the dogs have a problem. That’s when you look at the dogs-how many of them there are, and what scars do they have to show their experience? Too many wounds make a dog shy, a shitty fighter. Just a few will give it experience and teach it some tricks. So you have to sum up the pack and bet accordingly. Unless there are at least six dogs and they look lean and fit and have never been too badly mauled, then I bet on the bear in fall.”
A man asked, “And what about summer, sire?”
Sire? Wulf looked in shock at his companion. They had just come from the king on his deathbed. There was only one person in the kingdom who might usurp the title of “sire.” If that was Crown Prince Konrad speaking, he must be a countertenor.
“Summer?” the prince shrilled. “Oh, only fools like you would bet on a bearbaiting in summer, Gus.”
Men laughed.
“In summer you have to look at both the bear and the dogs. And remember that sometimes when a bear wins in the spring, it will heal enough to be fought again by summer, but of course it has a very slim chance of winning a second time… although I did see a bear that won twice. Must have been almost ten years ago…”
The crown prince babbled on, more nonsense. A womanish voice would be a serious handicap for any leader. Vlad shouting orders sounded like a mountain torrent rolling boulders. No matter what his state of mind, young Konrad would always sound panic-stricken. Wulf stole another look at Darina, who raised a painted eyebrow as if to say, Now you know why we call him Cabbage Head.
But even he exhausted the fascinating topic of bearbaiting eventually. “Well,” he said, “let’s go and insp; s ifyect King Konrad the Late, shall we? Then we can go back and get on with some serious drinking and buggery.”
Around the corner he strode, leading an entourage of about a dozen men-six or seven young, brightly dressed male courtiers plus a squad of men-at-arms bearing silvered pikes.
The younger Konrad was a surprise: firstly because he looked no older than Wulf himself, secondly because he was short and one expected royalty to be tall. His tunic, cape, and hat were superbly tailored, but cut from drab grays and browns, as if in deliberate contrast to the peacock grandeur of his escort. To a man, his multicolored companions were all taller and slimmer, but even the men-at-arms were mere fresh-faced youths. He was a moth among butterflies.
The prince’s face was pathetically ugly, lopsided and fleshy, as if it had been ill-favored to start with, and later hideously scarred by smallpox. Short, but immensely wide and thick, he had a neck and shoulders that would flatter an ox, and his fancy tailoring could not conceal the barrel-like bulge of his chest, yet his hips and waist were trim. Darina’s praise of his wrestling skills was believable.
She sank into a curtsey. Wulf bowed low, sweeping the tiles with his bonnet, and then stood with his eyes lowered because staring at royalty was forbidden. But the prince’s shoes had platform soles to make him seem taller, and staring at those was probably even more discourteous. He raised his gaze to the prince’s huge chest, decorated with gem-studded orders and a sash of St. Vaclav like Anton’s.
“Checking on the morgue, my dear?” The prince tittered. “Is it true his toes are turning black and… Oh, what have we here? Head up, lad. Let’s have a look at you.”
If he did not melt as his mistress had predicted, Prince Konrad certainly gave Wulf his full attention. Thus might a man study a stud horse.
“Darina’s taken up pimping for us,” said one of the fops, raising a laugh.
“Rough stuff from the stables,” said another, getting another one.
The worst part of having a fair complexion was blushing, and Wulf felt his face turn scarlet from his collarbones to his scalp. He heard some sniggers and murmurs of appreciation as the sycophants waited for their leader’s verdict.
“Turn around,” said the prince.
Wulf turned his back and folded his arms. He heard a few angry mutters.
“All the way,” Konrad said. “Yes, very pretty. You must bring him along to the party tonight, my love. We’ll get Augustin to try him out. What d’yu say, Gus?”
“Jozef has more experience than me at breaking in wild stock, sire.”
The prince sniggered. Even the youths-at-arms in the background were leering. But the mood must be about to change, and Wulf was praying hard that he would be able to keep his slippery temper under control.
“What’s your name, boy?”
For the first time Wulf looked his future king straight in the eye. “Wulfgang Magnus, Your Highness.”
Now it was the prince’s turn to redden. “Another of that Dobkov litter?”
The Magnus temper slipped another notch. “I have the honor to be the count of Cardice’s youngest brother, sire.”
“So you think it’s your turn now? You’re so young we’ll have to make you a duke!”
The pack bayed with laughter at the royal wit.
Konrad glared at his mistress. “Where did you find this knave?”
Wulf braced himself for more devilry. He was not disappointed.
“In the stables, sire, as Lord Jozef said. He’s out of work since his brother left, and the Magnuses are such renowned equestrians that I thought that you might wish to appoint this one master of horse, since that office is currently vacant. Or you might have other uses for him.”
“Yes, I might. I’ll have him stuffed and mounted.” Konrad turned his snarl on Wulf. “Your damned-to-hellfire brother caused the deaths of many good men with his insane showing off. I’ll set you up as a memorial to them.” He moved as if to leave, but Darina was not done yet.
“Come, sire, it’s hardly fair to blame young Wulfie for that. He was telling me just moments ago that he witnessed the accident at Chestnut Hill last week and he doesn’t understand what all the fuss is about. It was a very straightforward jump for a good horseman, he says.”
The prince’s ugly face seemed to swell. He turned his rage back on Wulf. “Straightforward, you say?”
Wulf was exhausted, and his temper had long since escaped and flown far away. He shrugged. “Dead easy. I could do it with my hands behind my back.”
This time the silence lasted a dozen heartbeats and it was the one called Augustin who broke it. “A wager, sire?”
Several voices echoed the words.
Konrad liked that idea. He nodded and showed an indifferent set of teeth in a crocodile smile. “You would perform that jump on a bet?”
Wulf tried for an even more insulting shrug. “Wrug201hatever pleases Your Highness.”
“Tomorrow we shall be hunting not far from Chestnut Hill. Meet us there an hour before sunset and show us. With your hands behind your back?”
“Balance the stakes, sire. My horse is all I own in the world.” He would have to steal one of Anton’s. “I shall be gambling its life as well as my own. For what?”
“Five gold florins?”
A few onlookers whistled at such reckless betting.
“I may be only an esquire, sire, but my name is as old as yours. Magnuses risk their lives for honor, not gold. Make me the master of horse, and yes, you can tie my hands behind my back.”
The master of horse was the third-ranking officer of the kingdom. The title was hereditary, so he was asking for the impossible.
“There’s a whipping post downstairs, sire,” said one of the flunkeys. “May I lay on the first fifty lashes?”
“But I get to brand him,” said another.
Wulf was well aware that even an esquire might be flogged for such insolence to royalty, and by this time a commoner would be well on his way to losing his tongue as well. He could escape through limbo if they tried to use violence on him. That would shatter the first commandment, but by now he didn’t care a spit.
“The Magnuses do have spirit, sire,” Darina said nervously.
“Tomorrow, one hour before sunset,” Konrad squeaked, and strode off at pace that was almost a run. His entourage lurched into motion behind him. Wulf noticed several winks and grins being directed at Darina. None seemed to be intended for him, fortunately. He tried some deep breaths to calm his fury.
“Just what was all that in aid of?” he demanded. She had deliberately provoked that confrontation, and he couldn’t see why.
