Secular Wizard

Chapter 17

Matt found his way back to his garret, and found it stifling hot. It seemed that all the heat of the whole castle had risen to this one little space under the eaves. The tiny window was open, with Pascal sitting by it stripped to the waist and sweating buckets. He was staring out at the sunset with so dejected a look that it could have set an example for all bloodhounds. Matt closed the door gently, then sat down across from him and a little way back. After a while Pascal said, “You need not be silent, friend Matthew. This is not a funeral.”

Isn’t it? Matt wondered. “You were in time, then?”

“In time for what?” Pascal said impatiently. “In time to meet Flaminia? Yes, for the servant girl contrived to bring her down to the hall, with two of the other… handmaidens to accompany her. They were most beautiful,” he added as an afterthought. But not beautiful enough to distract him from Flaminia, or ease his current depression? Matt frowned, puzzled. “You spoke with her? She hasn’t been… harmed?”

“Nor bedded by the king? No, though he may choose to sample her delights this very night.” Pascal shuddered.

“So we’re in time to save her from a fate worse than death?”

“Yes,” Pascal said, “if she wants to be saved.”

Matt stared. “You don’t mean she likes the idea of becoming one of the king’s concubines?”

“No, she assured me of that.”

Matt waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he prodded. “You didn’t believe her?”

“Well, let us say that she spoke with no great amount of conviction.”

Matt frowned. “She doesn’t figure it’s her duty to her country or anything like that, does she?”

“No, but she was fairly bursting with excitement about all the delights of the women’s quarter. She has taken a perfumed bath and is now clothed in silks. She is learning to paint her face, and finds the company of the other women… congenial.”

“Dazzled,” Matt interpreted. “The other girls don’t see her as competition?”

“They have at the least been most friendly, and are all beautiful” Pascal caught his breath, then said, “Very beautiful.”

“So she’s flattered just to be in there with them.” Matt found himself wondering why Flaminia was there-she wasn’t exactly a raving beauty herself. It must have been her figure, and the way she moved, and the air of sensuality she exuded… Yes, come to think of it, he could understand why the sorcerer had picked her to take home for Boncorro. He wondered if the king would. “The other women are happy about this, too?”

Most happy, as I have seen myself. They are peasant girls who have never have known such luxury as this, and might well have been compelled to wed men they did not love, by circumstance or by their fathers. This way, at least, their lover is handsome.

He said, with sarcasm, ”It would seem that none of them needs to be coerced to share a bed with our glorious lord and master the king!“

Matt couldn’t blame him for a bit of jealousy. “But aren’t they worried about what will happen to them when his Majesty tires of them at all, since it has already happened to a dozen of their fellows?”

“He sent them away with gold and jewels worth a small duchy. For peasants, they are wealthy. They had no trouble at all finding husbands, for they are beautiful, after all-and now had excellent dowries. In fact, the other girls say they lord it over their husbands, who dare not treat them harshly, for fear of the king.”

“You’re afraid for her, aren’t you?”

Pascal gave a short nod. “For her, and afraid of losing her.” He gave Matt a bleak smile. “Is that not amusing? I cannot properly say that I have her-yet I am nonetheless afraid of losing her! We have given one another no promises, we have not shared a bed-I have but dried her tears, and laughed and jested with her! Is it not amusing that I should be so smitten so quickly?”

“Yes, I’m just quaking with laughter,” Matt said dryly, “but that’s the way it happens sometimes. She isn’t definitely lost to you though.”

“No,” Pascal agreed, “but I fear that she will be, between the prattling of her newfound friends and the dazzle of finery. I fear that present luxury and future riches may gloss over and make her forget that there is yet something to be said for virtue, and for true love.”

Matt sat very still, waiting, not looking directly at Pascal. “Oh, yes, I told her that I love her, friend Matthew,” the young man said bitterly, “and her smile glowed, she clasped my hand more tightly for a moment, and assured me that she loved me in return.”

Matt watched him carefully. “That sounds like cause for rejoicing.”

“It might have been-indeed, my heart did leap with gladness-had she not begun to seem distracted within a few minutes. I spoke to her of escape, and she said that it was useless to try, for their quarter is heavily guarded and she did not wish to risk my going to prison, or worse.”

“You don’t believe that she was really concerned for you?”

“Oh, I suppose I do,” Pascal sighed, “but if she was truly unhappy where she was, or truly frightened at the thought of the king’s attentions, she would have been glad of my help and willing to risk all to escape.”

