“I don’t know,” Kornemon said evasively. He fidgeted, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. “Comes, I ought to—”
“And where was Hruther during all this?” Rakoczy asked; it was most unlike his manservant to allow such a ruction to take place. He could not help but feel anxious; he tried not to show his apprehension.
“I don’t know,” said Kornemon. “I should get this wood to the kitchen.”
Rakoczy nodded and made a sign of dismissal. He waited a short while, in case another servant should happen by, one who would be more forthcoming, who could explain what had become of Hruther. When no one appeared, he went toward the main hall, planning to go to his workroom in the hope that Hruther had left him a message to account for his absence.
* * *
Text of a letter from Balint of Santu-Germaniu at Santu-Germaniu to Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, in Praha, dictated to Frater Lorand, written on vellum, carried by private courier, never delivered.
To the most esteemed Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu, presently at Mansion Belcrady in Praha, Bohemia, the most respectful greetings of your steward, Balint of Santu-Germaniu, by the good offices of Frater Lorand, on this, the first day of March in the 1270th Year of Salvation:
My most well-regarded Comes,
This is to inform you that winter is still keeping the Carpathians in its grip, and it appears that spring will arrive later than usual this year. We have had inconsistent weather, all of it bad. There was a week of warm days, when the snows began to melt, which ended in two days of rain, and, as the cold returned, became ice, making your stronghold ice-bound, and giving the appearance of remaining so into April if the local weather-witches are to be believed. This will mean that we will plow and plant later than usual, which may effect the harvest when it comes around, which may mean that we will have to part with more of the harvest than we can spare when Konig Bela’s men come for their taxes. I ask you to inform me what you want me to do if we should have such problems as I anticipate. It may be that I am worried for no good reason, but as your steward, you advised me to keep all eventualities in mind.
The commander of the fortress at Santa-Ioanne came here three months ago and claimed ten sheep, ten hogs, and four foals in the name of Konig Bela. Since you instructed me not to deny the Konig’s men, I made no objection to their raid, for raid it was, but I am afraid that when the spring comes, they will return with the intention of taking more, which I doubt we can provide without putting your fief at a disadvantage. We have already seen wolves in the forest, and if they start to plunder our livestock, then the Konig’s men will leave us in a very poor state. I ask for your permission to send Sylvanu to the horse-and-cattle fair at Cluj in May, to buy a few mares with foals at their sides, and some other livestock as well.
Three shepherds died while driving their flocks into their pens and barns not long after the first snowfall. Rumor has it that they were caught in an avalanche, but others say they were taken by bandits to be sold as slaves to the Byzantines. Some believe that they ran away. This is the fourth time such disappearances have happened in the last year. At first I assumed that it was an avalanche, but almost none of the sheep were lost, as we discovered when we rounded them up, and that leaves raiding parties. Most of the bandits keep to the plains, where they have a greater chance to take captives and plunder, but those seeking slaves are another matter, for they seek to take men, women, and children, and get away with little notice. With you gone, it is likely that these outlaws come here because you are not allowed to keep soldiers to track down those raiders, so they may raid with impunity. I ask you to petition the Konig for the protection of men-at-arms, or allow those of us in your household to keep arms to help drive off the raiders.
There is a record of accounts included with this letter, showing how we have fared since the first snowfall. As you see, the costs for feed has risen. The repair to the cattle barn is complete at the cost of twenty silver coins and eight lambs. We will need to work on the stable next summer, and that may prove as expensive as the barn to repair. As you ordered, the cisterns were cleaned of algae. The dung farmer emptied the latrines and dung channels before the first snowfall. The linen has been washed in saffron-water, and anything in need of darning has been given to the needlewomen. Ten wagon-loads of wood were brought in for the winter, and six of them are still left; the cost was five gold Vaclavs and five silver Emperors. New fences have been built around the chicken coops and rabbit hutches to keep out martens and foxes, and seem to have worked well. We have three barrels of lanthorn-oil left, twenty-two dozen wax candles, and fifty-three barrels of new wine have been laid down. We have turnips, onions, cabbages, and apples in the root-cellar, and thumb-cabages, onions, peppers, and cucumbers pickling in barrels. We may run short of food by spring, but we will manage.
The weavers are busy this winter, and we will have more cloth than usual to offer at the market fair, unless the Konig’s men decide to claim half of it as taxes due. The goat-hair mantels and blankets have turned out particularly well; the woolen bleihauts our needlewomen make should fetch a good price, as well, and if they continue to keep up their present pace of weaving and sewing, there will be an extra set of clothes for all the household and still have much to take to market.
May God move the Konig to soon grant you the right to return to your fief. All of your vassals pray for you, and ask God to watch over you in that foreign place.
Balint of Santu-Germaniu
Steward of Santu-Germaniu
by the hand of the scribe Frater Lorand
4
The wind was out of the northeast, chilly enough to make the fire in the workroom of Mansion Belcrady welcome to Rakoczy, who rarely felt either heat or cold; he was finishing assembling the elements that would produce amethysts and moonstones—“for the Konige’s daughters,” he told Hruther—his attention fixed on the vessel that was called the womb of jewels. Behind him, Hruther sorted out the ingredients to make emeralds and rubies, measuring them with care into a similar vessel as the one Rakoczy held. Both of them ignored the whoop of the wind and the answering clatter of shutters, devoting the whole of their assiduity to their tasks.
