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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Use your mouth. Now!”

  His lips closed on the swollen mote; he felt it jump and tremble; he heard Rozsa give an ecstatic whimper as she dug her hands into his hair. He increased the pressure of his mouth and her first spasm seized her, rocking through her like a miniature tide; she shuddered, her hips lifting rhythmically with her culmination, her throes casting her into a private paradise; Rakoczy wondered briefly what she envisioned behind her closed eyes. Her cries were soft, high, like the call of a distant hawk, and they, like her transports, faded fairly quickly. She shivered a last time, sighed a little, then let go of him. “I am most satisfied,” she declared, shifting away from him. “You have done what I require of you. I ought to thank you.”

  “And you will keep your bargain—I have to be grateful to you,” he said with a tinge of sardonic amusement.

  “You should be.” She contemplated him with the attitude of her superior rank. “Yes, I will abide by the terms I have laid out, I will spare you my—”

  “Accusations of rape? That is good of you.” Rakoczy stepped back from her, feeling her disdain as if it were a cold wind between them. “I fear I may have broken the skin…” He gestured toward her loins.

  “Did you?” She laughed quietly. “You must have been more determined than last time. You certainly increased my consummation.” She sat up and swung around. “You say you broke the skin: did you taste the blood?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed again. “How perverse. Will you Confess it?” Saying that, she reached for her chainse, her mordant amusement fading rapidly. “Help me dress. I will have to leave shortly.”

  Her abrupt shift from rapture to practicality, although he had seen it before, still had the capacity to shock him. “What do you want me to do?” he asked, feeling, as he had at the end of their previous trysts, a bit mystified. The very small amount of blood he had taken from her tasted flat, and he knew it would provide little nourishment, for there had been no real intimacy between them, no connection beyond the most superficial; the sustenance it provided was minimal.

  “When I have my bleihaut on, you may tighten my lacings,” she said as she tugged her chainse over her head. “It is a good thing that you don’t undress, for all that it displeases me.” Without warning, she reached out, grabbing for his genitals through his clothing and shaking her head in disapproval “Soft, too soft.”

  “Does that trouble you?” he asked. More than a thousand years before he had lost all embarrassment from his impotence and offered no apology for it now. “Were you not fulfilled?”

  She fastened the neck-bands of her chainse, chuckling. “I’m not troubled; it suits me that you are … as you are. In fact, there is something very pleasing in your … condition. I feel that I achieve more because you achieve less.” This last revelation was accompanied by a wink. She got off the examination table and tugged the hem of her chainse to make it smooth, then reached for her bleihaut, shimmying into it with practiced ease. “The lacings,” she said to him bluntly.

  “Of course.” He stepped behind her and began to secure the silken cords. “How tight?”

  “I’ll tell you when you’ve—”

  The sound of a door opening in the rear of the church made both of them start, then hold in place.

  “The night-warder,” whispered Rozsa. “He is going to wake the slaves.”

  “Then we have to hurry,” said Rakoczy, securing her lacings without her approval, and tucking the slip-knot into the neck of her dress. He gave her her gorget and veil. “You will need these.”

  She grabbed them without ceremony, and bent to guide her solers onto her feet. “The warm nights will soon be over,” she murmured.

  “Yes?” Rakoczy waited to hear what more she would say.

  “When the rains come, the army will return from fighting.” Her voice was flat.

  “Yes.”

  She straightened up, still speaking softly. “We won’t be able to meet while my husband is here.”

  “I suppose not,” he said, keeping his voice quiet and level.

  “We won’t be able to speak except when meeting at Court functions, and then only of minor things: gossip, clothes, entertainments.”

  “I am not completely ignorant of Court life, Rozsa,” he reminded her with a quick smile.

  “No, no, of course you’re not,” she said with a dismissing wave of her hand. “But you are an exile, as you often remind me, and customs do vary from Court to Court.” She pulled her gorget over her head and reached for her veil. “I’ll leave first. Wait until the side-gate is closed before you—”

  “I will see you safely away,” he told her firmly but without raising his voice.

