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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Just as well,” said Csenge, considering him through narrowed eyes. “My cousin won’t be here for this occasion, or not for a while. She is taking care of the Little Royals.”

  Rakoczy heard this calmly. “If you will be kind enough to remember me to her, I would thank you.”

  “Certainly.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Is it that you’re waiting for Rozsa of Borsod to return? Is my cousin less interesting, being little more than a child, than Rozsa is?”

  “I had heard that Rozsa was coming back,” Rakoczy said smoothly. “The Konige will be glad of her company.”

  This was not the kind of response Csenge had expected; she shifted the subject. “What do you plan to do for the Konig’s departure festivities?”

  “I have no notion,” he replied genially. “Dear Royal has not told me what she would like me to do for her. I await her instruction.”

  “And you have nothing to suggest?” Csenge inquired. “No idea that the Konige might settle upon? No inspiration at all?”

  Rakoczy took a moment to weigh his answer. “I am charged with pleasing the Konige, so in matters of this sort, it is fitting that I rely upon her to tell me what would please her most. It would please neither of us if I were to provide her with something unsatisfactory. It is one thing to present her and her daughters with jewels, as Konig Bela has charged me to do, but her husband is not the same as her grandfather, and the dear Royal’s decision on what Konig Otakar is due must remain with her. She will know best what she wants Otakar to have from her, and it will be my task to make it for her, when she informs me what it is to be; I would not presume to know what she wants.” He gave her an urbane smile. “Or do you think I err in that?”

  Csenge hardly took more than a moment to consider. “You should recommend something to her; she is disinterested, as you remarked. Surely you can see that she is apathetic, can’t you?”

  “I can, and that is troubling,” Rakoczy said.

  “She is in God’s Hands, as are we all,” Csenge said as piously as possible. “We must all bow to His Will.”

  “Then I will be content to wait until God moves her to decide.” It was an argument that Csenge would never dispute.

  “Well, be ready to do her bidding when she finally makes it known.” Csenge lifted her head, her jaw at a defiant angle.

  “Yes. That is my intention.” He lowered his head again. “If you will permit me to—”

  “Oh, yes,” Csenge said impatiently, having found no nuggets of secrets in anything he said, or his manner. “Go, by all means.”

  Rakoczy moved away toward Counselor Smiricti and Counselor Hlavka, who stood together near the main fireplace, their Court garments burnished by the fire’s shine. Both men wore several gold rings, but no jewels, and no hats, as the Konig’s Law required. Smiricti, in a huch of Damascus silk over a chainse of ecru wool, ducked his head as he noticed Rakoczy. “Comes Santu-Germaniu. A happy encounter. Let me make Counselor Hlavka Innec known to you.” He gestured to his companion, who ducked his head.

  “Counselor Hlavka,” said Rakoczy.

  “Comes Santu-Germaniu,” said Hlavka with a flourish of his hand, then added, “You’re the one at Mansion Belcrady, aren’t you? The exile, or so they say.” His huch was of heavy, amber-colored Venetian silk and lined in marten-fur; his chainse was of light-blue Anatolian cotton, and his braccae were thickly embroidered with his family trade-mark, a mallet and a pair of farrier’s tongs. His color was high and his eyes were shiny, indications that he had drunk all the toasts that had begun the gathering at mid-afternoon, and very likely more than toasts.

  “I am he.”

  “We heard of your fire; a sad misfortune.” Hlavka turned to Smiricti once more. “There is a rumor that the fire was deliberately set.”

  “I have heard the same,” said Smiricti.

  “A bad business, if it’s true.” His innuendo was conspicuous; he continued to ignore Rakoczy. “Didn’t you tell me that you had recommended Bartech of Tabor for the rebuilding of the damaged furnace and chimney?”

  “I did. And Szigmon to make the new roof. Everyone speaks well of his skills.” Smiricti smiled, going on effusively, “Masters in their Guilds, both of them, with well-reputed apprentices and reputations of the highest order. Both of them know the Comes is one of the Konige’s Court, and will be diligent in their work.”

  “When will they be able to start that work?” Hlavka asked, still not speaking directly to Rakoczy.

