Saint-Germain 24: An Embarrassment of Riches: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I’ll get my razor and scissors,” said Hruther as he handed Rakoczy his silver-linked eclipse pectoral.

  “Very good.” He dropped the silver chain around his neck and positioned the black-sapphire heart of the eclipse at the center of his chest. “To your trimming, old friend.”

  By the time he left his quarters, Rakoczy was superbly turned out, his clothes not truly Bohemian, but not strictly Hungarian, either, as was appropriate for an exile; he wore a signet ring and his pectoral but had decided against other jewelry. He made his way along the corridor to the gallery, then down the narrow stairs to the main hall, where half a dozen of the house-servants had found some excuse to be so that they could view him in his elegance. He went into the second withdrawing room to satisfy himself that it was ready for his guest; then he made his way to the entry hall, opening the door himself in preparation for Rozsa of Borsod’s arrival.

  Hruther appeared at Rakoczy’s side. “This may sweeten your greeting,” he said, and put a red, five-petaled rose into his master’s hand. “I took the thorns off the stem.”

  “Deft as always,” Rakoczy approved. “Is Pacar ready?”

  “Almost. The food will be done very shortly. He said he prays that she does not come too late.” He took his place two steps behind Rakoczy, and felt the sun beat down upon him, too hot to be entirely welcome; what Rakoczy was feeling he tried not to think.

  In a short while, an elegant little wagon pulled by a pair of spotted ponies and escorted by men-at-arms in the Konige’s colors—black and gold—carrying lances as well as swords made its way up the hill toward the mansion, preceded, followed, and flanked by armed men. The device of Borsod—gules, a wolf’s head argent, erased to the chief; langed sable and dented or—was painted on the door-panel of the curtained wagon.

  From his vantage-point above the gate, the warder, Minek, called out that their noble guest had arrived. The two women with their flowers straightened up and smoothed the fronts of their housses and tweaked their linen caps. The warder opened the gate, and the first armed man stepped through.

  “In the name of Konige Kunigunde, her waiting-woman and messenger, Rozsa of Borsod, comes to this mansion.”

  Magda and Jozefa stepped toward the carriage, garlands in their hands.

  Rakoczy came to the front steps. “Where she is most welcome. Pray bring her into our forecourt.” He waited while the little company moved forward and the gate closed behind them, then stepped forward as the man-at-arms on her right opened the half-door for her and helped her to get down from the vehicle.

  Veiled in elaborate swaths of linen secured in her elaborate coronet with long golden pins, falling in graceful folds that concealed everything about her except for the russet hem of her hammered-silk bleihaut and the embroidered inner sleeve, Rozsa of Borsod turned to face her host, courtisying, and waiting for him to bow while all the servants abased themselves to honor the Konige in whose stead this noblewoman had come.

  Holding out the rose, Rakoczy ducked his head while Jozefa and Magda went to hold the door open. “You do this mansion much honor and favor, Rozsa of Borsod,” he said in Magyar.

  She took the rose, sniffed it. “A pretty conceit, Comes.”

  “I am pleased you like it,” he said, offering his hand on which she could lay her own; the men-at-arms bristled at this familiarity. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Her laughter rippled like the warm breeze. “He is of ancient title, and from Hungary, as am I,” she said to the men in the Bohemian tongue. “It is fitting that I should accept his courtesy. And he is right; I met him the day before my wedding.” Very deliberately she put her hand on his. “I leave my men and my wagon to the care of your household.”

  Hruther signaled to Illes of Kotan to come to take the wagon in charge, and then motioned to Domonkos of Pest. “See to our visitors. Domonkos, there is food and drink for the lady’s escort in the kitchen. Make it your purpose to be sure that their needs are provided for.”

  “Very well done,” approved Rozsa to Rakoczy as he brought her to the threshold of his manse. “I particularly liked the women at the gate with their garlands. You have a refined way with you, Comes—not what I would have expected from a Carpathian lord.” Behind her veil her eyes were unreadable; her practiced grace the result of her time at the Konige’s Court.

