When the Saints

CHAPTER 41

Before dawn, Wulf was wakened by a hard kick in the back and a command to fetch Nenad. He fought his way out of the billowy feather mattress and sweet dreams of Madlenka, with no help at all from the entangling silk nightgown.

“Where do I find him, sire?”

“Outside, of course.”

Yes, the cherubic valet lay snoring on a pallet right outside the door. The? hall below was littered with discarded clothes, but there were no bodies in sight. Already fully dressed but understandably rumpled and bleary-eyed, Nenad attended his master and was told to produce hot water, wine, and the two drumsticks he had been ordered to save from last night’s roast geese; horses to be ready at the door in fifteen minutes. Wrestling was not on the agenda, apparently. Immediate return to Mauvnik was.

The valet’s efficiency was incredible. In moments he was shaving the prince and had returned Wulf’s Italian finery, washed and ironed and smelling pleasantly of wood smoke from the fire that had dried it. Meanwhile the lodge resounded with bellows of anger as the guests fought to find their own clothes and take turns with the chamber pots.

Princes wait on no man. It was very little more than fifteen minutes before Konrad ran down the long stair and out into the first flat light from a sky the color of duck eggs. He was freshly shaved, fed, and dressed in finely laundered hunter’s green. Nobody else was. He had enjoyed a full night’s sleep, too.

He caught Wulf’s arm as their horses were being led forward. “We can talk more back in Mauvnik. I’ve made you unpopular enough already. Watch your back from now on.” Then louder: “Pavel! You ride with me. And Juraj, you great pervert. I want to hear who was doing what to whom last night. Which girl was screaming?”

Wulf found himself alone, wondering how literally Konrad had meant the warning. Were any of these baby-faced parasites capable of sticking a knife in him?

“May I ride with you, Sir Wulfgang?” inquired the buck-toothed Lubos.

“I would be honored, my lord.”

As the cavalcade streamed off down the road with half the riders still dressing, Lubos opened the interrogation. “I trust you slept well, Sir Wulfgang?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“Eventually?”

“His Highness talked a lot.”

“Ah.” Lubos smiled cryptically at his horse’s ears. “How do you fancy your chances on the mat with him?”

“Those shoulders terrify me.”

That began about three hours of conversation, none of which made any sense. Wulf was partnered with a dozen different people in turn, even a couple of the very few women whose palfreys were capable of matching the prince’s frantic pace. Half the guests dropped out. At one point the new master of horse had to ride forward to warn Konrad that he was damaging some of his guards’ mounts. Konrad pouted, but did rein in the black super-horse he was riding. By the time the hunt thundered through the palace gates, the courtiers knew everything there was to be known about Wulfgang Magnus, which was effectively nothing, and he had learnehe had ld more about them than they had guessed or he had ever wanted to know.

As they entered the palace, Konrad grasped his arm in an oversized fist. “To the mat! I want to see how far I can throw you. After that-hot bath, dinner, and then we’ll beard the Spider in his web, mm?” He stormed along the hall at a pace Wulf’s longer legs could barely match.

How many hours left until Cardinal d’Estouteville’s deadline? Wulf’s impatience was scratching like a hair shirt. Zdenek was already in his office. He had a pile of papers on his lap and was discussing them with Brother Daniel, a different Brother Daniel.

“Now might be a good time to catch His Eminence before the crowds… I mean, a good time to catch him, sire.” Even the cardinal would not make the crown prince cool his heels in the anteroom.

Wulf had not made his remark a tweak, at least not deliberately, so he was surprised when the prince agreed. Perhaps he was trained like a hound already, eager to obey his master’s wishes.

“Let’s go and see.” Konrad took the grand staircase at a run, with his cronies trailing behind him. Servants and courtiers hastily cleared out of his path and bowed after he had already gone by. Wulf did not suggest that more royal decorum would be in order. He had tweaked and nagged far too much already, and a show of youthful energy might be just what Jorgary needed after Konrad V’s long decline.

Even on a Sunday, the cardinal’s big anteroom held a couple of dozen petitioners. The friar guarding the door looked up in astonishment at the army of green-clad hunters bearing down on him. Then he recognized the leader and sprang to his feet.

“I shall inform His Eminence of your arrival immediately, sire.”

