When the Saints (37 page)

Then they were off, straight down that impossible cliff. To increase its speed, a horse must lengthen its stride, and soon Morningstar seemed to be flying, feet barely touching the ground. The hedge came rushing at them, and Wulf had only a moment to wish someone could tweak away his own terror before he was fully occupied with getting his horse in position to jump.
Up, over the first hedge. Down into the water. And up over the second hedge.
Had any horse ever jumped quite that high? And managed to land safely?

Which he did, if only just.

Thump, thump, thump,
as Morningstar came to a halt, whinnying in terror. Wulf patted him and calmed him. Otherwise, silence. Not a cheer. Maybe they didn’t believe their own eyes. Did they have Speakers present, who would have seen Wulf blaze like a comet as he came over that second hedge? Morningstar was shaking like an aspen tree. His rider wasn’t much better, waiting for screams of “Satanist!” Wulf slid from the saddle and gave the reins to a wide-eyed groom.

He walked stiffly over to where Crown Prince Konrad was standing, hands on hips and face thrust forward in a massive glower. He looked even uglier in daylight than he had under the lamps last night. His riding cap hid his batwing ears, but the all-over smallpox scars were even more obvious. His teeth were as crooked as a heron’s nest. The only parts of him that a man might envy were the oversized chest and shoulders, but they cruelly emphasized how puny and bowed his legs were. Poor Konrad! He was no older than Wulf and already looked dissipated.

Around him stood his sycophants like a grove of lilies in their hunting clothes of Lincoln green. They cleared a path for the hero, but all faces were staying blank until they saw how their leader responded. The correct reaction would be to praise Wulf’s courage and horsemanship, but was Konrad man enough to do that? He might feel that he had been made to look a fool, although then he would be confessing that he had come to witness a spectacular suicide.

Before Wulf could drop to his knees, one of the courtiers whipped off his cloak and spread it on the mud for him. Several applauded, others scowled because they hadn’t thought of it first. It was a showy gesture, but Wulf’s Italian hose might be worth as much as the cloak. He knelt.

“Incredible!” the prince squeaked. That childish voice was surely the cruelest of all the tricks that malicious Nature had played on him.

The onlookers cheered and shouted agreement.

Wulf said, “I humbly apologize for keeping Your Highness waiting. I confess I lost my way.”

“It was well worth the wait. You have not been knighted yet?”

“No, sire.”

“We must put that to rights. Jozef, give me your sword.” He took it and tapped Wulf on the shoulders. “In recognition of your incredible courage and horsemanship, I dub you Sir Wulfgang Magnus and welcome you to the Christian fellowship of knighthood.”

Again the audience cheered.

About to rise, Wulf realized that he had not yet been told to do so, and remained where he was.

Konrad glanced around the audience to judge its mood. “I cannot make him the king’s master of horse. Yet. But I could appoint him master of mine.”

“It was inexcusably—”

“I have not finished, Sir Wulfgang.”

Wulf gulped into silence.

“After all,” the prince continued, “since my own master of horse died while trying to do what Magnus has just achieved, this stripling is obviously a better rider. You accept the appointment, Sir Wulfgang?”

“It was unpardonably impudent of me to mention that possibility last night, sire. And on hearing now how it touched on the death of Your Highness’s friend, I am doubly ashamed. I shall be rewarded far more than I deserve just to receive Your Highness’s pardon for my crudity. But if Your Highness is serious, then no honor would please me more.”

That was about the truest thing Wulf had said for hours. He had gained the access to Cabbage Head that he would need to keep him tweaked in the right direction. Even years of groveling servitude would be a small price to pay for survival and marriage to Madlenka.

“Then you are appointed and must swear the oath. Where’d our marshal go? Ah, Jozef, give him the words.”

Wulf put his hands within the prince’s and swore in the ancient way to be his man. So now he was on staff! If he hadn’t yet caught up with Anton, he had at least confirmed that the younger Magnuses were rising fast. He stood up and glanced at the faces around him. Their expressions seemed to alternate between narrowed suspicion and fixed rictus smiles. He was an interloper in the hive.

“Time to go, or we’ll be benighted,” Konrad announced, and the chorus murmured the inevitable agreement. He turned to regard Wulf again.

“Where are you living now, Sir Wulfgang?”

“At the Bacchus, sire.”

“We’ll find you quarters in the palace. Speak to Lubos. He’s my chamberlain—the skinny one with buck teeth and the longest cock in the kingdom.”

“Has he met my brother Anton, sire?”

“Oh, was that why Zdenek made him a count?” The future king bellowed with laughter at his own wit, and his future court joined it.

CHAPTER
39

The prince rode a showy black stallion. It was real horseflesh, though, willing to try a little resistance even at the end of a hard day. He brought it under control with no visible effort. Of course he rode in the van, and of course he wanted Wulf at his side. He would naturally be curious about this mysterious adventurer who had sprung out of nowhere. They had not gone twenty yards before the questions started.

“You are warrior-trained?”

“I am, sire.”

“So you joust?”

“Some, sire, although my brother the baron puts more emphasis on firearms and infantry training.”

“And you wrestle, of course?”

“I do.” Wulf had seen that coming. There were few men in Dobkov who could throw him now. Anton wasn’t one of them, but Vlad would likely still take him—although maybe not, because he would be slower now. Did Crown Prince Konrad allow others to beat him? Who could prevail against those shoulders?

“Excellent! So do I. Best of three throws tomorrow morning. Tell me more about yourself.”

Wulf recited some Magnus history. He decided that the other riders could not eavesdrop over the beat of two hundred hooves, and even Speakers must have trouble spying on a moving target, so this would be a good place to start his new career. “Your Highness is aware that we Magnuses pride ourselves on our unwavering loyalty to your noble house?”

