Midnight Fire (A Jagiellon Mystery Book 2)

by P K Adams

  There was a limit, however, to Maria’s knowledge. When I asked her if Zygmunt’s advisors were equally against the marriage, she shrugged. “Some are, and some aren’t. It varies as he grants privileges or withholds favors to get this courtier or that on his side.” But she was much less interested in high politics than in amorous intrigues. For insights on the former, I would have to talk either to the courtiers who traveled with us—an option that did not seem promising—or to Jakub Zaremba.

  * * *

  The opportunity came at the end of the fifth day of our journey. We had just left Mazovia and entered Podlasie, where we stopped for the night at a manor house outside the village of Gornitsa. It was still light when I tucked Giulio into bed.

  “Did you enjoy playing with your toy soldiers today?” I asked him as I felt his forehead. It seemed a little warm—or was it my imagination?

  He nodded. “When the carriage wasn’t too shaky.”

  I sighed. Polish roads were hardly comfortable to travel on, but those in Lithuania were worse. “We’re halfway there, darling. When we get to Vilnius, you’ll have a solid floor to play on.”

  His eyes lit up. “Then I can have a real battle!”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “And I’ll buy you some more soldiers.”

  “Before Doctor Nascimbene examines me?” he asked eagerly.

  “We’ll see.” My hands were still roaming over his forehead and cheeks, as I tried to gauge if he was warm from the road or from fever. His eyes did not have the unhealthy shine that came with a fever, and that was good news. Still, I was anxious. “Setting up an appointment with Doctor Nascimbene is our main goal. Once we’ve done that, we’ll go toy shopping. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds good, mamma,” Giulio replied. “And when I’m healthy and strong, I’ll join Hetman Tarnowski’s army like Cousin Adam did.”

  I ruffled his hair. “I hope by the time you grow up those border wars will have come to an end. Going to war isn’t something to aspire to, darling. Cousin Adam died at Homel, remember?”

  “But he died a hero!”

  “That’s true.” I sighed again. “But I want my son to live a long and healthy life. That’s why we’re going to Vilnius.”

  If only that were the sole reason!

  Giulio nestled into his pillow and yawned. “I can’t wait to get there,” he mumbled, already falling asleep.

  “Me neither,” I said, watching him drift off. “You’re very brave, and I’m so proud of you,” I added in a whisper as his breath slowed and evened out.

  A few moments later, I was descending the darkening staircase from the upper floor, a candle in hand, when I saw a faint orange glow through one of the windows.

  I paused on the landing to see better—the glow came from the edge of the estate near a grove of trees—and discerned several figures clad in dark flowing robes, outlined against what appeared to be a bonfire. Around me, the house was quiet. Our fellow travelers must have already retired, and the count who held the estate from the queen was away. Overcome by a curiosity sharpened by days of tedium on the road, I decided to see what was going on.

  I let myself out through the front door, walked around the house, then across the expansive lawn toward the light. The evening was cool and refreshing, perfect September weather with just a whiff of the earthy scent of autumn in the air, warm enough to be outside without the feeling of my chemise and petticoats sticking to my skin from perspiration.

  As I came closer, the figures that had earlier seemed to be milling around aimlessly, now proved to be circling the orange-yellow flame, raising and dropping their arms in a coordinated, rhythmic fashion as they did so. I stopped about halfway between the house and the gathering, not wanting to encroach on this strange ceremony. It brought to my mind Midsummer Eve celebrations popular in Poland on the twenty-third of June. But this fire, although sizable, was not as large as the bonfires lit along the Wisła, nor did the participants carry flowers or lanterns to be floated on a stream or a river. Besides, we were closer to the autumnal equinox than to the summer solstice.

  As I pondered this oddity, I felt more than heard a movement behind me. My stomach clenched. But for the figures around the fire I was alone, and the twilight was swiftly turning into night. I should have considered the risk before venturing outside, but it was too late now. I turned and lifted the small lantern I had taken from a table by the front door. I had kept it covered with my other hand so as not to alert the others to my presence. Now I held it out in front of me like a sword. Then I exhaled with relief when I saw the familiar figure of Jakub Zaremba, out of his armor and wearing a light belted tunic and a pair of tan hunting boots. His shoulders were covered by a cloak whose deep red color, like wine, acquired rusty highlights in the glow of the fire. He looked like any member of the gentry out on a walk to survey his land, except for a sword still buckled to his side. A soldier never parts with his weapon.

  “It’s you.” I lowered the lamp, wondering why I had not heard his footsteps sooner. I must have been quite taken with the spectacle at the edge of the woods.

  He inclined his head. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His beard was neatly trimmed, which offered an interesting contrast with his rugged features, and I realized that I rarely saw him without his helmet. “I thought you might be the person walking away from the house.”

  I gave him a guilty smile. I should have expected that he would follow me. In the last few days, I had found that his protection extended not just to the road; he was also never far from us when we stopped overnight. Bona’s concern about my safety was touching, even if her ulterior motive was clear. For his part, Zaremba was discreet, but I felt his presence even when I could not see him. Yet somehow, I had forgotten about him tonight. “I saw the light and came out to have a look,” I explained, pointing toward the fire. “It’s still early.” I had always been a night owl, and it would be another two hours at least before I was ready to go to bed.

