Speak to the Devil (14 page)

Reality returned with a crack like thunder. He slid to a stop, sprawled facedown in grass and thistles, which filled his bare hands with prickles and narrowly missed his eyes. Anton pitched headlong, but with his
usual luck avoided the thistles. The air was chill. A herd of sheep fled, bleating in unison.

Wulf screamed as every muscle in his body cramped simultaneously. It was worse! Worse, worse, worse.

“You all right?” Anton muttered. His face swam into view and then was drowned in tears of pain. “By the blood, you don’t look it.”

Wulf could hardly find breath enough to live, let alone speak. He writhed uncontrollably, every movement setting off more spasms. He thought he was about to die and that would be a very good idea.

“We must be close, Wulfie. We’ve come a long way. I can see mountains with snow on them. If I carry you, can you do the, er, miracle?”

Wulf swallowed the blood in his mouth and croaked, “Try.”

Anton’s clumsy attempts to lift him made his arms and legs thrash.

“Pox on you! If you can’t help, why don’t you at least stay still?”

“Can’t,” Wulf gasped.

Anton was big and superbly fit, but to lift another man onto his shoulders when both were wearing armor was a feat of note. Wulf’s spasms of agony did not help him, but after four or five attempts he succeeded, bent almost double by the load.

“Walk …”

“Easy for you to say.” Anton began staggering forward over the pasture. A few steps were enough to resume the Satanic journey, and he went shuffling through limbo while the mortal world, reduced to shadows on mist, rushed silently past.

“Troubles never come singly, it seems,” Marijus Vranov remarked. “The bad news we have brought must seem especially cruel to you, so soon after your bereavements and in your mother’s melancholy.”

So it’s piety time now, is it?
Madlenka pulled a face at him behind her veil.

“We must pray for strength to bear what the Lord sends,” she agreed. And we must wonder how many of the afflictions were sent by Havel, not Heaven. She had hoped for a private talk with Giedre on the way to the cathedral, but Marijus Vranov was waiting for her at the door as she prepared to leave the keep. He offered his arm and she could not refuse it without giving insult. They walked down the ramp together, following an honor guard led by the constable. The Hound and Leonas came next, with the boy happily chattering nonsense, then Seneschal Jurbarkas and Giedre. Captain Ekkehardt and some
landsknechte
brought up the rear. Bishop Ugne had gone on ahead. A surprisingly large crowd of townsfolk stood around in the little square, watching with worried eyes. They neither cheered nor booed, and their silence chilled the air like a dark cloud.

“Indeed we must. And I want to reassure you on one
point. I know that in the summer my father was trying to contrive a marriage between you and one of my brothers, so I can guess that you suspect him of trying to foist me on you now.”

“Honored as I should—”

He chuckled. “Don’t say it. Of course marriage must be the farthest thing from your mind at the moment, even if King Konrad had not flatly forbidden any union between our two houses. I would not mention this at all except to reassure you. I am in a similar position to yourself. My wife died last week, giving birth to a stillborn son.”

“Oh, no!” She stammered, trying to find words while she wondered whether to believe him.

“Oh, yes. So I also mourn and we are partners in grief. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Nor am I hinting that I am now free to marry someone else. I mean that there are times for joy and there are times for memories, and joy is very far away just now.”

“Have you children already?”

“Two girls. I would dearly love to be with them at this time, but Duke Wartislaw has decreed otherwise. Although my father does not say so, I suspect he has never been so worried in his life. If the Wends can take Castle Gallant, they will have turned his flank. I mean they will be able to circle around and attack Pelrelm from the plain.”

“Yes.” Did he think she was a simpleton like Leonas?

“The townsfolk are frightened. Understandably so. May I suggest that you lift your veil and show them that you are not?”

“I am, you know. Terrified.” But she obeyed.

“You truly do not show it. Perhaps I should wear it instead. It may be my face that is scaring them.”

