An Embarrassment of Riches (39 page)

“He may decide he does,” said Rakoczy.

Hruther shrugged. “He would do better reclaiming Hungarian territory from Otakar if he wishes to strengthen Hungary.”

“I worry for Balint. It would be poor return for good service to have him taken prisoner by Konig Bela as a means of forcing my hand.” He paused, sinking into thought. “If I knew what Konige Kunigunde has told her grandfather in my regard, I would be more able to decide.”

“Would she be likely to tell you what she has said in her reports?” Hruther asked, anticipating the answer. “No, I suppose not.”

“No,” Rakoczy agreed.

“This is an impasse for you,” Hruther said, concern showing in his faded-blue eyes.

“True enough, but there should be a way to work through it, given enough time.” He sat up, his face shadowed. “I wish I knew how matters stand at Santu-Germaniu. It would ease my mind.”

“Assuming Konig Bela has upheld his pledge.”

“It remains my hope that he is too caught up in war to turn all his attention to a place like my fief.” Getting to his feet, Rakoczy began to pace, his black huch and red chainse swinging with the energy of his movements.

“Bela is still at war with Otakar.”

“And Bela is no longer a young man. He is not in a position to squander his army or his own resources,” Rakoczy said. He stopped. “I am summoned to the Konige at sunset. I should choose a suitable gift.”

“Gems for Easter.” Hruther recognized that Rakoczy would not discuss the predicament any further for the present. He nodded. “I’ll lay out something for you.”

“Thank you.” Rakoczy went to his coffer, opening the bands and tipping back the lid.

“Do you want to bathe?”

“Yes, but I had better not. Barnon has already commented on my bathing, and I do not know whose spy he is, or what he makes of my preoccupation with cleanliness.” Rakoczy stood still. “I loathe this sense of bitterness I feel, and there is little to alleviate it.” He shook his head, but went on, “It is as blighting as frost on blossoms, and it takes away from so much that could be affirmative, or revivifying, like the return of spring. But it lingers, like a slow poison.”

“My master,” said Hruther with stern sympathy.

“We will have to leave here, I know, before it numbs me to all joy.” That had happened in the past, and the memories still rankled within him.

“If it does, you will thaw: you have before,” Hruther reminded him.

“Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “In time.”

Hurther closed the door and went to set out Court clothing for Rakoczy. He had seen the Comes in morose moods before, but he had not been aware in the past of the degree of revulsion he sensed now, and it troubled him. The trials they had endured in India were still sharp in his memory, and he thought that Rakoczy had not yet put them entirely behind him. Perhaps he felt echoes of Tamasrajasi in some of the women he encountered, and had failed to find the intimacy that was so necessary to him. As he took the black-velvet huch and the pearl-white silk chainse from the garderobe, he considered what he might do to make Rakoczy’s escape possible. He was choosing between black Damascus silk and fine, black Florentine woolen braccae when the door opened and Rakoczy stepped in.

“I am glad you are still here,” he said to Hruther. “I want to ask your pardon for my fit of saturnine self-indulgence.” His smile faded as soon as it appeared.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my master.”

“Not for someone who has the luxury of time that I do,” said Rakoczy bluntly. “I ought not to forget that everything passes. As much as I may rail against my circumstances, they will not last.”

“As you remind me, there is no certainty that you will survive.” He sat down on the straight-backed chair.

“But I have three millennia behind me. My patience should be greater,” said Rakoczy levelly. “So I ask your pardon, and I hope you will not be appalled by my outburst.”

Hruther did not smile but there was a change in his austere features, an easing that showed around his eyes and mouth. “You are more bound to life than I am; it doesn’t surprise me when there is a price for that bond.” He stopped any more conversation by asking, “Would you like me to help you to dress?”

“I will manage, thank you, old friend.”

“Then I will tell Illes to saddle which horse for you?”

“Asza. As I recall, she is not in season just yet; the Konige would not be pleased that I would bring to her stable if Asza is.”