  Zaremba’s eyes followed the direction I indicated. “Ah.” He squinted as he considered the scene. “This is common throughout Lithuania. You’ll see it more often as we ride deeper into the duchy.”

  “What is it?” I asked. “What are they celebrating?”

  “It’s not so much a celebration as worship.” He pointed to the right of the bonfire. “Do you see that large tree, a little apart from the grove behind it?” I nodded, peering at the outline of a thick trunk, the reflection of the flames licking its bark. “It’s a sacred oak,” he explained. “It’s the object of their ritual; around the fire they pray to their gods and thank them for the gift of nature and its bounty as the harvest gets underway.”

  “Gods?”

  He chuckled, a deep but surprisingly soft sound. I had not even seen him smile before tonight. “Grand Duke Jogaila may have converted to Christianity more than 150 years ago, but paganism is still strong in the countryside. The peasants here worship whatever they can—groves, brooks, even snakes.”

  I stared in wonder. In 1386, the pagan Jogaila, the ruler of Lithuania, had married Jadwiga of Poland, queen in her own right by the time she was eleven years old. The union gave rise to the Jagiellon dynasty. Nearly two centuries later, it was facing the challenge of Protestantism in the various lands it ruled, but here was proof that for the simple folk such conflicts meant little: they still happily adhered to the beliefs of their ancient forefathers.

  “How do you know so much about it?” I asked.

  There was a pause before he answered. “I was born in Poland,” he said, “but grew up in southern Lithuania, where my father served as a soldier, protecting the border from Tatars.” A tight note entered his voice as he continued to gaze at the bonfire. I wanted to know more, but the look in his eyes was faraway and withdrawn. I sensed an invisible barrier between us.

  “It sounds like the young king tolerates these beliefs,” I said instead.

  Zaremba cleared his throat, his eyes focusing again. “He ignores them. He abhors c
onfrontation, and that includes in the religious sphere. As a result, the court in Vilnius attracts many who flee persecution for not adhering to orthodoxy in places like Muscovy.”

  I cast my mind back to the multinational, multilingual court at Wawel in my youth. Like father, like son. Except in one thing: the young Zygmunt’s decision to follow his heart rather than political calculation in the choice of a woman to share his life.

  “Liberty of worship is a farsighted policy, for it protects the realm from being weakened by internal strife.” He turned to me. “Though some believe that external threats to our security weigh much less on our grand duke,” he added.

  The glow of the fire sharpened the contours of his face and smoothed out the lines, showing how handsome Zaremba must have been when he was younger. Alone with me, he proved himself knowledgeable and well-spoken, different from the officious, at times gruff military man who rode by our carriage during the day. I was right in guessing that I could learn more from him.

  “Are you referring to the rumors of his marriage plans to Barbara Radziwiłł?” I asked cautiously. I did not know how much he knew about my mission.

  “I am. Some say it’s love, others an act of rebellion against his mother. But whatever the case, it will bring no good. A marriage like that would divide us in a way the religious conflicts have failed to do, for it would force the nobility of both nations to take sides.”

  “So you think there will be a wedding?” I prodded, still trying to sound casual. The worshippers across the field had now moved away from the fire and encircled the oak, raising flat vessels similar to plates aloft in a gesture that appeared to mimic an offering.

  “He has mentioned it to his advisors,” Zaremba said. Then he added, with a slight shrug of his arms, “but I don’t believe he has taken any steps yet.”

  His words confirmed what Maria had told me a few days earlier—that the king had been confiding in his trusted men and buying their support. But trust was a scarce commodity at court, so it was no wonder word had already reached Bona. I understood now that her fears were justified, and the weight of my mission felt heavier on me than ever.

  “It’s a shame the relations between the queen and her son are so strained on account of this affair,” I said.

  “They were already strained by the time she learned of it.” He hesitated, and I wondered if he wished to abandon the subject. But before I could speak, he continued. “They began to deteriorate fast when the idea of handing over the administration of Lithuania to the young king was first raised. It was a move his father wanted, on account of his frail health, but his mother opposed.” Zaremba lowered his voice, although the peasants were too far away to overhear us and were now chanting a tune, apparently oblivious to anything outside their own circle.

  “She opposed it because it would have meant sharing power, even if it was with her own son,” I said, grasping Bona’s motivations immediately.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him studying me, and I knew that his curiosity was piqued. “That’s correct. She was right about that, too. He won’t allow her to interfere in the duchy’s affairs any longer, even though she has extensive possessions here.” He swept an arm out. “Ten years ago, she was the power in Lithuania, even more so than her husband. Now she has no say.” He shook his head. “I don’t think anybody expected that this is how he would throw off the yoke of maternal love.”

  The bonfire was dying, and the cloaked figures began to disperse. The rite was over. A chill crept into the air as the heat of the fire lessened and darkness enveloped us. We turned toward the house, where the only light came from the kitchen area. It was dim, suggesting that the servants had retired and left only one oven burning overnight.

