An Embarrassment of Riches (Saint-Germain #24)

An Embarrassment of Riches (Saint-Germain #24) Page 13

Because it was snowing outside, Imbolya had on a wolf-skin mantel with a hood that framed her face in soft gray fur; she stood just inside the door of Rakoczy's workroom, her gloved hands folded in the deep pleats of the mantel. "You are most kind to see me, Comes, unexpected as I might be." She spoke Magyar.

Rakoczy nodded to Barnon. "Hot wine and honey tarts for the Konige's lady-in-waiting," he said in Bohemian, then addressed Imbolya in Magyar, "I understood from you that Csenge of Somogy is the Konige's messenger now." He went to put more cut branches on the fire. "I am pleased to see you, and I apologize for not coming to the Konige's Court, but as you may know, Konig Otakar has ordered me to keep to my house until the Solstice festivities. I am to receive only those persons the Konige or the Council sends to me."

Barnon remained in the room, occupying himself with putting a cloth on the low table next to the fireplace. He did his best to make it appear that he was not listening to them.

"Yes, Csenge is the Konige's messenger now, and ordinarily it would be she who called upon you, but as the Konige wishes to have jewels selected for her daughters for the Nativity: she sent me because of my greater knowledge concerning jewels. I have been charged to examine all the stones you have that might be suitable and to choose for Kinga and Agnethe." She paused. "The ones I approve are to be presented at the Solstice banquet, which the Konig will allow you to attend. I don't know if he will want you to attend Kinga's anniversary "

"If that is the Konige's desire-that I should give her daughters gems-then I am happy to serve her. That is why Konig Bela sent me here."

Imbolya hesitated, then plunged ahead. "The Konig thinks you're a spy for Konig Bela, you know. He thinks your exile is a ruse, and that you have been given a mission to watch Otakar's Court. That's why he has ordered you to remain in your house while he holds Court here in Praha." Color mounted in her face. "I don't think you're a spy."

"Why do you think that?" Rakoczy asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Because you keep to yourself and do not spend your time at Court. If you were a spy, you'd have to find out things, wouldn't you? You can't learn many secrets here, and when you answer the Konige's summons, you take no advantage of it to insinuate yourself into her good graces with flattery and favors." She courtisied to him. "It seems that way to me."

"I do bring her jewels," Rakoczy pointed out.

"As Konig Bela charged you to do," she said. "You do your duty to her, handsomely, but nothing more than that. So if you are spying, you don't do it very well."

"You will want to be comfortable," Rakoczy said, shifting their conversation; he directed her to the upholstered chair facing the hearth. "I will have more candles brought-if you will attend to that as well, Barnon? Two branches, if you would." Low light was no hardship for his eyes, but he knew Imbolya would want brightness in order to examine the jewels. "And see that my guest's carriage is taken to the stable and her horses watered and each given a handful of grain. Her escort are to have cheese, bread, and wine in the servants' room. Make sure the fire is well-stoked."

"Of course, Comes," Barnon said, and backed out of the room, leaving them alone.

"Your bondsman told me where to find you," Imbolya said when they were alone. "He offered to escort me, but your steward-"

"-claimed the honor," said Rakoczy, adjusting the black cotehardie of satin-lined wool he wore over a chainse of deep-red silk. "That is correct for a Bohemian household, is it not?"

"Yes. It is the way of things in Bohemia." Imbolya pulled off her gloves and set them on the arm of the chair. "The fire is very nice."

"That is kind of you," said Rakoczy. "When you are warm enough, I will take your mantel."

"Thank you," she murmured, and fell silent, staring at the flames that were rising in the fireplace. "Carniola has surrendered to Otakar."

"When?" Rakoczy asked. "Is it official?"

"The deputation arrived last night. Otakar has lands all the way to the sea now. He wants the Bohemian Empire to get larger and stronger." She sighed. "The Konig has ordered four of his Captains who were caught stealing supplies to be hanged in chains at the south gates."

"Because of the surrender of Carniola?"

"Because he wants to discourage thieves," said Imbolya. "Now that he is successful he thinks more of his officers will want to share in his accomplishments with ... allotments of their own choosing."

Rakoczy frowned. "What does the Episcopus say?"