  She stared at him, as if shocked by his assertion. “I will leave first,” she reiterated in a tone that did not encourage argument.

  “If you will permit me to create a diversion, you should be able to get away without being noticed.”

  As if to underscore his instruction, a sleepy voice was heard ordering the slaves to collect their bread and then to set to work.

  Rozsa nodded. “All right. But be quick. I must be in the castle garden shortly, and delay will do me no good.”

  “Delay is what I seek to avoid,” he said, and went to the door of the charnel house, pulling on his liripipe as he went, making sure the hood was up and his features obscured. “You will know when to take your chance, Rozsa.”

  She frowned. “If you must, I suppose you must.”

  Carefully he eased the door open and stepped out among the graves. He stayed in the cover of the wooden markers, keeping away from the path the slaves would soon use, and putting distance between himself and the gate in the wall. Finally he found two grave-markers leaning together and he dropped down behind them, unbuckling his belt and sprawling in their shadow. Once laid out, he began to sing in the language of Brabant, the melody an off-key rumble; the song was plaintive, but his rendition only made it sound disjointed:

  The wind in the mountains

  The wind on the sea

  The wind in my lover’s heart:

  Why has she gone from me?

  He was well into the second verse when he heard hastening footsteps and subdued voices, and saw out of the corner of his eye a monk and two slaves hurrying in his direction, the monk carrying a stout wooden staff. He lolled onto his back, spread out his arms, and sang more loudly:

  The vines in the valleys

  The trees on the hill

  The holly in my lover’s heart

  With thorns that softly kill.

  “Over there!” the monk cried, pointing toward the pair of grave-markers; the slaves followed him through the graves, not quite running, but more than walking. Guided by his song, they hastened up to him, and stopped as they discovered him, lying supine, his face hidden, his clothes in disarray.

  The monk stood over him uncertainly, then nudged Rakoczy with his toe. “Good man,” he said more loudly than was proper in this place, “wake up, good man.”

  Rakoczy interrupted his song and blinked at the monk. “What?” he asked in Bohemian with a pronounced French accent. “What’s the matter?”

  “Foreign and drunk,” the monk grumbled.

  “What’s the trouble?” Rakoczy slurred his question.

  “You cannot lie here,” the monk said, patience and annoyance in his manner.

  “Why not?” Rakoczy flailed about in an effort to sit up; he almost struck one of the two slaves huddling next to the monk.

  “You are lying on a grave,” said the monk, and was satisfied to see the stranger jump and make a serious effort to clamber to his feet. “These are church grounds, and you have been lying on—”

  “Yes. Yes. Graves.” Rakoczy crossed himself clumsily, then looked around, peering into the darkness. “God have mercy on me.”

  The monk made the sign of the cross for them all. “Amen.” He stepped back as the stranger lurched one step, steadying himself on the nearest grave-marker, then moving away from
it, his steps uncertain. The monk made no effort to assist him. “How much did you drink last night?”

  “Not much,” Rakoczy answered, inwardly reminding himself that this was the truth. “My comrades and I were in a tavern, and then we went and bought a skin of wine.” He stared about, befuddled. “I don’t remember what…” He slapped the front of his bleihaut. “My belt!” He stared down at the ground. “My wallet.” He crouched awkwardly and began to feel around the place he had been lying. “My belt,” he exclaimed, snatching it up and holding it aloft like a trophy taken in battle. “And my sword. But where’s my wallet?” He hoped that when they finally came across it, they would assume it was empty because of theft.

  “Help him look,” the monk said in a resigned tone, bending over himself. “The sooner we recover it, the sooner we all may return to our duties.”

