When the Saints

CHAPTER 40

Lubos started handing out tagged keys. Konrad had his own. He led Wulf upstairs and along the gallery to the royal chamber. It was large and luxurious enough to have a separate privy. The bed was also large and luxurious, but there was only one of it, which was to be expected. A bowl of water steamed on a marble-topped table.

The prince began hauling off his clothes. “You told me your preferences,” he said gruffly. “And, frankly, I’m too tired for games tonight.” His childish sneer showed for a moment. “I hope you aren’t worried about your reputation?”

“I have no reputation to worry about, sire.” Now Wulf could start to credit Darina’s claim that the royal debauchery was all pretense, but he wouldn’t let down his guard.

The door opened briefly to admit a young manservant, who hastened over to help the prince. No surprise that he was blessed with cherubic good looks.

“Ah, Nenad! I?(can manage. See if you can find anything to fit Sir Wulfgang.”

Nenad changed direction. He walked around Wulf, eyed him for height and scanned him from front, side, and back. Then, instead of heading for one of the cedar chests, which must hold clothes, he went out again, having not spoken a word and hardly even slowing down.

Stripped to the waist, Konrad went to the wash water. Eyeing his massive back and shoulders, Wulf decided that only sorcery would let him escape humiliation and possibly injury during tomorrow’s wrestling. By the time it was his turn at the basin, Nenad had returned with an armful of clothes, presumably looted from other guests. He had brought two or three of everything, and at least one of everything fit Wulf perfectly. The service at Kastan was impressive, a hint that Konrad’s judgment was more than skin deep. If he didn’t choose the menials himself, he had delegated the job to an aide who did it well.

When they went downstairs again, six tables in two rows of three were being loaded with food, and wine was flowing. Under the great chandeliers, Sir Wulfgang was meeting everyone, being told their names, bowing, bowing, bowing. His reenactment of Anton’s miraculous jump was described in detail, over and over. Mouthwatering odors left him relatively unmoved after his late dinner at Avlona, but it promoted salivation among hungry hunters, and very soon the party moved to the tables, where he found himself seated at the prince’s right hand. By then he was feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself. What should be a great honor was tasteless when it had been won by cheating.

During the meal, the hunt was described for the benefit of the ladies, and the prince pontificated on Julius Caesar, Bohemian dancing, and viniculture. Wulf knew enough about grapes to know that Konrad was talking nonsense there, and he suspected that Julius Caesar had never conquered Russia. No one commented, though. Servants kept bringing more food.

Sir Augustin Vila, who sat on the prince’s left and appeared to be a special crony, rose to propose a toast to the new master of horse, provoking loud cries for a speech. Wulf stood up, said a terse thank-you, and toasted the prince. A whiff of sorcery had made his wine much less potent than anyone else’s, but even so his head was starting to buzz. No one proposed the king’s health, but that would have been hypocritical. They all expected the old man’s death to bring them prosperity.

He took note of the men who seemed especially resentful of his sudden rise, and also the smiley ones, who might be more dangerous. He tried to analyze expressions-resentful, wistful, disgusted, envious, and so on-except that they kept changing.

If Konrad truly was a fraud as an orgiast, then at least some of these people must know it, so why were there no secret smirks to suggest that the new boy had a big disappointment coming? How many knew and were loyal enough to keep the secret? Could this be some sort of test? A leader normally expected his cronies to keep his shortcomings confidential. Konrad seemed to be running a reverse deception.

Whatever the rules, the path to acceptance was to pretend to enjoy the game.

Eventually the servants were chased away and the doors locked. Quickly the rugs were heaped into one thick pile and all the seats and couches rearranged in a circle around it. Foreplay began almost immediately. Konrad settled on a sofa to watch, and Wulf sat next him, hoping that this was the safest place to be.

Soon a half-naked Pavel set off up the stairs carrying a wholly naked girl, who squealed and struggled and giggled. The onlookers jeered and shouted “Shy!” as they vanished into a bedroom. Several couples were down on the rugs.

The prince rose and stretched. “I am fatigued,” he announced. “You will excuse me if I retire early?”