"He says that God has given the Konig power in the world and it is for Otakar to uphold the Will of God, and to root out the Devil and all his works. He says that God gave Otakar Carinthia and Carniola, and Austria, and that Otakar is approved by Heaven or that wouldn't have happened, because God favors the righteous." She looked away from him, feeling the efflorescence in her face and wanting, in some confused way, to conceal it from Rakoczy.

"What does Konig Bela say? Or Rudolph von Hapsburg?" Rakcozy wondered aloud; he was aware of her discomfort and did what he could to allow her to restore herself.

"The Episcopus hasn't spoken about either of them. If there were a Pope in Roma, he might have another view." Absently she crossed herself. "It is hard to see Hungary lose to Bohemia for those of us who have been sent to the Konige from Hungary, and hardest for the Konige, who is torn between her husband and her grandfather. All of us from Hungary feel it, but Kunigunde suffers most."

Rakoczy nodded. "She, too, is trapped."

"I think, no matter what the Konige believes, that it might be just as well that she had a second daughter, for a son could be as torn as she is in where his loyalties might lie." She put her hand to her lips. "You won't tell anyone what I've said, will you? The Konige would be upset to know I think a daughter now is better than a son. She would think me inconstant and might send me away."

"But a girl could be as divided in her loyalties, especially if her marriage is the seal on a treaty, as Kunigunde herself has been; and no, I will not repeat any of what you tell me," said Rakoczy, thinking back to Mnekore, almost two millennia ago. He lowered his eyes to the fire. "It is a pity her father is dead: as Konig of Bulgaria and Grand Dux of Kiev, he might have been able to do something to arrange a peace among Otakar, Bela, and Rudolph."

"The Bulgarian Tsars are too busy murdering and being murdered for any help to come from that quarter. No one trusts the Bulgarian Tsars to uphold their oaths of alliance. Both of the Konige's sisters' husbands were Tsars and they were murdered." For several heartbeats she was still. "Have you thought any more about what I said at the civic procession?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Have I thought about becoming your clandestine lover?" he inquired, to be certain they understood each other.

"Yes. About that."

"I have thought about it," he admitted, leaning against the pillar that flanked the fireplace. "Have you? considered what might happen?"

"Yes," she said with asperity. "I have thought about little else. If you will accept me-"

"It may be more if you will accept me. I am not like most men, and what I can do will not prepare you for marriage," he said; he found it difficult to speak, and he could not keep from thinking of the many conflicts he had: what would Imbolya think of his true nature? What if he disgusted or disappointed her? If she enjoyed him, how would she behave when she was summoned to her wedding? What would happen to them both if they were found out? What if she proved as demanding and capricious as Rozsa?

"Comes?" She spoke a bit more loudly. "Comes, what is it?"

"Nothing," he said, then reconsidered. "I am sure you have questions you want to put to me; I am trying to decide how to answer."

"I haven't asked anything yet," she said almost playfully, "beyond what I've asked you already."

"And that is what concerns me," he told her, his voice mellifluous and soothing as he picked his way through his qualms. "I am deeply obliged to you for ... for offering me your favor, but I believe you are not fully aware of what you could bring upon yourself ... You have told me what you seek. You may have ... expectations of me, or hopes that-"

"So you've warned me. I am not troubled by the strange, or those things the Church dreads, if that is your concern, and you-" she cut in, and would have said more but there was a rap on the door, and the latch lifted.

"Come," said Rakoczy, remaining where he was.

Barnon entered first, a large, brass tray in his hands that held a jug of hot wine, an alabaster cup, and a large plate with an array of fruit-and-honey tarts laid out upon it. He carried this to the low table and set it down; Hruther came after him with two large branches of burning candles in his hands. Both men ducked their heads to Imbolya and then to Rakoczy.

"One on the serving-table, I think," said Rakoczy to Hruther in Bohemian, "and one on the trestle-table where the casket of jewels is kept."

"It's a pity the shutters have to be closed, though of course they must be with the snow and the wind," Imbolya remarked, also in Bohemian, paying little attention to either Barnon or Hruther. "It makes everything so dark."

