Silent Water Page 5

  I walked to the sideboard and lifted a majolica decanter I had brought with me from Bari. I poured a cup of wine for myself and held the decanter above the second goblet, lifting an eyebrow in Helena’s direction.

  She shook her head, and her hand went to her stomach. “Thank you, signora. I have not yet fully recovered from my earlier indisposition.”

  I took a deep breath, my gaze lingering on her hand. “What do you think is the cause of it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, averting her gaze for the first time. “I must have eaten something unwholesome.”

  I walked to the window, which faced north toward the city of Kraków at the foot of Wawel Hill. As a capital as well as a merchant town, its streets were busy all year round with foreign visitors to the court, and with traders and carts laden with spices, silks, cloth, fur, and exotic fruit. In that, if not in the weather, it reminded me of where I had come from. Now its roofs were covered in snow, melting after a thaw had started that morning, droplets of moisture glistening like jewels in the sun. It looked like the beginning of spring, although we were still months away from it. Normally I would have enjoyed that view, but now I was steeling myself for a conversation I never wanted to have with any of the women under my supervision.

  I did not like confronting them about their little amorous intrigues because deep inside, I could not bring myself to consider them to be wrong. In fact, I felt a certain sympathy for them, far from home and lonely as they must have been. There was another reason as well: I had once—when I was about the same age as Helena—wanted to have a child, even though I did not love my husband. Perhaps it was because I did not love him that I wanted it, to have someone on whom to bestow tenderness and affection. But I had not been blessed that way. I did not know whose fault it was, but it was true that my husband had not fathered any children in his two previous marriages either.

  As a result, the idea that a pregnancy could be either a joy or a curse seemed deeply incongruous to me. Depending on the circumstances, it could solidify a woman’s position in a family, or it could render her an outcast, despoiled of dignity and reputation, and condemn her to a terrible fate. And it all depended on how others—and not the woman herself—judged her situation. What if Helena was indeed in love—or even just thought she was—and wanted this child despite her mistake? I did not want to condemn her for it. There were plenty of others in the world who were ready and eager to do so. Perhaps they should have had my role—they would certainly have performed the duty better. But I needed this position; it afforded me a degree of security that being an ordinary lady-in-waiting did not. And so I had no choice—I had to do it.

  I turned back to Helena. “I think I know what it is.” Her face tensed, and a hint of wariness crept into her eyes. But she said nothing, and I went on, “I think you have been sneaking out to meet with someone.” I sensed her go still, like a statue. “I don’t know who he is, but I do know the purpose of such assignations, and I am disappointed in you. I thought you had more sense than the rest of them.” I pointed with my chin toward the adjacent chamber where the girls slept.

  The tension in Helena’s face eased slightly, but the wariness remained. There was an interval of silence during which I imagined her struggling to decide whether to admit it or not. “It is true, signora,” she said finally. “I have made an error of judgment. I promise I will not see him again,” she added, holding my gaze.

  Half-relieved that there would be no tearful scene of pleading and justification—most young girls believe that their first innamoramento is true love destined to last a lifetime—I was nonetheless dismayed. For if my suspicions regarding her condition were correct, she clearly did not even care about the man. She would bring us both down, and for what? A momentary weakness, nothing more.

  “You can promise all you want,” I said harshly, and the sound grated in my own ears. I pointed an accusatory finger at her stomach. “The evidence of your liaison will soon be in plain view to all, and then what will you do?”

  What will we both do?

  Her eyes followed the line of my finger. She looked momentarily puzzled, then she lifted her head. “If you are suggesting that I have fallen with child, signora, I assure you I have not.” There was a mix of relief, fleeting amusement, and something else in her voice, a slight thickness that betrayed an emotion bubbling just under the surface.

  I studied her, my confusion growing. The fact that she did not blush or lower her eyes at my line of questioning suggested a more daring and defiant nature than I had suspected. She’d had a secret, and she was not ashamed when it came out. Yet her denial sounded genuine.

  “Well . . .” I said, then I took a draught from my cup to hide my perplexity. “I will wait a few days to see if your appetite and your color return. If you are not better by the year’s end, I will have Doctor Baldazzi examine you.” Helena grimaced—an understandable reaction—before composing her face again. “Then I will have more than your word to rely on.”

  Helena dipped her head, her eyes never leaving my face. “As you wish, signora.” Again, she sounded confident. There was not a trace of apprehension in her voice.

  “I am going to keep an eye on you,” I warned her. “If I see any indication that the affair continues, I will inform the queen and you will be sent home immediately.” I paused to let it sink in. “You may go.”

  She turned to leave.

  “And Helena.”

  She stopped with a hand on the doorknob.

  “If you find yourself in a delicate condition,” I said, more softly this time, “know that he—whoever he is—will deny it, and you will be left to fend for yourself with your reputation damaged beyond reprieve. You will carry your dishonor for the rest of your life, while he will go on enjoying his.”

  The darkness that came over Helena’s face lasted only a heartbeat, but it terrified me nonetheless. I turned to the sideboard as she closed the door behind her.