  Rakoczy offered her a Roman-style bow. “What would you expect, Rozsa of Borsod?”

  “Oh, someone more like my husband: a crapulous, quick-tempered, debauched, uncouth—” She broke off. “The match was arranged by my father, with Konig Bela’s approval.” With a wave of her hand, she banished the topic, looking around the entry hall with interest.

  “The work is not yet finished on most of the manse,” he said deferentially.

  “I heard about that: you sent the funds to put the place in order and they were spent elsewhere. It was to be expected.” She released his hand, reaching up to her coronet and loosening the end of her enveloping veil, revealing her pert, feline features and green eyes. Her dark hair was done up in a complex braid and held in a golden snood.

  “So Counselor Smiricti explained,” Rakoczy said.

  “Were you surprised?” The lilt in her voice was belied by a keenness in her glance that revealed she knew more of the incident than her question implied.

  Rakoczy gave a half-smile. “Not surprised; more disheartened than anything else.”

  “Ah,” she said, her face softening as she went toward the main hall. “So you have had some experience in these matters. Just as well.” She paused to take in the room. “This will be very nice when it is complete.”

  “That is my hope,” Rakoczy said, following her.

  She turned toward him. “You will receive the Konige’s Court as soon as the manse is ready? Is that your plan?”

  “If that would please the Konige, then of course I will consider it a privilege to do so,” he said, continuing to watch her.

  “It will please her; I’ll see to it.” She went to the table and ran her fingers along its glossy top. “You could offer a fair banquet here.”

  “Once the chairs and benches arrive,” Rakoczy said.

  She laughed, the sound deliberately musical. “Yes. It would be easier with chairs and benches.” Her gaze lingered on him, speculative and sensual. “But you already have a few benches, I see, certainly enough for our use. Why not be satisfied with those until you have more guests to receive?”

  “A quirk of mine.” He bowed her in the direction of the second withdrawing room, following two steps behind her as decorum required; he tried not to notice the servants who had come to the main hall to catch sight of their noble visitor. “If you would? There are refreshments waiting for you, and a small gift that I trust you will convey to the Konige.”

  She twitched the rose she held. “You will have to show me what it contains,” Rozsa said, going toward the second withdrawing room ahead of him.

  “Certainly.” He moved to open the door for her, saying as he did, “The Anatolian chair is the most comfortable.”

  She stepped inside and halted, staring at the books. “Mary’s Tits!” Her voice was hushed. “Are these all yours, Comes?”

  “I collect them,” he admitted.

  “So many…” Her words trailed off. “Do you read them?”

  “Of course: what would be the point of having them if I did not.” He saw suspicion and awe in her eyes; he moved to guide her to the center of the room, saying as he did, “Let me offer you some refreshment.” On the low table there stood a brass platter with bread and salt at one end of it and plates of sausages, sweetmeats, pickles, a mound of fresh cheese, and shelled nuts. Next to them stood a bottle of pale wine and a glass goblet. A lean, two-pronged iron pick and an Italian knife lay on the platter, a concession to Rakoczy’s foreign manners. “May I pour a glass for you?” Rakoczy asked, picking up the bottle.

  “I’d like that.” She watched the glass fill as she put her rose down on the tray. “An
d you? Where is your goblet.”

  Rakoczy set the bottle down. “Alas,” he said, “I do not drink wine.”

  “Whyever not?” Rozsa asked as she lifted the goblet.

  “A condition of my blood will not permit it,” he said with the ease of long practice.

  “How sad for you,” she said, and drank, looking at him through her lashes as she did. “This is excellent.”

  “I have more laid down; if you think the Konige would like it as well, you may take some bottles with you.” He waited while she sank into the Anatolian chair and set her goblet on the table once again; her wide-skirted bleihaut draped her body like a caress.

  “This is very comfortable,” she said.

  He pulled up his Spanish chair. “With your permission?”

  “Do sit, Comes; this is your manse and I am your guest, not your—”

  His interruption was as elegant as he could make it, combining elements of modesty and propriety with practiced courtesy. “You are here in the name of the Konige, and you are entitled to the full respect she deserves,” he said, moving the platter a little nearer to her.

