The Black Swan

by Mercedes Lackey

  The girl now blushed such a deep crimson that it must have been painful to her fair, transparent skin, but Clothilde thought there was a touch of anger there as well as embarrassment. "And you felt—what?" she asked, leaning forward. "You may be frank here, child. We are alone, and my son's history with women is no secret to me."

  Adelaide dropped her eyes to her clenched hands. "I told him that the prince's interest was of no consequence to me, as his wife I could not be, and his leman I would not be."

  Well, there was a real spirit there! "Brave words, child. Did you consider your keeper's possible anger? Sir Hans does have the right to determine your conduct," Clothilde pointed out, interested now. The girl showed sense and courage as well as intelligence. She might well be a good acquisition, better than the queen had anticipated. "He can dispose of you however he chooses, and if that disposition meant that you were provided for, very few would chide him, no matter how unconventional that disposition."

  "He does not have the right to determine that I be thrown into a life of sin!" Adelaide replied, leaving the queen with no doubt that she considered her virtue to be more important than her poverty. "I had made up my mind that if he attempted to force me to such a pause, though I have no vocation, I would go to the Poor Claires. At least there, my soul would be safe."

  And the Poor Claires would be the only ones willing to take her dowerless, the queen reflected without pity. The Poor Claires were a religious order that accepted any woman regardless of the poverty or lack of it that she brought with her—and expected every member to work at every task, however lowly, however mean, however difficult. They labored in leper hospitals, they nursed beggars, they owned nothing, not even the habits they wore. They were known for the excellence of their embroidery, but that was the only genteel occupation they practiced. So she is willing to drudge herself into an early grave, nursing lepers and scrubbing pots, if she must. This is promising.

  "Have you any skill with the needle, child?" she asked, changing the subject.

  Adelaide's flush faded, and she looked up again. "Tolerable, Majesty," she replied with confidence. "I kept myself and Sir Rolf well clothed, to the limit of his purse at any rate, and I was taught fine work by my aunt as a child—my aunt served the Empress."

  "Here—" the queen rose and extended her hand, drawing the girl to her feet and leading her to the Queen's own embroidery frame at the window. "Let me see what you can do."

  Without hesitation, the girl sat at the frame and began where the queen had left off, in a band of silk and goldwork intended for a sleeve. She worked neatly and precisely, taking care with each stitch to conserve the precious materials—in fact, she took more care than the queen would have. Every stitch was beautifully and perfectly set, following the pattern that had been pricked into the precious damask. After that, there was no question in Clothilde's mind.

  "That will do," the queen said, when the girl had finished the leaf she'd begun. Adelaide looked up to see the queen smiling, and smiled in return. "The prince was right to recommend you. 1 assume you have no other duties and no real responsibilities to Sir Hans?" Adelaide shook her head. "Very well, you can begin at once as a member of my household, and have your belongings brought to my ladies' rooms." She turned to the oldest of her women, the aging Lady Gisele, homely as a plowhorse and just as poor as Adelaide. "Gisele, take this child in charge. Put her in with you, and teach her to share your duties." Gisele looked pleased and grateful—at near fifty, she was finding it increasingly difficult to embroider and complete her other duties, as her hands stiffened and her joints swelled in the winter. Adelaide looked equally grateful; Gisele looked, and was, kind to the younger women. Adelaide would be able to run the errands that Gisele no longer could.

  "What state is your wardrobe in, child?" the queen continued, eyeing the much-patched and darned, rusty black gown she wore. True, the patches and darns were made so cleverly as to be almost invisible, but not to the practiced eye of the queen. Again, Adelaide blushed.

  "I have only this gown and another," she whispered. "And the other—is not so good."

  Ah. An opportunity for earning more loyalty inexpensively. "Gisele, take her to the storeroom and draw out linen for shifts and chemises, boiled wool for a cloak, fabric for a winter gown, and something lighter for a summer gown," Clothilde ordered, "Then take her to the shoemaker and get her well-shod for now and for winter. If my ladies appear less than well-gowned, it reflects poorly on us all."