Wulf leaped up eagerly. “So am I, sire!” he declared. “Absolutely exhausted. I’ll come with you so I don’t waken you later.”

He glanced swiftly around the faces, but again learned nothing-courtiers made a living out of being inscrutable. He followed the prince upstairs. The others carried on with what they were doing.

Wulf bolted the door. In the light of only four candles and the fire, the big room was dim, but warm. The bed had been turned down on both sides and two silk nightshirts laid out. An ankle-length nightshirt seemed an odd choice of garment if there was seduction planned. Wulf had never worn one, but he certainly intended to do so now.

Konrad chose one side, Wulf went to the other. Last week he had been a varlet sharing a bed with his brother in a garret in Lower Mauvnik, tonight he would sleep beside next month’s king in a bed eight times the size.

“None of my randy friends appeal to you?” the prince remarked as he undressed.

“They might have done a month ago, sire. Or maybe next year. Not while my heart is pledged.”

The candles were extinguished, bed curtains drawn. Wulf lay on his back and waited to find out what would come next. He suspected that Konrad, having been tweaked to trust his new friend, was ready to make confession, and would feel happier doing so in pitch darkness. The room was not quite silent. The fire crackled, and the wildlife downstairs periodically booed, cheered, or chorused, “Shy! Shy!”

“How many brothers?”

“Four. I am the youngest of five.”

“You were lucky. I had two brothers, but only Laima and I survived.”

“There were times when four brothers felt like four too many, but now I do agree with you. I was lucky.”

“Only Laima,” Konrad murmured.

Wulf felt guilty that he had never wondered how the prince and princess felt about each other. Were they close or did they fight? Did he want her to be happy or to remain a permanent spinster? Live close or move far away? Did he see her as only a political bargaining chip, as so many royal families saw daughters, or did he love her?

Silence… Then, “Why? Tell me why they want to depose me? Is it this? These parties?”

“I expect that’s some of it, sire.”

Konrad snorted. “I know it is. It’s meant to be! I groped a girl when I was fifteen. She tattled and Grandsire ripped me to shreds. He made me promise to stay away from girls, so I started chasing boys instead.” Snigger. “He went utterly rabid! It sort of grew from there.”

And so did his confession. Once started, he seemed unable to stop. He told what it had been like to survive the smallpox that had wiped out the entire royal family, other than the king himself and two infant grandchildren; what it was like to grow up despised for being scarred and ugly when the beautiful sons had died; how he had been reared by a procession of nuns and priests who tried to twist him to suit their own political ends. Courtiers were self-seeking, as were their children, who should have been his friends. Obviously he had never found anyone to look up to, and never had there been anyone he could completely trust-until now. Having found a truly reliable confidant, he poured out all his woes until he was almost sobbing.

Wulf had got what he wanted and hated it. He knew his work had barely begun, and he must stay around for years to keep the puppet dancing on his string. It had been far too easy! Officially it was Darina’s job to stop this sort of treachery. By rights, she should take note of any new friends he acquired, especially any with haloes, and even any sudden changes in his opinions. She should report problems to the Saints. If the Saints were anything like a workadays’ guild, they would aid their own. Lady Umbral would see to the matter.

But Konrad was not Darina’s client, Zdenek was. In Wulf’s case, Darina had set up the treason herself. So would Zdenek allow the “education” to continue, or would he stop it? Wulf was still sailing between the clashing rocks, for he must outwit and deceive one of the cardinals, either Zdenek or d’Estouteville.

“So what do I do?” the prince whimpered.

Last night Wulf had joked about running the country and already he was veering close to that precipice. “It is not up to me to advise you, sire.”

“Yes it is. No one else dares speak plainly to me. Counsel me, Master of Horse.”

The simplest advice would be: Make some allies, idiot! You have antagonized everyone in the realm. A prince should have learned that much at his mother’s knee, but Konrad had been a third son, so no one had bothered, until it was too late and there was no one to teach him except a distant at a distnd embittered grandfather.