Matt tried to see it from Flaminia’s viewpoint for a minute. It wasn’t as if she would be losing her virginity, after all, and Boncorro was vastly more attractive than the young man who had seduced her first. In fact, the young king really was very handsome and exciting… But Matt was a man and never had been very good at understanding the feminine point of view. He was sure he did Flaminia an injustice. That she intended to enjoy the advantages of the king’s harem for a little while, he didn’t doubt-but actually having to go to bed with the king was another matter. Still, he knew just how difficult it could be to resist temptation… “I take it she has become an ardent fan of King Boncorro’s?”

“Aye,” Pascal said grimly. “I told her that risks mattered not when it was a question of her safety, but she told me that she was frightened for me and was sure that the king would not hurt her. I demanded to know what sort of paragon of virtue he was, and she proceeded to tell me.”

Matt squeezed his eyes shut in sympathetic pain. Nothing like singing the praises of the Other Man to the one who has just told you he’s in love with you. “She told you how handsome he is?”

“Not in detail, no-only that he is, and that all the other girls are besotted with him-there are one or two who even dare dream of becoming his queen-and that she felt quite sorry for them, for she knew they were doomed to heartbreak.”

Trying to remind herself, no doubt-but Matt knew a chance to gain information when he heard one. “How about whether or not he’s a good king? Or a good human being? Did she mention that?”

Pascal shrugged, exasperated. “How should she know?”

“Just gossip,” Matt said, “but gossip can tell you a lot, and she seems to have been hearing plenty of it. He sounds as if he’s charming, at least to his wench corps.” Of course, just having concubines was definitely wicked-but he did seem to treat them humanely, even with care and consideration. Matt knew, from his own brief encounter, that the man was charming and did seem to be trying to do right by his people, whatever his motives. But was he effective? “If he gives orders, are they obeyed?”

“Why, I should think we can say yes to that, simply from the changes we have seen ourselves, as we came through Latruria,” Pascal said, surprised. “Whether those changes are good or not is another matter.”

“So is their real source. I’ve heard of many kings who have really been just false fronts; it was their advisers who actually ran the country. But the only adviser I’ve seen so far is Chancellor Rebozo, although he doesn’t seem terribly evil, or terribly powerful. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be able to do much-he’s scared of the king.”

“It would seem that everyone is,” Pascal said slowly. “Flaminia did indeed say that King Boncorro does not issue edicts very often. but that when he does, no one dares disobey him.”

“Oh?” Matt sensed pay dirt. “I take it some of his concubines have tried?”

“No, but one or two have incurred his anger. Flaminia told me, as a jest, of one girl who tried to work magic upon the king, to warp him into being obsessed with her and with her alone-”

“Love philter.” Matt nodded. “Even a minstrel hears about that-constantly. I take it she didn’t succeed?”

Nay. The king knew in a moment what she was doing. Sharp pains racked her body; it was her screams that brought the other girls to see. But the torture lasted only a minute, perhaps less; then the king commanded her to drink the philter. She did, and dotes upon him still, so devotedly that she will do anything he says-even to escorting other women to his bedchamber.“

“You mean he humiliates her like that?” Matt said indignantly.

“No, but when another wench taxed her with it in jest, she said in all sincerity that she would do it”

“Okay, so he dominates his harem,” Matt said, numb. “How about his kingdom?”

Pascal shrugged. “The wenches have heard his chancellor arguing with him-for it is Rebozo who recruits virgins for him. The king did not argue, but only told the chancellor again and again what to do, and would not yield.”

“Odd to discuss affairs of state in the harem-or women’s quarters, I think you said they call it.”

“Perhaps not; the issue was the future of the first woman King Boncorro discarded. He instructed the chancellor to see to it that she was laden with gold and gems, then escorted in state to her home. Rebozo argued furiously, claiming that having been favored with the king’s attentions should be reward enough for any woman-but Boncorro was adamant.”

“So she was taken home in triumph?”

“Well, not at first. Rebozo sought to bundle her quietly out of the castle with nothing but the clothes on her back-but a spasm of agony seized him, and he ordered his men to fetch her gold and gems, and a palanquin. Then the pains stopped.”

Apparently, Flaminia had been a regular font of information. Matt could picture her, bubbling over to Pascal about this masculine paragon, her eyes alight with excitement-and he felt another stab of sympathetic pain. He tried to move the subject a little further from home. “Well, I gathered from my brief chat with him, that he’s been steadily putting economic reforms through, and apparently no one has successfully defied him. He does seem to be effective-especially if he can detect a love potion and induce pains in a seasoned sorcerer.”