“You jest, my lord!” Despite his demolished nose, Marijus was the most impressive Vranov she had met yet. She had always known that she would have little say in the choice of her husband, and now that Cardinal Zdenek would be making the decision, her thoughts on the matter would count for nothing at all. One day she would be told whom she was to marry, and that would be that. She could only hope that he would make as good a first impression as this latest member of the Hound’s pack. He had shown up well at that meeting, carefully staying silent until he could sum it all up and take charge.

“Are you really planning to melt down the altar vessels?”

He chuckled. “No. But I would if I had to. I am sure that the seneschal can find all the money we need.”

“But will he? I do not know why he is being so difficult.”

“Is he, by any chance, honest?” Marijus inquired with a smile.

“Of course! Absolutely.”

“Not ‘of course,’ my lady. In fact he must be almost unique, and that helps explain his fear. You see, the next keeper, whoever he is, will march in and demand a close accounting of all the books to find out how rich he is. And then he will put the seneschal to torture to make him reveal where he has hidden the rest of it.”

“No!” she cried. The thought of anyone torturing Giedre’s father was intolerable. That kindly old man?

“It happens all the time, my lady. And if he has spent your father’s money all his life only as your father directed, he is not about to start throwing it around now without orders from somebody in authority. He would be asking for trouble, you see?” He laughed. “Who would ever think that we should have to begin by fighting honesty? Altar vessels, here we come!”

It occurred to Madlenka that Marijus was likely to be around Gallant for some weeks or even months to come. She might be seeing quite a lot of him.

Most houses in Gallant were three stories high, with the bottom level being used for storage, workshops, or livestock. The streets were made even narrower by innumerable stone staircases leading up to the domestic floors, and these made natural galleries for spectators. As more and more townsfolk appeared to watch the informal parade, they stood on those stairs or packed back between them to let the nobility pass, so that Madlenka felt she was walking along a two-story canyon of people. More faces peered out of every window. Some stared angrily and showed their teeth, but she was sure that their anger was not directed against her but at the infamous count, the Hound who burned cottages with families inside.

As she and Marijus passed through the cathedral door, an argument broke out behind them, Leonas screaming that he wanted to come in, his father insisting that he stay outside with some of the guards.

Marijus looked around with annoyance. “Leonas gets frightened in
churches. I think he’s scared by the echoes. Come, we need not wait for the others.”

Why not? Why was she here at all? Either her escort was lying about her marriage potential or he had some other use in mind for her. Was even the seneschal capable of betraying her? Of course he was, if he could be persuaded that it was for her own good, or in the king’s service. She went up the steps with Marijus and entered the dimness.

Somehow the cathedral seemed both smaller and grander when it was empty. She and Marijus led the procession along the nave toward where Bishop Ugne was already standing on the steps of the sanctuary, clad again in his vestments. She let her companion decide when to halt, and the rest of her companions spread out in a line on either side of them. The troopers—garrison, Pelrelm honor guard, and
landsknechte
—halted a few steps back. The cathedral did not fall completely silent, though, and when Madlenka glanced around, she saw many people pouring in the west doors, anxious to witness whatever was going to happen. As if doubting their right to spy on their betters, they were staying back and close to the walls, so newcomers had no choice but to move farther forward.

Bishop Ugne frowned at the unexpected audience, but he could hardly order the people out of the house of God. He announced a prayer for divine guidance and protection, but the quiet shuffling noises at the back resumed as soon as it was over. This public meeting was a serious error, Madlenka decided, but to terminate it now would be a worse one.

The bishop went to the altar and fetched the precious jeweled reliquary that held the bone of St. Andrej.

“Havel, my son, you have a statement to make?” he asked softly.

The Hound stepped forward. “I do, my lord bishop.” But then he unexpectedly raised his voice and made a proclamation instead. “I employ men to spy on what is happening across the border in Pomerania. Last week three of them independently told me that they had seen Duke Wartislaw’s army moving south along the Silver Road. He has fifteen or twenty thousand men and is bringing a very big bombard and some other artillery, and he seems to be heading for Cardice.”