“Or sooner,” Konrad remarked cheerfully, but he did come to a halt. His train caught up with him and gathered around, grinning and, in some cases, puffing.

In his office, Zdenek looked up from his papers with the start of an angry protest, but then nodded and laid his work aside.

“Your Highness, His Eminence will receive you now…”

Konrad took one step before his nerve failed him, and he gestured for Wulf to accompany him. Wulf did, aware that every one of the dozen men he was leaving was mentally measuring him for a coffin. He had stolen the sun from their sky, cut the ground from under their fancy shoes. They must assume that he was now Konrad’s lover. There was no other possible explanation-except the truth, which would be much worse to have them believing.

By the time he entered the now-familiar office, the prince had already kissed the cardinal’s ring and was making polite apologies for not warning of his coming. The cardinal returned to his throne. The friar in attendance-an older, tubbier one thabbier onn yesterday-fetched a chair for the prince, exchanging a nod of respect with Wulf, each acknowledging the other’s halo. Wulf had not expected to be presented, but he was.

“Sir Wulfgang Magnus, Eminence. He’s a brother of that exhibitionist clown you made count of Cardice.”

Zdenek nodded as if mildly surprised and extended his ring. He murmured, “Sir Wulfgang,” as a man might in the circumstances, but there was enough fire in his eyes to warn that he was displeased about something. He said, “Your honored grandfather made that appointment, not I, Highness. I heard that Sir Wulfgang accosted you a couple of nights ago and offered to repeat his brother’s jump with his hands tied behind his back.”

Konrad uttered his high-pitched titter. “We didn’t tie his hands, but he did repeat it. Quite amazing. He used the same horse. I’m going to steal it off him.”

Wulf, standing at the prince’s side, said not a word. If his new liege continued to perform throughout this meeting as well as he had started, then he would have earned Morningstar. He was bearding the lion for the first time. The interview was probably costing him as much cold sweat as the jump had cost Wulf.

“Quite right, too.” Zdenek’s faint smile somehow conveyed the message that he had greatly enjoyed this little chat but now he had work to do.

“To business.” The prince raised a thumb. “First, I want you to send an escort for my wife and bring her back to the palace as soon as possible.”

“I am delighted to-”

“And issue a proclamation along the lines of needing her love and support during the trying times ahead.”

Brother Daniel was scribbling notes.

The cardinal frowned. “That would be an admission that His Majesty is dying. It is customary for monarchs to remain in excellent health until they are actually dead.”

“Everyone knows it’s coming,” Konrad snapped. He raised his index finger. “I think we have had too many Konrads already. I mean, I feel unworthy to fill the shoes of et cetera, et cetera. No one will argue with you on that. When the time comes, have me proclaimed by my second name, Krystof. King Krystof the Second? Christoforos Secundus Rex. Has a nice ring to it.”

The cardinal did not quite close his eyes and shudder, but Wulf did expect him to protest that hundreds of documents had already been prepared with the other name on it, awaiting only a date. He didn’t, but it must have cost him.

“Should have asked me,” the prince murmured anyway. He raised his middle finger. “I wish to be briefed on the funeral plans. Tomorrow morning?” ="0em"› “Certainly, Your Highness. I will have the lord herald wait upon you.” A faint flush had appeared in the cardinal’s normally ivory cheeks. His fists were clenched. As Wulf had predicted, he could not now refuse such instructions.

But the prince had the bit between his teeth. For the first time he was tasting power, and sweet it was. Wulf waited to hear what was coming next. He wondered what his lectures and gentle tweaks might have created, or at least allowed to hatch. No doubt Zdenek was even more apprehensive.

“And I want the official mourning for my dear grandsire to be both strictly defined and stringently observed. No unseemly partying or jollity during the entire… how long?”

“Two years.”

“ Jesus! Really? The entire two years. Lastly-and most important-we must plan for the transfer of power, mustn’t we? Several members of my grandfather’s council are well past their allotted span and should be replaced before they crumble to dust. We can scrape the moss off a few others and allow them to remain for the nonce, provided they start training successors. Some lists of names, if you please, as soon as possible. You…” Smile. Teasing pause… “But you, Your Eminence, are irreplaceable. I count on… Nay, I insist on your remaining my first minister, or whatever your formal title is, my principal advisor, for as long as your health allows, and may the Lord make that many years.”

