Pudding turned to mud in his mouth. “So that he can cohabit with you without having to wait for formal marriage? Nobody does that anymore! What did you tell him?” No! Please make it “No”!
“I said no. I said that I didn’t want there to be any arguments about the legitimacy of the stalwart male twins I plan to give him nine months and two days after our wedding night.”
“Make it three days to be safe. I think that was a wise decision. What does your priest say?”
“I haven’t asked him. It’s none of his business. Count Magnus is going to ride out with the Long Valley patrol tomorrow.”
Why did she mention that?
“He needs to become familiar with the terrain,” Wulf said. “If he is to repel an attack by the Wends, I mean.”
“How can he possibly do that? He spurned Vranov’s offer of help and sent him packing. The landsknechte all left this morning. We’re worse off than we were twenty-four hours ago, when he turned up in the cathedral.”
“Don’t underestimate Anton,” Wulf said defensively. “He’s as proud as a peacock and smart as a jackdaw.”
Before Madlenka could comment, the door flew open and the count himself strode in, ducking under the lintel. He nodded to the women, then added a smile as an afterthought. He obviously had something serious on his mind.
“How are you now?” he asked curtly.
“Much the same as I was this morning,” Wulf said.
Madlenka curtseyed. “Pardon us, my lord.”
She left, holding the door for Giedre, who carried the dinner tray. The moment the door closed, Anton strode over to the window and stared out at the bailey.
“I just sentenced a man to death.”
Wulf winced. “Not a pleasant duty, I’m sure. But a necessary one. You are a lord of the high justice.” Getting no reply, he added. “I’ve watched Ottokar doing it.”
Otto did it very rarely, though, and didn’t enjoy it either. The last criminal he had executed had been Hans the blacksmith’s son, who had raped a girl while he was drunk and she wasn’t. If Marek’s Voices hadn’t saved Hans’s life when he was a child, it wouldn’t have happened. But if Wulf’s Voices hadn’t brought Anton here to Cardice… Did Wulf bear some guilt too?
“I did it exactly the way Ottokar does it,” Anton told the window. “He’s talking with a priest now, and they’re rigging up a noose down there in the bailey. They’re harnessing a horse to a cart.”
“For the constable?”
Anton nodded. “Karolis Kavarskas. He admitted that when Havel Vranov was here in August, Kavarskas took his money to let him know right away ‘if anything important happened in Cardice.’”
“So he’s hinting that Vranov knew that Stepan and Petr were going to die?”
Anton turned around with a sneer on his face. “He testified that Vranov expected that something serious was going to happen, but couldn’t or wouldn’t say what. Kavarskas also promised that if I spared his life now, he would testify against Vranov if the king ever wants to put him on trial. But there’s not a moth’s chance in hell that Vranov could ever be brought into a courtroom, or that anyone would take Kavarskas’s word against his anyway.”
“So Kavarskas confessed?” Trust Anton to get an easy decision on his first capital case!
“He didn’t have much choice by then. He tried to bribe his way out of jail. I had him stripped and he had twenty gold florins in a money belt.”
Wulf tried to whistle, but that hurt. “Does he have a family? Children?”
“That’s irrelevant,” Anton said irritably. “If he does, he should have thought of them before he took money from a man other than his lord.”
“I suppose so. I hope you rewarded the garrison handsomely before you put its commander on trial?”
He was recalling one of their father’s stories, and Anton flashed a momentary smile. “I reminded them that we are on war footing and doubled their pay.”
“Smart man. Why did the landsknechte leave?”
“Must go. They’re bringing him out.” Anton headed for the door. “Because Ekkehardt thinks the Wends are going to set up their big gun and blow us all to bits.”
“Wait!” Wulf snapped. “What story are you telling? How do you explain the timing?”
Anton dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand. “My papers are all backdated to the eighteenth, so you and I are in the clear. We rode here from Mauvnik like the wind and at first we had a moon to help us. The question is how His Majesty, may God preserve him, learned of the emergency so quickly. That is a state secret. I have dropped a few hints to the bishop about the courier being intercepted, and carrier pigeons. Get it?”
“Got it.”
Anton took hold of the handle and then looked around. “How soon will you be fit to ride, Wulf?”
Oh, that was what he’d come to ask? “Next year, maybe. I may go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem first.”
“Seriously. Wulf, I need your help.”
“You promised you would never ask again.”
“Yes, but-”
Wulf pushed down the covers to show the colors. “Look. Every muscle in my body cramped up so hard it bruised. Every accursed one, and many times, not just once. I did what you asked and you promised never to ask me again. You think I’m ever going to accept this torture willingly now that I know what it involves? I’d rather be racked till I’m taller than you are. Dream not, Brother. I shall Speak no more.”
Anton sighed and left, mumbling about having to give the signal to move the cart.
CHAPTER 18
In Tuesday’s chill gray dawn, Count Magnus rode out as a member of the Long Valley patrol. His escort wore a motley collection of mismatched hand-me-down mail, both plate and chain, so they had little in common except their Cardice surcoats and the crossbows slung on their backs. His own fine armor marked him as a nobleman, as did his mount, a splendid gray courser named Avalanche that had been a favorite of the late Count Bukovany.
Just because Jorgarian troops continued to man the post at Long Valley did not mean that Duke Wartislaw was not slipping patrols past it, keeping a watch on Castle Gallant. If that were the case, then Anton would make a wonderful target of opportunity. He would be safer riding a nag and wearing the same nondescript gear as the troopers-assuming he could find any to fit him-but it did not become a nobleman to hide his rank like that. Well, if the worst happened, he would certainly not be the first Magnus to be nailed into his cuirass by a crossbow bolt.
The mountains were wrapped in fleece and the valleys blurred by something too heavy for mist and too light to be rain. The first half mile or so was easy enough, with cliff-up on the left and cliff-down on the right. The surface was in need of repair, but not bad enough to hinder an invading army. He had seen this part from the tower. The two roads, the north and south approaches to Gallant, were almost as impressive as the castle itself.
He thought about pestilence. He had thought of little else since the word was mentioned. The stricken landsknecht woman had died before Ekkehardt led his men out, and he had reluctantly accepted a bribe of a thousand florins to take the body away with him and bury it in the graveyard at High Meadows.
So far Ekkehardt had been the only one to mention plague. He might have been bribed to invent it. He might have made a mistake, for other diseases could produce buboes. Even that senile, half-witted doctor in the infirmary ought to have recognized the symptoms of pestilence if he had seen them. Anton clung desperately to the hope that there was no pestilence.
Plague might scare away the Wends, of course, even if he had to drive a thousand plague victims out the north gate to do it. Except that the townsfolk would just disobey him and hide their sick dear ones. Would the bishop forbid it as mortal sin, and if so how much would it cost to buy him off? Counts who quarreled with bishops usually lost. Plague would ruin everything. It was unthinkable.
He had troubles enough without it. He had set the seneschal to work building up food stores against a siege, but the cowards fleeing town were mouths that need not be fed. He would have to start cutting firebreaks through
