The Black Swan (29 page)

Siegfried had to sigh at that, for such an idea was a virtual impossibility, and he was certain Honoria knew it.

It was too dark to see her smile at his sigh, but he heard her chuckle. “I know what you are thinking, and no, I am not such a fool to try such a thing. But what I am thinking of doing is to mark her somehow, perhaps with a silver ring upon her leg, and let her fly free in a few years in a little valley where I know there are no goshawks. I'll trap a tiercel-hawk and release him in the same valley. Then I shall post a forester there to keep an eye on her, and if she breeds, to take an eyas when it is well feathered.”

“Now that is a plan which has much promise, my lady,” he agreed, liking her ability to find solutions to problems that would make others give up.

I would still like to know just what color hair she has beneath that coif,
he thought, as their horses drew near enough to the village to hear a distant murmur of voices.
This one might well do, though; if she is as intelligent on other subjects as she is on the subject of falconry, I would have a great deal to share with her.

Then, before he had a chance to ask any more questions, a stream of lights poured up the road toward them, and the distant murmur became a chorus of cheers.

Siegfried was not surprised at the enthusiastic reception; there must have been a servant posted on the road to warn the rest when the royal party was near. It would impress and please the guests to have a torchlight greeting, and no one would know that it was only the servants.

Within moments, the servants formed a double line of torches on either side of the road, cheering the arrival of the queen and prince and their guests. Queen Clothilde casually urged her horse past Siegfried's, who moved aside to let her take the head of the procession. The servants had set up the pavilions on the village common, and the torchbearers led the way to the encampment, a neat little village in itself.

The princesses were clearly delighted with the hospitality waiting for them, as well they should have been. Siegfried, who had been a part of the planning, was impressed.

Each of the pavilions prepared for the princesses was a different color, and all of them were lit from within so that they glowed like many-hued lanterns. Small fires set in braziers and oil-filled torches ensured that the grounds were handsomely lit. The pavilions had been set up surrounding a central tent, striped in red and blue, where the nobility would be entertained and fed as sumptuously as if they were back at the palace. Clothilde had brought all her own musicians and had hired a traveling troupe of entertainers as well. If it grew chill, braziers of charcoal with perfumes or incense sprinkled over them would warm the air; if it grew warm, the sides of the tent could be raised to allow breezes to flow through. Already a trio of Clothilde's musicians had begun playing to welcome the new arrivals, and there was a stream of pages carrying food and drink into the tent. Squires appeared to hold each horse and assist each princess from her mount, and escort her into the tent for a belated supper.

Clever. Mother is going to keep them occupied so that they don't miss my presence. I can spend my evening without entertaining the ladies.
He saluted the queen when the last of the princesses was safely inside the tent; she gave him a brief nod as Uwe helped her down from her own horse. Siegfried took that as his signal to depart; he, Benno, and the cart holding Wolfgang departed for the inn.

They rode into the village, which stood just out of sight of the encampment; the inn was a handsome little rustic building, two-storied, built in the same style as a hunting lodge. Arno was already there, waiting at the door beside the portly innkeeper, clad in a spotless white apron, who was overjoyed to see Siegfried at last. “Highness!” the man cried happily. “I do not know how we are to serve so honored a guest, but—”

“But just give us your soft beds, good beer, and your fine food, and we will be happy enough,” Siegfried interrupted, feeling great relief that he did not need to wrack his brain for more ways to interview his prospective brides, and did not need to produce any more diplomatic speeches.

“The inn is yours,” the innkeeper said proudly. “There are no other folk staying as guests, nor will there be until after you have gone.”

That was good news, for Siegfried already knew that there were only three rooms above the common hall, and that meant each of them would have his own room. Arno, of course, would quarter with Siegfried, as Benno's man would lodge with him. Wolfgang, without a servant, would take the third room, much smaller than the other two, which usually housed entire families or merchant groups.