“So I heard.” Konrad was unimpressed. Who would brag of family disloyalty?

“I am determined never to betray those three centuries of tradition. In short, sire,
you can trust me
.” That was a tweak, he hoped. His cadger hadրp forbidden him to break the first commandment, but the second had not been mentioned.

Crown Prince Konrad blinked and then nodded. “After watching that jump, I would trust you to ride into hell and steal the devil’s codpiece. I shall need men I can trust when my grandsire finally gets around to dying.”

“You can always count on me, sire.”
Tweak again. Was this to be his life from now on?

The sun had set. The moon was new and would give no light. Thanks to Wulf’s tardiness, the hunt could not possibly reach the palace before true darkness, but its destination had probably always been the hunting lodge at Kastan. Meanwhile, the prince was setting a fierce pace, and conversation became impossible whenever the road grew rough or the forest closed in on it. The rest of the time it progressed in fits and starts.

“Describe Dobkov.”

“An ancient but minor baronetcy near the Moravian border, known for its horses and its wine.”

“When will that brother of yours reach Cardice?”

“Knowing Anton, I am certain he is there already, sire.”

“How did he rate his chances against the Wends?”

“He will prevail or die trying. It is our way.”

“You will dine at our table tonight.”

A new liege lord could not be refused. “That will be both an honor and a pleasure.”

“Now tell us what you were up to with Marquessa Darina. In detail.”

“Nothing carnal, sire, alas. She accosted me, as she said. I confess that I saw an opportunity to be presented to Your Highness. The encounter turned out badly, as you know, and right afterwards the lady and I parted on unfriendly terms. By God’s Grace, the ending may yet be more profitable than the beginning.” Wulf wasn’t quite lying, but he was closer to it than he liked to be.

“Indeed? I noticed some of my friends regarding you with interest just now. Quite understandably so, of course.”

His leer made Wulf squirm. Loyalty did have its limits, and he doubted that his would stretch that far. Sex, in his opinion, was a private matter, no matter who was involved, and his choice of partner would be conventional. He prayed fervently that Darina had not lied when she said that Konrad’s debauchery was mostly pretense.

“You flatter me, sire, and many of your companions are remarkably handsome young men.” Why did such an eyesore surround himself with male beauties—was he proud of his illۀud of hi looks? “The truth is,” the utterly trustworthy servant lied, “that I am newly married and cannot imagine betraying my wife. Not yet, anyway. In a year or two I may slip back into old habits.”

“What’s her name?”

“M … Magdalena, sire.” Madlenka was an unusual pet name for Marie. The Magnuses were in the public eye now, and to have two of the brothers marry Madlenkas in a week might raise questions about how many husbands she needed. Wulf had foreseen the need to tweak the prince, but not all this disgusting mealymouth lying.

The heir apparent snorted. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe what you said about that slut Darina. You can’t expect me to trust you if you lie to me. I grant you your horsemanship—I could barely believe my own eyes when I saw what your brother did last week, and I truly expected you to break your insolent young neck today. But I don’t believe Darina picked you up in the palace stable. And she set up our encounter last night, not you; I want to know why.”

Either Konrad had been primed by some perceptive crony, or he was smarter than he pretended. That was encouraging.

“I’m not at all sure you do, sire.”

“Do what?”

“Want to know. It’s very bad news. I mean, I am a loyal subject of the House of Jorgar, and I began picking up worrisome rumors. I stress that I have no hard evidence and I am not completely sure of my facts, but it felt like my duty to—”

“Evidence of what?” The prince hadn’t slackened his pace at all, and yet he was giving all his attention to Wulf. He must have remarkable faith in his horse and his own horsemanship.

How to convince him? Konrad was not among the Wise. Told that Wulf was a Speaker, he would either flee in terror or scream for the Church. And even sorcery had given Wulf no hard facts.

His father had always said that truth was safer than lies because it was easier to remember. “Treason, sire. The brewing of a plot to depose you very soon after your grandfather’s passing.”

Konrad’s sudden pallor showed through its coating of dust and a long day’s sun- and windburn. Deposed monarchs had the life expectancies of mayflies. Everyone knew that, even stupid princes. But he did not scoff, so he must have at least considered the possibility.

“I will have their heads! Who are they? Give me names!”

“Names I do not have. It may reach up to the Assembly of Nobles.”

The prince’s muttered blasphemy suddenly changed to a shout of annoyance as the cavalcade came to a ford. The stream was flowing rapidly, and severaۀy, and sl minutes were needed to cross. Then he dug in his spurs, yelling for Wulf to close up again. Other courtiers were looking disgruntled at this blatant favoritism.

“Talk!”

“Yes, sire.” First lay a foundation of truth. “You know my brother was serving in the cavalry. I was his varlet and had much time on my hands.” Now build an edifice of lies. “I overheard some nasty jokes about ‘King Konrad the Brief.’ I accompanied my brother for a couple of days on his way north, and then doubled back to join my wife. Being known in the stable, I could prowl around, and I made it my business to do so. What the marquessa told me last night confirmed my suspicions. There is a plot forming in the shadows. Of course I may be worrying unnecessarily, and nothing may come of it.”

“That slime Zdenek is behind it, I’ll wager. I swear that the first thing I will do when I succeed is throw him in a dungeon.”

“And who will replace him?”

“I will. I intend to rule, not just reign.”

Heaven preserve Jorgary! “A very noble sacrifice, sire.”

The horses had slowed to a walk for a stony hill. The prince scowled at Wulf, suspecting mockery. “What does that mean?”

“Just that the old man works all day and half the night. No more hunting for you, sire. No grand balls or late parties. No wrestling, no jousting. Just reading all those reports would keep a team of clerks working from dawn to dusk.
Your life will be nothing but drudgery.
”