  I put the goblet down on the tray with a loud metallic clang and ran a hand over my forehead. Between this business with Zamborski’s murder and Helena’s little love game that could spell disaster for both of us, this was not a joyous season for me.

  Yet, it was about to get much worse.

  Chapter 5

  December 27th, 1519

  We may have been in the middle of Christmas celebrations, but the business of the realm must continue, especially when that realm is surrounded by enemies. Two days after Zamborski’s murder, the king received a delegation from the Sejm, which had declared war on the Teutonic Order on December 11th. Along with the deputies came Crown Marshal Mikołaj Firlej, who was to lead the army on that campaign. After Muscovy, the Teutonic Order—a fief north of the kingdom’s borders on the Baltic coast and closely allied with the Habsburg emperor—was Poland’s greatest foe. This was despite the fact that its Grand Master Albrecht von Hohenzollern was King Zygmunt’s own nephew.

  The queen was a known opponent of the Habsburgs; alongside Jan Łaski, Archbishop of Gniezno and Primate of Poland, she had been campaigning for expanding Polish influence on the coast. She had therefore persuaded the king to include her in the war council. But I suspected she had another motive as well. Since the previous autumn, she had been spending a great deal of time with her secretary Mantovano and her trusted advisors Antonio Carmignano and Piotr Gamrat. They were planning a series of agricultural reforms in the eastern principalities of Pińsk and Kobryń that the queen had received as a royal grant upon her arrival in Poland. Those improvements would raise yields and boost her revenues, so any talk of war was of interest to her. Moreover, although she had not admitted it openly, everyone knew—and not everyone was happy—that the queen wanted to acquire more lands.

  At the appointed hour she made her way to the council chamber. I was the only one of her attendants to accompany her and had to swear on the Bible that I would not divulge anything I heard there. The deputies, the marshal, and Archbishop Łaski were already waiting when we arrived,
and the king joined us shortly afterward.

  “Marshal, Your Grace. It is a pleasure,” he greeted his guests as he entered the chamber together with Chancellor Stempowski. “Madam.” He kissed the queen’s hand.

  I noticed that Stempowski—normally haughty and self-assured, due not just to his high position in the kingdom, but also his close friendship with the king that went back to their childhood—looked rather sullen. It was no wonder, I thought, for as the leader of the pro-Habsburg faction at the court, he must have opposed the war and had failed to persuade the parliament against its declaration.

  The gentlemen and the queen moved to the center of the chamber occupied by a large walnut table on which a map of the kingdom and her neighbors was spread out. Little blue-and-yellow flags, the color of the Jagiellons, were tacked into several points on the map. From the corner where I sat, I could see the king tracing a line with his finger from a location I assumed was Kraków, pausing at the first of the flags to the north.

  “Are you all set for the assembly at Koło?” he asked Firlej.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The marshal said. “We have nearly four thousand men. The wojewoda of Kalisz is yet to make a pledge, but I expect it within days. We will also have a banner from Bohemia and two sent by the Duke of Mazovia.”

  Mikołaj Firlej was a sinewy man of medium height and looked to be in his fifties. He was dressed modestly yet with care in a soft black leather doublet, black hose, and dark brown boots fashionably loose about his bony calves. I recalled that even though he had successfully fought against Muscovy in the previous five years, he had started his career as a courtier to the king’s father and later became a respected diplomat. The bottom half of his face was obscured by a thick gray moustache and beard, so the voice that came out was gruff and somewhat muffled, but it was firm and confident.

  “That is good.” The king seemed pleased, but then his habitually beneficent face hardened. “Our vassals are doing their duty, for we must curb the ambitions of the Order once and for all.” He paced to the window and back without looking at his chancellor, who stood with an inscrutable look on his face although he could not have liked what he was hearing. Across the table, I could see a small smile playing on the queen’s lips as she shifted her gaze from the chancellor to the archbishop, her ally.

  The king returned to the table. “And from Koło we will be marching toward Pomesania?” he asked, pointing further north on the map.

  “Weather permitting,” Firlej cautioned.

  “Your Majesty,” the chancellor finally spoke, “would it not be better to wait until the spring, when we can be sure that the snow is behind us?”

  The king frowned. It was obvious that he was eager for the war, but either because of his friendship with Stempowski or his innate caution, he stopped to consider this.

  Seeing her husband’s hesitation, the queen intervened. “Your Majesty, the Order is conniving with Muscovy and the empire. If we put off stopping them, the knights will take Royal Prussia and Warmia from us before we know it. There is a thaw abroad,” she added, “but even if it snows again, it is hardly reason enough to delay a campaign that will protect the kingdom from grave danger from the north and the west.” The emphasis was clearly for the chancellor’s benefit in both cases.

  Stempowski scowled but held his tongue.

  The king nodded. “We have been fighting them for more than a hundred years, since the very founder of this dynasty was still on the throne.” He tapped the middle of the map with his forefinger, looking determined. “It is time to deal them a final blow.”

  The tension on the queen’s face softened. The archbishop, too, looked pleased.

  “We have been praying to God for fair weather every day,” the king declared. “So far, it seems, our prayers have been answered.” With a hand adorned by a single gold ring engraved with the Jagiellon double cross, he gestured toward the windows. There, the water from the melting snow was dripping from the eaves and arches of the courtyard so fast it seemed like a light rain was falling.

