Wulfgang would.
“No, the Church might let him marry and remain a layman, as long as he was jessed by a cleric. The trouble is that Count Anton guessed which way the tide was turning and bullied the girl into a handfasting, which he consummated with dispatch. The pope can annul that and you cannot. They’re both the type to want Church blessing.”
Lady Umbral muttered, “’Sblood!” under her breath.
“And if Zdenek gets his pitch in, he can play on the boy’s loyalty. The Magnuses pride themselves on having served the kings of Jorgary for centuries, with never a waver.”
“No offense to your homeland, but he would be wasted serving such a pipsqueak kingdom.”
Justina did not fancy telling the boy that. “And we must fend off the Agioi. Wulfgang and Marek assassinated their Father Vilhelmas, so they may start calling for justice.”
“From what you told me earlier, he got justice. Our first priority must be to jess your Wulfgang wonder before anyone else gets him.” The lady was starting to sound curt, impatient to return to her supper with the Vicar of Christ. “Offer him protection and we’ll settle the deaths somehow. It won’t be the first time I’ve bought a pope, or even the patriarch.”
“There’s more, I’m afraid.”
Lady Umbral sighed. “I should ha1C; size="-1"ve known there would be. You’ve never panicked before. Go on, then.”
Justina did not consider that she’d panicked now. She had recognized a crisis that required more than her own authority, that was all.
“A woman in the town may have died of plague a few days ago.”
“Ignore that,” Lady Umbral said firmly. “The Good Lord never asks my permission before He visits pestilence on people, and we can heal our own, as long as we’re discreet. Anything more?”
Wasn’t that enough? Justina was feeling too old for so much excitement. “I think I’ve covered the main points.”
“Then go back there and enlist Wulfgang Magnus. Do anything at all, but get him jessed by someone in th e Saints! I’ll happily jess him myself, if he agrees. I’ll be available right after this snack with Sixtus. Bring him here, if you can, to Elysium.”
“Thank you, my lady. Bon appetit!”
She heard a low growl from behind the curtain and then silence. Justina opened her eyes to glimpse a few stars and one single, lonely light somewhere down on the plain.
Time to go. Wulfgang was still not in bed. In fact, he was talking to…
Oh, no!
CHAPTER 20
Arturas Synovec was twenty-three years old, the count’s herald, a native of Gallant, betrothed to the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and a bastard. His mother had been housekeeper to the bishop-two-back, and such things happened. He and his brothers had received an education out of the situation, and in their cases not much else. Arturas, though, having displayed some talent with pen and brush, and lacking the brawn for physical work or warfare, had become a clerk in the count’s service, then apprentice to Klement, the old herald, and eventually his successor. Life had been simple but penurious, with little hope that he could ever earn enough money to take on family responsibilities. Then Count Bukovany and his son had died suddenly and Count Magnus had appeared even more suddenly. Arturas felt as if he had barely slept since.
If the castle survived the Wends and the Pelrelmians, he could realistically hope to receive a bonus from the victorious count, perhaps even a raise, and thus the means to afford marriage. If the castle fell… He tried not to think about that. Gallant sat between two armies like a nut in a nutcracker, and the people prayed as they had not prayed in a century.
Near sunset, rumors of a miracle began to circulate. The count’s brother, Sir Vladislav, was reported to be leading a sortie out the north gate, which ought to be suicide. The snow showed signs of ending, but darkness was falling, so perhaps he could still hope to escape detection long enough to damag1C; sih oe whatever the enemy had been doing up at the mouth of the gorge.
Then word was passed for Arturas Synovec to attend His Lordship on the roof of the north barbican. Raise or bonus would depend on diligence, so he ran the whole way, arriving almost too breathless to speak. The bitter wind was still howling up there, and the three men standing by the battlements were all muffled like hibernating bears. He could recognize the count by his height, and he was fairly certain that the one in armor was Constable Dali Notivova.
His footsteps were muffled, but they heard him puffing and turned to face him.
“Herald,” the count said, “have you heard about the river?”
That was about the most unexpected question he had ever been asked.
“No, my”-gasp-“lord.”
“Constable, tell him.”
“It’s stopped flowing,” Notivova said. “Just a trickle here and there. Never seen anything like it.”
And what did they expect Arturas Synovec to do about it? He said nothing, which was usually a wise choice for a herald, or so Klement had taught him.
“We heard thunder a while ago,” the count said, “and the ground shook. We think a landslide must have blocked the gorge. Nothing else could plug up the river. If the Ruzena can’t flow, the gorge will flood. The Wends won’t be able to get at us. They’ll have to go home. They may all be buried under the slide-my brother’s gone to see. The Lord has spoken.”
Arturas found breath enough to shout, “God be praised!”
“Amen. But Havel and his Pelrelmians may not know this. I want you to go down there-”
The third man coughed, thereby revealing that he was Baron Magnus, the eldest brother.
“Um, yes,” said the count. “I’m asking you if you are willing to go down there with a flag of truce to tell them that the war may be over. We don’t want any nasty accidents or unnecessary assaults. But you’re not a man-at-arms, and this could be dangerous, so I’m asking, not ordering.”
“It’s my job, my lord. Of course I’ll go.” There! He was quite proud to hear himself say it. Surprised, too.
“Then the sooner the better,” the count said. “Try to get to see Count Pelrelm himself, or at least Sir Marijus, his son. Tell him we want a truce until noon. By then we should know exactly what’s happened, and if necessary we’ll let him send observers to confirm our reports. You may ortce also tell him that, if they abandon their aggres sion and go home now, we shan’t report this morning’s skirmish to the king. That was just a case of misunderstood orders.”
“Tell him that last bit only if you are pressed,” the baron added. “Don’t sound as if we’re afraid of a fight. They’re the ones sleeping in the snow, not us. The constable will see you out the postern. You’ll need a flag, of course, and a clean-burning torch.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And a clean rag,” the baron said. “They may want to blindfold you, so take a clean rag with you.”
CHAPTER 21
Wulf narrowly avoided losing his left eye on a branch. Away from the avalanche area, where trees still stood, the gorge was almost totally dark.
“You go ahead,” he said to Vlad. “I have snow in my shoes and pine needles down my neck. I am going to strip naked and fall into bed.”
“You’ve earned it.” Vlad heaved half a cedar out of their way. “Don’t suppose anyone will miss you here.”
No. By the time Vlad caught up with his cavalrymen, they would have reached their horses and mingled with Sir Teodor’s men coming in. In the darkness and confusion, the squire’s absence would not be noticed.
Wulf opened a gate to the roof of the north barbican and stepped through it. “All is well,” he said. His brothers jumped like frogs.
Otto crossed himself. “I wish you’d warn me when you’re going to do that!”
“Vlad’s all right?” Anton demanded. “What happened to the river? Why’s it stopped running? A landslide?”
“Just an avalanche, they think; ought to melt in the summer. The war is over. We won. I helped, but it was a genuine miracle. You’d better tell the bishop to organize a Te Deum.” Wulf would attend and give thanks. The full import of what had happened was just starting to sink in.