by P K Adams
That, too, I already knew. Having it thus confirmed by Konarski made me wonder again if the queen might not be right about Stempowski after all. Perhaps there was more to her suspicions than a desire for a political opponent’s downfall?
“So you see,” he went on, “whoever killed him did the chancellor a favor. I hope to God I am wrong, but he might just pin this on Maciek out of convenience.” There was a hardness in his voice, and a touch of bitterness. I had the sense that, competent and diplomatic though he was, Konarski did not like the scheming and the intrigues that were so much a part of life at the court. I was curious why he had come to serve in the first place. But it was a good career for a man from a noble family, who, as the youngest of three brothers, likely could not count on much in the way of land inheritance.
Still, I was dismayed. If he was right, Maciek’s fate was sealed. There was nothing either of us could do. But that did not mean that I should stop searching for the truth, especially now that nobody else seemed to be interested in finding it.
We reached the door to the queen’s garden, the bare branches of ivy coiling around it like gray snakes. Before Konarski opened it, we stood facing each other, our breaths steaming between us. The lantern cast a small circle of light, but beyond it a black and moonless night pressed in on us, unrelieved by the sound of birds or insects in the middle of the winter season. Even the wolf had stopped howling.
“None of it makes sense,” I said. “That cloaked figure—if, in fact, that was the killer—wandering around the servants’ quarters far from the scene of his crime . . . Why?”
“To make himself harder to recognize if he encountered anyone?”
“In that case, he is a nobleman.”
“Yes.”
“But if he had just killed a man, why not leave the castle, flee as far away as he could before the body was discovered? Why stay?”
Konarski lifted the lantern higher and the flame flickered, causing his face to swim in light and shadow. “Perhaps because he lives here.” He pointed with his chin toward the castle, and a shiver ran through my body again. But this time it was more than just the cold.
Chapter 7
December 30th, 1519
It was a court tradition to hold sanna—a sleigh ride along the river to the royal hunting lodge in Niepołomice—on the day before New Year’s Eve. It was the unofficial beginning of that celebration, but in the year 1519, it almost did not happen. For days it had looked like there would not be enough snow on the ground, but the thaw had come to an end that same evening we visited Maciek in the jail, and it snowed that night—a cold, hard type of snow, not abundant but compact enough to allow the sleighs to run smoothly.
King Zygmunt decided to hold another war council as the attack on the strongholds of the Teutonic Order was to start in a matter of weeks, and he called off his attendance. The queen joined him, and for a while it seemed like the ride would be cancelled after all. But the king proclaimed that tradition must be honored, the court deserved the entertainment, and the sanna would go on, albeit without the royal couple. Only the most essential staff and those attending the council were ordered to remain in the castle, and everyone else who wanted to go to Niepołomice was free to do so.
I never liked New Year’s Eve, with its sense of something passing, irrevocably ending, of time slipping from our grasp and taking away a part of ourselves as it floats into the dark gaping maw of the past. And, of course, that New Year’s season was marred by the still-unsolved murder of one of the courtiers. Few believed that a slow-witted servant was responsible for it, yet the investigation seemed to have stalled. The queen persisted in her belief that Chancellor Stempowski was involved and that he wanted to shut the case down, but she could offer no proof. Nor could I, for that matter.
With all that hanging over us, I was especially happy that the day was bright and sunny, the winter sky pale blue and cloudless after the snow. I took my seat in a four-person sleigh with Lucrezia, Helena, and Jan Dantyszek, who had jumped in at the last minute, having run down from the castle among the stragglers. I was disappointed, for I had hoped that Sebastian Konarski would show up, and I had kept the seat empty for as long as I could with vague excuses. I guessed that he had been held up on the king’s business, or the chancellor had called him to attend the council.
