"I haven't seen you here before," Siegfried replied as he noted the neat figure in the tightly laced bodice and chemise, her breasts displayed by the low chemise in a most satisfactory fashion, a plain apron tied tightly about her waist to emphasize how small it was,
"That's because you haven't been here for quite some time— sire." She dipped a mocking curtsy. "I came up from the country to work for Fritz this spring. I'd planned to leave after the haying and harvest—make my way to a city—"
He might have been mistaken about the gypsy, but there was n° mistaking the promises in her tone and posture,
"Dare I think you could be persuaded to stay?" he asked, his tone as mocking—and as promising—as hers. He liked what he saw: a fine, experienced figure of a woman, who knew what she wanted and what was expected of her. Handsome, not pretty, and with just enough audacity to be intriguing.
And Fritz had no problem with freeing his girls for other duties. He almost smiled at that. The old panderer knew his tastes—the innkeeper had probably hired this wench on, knowing that Siegfried would see her sooner or later, and expecting a handsome reward out of it!
Well, he'll get one.
The woman pretended to consider his words, "I could be persuaded—if I thought there was a good place in it for me," she replied boldly, "I'd rather serve tables at the palace than work in the fields at harvest."
It was his turn to pretend to consider what she had said. "They're very particular at the palace about their servers," he told her, with mock seriousness, "I'm not sure you'd suit, . . ."
She leaned over the table, giving him a good, long look down her chemise. "Would the prince care to try me to see if I'd . . . suit? I'm sure Fritz will grant us a chamber for the interview. He is a very accommodating master."
His hose became uncomfortably binding, but her attitude was so audacious that he nearly laughed out loud. "I believe that would be a good idea," he replied.
She turned with surprising grace and another little flirt of her skirts to display neat ankles and calves, and sauntered toward the inn door. He threw down a coin that would cover the cost of a dozen meals like the one he'd just eaten, and followed.
She was already on the stair when he entered the common room, looking back to see if he'd follow. Her delighted chuckle when she saw him in the doorway was all the encouragement he needed.
He didn't get back to the palace until late that afternoon.
Chapter Five
Sunlight streamed in through three broad windows let into the northern wall of the protected courtyard, windows left open in this warm weather. In the winter, thick and bubbly glass made in small, hand-sized panes set into a pivoting iron frame allowed nearly as much light in the workroom as the open windows did. There were better windows elsewhere in the palace; very few openings were protected only by shutters. This was inferior glass, but it served well enough for the workrooms such as this, the weaving room.
Eight looms stood here, all in use, each with a skilled woman hard at work at it. Queen Clothilde completed her examination of the weaving room with great satisfaction. It had been well worth the expense to have the two new looms built. Now they could provide their own woven tapestries, without having to import them at ruinous expense from Flanders or France, or make them the old way, by piecing and embroidering the designs. The embroiderers could turn their attention to making fine bands of trim for gowns, and larger designs on the breasts of palace livery. Best of all, now she could have her pages, heralds, and personal guards garbed in tabards bearing her arms, as she had heard that greater courts than hers displayed.
The queen's most skilled weavers sat at the two tapestry looms, carefully following a design pricked out on precious paper beside them, shuttles of precious colored wool threads heaped in baskets beside them. They worked slowly, an inch or two of tapestry woven in a day was good progress. They also had pride-of- place beside the windows, where the light was best. The other six looms clattered energetically beneath the hands of the weavers, three weaving woolen cloth, two linen, and one weaving very fine thread of plain linen in tight bands that would later serve as the ground for bands of embroidery. The more precious velvets, silks, and plush fabrics had to be purchased, but most of the fabric used by Clothilde's household was woven here. A suit of clothing was part of the yearly stipend of those servitors (including the landless knights and foot soldiers) who were hired rather than serfs, and even the serfs got a stipend of clothing in the form of old clothes handed down from the servants. Personal servants often received gifts of discarded clothing from their masters, after expensive embroideries and other ornamentation was removed, as well as stipend clothing, but that was not very often, as velvets and silks were so expensive they were turned, cut down, remade and used many times before they fell into the hands of servants. Whether "common" clothing was the elaborate livery of a herald or the simple chemise or smock of a kitchen servant, it was made here, in the palace, and mostly from the cloth woven in this very room.
