far wall where a new tapestry depicted the life of Sant Vaclav, Dux of Bohemia, featuring a central scene of the Dux and his page trudging through the snow; Hovarth Pisti and two of his apprentices stood next to the wall where the tapestry hung, all three of them glorious in new Court finery.

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 scabbard. 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.