An Embarrassment of Riches (37 page)

“And you will feel the days more keenly than we will,” said the Konige’s second cousin. “Especially after June. I know how it was with my children.”

“You are to return home in June, do I have that right?” Iliska inquired with apparent solicitousness.

“You know you do,” Rozsa told her. “You’ve asked me about it often enough coming here.”

Iliska said something under her breath and looked away from Rozsa. “The Konig is bowing to the Konige.”

“He is in her Court. Of course he bows,” said Rozsa. “Didn’t your father tell you
anything
about Court?”

“He told me what I had to do for Szousa, and what I ought not to do,” said Iliska, trying to show more confidence than she felt.

From the reception hall came a rustle of clothes as the Court knelt, followed by the Episcopus’ voice droning out his blessing on the Konige’s Court and the dear Royals themselves, and admonishing all attending to strive to be worthy of the gracious friendship the dear Royals extended to all, and explaining that failure to be upstanding in the name of the Konige would also mean that the courtier had failed God, Whose Will it was that Konig Otakar and Konige Kunigunde should rule here. Last he called upon all the Konige’s Court to welcome the new-comers and to show them courtesy for the sake of Konige Kunigunde. At the sign from the Episcopus the Court rose, and the Konig went to kneel to his wife and charge her with the safety of Praha in his absence.

“May God guide me in all ways to serve you, dear Royal, and the Kingdom of Bohemia,” the Konige said to her husband.

The herald bawled out the names of the women to be presented and their escorts, giving their titles and their estates; in the reception hall, the Konig, his personal guard, and the Episcopus stood aside, leaving an aisle for the women to approach the Konige’s dais.

“Kustansze of Lugoj, daughter of Kazmir of Lugoj, kinswoman of Konige Kunigunde, escorted by Padnagy Kalman, Dux of Oradea.”

Kustansze stepped forward and courtisied the Konige. “May God show you all favor, dear Royal,” she said in awkward Bohemian.

“Be welcome in Bohemia, good cousin,” said the Konige, and nodded to her so that she would step aside.

“Iliska of Szousa, daughter of the Comes of Szousa,” announced the herald, “escorted by her brother, Antal of Szousa.”

Iliska felt a warning jab in her side from Antal’s thumb as she stepped away from him to courrtisy the Konige. “The blessings of God and man be with you, dear Royal.”

“Prettily said,” Konige Kunigunde approved, and waved her away.

“Rozsa of Borsod, wife of Notay Tibor of Kaposvar,” the herald declared.

Rozsa’s courtisy was not as deep as Court usually required, but the Konige made allowances for Rozsa’s pregnancy. “I am greatly honored to return to your resplendent Court, dear Royal,” she said, using Milan of Gyula’s arm to steady herself.

“I am happy to have you here again, Rozsa of Borsod. Kinga has missed you.” For the first time there was animation in Kunigunde’s face. “You will find your friends are glad of your return.” She held up her hand to indicate her ladies-in-waiting. “And I will be happy to have news of my grandfather and my brother.”

“Dear Royal is all kindness; it will be my most pressing duty to speak with you of all that has been happening at Konig Bela’s Court,” said Rozsa, stepping back and taking a surreptitious glance around the room caught sight of Rakoczy Ferancsi standing with Tirz Agoston of Mures; Rakoczy held a new lyre in his hands, softly testing the strings and listening to Agoston’s instructions as he did. Rozsa kept herself from smiling, but she felt encouraged to find him still at Court; she had plans to see him again.

Konig Otakar stepped up onto the dais, the Konige’s women moving back from her so that they would not offend the ruler. “I have members of your Court to thank, dear Royal, before I leave for battle, and it is fitting that I do it here.”

“You are welcome, my Konig,” said Kunigunde, rising to honor him.

“If you will call forth those who have done service for you to my benefit?” He raised his new ceremonial sword. “I will bestow my thanks upon them.”

The herald called out, “Hovarth Pisti of Buda.”

The tapestry-weaver came through the assembled Court, not quite strutting, his face flushed with pride. “Dear Royal,” he said as he went on his knee in front of the dais.

