Dave Duncan - When the Saints

“That’s good.” Wulf hoped it was also true. Konrad might believe anything he wanted to believe-which would make Wulf’s own job easier as long as he could keep the prince’s ear. “Then let’s worry abou; s worryt deposition. If you were to be set aside, whether by palace coup or armed rebellion, then your brother-in-law would have a strong claim to the crown matrimonial. He would have to win the trust of the nobility. So your choice of a husband for your sister may carry a lot of weight in deciding your own future.”

At last they were getting close to Wulf’s problem. A burst of cheering from downstairs was more likely related to the progress of the orgy.

“If you mean,” Konrad growled with unexpected vehemence, “that I should marry Laima off to some misshapen dwarf who slobbers when he talks, then you can go jump your horse off another cliff. I’ve heard rumors about the toads Zdenek has been dredging out of the swamps. Not that he ever talks to me. Or listens to me. I think he’s going to fake Grandsire’s name on a marriage contract so I don’t even have a say.”

He was right, but Wulf was not supposed to know that.

“Unless he acts very quickly, the choice will be yours. Choose some healthy young nobleman. Someone she will like and wil l come to love, and who will love her as she deserves. But not a prince! You don’t want your kingdom entangled in foreign alliances. Best of all, someone who lives far away won’t get caught up in local conspiracies.” Someone like Louis of Rouen, for example, except that Louis was offering to move to Jorgary instead of having his wife move to France.

Rhythmic clapping from downstairs must mean that someone was putting on a superior performance.

“I’ll sleep on it.” The bed roiled as the prince turned over.

Wulf murmured agreement. That had certainly been the hardest negotiating session of his life so far, and he was glad his liege lord had chosen to conduct it in the dark.

He had never met anyone like Konrad-built like a bull, born to the purple, raised on royal jelly, yet still only a child. His sense of humor belonged in privies and bawdy houses. All his life people had agreed with his opinions, laughed at his jokes, and allowed him to choose the games to be played, the topics to be discussed. No one ever dared contradict him. Very soon now he would inherit one of the oldest thrones in Christendom.

Yet Wulf had caught glimpses of something more. There was hope.

Before dawn, Wulf was wakened by a hard kick in the back and a command to fetch Nenad. He fought his way out of the billowy feather mattress and sweet dreams of Madlenka, with no help at all from the entangling silk nightgown.

“Where do I find him, sire?”

“Outside, of course.”

Yes, the cherubic valet lay snoring on a pallet right outside the door. The? hall below was littered with discarded clothes, but there were no bodies in sight. Already fully dressed but understandably rumpled and bleary-eyed, Nenad attended his master and was told to produce hot water, wine, and the two drumsticks he had been ordered to save from last night’s roast geese; horses to be ready at the door in fifteen minutes. Wrestling was not on the agenda, apparently. Immediate return to Mauvnik was.

The valet’s efficiency was incredible. In moments he was shaving the prince and had returned Wulf’s Italian finery, washed and ironed and smelling pleasantly of wood smoke from the fire that had dried it. Meanwhile the lodge resounded with bellows of anger as the guests fought to find their own clothes and take turns with the chamber pots.

Princes wait on no man. It was very little more than fifteen minutes before Konrad ran down the long stair and out into the first flat light from a sky the color of duck eggs. He was freshly shaved, fed, and dressed in finely laundered hunter’s green. Nobody else was. He had enjoyed a full night’s sleep, too.

He caught Wulf’s arm as their horses were being led forward. “We can talk more back in Mauvnik. I’ve made you unpopular enough already. Watch your back from now on.” Then louder: “Pavel! You ride with me. And Juraj, you great pervert. I want to hear who was doing what to whom last night. Which girl was screaming?”

Wulf found himself alone, wondering how literally Konrad had meant the warning. Were any of these baby-faced parasites capable of sticking a knife in him?

“May I ride with you, Sir Wulfgang?” inquired the buck-toothed Lubos.

“I would be honored, my lord.”

As the cavalcade streamed off down the road with half the riders still dressing, Lubos opened the interrogation. “I trust you slept well, Sir Wulfgang?”

“Eventually, yes.”

“Eventually?”

“His Highness talked a lot.”

“Ah.” Lubos smiled cryptically at his horse’s ears. “How do you fancy your chances on the mat with him?”

“Those shoulders terrify me.”

That began about three hours of conversation, none of which made any sense. Wulf was partnered with a dozen different people in turn, even a couple of the very few women whose palfreys were capable of matching the prince’s frantic pace. Half the guests dropped out. At one point the new master of horse had to ride forward to warn Konrad that he was damaging some of his guards’ mounts. Konrad pouted, but did rein in the black super-horse he was riding. By the time the hunt thundered through the palace gates, the courtiers knew everything there was to be known about Wulfgang Magnus, which was effectively nothing, and he had learnehe had ld more about them than they had guessed or he had ever wanted to know.

As they entered the palace, Konrad grasped his arm in an oversized fist. “To the mat! I want to see how far I can throw you. After that-hot bath, dinner, and then we’ll beard the Spider in his web, mm?” He stormed along the hall at a pace Wulf’s longer legs could barely match.

How many hours left until Cardinal d’Estouteville’s deadline? Wulf’s impatience was scratching like a hair shirt. Zdenek was already in his office. He had a pile of papers on his lap and was discussing them with Brother Daniel, a different Brother Daniel.

“Now might be a good time to catch His Eminence before the crowds… I mean, a good time to catch him, sire.” Even the cardinal would not make the crown prince cool his heels in the anteroom.

Wulf had not made his remark a tweak, at least not deliberately, so he was surprised when the prince agreed. Perhaps he was trained like a hound already, eager to obey his master’s wishes.

“Let’s go and see.” Konrad took the grand staircase at a run, with his cronies trailing behind him. Servants and courtiers hastily cleared out of his path and bowed after he had already gone by. Wulf did not suggest that more royal decorum would be in order. He had tweaked and nagged far too much already, and a show of youthful energy might be just what Jorgary needed after Konrad V’s long decline.

Even on a Sunday, the cardinal’s big anteroom held a couple of dozen petitioners. The friar guarding the door looked up in astonishment at the army of green-clad hunters bearing down on him. Then he recognized the leader and sprang to his feet.

“I shall inform His Eminence of your arrival immediately, sire.”

“Or sooner,” Konrad remarked cheerfully, but he did come to a halt. His train caught up with him and gathered around, grinning and, in some cases, puffing.

In his office, Zdenek looked up from his papers with the start of an angry protest, but then nodded and laid his work aside.

“Your Highness, His Eminence will receive you now…”

Konrad took one step before his nerve failed him, and he gestured for Wulf to accompany him. Wulf did, aware that every one of the dozen men he was leaving was mentally measuring him for a coffin. He had stolen the sun from their sky, cut the ground from under their fancy shoes. They must assume that he was now Konrad’s lover. There was no other possible explanation-except the truth, which would be much worse to have them believing.