The Golden Portifor - 19. Chapter 19

‘That was flattering,’ Serge observed as they departed the ducal castle. ‘He kept us chatting for a good half hour over coffee.’

‘Quite a charming man, I thought. What a difference from his dark majesty in the Hofburg. Mind you, there was an agenda. We left him a lot better informed on the subject of Prince Henry than he would have been before our tête-à-tête. Where did the young prince get to? I thought he was supposed to be there with us at the audience.’

‘So did I. Maybe you frightened him with your wig. I swear it gets bigger all the time. You’re feeding it too much.’

‘Oh, very funny. This, my dear, is the current mode in Paris. As big and bushy as your head will take, massed up into two horns by a central parting. You know what these things cost? I insist on ones made out of the hair of young nuns, shorn as they take their vows. It makes me feel nearer to the Almighty.’

‘I make no comment. All I will say is that you look quite abnormally attractive to me when you take it off and reveal your shorn head; there’s something very arousing about you in that state. But I swear you’ll never get me in one of those things. The younger Willem Stanislas seems also to shun them.’

‘Well, like you Phoebus, nature has provided the boy with a fine natural head of hair, thick and in his case dark and curly.’

‘My lords?’ A voice hailed them from behind. They turned to find the object of their discussion hastening towards them across the square. The boy was unescorted and in a plain coat and cloak with a simple white cloth fall tied at his neck and an unlaced tricorn on his head. He looked like nothing so much as a young student, a resemblance encouraged by the leather document case in his hand.

Serge and Willi removed hats and made the appropriate bow, despite the prince appearing to want to be incognito. And indeed he made a deprecatory motion with his hand at their excess of courtesy.

‘My lords Tarlenheim and Strelsau, I’d be grateful for some moments of your time.’

‘We’re at your highness’s disposal, of course,’ Serge replied for both. ‘Perhaps you’ll accompany us to the Olmusch house, where we’re headed.’

The prince shook his head. ‘I’d rather talk somewhere neutral, if you please gentlemen.’

‘As your highness wishes,’ Serge responded in full courtier mode. ‘Does the cathedral have quiet corners?’

‘That’ll do, sirs. Though it’s a chilly day.’

The three youths made their way to the great north porch door, which opened on to the square. Serge noted with approval that the prince dispensed coins to the beggars clustered at the door. He led them through the immense Gothic space within and straight out the opposing south door, through which they emerged into a large cloister. The prince settled on to a stone bench against its north wall, slightly warmed as it was by the winter sun. He clearly knew the cathedral well. They waited for his permission to sit, which was delivered with a nod and slight grin, then took a seat on either side of him.

‘Now my lords,’ he continued, ‘what I have to say might be thought by some to be improper, which is why I want to say it away from the court.’

Serge caught Willi’s eye and frowned him down before he was tempted to make the very indelicate comment which he could just see was about to be blurted. ‘You can count on our discretion, sir.’

‘I hope so, gentlemen. I know you’re both good friends with my betrothed, the Princess Dorothea Sophia.’

‘We call her Dodie, sir,’ Willi said, ‘and she lets us live.’

The prince gave a short laugh and his eyes sparkled very fetchingly. ‘We’re to be wed on my sixteenth birthday, as my father announced to me last week. Now it is customary, they tell me, that any communication between a prince and princess in these circumstances should be between accredited ambassadors, but that to me is quite unacceptable. I wish to know my wife-to-be and for her to know me. So gentlemen, I would ask you to do me this favour. I have here the first item of what I hope will become a most improper correspondence between myself and ... Dodie. And I ask you to deliver it for me, and find means for a reply to be returned.’

Willi gave a warm smile. ‘I applaud your highness’s impropriety. Dodie’ll be delighted. It’s just the sort of gesture that would earn her affection and respect.’

‘Excellent!’ the prince declared. ‘And I am called Staszek by my good friends, as I will be by you both, I hope.’

Then Willi took Serge quite by surprise. From within his cloak he produced a small parcel. ‘Sire, Dodie entrusted me with this, to give to you should the circumstances permit. It’s a miniature she had painted some months ago, before she knew I was to travel to Glottenburg. It’s a very good likeness. She offers it in friendship and respect.’

Later, as the two took leave of the happy prince to quit the cathedral and head back to the Olmusch house, Serge took the opportunity to say ‘You staggered me there, Willi. I never knew you’d be capable of keeping such a confidence, or could practice such tact and grace.’

