Silent Water
Silent Water
A Jagiellon Mystery
BY
P.K. ADAMS
IRON KNIGHT PRESS
Silent Water
Copyright © 2019 by Patrycja Podrazik
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 978-1-7323611-5-7 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7323611-4-0 (ebook)
Cover design by Jennifer Quinlan
Map by Deborah Blume
All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
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RULES OF PRONOUNCIATION RELEVANT TO THIS STORY
Letter ł (capital Ł) is pronounced like w in water
Letter w is pronounced like v in vat (thus the river Wisła is pronounced “Viswa,” and Wawel Castle is pronounced “Vavel”)
Letter c is pronounced like ts (thus noc (night) is pronounced “nots”)
Letter j is pronounced like y in young (thus the name Mikołaj Firlej is pronounced “Meek-o-why Fear-ley”)
Letter g is pronounced like gh in ghost (thus Jagiellon is pronounced “Ya-ghye-lohn”)
Letter e is pronounced like eh in egg (thus the name of the village of Niepołomice is pronounced “Nye-poh-woh-mitseh”)
Common diphthongs:
Sz is pronounced like sh in shop (thus the name Dantyszek is pronounced “Dan-tysh-ekh”)
Cz is pronounced like ch in check
Ch is pronounced like h in hang
Rz is pronounced zhe
“-cki” – a common ending of Polish last names is pronounced “tsky”, unlike in English the c is not silent.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
Szlachta (pronounced shlah-ta) – lower nobility, equivalent of England’s landed gentry.
Sejm (pronounced seym) – the lower house of the bicameral parliament whose members were lower nobility (szlachta). The upper house, the Senate, consisted of wealthy aristocracy (magnates) and high-ranking church officials, and served as the royal council.
Wojewoda (pronounced voy-e-voda) – chief administrative officer of a province, a territorial governor.
Pan – Sir. Note: like all Polish nouns, it is subject to several conjugations, hence the form “Panie” that appears occasionally in the text. That happens when someone is addressed directly (vocative case) as opposed to being referred to in the third person (nominative case).
Pani – Lady, if the woman is married or widowed.
Panna – Lady, if the woman is unmarried.
Table of Contents
Map
Cast of Characters
Prologue Bari, Kingdom of Naples March 1560
Chapter 1 Kraków, Kingdom of Poland April 1518
Chapter 2 Wawel Castle, Kraków December 25th, 1519
Chapter 3 December 26th, 1519
Chapter 4 December 27th, 1519
Chapter 5 December 27th, 1519
Chapter 6 December 28th, 1519
Chapter 7 December 30th, 1519
Chapter 8 January 1st, 1520
Chapter 9 January 2nd, 1520
Chapter 10 January 4th, 1520
Chapter 11 January 5th, 1520
Chapter 12 January 6th, 1520, The Feast of Epiphany Morning
Chapter 13 January 6th, 1520, The Feast of Epiphany Evening
Chapter 14 January 6th, 1520, The Feast of Epiphany Night
Chapter 15 February 1520
Chapter 16 March 15th, 1520
Epilogue Bari, Kingdom of Naples March 1560
Historical Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Cast of Characters
Zygmunt I
King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania
Bona Sforza
Queen consort of Poland and Grand Duchess consort of Lithuania. Daughter of Duke Galeazzo Sforza of Milan and Isabela of Aragon.
Poles
Aleksander Stempowski
Crown Chancellor. Leader of the pro-Habsburg faction that Queen Bona opposes
Sebastian Konarski
Junior secretary in the king’s household reporting to Chancellor Stempowski
Jan Dantyszek
Courtier and diplomat. Member of the bibones et comedones semi-secret society
Adam Latalski
Courtier and poet
Kasper Zamborski
Courtier and member of the bibones et comedones society. Engaged to be married to Chancellor Stempowski’s daughter
Piotr Gamrat
Queen Bona’s advisor
Archbishop Jan Łaski
Primate of Poland, Queen Bona’s political ally
Mikołaj Firlej
Commander of the Polish forces during the Teutonic War
Helena Lipińska
Queen Bona’s maid-of-honor
Magdalena Górka
Queen Bona’s maid-of-honor
Konstanty Konarski
knight in the Polish army and Sebastian Konarski’s cousin
Princess Anna
King Zygumunt’s daughter from his previous marriage
Princess Jadwiga
King Zygumunt’s daughter from his previous marriage
Princess Izabela
King Zygumunt and Queen Bona’s first-born daughter
Beata Kościelecka
King Zygumunt’s illegitimate daughter
Maciek Koza
servant
Stańczyk
court jester
Italians
Caterina Sanseverino
Lady of the Queen’s Chamber
Ludovico Mantovano
Queen Bona’s private secretary
Giuseppe Baldazzi
Queen Bona’s physician
Antonio Carmignano
Queen Bona’s advisor
Giovanna D’Aragona
Queen Bona’s cousin and lady-in-waiting
Lucrezia Alifio
Queen Bona’s maid of honor
Portia Arcamone
Queen Bona’s maid of honor
Beatrice Roselli
Queen Bona’s maid of honor
Father Marco de la Torre
Queen Bona’s confessor
Prologue
Bari, Kingdom of Naples
March 1560
The nightmares did not start until my old age, when sleep becomes elusive for some, while for others it is burdened with images from their past they would rather not remember. The stone cellar, dank and malodorous; the glint of a blade; the killer’s cold eyes; the victim’s pleading ones over the dirty rag stuffed in his mouth . . . I reach for that gag, but my hand can never get close enough—it is like trying to move through water, the effort of it frustrating and futile.