“For the magnificent tapestry that now adorns this hall, and the two others that hang in the Konige’s private apartments, I show you my thanks and bestow upon you this ring”—he took a gold band from his sleeve—“and ask you to wear it in testament to your service to the Konige and the glory of Bohemia. A stipend of ten golden Vaclavs will be paid to you annually for a period of ten years as a sign of our gratitude, and one golden Vaclav annually for a decade to each of your apprentices.”

Hovarth Pisti put the ring on his middle finger—the only one on which it would not be loose—and lowered his head. “I and mine will thank your generosity for all generations to come.”

“Most worthy,” murmured the Konige as she signaled the Master Tapestry-Weaver to rise.

“Tirz Agoston of Mures,” bellowed the herald, and the instrument-maker ducked his head to Rakoczy and went to the dais to kneel.

Konig Otakar whispered a few words to Rytir Steffal von Passau, the German Guard nearest to him, then turned his attention to Tirz Agoston while Rytir Steffal departed on an errand. “Good musician and maker of instruments,” the Konig said, “you and your instruments have brought many hours of pleasure to the Konige, and have soothed her in times of sadness, for which we are deeply grateful. In recognition of your excellent service, I present you with a badge of your service, set in gold, and dependent from a gold chain, so that all may witness our esteem and thanks. We also bestow upon you a grant of fifty golden Vaclavs to encourage you to help to bring your craft to greater perfection. In addition, we pledge to match that amount for a period of five years to enable your work to continue without hesitation or let.” He took the chain with its pendant badge from his capacious sleeve and dropped it around Tirz Agoston’s neck.

“I … am overwhelmed by your k-kindness, dear Royal,” Tirz Agoston stammered, touching the links as if he couldn’t believe he wore them, his eyes dazed. “May God reward your goodness.”

“Most courteous,” said the Konige, motioning him away from the dais.

“Pader Klothor,” the herald summoned; a buzz of conversation rushed through the hall, for it was unusual to summon the Konige’s treasurer to such events as these.

A thin, elderly man in Redemptionist priest’s habit came from the corridor leading into the private parts of the Konige’s Court; he carried a ledger as if it were made of solid Bohemian gold. He stopped before Episcopus Fauvinel before he went to the Konig. “Dear Royal,” he said in a dusty voice as he went onto his knee.

“Pader Klothor,” said the Konig, raising his ceremonial sword, “tell the Court the accounting on this splendid symbol of Bohemia’s power that my Konige has presented to me.”

Obediently the little priest opened the ledger and began to read, “For gold, a measure equal to twenty-eight roundels of lead was used in the hilt, which is ornamented with two diamonds in the pommel, ten white sapphires in the grip, four emeralds, four tourmalines, four peridots, four topazes, four rubies, and ten tiger’s-eyes in the quillons. The blade is of Luccan steel, weighing equal to fifteen roundels of lead. The scabbard is of silver the equivalent of twenty-one roundels of lead ornamented with ten amethysts and eight rose zircons. The gold is the work and the gift of Hrodperht von Ratisbon; the jewels are the gift of Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu.”

“A princely treasure, provided by men who are not Bohemians, which is an excellent omen, for it says that the reach of this sword extends beyond this kingdom. It is a pledge of greater things to come beyond our present borders, one I will display to all the world when I am Holy Roman Emperor,” the Konig proclaimed, hefting the sword above his head, smiling at the general acclaim. When he lowered the sword, the clamor quieted. “In recognition of this imperial treasure—” He signaled the herald.

“Hrodperht von Ratisbon,” the herald called.

The goldsmith made his way to the Konig, kneeling down with a great show of deference. He lowered his head and waited for Otakar to speak.

“Your workmanship and your gift have distinguished you among the Master Goldsmiths of Praha, and to demonstrate my appreciation, you will henceforth be known as Goldsmith to the Konig. As part of that advancement, you will be awarded a pension of twenty golden Vaclavs a year for life, and for ten years beyond for your heirs.”

Hrodperht was overcome with emotion; tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his face. He flung himself forward to seize Otakar’s steel-booted foot and kiss it, exclaiming through his sobs, “Most, most dear Royal, nothing can say how greatly your munificence has honored me.”