"I will have paned glass put in place in spring, throughout the manse," said Rakoczy. "Inside the shutters, of course, and with sections that can be opened, so the rooms will not be stifling in summer. I have placed an order with the Glassmakers' Guild and provided the specifications for the windows so that they may assemble the panes and frames before spring, and the installations can begin with the first good weather and be finished by Mid-Summer Eve. The two large windows in the main hall are to have stained glass as well as clear, one showing the eclipse device of Rakoczy, the other showing the Tree of Four Seasons: buds and blossoms, fruit, yellow leaves, and bare branches." It was one of the many things that was supposed to have been done to the manse before he arrived, and it was something he was sorry he had not had done in the summer. "The Master Glazier will supervise the whole project; he has engaged his Guild's most experienced journeymen to do the work. He has pledged to have the windows ready by mid-April; I have promised a bonus if he and his Guild achieve that."

"It sounds very elegant." She looked at him expectantly and motioned Barnon to step back; Rakoczy realized that she expected him to pour the wine.

"How much would you like in your cup, Imbolya?" he asked.

"A good amount, if you would. The day is cold." Her smile flashed but vanished in a frown of uncertainty; she was perturbed by the level of her response to him, as if he were north and she a magnet. Once again she turned her head so that no one could see her burning cheeks or hear the sound of her heart beating.

Rakoczy took the jug and poured out enough to fill the cup almost full. "Tell me if it suits your taste."

Hruther went from the trestle-table to the low one, lighting all the candles, then ducked his head. "Do you need anything more, my master?" He spoke in Imperial Latin.

"Not just at present," he answered, and added in Bohemian, "Thank you both. You need not linger here. I will escort my guest to her carriage when she is done making her selection. Given the occasions and the youth of the Konige's daughters, it may take us some time to decide which stones are most appropriate."

Barnon bowed his head; Hruther nodded, and without saying anything, they left Rakoczy and Imbolya alone.

"Are you certain your servants are reliable?" she asked in Magyar before she sipped the wine.

"I trust they are, within their lights; they do their work and report to those who require it. But I have complete faith in my bondsman, who has been with me a long time and has shown himself discreet and loyal." That he had found Hruther in the half-built Flavian Circus twelve hundred years before he kept to himself.

"Within their lights," she mused. "Of course they make reports. You have spies among them. Probably more than one."

"It is to be expected."

"Alas," she agreed, and drank more. "This is very good."

"So I understand," he said,

She took one of the tarts and bit into it, holding it so the crust crumbs would not fall on her clothing. "I am to have a new bleihaut of velvet for my Epiphany gift, and Venetian solers."

"From the Konige?" Rakoczy ventured.

"From my father. He will also buy my wedding clothes and give me three sets of clothing for my personal dowry. He has said he will provide for my garments and bedding for five years as part of the settlements. Konige Kunigunde has said she will give me a carriage and horses when I marry."

"And..."-he poured her more wine as he tried to frame a question that would not give offense-"is this to your liking?"

"That will depend upon whom I am to marry," she said, and drank again; her cheeks grew more brightly flushed-which she hoped he would attribute to the hot wine-and she shrugged out of her mantel, letting it lie over the back of her chair and revealing a bleihaut of spruce-green wool over a chainse of heavy ivory silk. She could feel his eyes on her, and with the intention of appearing at ease, she reached up to loosen her hair from the artfully wound loose braid that lay under the silver-fretwork chaplet; the pale-brown cascade spread over her shoulders, with the waves from plaiting pressed into the strands.

"Do you know any of the men your father is considering?" He kept his tone level and his manner unflustered although he was caught up in her tentative abandon.

"He hasn't given me any names, so I don't know. He will inform me in good time so that I may prepare for ... for my wedding." She took another long sip and set the cup down. "It is a little like a calf being sold at market, isn't it? The calf makes a good trade for the farmer, but who knows if the calf will be bound for the pasture or the kitchen."

"Not a happy state for you," he told her; he realized that her intelligence was too keen for her to be comforted by sophistries, so he said, "I hope your husband is a man who can appreciate you. I hope he is capable of you."

"That's an interesting turn of phrase: capable of me." She thought it over. "Yes, I hope so, too, but it would be folly to expect it."

He could not disagree with her. "Would you like another tart?"

"I would like you to show me the ways of loving," she said, and before he could speak, added, "Don't tell me I am too young, or it doesn't matter, or that it is the Devil's work to rouse a woman's passions." Her eyes shone with tears she would not let fall.

"I would not do any of those things," he said, and bent to add another branch to the fire, troubled by the welling ardor she evoked in him. His own emotions answered hers and he knew he was captivated.