Pascal stared. “The doxie who sought to entrap him was a sorcerer?”

“No, just a girl who knew a few simple spells,” Matt said impatiently, “or who had bought a potion from a village witch. I was talking about the chancellor.”

“He is a sorcerer?”

“I assume so, until I’m proved wrong. He’s old enough to be left over from King Maledicto’s administration, which would mean he would have had to be a sorcerer. It’s probably still a qualification for office.”

“Perhaps not. Flaminia says the king himself wields magic like a sword, but is no sorcerer.”

“He’s not?” Matt stared. “How would she know?”

“Gossip, again,” Pascal sighed. “The… experienced concubines say that a man will speak more than he intends when his head is on the pillow… afterward. The women may feel compelled to hold their tongues when speaking to those not of their number, but certainly feel no such reservations among themselves.”

“Well, this must be one thing the king doesn’t mind slipping out.” In fact, Matt found himself wondering if the king might be using his concubines as a way to plant rumors-surely an unworthy thought. But he remembered Boncorro’s insistence on not accepting either religion or wickedness, and decided the notion fit. “Where does he get his magical power, then?”

Pascal shrugged. “I suspect that only he knows. All he has told his doxies is that he does not truly comprehend the magic that he uses, but has only memorized words and gestures, then repeats them at need-but surely that is false.”

Matt could believe it, though, and the mere thought was enough to make his hair snap to attention. All Boncorro would have had to do was to watch sorcerers at work, then mimic what they had done-and remember which spell went with which effect. Could he have done that with good wizards, too? But where would he have seen any? Worse, if he didn’t really understand what he was doing, he could very easily make a mistake that could spell disaster. Matt shuddered and hoped the king had been lying to his concubine, as well as with her. “One way or another, he certainly seems to make sure people do what he wants-and if Rebozo really is as high-powered a sorcerer as I think he is, Boncorro must be a magical giant!” Either that, or Hell had its own reasons for keeping him on the throne. Hell, or Rebozo? “I think we’d better get you out of here,” Matt said.

“Not without Flaminia!”

“Yes, that’s what I had in mind.”

Pascal stared. “How will you manage that?”

“By taking a risk,” Matt said. “A risk for me, that is-shouldn’t be much hazard for the two of you.” After all, his hit-song spell had worked inside the castle, even though it was presumably saturated with sorcery. Either Boncorro or his chancellor knew him for what he was, or at least knew him for a wizard, so they wouldn’t be surprised if he worked magic within the castle. That might mean they were watching him, ready to pounce, but Pascal and Flaminia couldn’t be faulted for that. Of course, the sorcerer who had been trying to stop him from coming into Latruria, and trying to kill him once he was in, might not have been either king or chancellor, but someone else-say, the constable or lord marshal or such. Matt knew he had to keep an open mind about that, or he wouldn’t be suspecting everyone he met, which could be fatal in enemy territory. “It will make it easier if the two of you are together,” Matt said. “I’d rather make one rescue attempt than two. Can you get to Flaminia?”

“Aye; she and her fellows are to go into the town this afternoon, to procure more finery to bedeck them for the king.”

“A shopping trip?” Matt stared. “Isn’t the king worried that some of them might sneak off to meet lovers?”

Pascal shrugged. “I do not think he cares. Flaminia had heard that several of the wenches have lovers among the guards, and several more have lovers in the town. The king cares not who else enjoys their company, so long as they are there when he wants them.”

A most enlightened monarch-or one who was honest enough to admit he was running a brothel. Matt wondered if his spells included prophylactic incantations, to protect him from venereal diseases. “Makes it easier for him to dump them when he gets tired of them, huh?”

“Aye.” Pascal’s smile was sardonic. “They already have husbands waiting, in a way.”

Well, European peasant men had lived with the droit du seigneur for centuries, and had married anyway-not that they’d had much choice. “So we can just stroll out across the drawbridge and meet her in the garment district?”

Pascal nodded. “As simply as that.”

“How will you know where to find her?”

“I think that I can send word through my new friends in the servants’ hall,” Pascal said slowly. “There should be little hazard to them-though I should think they will expect my thanks to take a rather substantial form.”