‘Hmph,’ came the reply. ‘Dodie’s happiness means a lot to me. Enough to force me to act in ways quite unnatural to myself.’

***

It was in the afternoon of Friday 8 February in the fateful year 1692, the 26th of the reign of King Rudolf II of Ruritania, that Willi and Serge, followed dutifully by Karl Wollherz, approached the east gate of the Altstadt of Strelsau after a long day in the saddle, without stopping for lunch.

Will reined in and sighed. ‘That’s my travelling done for a while. My skinny bum was not meant for so long astride a horse. I need more padding down there. I’ll give myself up to an excess of food and drink before we take to the road next time.’

‘Whenever that may be,’ Serge added. ‘I’m eager to be home, whatever. Jan’s letters didn’t say much, but I’m willing to bet there’s a problem to sort out when we get to Engelngasse.’

‘Trouble?’

‘I fear so. And there was a hint Boromeo may be at the bottom of it.’

All seemed well however at the Sign of the Angel when they trotted under the arch and into the yard. It was not a particularly chilly day and Serge did not expect to find homeless children around the place. Gottlieb wandered out of the stable, pipe in mouth, when he heard the rattle of hooves echoing under the arch.

He went up to take the bridles of Acheron and Whitetail as Serge and Willi dismounted, Willi with a most theatrical groan. For his part, Karl vaulted down and looked around for Andreas, of whom there was no sign. Shrugging, he led Brunhild into the barn and saw to her watering. Serge heard his cheerful greeting to Jennet as he went through the door.

‘Is Master Jan here, Gottlieb?’

‘Don’t know, my lord. But he’ll be glad to see yer if he is.’

‘I’m off down to the Marmorpalast,’ Willi declared. ‘I have urgent business with a certain princess which won’t wait, and I’d better take the mare back home. Dammit. I’ll walk her down the hill. My bum’s far too sore. See you at tomorrow’s dinner, Phoebus!’

Serge went up into the house to find Margrit and Cecile at work in the kitchen. He got a cheery welcome home and an enquiry as to what he might want for dinner. It seemed that Jan Lisku was down in the Neustadt about business. On the surface of things all seemed tranquil, until he passed by Boromeo’s door and found his bedroom empty and the bed stripped.

***

Serge turned at the discreet tap on the doorframe that heralded Jan Lisku’s appearance. The man looked harassed, which for him was most unusual.

‘Take a seat, Janeczu. Tell me the worst.’

‘I got back here in time for Epiphany, sir. To be honest, things were better than I’d feared they’d be. There’d only been one bad episode. On Christmas Eve a group of older youths from the Arsenal gates had heard something of what was going on and pursued a group of little ones into the yard. One of them threatened Margrit, only to turn right into the fist of Gottlieb, who beat the villain senseless, and horsewhipped his friends howling along Engelngasse and half way down Domstrasse. They won’t be back, but there were complaints to the ward constable from the neighbours. It’s taken some generous bribes to make him forget the incident. Oh ... Gottlieb and Margrit are now good friends and I think getting closer than friends.’

Serge smiled. ‘Not all bad, then. Just the sort of Christmas present Gottlieb would have asked for.’

‘I suppose so, sir. The beginning of January was quite sharp, as you’ll recall, so we had a full barn for the best part of a fortnight, which made deep inroads in the funds we had; we had to buy a lot more food and firewood than I’d planned, and at premium midwinter prices. Fortunately the second half of the month was more temperate, as this month has so far been, and we’ve only had a pair of sick children who couldn’t be sent out on the streets to drain our resources, them and the Sunday dinners.’

‘Fear not, Sancho,’ Serge interjected, and dropped a heavy leather purse on the table. ‘Grossmutta smuggled this into my valise. It should bail us out. She remembered the donkey story very fondly.’

Jan smiled at last. ‘Old Lop Ears? I hadn’t thought about him in ages. And you standing up to that old villain Krasnic. He’s in the poor house now. Being shown more charity than he ever showed anyone else.’

‘So, what went wrong and how does Boromeo come into it?’