I wake up covered in sweat, cold fear gripping my throat like a fist.
For years I slept soundly. It is strange, given the terrible events I witnessed at the royal court in Kraków that fateful Christmas and New Year’s season forty years ago. I was still new to that northern kingdom, having arrived in the spring of the year 1518 as part of the entourage of Bona, the daughter of the late Duke Galeazzo Sforza of Milan, who was newly married to King Zygmunt of the great Jagiellon dynasty, which rules the union of Poland and Lithuania.
I did not mind going so far from home. I had been recently widowed, still in my early twenties, and although my marriage had not been a particularly happy one—I had been married at seven
teen to a much older man of my parents’ choosing—I did not relish the idea of returning to my family. By then my father had died, the family fortune was declining, and I knew that my enterprising mother would soon be searching for another wealthy—and probably old—husband for me.
As a member of the Sanseverino family, the Princes of Bisignano, by marriage, I first became a lady-in-waiting to Bona’s mother, Isabela d’Aragona, the Duchess of Bari and former Duchess consort of Milan. She was a lady who valued education in nobly born women, and was impressed by the fact that I had spent four years as a young girl at the Convent of Santa Teresa outside Naples, where I had learned Latin and history, studied Church Fathers, and even read a bit of Cicero and Virgil. So after I had been widowed and Bona had become betrothed to the King of Poland, Duchess Isabela offered me a place in her daughter’s new household. To me, that seemed like a chance to escape another marriage and to see the world beyond Bari and Naples.
The union started off smoothly despite a difference in age and temperament between the royal couple. King Zygmunt was past his fiftieth year, already grizzled and filling out at the waist. Despite his stern appearance, he was a man of exceedingly mild manner who always sought to avoid confrontation with friends and enemies alike. He was also given to bouts of melancholy, during which he would not be seen for days, or he would remain pensive and silent, withdrawn into his inner world. His new wife, by contrast, was four-and-twenty. Short in stature compared to Zygmunt, she had a slightly beaked nose, a determined mouth, and sharp blue eyes. Bona Sforza, true to her name, was sturdily built, strong of body, and forceful of will. She had received an excellent education, far more wide-ranging than mine, at the ducal court in Bari and was keenly interested in affairs of state, of which she demanded to be appraised daily and in detail by her secretary.
Yet the two seemed to complement rather than contradict each other. Already in those early years, many envoys, senators, and nobles of the Sejm—the lower house of the kingdom’s parliament—sought the queen’s counsel whenever the king was overcome by his darker moods. Gradually, Bona was carving out a place for herself as an informal co-ruler, a role that would only strengthen over time as her royal husband aged.
Most importantly of all, nine months to the day of their first meeting in Kraków, the queen gave birth to a daughter, Izabela, the first of the six offspring they would have together. Thus things proceeded apace as expected. The future of the monarchy looked assured, and everyone seemed satisfied.
Until that festive winter’s night that haunts my dreams again.
Chapter 1
Kraków, Kingdom of Poland
April 1518
The day we arrived in Kraków was the coldest I had ever known. It was April 16th. In Bari, it would have been full spring, almost summer; but in our new home, a cold wind was blowing from the east, and patches of snow covered the mud of the streets or perched precariously on the city’s slanted roofs. Like all the other ladies, I was wrapped tightly in my new marten-fur cloak and shivered despite riding in an enclosed carriage. In my companions’ faces I saw the same silent question that had accompanied us through the miles and miles of the thick pine and oak forests of Bohemia and Poland, so different from the sun-drenched wide-open hills at home: what if summer did not exist at all in this northern land, and we would never be warm again?
“I’d heard winter is harsh in these parts, but I didn’t realize they would still be in the middle of it when we arrived.” Lucrezia Alifio, the seventeen-year-old maid of honor who sat across from me, grimaced as she brought her face closer to the window. The thick greenish-tinted pane steamed slightly from her breath.
“It must be coming to an end,” I said hopefully. I had never seen snow before and therefore was not sure if the amount I was looking at was a lot or not. But it did seem to be melting—surely that was a good sign?
Lucrezia sighed in a way that suggested she did not share my optimism, but she did not contradict me. I was six years older than she, a countess, and a lady-in-waiting. In Bona’s household respect for hierarchy was strong, and everybody knew their place. It was just as well, for I had been promised—on the strength of Duchess Isabela’s recommendation—the appointment as the Lady of the Queen’s Chamber, which would also put me in charge of the maids of honor. Watching over a gaggle of adolescent girls would be a formidable task, and I would need all the help I could get.
