The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3)

The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars #3) Page 159

Princess Sapientia had made up her mind on the long trip to Handelburg to like her betrothed, but in truth he was an easy enough man to like.

“When Geza beloved of God is still the prince, not the king yet, then he fight the battle with the majariki—” He turned to his interpreter, a stout, middle-aged frater who had only one hand; where the other should be he had a stump ending at the wrist. “What they call in Wendish? Ah, the Arethousans. Yes?” He spun the tail of one of his mustaches between fingers greasy from eating meat. “Gold hats and much strong smell of perfume, the majariki.”

“Prince Geza defeated the Arethousans in battle?” Sapientia asked.

“So he become king of the Ungrians. He fight against his uncles, his mother’s brothers you would say, who say they must be king, not he. They ride to majariki and promise no raids and bow to majariki God if majariki army fight on their side. But Prince Geza beloved of God win this battle and he is king.”

“God do not favor those who pray to Them only for their own advantage,” observed Biscop Alberada from her seat between Bayan and Sapientia. As Henry’s illegitimate, and elder, half sister, she had taken the biscopric allotted her with a firm hand and always supported her brother here on the eastern fringe of his kingdom.

“Did you fight with him, too, against your uncles?” asked Sapientia, less concerned about spiritual matters than glorious stories of battle.

“They not my uncles,” Bayan explained. “I am son of third wife of King Eddec, our father. I am still young in that day, sleep in my mother’s tent.”

A new course was brought, served by his warriors and certain clean-smelling clerics from the biscop’s staff. Biscop Alberada presided over the carving of an impressive haunch of pork. As robust as her legitimate half brother in health, in looks she evidently resembled her mother, a Polenie noblewoman who had been taken captive in some nameless war and become Arnulf the Younger’s first concubine before his marriage to Berengaria of Varre.

After the meat was distributed, Alberada regarded Prince Bayan with a sour gaze. “I believed that the Ungrian people had ended their custom of a man marrying many wives when they accepted the Holy Word of the Unities. According to the Holy Word, one woman and one man shall cleave each to the other in harmony, and exclusivity, in imitation of God Our Mother and Father.”

The biscop’s speech had to be translated, and Bayan listened intently and then nodded enthusiastically. “This my brother proclaim when he take the circle of God. I follow his rule. I put aside my wives when I come to marry Princess Sapientia.” He grinned at her. He had one tooth missing but otherwise a strong mouth, although his teeth were somewhat yellow, perhaps from the copious cups of steaming hot, pungently-scented, brown-colored brew that he downed after finishing each cup of wine set before him.

“You had other wives?” asked the biscop.

“All at once?” demanded Sapientia.

“Many clans wish alliance with house of Geza and send daughters as gift. Too many for him and his sons to marry, so some come to me because I am only king-brother alive. It make insult to send them back.” Then he leaped up suddenly, lifting the cup he shared with Sapientia, and called out in his own language, gesturing with the cup. A young man outfitted in a gaudy tunic trimmed with gold braid jumped up, answered him, and drained his own cup of wine, then sat down. Bayan took his seat. “That one is younger brother of my second wife. She very angry to be turned away, but I give her much gold and let her marry prince of Oghirzo.” He laughed. “I tell her he make better husband.”

“You are not a good husband?” But Sapientia had a glint in her eye, and after a moment Hanna realized with some astonishment that Sapientia was actually jesting with her betrothed. She would never have jested with Hugh.

Prince Bayan found the comment uproariously funny, and he leaped again to his feet, called every man in his retinue to stand, and led them in a toast to his bride. One table of men, still on their feet, sang a boisterous song while the rest kept time by pounding their cups on the tables. After this, Bayan declaimed in his own language a long and tedious paean to his new bride, punctuated by the translation of the interpreter:

“She is as beautiful as the best mare. As robust as the rabbits in wintertime. Her grip is as strong as an eagle’s, her sight as keen as a hawk’s, she is as fecund as the mice,” and so on until Sapientia burst out laughing.

“Your Highness,” whispered Hanna, bending low over her. “If you give offense—”

“You do not like my poem?” cried Bayan, plumping down in his chair. “It is my own words I craft, not speak another man’s.”