“What can I serve you for dinner, Highness?” the innkeeper asked anxiously, as Benno helped Wolfgang down off the cart, and Siegfried gave instructions to the groom who came to take his horse.

“What is in the kitchen tonight?” Siegfried replied.

The innkeeper looked anxious. “Only a game pie, sausages, pickled cabbage—nothing suitable to Your Highness—”

“In that, you are mistaken. That, your fine beer, a good cheese, and fresh bread will be fine,” Siegfried said with a hearty laugh, only too pleased to have simple fare for tonight. Since the first princess had arrived, Clothilde had paraded a variety of fantastic dishes at each meal, and he was heartily tired of them. “Perhaps some apple tart to follow. Send it up to my room; the three of us will eat there.”

The innkeeper bowed until his nose touched his knees, as Siegfried, Benno, and Wolfgang walked past him into the common hall, a dark room lit mostly by firelight, redolent with the scent of garlic sausage and beer. The peasant farmers and foresters at the rough tables inside stood up and cheered as they entered; the prince gave them a friendly wave, but passed on without stopping, heading for the stairs at the back of the hall which led to the rooms above. It had been a long day in the saddle, and at the moment, he was more interested in dinner and a quiet conversation with his friends than anything else.

A boy scampered ahead of them, up the stairs, and threw open the door to the first guest chamber; light from within streamed out onto the stairs, proving that the bedchambers had better illumination than the room below. “Your room, Highness!” the child said proudly, then turned and opened the doors at the top of the stairs that led to the other two rooms as Siegfried entered the best guest room.

A fire already burned in the stone fireplace, chasing the slight chill in the air. A single massive bed dominated the room, a bed that could have (and probably had, more often than not) held six adults. Unlike his own bed, this did not have a canopy or bed-curtains, and the mattress was stuffed with straw, not feathers. But atop the straw mattress were a feather bed, fine sheets, pillows, and blankets from the palace, all brought by the luggage wagons.

This was how most nobles traveled; though they might
stay
at rural inns, they seldom made use of the (possibly dubious) bedding provided by the innkeepers. Bedding and sometimes entire beds and other furnishings traveled with the noble, and all that the inn provided was a room. In this case, since Arno knew the keeper, and could trust that the beds were clean and had no unpleasant inhabitants, he knew he only needed to bring the bedding.

A simple cot brought in the same wagon stood in the corner for Arno's use, and candles in silver holders (also from the palace) lit the room brightly. The prince's silver utensils waited on the prince's small folding table, and all of his hunting gear was neatly arrayed on stands beside it.

Three clever folding chairs and a folding stool had been arranged around the table, furniture the prince took with him everywhere when he traveled, since they were relatively compact and easy to transport. It was just as well that he had ordered them brought along, since the bed was the only article of furniture belonging to the inn.

This was because under normal conditions, the precious floor space would be sold to travelers who could not afford the bed, but
could
afford a space on the floor. There was no point in burdening precious floor space with furniture.

Benno's room would be like this one but half the size, with a slightly smaller bed. Wolfgang's—as Siegfried had reason to know—wasn't often used for
sleeping;
it was just large enough to hold the bed and a table and washbasin. Rented by the hour, the services of a lady of negotiable virtue came with it; by renting the
room
and not the lady herself, the innkeeper neatly sidestepped any accusations of procuring.
He
only supplied the room; what the tenant did with it (and the lady who was already inside) was the tenant's business.

The lady was probably plying her trade elsewhere for the duration of the royal visit, most likely among the visitors.

A stream of serving wenches poured up the stairs and into Siegfried's room, carrying food and drink, just as Wolfgang and Benno joined the prince.

The tutor backed himself into a corner, bewildered by all the bustling and flirtatious servers; Siegfried was amused to see that none of them carried more than a single dish. Judging by the coyly charming glances that the girls cast at him and Benno, they were probably hoping for attention, gifts, or both.