  All four of them set about scrabbling among the graves for the missing wallet, the sounds of their labors sufficiently loud to cover Rozsa’s careful retreat. Only when Rakoczy heard the side-gate sigh open did he stop searching and sink down on his haunches. “It’s no use. It’s gone.” He slapped the ground with his hand.

  “The dead have claimed recompense for you disturbing them,” said the monk, relieved to straighten up. “I will order another search after sunrise, if you are minded to wait.” He took a deep breath. “You could attend Mass.”

  Rakoczy shook his head and crossed himself. “Not this morning. I haven’t Confessed for a long time.”

  The monk’s expression made it plain that he was not surprised. He motioned to the slaves. “Come then. Be about your work. This man can find his way to the gate that he came in.” He shoved the slaves ahead of him. “May God guide you to His—”

  “Thank you. You’ve been good to me, Frater—better than I deserved.” He staggered away a few steps.

  “The gate is that way,” the monk said, pointing. “Leave now, and choose your companions more carefully in future.” With that, he swung around and herded the slaves toward the path to the bake-house.

  Rakoczy made a show of fumbling his way through the grave-markers until he was sure he was out of sight; then he walked to the gate and slipped through it, mildly surprised that Rozsa had left it open for him; he closed it behind him, then started up the hill toward Mansion Belcrady.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Frater Castimir, battle-scribe to Konig Otakar II, near Graz in Styria, to Pader Stanislas, clerk and scribe to Konige Kunigunde at Praha in Bohemia, written on vellum in Latin and carried by royal courier; delivered nine days after it was written.

  To the most worthy Augustinian scribe and secretary to the exalted Konige Kunigunde, I, Frater Castimir, battle-scribe to Konig Przemysl Otakar II of Bohemia, send the most sincere greetings of the dear Royal to his Royal wife, and entrust the honest reading of this letter to you on this, the nineteenth day of August in the 1269th Year of Man’s Salvation.

  To the most serene Konige Kunigunde, the greetings of her husband and Konig, Otakar II, bearing with them the hope that this finds her well, her pregnancy advancing without difficulty, and her Court abiding in her Good Will,

  My Konige, it is my wish that you be ready to receive me and my Court in Praha by the middle of October; I have had many successes in the field, and the borders of Bohemia are greatly expanded, much to the distress of Rudolph von Hapsburg, and it is my intention to bring my soldiers out of harm’s way before the weather turns; I have been told that the signs are for a hard winter and an early one, and I do not want my army to be bogged down in mud and cold that can only serve to weaken them at a time when they will be wanted in strength next spring.

  My Court and I will remain with you until the first signs of spring, and then we must go to Pressburg, where we will make ready for another summer on campaign. It is my wish that you and our children be kept away from the turmoil of battle, and I believe that your grandfather, Konig Bela, shares that wish. For that reason, you may choose what festivities we will observe during my stay in Praha, and you will set the tone of the Courts, yours and mine, for the time they are combined.

  May God grant you a safe delivery of an heir, and may he be a sound, healthy boy who will be ready to take the reins of power when God takes them from my hands. Know that I pray daily for our coming child, and that I have offered Masses and tribute for our son. As I know you pray for my victories, so your delivery of my heir shall complete my conquests and secure an Empire for our descendants. In this we are united in purpose and in faith.

  Przemysl Otakar II

  Konig of Bohemia and Moravia

  Lord of Styria and Carinthia

  Dux of Austria

  by the hand of Frater Castimir, battle-scribe to the Konig Otakar and Premonstratensian monk

  PART II

  RAKOCZY FERANCSI,

  COMES SANTU-GERMANIU

  Text of a letter from Smiricti Detrich, Counselor of Praha, to Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, at Mansion Belcrady in Praha, carried by Council messenger.