“It would keep the grooms busy,” said Hruther with a suggestion of a grin. “She will be ready, or Phanos, if Illes thinks it best.”

“A fine choice,” said Rakoczy as Hruther left him to his preparations.

Phanos was saddled and bridled and ready, waiting near the horse-trough, his reins in Illes’ hands. Rakoczy patted the gray gelding on his neck, tested the girth, and swung up into the high-backed saddle. “Thank you,” he said, tossing a silver coin to him. “He will have earned a good brushing when I come back. What of Asza?”

“Asza is turned out in the paddock for the day. She was kicking at her stall.”

“I wish we could settle on a stallion for her,” Rakoczy said as he gathered up the reins. “Maiden mares feel their blood more keenly than those who have had foals.” With a nudge from Rakoczy’s heels, Phanos started for the gate.

The streets were busy but not so crowded that making his way through them was impossible. At Mansion Czernin a group of noble pilgrims had just arrived, and the confusion at the gate slowed Rakoczy’s progress through the gates of Castle Vaclav. Leaving his horse with stable grooms, he went toward the Konige’s part of the huge stone building. Pages escorted him to the Konige’s Court, and her herald announced him.

He approached the tall, gold-plated chair where Konige Kunigunde sat, resplendent as a sunrise in a bleihaut of red silk embroidered with gold and silver thread. For Holy Week, she wore a gem-studded gold crucifix larger than her hand on a heavy chain around her neck; beside her, the Episcopus glittered with rubies and garnets on his white-silk vestments. Rakoczy knelt and held up a pouch of figured velvet. “May God grant you and your children His Mercy at this sacred time, dear Royal.”

One of the Konige’s pages took the pouch and carried it to her, kneeling as he did.

Konige Kunigunde opened the pouch and poured a scintillating cascade into her lap, the look of disinterest fading as the jewels streamed through her fingers. “Gracious, Comes,” she exclaimed. “How many!” She picked up an emerald the size of the end of her thumb, holding it up to the light from a tree of candles set up behind her. Putting the emerald down, she chose an opal to inspect. “This is lavish, even for you.”

Rakoczy studied her. “With the Konig gone, I had hoped to provide you and your daughters with a pleasant distraction.”

“
Most
generous,” she exclaimed with a faltering smile, motioning him to rise.

“If this brings you joy, dear Royal, I am more than rewarded.” He took a step back and gave a deep French bow to her.

As if it were an afterthought, she added, “If you have had word from your fief’s steward, I would be glad to hear what has been said.” She sounded only mildly interested but there was a need in her eyes that held his attention.

“When you like, dear Royal. I will be here until the meal is served.” He moved aside, puzzled by the intensity he had felt from the Konige. What had she heard that she was so overstrung?

“How do you contrive to keep giving her such fine gems?” Rakoczy swung around to see Rozsa of Borsod coming up to him, her feline smile widening. “I would be jealous if she were not the Konige.”

“Jewels are expected of me; presenting them is my duty,” said Rakoczy, inclining his head respectfully; he looked to see if Imbolya was in the room, but he caught no sight of her.

“A half-dozen perhaps,” Rozsa said. “But you bring them by the peck.” She smoothed the front of her burnt-umber bleihaut, subtly emphasizing her pregnancy. “Have you kept yourself amused during my absence? Or need I ask?”

Rakoczy did not answer her question; his manner remained affable. “You look well, Rozsa. I trust your child thrives.”

“He grows,” said Rozsa, a flash of anger in her eyes. “You appear much the same as you were.”

“Did you suppose it would be otherwise?” He made sure there was an arm’s-length of distance between them, certain they were being watched.

“I had hoped you might have languished without me.” She looked away to hide the spite in her face. “But men do not languish, do they? no matter what the troubadours sing.”

Rakoczy would not be dragged into the wrangle Rozsa so clearly wanted. “Troubadours tell what their listeners want to hear.”

