An Embarrassment of Riches (17 page)

Tymek blustered at this. “I am a baker, not a chimney-sweep.”

“The rats don’t know that, nor do they care.” Hruther regarded the baker calmly. “You neglected the oven, and it is for you to see it put right. Until the oven is safe, we will not use it. Be thankful that there was no fire.”

Tymek wadded his hands into fists but gave no other indication of having heard Hruther. He went toward the door as if dragged by a rope, then halted. “If you disgrace me, then you will be sorry for it.” He thrust out his jaw as if daring Hruther to do anything to oppose him.

“I may be a foreigner and the bondsman of a foreigner, but in this place, you will respect my position,” said Hruther, so coldly that Tymek took a step back. “Remember who you are, and what you have done, Tymek-the-Baker, and show proper regard.”

The baker tapped his foot, then left without another word.

Hruther took a little time to make a cursory inspection of the oven, wrinkling his nose at the odor of spoiled meat; then he set himself in the doorway, giving himself a short time to compose himself before going into the manse to be sure that the necessary chores were being done. He was on his way to the garden gate when he heard the first bells sounding, not a full, resplendent peal, but the repeated ringing of a single bell, soon echoed by other single bells. Hruther stopped to listen, and said to himself, “Konige Kunigunde has another daughter,” then went through to the plantations of sweet-smelling herbs.

“What will the Konig say?” Pacar demanded as he saw Hruther in the corridor. “Why has God given Otakar so much, but withheld the one thing that would protect all he has done?” He pointed to one of the scullions, who was filling the largest cauldron with water from the well beyond the garden. “You should find your comrades and go to church to offer prayers for the child.”

The scullion went pale. “If you tell me, I must. But I’m supposed to clean—”

The noise from single-note bells was now sounding all over Praha, and their clamor was deafening.

“You can clean after prayers,” Pacar said, raising his voice; he reached out to swat the side of the youngster’s head. “Be about it. Now! You will eat when you return.”

“How do you plan to serve the rest of the household?” Hruther asked Pacar as he watched the scullion run from the kitchen.

“Barnon will send the others to pray.” He gave a sidelong glance to Hruther. “Your master will want to go to the All Saints’ chapel in Vaclav Castle, won’t he? to be with the Konige’s Court.”

“I’m going to rouse him now,” said Hruther, favoring the cook with a slight nod. “And when are you going to pray?”

“When I’ve fed the household, of course,” said Pacar. “You mayn’t be so careful in Santu-Germaniu, but here in Bohemia, we know the way such things are done.”

Hruther made no reply; he went to the main hall and the stairs beside the fireplace. He climbed quickly and went directly to Rakoczy’s private quarters, rapping twice before letting himself in, prepared to wake the Comes from the profound torpor that in those of his blood served as sleep. “My master,” he said in Imperial Latin.

“I am awake, old friend,” he heard Rakoczy say in that language as he came through the door.

“Then you know,” said Hruther in that language.

“The Konige has a girl again,” said Rakoczy, emerging from his sleeping-chamber with his hair tousled and a slightly distracted air that told Hruther that he had only just wakened.

“Yes,” said Hruther.

“I should dress and go to Vaclav Castle.” Rakoczy approached the garderobe. “I suppose the dark-red velvet huch and the black silk chainse, with the tall Hungarian boots,” he said, peering into its depths. “The day will be warm, but the occasion demands—”

“You will want the silver-link collar with the eclipse pectoral,” Hruther added. “As you say, the occasion demands it.”

“Yes, I will.” He rubbed the edge of his beard.

“I’ll set them out for you, my master,” said Hruther, and began on that task while Rakoczy ran his hand over his cheek and along his neatly trimmed beard again. “A good thing you were shaved two days ago.”

“Yes,” Rakoczy agreed. “There’s hardly any stubble yet.” He passed his fingers through his hair. “I wish there were time to bathe properly, but I will have to do with a basin and a towel.”