  “As soon as the weather improves; to do anything now while the rains continue, that would lead to wasted effort. We are devoting some time to planning what is to be built, and how,” said Rakoczy as if he had been included in the discussion. “The damaged parts of the bake-house have already been cleared away. My baker is having to use the kitchen ovens for his loaves while the bake-house cannot be used.”

  Hlavka nodded, his gaze flicking about the hall as if to make note of everyone in attendance. “It must be inconvenient for you, Comes, not having a bake-house for your mansion. But surely the repairs will begin shortly,” he said, sounding a bit distracted.

  “It certainly is inconvenient for my cook who wants to have his kitchen back. He and the baker do nothing but wrangle.” Rakoczy shook his head. “It’s their temperaments; they clash.”

  “How … lax, to have so little authority over your household,” said Hlavka with a snide half-smile.

  Rakoczy refused to be provoked, shrugging and saying, “You know how it is with exiles. We must depend on the good-will of those around us.”

  “We would like to thank you for all you’ve done to help us be rid of the rats,” said Smiricti, after an awkward silence, striving to maintain the courtesy required.

  “I was gratified that you asked me,” Rakoczy said.

  “Oh, yes,” said Hlavka; his next words were almost an accusation. “Your poisons made short work of many of them.”

  Smiricti intervened before Hlavka could entirely forget himself and insult Rakoczy beyond all acceptable limits. “Our slaves have been put to work secreting your poison-boxes where rats have been found before. We hope to avoid another such infestation as the one we had last year.” He glanced at Hlavka as if to warn him to hold his tongue.

  Rakoczy saw that Smiricti was discomfited by Hlavka’s behavior, and so he inclined his head. “Perhaps we can speak more privately in a day or two?”

  “I will send a messenger; you may assign the time.” Smiricti gave him a grateful, chagrined, lopsided smile. “I look forward to it.”

  Moving away from the two Counselors, Rakoczy saw Hovarth Pisti standing a little apart from the rest of the company, staring into the dining hall beyond the reception hall, his demeanor both anticipatory and bored; Rakoczy made for the tapestry-weaver, nodding his greeting. “Are your apprentices with you?”

  “My apprentices are working on the tapestry for the Konig’s departure. We have twenty-two more days, three of them Sabbaths, so we must work on two feast days. Episcopus Fauvinel has granted us a dispensation for those.” He gave a harried chuckle. “The Konige didn’t decide what the subject should be until four days past, so we will have to labor well into the night to have it ready.”

  “The work is an honor, of course,” Rakoczy said.

  “Oh, yes. It is why Konig Bela sent me here. It is a fine distinction he has extended to me and my apprentices. I know that Konig Bela has noted all we have done for Konige Kunigunde. We gain favor from Konig Bela and Konig Otakar when we please the Konige.” His expression turned smug. “And unlike you, I can expect to be richly recompensed for all I and my apprentices do, by Konig Otakar as well as by Konig Bela.”

  Rakoczy’s deportment did not change; he gave no sign of vexation at Hovarth Pisti’s condescension, and no offense at his disparaging remarks. “I do have a reward of sorts,” he said. “My fief is safe as long as I fulfill the requirements of Konig Bela and his granddaughter. That reward is more than sufficient for me.”

  “Not an easy barga
in, even for so wealthy a man as you are, Comes.” He ducked his head and moved away as three buisines sounded a call from the minstrels’ gallery, and a herald stepped to the railing.

  “In the most gracious name of Kunigunde of Halicz, Konige of Bohemia,” he announced, “you are all welcome to the Konige’s Court, summoned for the purpose of arranging the festivities to mark the departure of Przemysl Otakar II, Konig of Bohemia, with his army, to the field of battle, where, with God’s Grace, he will enlarge his conquests and be named Holy Roman Emperor. The Konig will leave on the twenty-seventh day of March unless the weather delays him. The celebration for his departure will begin on the twenty-fifth day of March and last until the Konig and his army are outside the walls of Praha. May God favor and defend the Konige and her daughters, and grant victory to our Konig.”