Sounds carried well in the old church, and moans of dismay announced that the townsfolk had learned of their peril. The bishop frowned angrily.
Wondering if that was what Vranov had wanted all along, Madlenka glanced at Marijus, but his expression told her nothing.

Havel repeated his offer of aid, conditional on payment.

The bishop waited a moment to be sure he had finished, then held out the reliquary. “Place your right hand on this. Do you solemnly swear …?”

The Hound swore as he hoped for salvation that what he had just said was the truth.

Then Marijus stepped forward and swore he would faithfully defend the fortress if he were acknowledged as acting keeper. He, too, spoke out loudly. People were entering by the side doors also now, and the tidings of war and allies had the cathedral humming like a summer beehive.

For a moment it did seem that an agreement had been reached.

Then everything collapsed.

Captain Ekkehardt was not as loud as the Pelrelmians had been, but he did not whisper either. He repeated that he was quite willing to fight for forty florins a month, but again he stipulated that he must be paid in coin. Again Vranov said so must he. Again the seneschal said he could not provide such funds without royal approval, and everyone tried to speak at once. Even the bishop was raising his voice now. The congregation groaned. There was no shyness now—people were pushing forward to hear.

Stupid,
stupid
old man! How could the seneschal not see that by hoarding the king’s money, he was putting the king’s fortress in peril? In fact he was risking the entire kingdom.

Madlenka realized that she was about to lose her temper. It was a bad habit of hers, as her mother had told her many times. Indeed, they had often had screaming matches about it. She always promised never to do it again, and she hadn’t done it for … a while. Not seriously, anyway. She discovered that she did not care what the cost might be. She wanted to explode like a bombard, so she strode forward three steps to join the men in front of the bishop.

“Stop it!
STOP IT!
Seneschal Jurbarkas, if you will not spend the king’s money, then I will spend mine. You must have far more than two thousand florins put away for my dowry. I know you do. Father told me. So I will lend that money to defend the castle.”

More uproar, with the townsfolk joining in, cheering her. Crimson-faced, Bishop Ugne was trying to restore order in the Lord’s house. Eventually he got silence.

“That money is not yours, Madlenka,” he said. “You are not of age, and besides, it would belong to your husband. Stand back!”

She did not budge. She had foreseen that argument. She knew the seneschal, and how he had never done anything without her father’s permission. What he needed now was an excuse to help her. She tried to argue and had to shout over the others’ voices. Probably all that they heard were her final words: “…read the banns!”

“What?” They all spoke in chorus.

The question seemed to echo outward in circles like ripples on a pond.

“Read the banns for me to marry Marijus Vranov, of course.” She looked around at the appalled faces. “I’m not saying to
marry
us! Banns just ask if anyone knows of an objection to us getting married, that’s all. We know there is because the king has forbidden it, but nobody else does.”

Judging by the bishop’s expression, he had not been informed of that royal edict. Madlenka plunged ahead with what was already beginning to feel like a serious mistake.

“A marriage wouldn’t be valid, and I certainly couldn’t get married so soon after … after … while I am still in mourning. But once you have read the banns the first time, then Seneschal Ramunas can advance money to my betrothed, can’t you, Uncle?”

Bishop Ugne looked ready to explode. “You would have me profane this house by making a proclamation I know to be false?”

“It isn’t false!” Madlenka stamped her foot. “Banns are just a question if anyone knows of a reason why there can’t be a marriage. Uncle, will it work?” She hadn’t called the seneschal that since she was a child.

They were all looking at her as if she still was. Had she made a fool of herself in front of half the town?

Worse—had she fallen into a carefully prepared trap? Why was Vranov smiling?

“Yes, it would,” the Hound said.

“I suppose it would,” Sir Jurbarkas conceded, accepting this fig leaf of authority. “I may still get hanged for grand larceny, but I could do that.”

“Then stand back, all of you,” Bishop Ugne said. He wheeled around and strode back to the altar, to replace the reliquary. Then he returned to his vantage point on the steps. The nave was full and the transepts were filling up also.