“So you believe that I—”

He held up his hand. “The Konige would not approve our talking together in this way. It draws undue interest to our conversation.”

“She isn’t paying any attention, not to us or anyone else,” Rozsa snapped, but she turned away from him, saying softly as she did, “Would you like to meet again, as we have done in days past? I haven’t forgotten the hours we spent together.”

“Not while you are with child,” he said in an undervoice, watching the men and women milling around them.

“My pregnancy repels you?” Her question was a furious whisper.

“This is not a prudent discussion for this place.”

“Spies. I know. We will talk later,” she said, her brows angling into a frown. Abruptly she walked away from him, going toward Pan Kolowrat Atenaze, who was entertaining Betrica of Eger with a display of amateurish juggling.

The Angelus bell began to toll, first from the bell-tower of Castle Vaclav, because the Episcopus was attending Court, then from the churches of Praha. Episcopus Fauvinel rose and pronounced the blessing for Holy Week while the Court knelt. This was followed almost at once by Sant-Boleslav’s carillon ringing the anthem
Vinea Mea Electa,
the mournful notes darkening with the day; while the bells rang, conversation in the Konige’s Court was subdued, and only after the last peal had echoed away did the reception hall begin to seethe with words and the courtiers to circulate through the hall.

When the Episcopus had moved from his place beside Kunigunde, Rakoczy was summoned to the Konige once again; she had left her throne and was standing in the largest of the window embrasures, her unguarded expression filled with aching, a look that vanished as soon as she realized she was no longer unobserved.

“Dear Royal.” Rakoczy was about to drop to his knee, but she motioned to him to remain standing.

“Comes,” she said without inflection of any kind.

“How may I serve you, dear Royal?” He saw that she was still troubled.

“What have you heard from your steward in the last month? What has he to say of my brother?”

“I have heard nothing from Balint, which has caused me some worry. I hope it may only mean that the courier was delayed by the floods.”

“Yes,” the Konige murmured. “The floods. I, too, have had only scant news of my grandfather.”

“Do you have a particular fear, dear Royal?” He knew it would be folly to press her, but he shared her anxiety.

“Only a rumor. As such, it means very little, as rumors so often do. I should probably pay it no notice.” She forced a smile. “No doubt both of our concerns will prove baseless by the time May comes and our reports reach us at last.” For a long moment, she remained quiet, then said forlornly, “It’s just that my grandfather is old and my brother hates him so.”

It took Rakoczy an instant to form a response. “That has been the case for several years, dear Royal, and the rumors that filled the Court of coming war or open confrontation meant nothing. Your brother has not raised an army in spite of his threats, nor is he likely to.”

“Thus far,” said Kunigunde. “If my husband did not war with my grandfather, I would not be troubled by my brother’s malice, but as it is—” She stopped herself from saying more.

“It is a hard circumstance for you, dear Royal,” Rakoczy said with genuine sympathy.

She did not seem to hear him. “I was supposed to prevent the war. That’s why the marriage was arranged, so that Hungary and Bohemia would not go to war, and so that the Hapsburgs in Austria could be contained between them. I was the assurance of peace! How could they have gone to war? Why did God turn against me?”

Rakoczy regarded her solemnly. “Their war is no fault of yours, dear Royal. You do yourself a disservice to think so.”

“The Episcopus tells me that if I had had sons and not daughters the war would not have happened.” She crossed herself; her eyes shone with tears. “God has not heard me.”

“Why would anyone assume sons would have brought peace, when your own brother is prepared to take as much of an army as he can raise against your grandfather? Are not daughters more useful than sons?” Rakoczy saw a flicker of something in her face that suggested the Konige was distressed for her children. “They will surely find worthy husbands, and do so without war.”

The Konige sighed. “May they succeed where I have failed,” she said with more emotion than she usually revealed. She put her hands to her temples, her eyes closing. “My head hurts.”

Rakoczy signaled to one of the pages. “Would you fetch one of the Konige’s ladies?”