  “You said the nobility will be forced to take sides if an engagement is announced.” I returned to the topic that was at the heart of my mission as we began crossing the darkened lawn.

  “Some already have—the Radziwiłłs, of course, who also supported the investiture of young Zygmunt as grand duke against Her Majesty’s wishes.”

  I fought a sudden urge to ask Zaremba to come to the kitchen with me and have a cup of wine or that delicious pear cider we had drunk at supper. But it would have been an unseemly invitation from a woman, especially a married one. I wondered if he was married, too.

  “The key?” I was jolted out of my thoughts by Zaremba stretching out an open palm toward me.

  My face crumpled. “I forgot.” Mortified, I silently cursed myself: there were spare keys on a peg by the door. Now the servants had gone to bed, and we were locked out. What were we going to do?

  Zaremba frowned, as if remembering something. His hand went to his pocket, patting it. “Oh, never mind.” His face broke into a smile. “I have it. The steward gave me one when we arrived, just in case,” he added sheepishly.

  He stepped ahead of me, pulling the key out of his pocket, and I raised my lantern to shed more light on the doorway. He bent down for a brief moment, as if to adjust a buckle of his boots, then inserted the key in the lock. He tried a few times to turn it, then grunted. “It’s stuck. The key must be new and untested.” He looked over his broad shoulder at me, his face apologetic.

  I moved closer with the lantern, but he held out his arm. “It’s all right. I can see.”

  “Should we wake the servants?” I asked anxiously.

  “No need,” he said through clenched teeth as he wiggled the key again. “I can manage.” He leaned forward and applied force, using both hands now.

  After a minute, I grew worried again. “Perhaps it’s the lock?”

  He shook his head and gave it another twist. I heard an audible click. He exhaled. “There.” His breath came faster now. “Done.” He returned the key to his pocket and pushed the door open.

  Inside the hall, he turned to me with an air of someone ready to take his leave, but I forestalled him. “Who else is likely to side with the king?”

  Zaremba looked amused. “You ask a lot of questions, signora.” Before I could find a suitable reply, he added, “Her Majesty instructed me to provide any information you need. Anything that helps you accomplish your mission.” So he did know. “Unfortunately, nobody has the answer to that.”

  I felt a stab of disappointment. He must have noticed, for he said, “I shouldn’t be surprised if Chancellor Maciejowski did, however.”

  I inhaled sharply. If Maciejowski backed the young king, then Hetman Tarnowski would almost certainly follow suit. The most powerful men in Poland after the two Zygmunts allied against Queen Bona.

  She was indeed alone. And when her husband died, she would be powerless.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sunday, September 6th, 1545

  We arrived in Vilnius shortly before noon after eight days on the road. The city greeted us with an overcast sky hovering over a warm late summer day.

  Entering through one of the southern gates, we proceeded directly toward the ducal palace. The capital of the Grand Duchy was smaller than Kraków, and more of its houses were built of wood, but many looked new. There was much construction going on, some of it in stone. It also had wider streets that were easier to negotiate, even though a recent rainstorm had left them as uneven and muddy as their Polish counterparts under similar conditions. Overall, Vilnius had the appearance of a city in transition, suspended between the old and the new, with a whiff of promise yet to be fully realized.

  After about a mile, the main street curved, and we emerged onto an even wider road. Zaremba leaned toward my widow, a smile curving his lips as if to impart that I was in for a surprise. He pointed ahead, and I leaned out to look, gasping at the view. It was quite impressive, even though the palace, a half-mile or so ahead of us, was not nearly as large as Wawel. But it was less a jumble of styles than the royal castle in Kraków; in fact, the three-story structure had an elegant and harmonious look to it that Wawel lacked. That and the gray color of its stone, a deep steely hue that suggested less weathering, told me that it was built more recent
ly. Beyond and to the right of the palace, an older-looking defensive complex, walled and surrounded by brick towers, stood on a small hill.

  Zaremba must have followed my gaze, for I heard him explain, “The Upper Castle was built by Duke Gediminas some centuries past. The dukes of Lithuania resided there before the dynastic union with Poland.”

  Across from me, Maria d’Aragona chuckled. “Pan Jakub was a competent escort on the road, and he’s an equally competent guide through Vilnius.”

  “We were lucky that the journey passed without incident,” Zaremba said modestly.

  “I have been to Vilnius before, too, you know.” The marchesa pouted, but her eyes flickered with mirth and mischief. “Though I can see why Pani Caterina would rather be shown around by a seasoned courtier and soldier such as yourself.”

  My cheeks warming, I cast about for a riposte, while Zaremba laughed his soft, deep laugh that I had come to like. A droll note crept into his voice as he played along with Maria’s joke. “And that there is the cathedral”—he pointed west with an exaggerated flourish—“and the statue of Vytautas the Great nearby.”

  I slid down the bench, a bit too hastily. Maria remained where she was, still grinning widely, but Giulio followed me, and we stuck our heads out the other side of the carriage. We were still playfully jostling for space when a sizable church came into view. Across from its entrance was a tall, narrow belfry whose bells were summoning the faithful to High Mass. The scaffolding wrapped around two sides of the cathedral proclaimed that it was under renovation.