A velvet loom will be next, I think, Clothilde reflected. I suspect we will be weaving mostly wool plush, but it will be worth it to have the ability to weave velvet when we have the thread. And now that all of my embroidery women can work on my page tabards, they should be finished before autumn. It was the queen's ambition that her court, though small, be regarded as sophisticated as any in the land; clothing those servants that were highly visible in real livery demonstrated sophistication. A high level of sophistication implied a high level of prosperity and importance; it also implied wealth and the strength to defend that wealth.
She had far-reaching ambitions, plans that were nebulous shadows now, but if she had the freedom to act—who knew? If her little court attracted the attention of the Emperor, there could be state visits, invitations to the Imperial functions, and even (dare she think it?) the personal attentions of the widowed Emperor himself.
A page entered the weaving room, interrupting her reverie. He looked around for her, then hurried to her side. "Your Majesty, the minstrel Uwe has returned—and there is a nobleman with him," the cherubic child said breathlessly, his blue eyes wide and ingenuous. "The nobleman would like an audience with you, that is, he respectfully requests an audience of you."
Uwe—with a stranger? That piqued her interest. She had sent him off on a mission to find appropriate candidates for Siegfried's bride—but what else had he found?
"Who is this nobleman?" she asked the boy, not quite ready to commit to an immediate meeting. She didn't want the stranger to have the impression that the Queen had so little to occupy her that she could give a stranger an immediate hearing—but on the other hand, she didn't want to offend a powerful man who might he of use to her.
"Baron von Rothbart, Majesty," the boy replied. "Uwe said to tell you he has much to interest you regarding the errand you sent him on."
Indeed? That settled it. "I will see them in the Lesser Audience Chamber," she told the boy. "Take your time in guiding them there, however."
The page took her at her word, and left the room at a leisurely "Walk. Clothilde signaled to one of her maids to pick up the train of her gown and moved briskly to the room she had designated to the page, giving orders to the rest of the servants who accompanied her as she walked.
The Lesser Audience Chamber was just off the Great Hall, through which the visitor would be conducted in order to reach it, giving him an eyeful of Clothilde's improvements. He should be even more impressed when he reached the chamber itself; it was the "lesser" chamber only in terms of size, not of luxury and sumptuousness. The obvious fact that it was easier and less expensive to create the impression of wealth in a small room rather than a large one was often overlooked by visitors.
Meant to receive parties of four or less, the room had plastered walls for warmth, covered with floor-to-ceiling hangings so that not an inch of plaster showed. At the moment, only two of the walls had tapestries instead of the draping curtains of an arras; that would be remedied as the new loo
ms produced more work, The only break was a single window, curtained in heavy wool; the curtains were pulled back, displaying the fact that the window was not only glazed, it had a picture in colored glass, just like the one in the chapel, but portraying a sun-in-glory surrounded by stars.
The throne, carved with all the considerable skill of a master joiner, had been overlaid with gold leaf last year, and cushioned in plush. Perhaps it was not of marble, but it was more comfortable, and impressive enough. Clothilde arranged herself in the throne with the help of her handmaiden; a servant summoned by another lady-in-waiting came hastily to learn her bidding, and she sent him off for wine and cakes for the visitor. The sideboard was already laid with a snowy linen cloth, with silver goblets enough waiting, and there were two chairs at the opposite side of the room should she choose to allow her visitor to seat himself in her presence.
