An Embarrassment of Riches (25 page)

And with that supplication, I will send you my loyal friendship and my

Undying love,

Olivia

5

Because it was snowing outside, Imbolya had on a wolf-skin mantel with a hood that framed her face in soft gray fur; she stood just inside the door of Rakoczy’s workroom, her gloved hands folded in the deep pleats of the mantel. “You are most kind to see me, Comes, unexpected as I might be.” She spoke Magyar.

Rakoczy nodded to Barnon. “Hot wine and honey tarts for the Konige’s lady-in-waiting,” he said in Bohemian, then addressed Imbolya in Magyar, “I understood from you that Csenge of Somogy is the Konige’s messenger now.” He went to put more cut branches on the fire. “I am pleased to see you, and I apologize for not coming to the Konige’s Court, but as you may know, Konig Otakar has ordered me to keep to my house until the Solstice festivities. I am to receive only those persons the Konige or the Council sends to me.”

Barnon remained in the room, occupying himself with putting a cloth on the low table next to the fireplace. He did his best to make it appear that he was not listening to them.

“Yes, Csenge is the Konige’s messenger now, and ordinarily it would be she who called upon you, but as the Konige wishes to have jewels selected for her daughters for the Nativity: she sent me because of my greater knowledge concerning jewels. I have been charged to examine all the stones you have that might be suitable and to choose for Kinga and Agnethe.” She paused. “The ones I approve are to be presented at the Solstice banquet, which the Konig will allow you to attend. I don’t know if he will want you to attend Kinga’s anniversary ”

“If that is the Konige’s desire—that I should give her daughters gems—then I am happy to serve her. That is why Konig Bela sent me here.”

Imbolya hesitated, then plunged ahead. “The Konig thinks you’re a spy for Konig Bela, you know. He thinks your exile is a ruse, and that you have been given a mission to watch Otakar’s Court. That’s why he has ordered you to remain in your house while he holds Court here in Praha.” Color mounted in her face. “I don’t think you’re a spy.”

“Why do you think that?” Rakoczy asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Because you keep to yourself and do not spend your time at Court. If you were a spy, you’d have to find out things, wouldn’t you? You can’t learn many secrets here, and when you answer the Konige’s summons, you take no advantage of it to insinuate yourself into her good graces with flattery and favors.” She courtisied to him. “It seems that way to me.”

“I do bring her jewels,” Rakoczy pointed out.

“As Konig Bela charged you to do,” she said. “You do your duty to her, handsomely, but nothing more than that. So if you are spying, you don’t do it very well.”

“You will want to be comfortable,” Rakoczy said, shifting their conversation; he directed her to the upholstered chair facing the hearth. “I will have more candles brought—if you will attend to that as well, Barnon? Two branches, if you would.” Low light was no hardship for his eyes, but he knew Imbolya would want brightness in order to examine the jewels. “And see that my guest’s carriage is taken to the stable and her horses watered and each given a handful of grain. Her escort are to have cheese, bread, and wine in the servants’ room. Make sure the fire is well-stoked.”

“Of course, Comes,” Barnon said, and backed out of the room, leaving them alone.

“Your bondsman told me where to find you,” Imbolya said when they were alone. “He offered to escort me, but your steward—”

“—claimed the honor,” said Rakoczy, adjusting the black cotehardie of satin-lined wool he wore over a chainse of deep-red silk. “That is correct for a Bohemian household, is it not?”

“Yes. It is the way of things in Bohemia.” Imbolya pulled off her gloves and set them on the arm of the chair. “The fire is very nice.”

“That is kind of you,” said Rakoczy. “When you are warm enough, I will take your mantel.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and fell silent, staring at the flames that were rising in the fireplace. “Carniola has surrendered to Otakar.”

“When?” Rakoczy asked. “Is it official?”

“The deputation arrived last night. Otakar has lands all the way to the sea now. He wants the Bohemian Empire to get larger and stronger.” She sighed. “The Konig has ordered four of his Captains who were caught stealing supplies to be hanged in chains at the south gates.”