  A cheer went up, only to be overwhelmed by the braying of the buisines; as the brazen echoes died, a consort of shawms and gitterns and a tabor took the place of the buisine-players, beginning their part of the Court’s music with the popular song Praise to the Virgin. After that, they played Hills and Meadow, an engaging, wistful melody. When they finished, Episcopus Fauvinel came to the railing and raised his hands; everyone in the reception hall dropped to their knees and crossed themselves.

  “In the Name of the Father, of the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen,” the Episcopus intoned in Church Latin.

  “Amen,” the Court echoed, a few of the Konige’s Court taking out their rosaries from under their chainses, and beginning to run the beads through their fingers, their lips moving in prayer.

  Episcopus Fauvinel waited until he was confident of the Konige’s attention; when he was sure he had it, he addressed the Court. “Let us all give thanks to Merciful God in His manifest Glory. God has given illustrious favor to Bohemia and all its territories, the which you must all show your gratitude, through adherence to God’s Law and the offering of Masses. To show your worthiness for God’s Blessing, may you, each and all, serve the Konige to her honor, the honor of Konig Otakar, and the honor of Bohemia. May you, each and all, bring esteem to the Konige’s Court and show no contempt for other Courts in doing so. May you, each and all, seek to ennoble the Royal House of Przemysl and of Halicz to greater heights. May you, each and all, welcome the benefices that come to you from your service with humility and piety. May you, each and all, give praises to God for providing so excellent an opportunity to demonstrate your fealty, for it is through Him that you are advanced for your loyalty and devotion, first to God, then to the Konig and Konige, of which you ought to be mindful every hour of your lives. Amen.”

  Another chorus of Amen answered him, and a rustle of garments as the assembled Court arose, all silent until the Episcopus stepped back behind the musicians, signaling that the Episcopal audience was at an end. Once again the tabor set the beat; the shawms and gitterns struck up another song—Love Does Me Great Wrong.

  On the far side of the hall, Rakoczy saw that Imbolya was deep in conversation with Rytir Leutpald Verschluss, one of Konig Otakar’s German Guards; her expression was earnest but he was not paying much attention to her words, but was taking in her appearance and the richness of her clothes.

  As conversation crescendoed in the vast hall, Rakoczy found a small nook in the wall to the left of the main fireplace and stepped into it; he could watch the Court from here without being readily seen. It was a bit of a risk, for if he were discovered he might be accused of spying, but he was willing to take the chance; there were many questions he sought to have answered, and hoped that this vantage-point would provide him the means to learn by watching.

  “Comes,” said a voice just outside the alcove.

  Rakoczy concealed the twinge of alarm that shot through him. “Yes?”

  Tahir moved into the opening, his gaudy clothes showing he would be performing that evening. “Are you well?”

  “Yes, Tahir,” said Rakoczy. “I am quite well.”

  “Then you must be hiding,” Tahir decided. “Not that I find that unwise, hiding.”

  “No; I am observing.”

  “So!” The dwarf tumbler slapped his thigh. “Good fortune to you.” He ducked his head and walked away.

  Rakoczy remained where he was, watching the Konige’s company, taking note of the ebb and flow of the Court until the buisines sounded to summon the Court to supper, when he slipped away from the nook and made his way to the end of the dining hall, looking for one of the Konige’s ladies-in-waiting. He finally caught sight of Gyongyi of Tolan, and approached her. “A word with you, Lady,” he said, bowing.

  Gyongyi blinked. “Comes,” she responded, courtisying him. “What do you require?”

  “I ask you, if you would, to inform the dear Royal that I will send a messenger to her tomorrow to receive her commission.”

  “Certainly,” said Gyongyi, trying to contain her curiosity.

  “You are most graciously acquiescent; you have my thanks,” said Rakoczy, and took a step away from her, bowing as he went.

  “Comes,” she said, halting him. “Aren’t you joining the banquet?”

  “Alas, no. The customs of my blood forbid it, for we traditionally dine in private, as dear Royal is aware. And in any case, there are those among the courtiers who believe I am a spy for Konig Bela, and are not sanguine when I attend these functions. My presence could prove awkward for the Konige, so it is best if I leave.” He bowed one last time before going to the vestibule to claim his mantel.