The servant arrived just before the two men, and waited at the sideboard beneath the window as they appeared. Uwe preceded the stranger, fell immediately to one knee before Clothilde's throne, and made a deep bow to her, exciting a profound sense of pleasure in her at this sign of his servility. Minstrels were notoriously arrogant. That Uwe should abase himself spoke much for her power, and she knew that this stranger would be aware of that,
Uwe spoke in humble tones, without raising his eyes. "Your Majesty, with your gracious permission, I present to you Baron Eric von Rothbart, who desires to be a great friend to Your Majesty."
"We are always pleased to encounter friends," she said cautiously, then smiled on her minstrel. "You have our permission to rise, Uwe."
As Uwe stood up, she turned her attention to the stranger. A large man, a formidable man, it was quite clear he was no stranger to combat. He had the broad shoulders and muscular chest of an experienced swordsman, though he wore not so much as a dagger at the moment, not even a dress sword. His red hair and beard betrayed where his family name, von Rothbart, had originated; his face displayed nothing but a pleasant half smile. His costume, however, betrayed a great deal; Clothilde had never seen a mere baron in such sumptous garb before. His cloak, curiously embroidered so that it resembled feathers laid over one another, was of rich brown velvet with a creamy satin lining. His gown—for as many mature men did, he wore a long gown, a houpellande, rather than a doublet—was of matching velvet, stitched at the hems with gold bullion in a pattern of owls perched among branches. His shirt, showing at the collar of the gown, could only be of that heavy, fine silk cloth known as samite, so precious that it was generally reserved for altar cloths; it, too, was embroidered in a subtle design in white silk. His Pointed shoes in the latest fashion were of fine, gilded leather, soft enough to be made into gloves.
Around his neck he wore a heavy chain of red-gold, the links made in the shape of owls, with a great pendant of enameled gold hanging down on his chest. Strangely enough, given the owl theme of the rest of his garb, the pendant was in the shape of a white swan with a crown about her neck. There were even tiny jewels winking in the gold of the crown.
Every finger beringed, and a baronial coronet of gold and topaz about his brow, this man carried a small fortune on his person. If he wore this much for an unannounced visit, what must he and his holdings be worth?
Granted, he intends to make as much of an impression on me as I wish to on him, but still. . . That much wealth, displayed by a man whose name and title were completely unknown to the queen, made an intriguing package.
The last oddity about the man was that he had in his right hand a staff of ebony, as tall as he, bound with rings of chased gold. The staff was intricately carved, although Clothilde was too far from him to see what the tiny carvings represented, and it was topped with a globe of water-clear, citron-colored crystal. It surely must be crystal, yellow quartz, perhaps. No topaz was ever that big. . . .
All this Clothilde took in, absorbing it in a single measuring glance. She assumed that he was doing the same to her, and was pleased to see that his pleasant half-smile did not waver,
"Please take refreshment, my lord baron," she said, waving the servant forward, and deciding to dispense with the intensely formal use of the royal plural. "And in deference to the fact that you have traveled far to come here, I believe we can waive some of the strictest of etiquette between us. I will have my servant bring you a seat."
The servant gave a goblet of wine to the baron and offered him cakes, which the man declined. The servant took the refreshments to the sideboard and left them there, returning with a single, low chair, Uwe, of course, could not be seated. He was scarcely above a mere servant in rank, so far as the baron was concerned, and Clothilde was determined not to let this stranger know otherwise just yet. Uwe tactfully removed himself to the sideboard, where he poured himself a goblet of wine and remained standing as he sipped it; an observer, not a participant, so far as the baron was aware.
"This is a gracious gesture, Majesty," the baron replied, in a low voice, like a distant rumble of thunder. "And it is much appreciated." He sat down without looking, rightly expecting that the servant would get the chair under him before a disaster occurred. Once seated, he leaned forward a trifle, resting the staff on both knees. "The matter which brings me to Your Majesty is, however, a delicate one. . . ."
Clothilde was not slow at taking the hint; she signaled her handmaiden and the servant to leave the room, and gave an inquiring glance at Uwe.