‘Your brother arrived back here the Monday after the second Sunday of Epiphany. He didn’t seem very happy. According to Andreas, he and his father had a falling out over Christmas. I thought being back in Strelsau would have been a relief to him as a result, but no. He came back from Tarlenheim restless and angry. Things may have been said to him by your father that hurt him deeply. And he came back with a new hero. General Dudley apparently took his side and brokered some sort of peace between father and son, and encouraged him to believe he was not a “useless good for nothing”, as I believe he had been called.’

‘Good for Dudley! I think well of him for that.’

‘You won’t like this so much. Andreas told me Dudley suggested that the boy should take more of a man’s part and live in the regiment with his fellow officers, rather than skulk on the Domshorja and turn up after breakfast. With him in his unsettled state it’s had a consequence. Your brother began putting on the airs of how he regarded a man should act, taking his father of course as the worst possible example, saving your presence sir.’

Serge sighed. ‘So he’s been swearing, threatening to cane the servants, spitting on the floor and smoking a pipe around the house?’

‘Not quite all those, sir, but as you say. Andreas stared him down when he raised a stick at him, but when lord Boromeo tripped over a vagrant child in the yard and began cuffing him around the head, Andreas did not hold back. He grabbed his lordship’s hand and suggested that if he didn’t act like a Christian and a gentleman he’d feed him his cuirass. He’s a strong lad is Andreas.’

‘Oh heavens! What happened then?’

‘All sorts of chaos. Boromeo came running to me – very manly – and demanded Andreas be discharged. I mildly pointed out that he didn’t pay the boy’s wages, but all I got was a tirade of abuse, and so I had to tell Andreas in his lordship’s presence that his services were no longer required and to turn in his livery. I also told him behind my lord’s back that he was in fact on a paid holiday and that once the storm was over and either you were back or Boromeo remembered why he needed Andreas I’d send for him, but in the meantime Father Waxmann is putting him up at the Veronkenkirche presbytery. I believe the boy is polishing up the good man’s copper and pewterware to a state it’s never yet experienced.’

‘So where’s my brother?’

‘In the Arsenal barracks. He moaned out his complaints to Captain Barkozy, who of course took the opportunity to echo the general’s prescription for making the boy a man. My lord had me pack up his valise and take it down to the regiment, where he now has a truckle bed in a shabby lime-washed room and is making his own arrangements for his service. I imagine that by now he’s finding life is not so easy to organise as he might have thought. But I fear that’s no longer our concern.’

‘Dammit!’ swore Serge. ‘Send over for Andreas, he and I need a talk.’

‘And his position in the household?’

‘Obviously we need two pages to run the Sign of the Angel, Boromeo or no Boromeo.’

‘I suggest you promote him to groom, sir. Karl won’t mind in the least. Besides, Andreas is growing fast. He’ll be shaving within the year, and I doubt he’ll expect a wage rise with the promotion. In due course he’ll be a perfect butler, sir.’

‘Hah!’ Serge laughed. ‘You have the future all mapped out, Sancho. Very good. I leave it to you to organise. Now send Karl over to the presbytery to bring his good friend back home.’

***

Andreas and Karl did not hurry back to Engelngasse. In fact once the older boy had packed up his few belongings and reassumed the red livery coat Karl had brought over for him, they found a ledge on which to seat themselves under the west wall of St Waclaw’s Abbey. The winter sun was beginning to go down over the Neustadt below them, but it possessed enough warmth to make their perch tolerable.

Karl was still giggling over Andreas’s account of his single combat with the lord Boromeo, though Andreas didn’t seem all that amused in recalling the incident. ‘You see, I think I let Jonas Niemand down by losing me temper, Karlo. He told us we had to watch out for Boromeo and help keep him safe. The end result is that he’s run off to the army where he’ll be all on his own. Also he’s not a bad person when he isn’t all angry with the world. His father on the other hand ... it almost makes me glad I never met mine.’

‘Lord Serge will sort it out,’ Karl stated firmly. ‘He knows his brother.’

‘Yes, but he don’t know the danger he’s in. So, what is it you want to tell me about Olmusch?’

Karl frowned as he collected himself to explain. ‘Remember when I was at Medeln Abbey and met Her, the lady Fenice? Remember she gave me that ring, the one I keep round my neck?’ He pulled out a soft leather pouch from under his shirt, and extracted its precious contents. It lay in his palm, sparkling pink in the light of the lowering sun.

Andreas scrutinised it. ‘Is it magical, Karlo?’

