“Oh, he’s very cute!” she said, wondering how Mother was taking this, because Mother knew her dislike of dogs. “What’s his name?”
The youth’s face fell. “Hasn’t got one.”
“Then we must give him one. Would you mind if I called him Leonas, to remind me of who gave him to me?”
He uttered a single, discordant laugh. “Leonas is my name.”
“Yes, I know. Well, I’ll call him Honey, because he’s honey-colored. Do you like honey cakes, Leonas?”
He nodded vigorously.
“Well have one of these. Take the whole basket and go share them with your Da.”
As Leonas happily went off with the cakes, Anton muttered, “I hope you don’t expect that rat to sleep with us?”
“I hate dogs.”
“Likewise, except for hunting hounds.” Anton returned his attention to the visitors and the human fence watching them. “Constable Notivova, escort Count Vranov to the gate and see him and his friends off.” He sat down.
“Do not trouble yourself, constable,” Vranov said. “A pox on you and yours, Anton Magnus. May this fortress crumble to dust and all who live within it be consumed by worms and torment. May you all burn in hell forever.”
He and his companions vanished from where they stood. For an instant there was absolute silence as the witnesses came to grips with what they had just seen. Then the hall erupted in terror and screaming.
“What charming neighbors you have!” said Ottokar Magnus. “May I refill your wineglass, Countess?”
CHAPTER 31
Until the Pelrelmians crashed the party, Brother Marek had enjoyed the banquet very much, simply because he was left alone. He helped himself to each dish, poured his own wine, and no one paid any attention to him. On his right the affronted priests diligently ignored him, while Vlad, seated at the high table to his left, relentlessly bored Countess Edita with accounts of his youthful military exploits in Burgundy. The only remark he had addressed to Marek had been to ask if this food was better than the monastery’s. The countess had raised an eyebrow at that, no doubt wondering what a friar had to do with a monastery, but she probably assumed that Vlad was drunk, which he wasn’t. Even as a stripling he had always been able to hold more wine than any two other men Marek had ever met. The food was pathetic, but one must make allowances for the banquet having been ordered at very short notice.
He welcomed this neglect because he had not been alone in the last five years. He had slept in a dormitory, eaten in a refectory, studied in classrooms, and worshiped eight times a day in church. Even weeding the herb garden, he had been under the raptorial eye of Brother Lodnicka. Now he was free to do as he pleased. Yes, he must try to help his brothers defeat the Wends; and yes, the missionaries from Koupel would hunt him down eventually, but just at that moment no one would care if he turned cartwheels or opened a stall and started selling indulgences. It was heaven.
His enjoyment was further increased by the presence of women. Only the dowager countess and countess elect were anywhere close to him, the rest of the female guests being at the far side and beyond the doorway, but there were lithesome servant girls hurrying to and fro. For five years, until yesterday, Marek had not set eyes on a woman. He might be doomed to return to Koupel quite soon, but he might commit a sin or two first.
Wulf, directly across the hall from him, had been seated above Constable Notivova and the knights. They might have snubbed him as the priests were snubbing Marek, but Wulf possessed almost as much native charm as Otto, and soon he and the constable were laughing together, drinking toasts, and sharing jokes with men farther along the table. Wulf and Madlenka were ignoring each other so obviously that they must be either deadly enemies or secret lovers. That should be funny, but it was tragic.
The entertainment was clumsy and crude compared to some acts Marek remembered at Dobkov, but it was a treat after five years of ironclad piety. Then the floor was cleared and a fanfare sounded to proclaim the star of the show, whoever that might be. All eyes turned to the door as a man entered.
There was a Speaker following right behind him. Marek could see the nimbus because he was facing the door and the dark corridor beyond it. Wulf’s halo glowed just as brightly, but Wulf was on the other side of the hall and would not see the newcomer until its wearer had entered the room. Wulf must be warned! Almost before he had time to think, Marek ran around the end of the table and into the center, screaming and waving his hands. Many people cheered, thinking he was part of the act.
He had often been tempted to try something like this in Koupel, and it was a satisfying outrage while it lasted. Then Anton bellowed orders to the knights, they overturned the boards, and the banquet collapsed into a near riot. Wulf was nowhere in sight. Chuckling and satisfied that he had done his part, Marek headed back to his place. He took a celebratory draft of wine. What would Abbot Bohdan say?
The nimbus glorified a walleyed Orthodox priest, who must be the Father Vilhelmas that Wulf had mentioned. None of the intruders was armed, so only the Speaker was dangerous. For the next few minutes Marek watched him like a cat at a birdcage. Vilhelmas might have caught a glimpse of light as Wulf departed, because he kept glancing around suspiciously.
Although Vranov’s departing curse was mere playacting, the intruders’ disappearance was a genuine display of sorcery, quite convincing enough to start a panic. A mob of guests charged to the doorway. Vlad, with a warrior’s fast reactions, vaulted the table and raced over there, bellowing, in an effort to restore order and rescue those who were being crushed. The bishop and Anton jumped to their feet, shouting for calm. The countess had disappeared under the table. At the far end of the table, Otto caught Marek’s eye and smiled cynically, as if to say that it was turning out to be an interesting evening.
Marek went to help Madlenka deal with her mother, who was not truly unconscious, but mumbling nonsense. Between them they raised her to a sitting position.
“Just the shock, I think,” he said. “Holy St. Uriel, I humbly beseech you to aid this poor woman.” He made the sign of the cross, and the dowager countess opened her eyes.
— Why was this woman stricken, Marek? Uriel asked inside his head. — It is important that you understand this.
Anton’s betrothed was staring at him. “St. Uriel the archangel?”
“Certainly. He stands in the presence of God. Let us help the lady to a seat.”
The two of them raised Countess Edita and set her on a stool. She stared around at the disaster, then began to weep. Madlenka knelt to comfort her, although Marek thought that a good cry might help better than anything. Most of the guests had gone now, but at least a dozen people had been seriously hurt in the panic, and others with lesser injuries were being helped away by family or friends. The bishop was conferring with his black-robed minions. This bizarre happening would have to be reported to Archbishop Svaty and probably the pope himself.
Suddenly aware of someone towering over him, Marek looked up to find Anton glaring down at Madlenka.
“Wife,” he said. “Who was that boy who gave you the odious animal?”
She stood up. “Leonas Vranov, my lord, one of Havel’s many sons. He’s an imbecile. Despite his size, he thinks like a two-year-old. If you’re nice to him, he’s usually very sweet.”
“I’ve seen him before. The day I arrived, when I was hurrying to the cathedral, he was sitting in the street outside, playing with a stray dog. Men-at-arms were guarding him.”
She nodded. “Vranov wouldn’t let him go inside. Marijus told me he gets upset by the way sounds reverberate in churches. He’s just a baby in a youth’s body, but Vranov takes him everywhere. He says if he leaves Leonas at home, the others boys pick on him. I suspect he’s more concerned about protecting them than him. Leonas might be dangerous to small children.”