  “Indeed.” The marshal inclined his hand. Then he cleared his throat. “But I have a request to make of Your Majesty.” He paused. The king, still studying the map, motioned for him to continue. “It appears that no reinforcements for the knights have yet arrived from Moscow, and therefore the Grand Master is not ready for war—which favors us. However, the Order’s cities are well fortified.”

  “Yes, yes, we know that.” The king waved his hand.

  “Some more heavily than others,” Firlej went on. “We should be able to take Sztum, but for bigger towns like Marienwerder, we will need cannon.”

  A new frown creased the king’s forehead, this time skeptical. “Are you sure, marshal?”

  “Yes.” The firmness of the answer left no doubt about it. “It is also a persuasive weapon. The very threat of its use is often enough for a fortress to surrender. That is what happened, Your Majesty will recall, when the French marched on Naples in the year 1495.”

  Marshal Firlej may have been a diplomat once, but today he was a general, determined to advocate for this army and mindful of nothing else. But the deputies shifted uncomfortably, casting glances in the direction of the queen. The French campaign that the marshal had alluded to had been conducted with the help of the queen’s great-uncle Ludovico Sforza of Milan. Thus, many on the peninsula, and especially the then-pope Alexander VI, had considered it a treachery. Some still did. But those words had no effect on Bona, who remained royally impassive. She was proud of her ancestry. She was, and always would be, a great supporter of alliances with France.

  The king was too preoccupied with Firlej’s request to notice any of that. “How many cannon are we talking about?”

  “As many as can be spared.”

  The king tugged at his beard. “That would require significant additional manpower, horses, and wagons to transport and operate, would it not?”

  “Indeed.”

  “It would put a significant strain on the treasury,” the chancellor chimed in eagerly.

  Everyone knew that the kingdom struggled financially, and a silence fell on the chamber. Even the queen could not directly contradict that statement, but when her eyes went again to the archbishop, I knew something was coming. She gave Łaski a barely perceptible nod.

  “Not if we impose a new tax,” the archbishop said.

  The chancellor snorted, and the queen stifled another smile. Her face was alive with anticipation for the king’s response. All at once I understood what she wanted and how she planned to make her case for it. It was brilliant.

  “It would be worth it”—Firlej picked up on the suggestion—“if it could buy us peace and security in the north, not to mention an unfettered access to the sea. Then we could focus on the eastern borderlands and the threat from the Tatars.”

  “I have levied a poll tax twice in the last ten years for the war against Vasili of Muscovy. I cannot do it again.” The king shook his head. “My merchants and burghers will not abide it. And the Jews! I had to break the agreement their forefathers had struck with my grandsire when he permitted them to settle here. Their payments to the Crown were fixed at that time, but I forced them to accept new terms.” The king looked unhappy, and I sympathized with him, knowing his non-confrontational nature. “If we tax the Jews again, they might pick up and leave. We benefit from their presence as much as they do from our protection.”

  “The last land tax was the highest in memory,” Stempowski stated preemptively. His concern was understandable: he was one of the largest landowners in the kingdom. “Any more, and there will be no profits left.”

  “The yields are not enough to support a new levy on the land, either.” The king spread his hands as he turned to the marshal.

  “The yields are low because the land is worked inefficiently,” the queen put in.

  This time it was not just the chancellor, but also the deputies from the Sejm who looked uncomfortable. Many, if not all of them, were landowners themse
lves, although as members of the parliament’s lower house, they were not the same wealthy old aristocracy to which Stempowski belonged. They were only szlachta, the lesser nobility, but that did not mean that they would be any more eager to pay another tax.

  “And what can be done about that, madam?” the king asked. The question was put in earnest, for he was aware of the queen’s reform plans for her estates.

  Before she answered, Bona swept the gathering with her gaze to heighten the sense of anticipation and to make sure that she had everyone’s attention—which she most definitely did.

  “I ordered a detailed report from each of the dower lands Your Majesty saw fit to grant me,” she began, and the king nodded in acknowledgment. “They have given me and my advisors valuable insight as well as ideas for improvements that can be made.” Another pause. “We will begin by installing competent and trusted administrators where such are lacking, then we will measure the size of all the estates in a uniform fashion and merge those that will benefit from it.”

  She paused again for effect, ignoring the skepticism on the faces of everyone except the king and the archbishop. I had to admire her confidence. “In Kobryń and Pińsk we will introduce a system whereby an estate will be divided into three parts, one to be sown with winter crops such as wheat and rye, one with beans, lentils, and peas, and one will be left fallow for a year. These assignments will rotate every season, allowing each field to rest and replenish. My advisor Carmignano studied this way of farming across Italy, and we believe that if we adopt it here, it will increase yields very quickly.”

  The landowners did not look pleased. “That will require more plowing than the current method,” the chancellor protested, and the deputies nodded in agreement. They knew that what the queen was saying applied not just to her, but potentially to all of them. They had little appetite for such an upheaval, not to mention the costs associated with it. “We can barely get what we need out of our peasants as it is.”