"My father thought at first that I was bound to be a nun, and pictured me like Hroswitha of Gandersheim, with a vast convent and as much power as a lord. He made donations to the Church to found a convent, but Konig Bela would not permit such a convent to be built, for he distrusts the Church, and wants money for war." She looked up at him, her face emotionless, her eyes forlorn. "So I will disappear into marriage, as women do."

He went to her side and put his hand on her shoulder. "Do not despair, Imbolya."

"Why not? Wouldn't you despair, were you in my situation?" She shook her head. "I know what my duty is, and I will do it. I will marry the man my father chooses for me, and I will bear him children to ensure our House's position, and I will feel so wasted. If God has chosen this path for me, why did He instill so many thoughts in my mind? Or did the Devil give them to me?"

"The thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours." He saw her cross herself. "I know that Episcopus Fauvinel would call what I said heresy, but if that is so, then most of the souls on earth are heretics, which is unfortunate for Christians." He paused. "In the lands of the Great Khan there are those who believe that it is the nature of humans to question, and that those who do not question their lives and their behavior are the heretics." He thought back to Kuan Sun-Sze in Lo-Yang, not quite sixty years ago, who had brought him to the university and had sent him away as the forces of Temujin had stepped up their invasion; through Kuan, Rakoczy had studied the work of Kung Fu-Tse and Lao-Tsu, and the Buddha.

"Do they have convents?" Imbolya asked, her attempt at joking an utter failure.

"There are some, I understand, but I know little of their teaching," he answered, remembering the Buddhist nuns he had seen in Tuan-Lien.

"They aren't Christian," she said sadly.

"No, they are not." He could feel her pulse through his fingers and with it, her first trembling excitement; he started to remove his hand, but she laid her own upon it. "Imbolya..."

"I am not asking for much, Comes." She touched his sleeve. "Will you refuse me the little I ask?"

"If it is what you truly want, and you understand that it will not last, that I cannot give you more than pleasure." Inwardly he upbraided himself for succumbing to his esurience, but as she rose into his arms, he was captivated by the ardor within her, and her frail hope for a little joy. Their kiss deepened and her ardor became true passion.

"Comes," she whispered triumphantly, and then their lips met again, hers eager, his explorative, and their hands touched as they leaned together; this was more than she had expected and her desire sharpened like lightning in her soul. Since she was almost a head shorter than he, she found the embrace more awkward than he did, and she ended up with her arms around his waist, canted against him, unaware that he was holding her securely, without effort.

When they broke a short way apart, he helped her to the rear of the room, to the low Persian divan that stood to the side of the athanor. "We will be more comfortable here, and the athanor is warm."

"Then you will show me? What I want to learn?" she whispered in her excitement, leaving the wolf-skin mantel on the chair.

"As much as I can without putting you at risk," he said.

She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I will not do-I cannot do-the act that might give you a child," he said, for like all the males of his blood, he was impotent, as the females were sterile. Two millennia ago that admission would have discomposed him, but he had long since become accustomed to his state though he knew that many women found this upsetting.

"Can you do that? Really?" She beamed at him. "I knew I was right to ask you. I knew you wouldn't harm me." An unfamiliar tingle was growing at the base of her spine, and her skin seemed to be more sensitive, as if it had been rubbed with a hair-cloth.

"I hope I would not, whatever I am capable of doing," he said, reaching to loosen the lacing on her bleihaut. "But it is not safe to befriend me, and that may yet be troublesome for you."

She turned so he could work her laces more easily, her pulse thrilling as she touched his arm. "The Konige speaks well of you. So long as she does, I can do the same." With a hitching of her shoulders, she let her bleihaut drop to the floor. Standing now in her chainse, she smiled tentatively. "Shall I keep this on?"

"If you like," he said.

"What do you prefer?" she asked, trying to hide her nervousness with a coquettish smile.

He picked up her clothes from the floor and laid the garment on the end of the trestle-table. "It is your preferences that matter, Imbolya. If you are pleasured, then I am pleasured. If removing your chainse would add to your pleasure, then remove it. If you would derive more pleasure from having it on, then stay as you are."

"For now, I will leave it on," she decided, then as if she had exhausted all her will, she asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Sit down and be comfortable," he said; in a remote part of his mind he found this exchange ironically amusing. "Do you want another cup of wine?"