“Because of the surrender of Carniola?”

“Because he wants to discourage thieves,” said Imbolya. “Now that he is successful he thinks more of his officers will want to share in his accomplishments with … allotments of their own choosing.”

Rakoczy frowned. “What does the Episcopus say?”

“He says that God has given the Konig power in the world and it is for Otakar to uphold the Will of God, and to root out the Devil and all his works. He says that God gave Otakar Carinthia and Carniola, and Austria, and that Otakar is approved by Heaven or that wouldn’t have happened, because God favors the righteous.” She looked away from him, feeling the efflorescence in her face and wanting, in some confused way, to conceal it from Rakoczy.

“What does Konig Bela say? Or Rudolph von Hapsburg?” Rakcozy wondered aloud; he was aware of her discomfort and did what he could to allow her to restore herself.

“The Episcopus hasn’t spoken about either of them. If there were a Pope in Roma, he might have another view.” Absently she crossed herself. “It is hard to see Hungary lose to Bohemia for those of us who have been sent to the Konige from Hungary, and hardest for the Konige, who is torn between her husband and her grandfather. All of us from Hungary feel it, but Kunigunde suffers most.”

Rakoczy nodded. “She, too, is trapped.”

“I think, no matter what the Konige believes, that it might be just as well that she had a second daughter, for a son could be as torn as she is in where his loyalties might lie.” She put her hand to her lips. “You won’t tell anyone what I’ve said, will you? The Konige would be upset to know I think a daughter now is better than a son. She would think me inconstant and might send me away.”

“But a girl could be as divided in her loyalties, especially if her marriage is the seal on a treaty, as Kunigunde herself has been; and no, I will not repeat any of what you tell me,” said Rakoczy, thinking back to Mnekore, almost two millennia ago. He lowered his eyes to the fire. “It is a pity her father is dead: as Konig of Bulgaria and Grand Dux of Kiev, he might have been able to do something to arrange a peace among Otakar, Bela, and Rudolph.”

“The Bulgarian Tsars are too busy murdering and being murdered for any help to come from that quarter. No one trusts the Bulgarian Tsars to uphold their oaths of alliance. Both of the Konige’s sisters’ husbands were Tsars and they were murdered.” For several heartbeats she was still. “Have you thought any more about what I said at the civic procession?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Have I thought about becoming your clandestine lover?” he inquired, to be certain they understood each other.

“Yes. About that.”

“I have thought about it,” he admitted, leaning against the pillar that flanked the fireplace. “Have you? considered what might happen?”

“Yes,” she said with asperity. “I have thought about little else. If you will accept me—”

“It may be more if you will accept me. I am not like most men, and what I can do will not prepare you for marriage,” he said; he found it difficult to speak, and he could not keep from thinking of the many conflicts he had: what would Imbolya think of his true nature? What if he disgusted or disappointed her? If she enjoyed him, how would she behave when she was summoned to her wedding? What would happen to them both if they were found out? What if she proved as demanding and capricious as Rozsa?

“Comes?” She spoke a bit more loudly. “Comes, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, then reconsidered. “I am sure you have questions you want to put to me; I am trying to decide how to answer.”

“I haven’t asked anything yet,” she said almost playfully, “beyond what I’ve asked you already.”

“And that is what concerns me,” he told her, his voice mellifluous and soothing as he picked his way through his qualms. “I am deeply obliged to you for … for offering me your favor, but I believe you are not fully aware of what you could bring upon yourself … You have told me what you seek. You may have … expectations of me, or hopes that—”

“So you’ve warned me. I am not troubled by the strange, or those things the Church dreads, if that is your concern, and you—” she cut in, and would have said more but there was a rap on the door, and the latch lifted.

“Come,” said Rakoczy, remaining where he was.

Barnon entered first, a large, brass tray in his hands that held a jug of hot wine, an alabaster cup, and a large plate with an array of fruit-and-honey tarts laid out upon it. He carried this to the low table and set it down; Hruther came after him with two large branches of burning candles in his hands. Both men ducked their heads to Imbolya and then to Rakoczy.

