Dave Duncan - Speak to the Devil

“Suffer me in this, my lord bishop. I’m not going to lay hands on him. Ah, there you are.” A burly archer had emerged from the crowd, with others behind him. When they arrived at the transept-“Llywelyn, you may accept the constable’s sword if he wishes to give it up. If he doesn’t, no matter. Here he is in holy sanctuary, and he may remain here forty days if he so wishes. You will post guards to watch over him day and night, and the moment he sets foot outside, you will arrest him and see he is secured in a dungeon. He is not to be maltreated otherwise. You act in my name in this and I hold you responsible for his safety and confinement. You may call on as many men from the garrison as you require.”

“Then what?” Kavarskas shouted, hand on sword.

“Then you will be charged with high treason and given a fair trial. Will you go peacefully?”

Showing a dignity Madlenka would not have expected from him, Kavarskas handed the count’s helmet to the archer, then drew his sword and passed it over also. He made reverence to the host, and turned to go.

Anton let out a soft sigh of relief that only Madlenka and the bishop could have heard. “One more to go,” he murmured. “The name of the landsknecht captain?”

“Luitger Ekkehardt,” she said.

“Captain Ekkehardt!”

The big man in his butterfly glory paused an insolent moment before saluting the new count, no expression escaping through his barley-colored beard.

“You are under contract to the lord of the marches, an office I now have the honor to bear. I have your loyalty?”

The big man did not look impressed by this elongated youth. “We contracted for garrison duty, not siege work.”

Anton fingered his mustaches again. “You mean you were hired just to look pretty, not to fight at all? I never heard of mercenaries actually having that written into their contracts, even if that was how they interpreted their duties afterward.”

“The Pomeranians are coming.”

“That’s why the king sent me. Where have you fought?”

“In France against the English, in Moravia, under Casali on the Milan campaign, at Pisa, in Bavaria…”

“The Milan campaign-wasn’t that Alberto Casali’s troop? Fifteen years ago? Was that where you learned your trade? Casali looked like a rat and fought like a mouse. My brother Vladislav met him in Bavaria two years ago. Did you meet Louis Macquer at Milan? His men called him Basilisk Mouth-if he just breathed on walls they collapsed. Or Herman Maier? Now, there was a fighter, until he tried to field a cannonball outside Linz. You know Sigmund Geismeyer?”

Ekkehardt seemed more suspicious than impressed. “You know these men?”

“I’ve met most of them. Geismeyer collects the most gorgeous young squires. But we can talk shop later, Captain. Meanwhile, until I learn my way around here, I want you to be acting constable for me. Just a few days. I’ll read over your contract and see if I think the price needs boosting. Any problems with this? Good. Lord bishop, your prayers would be very welcome now, for only God Himself knows how much I need His aid and support. Thank you for your sufferance.”

Magnus took Madlenka’s hand and led her over to the ornate ancestral pew. Between his armor and his height, he had trouble folding himself up enough to kneel in it as the bishop called for prayer.

Whisper: “Madlenka?”

“My lord?” she asked, shocked. Her father had never whispered when he was supposed to be praying.

“I was quite worried when I was told that I would have to marry a woman I had never met, but now that I have seen you, I have no worries at all.”

“My lord is kind to say so. And I am likewise greatly relieved.”

He frowned as if puzzled, then shrugged. “All women have that problem. I think you are very beautiful, which is what matters. I also enjoy women with spirit, and I came in just as you were throwing a tantrum at the bishop to read the banns. Right now you must promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t dig me in the ribs, but please do something drastic if I start snoring. I had almost no sleep last night and I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Riding hard?” she asked sympathetically.

“Well…” he murmured. “Yes, you could say that.”

He had done it! With his betrothed on his arm, Anton followed the bishop out of the cathedral. It was less than twelve hours since Cardinal Zdenek had given him an impossible job and he had already completed it. Well, most of it. He had traveled to Cardice faster than anyone had ever done, and his claim to the earldom had been accepted by the bishop, whose lead everyone else would follow. He had booted the Hound back to his kennel and arrested an obvious traitor who could be given a fair trial and then hanged as an example. The Pomeranian problem would have to wait for a day or two, but he could probably talk Wulfgang into dealing with the Wends for him. Which reminded him: he had better check on Wulfie and see if he had recovered yet.

It was nice to be cheered. He could hear the tumult building outside before he even reached the cathedral door. News of the new count must be all over the town already.

And he had acquired a bride who was tall enough to match his height but did not look freakish. He glanced down, she looked up. “Lift your veil,” he said. “I know you’re in mourning, but this is a moment for celebration.” He gave her his best boyish grin. “And try to look as if you feel as happy as I am.”

“I am much happier, my lord.”

“You mustn’t argue with your future husband. The moment we’re alone, I shall give you some intense kissing lessons.”

“I look forward to learning.”

Once she had plumped up after marriage, as women did, she would be a feast. Her eyes were purest blue and the glimpses he had caught of her hair indicated that she was a golden blonde. He admired her pale hands, with their long, supple fingers; the thought of them exploring his body in the near future was very enticing. If she came on in bed half as strong as she had in the cathedral when she shouted at the bishop, then she was going to be a hellcat to romp with. Until then he would have to behave himself, unfortunately, for he mustn’t risk scandal so early in his reign. Tomorrow he would explain why early marriage was a political necessity.

“What was Hound Vranov up to?” he asked.

“I don’t know, my lord. He arrived this morning with two hundred men-at-arms and claimed that the Wends are about to attack and we must accept his son Marijus as keeper of the castle.”

“I see. And whose idea was it to throw your dowry into the pot?”

“Mine,” she confessed, and explained how the seneschal was frightened to spend the king’s money.

“He told you so?”

“Um. No. Marijus did.”

“Then I think I arrived just in time.”

“I believe you. What do you think they were up to?”

“Just guessing, I’d say the money was to buy off the landsknechte and send them packing. Then you would have found the town and castle full of Pelrelmian troops.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “We were all deceived. And when the Wends came?”

“He was probably making up the Wend story,” Anton assured her.

“But both he and Marijus swore on the bone of holy St.-”

“Oaths mean nothing to such men.” Cardinal Zdenek had thought the Wends were a threat, but he needn’t bother her with that news. “If Duke Wartislaw did invade, Vranov might have sold him Castle Gallant for cash and a guarantee that his own county would not be harmed. It doesn’t matter now. Don’t worry about it.”

The streets were too narrow for a true parade, but the stairs along both sides provided handy grandstands for the cheering crowds. The people of Cardice were no longer orphans. They had a count again, a nobleman to defend them and tell them what to do. The king himself had sent him! Men doffed their hats and shouted blessings as he passed. Women curtseyed or even knelt. Gallant was an ants’ nest of tightly packed houses, a firetrap. He would have to do something about that if the Wends did show up.