The Secular Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  So, mounted as befitted the dignity of a wandering knight, Matt rode up to the local castle, braced for them to ask where his armor was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The lords and ladies of King Boncorro's court laughed, clinked glasses, drank, and laughed some more. Here and there a man slipped a hand beneath the long table to stroke a lady's thigh; there and here the lady returned the gesture. Some were bolder and more open, kissing and caressing above the board, where all could see; in fact, there was as much fondling as conversation. The only rule seemed to be that the interplay had to be with someone else's spouse, but even this was not always followed to the letter. The married couples who kissed, though, did shock their neighbors.

  A Puritan would have said that the surroundings encouraged such behavior, for King Boncorro's great hall was hung with tapestries depicting scenes from the newly rediscovered classics ferreted out of moldering libraries by lapsed clerics. Here Venus cuddled within the circle of Adonis' arm; there she reached out to Mars while Vulcan stood by, fuming. Danaë stood in her shower of gold; Europa rode off on the back of the white bull; Cupid gazed down at Psyche, asleep in the posture of a wanton. All of them, true to the spirit of the Classical statues that had been unearthed, were completely nude.

  King Boncorro, though, seemed to be quite pleased with the overall effect. He leaned back in his chair at the high table, gazing at his court over the rim of his goblet with a feeling of satisfaction as he watched the high spirits below him. "It is good to watch my courtiers enjoy themselves, Rebozo."

  "Yes, your Majesty—especially since their dallying here means they are not plotting rebellion on their estates in the provinces." The chancellor looked up at his king with a cracked smile. "Your tapestries are very well-chosen toward the encouragement of such vices."

  "I know," Boncorro sighed. "I had meant them to be an inducement to education and culture. It seems I still overestimate human nature."

  "Perhaps, though, they would be a bit more effective if your Reman gods and goddesses were being a bit more forthright in their play," the chancellor suggested, "or if your tapestries showed them in all the various stages of the game."

  "No, I wish them to inspire my courtiers with the urge to cultivate their aesthetic senses," the king replied. "I will have the tapestries show nothing obscene—my lords and ladies do well enough at that as it is."

  "Wherefore?" Rebozo spread his hands. "I had thought your Majesty's aim was to have them occupy their time with pleasure, to keep them from objecting to your plans for government."

  King Boncorro looked up at the chancellor with pleased surprise. "You delight me with your insight—or am I so transparent as that?"

  "Only to me, and I am used to the ways of intrigue," Rebozo assured him. "But why seek to stimulate their appreciation of the arts, Majesty? Why not merely encourage them to wallow in the pleasures of the flesh, as your grandfather did?"

  "Because those pleasures pall, Rebozo," the king told him. "The proof of it is the increasing decadence of my grandfather's amusements, as he strove harder and harder to pique his interest in the flesh. His courtiers, too, found that sexual pleasure required greater and greater excesses to stimulate them, when it was pleasure of the flesh alone."

  The words sent a thrill of alarm through Rebozo—new ways, always new ways!—so he tried to make light of it. "Greater excesses, and greater expenditures to buy living bodies for them to degrade and torture."

  " 'Living bodies,' yes—not 'people,' " Boncorro said with irony. "Well, there is some truth to your claim, Rebozo—my courtiers are far less expensive than grandfather's depraved coterie. My lords and ladies provide one another's amusement and pleasure. Still, the cost of these nightly revels is substantial."

  "What cost? The tapestries, which you bought once, and once only, whereas your grandfather had need to procure new toys every week, sometimes every night? The acrobats and jesters, the musicians who fill this room with lush strains and a sensuous rhythm? They are serfs, and glad indeed to have such light work, with better lodging and food than ever they might have had in their villages! The nightly banquets and the barrels of wine, all provided by your own farms and vineyards? The occasional troupe of strolling players, who are glad of a few ducats for a week's work? These cost only a fraction of your grandfather's expenditures on performers of decadent amusements and providers of perverse pleasures."

  The king smiled. "Come, Rebozo! The cost is still considerable."

