Dave Duncan - When the Saints

By the time he entered the now-familiar office, the prince had already kissed the cardinal’s ring and was making polite apologies for not warning of his coming. The cardinal returned to his throne. The friar in attendance-an older, tubbier one thabbier onn yesterday-fetched a chair for the prince, exchanging a nod of respect with Wulf, each acknowledging the other’s halo. Wulf had not expected to be presented, but he was.

“Sir Wulfgang Magnus, Eminence. He’s a brother of that exhibitionist clown you made count of Cardice.”

Zdenek nodded as if mildly surprised and extended his ring. He murmured, “Sir Wulfgang,” as a man might in the circumstances, but there was enough fire in his eyes to warn that he was displeased about something. He said, “Your honored grandfather made that appointment, not I, Highness. I heard that Sir Wulfgang accosted you a couple of nights ago and offered to repeat his brother’s jump with his hands tied behind his back.”

Konrad uttered his high-pitched titter. “We didn’t tie his hands, but he did repeat it. Quite amazing. He used the same horse. I’m going to steal it off him.”

Wulf, standing at the prince’s side, said not a word. If his new liege continued to perform throughout this meeting as well as he had started, then he would have earned Morningstar. He was bearding the lion for the first time. The interview was probably costing him as much cold sweat as the jump had cost Wulf.

“Quite right, too.” Zdenek’s faint smile somehow conveyed the message that he had greatly enjoyed this little chat but now he had work to do.

“To business.” The prince raised a thumb. “First, I want you to send an escort for my wife and bring her back to the palace as soon as possible.”

“I am delighted to-”

“And issue a proclamation along the lines of needing her love and support during the trying times ahead.”

Brother Daniel was scribbling notes.

The cardinal frowned. “That would be an admission that His Majesty is dying. It is customary for monarchs to remain in excellent health until they are actually dead.”

“Everyone knows it’s coming,” Konrad snapped. He raised his index finger. “I think we have had too many Konrads already. I mean, I feel unworthy to fill the shoes of et cetera, et cetera. No one will argue with you on that. When the time comes, have me proclaimed by my second name, Krystof. King Krystof the Second? Christoforos Secundus Rex. Has a nice ring to it.”

The cardinal did not quite close his eyes and shudder, but Wulf did expect him to protest that hundreds of documents had already been prepared with the other name on it, awaiting only a date. He didn’t, but it must have cost him.

“Should have asked me,” the prince murmured anyway. He raised his middle finger. “I wish to be briefed on the funeral plans. Tomorrow morning?” ="0em"› “Certainly, Your Highness. I will have the lord herald wait upon you.” A faint flush had appeared in the cardinal’s normally ivory cheeks. His fists were clenched. As Wulf had predicted, he could not now refuse such instructions.

But the prince had the bit between his teeth. For the first time he was tasting power, and sweet it was. Wulf waited to hear what was coming next. He wondered what his lectures and gentle tweaks might have created, or at least allowed to hatch. No doubt Zdenek was even more apprehensive.

“And I want the official mourning for my dear grandsire to be both strictly defined and stringently observed. No unseemly partying or jollity during the entire… how long?”

“Two years.”

“ Jesus! Really? The entire two years. Lastly-and most important-we must plan for the transfer of power, mustn’t we? Several members of my grandfather’s council are well past their allotted span and should be replaced before they crumble to dust. We can scrape the moss off a few others and allow them to remain for the nonce, provided they start training successors. Some lists of names, if you please, as soon as possible. You…” Smile. Teasing pause… “But you, Your Eminence, are irreplaceable. I count on… Nay, I insist on your remaining my first minister, or whatever your formal title is, my principal advisor, for as long as your health allows, and may the Lord make that many years.”

This time the old man did blink. Yet still he did not look in Wulf’s direction, which showed remarkable self-control. “This is indeed an honor, sire. I am most gratified to learn that I have Your Highness’s confidence.”

“Who else could I trust? You are the government, and have been for years. And one other thing… A husband for my sister. Will this be the last decision of this reign or the first of the next?”

Again the cardinal was careful not to look at Wulf, but he must have made his decision right there, without an instant’s hesitation. Wulf had delivered tenure, and now he must follow through with his side of the bargain.

“It is an extraordinary coincidence that you should ask this today, Your Highness. Just this morning, His Majesty made his decision. He is well aware, of course, that a betrothal ought not be announced during the official mourning following his death, and feels it would be unfair of him to delay any longer. He agreed to accept the noble Sieur Louis of Rouen as his future grandson-in-law. His Majesty will sign the documents within the hour, and they will be conveyed to the Medici Bank for delivery by their couriers, who are the fastest in Christendom. I was just about to send the good news along to Her Highness. Brother Daniel, the Rouen file, if you please.”

The cardinal opened the package. “This is a miniature of Sieur Louis. And here is the final draft of the contract we have drawn up.”

Konrad looked briefly at the miniature, which depicted a smiling, handsome young man, no doubt to his advantage. He handed the document up to Wulf, standing respectfully at his side. “Tell me the highlights.”

The contract was a sizable sheet of vellum covered with crabbed minuscule script. A nobleman should both speak and read Latin, but an extempore translation of legal prose would test an expert.

“Hmm. Your Highness would not prefer to have me jump a horse backward somewhere…? Contract of betrothal… Names…”

Fortunately Wulf could guess at the gist of each clause from a key word or two. He especially hunted for any mention of where the happy couple would reside after their marriage. The contract must be based on d’Estouteville’s offer, which would have stipulated that they would dwell in Jorgary, while the note that Wulf had passed to the cardinal the previous day had said merely: France is a fine place to live. The farther Laima could be kept away from the fester of Jorgarian politics, the less danger she would present to her brother. If Zdenek had specified a home in the text, then the cardinal’s clerks would spot the difference right away, d’Estouteville might reject the offer, and the Inquisition would get its chance for revenge. He saw no sign of habitaculum or domicilium as he skimmed through the document. The French might not miss its absence, especially if the cardinal had thought to change the order of the various clauses. He must have done so; the old fox was still the wiliest around. With a little luck, Wulf thought as he quoted highlights, this draft should be accepted.

“Then space to sign, seal, and witness. Did I pass, Your Eminence?”

Zdenek actually smiled. It was a thin smile, but it was a smile. “You are wasted on horses, young man.”

“No, he isn’t,” Konrad squeaked. “Keep your hands off of him. Why don’t I take this material and show it to my sister? So I can be the one to share the good news.” Merciful heavens, was the lunk learning sarcasm now?

“No reason at all, Your Highness. Please give her my congratulations. His Majesty certainly considered her happiness when he chose the fairest and most personable of the many candidates for her hand.”