  The under-steward handed him his garment, and asked, “Do you need a horse or a carriage from the Konige’s stable to return to your mansion, Comes? Or have you either horse or carriage waiting for you here?”

  “Mansion Belcrady is not far from here.” He swung the mantel around his shoulders. “I walked up the ridge; I can as easily walk down.”

  “Then you will need an escort.” The under-steward ducked his head.

  “For so short a distance? Thank you, but I think not.” He passed on into the entry hall, where more servants opened the door for him. He stepped out into the forecourt, and paused to stare at the red, violet, and luminous dark-blue remnants of sunset that flashed under the clouds that stretched over the world like a gigantic tent. He could tell more rain was coming, and that it would be heavier than what they had just had. He went across the forecourt to the main gate and rang the bell to summon the warder.

  “Oh. It’s you,” said the warder when he arrived. “I should have known. No one but you leaves before the banquet.” He laughed once before he drew back the massive bolt and tugged the gate open enough for Rakoczy to pass through it. “God give you a good night, Comes.”

  “And to you, good warder,” Rakoczy called back to him, tossing him a golden Vaclav as the warder tugged the gate closed once more. Out in the fading daylight, Rakoczy thought the streets unexpectedly empty; not many people were about, and those who were seemed harried as they rushed along, going down the hill; most of them wore crucifixes conspicuously, and a few had Otakar’s lion on simple badges on their shoulders. The reason for this display was soon apparent as a shout went out from the main gates of Praha, and Rakoczy remembered that five deserters were being hanged in chains at sunset, the Konig officiating at the beginning of their slow execution; the first had just been dropped; the other four would suffer the same fate shortly. Frowning, Rakoczy found himself moving more quickly, and as he lengthened his stride, he heard the sound of hasty footsteps behind him. Although he told himself he was being foolish, he swung around, hoping to see who was there, but once again the street was empty.

  The distance between Vaclav Castle and Mansion Belcrady was not great, but for Rakoczy it stretched out ahead of him like the vastness of the Silk Road. He considered running at speed—which, for him, was almost as fast as a galloping horse—but quickly rejected the idea, for if he was not being followed, he might draw the kind of attention to himself that he sought most to avoid. Yet he kept moving at a rapid clip, hoping to force his follower to betray himself.


  Rakoczy heard the sound of trotting hooves on the cobbles, and a moment later, three of Otakar’s German Guard emerged from the side-street, all but dragging two hooded men after them as they turned up the hill toward Vaclav Castle. They paid no attention to the Comes.

  At the gate to Mansion Belcrady, Rakoczy slipped in through the warder’s door without attracting Minek’s attention, or the notice of most of his household. He made his way to the kitchen garden, and entered the manse by the side-door, startling Kornemon, who was carrying a load of wood in a copper tub with wooden handles into the kitchen.

  “Comes,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you had returned.” He ducked his head respectfully.

  “I have, as you see,” he told the stoker. “What has happened in my absence?”

  The stoker did not answer at once. “The bricklayer and two of his apprentices were here for a time. They left not long ago. They said they would be back in a day or so, if the weather is clear.” He looked up at the ceiling, shifting the tub from one hand to another. “Someone from the Council Court came and spoke with Barnon. Illes went to the horse-fair, but you knew that.”

  “He went on my orders,” said Rakoczy, wondering what it was that Kornemon was trying so hard to conceal. “And the rest of the household—what of them?”

  “For the most part all is well,” said Kornemon.

  “For the most part? What is not well?”

  “It’s not for me to say,” Kornemon declared.

  “It is, when I ask,” Rakoczy said gently but with an authority that demanded an answer.

  Kornemon sighed. “Pacar and Tymek fought again.”

  Rakoczy was silent for a long moment. “Was either of them hurt?”

  “Not badly when you consider what they might have done.” He shrugged. “Pacar has a lump on his head and Tymek’s knuckles are scraped, but Barnon and Ambroz stopped them before anything in the kitchen was damaged, or a knife was found.”

  “Most commendable. Do you happen to know what the fight was about?”