  The girl's flush of embarrassment mingled with a look of pleasure, and a melting gratitude that inspired a little more generosity from the queen.

  "And as she is in mourning—give her the black gowns from my chest to remake for herself, the ones from my first year as Queen Regent. That should see her through her mourning period." I shall never wear those mourning gowns again, old as they are. I doubt I could fit them, these days, since they are from eighteen years ago. "You and I are of the same size—or you are as I waswhen I was in mourning for the king," she told Adelaide, who now looked bedazzled by her good fortune. "I think they will serve you for now, with some slight alterations, quickly and easily done. That will give you the time to sew your own gowns properly." The gowns in question were of an older, fuller cut; worn seams could be cut back or the fabric turned to look as good as new. If the girl was careful, there was a great deal of black-on- black and white-on-black silk embroidery on those gowns that could be picked out, the threads reused. Or, alternately, the bands of trim could be cut off when the gowns were too worn to be turned and remade, and the trim could be applied to her new gowns.

  "You may go with Gisele now, child, and fetch your things, then get settled in and begin your duties," the queen finished, and the girl stood quickly, making a briefer curtsy before leaving with the older woman. The queen settled back, well content with the results of her son's request. There had been no question of a wage, of course; Lady Adelaide would have been insulted had the queen mentioned one. The queen's ladies were unpaid—but in return for their service they lived in the Royal Quarters, ate at the High Table, got regular allotments of fabrics from the Royal Stores, got the queen's cast-offs to make into garments for themselves, and received regular presents from the queen herself in the form of pin money, jewels, and other small luxuries. She was a great deal better off now than she had been a mere moment ago, knew it, and would work herself to the bone to show it.

  Clothilde settled back in her chair, well pleased with the morning's work.

  SIEGFRIED descended to the Great Hall to take the noontime meal, feeling better for his sleep—and better for the absence of the angel and the gypsy from his dreams. He took that as an omen that the course he had begun with his note to his mother was the right one.

  He didn't quite make it into the hall itself; Sir Hans intercepted him before he passed the door. Evidently the man had been waiting for him to appear.

  Siegfried braced himself for the man's anger; only now did it occur to him that Sir Hans might not care for having the young and pretty Adelaide mewed up with the queen's household. After all, even if Siegfried might not be captivated by her looks, there were other men with deep pockets who might be. . . .

  But as soon as he got a good look at Sir Hans' expression, he relaxed.

  "Prince Siegfried!" the knight called as he hurried forward, his rough, coarse features suffused with relief and good will. "Please, sire, allow me to thank you for your interest in my sister-in-law, and your care for her disposition!"

  "The queen has taken the lady into her household, then?" Siegfried asked, glad to learn of the success of his letter, and even more pleased that Sir Hans was happy with the outcome.

  "Yes, thanks be to God—and to you, of course, sire." The older knight clasped Siegfried's hand fervently, then went down on one knee to kiss it. "I am not a landed knight; it was a sore burden to me to have the care of her, and I cannot thank you enough for seeing that burden lifted from my shoulders!"

  I misjudged him; he'd have be
en willing to see her a wealthy man's mistress, but he's happier seeing her in an honorable position.

  "Ah, no thanks are needed," Siegfried managed, pulling the man to his feet. "It is a good thing to see a young and helpless woman placed in a position where she is safe. I but did my duty to a member of my court, that is all. Now—if you will pardon me—I fear my hunger makes me impatient—"

  He gestured at the tables within the hall, and Sir Hans released him, still protesting his gratitude. Siegfried took his seat and waited for a page to serve him with a feeling of bemusement. He hadn't expected an outpouring of feeling from the stoic knight— from the lady, perhaps, but not her brother-in-law. Evidently Sir Hans' resources were even more slender than he had supposed, for the feeding and housing of a single young woman to worry him so.