  "Aye, but it yields a handsome profit, though it will never show on the ledgers you so assiduously scrutinize!"

  King Boncorro laughed aloud, and the nearer aristocrats looked up, alert for a joke they should share. He only smiled indulgently and waved his cup at them. They raised their own in salute, then went back to their badinage.

  "That must be half the reason I keep you by me, good Chancellor," Boncorro said, "to have one about who can appreciate my scheming."

  "Your genius, you mean." Rebozo's smile fairly glowed with pride. "I rejoice that my risk in preserving your Majesty's life was so richly merited. But tell me—" A shadow of concern crossed his face. "—why do you not join in your courtiers' games? Why do you hold yourself aloof, and not disport yourself among them? You, too, must have your lighter moments, Majesty!"

  "I must, and you know that, as you suggested, I maintain a dozen beautiful serving maids who have no work but to wait upon me in my private chambers," Boncorro answered. "As to the behavior of my aristocrats, I do not think it politic to impose my own morality on them—or my lack of morality; I have no objection to fornication, though I do not share their delight in adultery."

  "Do you not?" The old chancellor cackled. "I think you long for it as much as any man, your Majesty! I have seen the way you look at Lord Amerhe's daughter!"

  "Yes, and so has the rest of the court." Boncorro glanced at the lady in question and felt the fire of lust blaze as he let his glance linger on her flawless cheek, her full ruby lips, her swelling bosom more displayed than covered by the cut of her neckline. For a few minutes he devoured her with his eyes, enjoying the surge of desire she wakened in him—then he forced his eyes to look elsewhere. "The new Contessa of Corvo, you mean? Ah, Rebozo! You know I must not gratify my senses with such as her, no matter how I long to!"

  Even as he spoke, Sir Pestilline, seated next to the countess, reached past her for a tidbit from a platter on her other side; as he was bringing it back, it "happened" to drop into her cleavage. The lady squealed, clapping a hand to her décolletage, while the gentleman laughed, leaning forward, reaching—and the lady shrank away, giggling, her hand slipping lower...

  A hand clamped down on the man's shoulder and wrenched him about. He stared up in surprise—at the Conte of Corvo. With a single motion, the count loosed his hold and slapped the offender's cheek. Sir Pestilline's head rocked; then he was on his feet catching his dagger from the table. Corvo sneered and stepped back, drawing his sword. The ladies screamed, the men shouted, benches turned over as all sprang up and away. In seconds a circle had opened around the two men, even as the count lunged at Sir Pestilline.

  The knight jumped aside, dagger flicking out to parry the count's lunge as he drew his own sword—but too slowly, for Corvo riposted, then shouted in anger as he lunged again. And again Pestilline dodged, but too slowly; Corvo's blade slit his doublet and came away with its edge reddened. Pestilline howled in anger and leaped in, thrusting and parrying in earnest now. Corvo gave back as good as he got, and there wasn't even the slightest sign of mercy in either of their faces.

  "Enough!" Boncorro cried, but the two hotheads could not hear him over the clash and clang of their swords. The king's mouth tightened in disgust, and he waved to his guards, who plowed through the throng, halberds at the ready. But they were taking too long; one man might be dead before they came. Boncorro rolled his hands about one another, then pantomimed throwing as he rapped out an arresting verse in an archaic language.

  A loud report shook the great ha
ll, and smoke billowed up between the two fighters. Ladies screamed and clung to their men; the two fighters leaped back, covering their mouths and noses, already coughing.

  Then the guardsmen were there; the king flung his hands up and out, and the smoke disappeared, leaving not a trace or a teary eye behind. Corvo and Sir Pestilline looked up, startled, to find crossed halberds separating them.

  "Not within my great hall, lord and knight!" King Boncorro called. "My lords of L'Augustine and Benicci! Act for these two while they cool their heels outside my door! Conte Corvo! Sir Pestilline! Leave this hall at once! Do not return until you have settled your differences and can sit at the same table without seeking to murder one another!"

