Madlenka.
“Have you worked out why Joan could lift a siege of a city and yet couldn’t rescue herself from a jail?”
“No,” Wulf said unhappily. “Maybe it’s like all the fairy tales, and we only get so many wishes.” Last night again he had dreamt of fighting the Pomeranian army single-handed and his powers disappearing in the middle of the battle.
“So you can work miracles?” Vlad said. “Show us.”
A wine flagon rose from the table beside his chair and floated across to Wulf. He refilled his goblet from it and sent it back. There was a long silence while the others stared at one another. Finally the big warrior laughed and raised his wine in a toast. “To St. Wolfcub!”
Wulf wiped his mouth. The wine was not as good as Dobkov’s. “So, Brother,” he told Otto, “if you’ve enjoyed your visit to Castle Gallant and would like to return to the arms of your loving wife, I’d be happy to arrange the journey for you.”
“Ha!” Vlad roared. “He can’t go! Tell them the news, Brother Baron.”
Otto scowled at him in disgust. “Vladislav, you’re a blabbering bone-skull.” From him, that was a stinging rebuke.
“It’s long past bedtime,” Anton said, rising to his full height. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as Father Czcibor always says.” He held out a hand to Madlenka.
Evidently she could be trusted with Satanism but not with whatever the other news was. The rest of the men rose also.
“Don’t run away yet, Beanpole,” Vlad said. “You still have some explaining to do.”
“You go ahead, my love. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Just for a moment, Wulf saw a flicker in Madlenka’s eyes, but then she accepted the dismissal with a humility that he was certain must be costing her dearly. Anton’s Madlenka might be a kitten, but the one Wulf knew was not. She curtseyed to the company and departed.
Anton closed the door he had held for her, then leaned back against it.
“You great blabbering ox!” he snapped. “I do not want panic in the town!” He was being Count Magnus of Cardice, lord of the marches, clad in awesome authority.
Unimpressed, Vlad just chuckled. “But our miracle workers have a right to know. Listen, little brothers. Here’s the worst news yet. Before our noble count could carry his bride off to the conjugal chamber, Otto and I backed him into a corner and threatened to break his legs if he didn’t tell us the real reason the landsknechte left town.”
“Plague,” Marek said softly. He smiled his wan little smile at them.
Appalled, Wulf flopped down on the hob again. Lord have mercy! Pestilence? Then no one was safe. Even Madlenka.
“Midge is calling you a liar, Beanpole,” Vlad said angrily. “You told us you hadn’t told anyone at all before we got it out of you!”
“Knowing Marek,” Otto said, “I expect he worked it out with Aristotelean logic. Father always warned us that he was the smart one.”
Marek smiled at the compliment. “Why else would a mercenary band run away from certain money? The landsknechte wouldn’t even have been in serious danger in a siege, because Gallant’s a unique stronghold in that it always has an escape hatch on the other side. A threat of plague was the only possible explanation.”
“Bribery would be another,” Vlad grumbled.
“But the way Wulf described it, they made no attempt to bargain and play one side off against another. And when we arrived this morning, Anton was pleased to see all of us except Otto. He has a family. The rest of us can take our chances, but if he takes pestilence back to Dobkov the whole Magnus line could be wiped out.”
“Why?” Wulf snapped. “Why did you keep this news quiet?”
Anton shrugged. “I was told of one woman with a lump in her armpit. She died. That doesn’t make an epidemic. I don’t want my people fleeing out into the moors with winter coming on.”
“Was she by any chance in the infirmary while I was there?”
“I don’t know. We must pray to Our Lady that it was a false alarm and we shall be spared that horror.”
“Amen to that,” Otto said, “but meanwhile I can’t go home. I don’t even dare write a letter and ask Wulf to deliver it. Anything a pestilence victim has touched or breathed on can spread the disease.”
“I don’t believe it!” Vlad proclaimed. “If the trollop really died of plague, half the town would be sick by now. Half the town might be dead by now!”
“Possible,” Marek said, still quietly-he had learned long ago not to contradict his biggest brother directly. “But they say a town can’t be certain the pestilence has ended until forty days have passed without a new case. We have thirty-seven days to wait. After that you can go home, Otto.”
“A lot of people have left town already,” Anton said. “Scared away by Count Bukovany’s death, the threat of war, the landsknechte ’s flight. If even one of them is carrying the pestilence, it’ll be all over Jorgary by spring.”
“Don’t forget that stupid curse tonight!” Vlad boomed. He was showing the effects of the wine at last.
“Right. On Vlad’s advice,” Anton said. “I’ve ordered the gates locked. Nobody’s leaving now.”
Heads nodded in approval.
Vlad explained. “I don’t believe for a moment that Havel Vranov came here to play with puppies. He came here to frighten everyone. He brought the silk and the puppy along as gifts in case he was made welcome, but his real reason was to make that spectacular exit. It was simple terrorism.”
“It’s possible,” Marek agreed again. “But I think Vranov came for Wulf. Vilhelmas had seen how badly Anton was wounded. He spied on him later and saw him alive and restored to health, so he knew there must be a Speaker in Gallant. That changed the odds! A war must be much easier to win if you have Speakers and your opponents don’t. That was why he had Vranov crash the banquet, and why he kept peering around, looking for another Speaker. If he’d seen Wulf, he might have done to him what Wulf and I just did to him.”
Vlad completed a long drink from a wine flask. “Faugh! Sometimes you just try to take on your foes one at a time and hope they never get to combine against you. If Vranov risked appearing here tonight, even for a few moments, then he doesn’t believe in the pestilence. I’m with Beanpole. Let’s deal with the Wends first and worry about plague later, if ever.”
Anton said, “Thank you. I’m going to bed.” He glanced momentarily at Wulf, without expression, and then he was closing the door behind him.
Wulf took a brief look out of Anton’s eyes to make sure he was going away and not lurking outside the door, then through Madlenka’s to make sure she was alone. Then he stood up and stepped through limbo to her room.
CHAPTER 35
Madlenka was seated at her dressing board, taking pins out of her hair. The room was dim, with only a single lamp to scare away the shadows. She felt wrung dry by the events of the day, shattered by Wulf’s expected return, and nauseated at the thought of another interminable night with Anton. He wasn’t an evil man. If he saved the castle from the Wends, he might eventually make a good count and lord of the marches. At the moment, he was just an arrogant and insensitive youth. Perhaps few men of that age were much better, and Wulfgang was an extreme exception. She suspected that she might now be quite content with her lot if she had never met her husband’s brother.
There were two reflections in the glass.
She spun around. “Wulf! Idiot! Go away. I rang for my maid.”
“She’ll knock.” He was standing well away from her, his face grave.
“Anton-”
“Is on his way. We have a moment, that’s all. Oh, Madlenka! I just came to tell you that it was my fault and I am-”
She jumped up. “No, it was mine!”
“I told you I would be forty days and-”