“One on the serving-table, I think,” said Rakoczy to Hruther in Bohemian, “and one on the trestle-table where the casket of jewels is kept.”

“It’s a pity the shutters have to be closed, though of course they must be with the snow and the wind,” Imbolya remarked, also in Bohemian, paying little attention to either Barnon or Hruther. “It makes everything so dark.”

“I will have paned glass put in place in spring, throughout the manse,” said Rakoczy. “Inside the shutters, of course, and with sections that can be opened, so the rooms will not be stifling in summer. I have placed an order with the Glassmakers’ Guild and provided the specifications for the windows so that they may assemble the panes and frames before spring, and the installations can begin with the first good weather and be finished by Mid-Summer Eve. The two large windows in the main hall are to have stained glass as well as clear, one showing the eclipse device of Rakoczy, the other showing the Tree of Four Seasons: buds and blossoms, fruit, yellow leaves, and bare branches.” It was one of the many things that was supposed to have been done to the manse before he arrived, and it was something he was sorry he had not had done in the summer. “The Master Glazier will supervise the whole project; he has engaged his Guild’s most experienced journeymen to do the work. He has pledged to have the windows ready by mid-April; I have promised a bonus if he and his Guild achieve that.”

“It sounds very elegant.” She looked at him expectantly and motioned Barnon to step back; Rakoczy realized that she expected him to pour the wine.

“How much would you like in your cup, Imbolya?” he asked.

“A good amount, if you would. The day is cold.” Her smile flashed but vanished in a frown of uncertainty; she was perturbed by the level of her response to him, as if he were north and she a magnet. Once again she turned her head so that no one could see her burning cheeks or hear the sound of her heart beating.

Rakoczy took the jug and poured out enough to fill the cup almost full. “Tell me if it suits your taste.”

Hruther went from the trestle-table to the low one, lighting all the candles, then ducked his head. “Do you need anything more, my master?” He spoke in Imperial Latin.

“Not just at present,” he answered, and added in Bohemian, “Thank you both. You need not linger here. I will escort my guest to her carriage when she is done making her selection. Given the occasions and the youth of the Konige’s daughters, it may take us some time to decide which stones are most appropriate.”

Barnon bowed his head; Hruther nodded, and without saying anything, they left Rakoczy and Imbolya alone.

“Are you certain your servants are reliable?” she asked in Magyar before she sipped the wine.

“I trust they are, within their lights; they do their work and report to those who require it. But I have complete faith in my bondsman, who has been with me a long time and has shown himself discreet and loyal.” That he had found Hruther in the half-built Flavian Circus twelve hundred years before he kept to himself.

“Within their lights,” she mused. “Of course they make reports. You have spies among them. Probably more than one.”

“It is to be expected.”

“Alas,” she agreed, and drank more. “This is very good.”

“So I understand,” he said,

She took one of the tarts and bit into it, holding it so the crust crumbs would not fall on her clothing. “I am to have a new bleihaut of velvet for my Epiphany gift, and Venetian solers.”

“From the Konige?” Rakoczy ventured.

“From my father. He will also buy my wedding clothes and give me three sets of clothing for my personal dowry. He has said he will provide for my garments and bedding for five years as part of the settlements. Konige Kunigunde has said she will give me a carriage and horses when I marry.”

“And…”—he poured her more wine as he tried to frame a question that would not give offense—“is this to your liking?”

“That will depend upon whom I am to marry,” she said, and drank again; her cheeks grew more brightly flushed—which she hoped he would attribute to the hot wine—and she shrugged out of her mantel, letting it lie over the back of her chair and revealing a bleihaut of spruce-green wool over a chainse of heavy ivory silk. She could feel his eyes on her, and with the intention of appearing at ease, she reached up to loosen her hair from the artfully wound loose braid that lay under the silver-fretwork chaplet; the pale-brown cascade spread over her shoulders, with the waves from plaiting pressed into the strands.