Arno handled the latter by choosing one of the girls at random, handing her a pouch of small coins, and loudly telling her to see that all the girls got a fair share. Benno and Siegfried disposed of the former with little compliments that made the girls giggle and blush as they filed out of the room.

“Well!” Benno said cheerfully, “Looks to me as if every girl in the village volunteered to ‘help out' tonight.”

“Very probably,” Siegfried agreed, entirely amused. “We wouldn't have gotten this sort of treatment if we'd followed my original plan.”

“By the time this visit is done, they'll have collected a substantial addition to their dowries, if you continue to be so generous, Siegfried,” Wolfgang noted, and chuckled. “That may be more of an incentive than a glimpse of their Crown Prince.”

“That is entirely likely, old friend,” the prince replied with good humor. “Far be it for me to object to a little honest greed, when it ensures our dinner arrives at the table so promptly. Now, no ceremony among friends. Hunger makes the best sauce, so let's do justice to our dinner.” He pulled up one of his folding chairs and sat down to help himself; Benno and Wolfgang lost no time in following his example. When they had heaped their plates full, taking his cue from the prince, Arno poured their drink, then served himself, retiring to his stool by the fire to eat.

Nothing broke the silence for some time except the sounds associated with hearty eating; it had been a long time since the midday meal, and they all had good appetites.

Siegfried was the first to finish, and pushed his chair away from the table with a sigh of content. “God's teeth, but it's good to have a
simple
repast for a change!”

Benno sopped up the last gravy from the pie with a bit of bread, and popped it in his mouth. “If I'm faced with another pie of lark's tongues or mess of dormice in honey, I'll turn monk,” he agreed.

“Better just retire to the lower tables,” Wolfgang advised with a discreet belch. “Ridiculous dainties like that are reserved for the queen's table. Good God, think how many larks they'd have to slaughter to provide everyone with a pie!”

“Ah, Highness, don't let Her Majesty know, but those so-called ‘lark's tongues' weren't nothing but slivers of calf liver,” Arno offered diffidently from his place beside the fire. “Spiced up till they weren't fit to eat, so's no one would guess.”

Siegfried burst into delighted laughter. “You don't say! Damn! And the cook probably pocketed a fine sum, charging up the ingredients for that dish on the household budget!”

“Very likely, Your Highness,” Arno agreed. “But I reckon he's earned it, with all the trouble those princesses have given him since they arrived. Hot water at all hours, all manner of things they swear they can't eat, hot possets and sweet cakes at bedtime—”

“I suspect you're right.” Siegfried had heard something of this, but it didn't disturb him. The princesses were each so determined that no rival receive preferential treatment that once one made a request, they all made demands so as not to lose status. “So long as he doesn't line his pockets overmuch, I doubt even the household steward will complain.”

Then Siegfried yawned hugely. “My friends, I intended to have a fine discussion about our guests with you, but I'm so weary I doubt I could hold up my end of it. Shall we call the wenches back to clear this away, then retire?”

Wolfgang nodded, his old eyes showing his fatigue. “I am relieved to hear you say so. I think perhaps such a discussion would be better postponed until breakfast.”

“And I,” Benno agreed.

“I'll see to the mess, Your Highness,” Arno said promptly, jumping to his feet as Benno and Wolfgang got to their own in a more leisurely manner. Arno saw them to their rooms, then fetched up servants to clear away the debris of dinner. It was notable that this time it was only two scullery boys who arrived to bear away the plates, and not a bevy of giggling girls.

Siegfried stripped and climbed into the bed, leaving Arno to close the shutters against the night air and tidy up. It was a measure of the fact that he was just as tired as he had claimed, that Arno hadn't done more than cast the last debris of dinner into the fireplace, when sleep overtook him.

S
IEGFRIED had planned to wake early, and just as the first sunlight crept through cracks in the shutters, he stretched, yawned hugely until his jaws ached, and grinned to himself.
Good, I haven't lost the knack of waking myself up, the way I used to when I was a boy.