When the Saints (40 page)

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?”

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“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.”

In sarcasm, the cardinal was still the expert.

Konrad stood up. “One more thing: I have appointed Sir Wulfgang my master of horse. Have that proclaimed. I may let him serve me in that capacity when I succeed.”

The moment of camaraderie ended abruptly. The cardinal looked shocked. “Sire, that post is hereditary in the House of—”

“But the present marquis is twelve years old. Until he comes of age, we need someone to keep the seat warm. Or the saddle warm, mm? If necessary, Sir Wulfgang can be deputy master or acting master. Meanwhile, he needs somewe needs here to live, he and his wife. Are any of the grace-and-favor quarters currently available?”

“I believe so.” The cardinal was sulking as he offered his ring. The prince kissed it, and Wulf was about to when the old man said, “Wait. If Sir Wulfgang could tarry a moment, sire, Brother Daniel can take notes on what size of household he will be setting up, and so on.”

“Of course.” Triumph flamed in the prince’s mangled features. “Have a nice chat. Supper tonight, Sir Wulfgang. And bring your wife.” He snatched the Rouen file, spun around in a swirl of his short riding cloak, and headed for the anteroom door.

Zdenek had let the cat out of the bag.

CHAPTER
42

The moment the door closed, Wulf sat down unbidden on the chair the prince had vacated. He glared at the cardinal. “Now he knows that you and I are in cahoots.”

Zdenek bristled at his insolence. “What matter? The boy is a fool. You handle him as well as you handle your horse.”

“No longer.” Without turning, Wulf said, “Brother Daniel, I am a haggard and need your wisdom. Tweaking the prince will be much harder if he has reason to believe I am conspiring against him, will it not?”

“Very much so, Sir Wulfgang,” said a quiet voice behind him. “And also dangerous. You may drive him crazy.”

“He’s insane already,” the cardinal said.

“I don’t think he is,” Wulf countered. “Darina, come here a moment.”

The marquessa stepped out of nothing and bobbed a mocking curtsey to the outraged cardinal.

Wulf stood up, noting that Brother Daniel had disappeared:
two’s company, three’s dangerous.
“Do you consider the prince a fool, my lady?”

She tilted her head and put a finger to her lips in an affected gesture. “Not really. He is limited in many ways, but his lechery is a pose. I’d call him sly. He’s a fox that no one has bothered to housebreak.”

Wulf said, “Thank you,” politely.

“You’re welcome.”

“There’s something you could do to help the prince: give Princess Olga lessons in, um, her duties.”

The marquessa drew a breath. “Olga? Olga is in a
nunnery
! You expect me to just walk in there? Taking along a male accomplice for demonstration purposes, I suppose?”

“I am sure you’ll find a way.”

“No, I won’t! I told you: she’s hotter than an alley cat. He’s the one who needs lessons, and that’s your job. The moment this gig ends I’ll be out of here. I’ve got my eye on a little port in Sicily. Oh, those Sicilian fishermen!” Darina rolled her eyes and disappeared.

Brother Daniel returned.

Zdenek was livid with fury at such incriminating antics being performed in his office. They could put him in peril of investigation by the Inquisition, and were a reminder of how vulnerable a workaday like him was to Speakers in general. His hireling guardian Daniel had abandoned him the moment he felt outnumbered.

“Trollop!”

“She’s no saint,” Wulf said, “but I think she’s actually quite fond of the prince.” And possibly more loyal than certain other people.

“Forget the idiot for the moment, Wulfgang. Explain to me why the Pomeranian flag is flying over Castle Gallant.”

“The what?”
Wulf opened a gate to the battlements and shut it after one glimpse of the standards flying above the keep. An eagle had replaced Jorgary’s bear, and a Vranov hound the Magnus mailed fist. Appalled, he slumped back down on the chair.
Otto and Vlad were sitting on the bed in the Unicorn Room, playing chess. Anton
 … He could not find Anton.
He could not find Anton!
Yesterday Anton had been asleep in the middle of the afternoon. But Otto had said nothing about … Otto had said, “Wait!” as Wulf was about to leave, and then, “It doesn’t matter now.” Vlad and Otto were prisoners—on parole maybe, but prisoners. And where was Anton?

“I can’t find my brother,” he whispered.

“I am truly sorry,” Brother Daniel said, sounding sincere. “We thought you would know. Count Magnus died of wounds in the night. He is at peace with the Lord.”

But when had this disaster happened? Obviously the night before last. Wulf had been asleep in Rome, and yesterday he had been denied the use of his talent until Cardinal d’Estouteville sent him off on his quest. Ever since the jump at Chestnut Hill, he had not had a moment alone. Before that he had gone to consult Otto, and Otto had kept the news from him, seeing that he had major troubles of his own. He had thought Anton was asleep then, but he must have been either unconscious or drugged. Wulf could have healed him! Why had Otto not told him?

Marek dead. Anton dead. Wulf himself in the shadow of the Inquisition. Vlad and Otto both hostages.

Rescue them? But he couldn’t. The fact that they were ut they wnder room arrest and not chained in a dungeon showed that they must have given their paroles, so they would refuse to leave.

“This is sorcery! No workaday could take Castle Gallant away from my brothers! What happened? Pomeranians? Revenge for what I did to their powder wagons?”

“Havel Vranov,” the cardinal said. “As you say, he must have used sorcery to bypass the defenses.”

Vranov! Wulf stood up. “Excuse me for a few moments, Your Eminence. I have a traitor’s head to bring…”

“Wait!”
shouted the friar. “Vranov’s fate is not for you to decide. His case will be considered this evening.”

“By whom?” Wulf demanded furiously. “A man must avenge a brother’s murder!”

The friar hesitated, glancing uneasily at the workaday Zdenek. “The Saints are deeply concerned about the Agioi’s meddling in Catholic territory, and the Agioi have brought countercharges regarding the death of Duke Wartislaw. There is to be a conference this evening. Lady Umbral hopes you will be able to attend, but the invitation does not include a safe conduct.”

Of course not. Obviously Castle Gallant would have to wait.

Wulf turned again to face the cardinal’s glittering eyeglasses. “First I must satisfy Cardinal d’Estouteville, or by this evening I may be tied to a ladder in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Will you please attach the royal seal to the contract and let me complete that business?”

The cardinal stood up. “For me, as for anyone else, to forge our sovereign’s signature would be high treason. You may accompany me, so that you can testify that you watched His Majesty sign. Brother Daniel?”

The friar placed the betrothal contract in a bulky document bag, tied it securely, and then ushered his client through the two successive doors to the anteroom. Wulf followed. Konrad and his cronies had gone, but dozens of waiting blue bloods raised their heads hopefully, then sprang to their feet in surprise as the great man himself emerged. Hands tucked in sleeves, he trod a dignified pace toward the distant doorway, passing through their midst like a scarlet swan among mallards, acknowledging their exaggerated bows and curtseys with the merest twitch of spiky white eyebrows.

Whatever they might be making at that moment of the flaxen-haired young man in the bizarre foreign outfit who followed him so humbly, Wulf knew that they would not rest until they had identified him. The prince’s coterie would supply both his name and his lofty new rank as the prince’s master of horse. They would also report that the bonny lad gained his title by horsing around in the royal bed. Already the court must be agog at the news that Konrad had paid a visit to the Scarlet Spider and seemed to be reconciled with him—and now here was the prince’s new favorite in close attendance on His Eminence! These momen! These tous events would be debated for days.