“I’ll have one sent up,” said Hruther, putting the black chainse on a peg before going to the door. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Thank you,” said Rakoczy, aware that he was going to have a long day at the Konige’s Court. When Hruther was gone, he took his ivory comb from his small chest of personal items and pulled it through his hair until he could feel that the waves were neatened. He had long since learned to manage without a reflection, and no longer fretted about his appearance, knowing that what he did not notice, Hruther would. The constant chiming of bells was becoming annoying, and he spent a short while regaining his composure, for the sound would not end until sunset.

Hruther tapped on the door, then came in bearing a basin of steaming water. “Pacar has a large pot on the boil. It’s hot.”

“I will bear that in mind.” Rakoczy used a thick square of boiled wool to shield his hands.

Hruther retrieved the huch and calf-length braccae of embroidered black leather. Next he got out the boots from the chest of footwear and set them on the bench that fronted the hearth. “If you don’t need me for anything more, there are problems in the bake-house…” He clicked his tongue.

“Problems?” Rakoczy repeated as he tugged his nightrail over his head, turning away from Hruther as he did.

“The flue has a rats’ nest in it.” He paused. “Tymek decided to bake them out rather than have the flue cleaned.”

“Ah.” Rakoczy took a cotton cloth and dropped it in the basin of hot water.

“The mess will have to be removed. And all the chimneys scrubbed, as well.”

Rakoczy nodded. “I will not keep you.” He gestured to his clothes. “I can manage this.”

“Then I’ll await your return this evening.”

Rakoczy heard the door close; he wrung out the cloth and ran it over his naked body. It was a cursory wash, but, he reminded himself, it was more than most of the Konige’s Court would do. First he pulled on his simple breechclout, and after it, his braccae; then drew the chainse over his head, smoothing it as the heavy silk settled on his shoulders. Taking the huch from its peg, he opened the lacings at the neck and wriggled into it, adjusting the hang of the wide, rectangular, open sleeves before tightening the lacings and reaching for his belt. When he had finished buckling it in place, he took his silver-link collar and eclipse pectoral from his jewel-case. After he had set it in place on his shoulders and chest, he donned his high, thick-soled, black-leather Hungarian boots; his native earth in the soles was almost as restoring as sleep. Opening his jewel-case again, he took out a tear-drop-shaped pink zircon and a large, straw-colored topaz. These he slipped into his wallet, then flicked his comb through his hair one last time before he chose a soft, red-velvet Florentine hat to complete his ensemble. He took care to lock the door as he left.

At the gate to Vaclav Castle, Rakoczy joined a line of nobles, churchmen, Guild Masters, and foreigners of rank, all of whom had answered the summons of the bells. They were all dressed with the grandeur the occasion required, and some of them were bearing packages and little chests with gifts for the Konige and her new daughter. Rakoczy passed through into the wide forecourt of the castle, then turned toward the south wing of the sprawling stone building and the entrance reserved for Konige Kunigunde’s courtiers. He was admitted promptly, along with Sorer Zuza, who was charged with caring for the Konige’s linen; the elderly nun was beaming.

“God has given Bohemia another Royal daughter,” said Sorer Zuza as she and Rakoczy climbed the stairs to the main floor; Rakoczy said nothing. “God must have a great plan for the two daughters: with wise marriages—and these girls will make great marriages—Bohemia could be tied to all the Royal Houses from Roma to Poland, as it deserves.” She crossed herself. “God will give the Konige a son in His good time.”

At the top of the stairs there was an antechamber, where they were met by Csenge of Somogy and Teca of Veszbrem, who directed them to the Konige’s Chapel. “There will be a blessing of the birth by Episcopus Fauvinel, and then you will be allowed to see the Konige briefly, to present your gifts and to see the child.” Csenge stared at Rakoczy, a stern purpose in her dark-hazel eyes. “You will inform the Konige’s grandfather that you have seen Konige Kunigunde well, and that her daughter is whole. He will have the letter from Pader Stanislas, of course, and Episcopus Fauvinel, but he will want confirmation from you and other Hungarians here at Court.”

“If that is the Konige’s pleasure, it will be my honor to inform Konig Bela,” said Rakoczy, ducking his head before following Sorer Zuza to the Konige’s Chapel, where more than forty people were already gathered.