The Konig grinned. “May I be so beloved by all my vassals,” he said, and watched as the men in the reception hall went down on their knees to him, and the women courtisied. “Rise, rise, all of you,” he ordered a long moment later, using his sword to motion them upward. “And you, my goldsmith, you have set a most admirable example. My choice of you is an excellent one.”

Nearly stumbling, Hrodperht got to his feet; he was still weeping, and his hands were clasped in devotion. “Dear Royal is—”

“Yes, yes,” said Otakar. “I have no doubt that you will show yourself fit for my favor.”

“Your gift and work are beyond price,” said the Konige as Hrodperht staggered away.

At the Konig’s sign, the herald yelled, “Rakoczy Ferancsi, Comes Santu-Germaniu.”

This was the moment Rakoczy had been dreading, but there was no avoiding it without giving unpardonable offense to Bohemia. He moved through the Court with no sign of his dismay at this recognition; he paused to bow to the Episcopus, and then knelt to the Konig, his demeanor calm and self-contained, elegant in his black-and-silver velvet huch over a chainse of darkest-red silk against which his eclipse pectoral shone with the luster of the night sky.

“Comes, your jewels have made my sword and scabbard an object of beauty and a symbol of wealth and power. Were you a vassal of mine, I would be hard-pressed to reward you, for you have more riches than most of Bohemia together. I will not insult you with paltry riches when you are so clearly monied past all want.” His chuckle was dutifully echoed by the Court. “But as you are an exile, and your movements are restricted to Mansion Belcrady, the Konige’s Court, the Council Hall, and the public streets of Praha, on the order of Konig Bela, I can at least reduce your restrictions and grant you free movements within five leagues of Praha, and all the buildings within the city’s walls, your safety and protection assured through this, my grant to you.”

“Dear Royal is most gracious,” said Rakoczy, thinking of how irate Konig Bela would be when he learned of Otakar’s modification of his exile. Nothing about him betrayed his anxiety as he lowered his head in another sign of respect.

“You have more than earned it,” Otakar declared. “You have enriched the Konige’s Court, you have eased the Konige’s sorrows, you have aided the Counselors, you have conducted yourself with probity, and you have cost the treasury nothing. I would be a fool not to give you what little I can in return.” Before the Konig could launch into more fulsome praise, the Konige spoke up.

“You have my gratitude, and that of my daughters,” she said, and dismissed Rakoczy with a turn of her hand. “And I thank Pader Klothor for his careful accounts.” A nod of her head sent the priest away.

More relieved than he dared reveal, Rakoczy got to his feet and returned to the far end of the reception hall, his thoughts roiling: how was he to behave now? If he did not travel outside the city, Konig Otakar would be insulted, but if he did travel outside the city, Konig Bela would send his soldiers to pillage and ransack Santu-Germaniu. He was still deep in thought when he felt a hand on his sleeve; he turned and saw Rozsa of Borsod smiling conspiratorially at him. “Dear lady,” he said with an automatic bow.

“Oh, very prettily done,” she said, staring directly at him. “I didn’t know you would still be here. I thought Konig Bela might have relented and summoned you home.”

“That has not happened,” said Rakoczy.

“More fool Konig Bela, then, for surely you could enrich his treasury as you have done for Konig Otakar.” She studied him silently for a short while, then said, “At least you haven’t forgot me.”

“No, I have not,” he agreed, trying to discern her intentions.

“I’m glad you haven’t.”

He bowed to her again, curious to learn what she wanted. “Your husband must be pleased that you will give him a child.”

She laughed angrily. “He may be, but his cousins are not. I’m here so that they won’t be able to cause me to miscarry. They have been Tibor’s heirs and want to remain so. At home, with Tibor gone, they might do anything to remain his heirs.”

“Ah,” he said.

“The Counselors of Praha,” the herald announced as the crowd parted once more to admit ten of the Counselors.

“My husband has gone to join Konig Otakar in his on-going war with Rudolph von Hapsburg; the Comes of Austria is determined to reclaim his fief from Bohemia. Tibor knew he would have to protect our child, and he couldn’t do it sending me to Konig Bela’s Court, for his cousins are there as well as at Kaposvar, and my position wouldn’t protect me there.” She touched him again. “So he sent me back here—isn’t that fortunate.”