  To the highly esteemed Comes Santu-Germaniu at Mansion Belcrady, the greetings of Smiricti Detrich, Counselor of Praha, by the hand of the Counselor’s scribe and clerk, Frater Ulric, on this, the second day of September, in the 1269th year of Salvation,

  Most worthy Comes,

  It is my duty to inform you that the Counselors of Praha have met to determine the taxes for the city; those laid upon the Mansion Belcrady have increased, due to the high cost of Konig Otakar’s campaign in the south, which is a decision that I have been given the privilege of informing you. I regret to tell you that you will be asked to pay another six standard ingots of gold beyond what you have already provided us to support his campaign. All foreigners are being assessed additional monies, so this is not intended to inconvenience you and no other. However, as you have the grandest establishment, the actual amount required of you is larger than for other foreign residents in the city. I am of the opinion that your rate is too high, even for an exile. The rest of the Counselors disagree, and I must capitulate to their wishes or resign my post; the latter course would benefit neither of us, and so I have acquiesced, in the hope that I might, in future, be in a position to advocate for you. I ask you to comply with these demands now, and trust me to do what is in my power to intercede for you next May.

  You will have until the beginning of Advent to pay the amount due or to find other housing. I know this is abrupt, and for that, I ask your understanding; you have been a most upright and responsible resident, for all you are an exile, and it troubles me to see the hand of the Konig’s necessity fall so heavily on you, but this must be God’s Will, for He has brought you here in Konig Otakar’s time of need. Your gold will help the Konig to make the most of the winter without reducing his own treasury. Production of gold has already been increased at the mines, and Konig Otakar has money from those efforts coming to him in quantity, but the bulk of the sums will not be ready until the spring, and the costs he is encountering are immediate. The Konig is determined to see his army enter the field next spring fully armed and ready for whatever Comes Rudolph von Hapsburg of Austria may have in store for him, which requires a large outlay before the Nativity so that the smiths and armorers may spend the winter preparing all that the Konig requires. I am disinclined to deny Otakar what he seeks, for he has succeeded so well that the Hand of God is certainly in his successes, and those of us who aid him now will gain Royal favor in this life and the approval of God in the next. That the brunt of these costs will be borne by you is unfortunate, but as the loyal vassal of Konig Otakar, I must continue to ensure that everything is done to bring about his vision of a Bohemian Empire.

  With the Konig preparing to return to Praha and the Konige about to give him his long-sought heir, there will be grand occasions for celebration in the city, and therefore we must prepare to show our loyalty and corroboration of the greatness of this reign: to that end I implore you, if you are able to spare more money, to contribute toward the occasion
s that will herald the arrival of the Nativity Season. We will put forth the embodiments of our rejoicing. A civic procession and Royal Contest is planned already, and will require stands for those attending, as well as display wagons for the Guilds and great Houses of all Praha. Episcopus Fauvinel has already promised that he will have his troupe of dwarves and hunchbacks perform their antics in the procession. And that he will bless the occasion. Any donation you make to any aspect of the festivities will stand you in good stead with the Council as well as the Konige’s Court, and therefore I implore you to do what you may to add to our coffers and our splendid occasions. I also ask that you impart to me any ideas you may have for improving the welcome we will give the Konig when he once again enters our gates. Perhaps you will agree to meet with me in ten days’ time?

  This week, unless the Konige gives birth, of course, I will be spending most of my days with my fellow-Counselors deciding the suit brought by the Beggars’ Guild against the rats that are so plentiful in Praha. Episcopus Fauvinel has given his permission for the suit to proceed as promptly as possible, and the Council is happy to accommodate him in this matter. If the suit is decided in favor of the Beggars’ Guild, then we will have to hire an experienced rat-catcher and pay to have the rats killed, as well as offer rewards for those who are willing to help rid the city of the rats, but if the rats prevail, then any member of the Beggars’ Guild caught killing a rat will have his hand struck off, and any resident of the city found to be killing rats will be fined three ingots of silver. Since this is an issue of significance, and given that there are so many other demands at this time, until we have reached a decision in regard to the Beggars’ Guild suit, I fear I will not be available to you before the ten days have passed.