“Kraków is bigger than I thought,” I said, partly to lift Lucrezia’s spirits, but also because I was pleasantly surprised. At first glance the city seemed so different, yet on closer inspection, it was not unlike the merchant towns of Italy. The remnants of ancient structures and stone-paved streets left to us from the time of the Romans were absent here, and most of Kraków’s buildings were of brick and wood in the style of a hundred years before. Its churches had narrow pointed windows and tall slender towers. But now and then an ornate stone edifice of a nobleman’s dwelling came into view that looked much like any wealthy palazzo in our parts.
“It is.” The girl’s face brightened. “I was afraid it would be small and boring—a fortress with a few old houses surrounded by a wall, and forest for miles in every direction, like most of the towns we have passed along the way.” There was genuine relief in her voice.
“Remember Lady Bona told us that there are quite a few Italians living in Kraków,” I said as another palazzo-like mansion came into view. A few days earlier we had stopped at the castle in Vienna, and during a late-night chat, Bona informed us that there was a vibrant community of Italian artists and artisans living in Poland’s capital. They had been commissioned by King Zygmunt to beautify the city in the vein of the new construction that was popular in the south and that drew its inspiration from the Roman and Greek structures of the past. Now I could see that the scale of it was not comparable to Rome or even Naples, but the influence was unmistakable, and it warmed me with its familiarity as much as the brightness of the limestone.
“Yes, but they are probably all old men who prefer sculpting women out of stone to dancing with real ones.” Lucrezia sighed.
“Probably,” I said pointedly. Lucrezia—small, plump, and perpetually smiling, her present mood notwithstanding—had few thoughts in her head, save those that concerned entertainment and flirting. I should not have mentioned the Italians—I was not at all sure if her assessment of their age and interests was correct, and she should not get any ideas.
I turned to the window again and watched the streets lined with cheering crowds. Despite the festive occasion, I could see the signs of a busy, bustling town, located as it was at the crossroads of major trading routes. From the eastern lands to the Low Countries, and from the ports of the Mediterranean to the Baltic coast, Kraków was a transit point of many merchant trains. The cold air carried with it not just the smells of meat pies and roasts sold to the gathered crowds, but also more pungent scents of spices, herbs, and oils emanating from stores and apothecaries’ workshops. I thought I even caught—from one of the many taverns along the way—that peculiar heavy but sweet odor of tobacco, an increasingly popular smoking substance brought by the Spaniards from the newly discovered world.
That, even more than the palazzos, caused a swell of nostalgia to rise in my chest. But though I missed Bari, I reminded myself that I was embarking on a new life here. If things went well and the queen was satisfied with my service, perhaps I might avoid marrying again in order to secure my future. It was not that I did not want marriage at all—rather, after my first experience with it, I had come to a firm belief that money or titles were not the right motivations for it. Of course, most women I knew had done it for exactly those reasons, including the heiress to the Duchies of Bari and Milan, who rode a few carriages ahead of us.
But Bona had been born to one of the most prominent aristocratic families of Europe, and she had a role to play. Her destiny was never going to be in her own hands, a fact which—as far as I knew—she had never questioned. On the contrary, she had seemed satis
fied with the match when it was first announced, and excited during her marriage-by-proxy ceremony at Castel Capuano in Naples the previous December. But she would become queen and help perpetuate a dynasty, and perhaps that was worth the price. I had no such pretensions, and although I knew what my mother’s expectations were and how women of my station viewed these matters, I somehow believed that I should marry for nothing other than love.
“Donna Caterina,” Lucrezia’s voice broke through my musings. “Do you think Lady Bona is eager to meet her new husband?”
I stared at her, amazed at how her words reflected my own thoughts. “Of course,” I said, careful not to sound hesitant. “She talks about him all the time and has been writing him letters every day from the road.”
“But is she really eager . . .” There were emphases, albeit slightly different ones, on both “really” and “eager.” She stopped herself just in time, though the corners of her lips trembled with suppressed laughter.
I sent her a stern look to convey how I felt about her speculations. But before I had a chance to say anything, the carriage abruptly stopped. Behind us, the same thing was happening like a ripple all through our cortege of several hundred. It included officials from Poland, the Italian states, Hungary, and Bohemia, as well as imperial envoys, mounted men-at-arms, pages, and courtiers. We also brought with us a hundred fine coursers from the Duchess of Bari’s famous stables, each caparisoned in red damask with golden tassels, their bridles sparkling with gold. Mule-drawn wagons filled with thirty-six carved chests bearing the coats of arms of the Sforza and Aragon families contained the first installment of Bona’s dowry of fifty thousand ducats, in addition to furniture, gowns, linens, books, and paintings. The weight of this treasure allowed us to make only a slow progress toward Wawel Hill, where the centuries-old royal castle stood overlooking the city.