The Black Swan (31 page)

“I had rather be called a fine huntress than any other praise,” she told him honestly, and blushed a little more as he bowed to her.

Well enough; she's still in the running,
he decided.
I think she's not enamored of any man, nor like to be, but we have hunting in common, and I think she would not be inclined to object if I sought other beds than hers. There's much to be said for an arrangement of that sort.

But before he made any assumptions, he'd have to quiz her on that himself; something told him that this princess would not be shocked by such direct speech.

He left her in the hands of the servants at the camp, and he and Benno continued down the road to the village. He'd already bespoken a bath at the inn, and tonight if the swans were actually at the lake as reported, he would make the first attempt at hunting them. He planned to hunt by night because unlike Honoria,
he
did not possess a goshawk tractable, intelligent, and strong enough to set at swans. That meant hunting with crossbows, which meant he would have to get in close to be certain of a clean kill in a place where he could retrieve his prize. To get that close, he would need darkness as cover.

That was all for tonight, however; this afternoon he intended to relax with his friends, and perhaps see which of the village girls wished to make a closer acquaintance of their prince.

“So, how many of the local flowers are ready for plucking, do you think?” Benno asked, echoing his thoughts, as they neared the inn, and saw Wolfgang waiting for them at the table under the trees.

“At least two or three, which leaves one for you, if that's what you were hinting at,” Siegfried laughed. He dismounted and led his horse the remaining few feet, putting the reins and a few pfennigs into the hands of the waiting stable boy. Benno did the same, and they joined Wolfgang, who had already selected wine for them, and was waiting impatiently for their arrival to share it with him.

“By Jove, I cannot see why you waste so much time with nonsense you could perfectly well leave to your falconer,” was Wolfgang's irritated greeting as they sat down at the table. “For that matter, if it's game for the pot you're after, I don't see why you just don't have your servants shoot the damned birds for you and have done with it.”

Siegfried only laughed. “For the same reason that I went fishing this morning, my friend,” he mocked. “You ask the same question every time Benno and I go out hunting, and we give you the same answer. Aren't you weary of it by now?”

“I keep hoping you'll come to your senses and see what nonsense it all is,” Wolfgang grumbled. Siegfried slapped him on the back and performed the only action that would cheer him up; he uncorked the wine and poured three tankards full, with Wolfgang's first. Food came as the wine was being poured, and all three of them fell to; Siegfried and Benno were ravenous after their hunt, and Wolfgang could always be counted on to share a plate of good sausages.

The older man cheered up immediately, and actually unbent enough to ask them intelligent questions about the morning's hunt—though his questions centered on the princesses, not on the game.

“Well, if you want my opinion, it sounds as if you'd get along well enough with that Honoria,” Wolfgang offered cautiously, cocking an eye at Siegfried to see how his opinion would be received. “Assuming that's what you want. For all I know, you'd rather have a pretty little empty-headed ornament for the court.”

“At the moment, if I were forced to make a choice, it would probably be Princess Honoria,” Siegfried admitted, just as cautiously. “I want to know more about the others, though, before I make any judgments. I—”

Anything else he'd been about to add was interrupted by the call of a herald's trumpet near at hand. Every head, including Siegfried's, swiveled toward the source of the sound, as the trumpeter repeated the salute.

“It would appear that you are about to have another opportunity,” Benno said with a smile, as a double line of heralds and pages marched into the village square, carrying trumpets, standards and all the other panoply the queen considered necessary to announce her presence when away from the palace.

Behind the heralds came some of the courtiers, notably those who had not gone in for serious hunting this morning. They still wore their elaborate and decorative “hunting habits,” which were no less encumbered with trailing, dagged sleeves, bright embroideries, and ribbons than their court dress. Veils and sleeves in every color fluttered in the breeze, pennons and standards waved above their heads, all of it creating a sensation among the villagers. Behind
them
came all six of the guests of honor, each with the male escort (an older, married noble) that her father had sent with her to safeguard her virtue. Somehow they had all found time to change, for each of them, even Honoria, had on the ornamental “riding habits” they'd worn yesterday, newly cleaned and brushed.

Last of all came Queen Clothilde, in a gown that could not have been less suited for riding if it had been made of gossamer. The hem and sleeves of this tawny-gold velvet confection were so long they trailed behind her for two feet or more, and the hat on her head, ornamented with a cluster of plumes and ribbons, would have sailed away in the slightest breeze if it had not been anchored to the gold-mesh net she wore to confine her hair. A long, gold chain circled her slim waist, the end of it ornamented with a chatelaine and hanging down an inch or so above the hem. A heavier chain, the links made in the form of double initial “C”s, circled her shoulders. She never rode anything but the most gentle and placid of palfreys, and even then Siegfried shuddered every time she was boosted into the saddle, firmly expecting the long-suffering horse to bolt with fright or trip over one of the long, trailing hems and break a leg.

However, since the queen never rode at a pace faster than a walk, none of this made a great deal of difference to her, only to the pages who had to manage her train, sleeves, and so forth. And to those who had to clean her gowns after she wore them.

“Siegfried!” the queen called out merrily, as the prince approached her to make his bow of courtesy. “The villagers have begged to dance for us! I said yes, of course; it will be charming, and our guests will enjoy it so much!”

Siegfried went to his knee and bowed—but was glad that his bent head hid his expression until he could school it into the mask of dutiful pleasure his mother expected.

Mother, dear, our guests will be bored silly, I expect, unless the sight of a peasant dance is such a foreign experience to them that the novelty alone will give them pleasure.
When he rose and kissed his mother's hand, then bowed his head to each of the princesses, he didn't detect anything other than polite interest on their faces—with more politeness in the expression than interest.