The sleigh was a large and sturdy vessel carved out of mature oak and painted elegant shining black, with gilded finishes around the edges and gilded knobs on the little doors on both sides. Four people could fit inside, facing each other in pairs, propped on soft cushions and with wool blankets piled on their knees. The ladies and I were wrapped in cloaks lined with marten fur, with fur hats on our heads and gloved hands in fur muffs. Dantyszek sat cavalierly with only a small feathered velvet cap on his head, the better to show off his wavy hair that shone golden where the sunlight touched it. But like us, he was wrapped in a thick cloak, which he informed us was bear fur from a beast he had slain himself.
It took a while for the sleighs to be tied together and prepared for departure, and as we waited, I took a flask filled with hot water mixed with raspberry syrup out of a leather pouch that servants had placed in each sleigh. I filled everyone’s cups, and between our wrappings, the sun, and the warming beverage, the cold was not so biting anymore; in fact, it was rather invigorating.
Finally, we moved, leaving behind the slanted roofs of the city with their gleaming red tiles. The stone walls of the castle seemed brighter in the sunlight, almost as white as the surrounding snow. The village of Niepołomice lies four leagues east of Kraków, and the journey took us along the winding riverbank. It was here, according to ancient lore, that smok wawelski, the mighty Dragon of Wawel Hill, had come to drink from the Wisła to quell a fire burning in his stomach. He had dwelled in a cave on the slope of the hill and terrorized citizens and peasants from the surrounding countryside until a clever cobbler came up with a plan to slay the beast.
To that end, he stitched together a calfskin which he had stuffed with meat and a mix of smoldering sulfur, tinder, tar, and pitch, and he laid it outside the cave like an offering. When the hungry dragon next came out, he swallowed the calfskin whole, and soon an inferno was raging in his belly. Unable to quench his thirst no matter how much water he drank from the river, the dragon died breathing fire from his mouth, and the city was saved.
Some think it a legend, but others believe that a creature like that had indeed lived many centuries earlier when Kraków had just been founded. Whatever the case, the riverbank looked quiet and pristine now, its snow sparkling in the sun as if it had been dusted with crushed diamonds.
How different it was from its midsummer aspect, when townsfolk and courtiers had come out to sing and dance on its lush grass speckled with violets, dandelions, and clover. The maids of honor had made garlands of daisies and persuaded me to wear one. “You look so young, Donna Caterina!” they exclaimed when I took off my headdress and cap and pulled out the pins that held up my hair. The garland sat like a cool fragrant cloud around my head, and I did feel like a girl again, in fact, the lightness of it lifting the burden of my present life off my shoulders, if only for one afternoon. “Someone who didn’t know you would think you one of us!” They laughed.
I laughed too, casting a discreet glance at a nearby archery target. There, contestants were preparing for the competition, and Helena was among them. Zamborski stood in line as well, but my attention was attracted by a dark-haired man with an air of quiet confidence about him, without the cockiness or the aggressive loudness of the other men. That man was Konarski, as I would soon find out. He was not the biggest of them all, but his figure was lithe and his movements quick and precise. He made it look easy, whereas the others strained, the veins in their necks bulging. And he won the contest, besting Helena and Zamborski—in that order. A little later, as I congratulated Helena on her second place, he happened to walk by. I congratulated him on the win, and he bowed and introduced himself. That was the first time we had sp
oken. I hoped to see him again after that, but as the dusk fell and the bonfires were lit, he disappeared. We went down to the river to sing and float the garlands at sunset, a beautiful ceremony punctured, for me, by a faint sense of disappointment.
After that day, I only saw him a few times in the banqueting hall on big court occasions. He always acknowledged me with a nod, but we never exchanged any other words. How strangely ironic that it was only this terrible event of the Christmas night that had brought us closer together.
Now those lively images of the summertime faded from before my eyes, replaced once more by the peaceful gleaming blanket of whiteness, and I began to be aware of Dantyszek flirting with Lucrezia. He was leaning over to her side so that their shoulders brushed, and he was pointing out tracks on the ground, pronouncing which animals they belonged to.