His friend shrugged. ‘Who’s to say? It’s not like the sword you brought back from Faërie. That feels magical, even though it doesn’t look like it. This ring looks like it might be magical, but doesn’t feel it, if you know what I mean.’

‘I think so.’

‘It’s not that it’s magical is the thing, it’s that it turns out to be one of a pair. My lord the Black Bastard has the other, and he told me that his once belonged to his mother whom the king sentenced to be taken away to be held in prison for ever.’

‘Ah! So where’s this one come from?’

‘The lord Bastard told me that there might have been another, and that it had been his dead father’s, who was executed in the Platz.’

‘And this is it?’

‘I guess it must be.’

‘So how did the lady Fenice come to have it? Why did she give it to you?’

Karl meditated for some moments, before shrugging. ‘I suppose it’s a token, but whether to me or to my lord the Bastard I don’t rightly know.’

‘One thing I do know,’ Andreas commented. ‘It’s time we went looking for Jonas again. If anyone has answers, it’ll be him.’

***

‘Me sir? Groom of your household? Oh sir! I thought you’d be wanting to tan my hide over what I did to your brother.’

Serge smiled gently as he shook his head. ‘Andreas my dear, you did exactly what you should have done, and said what needed to be said. You’ve done everything you could do to keep Boromeo on the straight and narrow, and don’t think it hasn’t been noticed. So it’s being recognised, though I fear Master Jan isn’t contemplating much in the way of financial reward.’

‘Don’t matter, sir. I’m just pleased to be back home at the Sign of the Angel, and to be honest I much prefer working for your good self, my lord. You’re a decent and generous master, and Karlo thinks the same. We honour you for your kindness to the poor children of the Conduit.’

‘Why my boy, you make me blush.’ Serge smiled at Andreas, who he noticed was beginning to develop more the look of a man. His shoulders were broadening and there was muscle to be seen on his lower arm. Though he wasn’t shooting up in height, his face was losing the softness of boyhood. But his looks were frank and attractive. His rich chestnut hair was tied at the back and framed a brown, clear and open face.

‘So what are my new duties, my lord?’

‘Much the same as the old ones I imagine, but you may now instruct Cecile in what to do in the cleaning of the house. Karl will be concentrating on maintaining my wardrobe and arms as his principal task, and you will take responsibility for keeping the house in order under Master Jan. However I think you should exert caution in attempting to instruct Mistress Margrit and Gottlieb.’

‘Understood, sir.’

‘Now, tomorrow I have a job I can’t put off. I have to be back at the Marmorpalast on Sunday. So Boromeo and myself will have to have our interview down the Arsenal barracks on Saturday.’

***

Karl and Andreas huddled under their bedclothes, the single candle still lit. They hugged for the extra warmth.

‘You’ve got the horn again,’ Karl remarked.

Andreas lifted the sheets and looked down. ‘Happens all the time these days. Don’t yours go hard too?’

‘Yeah it does, but it’s not so big and I don’t encourage it like you do.’

‘Then don’t watch when I do it.’

Karl giggled. ‘It’s funny. The look on your face when you squirt!’

Andreas snarled and suggested they concentrate on more pressing problems. ‘We know one way to get Jonas’s attention.’

‘Call his name three times?’ Karl suggested. ‘He said to do that only when I was in trouble.’

‘He still came at your call that day by the river, and you weren’t in trouble that time.’

Karl sat up. ‘I’ll try then. But what if he don’t come?’

‘We’ll worry about that if it don’t work,’ Andreas pronounced.

Karl gathered himself. ‘Jonas Niemand! Jonas Niemand! JONAS NIEMAND!’

The boys held their breath, but there was nothing, not so much as a flicker of the candle flame.

‘Maybe he’s not our friend any more,’ Karl reflected sadly. ‘It’s been a while since we played. He so liked the playing.’

Andreas shook his head. ‘He won’t have forgotten us. He’s put a lot of effort into the business with Boromeo and isn’t going to throw us over in a sulk. No, I think it’s something else. To begin with we’re not in any danger here. Then there’s our age.’

‘Our age?’

‘We’re both thirteen now and we’ve gone through the Change, and don’t you remember the sad moments Jonas had when he talked about him and other boys, how we grow up but he’s stuck looking no older than ten. Look at us now, with hairy balls and thick stiff cocks like men have. Had to happen, but we’re not kids any more.’

‘So ... we’re losing our link with him. Is that what you mean?’