This time the old man did blink. Yet still he did not look in Wulf’s direction, which showed remarkable self-control. “This is indeed an honor, sire. I am most gratified to learn that I have Your Highness’s confidence.”

“Who else could I trust? You are the government, and have been for years. And one other thing… A husband for my sister. Will this be the last decision of this reign or the first of the next?”

Again the cardinal was careful not to look at Wulf, but he must have made his decision right there, without an instant’s hesitation. Wulf had delivered tenure, and now he must follow through with his side of the bargain.

“It is an extraordinary coincidence that you should ask this today, Your Highness. Just this morning, His Majesty made his decision. He is well aware, of course, that a betrothal ought not be announced during the official mourning following his death, and feels it would be unfair of him to delay any longer. He agreed to accept the noble Sieur Louis of Rouen as his future grandson-in-law. His Majesty will sign the documents within the hour, and they will be conveyed to the Medici Bank for delivery by their couriers, who are the fastest in Christendom. I was just about to send the good news along to Her Highness. Brother Daniel, the Rouen file, if you please.”

The cardinal opened the package. “This is a miniature of Sieur Louis. And here is the final draft of the contract we have drawn up.”

Konrad looked briefly at the miniature, which depicted a smiling, handsome young man, no doubt to his advantage. He handed the document up to Wulf, standing respectfully at his side. “Tell me the highlights.”

The contract was a sizable sheet of vellum covered with crabbed minuscule script. A nobleman should both speak and read Latin, but an extempore translation of legal prose would test an expert.

“Hmm. Your Highness would not prefer to have me jump a horse backward somewhere…? Contract of betrothal… Names…”

Fortunately Wulf could guess at the gist of each clause from a key word or two. He especially hunted for any mention of where the happy couple would reside after their marriage. The contract must be based on d’Estouteville’s offer, which would have stipulated that they would dwell in Jorgary, while the note that Wulf had passed to the cardinal the previous day had said merely: France is a fine place to live. The farther Laima could be kept away from the fester of Jorgarian politics, the less danger she would present to her brother. If Zdenek had specified a home in the text, then the cardinal’s clerks would spot the difference right away, d’Estouteville might reject the offer, and the Inquisition would get its chance for revenge. He saw no sign of habitaculum or domicilium as he skimmed through the document. The French might not miss its absence, especially if the cardinal had thought to change the order of the various clauses. He must have done so; the old fox was still the wiliest around. With a little luck, Wulf thought as he quoted highlights, this draft should be accepted.

“Then space to sign, seal, and witness. Did I pass, Your Eminence?”

Zdenek actually smiled. It was a thin smile, but it was a smile. “You are wasted on horses, young man.”

“No, he isn’t,” Konrad squeaked. “Keep your hands off of him. Why don’t I take this material and show it to my sister? So I can be the one to share the good news.” Merciful heavens, was the lunk learning sarcasm now?

“No reason at all, Your Highness. Please give her my congratulations. His Majesty certainly considered her happiness when he chose the fairest and most personable of the many candidates for her hand.”

In sarcasm, the cardinal was still the expert.

Konrad stood up. “One more thing: I have appointed Sir Wulfgang my master of horse. Have that proclaimed. I may let him serve me in that capacity when I succeed.”

The moment of camaraderie ended abruptly. The cardinal looked shocked. “Sire, that post is hereditary in the House of-”

“But the present marquis is twelve years old. Until he comes of age, we need someone to keep the seat warm. Or the saddle warm, mm? If necessary, Sir Wulfgang can be deputy master or acting master. Meanwhile, he needs somewe needs here to live, he and his wife. Are any of the grace-and-favor quarters currently available?”

“I believe so.” The cardinal was sulking as he offered his ring. The prince kissed it, and Wulf was about to when the old man said, “Wait. If Sir Wulfgang could tarry a moment, sire, Brother Daniel can take notes on what size of household he will be setting up, and so on.”

“Of course.” Triumph flamed in the prince’s mangled features. “Have a nice chat. Supper tonight, Sir Wulfgang. And bring your wife.” He snatched the Rouen file, spun around in a swirl of his short riding cloak, and headed for the anteroom door.

Zdenek had let the cat out of the bag.