Next to me Helena sat quietly, gazing into the distance. I thought she looked better than the other day, although that may have just been the cold giving her cheeks a faint pink color. Only once did her eyes turn to the couple opposite us. Lucrezia dropped her gaze in feigned modesty when Dantyszek, his voice low and throaty, stated that her eyes were shining like two black coals. A small smirk, almost of pity, lifted one corner of Helena’s lips.
I was still stuck on trying to remember whether coal did in fact shine, when Helena’s voice broke through some new nonsense Dantyszek had come up with. “Panie Jan,” she said in a similarly low and breathy voice, a mix of subtle seduction and not-so-subtle mockery that made me lift my hand to my mouth to hide a smile. “I was sorry to hear about the death of Kasper Zamborski. I understand you were friends.”
Dantyszek broke off in the middle of a sentence, blinking. “Yes, it was quite unfortunate and tragic,” he mumbled. “He is sorely missed.” Anyone could tell that Zamborski’s murder was one of the farthest things from his mind at that moment.
He began to return his attention to Lucrezia, then Helena asked again, “Do you think it is true what they say that he was killed by an irate husband who had found himself a cuckold?”
I stifled a gasp as Lucrezia rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “Must we talk about such awful things on this beautiful morning of the sanna?” she complained, her tone whining. “We are here to have a good time, aren’t we?” She looked eagerly to Dantyszek for confirmation.
A ghost of another smile touched Helena’s lips, but she did not even glance at Lucrezia; she kept her eyes fastened on her companion, demanding an answer.
Dantyszek frowned. “That is not an altogether unreasonable assumption.” He chuckled. “He did like the fairer sex,” he added, sending Lucrezia a smoldering look that made her giggle.
I thought their behavior was rather tasteless, and I began to feel irritated. I would have to have a talk with Lucrezia tonight.
“If that is so, are you not worried that other members of your little society are in danger?” Helena pressed.
Dantyszek’s smile faded. I know I should have scolded her for such a disrespectful question, the mockery and the very subject were unbecoming of a young lady, but a part of me was curious to hear his answer.
For some moments, his face was inscrutable. I was not sure if he was angry, offended, or confused, for his courtier’s training did not allow him to show emotions he did not want to share. Then he laughed his usual charming laugh, in full control again. “Panna Helena has a very active imagination for one so young,” he said, still smiling, his eyes swiveling in my direction as if to underscore what his tone had already made clear—namely that imagination was not a desirable or attractive quality in a lady.
“It is better to have an overactive imagination than none at all,” she replied before I could think of how to put an end to this conversation.
Dantyszek’s face became a blank mask again. Next to him, Lucrezia laughed her toothy, high-pitched laughter, which she often did when she was nervous. “It is a sentiment that is difficult to argue with,” he said at length, but I could see that Helena’s retort had left him rattled. He must have had a very high opinion of himself and did not suffer humiliation, especially from a woman. “But to answer your question,” he added to dispel the negative impression, “no, I am not concerned. The harmless pastimes our members indulge in are not worth damning one’s immortal soul.”
Helena did not reply, her sea-green eyes turning back toward the river that was passing us on the right. The Wisła flowed slow and stately, belying the strong currents underneath its placid, gently shimmering surface. Each summer, those unseen and treacherous vortices claimed the lives of pages, servants, and young farmers who ventured into it in search of an outdoor pastime or respite from the heat. I recalled Helena once telling me that she was a swimmer too, an astonishing and unheard-of skill in a woman. She used to swim in the ponds on her father’s estate in Baranów, and she had told me that she would love to go for a swim in the Wisła if I ever gave her the permission to do so. I had no intention of doing that, of course. It was not an appropriate activity for a lady, requiring as it did the stripping to one’s undergarments; but equally, I would be too afraid for her to set foot in those benign-looking waters that were, in fact, deadly.