Matt reached into his purse and handed him some substance. They were loitering, definitely with intent-just standing on the corner, waiting for the girls to go by-when a passing soldier noticed them and glared suspiciously. “He is glaring suspiciously,” Pascal said nervously. “He’s right, too,” Matt agreed, “but let’s try not to let him know that.” He slipped his lute around to the front and began to pluck the strings. “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” sounded a little odd without a banjo, but it did draw a crowd. Mollified, the soldier gave them one last glower, then went on his way. Pascal, never one to waste an opportunity, threw down his cap. Matt struck a final chord, and pennies spattered into the hat. Matt glanced around, didn’t see anything resembling a retinue, and sailed in on “Darling Corey.” The audience didn’t seem to know what “mash liquor” was, but they certainly seemed to catch the drift of the rest. But as he hit the last chorus, one of the listeners glanced up, then let out a whoop. “The king’s doxies!”

“Profit!” cried several voices, and the crowd suddenly diminished by half as shopkeepers ran to trot out their finest finery. Matt looked up and caught his breath. That definitely had to be the largest concentration of feminine pulchritude he had ever seen in one place at one time, even counting the beauty pageants on TV. There were at least twenty girls, all of them in their twenties, every single one of them stunningly beautiful. These doxies may not have been without smocksies, but they certainly gave the impression that they were. There wasn’t all that much naked skin showing, really-only a plunging neckline here and a bare midriff there-but the cut of the clothes, and the way the girls moved in them, certainly gave the impression that you were seeing every iota of the woman’s charms, at the same time as it made you frantic to see the rest. Matt decided the garments must have been enchanted. They swept by in a cloud of perfume that dazzled the senses, and left Matt throbbing with desire. It must have been laden with pheromones-or charmed to charm. Of course, the two possibilities were entirely compatible-sorcerers and wizards only specified end results, not ways and means. A vagrant touch of sanity managed to push through Matt’s miasma of hormonal vapors-these girls might have been enchanting, but they also might have been enchanted. The king’s concubines swept by, chattering and laughing-but they left a bit of jetsam behind, a new face in the crowd, but one they knew well-Flaminia, eyes shining with the excitement of forbidden adventure. “Play for me, minstrel!”

Matt stared. If he looked at her coldly and objectively, he would still have to say she was no raving beauty-but looking at her coldly and objectively was something he could no longer do. Whatever spell the sorcerers laid on the royal consorts, it was working overtime on Flaminia. Her eyes seemed to beckon, no, to pull; her smile made her lips seem more than enticing-compelling. Compelling all too well-Pascal was moving toward her with a fixed gaze and robotic step. Matt managed to catch him and steer him back toward guarding the hat, then struck the strings and began to sing.

He managed another verse, enjoining the crowd to forget they had ever seen Flaminia. Since they had to forget her, they drifted away, looking bored-which was just fine with Matt. Of course, that could have just been the effect of his singing, and the songs definitely lacked both character and action. The guards might just not have noticed she was missing yet. Matt wished he could be sure whether his magic was working or he was just having good luck. As the last listener turned his back, Matt slung his lute and grabbed Pascal before he could quite manage to catch Flaminia in an embrace that would have shamed a sumo wrestler. “Come on, let’s go!”

Flaminia looked definitely disappointed for the half second before Matt caught her wrist and yanked her along. He dragged the reluctant couple down the street and into the arcade he had checked out earlier. Keeping the two of them moving was a major task, since all they seemed to want to do was to stop in the middle of the street and grapple, and never mind who saw. But Matt did mind, and kept them in motion, even though he was right between them and they kept trying to reach around him to get at each other. In fact, they were growing frantic, and beginning to get angry, when Matt finally slung them into a shadowed alcove, panting. “Now! Go to it!”

They did, falling into one another’s arms with a fervor that made Matt long for Alisande, and the way they were groping each other with their mouths glued together certainly didn’t help his concentration. Even so, Matt raised his hands and chanted,

The combined form of the entwined lovers began to fade, then grew more vivid again. It began to fade again, but came back again-again and again, pulsing. No surprise. Matt could feel the Latrurian environment fighting his magic. In desperation, he sang the first thing that came to mind for young people:

It must have been the Latin that did it, for the resistance let go with a shock. There they were-and there they weren’t! Not quite instantaneously-they sort of did a fast fade, so there was no gun-shot crack of air rushing in to fill a sudden vacuum. Matt lowered his hands, relaxing-at least they shouldn’t have attracted any undue attention. Which made it all the more puzzling when the finger tapped his shoulder and a voice right behind him said, “Most neatly done. I could not have been more adroit myself.”

Matt froze. He knew that voice. Then, very slowly, he turned around. “Good afternoon, your Majesty.”