‘I think that’s part of it. So I suppose we’ll have to wait till he comes to us. That’s such a nuisance when there’s so much to tell him.’

Both boys settled back on their pillows, staring at the ceiling beams. Eventually, before he drifted off, Karl muttered ‘I know one person who still has a link with Jonas.’ But Andreas was already asleep.

***

‘Master Jan?’ Andreas asked, as he and the valet tidied the dining room of the Sign of the Angel late on Saturday evening after Serge had said farewell to his dinner guests: Willi, Father Heer, Mannie von Speyer and the two friends Serge had made the year before last at Tarlenheim, Franz Petr von Elfenburg and Wilhelm Anders, both now gentlemen commoners in the Rudolf University, and very glad to be offered hospitality.

‘What can I do for you Master Groom?’ Jan smiled.

Andreas gave a little laugh. ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday. Can Karl and I have a day’s holiday? It’s been a while since we did.’

Jan rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, though you get those holidays because you’re supposed to attend mass on them.’

‘We’ll go to the early mass with you and Mistress Margrit at the Veronkenkirche, then can we take holiday?’

‘I expect so, but who’s going to exercise the horses?’

‘Oh, that’s no problem, Karlo and I will take the mares for a proper ride after mass and make a day of it. It’ll get them out of the barn before the street kids arrive.’

So at the third hour of the morning on that Sexagesima Sunday, a clear and calm February day with the first hint of spring in the air, Karl Wollherz on Brunhild and Andreas Wittig on Jennet rode out on to Engelngasse and trotted down Domstrasse to the Neustadt. They were out of livery and dressed in their best clothes, looking very respectable. Andreas had a generous lunch packed by Mistress Margrit, who was now very much engaged with her friends in preparing the vacated barn for the numbers of homeless children expected after midday for their free dinner. There had been two dozen the previous Sunday, and this was likely to be one of the last offered as the winter would soon be coming to an end.

The boys sat their mares at the Conduit and asked after Wilchin. They were directed to the Salvatorskirche where they found the boy in question at the south door barefoot, in rags and wearing an eyepatch. He grinned up at his friends. ‘Pfennig for the poor, starving blind boy?’

‘You don’t look like you’re starving,’ Andreas commented.

‘Gotta try. And it’s Sunday morning. Good day for begging.’

Karl shook his head. ‘Go and wash in the Conduit and put your proper clothes on. We’re going out for a ride in the Strelsenerwald, and you can come too if you look respectable.’

‘What? And give up Mistress Margrit’s cooking?’

‘We brought some of it with us in this satchel. Enough for you too, Wilchin.’

So, with Wilchin riding behind Karl on Brunhild, the boys trotted the horses up the Platz and took the lane leading down to the river below the Hofburg, where a ferry plied to the opposite bank at a cost of one pfennig for a foot passenger and three for a man with a horse. Andreas beat the ferryman down by two pfennigs on the grounds the two riders were only boys. Wilchin was much delighted both with the haggling and with the ferry passage, never having taken to the water before. Then they mounted up at the ferry house and cantered along the lane that led up into the wooded hills to the north of the city. They paused on the crest of the bluffs and looked down at the prospect of the city laid out beneath them.

‘This is about as far as I’ve ever been from the Conduit in my life,’ Wilchin observed. ‘You two are lucky, you get to see the world in your jobs. But one day I’ll take to the road meself, you just watch.’

‘Today could be just the adventure you’re looking for,’ Andreas gnomically observed.

The road wound downwards and deep into the woods of the counterscarp. When it climbed up again it was on to a wide expanse of heathland. The boys took the horses off the road and on to a sandy track. From the hoofprints indented in it this was clearly used for the purpose of exercise, though there was no other rider in sight. They spurred the horses along the track and up to a hill top, Wilchin clinging hard to Karl and whooping at the speed. When they reined in, he slid off and looked around.

There were trees in every direction, woodland belts alternating with sandy moorland. Down in the shallow valleys you could see the occasional glint of sunlight on pools of water. This was the Strelsenerwald, a former royal forest which for the past two decades had belonged to the Altstadt of Strelsau, in compensation for the inroads King Rudolf had made into stretches of it nearer the city for military purposes. Karl had seen last summer the herds of pigs and geese driven through the streets out into the Wald to fatten them up for winter, and the same beasts returning before Martinmas.