  The two men turned to face him, drawing themselves up and sheathing their weapons. They bowed, then turned and marched out. The guardsmen opened the door before them and shut it after.

  L'Augustine and Benicci stepped forward to confer with one another as the courtiers turned to take their seats again with a buzz of avid conversation, everyone comparing notes on the incident. Even the young countess, the cause of the fracas, sat down and joined in the talk with a merry glint in her eye.

  "They shall duel at sunrise tomorrow, I doubt not," the chancellor said, just as hungrily as any of the others.

  "I do not doubt it," the king said, "and the outcome is forgone, unless Pestilline has some noteworthy surprise in store, for Corvo is the best swordsman among the young bloods, and has slain two in duels already."

  "And wounded four more. But he has not contended against your Majesty, and I believe you are more skilled with the blade than any of them."

  "That may be true," Boncorro said frankly, "but I shall have no chance to put it to the test—for kings do not duel with swords."

  "Noblemen do not challenge kings," Rebozo returned. "Is this not reason enough for you to do as you please?"

  "No, Rebozo, for though noblemen may not challenge kings, they may rise up against them," Boncorro said.

  "Surely no lord would dare!"

  "No one lord, perhaps," the king agreed, "but they might very well band together in twos or threes or tens, if all felt they had grievances against me that could not be answered in open court—grievances such as the seduction of a wife or daughter, or even of a sister or true love. Then would I have a civil war on my hands and watch my plans come to naught as battles ravaged the countryside and destroyed the prosperity that I labor so hard to achieve. That is why I must not seek the favors of this luscious young countess, or of any other woman of station."

  "Surely a knight's leman would be fair game for you, Majesty, for no knight could stand against the might of a king!"

  "No, but his lord might... What?"

  A servant had come up behind his chair and murmured in his ear. The king nodded, satisfied, and the man bowed and went away.

  "When and where?" asked the chancellor.

  "Tomorrow at dawn," said Boncorro, "in the Summer Park, by the Royal Pavilion."

  "More entertainment for your court," Rebozo mused. "How considerate of these two young men!"

  "Yes, and if I have learned of their duel, it will not be long before word has spread to every man in this room, and not much longer before it has been heard by every woman. There are trees and hedges in plenty about the pavilion, and I doubt not each one will be hiding its dozen of secret witnesses tomorrow morning."

  "Every man of your court," the chancellor agreed.

  "Well, two out of three, at least—the third will still be dead drunk, or too lazy to rise. There will be quite a few of the ladies, too, I doubt not—the Contessa of Corvo first among them, though she will pretend she is incognito in her cloak and mask. Entertainment indeed, Rebozo—and those who do not watch in person will listen avidly to the reports. It will keep my court busy for another tedious day, and preserve them from mischief for three more as they review the details of the duel and the merits of the argument."

  "Sound policy, your Majesty," Rebozo agreed.

  "It is," the king mused, "so long as I do not become embroiled in such disputes myself. No, Rebozo—I must forbear the tour, and content myself with the view."

  "Yes, I see." Rebozo shook his head sadly. "If a dalliance with a highborn lady did not lead to a battle with her father, it would be sure to bring a confrontation with her husband—or even with an alliance of noblemen who considered their honor impugned. Yes, Majesty, you are wise, though it must cost you dearly."

  Boncorro nodded. "No matter the number of aristocratic beauties who parade their charms before me, wearing their décolletages as low as convention and natural philosophy permit—I must not touch them."

  "Poor lad," Rebozo sighed. "Still, though you may not touch, you may look."

  Boncorro did, his eye gleaming as his gaze caressed the beauties of his court. "There is no harm in that, and no cause for offense, if I do not let my enjoyment show too keenly."

  "But the desire it raises, Majesty," Rebozo murmured, "surely that must be released."

  "That is the task of my luscious serving girls, Rebozo. If my foster brothers taught me nothing else, they taught me that."

  They had taught him quite a bit more, Rebozo knew—but as far as the chancellor was concerned, not enough, or not deeply enough. He felt a moment's burning anger at the country lord and his boys. Because of them, Boncorro would waste his youth on good governance!