“There,” said Rakoczy, stepping back from the trestle-table; he carried the vessel down the room to the athanor, opened the heavy door of the alchemical oven, set the container into position inside it, closed the oven door, added charcoal to the firebox, and set the bellows working by releasing the spring-driven belt at the rear; this last was an improvement of his own; he had contrived it more than eight centuries before, adapting it from a Roman saw-clock and a Persian mechanical nightingale.
Hruther picked up the large hourglass at the end of the table and turned it over. “One,” he announced.
Rakoczy took a deep breath. “We have until sundown. That is three more turns.”
“Four turns of the hourglass,” Hruther concurred. He looked at the open coffer and its contents of gems. “Will you be able to finish the hilt for the ceremonial sword the Konige will present to the Konig upon his departure?”
“More than enough; the matter is having four of each jewels that match. I should have more than fifty left over when the task is done.” Rakoczy regarded the list he had been given. “Two large diamonds for the pommel, ten white sapphires for the hand-grip, four emeralds, four tourmalines, four peridots, four topazes, four rubies, and ten golden tiger’s-eyes for the quillons. It ought to impress everyone who sees it.”
“That’s what the Konige wants, isn’t it?” Hruther said. “For the Konig to be impressive.”
“So I gather.” Rakoczy settled into his Anatolian saddler’s chair. “Any more repercussions from your interrogation five days ago?” He spoke in the Cypriot dialect.
“Not yet.” He completed loading the vessel and set it in its cradle. “I still don’t know what the Episcopus’ familiars were trying to get from me, which nettles me.”
“I find it interesting that they took you while
the Episcopus was speaking at the Konige’s Court,” Rakoczy observed. “He wants to be protected from what the familiars did, but why?”
“I can only guess.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sure they acted on the Episcopus’ instructions, no matter where he was while my examination was going on.”
“You said they asked many questions at random, or in a succession that seemed disconnected one from another.” Rakoczy had undergone just such an interrogation in Constantinople, more than six hundred years ago, and was aware that the random questions were to keep the one being questioned from formulating an effective defense against those questioning him.
“Yes. However, now that I’ve had time to think about it, most of the questions they repeated had to do with your wealth, directly or indirectly.”
“How do you mean?” Rakoczy had until now made only minor inquiries about Hruther’s detention, but he was increasingly dismayed that it happened, and wanted to learn as much as possible about the interview itself.
“I’ve told you that they asked many times about your wealth, and its source, and about the reason for your exile, as well as its terms,” Hruther said, as puzzled as he was at the time he was in the familiars’ hands.
“Did they do more than threaten you?” Rakoczy kept his voice level.
“They struck me only once, when I refused to tell them what they sought to know, but they kept me on my knees, and that was wearing.” He pressed his lips together to stop more words.
“That is typical. That way the Church can claim that no injury was done.” Rakoczy looked away in disgust with himself for what Hruther had endured. He leaned forward and slapped the top of the low, round table in front of the fireplace.
“They kept returning to your fortune, but they also wanted to know about your travels and your trading company, and whom among the high lords of Europe you might know. They asked about your studies and your skills. But they put most of their emphasis on your fortune and your fief.”
“I gathered that: I would like to know why,” Rakoczy muttered, then looked at Hruther. “Yes, old friend, I am aware that you know no more than I do on that point.”
“I wish I did. The familiars would not tolerate any questions from me; they required that I answer theirs.” He stared at the nearest shuttered window. “They ordered me to pray frequently. I thought at the time it was with the intention to find out if I knew the Psalms, and if I did, how well.”
“I trust they were satisfied,” said Rakoczy with sardonic amusement.
“I think so.” He considered his answer and added, “But I don’t know; I can only guess.”
“I respect your guesses,” said Rakoczy. He leaned back in his chair. “I might as well be bound in chains and confined to a dungeon. I am not safe to know; I am encumbered so that I may not defend my friends or myself.”
“Don’t tempt the Episcopus with thoughts of dungeons. He would rejoice in seizing your fortune for the Church.”
“And Otakar would want it for the Crown, wherein lies my only safety—that those two are locked in stalemate. If they ever decide to make common cause against me…” He stared at the flames consuming the two logs in the fireplace. “I wish I could leave here without bringing harm to my fief and my vassals.”
“They say Konig Bela will be sending an envoy to the Konige’s Court, to assure the Konig that all is well with his granddaughter and her children. Perhaps you could have a private word with him while he’s here? If the envoy delivers a good report of you, Bela might reconsider your terms of exile.” Hruther brushed away the bits of detritus on the table. “How many more vessels of jewels do you want to make?”
“Two or three, to be sure there are enough to make reasonable matches; the Konige has specified she wants the jewels to match. Additional tiger’s-eyes should be part of what I make tomorrow; that will give me a day to polish them before sending them on to the goldsmith for mounting.” He stretched and settled back into the chair. “As soon as the current batch is cooling, I will start sorting what I have, and polishing them in the drum.”
