“Hot water, you say? An interesting notion! I must journey there sometime and try it!”
Matt almost pointed out that the count could heat water over the fire right here in his own castle, but bit his tongue in time-the man was likely to try a dip in boiling water. No, let him stay with the natural way.
“So you are a knight of the Bath!” Count d’Arrete chuckled at his own witticism, and his courtiers dutifully echoed him. Matt managed to force a smile himself. He actually was a knight of the bath, of course, and the cold tub had been administered in Emperor Hardishane’s secret tomb-but there was no need to mention that.“Ah, you have heard that jest many times, I see,” the count said ruefully. “Well, stay and join us at meat this evening, stranger! We are always glad to have visitors, to bring us news of the world outside our domain-but most especially tonight, when my cousins from Latruria are at last able to join us! Their young king has opened the border these last few years, and has now even given permission for his noblemen to journey to visit kinsmen!”
Matt pricked up his ears. Talk about good luck! Unless, of course,virtuallyallthemarcher baronswereentertaining relatives-which was probable, if permission had just now been granted. “It has been many years since kin could visit kin, my lord. ”Generations! Not since my grandfather’s time have we welcomed our southern cousins! Old King Maledicto kept his border closed by sorcery as well as force of arms! Ah, it is good indeed to see our kin!“
“I shall look forward to meeting them myself,” Matt said, with more sincerity than the count knew. This great hall was considerably less great than Boncorro’s. Of course, Matt had never seen the royal castle of Latruria, but he had seen Alisande’s court, and the castle of a mere country count suffered by comparison. Fortunately, Matt wasn’t interested in comparing them. It was a cornerstone of his aesthetic that he take each work on its own merits, and within the context of its own function as well as its designer’s intentions. The architect who built this castle had obviously been trying to achieve the optimum balance between comfort and defense, and had succeeded about as well as he could. The hall was large enough to shelter a small army during a siege-or the peasants of the home farms, as well as the gentry of the county, during a feast day. The peasants weren’t here at the moment, but the gentry were. Count d’Arrete had meant it when he said he was glad of one more to help him celebrate. The countess had done at least as well as the architect, when it came to decoration. Faded old tapestries alternated with bright new ones; garlands of flowers obscured the grim old battle trophies. An oversized shield brightly painted with the family coat of arms hung over the high dais, while about the hall hung smaller shields that showed the arms of the count’s knights, obscuring the old, dusty, captured flags of foes vanquished. At the far end hung another oversized shield with the arms of the Latrurian branch of the clan. However, those Latrurians weren’t about to let the hidden dinginess go. “These old castles were well enough for defense, cousin, and as trophy cases,” Conte Puvecci said with a wave of us hand. “Surely, though, it would be desirable to have a separate, and more pleasant, building, for your daily living.”
Count d’Arrete smiled, but Matt could almost hear him grind his teeth. Since he knew who d’Arrete was, it didn’t take much deduction to figure out that the other mature male at the high table must be his Latrurian cousin-and therefore that curled hail and pointed beards were all the rage in Latruria. Matt took a quick glance around the hall, noting curly locks and pointy goatees, so he’d know where the Latrurians were-it made for more efficient eavesdropping. He turned back to the high table just as Count d’Arrete was saying, “There is a feeling of continuity, cousin, of connection with one’s ancestors, that can only be gained from living where they lived.”
“Quite so, quite so!” Puvecci nodded earnestly. “And when I feel the need for that, I go back to spend a night or two there.”
“Alone?” the Countess d’Arrete gasped. Puvecci gave her a condescending grin. “I know, I know, one is never alone among the ghosts of one’s ancestors-or among one’s soldiers, for I must needs keep guards posted there; it is, after all, my stronghold, and gives command of the valley. But our new white marble palazzo is far more appealing.”
“You must come visit us!” the Contessa Puvecci gushed. “I have found the cleverest painter you can imagine, to adorn our walls with murals and frescoes of the heroes of ancient Reme, and of their goddesses and gods!”
“The marble was expensive,” the conte said expansively, “but when one is building for the ages, one must not stint.”
Count d’Arrete managed to keep his smile, but it was hard. “Your lands must produce most amazingly.”1 “They do, they do! Our young King Boncorro was right, insisting that we leave the peasants a larger share of the crop-for it gave them reason to labor with greater zeal! And, of course, leaving his lords so much more of our land’s produce gives us far more to work with.” Conte Puvecci kept nodding. “He is a good king, a good king! And I think he will grow to be even better.”
Matt didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that d’Arrete was suddenly finding flaws in Alisande’s reign that he had never thought of before. “I could not truly say life was one continual celebration at King Boncorro’s court,” Puvecci’s son Giancarlo was telling Sir John, Captain of the Guard. “He does demand that we rise before noon to practice at swordplay and tilting, and has each of us oversee the work of some reeve in a distant province, watching the clerks verify the reeve’s reports and accounts. He also insists that each of our corps take its turn in patrolling the city at night-so there is very little theft or murder or rape, and it is almost true that even the most lowly born woman may cross the town at night without danger.”
“Almost,” the count’s son, Camano, grated. Giancarlo shrugged. “There are always accidents.”
“Are you never tempted to be those accidents, cousin?”
Giancarlo answered with a slow grin. “Why should we? Where lid you think those lowborn women were coming from so late at night, cousin?”
“The duchesses hold gatherings every evening,” said Lady Sophia, the Puveccis’ daughter, “and there is always fizzy wine, and dancing, and song. And the gentlemen, cousin! The gentlemen are so gallant and so handsome as they vie for glory!”
Lady Jeanette d’Arrete was almost green with envy. “Do all the young folk stay at his Majesty’s court?”
“All who can persuade their parents,” Sophia said with a condescending laugh, “and that is nearly all. The king has built a whole range of apartments just for us; and I assure you there is much coming and going within that building!”
“How far away are the men’s apartments?”
“Why, they adjoin ours, cousin, and there is even a passageway between the two buildings, for use in cold weather! The lady who cannot find a husband there is slow indeed!”
Jeanette was already beginning to turn pale and sigh-while at the far end of the table, Camano glowered and smoldered. Of course, that could have just been the effect of the flickering light of the torches and candles-but Matt rather doubted that. He had been lucky in his seat assignment-he had to strain to hear what was going on at the high table, but hear he could, and he doubted that the expressions he was seeing on the faces of the younger d’Arretes had anything to do with the lighting. However, if the little flames helped to obscure the old trophies that the countess couldn’t remove without violating tradition, they also helped obscure the signs of age among the mature ladies, who laughed and drank beside their husbands, and gave a glow to the cheeks of the younger women, gentry and common alike, and set a sparkle in the eyes of the young men who paid them court. The serving girls seemed almost as vibrant as the ladies, as they laughed and flirted with the young men. The butler and footmen, of course, did not have that privilege, but the candlelight nonetheless picked out the gleams in their eyes. It was a festive occasion indeed, and everyone was making merry. Which made Matt wonder about the morose young man to his left. He watched the joyous company with no sign of delight and seemed to brace himself every time he glanced across the table to the blushing young lady who was smiling and making eyes at him. When he did notice, he forced a smile, exchanged a few brief words with her, then glanced away and gazed moodily out over the throng. Each time, the shock of hurt showed in the girl’s face, but it was quickly hidden as she turned to her neighbor with forced gaiety. Mart’s heart went out to her, and finally, when she turned to her neighbor but found him engaged in conversation on his other side, then turned to her other neighbor but found him likewise engaged, Matt came to her rescue. “Take pity on a stranger, demoiselle, and tell me who these grand folk each may be.”