“I suggest you start by getting the Church on your side. As soon as your honored grandfather is called to his reward, announce an enormous endowment in his name-a cathedral or monastery, perhaps. The bishops will keep you in power until it’s finished! Promise more to come. Ban all festivities during official mourning. Include your own parties and make sure everyone knows that. If the clergy support you, the nobles will be much more hesitant to oppose you. Moreover, if you will excuse my presumption even farther, your position would be a lot stronger if you produced an heir to put the evil talk to rest. Call Princess Olga back to court. ” Tweak!

“Bah! She’s cold as an icicle.”

Not according to Darina, but only fools would believe everything she said.

“That won’t stop her conceiving.” With a silent prayer for forgiveness, Wulf put it in terms the prince might understand: “Work her hard every night! She’ll soon learn to enjoy it. When you’ve gone a full month without being turned down, you’ll know that you have gotten her with child.” So Anton had told him once.

“And that’s it? That’s the only reason they hate me?”

He sounded like a hugely overgrown child, bewildered by grown-ups.

“You also get blamed for the Boundary Stone War. People whisper that you talked your grandfather into it.”

“So I did, but if he’d let me lead it as I wanted to, then it wouldn’t have been such a disaster!”

That sounded like absurd childish dreaming, but the letters Vlad had written from captivity had described incredible incompetence among the Jorgarian leaders, most of whom had shown just enough sense to die in battle instead of coming home to be put on trial. Perhaps the prince would have done no worse, although it was hard to imagine that boyish treble shouting orders. At least he would not have to defend his kingdom from a Pomeranian attack any time soon, thanks to Wulf.

“Laima?” Konrad said. “You seem to have a ready opinion on everything. You really think she’s part of this plot you suspect?”

“I have no idea what her views are. But if things go as far as assassination, then she will be your heir and have no choice in the matter. Is she likely to support such a conspiracy?”

“Never! We’re very close. She disapproves of a lot of my friends, but she would never, never, never want to see me killed!”

“That’s good.” Wulf hoped it was also true. Konrad might believe anything he wanted to believe-which would make Wulf’s own job easier as long as he could keep the prince’s ear. “Then let’s worry abou; s worryt deposition. If you were to be set aside, whether by palace coup or armed rebellion, then your brother-in-law would have a strong claim to the crown matrimonial. He would have to win the trust of the nobility. So your choice of a husband for your sister may carry a lot of weight in deciding your own future.”

At last they were getting close to Wulf’s problem. A burst of cheering from downstairs was more likely related to the progress of the orgy.

“If you mean,” Konrad growled with unexpected vehemence, “that I should marry Laima off to some misshapen dwarf who slobbers when he talks, then you can go jump your horse off another cliff. I’ve heard rumors about the toads Zdenek has been dredging out of the swamps. Not that he ever talks to me. Or listens to me. I think he’s going to fake Grandsire’s name on a marriage contract so I don’t even have a say.”

He was right, but Wulf was not supposed to know that.

“Unless he acts very quickly, the choice will be yours. Choose some healthy young nobleman. Someone she will like and wil l come to love, and who will love her as she deserves. But not a prince! You don’t want your kingdom entangled in foreign alliances. Best of all, someone who lives far away won’t get caught up in local conspiracies.” Someone like Louis of Rouen, for example, except that Louis was offering to move to Jorgary instead of having his wife move to France.

Rhythmic clapping from downstairs must mean that someone was putting on a superior performance.

“I’ll sleep on it.” The bed roiled as the prince turned over.

Wulf murmured agreement. That had certainly been the hardest negotiating session of his life so far, and he was glad his liege lord had chosen to conduct it in the dark.

He had never met anyone like Konrad-built like a bull, born to the purple, raised on royal jelly, yet still only a child. His sense of humor belonged in privies and bawdy houses. All his life people had agreed with his opinions, laughed at his jokes, and allowed him to choose the games to be played, the topics to be discussed. No one ever dared contradict him. Very soon now he would inherit one of the oldest thrones in Christendom.

Yet Wulf had caught glimpses of something more. There was hope.