"The minstrel is in my confidence, Majesty," von Rothbart said, correctly interpreting the glance. "I encountered him when visiting the court of King Josef, and when I learned what had brought him, I knew that you would be very interested in my own proposal concerning your son's future, for I believe I can be of great service to you in that regard."
"We are referring to the marriage of my son, Prince Siegfried?" she replied, allowing her right eyebrow to rise a trifle. "In what way can you be of service to me?"
"I have a daughter—" von Rothbart began, and raised his hand in a gesture of disclaimer. "And under ordinary circumstances, I, as a mere baron, would not dream of proposing to Your Highness that she be considered as a bride for the prince. However, as I am sure you have deduced, I am a baron in name only—and only because I choose not to exercise my considerable power in the realm of the material world more often than absolutely necessary. I possess wealth that kings might envy, and abilities that bring kings to seek my aid."
He paused, waiting for Clothilde to make some remark, but she remained silent. The last sentence had given her the answer to the riddle that was Baron Eric von Rothbart.
He was a sorcerer. No other "mere baron" could be so wealthy, so powerful, and so completely unknown to her,
"Nevertheless, it is in the material world that I must live, and so must my daughter," the baron continued. "She is of an age to wed, and is enough of a prize that I have misgivings about the suitors that may come to seek her hand, should I make it known that she exists and is eligible to wed. I would see her well bestowed so that I may continue my—studies—with an easy mind."
"As would any father," the queen murmured. "And I assume you wish to present her to me as a bridal candidate for Siegfried. Nevertheless, the choice of bride is to be my son's, not mine, and young men are often swayed by appearances, favoring a pretty face above other considerations."
Von Rothbart's smile widened just a trifle, "In that case, I believe there will be no difficulties. Behold!"
He pointed with the topaz end of the staff to the floor between himself and Clothilde, and without so much as a puff of smoke (which was, to her mind, more impressive than all the flashes and bangs of charlatans) a life-sized image appeared of a young woman.
She impressed even Clothilde. Of her beauty there was no doubt: enormous, childlike blue eyes, a broad, white brow, chiseled cheekbones, a grave mouth, delicate chin, a neck like a swan's, and the most amazing cascade of silver-blonde hair Clothilde had ever seen, hanging loosely down her back, entwined with ropes of black seed pearls. Her gown impressed Clothilde as
much as the girl's beauty; of black silk, embroidered with black pearls from the size of grains of sand up to the size of Clothilde's thumb, it embraced the girl's willowy figure in a way achieved only with endless hours of labor and the expertise of a seamstress more skilled than any in Clothilde's household.
Or else, it was made by magic, she reminded herself. But to have made such a gown magically was as impressive, if not more so, than making it with human hands.
"My daughter is sweet of disposition, learned enough to beguile your son with her conversation, and entirely biddable," von Rothbart continued, in the fatuous tones of a fond father, as the girl's image moved gracefully, as if she strolled in a garden. "And lest you think this is only the opinion of a man too easily swayed, let me assure you that she is absolutely obedient to authority. In point of fact, she has never once in all of her life been permitted to disobey. I have given her the strictest of training, and she will abide by the word of her elders even though it cost her dear."
"Your daughter is clearly lovely, and I will take your word on her temper, lord baron," the queen said smoothly. "But there is the matter of the dower. ..."
"She will be dowered like the daughter of the Emperor," he told her promptly, and named a sum that made Uwe's eyes bulge for a moment. "And, in addition, of course, you will have my services to call upon, from time to time, services which King Josef found very useful." His eyes gleamed with dark promises, and the Queen reined in her imagination with a sharp tug. "I am not averse to exercising my power in the material world . . . now and again in a good cause."
"There is the matter of my son's choice," she reminded him. "He and he alone shall have the responsibility for choosing his bride."
Von Rothbart waved his hand and the image of his daughter vanished. "I think we can take it as read that he will choose my daughter," he replied negligently. "In fact, once she appears, I suspect he will see no one else."
The Black Swan Page 8