An Embarrassment of Riches (10 page)

Illes, who had reached the mare’s rump in his brushing, stopped for a moment. “No. They are men-at-arms, and they became riotous when they had nothing to do beyond gambling and drinking. I was glad when they left to return to Hungary.”

“The three who work with you now: are you satisfied with them?”

“They’re steady workers, for Bohemians.” He went around to the off-side of the mare and began to brush her neck, working down and back with the grain of her coat.

Rakoczy almost smiled. “For Bohemians?”

Illes shrugged. “You know how they are—their country is rich and their Konig is powerful, so they’re a little lazy, since you’re a foreigner. Still, they know enough about caring for horses that they’re worth their keep.” He set the brush down and reached for a hoof-pick, bending over to lift up the mare’s off-rear hoof. “Which saddle do you want?” he asked when all four hooves had been cleaned.

“The Byzantine one, with the embossed leather,” Rakoczy said, stepping away while Illes finished grooming, saddling, and bridling Asza; then he came and took the reins before swinging up onto the mare. “Go and have your dinner, Illes of Kotan, and thank you.” With that he rode out of the stable and made for the gate.

By the time he reached the Council Court—a large, three-storied building built of stone for the first story and of wood for the two above—the streets were largely cleared; most of the people within the city walls had gone to their homes and taverns to have their dinners. In an hour the streets would be bustling again, but for now, the Council Court Square was all but deserted but for two scruffy dogs fighting over what appeared to be the front leg of a pig. Rakoczy dismounted and secured Asza to the post near the entrance to the Court provided for that purpose. He patted the mare’s neck, then trod up the steps and entered the tall doors, feeling discomfited by the lack of activity. He entered the foyer to the empty Council Chamber, and was wondering if he should call out or look further for someone to assist him, when he saw a hump-backed man in clerical habit coming toward him, motioning to him.

“Comes?” the clerk inquired as he came up to Rakoczy.

“Yes,” said Rakoczy.

“Santu-Germaniu?”

“I am he.”

“Will you follow me? Counselor Smiricti is waiting for you in his private room.” Without waiting for an answer, the clerk sidled away, dragging his left leg a little; more curious than cautious, Rakoczy followed him. As they climbed to the second floor, the clerk said, “Counselor Smiricti asks that you forgive him for this manner of meeting, but he knows his coming to Mansion Belcrady would be noticed and reported.”

“Indeed,” said Rakoczy.

“If you will step through this doorway?” The clerk ducked his head and opened the door for him, allowing Rakoczy to precede him into Counselor Smiricti’s chamber; it was a handsome room, paneled in wood and containing an upholstered bench, a German chair, and a trestle-table.

Smiricti Detrich stood at the open window, staring down at the empty square below him. He wore a dark-brown cotton bleihaut over a chainse of fine yellow linen, and braccae of dark-gray sacking, all designed to keep him cool on this hot day. His face shone with sweat. Without turning or offering any other formal greeting beyond a nod, he said, “Thank you for coming, Comes. I trust my clerk has told you the reason for this?”

“He has,” said Rakoczy, aware that the clerk was backing out of the room and closing the door. “You coming to my home would lead to those watching making a note of your visit. And I am allowed to answer your summons in the terms of my exile, at least if you call me here to the Council Court.”

“True enough,” said Counselor Smiricti. “We take a chance here and now, but not so great as the one we would at Mansion Belcrady.”

“Then I applaud your prudence,” said Rakoczy.

“As well you might,” Smiricti approved. “I ask you to take a seat, so that those who might watch from below will not see you.” He pointed to the upholstered bench next to the fireplace. “No one will see you there.”

Rakoczy moved nearer to the hearth. “As you wish.” He made himself as comfortable as possible on the upholstered bench.

Smiricti remained at the window, avoiding Rakoczy’s gaze. “There is something you should know, though it pains me to tell you.”

“If it is to my advantage to know, then I thank you for your—”

“You have spies in your household, from Otakar and from Bela of Hungary,” Smiricti blurted out.

“Of course I do,” said Rakoczy calmly. “It is only to be expected.”

“Then you have taken precautions against them?”

“How can I, when I have not yet discovered which of the servants is spying, and for whom?” Rakoczy saw the distress in Smiricti’s posture. “What more is there: I gather there is something?”