  He ate quickly, for his next task would take him down into the village to see Trinka, and he wanted to have plenty of time to make certain he arranged for her as well as he had for Lady Adelaide. While he was eating, his mother and her ladies entered the hall, and the queen took the High Seat beside him. He stood quickly, leaving his meal half-finished, and handed her into her place with all due ceremony before resuming his own meal.

  "Siegfried, my son, I wish to thank you for recommending that young woman to my household," were the first words out of Clothilde's mouth. Siegfried put down his laden spoon and looked at her in mild surprise, a bit startled by the approving tone in her voice. She smiled warmly at him.

  "I'm glad she is going to be useful to you, Mother," he replied. "It occurred to me that unless she was carefully placed, there could be some trouble over her, trouble I wished to avoid by placing her in protection. I judged by her gentle birth and appearance that she had talents you could use in your train. Putting both those factors together, I hoped to do all of us a good turn."

  "That was well thought, my son," Clothilde approved, and glanced to the side, where Lady Adelaide sat at the end of the table, as the newest of the ladies. "The lady would thank you herself, but she is too well-aware of her place to approach you, so 1 do it in her stead. She is an excellent addition to my train, and if you are moved to recommend another such in the future, I will pay careful heed to your words."

  Siegfried bowed wordlessly, his hand to his chest, and resumed his meal. Another omen? It could be—and now, if Mother hears any tales from the priest, she'11 be pleased enough with me to dispense with her usual lecture. How strange it felt, though, to have done something that thoroughly pleased all of the people affected by his action! Usually the reaction was the very opposite of pleasure on the part of at least some of the parties.

  He had sent an order to have his palfrey saddled and waiting as he began his meal; when he had finished it, he went straight to the stables to find her standing patiently, tied to a ring at the stable door. With a knot of nervousness in his stomach, he took to the saddle and sent her out of the gates, down the road to the village, knowing that if he hesitated, he would never be able to nerve himself to this next task but would find a hundred reasons why it should be avoided, or at least, delegated to Arno.

  Trinka was serving a last table of farmers as he rode up to the inn, but quickly left them to another of the wenches when she saw him. "I was beginning to think you'd already tired of my company," she said flirtatiously as he dismounted. But when he didn't respond, she quickly sobered. "Perhaps I was right—"

  He shook his head. "I haven't tired of your company, but I must tell you that I have not succeeded in obtaining a position at the palace for you,"

  The warmth of her initial welcome came as a relief; if she had felt forced into her current position, she might have pretended to warmth, but there would have been wariness beneath it. He thought that now he would be able to see such wariness, though he might have been fooled before.

  She was disappointed in his news, but turned her real dismay into a mock-pout. "Ah, well. Is that why you have avoided us? Because you had bad news?" She set down his tankard of beer, and he noted that now she said "us" and not "me." Already she was prepared to distance herself, and go back to the proper behavior of a simple tavern wench to the prince of the realm. That was another good sign, that she had no illusions about her position, and was prepared to be dropped at any time without warning. So her heart isn 't involved with me, thank God.

  "Not entirely—but I am a terrible coward, Trinka," he replied sheepishly. "I cannot bear to disappoint a woman."

  Instantly, she softened. "How could a loyal subject ever be disappointed in so noble a Prince?" she purred, and Siegfried fancied he saw a glint of avidity in her eyes. "Your generosity is unfailing."

  Ah, good, honest greed! Bless her for being so uncomplicated!

  "Why don't we retire," she continued, leaning over him, so that he got a good eyeful of bosom while her warmth and musky fragrance enveloped him. "Perhaps we can talk about this."

  If he'd still had any doubts about her, that would have dissolved them completely. He was only too happy to follow her up to the room she used for his visits. This was not her room; there wasn't a sign of personal belongings, no clothing stored away, and he had a shrewd notion that the furnishings were far better than the ones she had been allotted for her own use. This was just the inn's best guest chamber, and the wide, soft bed they presently tumbled into probably "had very little in common with the narrow pallet she slept on.

  Despite her words, she didn't waste any time in conversation.