She considered a moment. "Yes. If you don't mind." The flicker of anxiety made the request poignant.

"I will bring it to you, shall I?" He went and filled the alabaster cup, carrying it and the jug back to her. He set the jug next to her bleihaut on the end of the trestle-table, then handed the alabaster cup to her.

"What is in this?" she asked after she sipped.

"Wine, spices, and honey," he said. "Cinnamon, cardamom, crushed nutmegs, and white pepper."

"How luxurious," she approved, and drank a little more before handing the cup back to him. She leaned on the bolster at the end of the divan. "What should I do now?"

"Choose a position that you find relaxing," he said, going on one knee next to the divan; he could feel her anticipation in the tension of her muscles. "I will massage your hands and arms to help you reduce the strain you have."

"All right," she said dutifully, fussing to put herself at ease. "Shall I close my eyes?"

"If it will give you more comfort, then do." He took her hand and began to massage the fingers, gently working them until they released their tightness; he started on her palm, his thumbs pressing the tension away. He moved to her arm, kneading her flesh through the sleeve of her chainse. When he reached her elbow, she lifted her head.

"I want to take this off," she said, plucking at her chainse. "Your hands feel better directly on my skin." She blushed as she said it, then sat up and pulled the garment off over her head, letting it drop to the floor next to Rakoczy; now all she wore was her breechclout.

Gooseflesh rose on Imbolya's arms and torso, more from jittery nerves than chill. Any discomfort she might have felt vanished as he laid his hand on hers. She leaned back against the bolster. "There." She held out her left arm to him. "Do you want to go on?"

"As long as you do," he said, and took her wrist in his hands. He did not hurry his efforts, taking his time to give her the greatest opportunity to surrender her edginess. Finally, as he finished working on her right arm, the quivering tension in her back began to fade, and he changed from kneading her body to caressing it. He made his way from her shoulders to her small, high breasts; he cupped them, teasing her nipples with his fingers, and, when she had finally achieved a welcome transport and her body became responsive to his hands and lips, pliant and apolaustic.

"How do you know to do these things?" she whispered.

"Do you like them?"

She made a giggling sigh. "Oh, yes."

"Then I will continue to do them."

"Should I take off my breechclout?" She felt wonderfully brazen just asking the question; she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"It would be more satisfying if you do." As soon as she unfastened and removed her breechclout, he moved down her body to the hidden cleft at the base of her hips; Imbolya breathed more quickly, a flush spreading over her face and neck and gradually extending onto her chest. When he fingered the soft folds open, Imbolya shivered; her eyes were half-closed. While he teased her little bud into stiffness, she twitched with every flick of his hands and tongue, her body growing taut once more. Slowly he slid a finger into her and felt a preparatory contraction of muscles; he shifted his position so that he was half-lying beside her. The second time he entered her, he used two fingers, and she was caught up in a spasm of elation; he drew her close, his lips on her throat, and shared the waves of rapture that coursed through her.

When she could speak again, she said, "Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me-it is I who should thank you," he said, keeping her in the haven of his arms.

"I could lie here all afternoon, and through the night, and you could tell me tales as captivating as the tales of the troubadours so I could forget what lies ahead," she murmured, and then shook her head regretfully. "But I must choose jewels and return to Vaclav Castle before your servants start gossiping, or my escort." She stretched up and kissed him. "Later, we must find a time to do this again, and do it longer."

"If it is possible," he said, moving back so they could both sit up.

"How do you mean?" She reached for her breechclout and pulled it on, securing the ties at her waist, all bashfulness gone.

"This was an unexpected opportunity, one neither of us can assume will come again." He handed her chainse to her. "What are you going to do with your hair? Do you want a comb?" There was one in the red-lacquer chest that stood against the wall.

"There's no need. I'll tie it in a knot, use the chaplet to hold it in place under my hood." She gave him a clever smile. "No one will think it odd that I take my hair down after being out in blowing snow. They will see that my hair is wet."

"But it is not," he said.

"It will be." She grabbed her chaplet and worked it around the efficient knot she made of her hair. "And with my hood up, who will notice?"

He did not share her confidence, but he kept this to himself, the gratification of their intimacy still heartening him. "Be careful when you do," he recommended.

