Authors: Unknown
“How does a ten year old get dragged into marriage with the Holy Roman Emperor, anyway?”
“Isabella is thirteen and became Queen of Jerusalem shortly after birth,” Amihan explained. “The widowed King wanted Frederick’s help with the Sixth Crusade and gave his daughter in exchange. But Isabella’s father got more than he planned.”
“The Emperor stole his title.”
“And everything else with it,” he agreed. “Isabella’s proper title is Holy Roman Empress, Queen of Jerusalem and Queen Consort of Sicily.”
Their conversation ceased as servers began to arrive with wine, sweetmeats and other delicacies. Krystállina accepted a plate with a pair of songbirds on it and a goblet full of dark, rich wine.
“Looks like they are preparing for a galliard,” Amihan mused as his wife tucked in to the first of the birds. “I never
did
ask you if you knew how to dance.”
Krystállina looked at him as she wiped her mouth on her handkerchief. “I grew up in an olive orchard, remember? When would I have had time to dance?”
Her ability to pretend, however, was soon put to the test. The galliard went by in a whirl and Krystállina had just gotten her goblet refilled when the Emperor arrived, glowing from his recently completed pavane.
“Your Grace, you would do me a great honor by joining me for the next dance.”
The Duchess glanced at her husband, but Andrew didn’t hesitate to give his permission. Frederick nodded to the Duke, smiling, as he led Catherine out onto the floor.
“My dancemasters have been working on this one especially for me,” he explained. “It’s still in the early stages yet, so I beg your pardon if it’s not quite what you’re used to.”
Frederick directed Catherine to place her left hand on his shoulder, while he placed his on the small of her back. He took her free hand in his own and the orchestra struck up a song that the Duchess would later describe as having a “flowing feel”.
After a few minutes of whirling about the floor, the Duchess realized that the dance was so new, the court could only stand and watch. Flushing, Catherine put her head closer to the Emperor’s.
“What do you call this?”
“I intend to name it the Viennese waltz. Do you like it?”
“I’d like it better if everyone wasn’t staring at us!”
Frederick laughed. “They’re staring at you because you are the most beautiful woman in the room, my dear Duchess!”
“What about the Empress? Shouldn’t all eyes be on her?”
“I married Isabella in a fit of pique,” he admitted. “I thought the Queen of Jerusalem would be a just reward for my assistance in the crusades, but now I believe I was a little too hasty.
“You, on the other hand, would make a
wonderful
Empress.”
“I am only eighteen, Your Imperial Majesty. Scarcely older than your current bride.”
“But you were
born
to be royalty! I can see it in your poise; hear it in the way you speak…even see it in your eyes!”
“My God would not be pleased if I broke my wedding vows.”
“You’re not one of those silly followers of the Christ, are you?”
“I am amazed that you refer to them as ‘silly’ when their Holy Father crowned you himself.”
Frederick shrugged. “I have never been very religious.”
“I follow the Old Ways,” Catherine said after a moment. “Crown Prince Amihan is my Patron and He would be
very
displeased if I betrayed my husband.”
“What would some old god care about whom you take to your bed?”
“Amihan watches me always.” She glanced over the Emperor’s shoulder and made eye contact with her husband. “I daresay that if you tried to ravish me, He would rain down fire and lightning on the Holy Roman Empire.”
Before Frederick could argue, the song ended and Catherine dropped another curtsey.
“Thank you for this dance, Your Imperial Majesty. It was most pleasurable.”
Krystállina hurried off in search of Amihan and was surprised to see the Queen of Hungary at her table when she arrived.
“Where is Andrew?”
“Gone off to the gardrobe, no doubt,” Yolanda replied. “Sit down, Your Grace…you look positively exhausted.”
Catherine eyed the Queen warily as she sat down and removed her shoes once again.
“How did you meet?” the Queen asked at length.
“You must have missed it when I said he was on a diplomatic mission.” The Duchess sat back with a sigh. “I happened to be in Athens at the same time as he.”
“Was it love at first sight?”
Catherine smiled. “He didn’t even try to court me for the first few months.”
“How is it that you’ve never been to Britannia?” Yolanda pressed. “Certainly the good people of Hartford would love to meet you.”
“Andrew has said he has no desire to go back. King Henry approved his request to be England’s ambassador to the Holy Roman Empire, which allowed my husband to keep his titles. But other than that…”
“It is wonderful to see you two getting along so well!” the Duke exclaimed as he made his way through the crowd.
“Would you excuse us a moment, Your Majesty?” Krystállina pulled Amihan aside and spoke quietly in Greek.
“Take me home.
Now
. Come back later in servants’ clothes and get the carriage. I’ll explain when we get there.”
June 15, 1226
“Who desires entrance to the Temple of the Elder Gods?”
Yolanda de Courtenay barely glanced at the dark skinned man as she tried to push her way in. “None of your business!”
He blocked her with his spear. “I asked you a question, woman!”
The Queen drew her dagger so fast; the razor sharp edges gleamed in the afternoon sunshine.
“If you do not let me through, I will not be the only woman here!”