  Boncorro did not notice, but went on explaining. "Later, my doxies will satisfy the lust my ladies raise now. For the moment, though, the illusion that one of the young ladies might inflame me to the point of granting favors to her husband, if she has one, or even of proposing marriage, if she has not—such hope will keep my courtiers dancing attendance upon me, vying for my favor and thereby falling even further under my sway." It is one of the reasons why he was resolved never to marry, though he would not let even Rebozo know that.

  The chancellor shook his head sadly. "A misspent youth, your Majesty! A lad your age should be riding to the hounds and rolling in the hay, not sealing himself away with parchment and ink until the blood in his veins has run dry!"

  "Oh, I find exercise enough, I assure you," Boncorro said, eyeing a young countess fresh from the country and thinking of the newest of his personal maids. "Beyond that, I find delight enough in witnessing the pleasures of my courtiers."

  He nodded to himself as he glanced about the great hall. It was no mere extravagance to maintain a lavish court, but a political necessity. "Yet I must find some other game to occupy their attention when their delight in the pleasures of the body slackens, so that they may vie with one another for some goal other than the bed of the most beautiful, or the attentions of the most dashing, so that they will not turn to intrigue out of sheer boredom."

  "Your grandfather's courtiers were scarcely bored, Majesty," Rebozo grunted, but without much conviction, for he knew it was a lie—and worse, knew that the young king knew it, too.

  Boncorro held his cup out, and a servant refilled it. He traced the sign of skull and bones over it as he murmured a verse, then lifted the cup to his lips...

  The dark wine turned bright red—the red of blood.

  King Boncorro dashed the wine to the floor with a curse. The courtiers fell silent, staring at him, wide-eyed.

  "Majesty!" Trusty old Rebozo was by his side, hovering over him, anxious, solicitous. "Majesty, what was that foul brew?"

  "Poisoned wine, of course!" Boncorro snapped, seething more with contempt than with anger. "Have you not found the assassin who set that gargoyle to fall on me, Rebozo?"

  "Yes, Majesty, and he confessed. He died in agony!"

  "He confessed under torture, you dolt!... No, I wrong you." The king throttled back his exasperation at the attentive old man, and his desire to throttle him, too. "But I have told you a hundred times that a confession under torture proves nothing! Now it is clear that the man was guiltless or, at the worst, only one of many—for the true assassin has struck again!"

  "My apologi
es, Majesty!" Rebozo had turned ashen. "My most abject apologies! I would never have thought—"

  "You should have," Boncorro snapped, "since this is the twelfth attempt in five years!" He reined in his temper again and forced his voice to be more gentle. "Though perhaps I wrong you—this one was far more clumsy than its predecessors. Poison in the wine, indeed! The work of a rank amateur, if ever I saw it! Any churl could slip poison in the wine—and I want the bottler and his servers all questioned, to discover who did it! Questioned, mind you, with no more torture than suffices for each to give you a name, not a confession!"

  "Majesty," Rebozo protested, "that entails scarcely more than a beating—and how can you be sure of an answer gained with so little pain?"

  "By comparing it to the other answers, of course! Those given by the other servants! I tell you again, Rebozo, that an answer given to stop pain proves only that the subject will say anything he thinks you wish him to! And as often as not, that will be a lie! Though I do not think this would-be murderer will prove to be the same one who has striven to slay me these five years past."

  Rebozo stared. "How... how does your Majesty see that?"

  "Because the other attempts required evil magic of a very difficult kind. To make a block of stone fall, when none were near it, and that at the exact moment I was passing beneath it? 'Twas only my own warding spell that made me hesitate in midstep, to see that block of granite smash the paving in front of me! And the gargoyle who came alive, the cat with teeth like scimitars, the sword that leaped from the scabbard even as I buckled it on—these all required a lifetime's knowledge of magic, or a pact with the Devil such as only a man of great importance could achieve!" His gaze strayed; his voice sank. "A man such as my grandfather, King Maledicto, reaching out from beyond the grave..."