Had Anton thought this up all by himself? A party to cheer everyone up after all the bad news was probably a good idea, admittedly, yet it seemed a little out of character for Anton to be so perceptive. What was in it for him, personally?
The horses clattered into the palace yard. Fortunately, not all of the stable hands had been given the day off, and one of them knew Wulf.
“Have the bags sent to the Orchard Room,” he ordered, and took off at a near run. Three other Magnuses followed, Vlad demanding to know what all the hurry was.
Again Wulf’s luck held, for the porter on the door remembered him. He said he thought they would find the count in the hall, supervising the arrangements for the banquet.
Otto’s heavy hand descended on Wulf’s shoulder. “Take your time,” he whispered. “What are you afraid of?”
Wulf pulled free of the hand, but forced himself to walk calmly to the ramp. “Nothing.” But he had thought of a reason why Anton might want to hold a party.
Otto stayed close. “Perhaps you should be. Don’t do anything rash.”
“Me? Rash? What do you think I am, a Magnus?”
“You’re very much a Magnus, and I don’t want any of my brothers turned into a toad.”
What if that brother was a toad already?
The hall was a turmoil of harassed servants. Tables and benches stood around three sides of the long room, and Anton towered in the middle, resplendent in scarlet robe and golden coronet. Around him fussed a group including old Seneschal Jurbarkas, Arturas the herald, Secretary Radim, and four or five unknowns. No doubt they were arguing problems of precedence. Whether one was seated above or below one’s favorite enemy would be a matter of scandal and gossip in the town for months. Anton looked up and caught sight of the newcomers.
“ Vlad! ” he roared, startling his companions. “Vladislav Magnus!” He pushed out of the group and came striding forward to greet Vlad with an embrace and much back-slapping. “I have never been so glad to see you, Brother!”
“Were you ever glad to see me at all?”
“Of course not, but I certainly am now!” Laughing, they hugged again.
“And Marek! Brother-Brother Marek!” Again brother embraced brother, although Marek’s head did not reach Anton’s shoulder. “I did not expect you to rally to the cause, too. Wonderful to see you after all these years. And… oh, no!”
He stared at Otto in inexplicable dismay. “I did not expect you.”
“All the greater your pleasure, I hope?” Otto opened his arms for a hug.
“Well, yes… of course!” Anton made a fast recovery and they embraced. “You didn’t bring Branka, did you?”
“No,” Otto said, frowning at Anton’s peculiar reaction to him.
“And Wulf.” This time, Anton offered a mere smile-a very thin smile. “You waste no time on your missions, squire. But then, neither do I. Madlenka and I are handfasted, so confine your attentions to the kitchen sluts from now on.”
He was wide open. A fist like a mallet rammed into his solar plexus, doubling him over; then its partner struck his jaw hard enough to straighten him out again. He landed full length, and his coronet rolled off across the floor. A very satisfying start!
The spectators all screamed.
Wulf planted a boot on Anton’s outstretched hand. “You will apologize from down there,” he said loudly. “Do it now, because if you get up first I will knock you down again. And again. And- arrgh!”
Vlad’s great arms wrapped around him and lifted him clear off the prostrate count. “You’re even faster than you used to be, lad. Nice one-two, but not the best of manners.”
Anton surged to his feet and found himself nose-to-nose with Otto.
“You offended first,” Otto said quietly. “So you apologize first.”
Anton snarled wordlessly and tried to dodge around him.
Otto grabbed a handful of fur-trimmed robe. “You first!” he insisted.
“Or what?”
“Or we all go home and leave you.”
The coin spun… There was honor involved. There was a new count’s dignity before his servants and vassals. Anton was lord of justice and could certainly order his brother jailed or flogged. But that raised the problem of how Wulf’s saints or demons might react, and there was the need for their help against a Wend army practically on the doorstep.
The coin came down showing peace.
Anton whispered, “Sorry. Wulfgang. I ought. Not. To have. Said. That.”
Wulf, with his arms clamped to his sides by Vlad’s great hands, said, “Your apology should not be addressed to me.”
“I certainly did not mean my joke to refer to anyone else.”
Wulf considered that, then nodded. “My mistake, then… Sorry.”
Vlad released him. Otto told them to shake hands, which they did.
“My little brother a count!” Vlad boomed, bringing the audience into the conversation. “A lord of the marches must certainly be a knight, and the traditional start of a dubbing is the collee. That’s a light blow delivered by a priest, and since we don’t have a priest handy, we asked Squire Wulfgang to do the honors. He was perhaps a little too enthusiastic, but the lad is excited and got carried away by the solemnity of the occasion.” He turned to Otto. “Draw your sword, Brother, and do the honors.”
Otto smiled to acknowledge this nimble effort to divert the audience’s bewilderment and drew his sword. Anton knelt. Otto touched the blade to his shoulder and dubbed him a member of the international brotherhood of knights. Vlad removed his own spurs and attached them to Anton’s heels. Then Otto belted the sword on him and the deed was done. The audience cheered.
“Well, you’re obviously busy here, my lord count,” Otto said. “Why don’t we go off and change? I assume we are invited to the banquet?”
“You are more than welcome,” Anton said. With a sidelong glance at Wulf he added, “All of you.”
Wulf said, “Thank you,” very clearly, but as the visitors headed for the door, he muttered, “Knighthood? Toadhood would be too good for him.”
CHAPTER 29
“Do try to smile!” snapped Dowager Countess Edita. “You look as if you’re dressing for a funeral, not a banquet.”
“I wonder why?” Madlenka murmured. With her father and brother not ten days in the family vault, a funeral face would be much more appropriate.
Yet here she was, robed in virginal white, being primped and tugged and adjusted by her mother and Ivana, Mother’s crony and personal seamstress. Ivana was all bone and angles, with ears sharper than razors and a tongue to match. Today she was a-tut-tut at this unexpected festivity, shocked by its timing, so soon after the late count’s death. It was officially a recognition of the new count’s accession and a chance for the town dignitaries to meet him, but no one within the castle doubted that it was a wedding feast.
“Mm,” Edita remarked, surveying their masterpiece. “You really are quite beautiful, my dear. In a sylphlike way.”
“Scrawny, you mean.” The hat wasn’t helping. They had insisted she wear a hennin, a steeple hat about two feet high, trailing white lace-the latest fashion from France, they said. She would tower over even Anton. It was totally wrong for her, making her feel like a lance.
“Well, most men do prefer their partners plump, but fortunately the count seems content with the match. Now it is up to you to accept it as equitably as he does and make the best of it. It is the king’s decision and we all owe our duty to His Majesty. By Our Lady, you’re shivering! It isn’t cold in here. You’re not catching a fever, are you?”