She smoothed the chainse and got off the divan to take her bleihaut from the end of the trestle-table. "It was wonderful of you to do this for me, Comes. Even if we do nothing more, I will be grateful to you always." Before she got into her bleihaut, she stopped to regard him one more time. "What will become of us? Will we be damned, do you think?"

He took her hands, opened them, and kissed her palms. "It is my profound wish that nothing from this gives you unhappiness." Staring into her hazel eyes, he saw her youth and trust; he tried to banish the misgiving that burgeoned within him.

She pressed her hands together as if to keep the kisses within them. "So do I." Then she resumed dressing, asking questions about the jewels he had ready while she did, striving to regain her composure and the stated purpose of her visit, and all the while her joy was like thistledown within her.

Text of a letter from Episcopus Fauvinel in Praha to Konig Bela of Hungary, written on vellum in his own hand and carried by Church courier; delivered forty days after it was written.

To the most puissant Konig, Bela of Hungary, the greeting of Episcopus Fauvinel of Praha and the Konige's Court, on this, the 29th day of November in the 1269th Year of Grace,

Esteemed Konig,

I have the honor and obligation to tell you that your granddaughter and her daughters are well and preparing for the joyous time of the Nativity. It is unfortunate that relations between Hungary and Bohemia have not improved and thus you will not be in a position to come to Praha to see these promising girls. Let me tell you that they are modest, pious children, and the Konige sets them a fine example. With the Konig and his Court victorious in Carniola, the occasion is likely to be a grand one here for all it may cause dissatisfaction to you. The Konige, of course, is less merry, for the losses you have sustained.

The first gifts of the season have been presented, six of them from your nobleman, the Comes Santu-Germaniu, including a golden reliquary studded with amethysts and tourmalines which he presented to me as the representative of the Church for the relics of Sant Iacopus which were brought from the Holy Land a century ago; it is of fine workmanship and the quality of the gems is beyond any I have seen, so fine and so well-polished that they seem to hold the light of the stars within them. For the Konig, the Comes had made a pectoral in the form of a crown augmented with diamonds; for the Konige, he presented a topaz the size of a pigeon's egg hung on a golden chain and a brooch worked in silver of the Virgin surrounded by birds with bodies and wings of rubies, emeralds, peridots, and aquamarines. For the dear Little Royals he gave Kunigunde of Bohemia a chain-collar of gold with white sapphires in the links; for infant Agnethe, he made a bauble of what is called a tiger's-eye and suspended it from a gilded cord. He also presented an anniversary gift for dear Little Royal Kunigunde to be offered to her in January to commemorate her birth.

All of this is said to be in accord with the terms of his exile, and if that is the whole of it, I will say nothing more once I complete this account to you, but for a man in exile, he has wealth beyond all the richest of Bohemians; his is an embarrassment of riches, which inspires envy and avarice in many, surely the result of the Devil at play, as an instigation to covetousness at the least, and less Christian thoughts. My man within his household tells me that the Comes regularly makes more jewels, which smacks of suborning virtue to me, and possible diabolism, although the man in his household thinks not, for he has seen no direct sign of diabolic purpose in these jewels the Comes makes. I admit I am troubled, for, as we know, the Devil and his minions are everywhere seeking to devour the souls of Christians. Yet if you are content that his alchemy is free of any touch of Deviltry, I will defer to your judgment, for you are the one who ordered him here, and decided upon the conditions he would have to uphold. If, however, you have doubts about the Comes, I implore you, for the sake of your soul and the souls of your granddaughter and her children, to impart those doubts to me so that I may take whatever action would protect your family from the threat of damnation that may lurk in his gifts.

It also concerns me that the Comes has, along with his alchemical skills, a professed knowledge of poisons. He provided a substance to the Counselors of Praha to kill rats which has proven most efficacious, and that has caused me much dismay, for surely a man with such skills may well employ them in ways that could be most evil. I have no desire to accuse him of such acts, but I believe there is a danger when any man has the skill to poison another that the man with the skill may not always be governed by charity, nor the righteousness Christians should observe. Yet if you are satisfied that the Comes will do no evil deeds with his poisons, I will declare myself content to bow to your judgment.

May Heaven guide and keep you, Konig Bela, so far as there is no dishonor to Bohemia in those blessings, may your life continue without pain or illness, and may you find Grace in all that you do,

In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,

Fauvinel, Episcopus at Praha