“These, Pav?” Wulf’s finery was well used now, much in need of a wash, and reeking of horse. “They were a wedding present from my wife. I can only pray that she came by them honestly.”
Pavel uttered a shrill titter, but his eyes remained icy. The onlookers’ laughter seemed more genuine.
Lubos jangled a bunch of keys overhead until he was allowed a hearing. “Your Highness, we are short a room. Where do you wish me to billet Sir Wulfgang?”
Predictable vulgarity broke out all around.
This problem had been worrying Wulf since they arrived. When the hunt had overnighted at Kastan last week, he had found a place in the hay barn with the rest of the lowlife. Now he would feel safer under a bush in the forest.
Konrad smiled as if he, too, had been waiting for this. “It’s my fault for inviting him to join us, so he can double up with me.”
That produced an outburst of ribaldry ranging from the racy to the openly obscene. Wulf blushed furiously-he could Look through others’ eyes and see his own face, redder than holly berries. Although that definitely did not help his mood, it seemed to improve everyone else’s.
As long as they were laughing at him, they did not suspect Satanism.
CHAPTER 40
Lubos started handing out tagged keys. Konrad had his own. He led Wulf upstairs and along the gallery to the royal chamber. It was large and luxurious enough to have a separate privy. The bed was also large and luxurious, but there was only one of it, which was to be expected. A bowl of water steamed on a marble-topped table.
The prince began hauling off his clothes. “You told me your preferences,” he said gruffly. “And, frankly, I’m too tired for games tonight.” His childish sneer showed for a moment. “I hope you aren’t worried about your reputation?”
“I have no reputation to worry about, sire.” Now Wulf could start to credit Darina’s claim that the royal debauchery was all pretense, but he wouldn’t let down his guard.
The door opened briefly to admit a young manservant, who hastened over to help the prince. No surprise that he was blessed with cherubic good looks.
“Ah, Nenad! I?(can manage. See if you can find anything to fit Sir Wulfgang.”
Nenad changed direction. He walked around Wulf, eyed him for height and scanned him from front, side, and back. Then, instead of heading for one of the cedar chests, which must hold clothes, he went out again, having not spoken a word and hardly even slowing down.
Stripped to the waist, Konrad went to the wash water. Eyeing his massive back and shoulders, Wulf decided that only sorcery would let him escape humiliation and possibly injury during tomorrow’s wrestling. By the time it was his turn at the basin, Nenad had returned with an armful of clothes, presumably looted from other guests. He had brought two or three of everything, and at least one of everything fit Wulf perfectly. The service at Kastan was impressive, a hint that Konrad’s judgment was more than skin deep. If he didn’t choose the menials himself, he had delegated the job to an aide who did it well.
When they went downstairs again, six tables in two rows of three were being loaded with food, and wine was flowing. Under the great chandeliers, Sir Wulfgang was meeting everyone, being told their names, bowing, bowing, bowing. His reenactment of Anton’s miraculous jump was described in detail, over and over. Mouthwatering odors left him relatively unmoved after his late dinner at Avlona, but it promoted salivation among hungry hunters, and very soon the party moved to the tables, where he found himself seated at the prince’s right hand. By then he was feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself. What should be a great honor was tasteless when it had been won by cheating.
During the meal, the hunt was described for the benefit of the ladies, and the prince pontificated on Julius Caesar, Bohemian dancing, and viniculture. Wulf knew enough about grapes to know that Konrad was talking nonsense there, and he suspected that Julius Caesar had never conquered Russia. No one commented, though. Servants kept bringing more food.
Sir Augustin Vila, who sat on the prince’s left and appeared to be a special crony, rose to propose a toast to the new master of horse, provoking loud cries for a speech. Wulf stood up, said a terse thank-you, and toasted the prince. A whiff of sorcery had made his wine much less potent than anyone else’s, but even so his head was starting to buzz. No one proposed the king’s health, but that would have been hypocritical. They all expected the old man’s death to bring them prosperity.
He took note of the men who seemed especially resentful of his sudden rise, and also the smiley ones, who might be more dangerous. He tried to analyze expressions-resentful, wistful, disgusted, envious, and so on-except that they kept changing.
If Konrad truly was a fraud as an orgiast, then at least some of these people must know it, so why were there no secret smirks to suggest that the new boy had a big disappointment coming? How many knew and were loyal enough to keep the secret? Could this be some sort of test? A leader normally expected his cronies to keep his shortcomings confidential. Konrad seemed to be running a reverse deception.
Whatever the rules, the path to acceptance was to pretend to enjoy the game.
Eventually the servants were chased away and the doors locked. Quickly the rugs were heaped into one thick pile and all the seats and couches rearranged in a circle around it. Foreplay began almost immediately. Konrad settled on a sofa to watch, and Wulf sat next him, hoping that this was the safest place to be.
Soon a half-naked Pavel set off up the stairs carrying a wholly naked girl, who squealed and struggled and giggled. The onlookers jeered and shouted “Shy!” as they vanished into a bedroom. Several couples were down on the rugs.
The prince rose and stretched. “I am fatigued,” he announced. “You will excuse me if I retire early?”
Wulf leaped up eagerly. “So am I, sire!” he declared. “Absolutely exhausted. I’ll come with you so I don’t waken you later.”
He glanced swiftly around the faces, but again learned nothing-courtiers made a living out of being inscrutable. He followed the prince upstairs. The others carried on with what they were doing.
Wulf bolted the door. In the light of only four candles and the fire, the big room was dim, but warm. The bed had been turned down on both sides and two silk nightshirts laid out. An ankle-length nightshirt seemed an odd choice of garment if there was seduction planned. Wulf had never worn one, but he certainly intended to do so now.
Konrad chose one side, Wulf went to the other. Last week he had been a varlet sharing a bed with his brother in a garret in Lower Mauvnik, tonight he would sleep beside next month’s king in a bed eight times the size.
“None of my randy friends appeal to you?” the prince remarked as he undressed.
“They might have done a month ago, sire. Or maybe next year. Not while my heart is pledged.”
The candles were extinguished, bed curtains drawn. Wulf lay on his back and waited to find out what would come next. He suspected that Konrad, having been tweaked to trust his new friend, was ready to make confession, and would feel happier doing so in pitch darkness. The room was not quite silent. The fire crackled, and the wildlife downstairs periodically booed, cheered, or chorused, “Shy! Shy!”
“How many brothers?”
“Four. I am the youngest of five.”
“You were lucky. I had two brothers, but only Laima and I survived.”
“There were times when four brothers felt like four too many, but now I do agree with you. I was lucky.”
“Only Laima,” Konrad murmured.
Wulf felt guilty that he had never wondered how the prince and princess felt about each other. Were they close or did they fight? Did he want her to be happy or to remain a permanent spinster? Live close or move far away? Did he see her as only a political bargaining chip, as so many royal families saw daughters, or did he love her?