“Yes. We have met before.”
Vranov’s son smiled for the first time, showing an excellent and complete set of teeth. It was a surprisingly persuasive smile. “In opposition. I prefer to have you at my side than in my face.” He could be charming when he wanted, seemingly.
“And I you.”
Madlenka wanted to heave a sigh of relief that the crisis seemed to have been resolved. If the news was bad, it was not as bad as it had seemed at first. So why did she have a nasty feeling that there was worse to come? Who were they waiting for? Well, if nobody else would say it, she would.
“There is one small problem, my lord count.” Her voice trembled only very slightly. “I mean no offense, but we have only your word for it that the Wends are planning to attack.”
Vranov turned his head to smirk at her. “I was wondering who would have the courage to say that. Marijus was there to hear the spies’ reports, weren’t you, Marijus? My troops can start arriving in three or four days. By then, the constable will have sent out scouts to survey the road, won’t you have, Sir Karolis? The only other thing I can suggest is that we give you our most solemn oaths that we believe what I have told you to be true. You have some holy relic on which we may swear, my lord bishop?”
“We have a toe bone of St. Andrej in the cathedral,” Ugne said.
Who would trust Havel or his smashed-nose son if they swore on a whole churchyard of holy relics?
Then the landsknecht loosed another volley. “We will need payment in coin, mostly silver.”
The Hound frowned. “As will I, if I am to meet expenses.”
Seneschal Jurbarkas was wringing his hands. “I cannot provide such amounts without royal authority.”
The meeting exploded in shouts of disbelief. Madlenka was suddenly convinced that the whole discussion, ever since she arrived, had been rehearsed and staged in advance, like a passion play, and the true quarry was her father’s gold-her gold, now. But she could not believe that the seneschal, Giedre’s father, who had been like an uncle to her all her life, would have been part of such a conspiracy. Nor, and everyone else seemed to agree on this, could she believe that he would withhold the money needed to defend the castle against the Wends. That would make no sense at all.
The seneschal cowered away from the shouts. He seemed distressed and almost bewildered by the anger. “We do not have chests of coin hidden away. Our income comes from the tolls we gather from travelers, and few of them pay us in gold. The largest part comes from the big trader caravans that pass through here four times a year, two northbound and two southbound. They prefer not to carry bullion, so they pay in bills of exchange drawn on the Fugger Bank of Augsburg or the Medici Bank of Florence. Much of that scrip goes south to Mauvnik twice a year, as the king’s share. Both of this year’s remittances have already gone. As I was explaining to Lady Madlenka on our way here, I do not know how much of our substance belongs to the king and how much to her. I cannot in good conscience loot either the royal share or her inheritance until I am absolutely convinced that the threat is real and that there is no alternative. Not without the king’s authority.”
“Pig guts!” shouted the constable. “My men collect the merchants’ tolls, and we know how they are paid. Large caravans pay in bank drafts, yes, but none of the other travelers do. You pay the king his share with the drafts, because scrip is safer to transport than coin, but the real money goes into the count’s coffers. You must have millions of florins buried in the cellars.”
Marijus rose to his feet, taller and larger that Madlenka had expected.
“This is absurd,” he said. “By the time the Wends appear on your doorstep, it will be far too late to summon the Pelrelm levy, and Captain Ekkehardt and his landsknechte will be in Spain or Cathay. Are we children,” he demanded in a tone that echoed through the hall, “to squabble while the Dragon creeps ever closer? Let us go to the cathedral and bind ourselves in common cause against the foe. My father and I will swear to the truth of what we reported. I will swear to defend the castle to my last breath, if necessary, and to relinquish my command as soon as we succeed or the threat turns out to be a false alarm. Of course it should be Count Bukovany negotiating for Cardice, but he and his son were the first casualties of this war. Do any of you believe their deaths were mere coincidence? The rest of you-Lady Madlenka, Captain Ekkehardt, Constable Kavarskas, Seneschal Jurbarkas, and especially you, Bishop Ugne-represent him. You also represent the common folk of Gallant, who cannot defend themselves. You must swear to recognize me as acting keeper until the king or events dismiss me.
“And as for payment…” he said, smiling, “I am sure we can find all the gold we need, even if we have to melt down St. Andrej’s altar vessels.”
CHAPTER 9
Brother Marek led the way along the refectory toward the kitchen entrance, moving with his previous solemn pace, toes in and head down, face hidden inside his cowl. Bringing up the rear, Wulf marveled again at how small he was, head and shoulders shorter than Anton. His lack of stature somehow emphasized his vulnerability to Abbot Bohdan’s anger and punishment. There was more to omnia audere than suicidal charges against phalanxes of spears.
He did not enter the kitchen itself, but turned aside through an iron-bound door, which led out to a green yard studded with small wooden crosses. Here, under the leering watch of the church’s gargoyles, brethren of bygone ages slumbered until the last trump should summon them.
Marek turned again and followed a path to a gate set in a high stone wall. He smiled as he selected the key he wanted from a bundle on a leather thong.
“We keep this gate locked because the herb garden is overlooked by the dormitory reserved for lady visitors. We mustn’t tempt the novices! There are no visitors at the moment. Later in the day, perhaps…”
The key turned with a groan. “More seriously, the first garden contains many herbs that can be dangerous, even just to touch. Many herbs with therapeutic properties can be poisonous in large doses, you know. Mandrake and cowbane and monkshood, for instances. This is a lesson to us that good and evil may walk hand in hand.”
“Can too much good ever be evil?” Wulf asked.
The monk glanced up at him with a twinkling smile, looking for a moment much like the old Marek of their childhood. “That is what I was preaching! Almost any good thing can be evil in excess-water can drown you, air can freeze you. It is meritorious to give alms, but suppose you gave everyone in the kingdom a thousand florins? They would all want to be lords! No one would work, the farmers would stop growing food, and we should all starve.”
After leading them into a large, walled enclosure and locking the gate behind them, he threw back his cowl. “Follow, and remember not to touch.” He set off along the path at a much faster pace, almost a run.
Narrower paths divided the whole garden into small rectangular plots, like a giant’s tiles. Each plot contained no more than one type of plant, although some types seemed to occupy several plots. Marek paused to lecture.
“This shrub is called Blessed Thistle. Very efficacious against the pestilence. And this is oregano-useful for treating cramps and dropsy. They say that the smoke from burning twigs of oregano keeps the devil away. Much used by the Inquisition.”
The path led to another gate, another key, another brief lecture. “Of course not all our materials come from herbs. Willow bark, oak gall, and others we harvest from trees. Koupel has a great reputation for healing.”
The next enclosure was larger, and included some shade trees. Marek paused under a sturdy oak that still held most of its foliage. Wulf noted that they could not be overlooked, even from upstairs windows. He raised his sallet.
Marek stared hard at him. “Good to see you as a man, little brother. I am glad you came, but now you must depart. If you go through that gate over there, you will be back in the west courtyard, where the stables are. Greatly overrated brutes, horses.”
Aha! “You think so?” Wulf asked. He glanced at Anton, but he had not caught the hint yet.
“Well, I do think so now,” Marek said wistfully. “I shall go and meditate in the church for a while.” He raised his hand to bless them.
Wulf said, “Wait! You could come with us, you know. We’ll help you escape.”
The monk shook his head fondly. “They would hunt me to the ends of the earth-and they would find me. I