Nevertheless, since he fully expected one or more of the dancing village girls to make her interest known to him during the course of the display, he was not altogether displeased with this interruption of his plans for the afternoon.

The innkeeper scurried to his side when he beckoned. “Wine for the ladies, if you please, and beer for the gentlemen.” He knew the innkeeper didn't have enough good wine for all the nobles, and better a good beer than a poor wine.

Wine came for the queen and the rest of the women, and foaming tankards of beer brought smiles of relief to some of the male courtiers; the queen graciously accepted a goblet, and servants brought her a chair. Benches from the inn draped in fine cloth served as seats for the princesses, and the rest of the assemblage made do with whatever they could contrive, from an overturned bucket to a tree stump. Those who could not command a seat, stood, trying not to look bored or uncomfortable.

When they all settled in place, a row of excited red-cheeked, blond-haired country girls, dressed in their finest black wool skirts, brightly embroidered aprons, embroidered bodices, and linen chemises, each accompanied by a red-faced, nervous young man, trooped into the square. Two by two they made their bows, first to the queen, then to the princesses, then finally made their way around to the table where the prince and his friends sat to make a final curtsy.

The ever-efficient Arno had already whisked into the inn as soon as the queen made her announcement; by the time the first maiden and her swain made their obeisance to the prince, he was at Siegfried's elbow with a basket. The basket contained the usual “appropriate gifts” for such performers; Arno never allowed the prince to travel without a stock of such things. In this case, the gifts were bright bunches of ribbons such as the girls currently wore intertwined with their braids and the flowers in their hair and the boys had as braided trims on their sleeves, tied to a pretty little silver hawk-bell—a merlin-bell, about the size of the end of Siegfried's little finger, and suitable to be worn as an ornament. As each pair rose from their bow, Arno handed each partner a ribbon bunch, much to the delight of the girls and the interest of the boys.

There were no local musicians, for which Siegfried was thankful; at least they would not be subjected to the meanderings of some senile old codger who had his own notion of tempo and melody. The queen had the foresight to bring along a flute player from her own retinue, and of course Uwe was
always
present with his lute; after a moment of hurried discussion, dancers and musicians settled on a tune they all knew, and the dancers formed up in pairs.

Siegfried watched the capering with every appearance of interest, not altogether feigned. There were four little wenches with bright eyes who cast coy and inviting glances his way whenever the dance afforded the opportunity. One was rather plump for his taste, and one had a face altogether too much like his horse, but the other two were promising, and the looks they gave him had nothing whatsoever of innocence about them.

As for the dance itself, it was exactly what he had expected, a simple country dance with a great deal of rowdy skipping and leaping about, giving the girls a chance to display their calves, and the boys, their athletic prowess. It was neither as graceful nor as intricate as a court dance, but it was performed reasonably well, without any of the dancers falling over each other or their own feet.

A second dance followed, performed by all of the girls, involving garlands of flowers which had probably been made up for this express purpose this morning. At the end of the dance, the garlands were presented to the queen, who loved the scent of flowers and was pleased to receive them. Or rather, her pages received them, and arranged them neatly at her feet. This, of course, was the signal for the queen to present
her
little gifts, more ribbons, but strung with a pierced coin. These were all silver coins of doubtful value; clipped or shaved, or debased in other ways. The queen had all such small coins that came into the Royal Treasury singled out for use as gifts of this kind—for young peasants, who seldom saw a silver coin, such a prize would represent a fine bride price or a good portion of a dowry. The dancers exclaimed over this double portion of generosity, and gathered in little knots to admire their gifts. It wasn't long before many of the boys were trading their bells to the girls in exchange for coins; personally, Siegfried thought the girls got the better part of the bargain. The bells, at least, were full, unalloyed silver.

The three most skilled of the girls took up a position in the center of the square as the rest fell back and stilled their buzz of conversation. Uwe struck up a bright gigue as the three struck a playful pose, then showed the talent that made them the best dancers in the village. As two of the three were the ones Siegfried was most interested in, and they sprinkled their performance with more flirtatious gestures and glances, he enjoyed this quite a bit more than the previous dances.

“Beer all around!” Siegfried called, and serving wenches and boys brought trays full of mugs for the dancers in lieu of any more gifts. Only when the last drop was drained from the mugs did the dancers take their places for the final performance of the afternoon.

Somewhat to Siegfried's dismay, they brought out the inevitable Maypole, and skipped interminably about the object. Maypole dances were very popular with the participants, but invariably boring for spectators. Even the queen's smile began to show signs of strain, as she watched the dancers weaving their streamers with the expected number of mistakes and giggles, until the pole was covered and none of the dancers had more than a foot or two of streamer in his or her hands.

Seeing that they were finally breathless, Siegfried put an end to the display by calling for another round of beer all around, which the villagers were very glad to take advantage of. One or two of the princesses called individual girls over to examine the embroidery on their costumes—possibly with an eye to offering them a position in their households, if the work showed enough skill. The rest of the dancers settled themselves comfortably about, casting surreptitious glances at their rulers and masters.

All except for the sauciest of the girls, the one Siegfried thought was the likeliest of the lot.
She
had another plan to bring herself to the prince's attention, and set about putting it in motion.

Darting over to the table, she seized Wolfgang's hand; as she passed near Siegfried, he caught an unexpected whiff of flower scent from the roses she'd used in her flower crown.

“Come along, gransire!” she said merrily, tossing her head. “I saw you a-tapping of your toes! I reck you can show the boys a thing or twain about dancing, eh?”