‘So here we are,’ Karl observed to Andreas while Wilchin was still gazing around at the view. ‘What should I do now?’

‘I know you can speak to Brunhild in your head,’ came the reply, ‘cos I see you thinking her to do things. So think Jonas Niemand at her. Imagine him hard. We know he has an underwater house near Strelsau, ‘cos he took us there when I first met him. Maybe if Brunhild has that same link with him, she’ll take us there if she can sense him nearby.’

‘Won’t hurt to try, I guess,’ Karl acquiesced. ‘But I don’t think it’ll work.’

So Karl stood in front of his horse, clasping her head between his hands. He concentrated on the idea of Jonas and sank into Brunhild’s mind holding the image. He could sense her nuzzling round the edges of it, and then she did an unexpected thing which he later explained to Andreas as the equine equivalent of calling Jonas’s name three times. She snorted and looked hard into his own eyes, sharing an image of a green, shadowed pool.

‘Mount up!’ he called. ‘She’s done it, Ando. She’s magical herself. She knows where he is and she’ll take us there!’

‘Eh? Wassup?’ Wilchin called over. ‘Where’re yer going?’

***

Serge moodily threw himself on to Willi’s bed in his Marmorpalast hideaway. Willi, sitting sketching at his table, shot a narrow look in his direction. ‘You don’t look so happy to be back amongst the creatures of the court, Phoebus. The creatures will be disappointed. They rather like you, you know. Thank you for last night, by the way, it was a happy gathering of friends. Rather more enjoyable than dinners in this place, where you’re on display and always being judged. Your two Tarlenheim friends were awfully nice boys. I think they fuck.’

‘What! How can you possibly know that?’

‘A gift I have. Bet you a ducat. I still have several left over from Henry’s largesse.’

‘You’re on. You see sodomy everywhere. You should have been born an inquisitor general two centuries ago.’

Willi’s expression softened. ‘So what’s got you so uncharacteristically moody, Phoebus. Still brooding about your brother?’

‘There was no getting through to him, even though you could just tell that life in barracks was not to his liking. Stubborn child.’

‘Remind you of anyone?’

‘Our father, obviously. You’re not implying I’m like that.’

‘Not at all dear. You may be stubborn, but you’re too polite to be obvious about it.’

‘Huh? I won’t unpick that. Shouldn’t we be getting down to the coucher? I’ve yet to report to His Royal Highness. Have you seen him since we got back?’

‘Indeed. He, I and Dodie had a conference about a certain Glottenburger prince after mass this morning. She shared his letter; it was really sweetly written. Dodie’s in love with his handwriting. Henry’s scheming to get the boy signed up to his crusade. Dodie’s not so keen on that idea, I can tell you. But anyway, he’s in favour of her entering into a correspondence, and will arrange a discreet means to further it through our mission in Glottenburg, he says.’

‘Very good. Are you ready yet?’

‘Come along then. I believe he’s playing cards with Mannie and the Backstairs boys in the Antechamber.’

They found a group of young men intent around a large baize table. ‘Ahah! Phoebus!’ hailed Prince Henry. ‘Winter passes and the sun returns in splendour. Take a chair by me. What d’you think of this hand?’

‘It’s a losing one, sire.’

‘Nonsense. I never lose, do I Mannie?’

The Graf Emmanuel von Speyer winked at Serge. ‘Is this another vain attempt to intimidate me into throwing the game, sire? It won’t work.’

‘Right. That’s you pencilled in for my morning workout with the blade. Yes, you do well to quail, your excellency.’

‘Have you stepped up your martial exercises, sire?’ Serge asked.

‘Indeed. So should you. The Catholic League will assemble its army at Laibach on St Joseph’s Day, and my household will accompany its Generalissimo on campaign. The Generalissimo being me, of course. His Imperial Majesty has been so good as to appoint me his vicar-general in marchiis contra Turcos, as a sign of his especial favour and in furtherance of the work of the League. I am to be invested on Laetare Sunday in the cathedral of St Nicholas in Laibach.’

‘My congratulations, sire. May I ask what sort of response has answered the emperor and pope’s call for a League?’

Prince Henry frowned. ‘That’s as yet to be seen. Dudley will be joining us at breakfast tomorrow, perhaps we can discuss it then. I say Mannie! That’s not fair!’

‘What, me winning the hand? We’re not even playing for money! Shall we continue, sire?’