“I am glad to see you, Comes,” said Rozsa of Borsod as she came up to him, resplendent in a sweeping bleihaut of rust-colored silk, a chainse of ivory linen, and a veil of dark-red Mosul-cotton; her green eyes were unusually bright. “You will give the Konige comfort, I think. She is very low-spirited.”

“For the sake of Hungary, I hope I may comfort her,” said Rakoczy, trying to read her inscrutable expression.

“It must be so. All Hungarians will comfort her.”

“For the birth of a second daughter?” Rakoczy asked.

“That, and last night, her lady-in-waiting Erzebet of Arad collapsed and now lies in a stupor that—” She stopped, glanced over her shoulder. “Say nothing of this to anyone, not now. It would be an ill thing to speak of death with a birth not yet sanctified.” She indicated the benches where they would soon sit. “You, and all the Hungarians sent to be in the Konige’s Court, will be allowed to sit toward the front. And you will be permitted to visit the Konige before the Bohemians.” There was a glint of satisfaction in her green eyes. Then, mischievously, she added, “Did you get any sleep, Comes?”

“Very little,” he told her.

“You were awake, then?”

“Most of the night,” he said. “The bells roused me not long after dawn.”

“As they did all Praha.” She looked directly into his face, her feline expression both satisfied and anticipatory. “It is hardly surprising. Every church in the city is sounding the news,” said Rozsa as she ducked her head before going to greet Gazsi of Raab and his apprentices.

Hovarth Pisti of Buda and four of his apprentices were already seated in the second row of benches. He raised his hand. “Comes. Well met. A happy occasion.”

“Certainly,” said Rakoczy, noticing that the tapestry-weaver was wearing three impressive rings, gifts from Konige Kunigunde, as well as a gold chain-and-pendant given him by Episcopus Fauvinel.

“So restrained,” Hovarth Pisti murmured to Geza, who sat immediately beside him. “Exile, as you recall. But he is richer than most of the nobles of Praha put together.”

“He paid for our hostelries on the road,” Geza said, just a little louder.

“Without complaint,” added Bartal.

“For the pleasure of Konig Bela,” said Rakoczy, not raising his voice, but making certain that Hovarth could hear him. “It is my honor to serve Konig Bela and his granddaughter.”

“And now you serve two Konigs; which of them benefits the most—Bela or Otakar?” Hovarth said. “An expensive business, even for you.”

“Why be troubled with such concerns on this happy day?” Rakoczy could sense the rancor in Hovarth and was determined to difuse it.

“Yes, why, when you have a rich gift to give, and the thanks of the Konige for your trouble.” He motioned to his apprentices. “Our tapestry will take until spring to complete, and we will have to labor well into the night until it is done. It is a large project, and a complex one: an allegory of faith triumphant.”

Rakoczy was glad that the jewels he would present to the Konige were safely in his wallet; he nodded to the tapestry-weavers. “Your gift will be the more treasured for the effort you expend to make it. Your skills are well-known and your work is highly regarded everywhere. Your tapestries will adorn Vaclav Castle for all ages to come.”

“Unless they are ruined. Jewels don’t become ruined.” He scowled. “How long do you think the Episcopus will be with the Konige?”

“I have no idea,” Rakoczy said with utter candor. “Our thanksgiving Mass will begin soon enough.” He turned away from Hovarth Pisti, and was surprised to see Kravar Jurg, Pan of Kravar, motioning to him; he had met the young nobleman no more than three times, and this sudden show of bonhomie struck Rakoczy as strange, but he moved toward the Pan in the blue-and-red cotehardie. “A happy day for Bohemia.”

“It could be happier,” said Kravar Jurg, moving aside to give Rakoczy some room among the benches. “The Konig was expecting a son.”

“A shame that he must be disappointed,” said Rakoczy.

“Do you think so? that he must be disappointed?” The young man chuckled, then stopped. “I forgot, you’re one of the Hungarians, aren’t you?”

“Not precisely; I am from the eastern end of the Carpathians, where my fief is located,” said Rakoczy. “Mine is a very old House.”

“I thought your accent isn’t quite like the rest of them.” He looked toward the door. “Monks are coming. We’d best be seated.” He took the end of the bench where he had been standing. “Join me, Comes?”