  “She will be glad to know of it,” she said, and pulled a small portion of the bread off the loaf, dipped it in the salt and popped it into her mouth, drank another generous sip of wine and put the glass down once more. “There. Bread and salt. Now my welcome is official.”

  “May I fill your glass again?” He had already picked up the bottle.

  “You may.” She continued to watch him, her green eyes alight, as he poured. “I like a generous host.”

  “You are kind to say so,” he said, knowing it was expected of him.

  “The Konige will be happy to hear good of you.” There was a hint in her words, and he responded to it.

  “What would the Konige desire me to do for her?” he asked as he sat down once again.

  Rozsa sighed. “You’re right, I am here at her behest and it is fitting that I present her request, and then we may become better acquainted.” She licked her lips, flashing a provocative glance at him that was gone as soon as he had seen it. “I am charged with telling you that there is to be a tournament in ten days, for celebration of the arrival of May; she has chosen the sixth day so that the Episcopus cannot accuse her of giving credence to pagan rites.” She waved her hand as if to reprimand herself. “Be that as it may, Konige Kunigunde would like you to compete in the lists for Hungary.”

  Of all the things he had been expecting, this had not been among them. Rakoczy did his best to conceal his surprise, saying with only a slight pause, “The Konige does me great honor, but I fear that her grandfather has forbidden me to bring arms with me into Bohemia, but for those reasonable weapons a man of rank might carry for his safety. He would forbid me to fight in armor even for a tourney.” He was comforted by the knowledge that he spoke the truth.

  Rozsa pouted a little. “The Konige will not be—” She stopped herself, her eyes narrowing. “But if Konig Bela has restricted you, then of course, it is out of the question that you should joust.” She ignored the utensils on the platter, picking up one of the pickles and nibbling at it. “What else can you do that might entertain her on her festival day?”

  “I have a lyre and a gittern. I can play for her.”

  “A gittern and a lyre.” She ate a little more of the pickle. “If you would be willing to play for her between the contests, I think she may be satisfied.”

  He snapped his fingers as if a thought had just occurred to him. “In ten days this manse will be ready to receive guests. You were gracious enough to suggest that the Konige would accept an invitation to dine at this manse.” He paused to allow her to question him; when she did not, he went on, “If it would not be too forward for an exile, I would be highly favored indeed if Konige Kunigunde and her Court would consider dining here at the conclusion of her tournament. There is room enough for a large company, and there is a room for servants that the Konige’s Court might require.” That should be enough to mitigate his refusal to joust for her, he told himself, and give Rozsa of Borsod something more to report.

  “A banquet at night!” For an instant she collected her thoughts. “We don’t see many of those in Praha. A great undertaking.” She offered another of her feline smiles. “And all the cost will be borne by you?”

  “Of course,” he said, more certain now that he had struck the right note. “If you will advise me, I will try to provide entertainment to the Konige’s taste.”

  She finished the pickle and licked her fingers before picking up one of the sweetmeats. “Entertainment which you will pay for?”

  “Yes.” He resisted the urge to embellish his answer, for he was aware that they were overheard and that her response, whatever it might be, would spread through his household like dust in summer.

  “It may be possible. The Konige likes banquets and festivities. She likes mountebanks and jongleurs and troubadours, too.” She tasted the sweetmeat. “You have a good cook. I hope you pay him well.”

  “I do, to both of your concerns.” He regarded her with good-mannered interest, alert to the tests she was posing to him. “May I entrust a gift to Konige Kunigunde to your care, to assure her of my devotion to her House? I will provide you a token of my gratitude for your conveyance.”

  “It is my duty as her lady-in-waiting to do so,” Rozsa said, a speculative angle to her brows. “What do you want to give her?”

  Rakoczy rose and went to take a small gilded pouch off the nearest shelf. “These are for Konige Kunigunde, with my duty to her, exile though I am.” He handed the pouch to Rozsa. “You may look inside.”