“And tomorrow?”
“The rubies and emeralds will be tumble-polished while I make the compound for tiger’s-eyes. When this is done, I will have to take time to produce more azoth. I am running low on it.” A slight frown settled between his brows.
“Celestial mercury can be dangerous to constitute. Think of the Polish marshes.” Hruther regarded Rakoczy with worry.
“I do think of them,” said Rakoczy. “I will use a triple-vessel to contain the formulation. That should lessen the chance for it to explode.”
Hruther nodded. “I’ll keep a number of buckets of water on hand, on the chance there is any trouble. One fire in this manse is enough.”
Rakoczy smiled. “Such admirable caution.”
“Better caution than recklessness when dealing with azoth,” said Hruther with no sign of upset. “Shall I send the servants out for the day?”
“A clever notion. Yes, of course. Send them to the open market. Provide each of them with two silver Vaclavs, which should allow them to indulge themselves. Tell them they may have the day until Vespers, when I expect them to return.”
“And if any of them should ask why you extend yourself so generously? what do I tell them?” Hruther inquired.
“Say it is the custom of those of my blood to give their households a sign of appreciation of service after the Christ Mass and before Lent begins.” He managed a twisted smile. “In case any of the Episcopus’ familiars should ask.”
Hruther nodded once. “The scullions as well as the rest?”
“All of them. The swineherd and the shepherd, too.” He paused thoughtfully. “Tell them I would join them, but I must finish the commission from the Konige.”
“Joining them is another tradition of your blood?” He kept most of his incredulity out of his voice.
“Let them think so,” said Rakoczy.
“Good enough.” Hruther thrust his hands into the large, closed sleeve of his bleihaut, drawing out a twice-folded note. “This was handed to me this morning. I was told not to give it to you until after mid-day.”
Rakoczy took the note, studied it, but did not open it at once. “Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?”
“One of the Konige’s Court pages handed it to me as he accompanied the heralds. They were going to deliver more plans to the Counselors, for the Konig’s departure.”
“And the page just happened to encounter you?” Rakoczy made no excuse for his skepticism.
“He said it saved him stopping here on their way back,” Hruther told him. “I took the note; I thought I would draw attention to it if I refused to accept it, with the escort to make a report in any case.”
“That is probably true,” said Rakoczy.
“You have received many notes from the Konige.”
“So I have, but always my title was on the outside, with her sigil. There is nothing on this.” He held up the folded note. “Quite blank. It may be a trap of some kind,” Rakoczy mused aloud. “If a page carried it, any number of the Konige’s courtiers might have written it.”
“That’s possible, and it would be like the Episcopus to try something of the sort,” Hruther agreed. “So it might be a device on the part of the Episcopus to snare you.”
“That, too, is possible,” Rakoczy said, then unfolded the note; he recognized the neat hand at once: it was Imbolya’s.
My most dear Comte,
It has befallen that I will be at the Sant-Mattiza Chapel this evening for Mass, at the conclusion of which I am charged with coming to you for the purpose of choosing the jewels for the hilt of the Konig’s ceremonial sword. I will be accompanied by two men-at-arms and two pages, whom I ask you to receive with your usual hospitality.
The Konige is aware that such careful sorting of jewels as the sword requires may take a good portion of the night, and so has excused me from attending bed-time prayers in her private apartments while I meet with you to make the
best selection possible. The castle guards have been ordered to admit me and my escort upon my return at any hour without question or hindrance, so I need have no reason to be hurried in choosing the stones needed.
Dear Royal is distressed at the thought that the sword will not be ready in time for Konig Otakar’s departure; this has caused her much distraint, and to lessen her anxiety, she seeks to be informed on the progress of all involved in its making: my cousin Csenge of Somogy will be attending to the goldsmith, and Gyongyi of Tolan will be dispatched to the smith fashioning the blade. All of us will be suitably escorted, so that no disrepute may bring dishonor to the sword.
The Konige has been kind enough to let me write this note to you rather than have her heralds announce my arrival formally. She sees my writing as a kind of modesty, although the Episcopus does not. I trust you will not be offended by this means of informing you of my coming visit.
In the name of Kunigunde of Halicz, Konige of Bohemia,
Imbolya of Heves
“Trap or not, we should prepare for a visit,” said Rakoczy when he had read the letter twice. “If it is a ruse, it is a bold one. The Konige would disapprove of mischief done in her name.”
“So she would,” said Hruther, his voice completely neutral.
Making up his mind, Rakoczy said briskly, “Have Pacar prepare a supper for the men-at-arms and pages. Ask Illes to invite the men-at-arms to dice with him and the grooms. Make the servants’ hall available to the pages, in case they should grow tired.”
“You are planning to receive her?”
“Since it appears that the Konige requires it, I must.”
Hruther gave a little sigh. “Shall I inform the household that the Konige wishes the jewels to go unseen by all but her ladies-in-waiting and the craftsmen working on the sword until the weapon is presented to him at his departure?”
Saint-Germain 24: An Embarrassment of Riches: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain Page 25