“There is a rumor that you are … that you have seduced one of the Konige’s ladies-in-waiting.” He swung around to face Rakoczy. “If that is true, Otakar will banish you.”

“And Konig Bela will sweep down on Santu-Germaniu and destroy it, enslave my peasants, and kill my household, or his son will, although Bela has the larger army, and it was he who sent me here,” Rakoczy added, his voice grim. “With so much at risk, why would I do such a foolish thing? It would endanger the woman as well, and for no cause.” He waited for Smiricti to speak, and when he did not, Rakoczy went on, “Who has made this claim?”

“One of the Konige’s servants,” Smiricti said evasively, his face darkening. “She said she overheard Csenge of Somogy talking to Gyongyi of Tolna, and that Csenge accused you of seducing Rozsa of Borsod.”

Rakoczy concealed his dismay, keeping his expression neutral and his manner forthright. “And when am I supposed to have done this? When have I been with her unobserved? Surely if I had imposed upon Rozsa of Borsod one of the spies in my house, or in the Konige’s Court, would have been aware of it. It is true that I have received Rozsa of Borsod at Mansion Belcrady on two occasions, both at the behest of Konige Kunigunde, and when I have waited upon the Konige in her Court, I have seen Rozsa of Borsod, but we have been watched by more than servants, for I have been in the Court itself.”

Smiricti flapped his arms. “I know. I
know
! If I thought there was any truth to the rumors, I wouldn’t be talking to you now. I hold you in high regard, Comes, yet I owe you no protection. So you need to be careful: gossip has a life of its own, and this could become a scandal.” Now that he had spoken his worst fear, he dropped into the single chair in the room. “If such a thing happens, it could disrupt the good-will that has been established between Bohemia and Hungary. All of the Konige’s Hungarian ladies-in-waiting could be sent back to their homes in disgrace and the Konige all but imprisoned by Bohemian ladies-in-waiting, and the current peace would end.”

“Is that not something to the advantage of Bohemia?” Rakoczy asked.

“No. It would give Hungary an excuse to set aside the accords we have with them, and that could give rise to open war again. With the Konig on campaign in the south—in territory of Hungarian influence, to be sure—he needs no enemy to the east.” He slapped his thighs. “It cannot be allowed to happen.”

“What would you want me to do?” Rakoczy asked when it was clear Smiricti would say nothing more. “Shall I abandon my plans for the banquet at the Summer Solstice?”

“No,” said Smiricti emphatically. “That would only fuel the rumors.” He wiped his face with his sleeve. “You must have the banquet.”

“Then what is it you want me to do?” Rakoczy asked again.

“Be careful, for the Konige’s sake as well as your own. Guard yourself from any appearance of impropriety. I have dreamed of the crows flying into Vaclav Castle to pluck the eyes out of the Konige’s ladies-in-waiting, a clear warning. The spies in your household have most certainly heard the rumors and will be doubly alert to any misstep you might make.” The Counselor gathered himself up. “If you aren’t heedful of your danger, tragedy will be the result.”

“Tragedy?” Rakoczy was puzzled by his choice of the word.

“Anything that could bring about the downfall of the Konige and the end of the possibility of peace with Hungary could be nothing less,” said Smiricti. He glowered at the floor. “If you need a woman—and I must suppose you do—it can be arranged. No slut or drab, but a woman of standing. Not one of the Konige’s Court, of course, but someone well-born and not unpleasing to the senses. There are many widows, some of them quite young women, who would be glad to have a rich foreign lover. None of them would want to marry, for that would lose them whatever their husbands had left to them, so that shouldn’t worry you.” He was talking rapidly now, as if trying to explain as much as he could before his nerve failed.

“You need not bother, Counselor Smiricti,” said Rakoczy.

“But if you had a woman, the rumors would cease, or lessen. The Konige would not want her Court to be compromised, and she wouldn’t object to you taking a woman as your … companion.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands extended. “Truly, if such an arrangement can be made, you would have less to compromise you. You have only to tell me what your tastes are and a suitable mistress will be found.”

“It is unnecessary, I assure you,” said Rakoczy.

