windows, looking out into a central bailey, and from them he could see many other windows. So the keep was hollow, not the solid block he had thought at first glance. His place for the fealty ceremony would be on the big chair at the fireplace end. There was a smaller chair beside it, but he was not going to share the honors with Madlenka just yet. There must be no question that he had been appointed by the king and would rule in his own right, not as her husband.
He kissed her fingers. “Everyone has to come and meet me,” he whispered. “They know you already, so there is no need to bore you with unnecessary introductions to people who have known you all your life. I expect you will need to rest for a little while after all the excitement in the cathedral.”
“As my lord pleases,” she said, blushing. Few things roused him as fast as a girl’s blushes, although he usually saw them in more intimate surroundings.
The seneschal himself began the proceedings, first reading out the king’s edicts, then kneeling on the cushion to put his hands between Anton’s and swear to be his man, of life and limb, and so on. Since there was no constable present, the steward came after him, followed by all the rest in strict order of precedence. Each had to swear allegiance, then be granted protection and a few kind words. This was how the barons of Dobkov did it, so the count of Cardice must do the same, pretending not to be bored to distraction. Thinking lascivious thoughts about his future bride might help.
And where was Wulf? Wulf was important. Anton would need Wulf and his saintly friends to deal with the Wends. How to find him? The answer appeared when the butler withdrew and the next flunky to come hobbling forward was presented as Radim, the count’s secretary. Radim was young, slight, and leaned on a cane because he had a clubfoot, which explained why he had been taught to wield a pen instead of a pitchfork. Ottokar employed a secretary, as had Father before him. Anton knew how a secretary was used.
“How long were you Count Stepan’s secretary?”
“Half a year, my lord. Clerk for a year before that.”
“You write a fair hand?”
The youth nodded, licked his lips, and said, “His Lordship said I did, my lord. And so does the bishop.”
“Good. How many messengers can you call on?”
“Five or six, my lord. Not so many today, unless you give me time to-”
“One or maybe two will suffice.” Anton explained about Wulf.
Radim nodded vigorously, touched his forehead in salute, and limped off to be useful. Anton sat back to receive an oath of allegiance from the castle apothecary.
By the time the parade ended, the boy was back, hovering within sight, but not intruding. He had the answer. “Sir Wulfgang is being cared for in the infirmary, my lord. He has been bled and is under sedation.”
Anton had to be content with that alarming news until he had made a brief speech, promising not to change anything in the ways his predecessor had done things, except to wipe the Wends’ faces in the mud. He accepted three cheers.
Having informed the seneschal that he would like to dine shortly-with the lady Madlenka, if she would be so kind-and would need clothes so he could shed his accursed armor and temporary quarters for himself and Wulf, Anton told Radim to lead him to the infirmary, which meant downstairs, outside, and down the ramp. The crowd had dispersed, although a few knots of people still stood around the little square, all gaping in awe at their new count.
Problems buzzed in Anton’s mind like midges. He had made a good start, but he had not earned his Vaclav sash yet. The Wends were one threat, Havel Vranov was another, and if they were in league, then they could come at Cardice from opposite sides. Had the castle ever had to withstand a two-pronged attack before? And why, in the name of God, had his predecessor ever let all these houses be built inside what was supposed to be a fortress? More immediate and personal was the dangerous question of timing. The common folk would simply be grateful that the king’s man had appeared to take over, but the bishop and other gentry would wonder how the new count had traveled so swiftly. Were there any other gentry? This was border country, thinly inhabited.
Quite apart from having a bad leg, Radim did not even come up to Anton’s shoulder, so Anton was continually having to rein himself and let the boy catch up. The streets were lined along both sides with outdoor staircases. Radim stopped at one that looked just like all the others, but he was clearly waiting to follow the count up it, so up Anton went-ten steps into hell.
The infirmary was a single room containing eight beds with barely enough space to move between them. It was dim, cold, and rank with the lingering stench of sickness and death. The doctor in charge was stooped and ancient; either he or his physician’s robe stank abominably. Possibly both did, but the robe likely carried most of the blame, being encrusted with a lifetime’s supply of blood, phlegm, and pus to show how practiced its wearer was. All the beds were occupied. Two of the patients were mumbling in agony or delirium, three others coughed continually.
For a moment Anton did not recognize the face on the pillow, only the tangle of flaxen hair. Wulf’s eyes and lips were hugely swollen and turning purple. He had been drooling blood. He looked even worse than he had when he was lying unconscious on the hillside trail. Some of his armor was stacked beside the bed, but some wasn’t and had probably been stolen already.
“Wulf? Wulfgang!”
The puffed eyelids flickered and opened to slits. “’Nt’n?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“You… whoreson… Ge’me outa this plague pit.”
“Yes, I will. Sorry, Wulf.”
“He’s confused!” the doctor said petulantly. “Severe trauma, but no bones broken, so far as I can tell under the swelling. I drew twelve ounces of blood and prescribed henbane, hemlock, and laudanum for the pain.”
Anton drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the obnoxious leech.
“My father used to say he had watched twenty-four men die and twenty-two of them were killed by doctors.”
“My lord!”
“Yes, I am, and don’t you forget it. You will not go near this man again, is that clear? I want him moved to the keep instantly. Radim, can you arrange that?”
The youth turned a horrified stare into a grin. “Certainly, my lord. The infirmary must have a stretcher. I’ll find some strong arms.” He hobbled two steps to the door and peered out, then started shouting names.
CHAPTER 14
Madlenka stormed into her bedroom. As the door closed behind her, she whirled around. “That popinjay! That upstart! That freakishly oversized, ditch-born son of a sow. Did you hear him?”
Giedre said, “Yes.” That did not dam the torrent.
“Go and lie down, he said! Rest my poor little self! Too much excitement? What sort of a child does he think I am?” Madlenka grabbed up a painted vase and took aim at the fireplace. “Who does he think he is?”
Giedre removed the missile just before her mistress’s throwing hand began to move. “He’s the king’s man. He’s the count of Cardice. He’s your betrothed and future husband.”
“He’s a snake! He sent me to my room! He wants everyone to see him as lord of Cardice and forget that it’s marriage to me that gives him his place.”
“It was the king who put him there, not you.”
“You too? You also think I’m just part of the furniture? A serf tied to the land?” Madlenka caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was redder than strawberries and all her teeth were showing. Oh, horrors!
“Well, you are a sort of serf,” Giedre said. “Tied to his bed by royal decree. Arturas says that the fancy sash he wears means that he’s a trusted friend of the king!”
Madlenka forced herself to sit down on the stool and fold her hands on her lap. “I knew it! I knew it! No soldier, just a courtier. The arrogance of the man! I have never met such an overblown, self-important prig. We need a warrior and they send somebody’s juvenile son that they don’t know what else to do with. Probably escaping from a paternity problem involving triplets. He can’t know which end of a pike is the handle.”