In the sleigh, there was an uncomfortable silence for a while, then Dantyszek reached into the folds of his heavy cloak and pulled out a flask. He poured the spirit into each of our cups, and Lucrezia and I drank from ours eagerly as soon as he filled them. Helena never touched hers.
Lucrezia and Dantyszek tried to resume their earlier banter, but the mood was soured, and by the time we arrived at our destination, nobody was talking.
The lodge was in a river valley close to the dense forests abounding in a variety of stag, as well as boar, rabbits, foxes, and numerous species of birds. It had been built there by the last king of the Piast dynasty due to the valley’s proximity to the rich hunting grounds, but its three crenellated towers with arrow slits testified to a defensive purpose as well. The lodge was currently being renovated by King Zygmunt. A new courtyard surrounded by balconies crowned with round arches was nearly complete, and it bore an uncanny resemblance to Wawel, though on a far smaller scale. But its chambers could not be more different in their austerity; they were paneled in dark wood, with no gilding or tapestries, and had small windows. Ancient bows, crossbows, spears, and shields were displayed along the walls and above the hearths.
With those hunting implements glinting around us in the firelight, we ate a meal in the great hall—deliciously rustic fare of wine-colored borscht, wheat and onion dumplings, roasted boar, and more venison. To my relief and to Lucrezia’s visible disappointment, Dantyszek sat with the other young men at the far end of the long table, where the mood soon became boisterous and where the servants refilling the cups were the busiest. Afterward the group decided to take advantage of the fine weather and stay behind to hunt for partridges, though with the amount of ale in them, I had little fear for the birds’ safety.
Still, that required a few of the sleighs to be left behind to bring them back later. As a result, those who had ridden in them but were returning to Wawel had to find spots in other sleighs. That was how we ended up with Don Mantovano, the queen’s secretary.
“I thought you had gone to the war council, signore,” I said, for I had genuinely not noticed him before.
“Her Majesty only requested Signori Carmignano and Gamrat to accompany her today,” he replied sourly. “She told me to go on the sanna and get some air.”
I regarded his face, even paler than usual in the bright light. He squinted against it fiercely, and I could see why. I smiled, trying to make it as welcoming as I could—for I would have preferred to return with just the two girls in the sleigh—as he settled himself next to Lucrezia. From his glum expression, it was hard to deduce if he was glad to be going with us or not. Probably the latter.
As we set out on the return trip, I was overcome by that pleasant languor that comes from consuming rich food and drinking ale, even though I’d only had one small mug at the lo
dge. But we had barely cleared the forest and emerged onto the open road alongside the river when Lucrezia began to flirt with Mantovano. I observed it lazily, for I knew that this time it was less from any true attraction than from her irritation with Dantyszek’s decision to stay behind, and possibly also a desire to amuse herself at the hapless secretary’s expense.
Soon, her amusement was all too evident as Mantovano grew more and more uncomfortable. I saw him cast furtive glances at Helena, who thus far had completely ignored him. I did not think she had looked at him once, and I wondered what he wanted with her. Perhaps, given her indifference and aloofness, she was the type of woman next to whom he would have preferred to sit and be left alone. But we were already moving, so he was forced to listen to Lucrezia’s chatter and endure her gloved hand on his arm, which he did with the expression of someone who had swallowed something bitter.
I am ashamed to admit it, but I found it amusing too. After a while I took pity on him. “Have you enjoyed your day so far, signore?” I asked to extract him out of what he must have considered the oppression of Lucrezia’s attention.
“Abbastanza,” he said. Enough. Nonetheless, he sent me a grateful look. “What about you, ladies?” He glanced at Helena again to include her in the query.
“I don’t think we could have asked for a more beautiful day for the sanna,” I said, and I meant it. It was now the middle of the afternoon, the wind had died down, and the sun, unobstructed by a cloud, sent sufficient warmth to make me comfortable and cozy under the blankets that covered my lap.