Smiricti shook his head woefully. “If you won’t take a mistress, then your situation may become … difficult, for as a member of the Konige’s Court, your actions must reflect upon her, as her countryman.” He wrung his hands.

Rakoczy gestured reassurance. “Counselor, calm yourself. I will do nothing to disgrace the Konige; you have my Word on it.”

“That may not be for you to decide, not the way calumnies of this sort develop, especially in so closed a world as the Konige’s Court is,” Smiricti said fretfully. “Remember, rumors can have lives of their own, and once they have started, very little is needed to keep them in motion. A word, a look, a smile, a gesture—nothing more is necessary.”

“Then I will be careful.” Rakoczy stood. “Counselor, I thank you for your concern, and your discretion. I will consider what you have said to me, and I will weigh your recommendation carefully. After the banquet, I will give you my decision.”

“I had hoped you might present your mistress at the banquet. That should put an end to all but the most—”

“Outrageous whispers?” Rakoczy suggested. “Perhaps. But since there are spies in my household, such a ploy may lead to more suspicions rather than fewer.” He ducked his head respectfully.

“But we must do something.” Smiricti got to his feet. “Comes, I implore you to reflect upon the danger to which you expose yourself, for we are all in jeopardy: the Konige, her ladies, you, and I, as your primary deputy in Praha.”

Rakoczy studied the Counselor. “You may tell Konige Kunigunde that I will need a little time to consider what is to be done, and when I have reached a decision, I will inform her of what it is, and if she is in agreement, I will inform you. Will that satisfy you?”

Smiricti could think of nothing to say; he lowered his head, his color still high. “Of course, Comes. Whatever you think best.”

As he walked toward the door, Rakoczy had the odd sensation that Smiricti’s gaze was boring holes into his back.

*   *   *

Text of a letter from Atta Olivia Clemens at her horse-farm in Flanders, written in Imperial Latin on vellum, carried by private courier and delivered twenty-eight days after it was written.

To my most dear, most exacerbating friend, Ragoczy Sanct’ Germain Franciscus, or whatever name you use now, the greetings of Atta Olivia Clemens on this, the 19
^th
day of May in the Christian year 1269,

It is six moths since your last letter reached me, and I am curious to know how you have found the Konige’s Court of Bohemia, and since you haven’t anticipated my desire to learn how you are faring, I have taken pen in hand to inquire for myself. I know how much you dislike being coerced, and this semi-exile Konig Bela has imposed upon you can only be seen as coercion. But you have it in you to accommodate difficult circumstances, so I trust you have established yourself in the Konige’s good graces and that you have had no more disagreements with her grandfather.

Did Mansion Belcrady turn out to be all you had been promised, glazed windows and all? You certainly paid well enough to have it precisely as you instructed it should be. If not, how far from your expectations was it, and how much have you had to do to make it suitable for you? My manse here in Flanders needs much done to it, and Niklos has hired a dozen workers from Ghent to come and make it as it should be. They are supposed to arrive in July and work through September. I have agreed to pay them quite handsomely, of course, to ensure their best efforts. And I would not like the local authorities to decide I had cheated honest men, for my claim to this property is shaky at best, and it would take very little to have the magistrate cancel my claim entirely, although the title, as the law requires, is held by my so-called half-brother, Niklos Aulirios.

As awkward as your circumstances are, you have behaved honorably toward your dependents, and have preserved your fief. The Konig and his son are still at odds with your fief in the middle of their dispute. But you have faced more daunting situations than this one and emerged from them without too many bruises, which is probably necessary, given your capacity for taking on other people’s problems. From all you have said and I have heard, Konig Bela is a hard man to bargain with. It does not surprise me that he would hold your fiefdom hostage to keep his son from being able to wage war; I am only surprised to learn that Konig Otakar hasn’t taken it into his head to try something similar. But he is off on campaign, so perhaps it hasn’t occurred to him yet; I suspect that in time he will want to make the most of you or be rid of you. Why, of all things, did Konig Bela decide to keep you so close at hand? If I were he, I would have banished you to a very distant place, where you could do no mischief. Trapped between Bela and Otakar, as you are, must test even your expert statesmanship. How long do you plan to endure it? You needn’t worry: I won’t maunder on about your problems; most certainly you comprehend them more thoroughly than I do.