  She had his tunic and shirt off as soon as the door was closed, and slithered out of her clothing before he'd gotten his boots pulled off. As he struggled, off-balance, tugging at his second boot, she growled and tackled him, tumbling with him into the feather bed. He was enveloped in her sweet, musky scent as she shoved him down into the yielding surface. She imprisoned his legs by sitting on them, pulling off his hose and the boot; he lunged for her and grabbed her around the waist, tickling her in her most sensitive parts. She retaliated, but not by tickling; her clever hands closed around his privates, she thrust her magnificent breasts into his face, and within moments he was acutely aware that it had been quite a few days since he'd last had a woman.

  He got her on her back with one hand caressing an erect nipple, his teeth gently nibbling her neck, her legs wrapped around him. With a convulsive thrust, he sank into a sea of sensation in which all coherent thoughts drowned until the moment of climax. Then, in the aftermath, it was simply impossible to think for a while.

  Only when he had revived enough to be able to converse in anything but grunts, did she reach for the wine waiting next to the bed. She handed a pewter goblet full of cool, fragrant drink to him, and propped herself up on her elbow (carefully arranging herself to display a generous amount of breast) with an expectant look on her face.

  She looked as if she intended to make the first move. But he surprised her, both by beginning the conversation, and by the way he began it. "Trinka, I've been thinking a lot about you, you surely can't expect to be doing this—" he waved his hand vaguely, indicating the inn, the wine, and the bed, and left it to her to choose which applied, "—forever. If you could do whatever you chose to make your fortune, what would it be? Your own inn? A shop?"

  What he half expected her to say, once she got over her surprise, was that she'd never thought about it. If she had any ideas, he expected that she would aspire to own a brothel. The position of brothelkeeper could actually hover around the edges of respectability, especially in those towns that licensed and taxed such establishments, but a pious ruler or a plague could plunge such an establishment back into disrepute in a heartbeat. In misfortune, people were always looking for something to scapegoat, and ladies of love always made easy targets.

  She nibbled that enticing, pouty lower lip as she thought, eyes narrowed, and yes, surprised by the fact that he had asked such a question, "That rather depends," she finally said, "on whether I could do what I wanted to all at once, or in bits."

  "At once," Siegfried said decisively. Well, she does have a
plan—and since I can't think of how you could establish a brothel "in bits, "perhaps it will be something sensible!

  "Then I'd go 'round to all the lace-making villages now, before the Harvest Fairs, and I'd go to all the old grannies; I'd buy up their old laces, heirlooms they're willing to sell, as well as new lace made for sale, and I'd find two or three of the young ones that were as good as the grannies but were mad to leave their village. I'd take lace and girls to one of the big cities—Nuremberg, Vienna, Hamburg—and I'd set up a lace stall in the market selling the lace I had while the girls made new. Once I had the money for a shop, I'd buy a good one, with quarters above for all of us. They'd make lace and each have an apprentice, while I sold it. We'd all go shares in the profits, which would make them work harder than if I just paid them so much a piece, and pretty soon we'd have everyone coming to us for lace." She let out a held-in- breath, and looked at him with just a touch of defiance. "I could do it, too!"

  "I don't doubt you." He was actually rather impressed; he hadn't expected that much careful planning from any woman, much less one like Trinka, "In the big cities, they don't see good lace like ours unless it's brought in from outside, and then it costs a fortune. If you went to Vienna, you'd have all the ladies of the Court buying from you."

  "I've been buying lace all along," she confessed, blushing, and looking a little confused, as if she hadn't expected him to accept her dream without an argument. "With every spare coin I had, I've been buying lace for years—it's a safe way to keep money, nobody thinks about trying to steal it. Especially when I see a really special piece, the kind you don't come across very often, I'll do without to buy lace, I know where all the good lacemakers in these parts live, I thought—I thought I'd take lace into a city, sell it out of a tray at first, then out of a stall, then work my way up until I had enough for a shop and a girl, but what I really wanted to do was to have the shop and a couple of girls all at once, I just couldn't think of a way to get that much money at once,"