  “I am required to look inside,” she said, her tone sharpening. “I would be responsible if you sent her any unwholesome or ill-omened thing.” She pulled open the mouth of the pouch and poured its contents out into her lap, then sat still in amazement as the diamonds and sapphires shone back at her. “So many,” she whispered, impressed in spite of herself.

  “Nine sapphires and thirteen diamonds,” he said.

  “And all of them large, and so well-polished,” Rozsa marveled, touching them as if she were afraid they might burst.

  “One of many such gifts I hope to provide for the Konige.” Rakoczy went to the shelf and took down another, smaller pouch of tooled Florentine leather. “This is for you, for your willingness to carry the jewels to the dear Royal.” He gave the small pouch to her and watched her try to discern its contents by pressing the leather. “Open it, if you wish.”

  Rozsa set her pouch aside and carefully gathered up the diamonds and sapphires for the Konige, counting them aloud as they went into the pouch. Once its neck was closed, she reached for her gift and opened the securing laces of twined red silk, turning it over so it emptied onto the palm of her hand. As she caught sight of the two cabochon rubies the size of currants, she let out a little shriek of excitement, the first truly spontaneous sound she had made since arriving at Rakoczy’s manse. “Are they real?”

  “Most certainly. I would be a fool indeed to offer false jewels to a noble of the Konige’s Court.” He said it smoothly enough, concealing the stab of dismay that had gone through him at her exclamation: what had Konig Bela said of him that would lead anyone to suspect that he might offer counterfeit goods? He made himself smile and bow. “I hope you will enjoy them, Rozsa of Borsod.”

  “Will you make fittings for them, so I may wear them as ear-drops?” Her eagerness was entirely genuine. She laid the two rubies down next to the rose he had offered her.

  As he filled her goblet once again, he met her green eyes with his dark ones. “It will be my delectation to do so.”

  * * *

  Text of a dictated message from Hovarth Pisti of Buda, Master Tapestry-Weaver, at Praha in Bohemia, to Donat, monk and clerk to Konig Bela of Hungary, at Buda, carried by the apprentice Jeno of Buda, and delivered twenty-four days after it was dispatched.

  To Donat, clerk to my most puissant Konig, Bela of Hungary, the dutiful greetings of the
Konig’s servant Hovarth Pisti of Buda, on this day, the eighteenth day of May in the 1269th Year of Salvation,

  To the Konig, His Grace,

  We are now all well-established in the household of your granddaughter, Konige Kunigunde, with the exception of Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, who has set up his own household at Mansion Belcrady, which makes it difficult for me to keep the close watch upon him you have charged me to do. The rest of us have been given apartments in Vaclav Castle or provided housing outside the walls but near to the Castle. Slaves have been presented to all of us but the Comes, who refuses to have slaves in his household. The Konige has permitted him to maintain his customs in this regard without insult to her for offering him such a gift, for it is known that his blood have not kept slaves for more than five hundred years.

  It is two days since the Konige’s tournament, and the Comes Santu-Germaniu’s banquet, and the Court is full of talk and rumors. There were twelve jousts, to honor the Apostles, and three interludes of diverse entertainment, to honor the Trinity. In the jousts, German and Bohemian knights prevailed, but there were only two Hungarians entered in the bouts, so it is no disgrace to the Konige or to you. One knight, Bubna, Rytir Oldrich, suffered a broken leg when his horse was fatally lanced and fell with Rytir Oldrich still in the saddle, and Thun, Rytir Dake, took a hard blow to the head and is much affected by it, his memory seeming faulty due to the ferocity of the impact he endured. One Hungarian contestant, Nitra Akos, bested three Bohemians before he was unhorsed and disqualified from competition. Konige Kunigunde presented Nitra with a wreath of silver leaves, and proclaimed him to be her champion for the month of May. Since the Konig is not presently in Praha, no greater honors were awarded, although it is likely that Nitra Akos will be advanced to the official rank of Rytir, and as Rytir Akos will be able to take his place among the officers of the Konig’s army.