~*~
The Queen of Hungary approached the Great Altar, but did not kneel. She was resplendent in a floor length gown of amethyst satin, her hair drawn up beneath her freshly polished crown. The candlelight in the sanctuary caught the amethysts on arms and fingers as she raised her hands to address the gods.
“Hear me, Elders of the Three Worlds. I am Yolanda de Courtenay, rightful Queen of Hungary, and I would speak with You this day!”
When she had made the journey from her kingdom in the past, Yolanda had been addressed by the booming voice of one of the Elder Gods, appearing in some semblance of His or Her element. This time, there was no response, save for a slight roiling of the dust around her feet.
“Hear me!”
The dust grew from a restless formlessness into a cloud that soiled her gown and nearly made her cough.
“
HEAR ME!
”
The cloud began to spin, cascading through Yolanda’s hair and pouring down her throat. The Queen of Hungary was reduced to a coughing, choking heap, but she was also answered.
“You have been heard.”
When the dust cleared, Yolanda realized that she was no longer in the Temple of the Elder Gods, but crumpled in front of a great, dark throne.
“Telfer, get her something to drink.”
Yolanda struggled to her feet and realized that she had been stripped of her queenly vestments. The gown, the jewels and even her crown were gone, replaced by a dress of the coarsest homespun. The only acknowledgement of her rank in Tahanan was the color of the dress, a faint purple.
Telfer returned then, bearing a golden goblet.
“I…I don’t d-drink water,” the Queen stammered. “It can make you sick.”
“This water is cold and sweet,” replied the first voice. “It has never been tainted by mortal diseases.”
Yolanda peered into the goblet for a moment, the drained in all in one draft. When it was empty, she handed it to the servant, who melted back into the shadows.
“Now, what is happening in Tahanan that makes the Queen of Hungary think that she has the right to command the High King of the Gods?”
“Imposters!” she said with a final cough. “At the Holy Roman Empress’s May Day Celebration!”
Léi Shēng leaned forward, so that the Queen could see his expression.
“What makes you think I care about gate-crashers?”
Yolanda stiffened. “These are not
ordinary
trespassers, Your Majesty. There is something uncanny about the Duke of Hartford. Starting w
ith the fact that England has no such duchy.”
She went on to tell the Elder God of Wind everything she had noticed, right down to the way Andrew had styled his hair and the color of his eyes. Léi Shēng agreed that there was something uncanny about this “An
drew”, but kept the thought to himself.
“What about this woman he had with him?”
“Catherine Bestwick; Duchess of Hartford and Marchioness of Queensberry. Queensberry is a real marquisate, by the way…though all of You know how she came to the title. Catherine certainly wasn’t
born
to nobility!”
“Describe her.”
“Wavy blonde hair, deep blue eyes, fair skin. I think I heard she was Hellenic, but she speaks French and German perfectly.”
“How long did you say the Bestwicks have been married?”
“Since October, My L
ord. A month before the Holy Roman Emperor wedded the Queen of Jerusalem.”
“Very interesting.” Léi Shēng sat back, so that his face was once again in shadows. “You consider yourself a loyal servant, do you not, Yolanda? Despite the Christian pretenses you
have to keep up in public?”
“Of course, My Lord.” The Queen dropped into a curtsey lower than the one she reserved for the Emperor. “I hope to serve You throughout this life and on into the next.”
“Then you will keep track of the Duke and Duchess of Hartford for me and report back every time something changes. You do not have to come to the Temple each time you have news—Telfer will give you a special way to contact me on the way out.”
Yolanda thanked the Elder God and was quickly shown
out. Léi Shēng was alone for mere moments, though, before Telfer returned.
“Permission to speak, My Lord?”
“Permission granted.”
“It seems that the Queen of Hungary has caught up with Your errant Prince Amihan.”
“What proof do you have of this?” the god replied. “Lord and Lady Hartford could simply be imposters.” Léi Shēng was certain that Telfer was correct—he just enjoyed making mortals squirm.
“Yolanda said that the Duke spoke several languages perfectly, with no hint of an accent.”
“Mortals can teach th
emselves accents when they learn languages.”
“But most don’t even think about it,” Telfer pointed out. “And she said that Lord Hartford always avoids contractions—a sure sign of living among the divine aristocracy.
“If His Royal Highness is posing as morta
l nobility, then the woman with him must not be Princess Aĺakána,” the servant reasoned. “She must be a mortal.”
Léi Shēng’s countenance darkened, but he simply said, “Aĺakána has no reason to disguise herself as a mortal. Even if she did, the ‘Duke and Du
chess’ would have many more titles to show their power and prestige.”
“Even if the Princess
did
disguise Herself, She wouldn’t have had a Greek accent. She would have been perfectly articulate.”
The Elder God was silent for a long time; so long, that Telfer took it upon himself to speak again.
“Shall I summon the guard?”
“If you wish to hunt down my son, wait. There will be plenty of time for that in the future.”
Telfer’s expression said that he had just swallowed a lemon. “But…
My Lord
…what if they’re…
repro
ducing?
”
“Naïve as this may sound; I hope this woman is nothing more than a dalliance…a
side
entertainment
…in his pursuit of Aĺakána.
“We must not destroy the rain cloud that only seeks to nourish the land.”
August 1226