Darker Jewels

1 As he rubbed his face, Istvan Bathory tried to banish the fatigue that was consuming him; he had three more audiences to give before attending evening Mass. He concealed a sigh and smoothed his beard. What he longed for most was two hours to sleep; it was the one thing he could not grant himself. Not too many years ago he would have been pleased at so much activity, but that was before his successful start of the campaign against Russia. Now he felt the weight of hours more heavily even as time swept by more swiftly than ever. He attempted to sit more comfortably on the large carved chair his noble host had provided for him, but could discover no position that did not cause the scar of his year-old thigh wound to ache from knee to hip; it had bothered him less in the summer, but now that winter was near it took a toll on him. He was grateful for the fire that blazed in the hearth, for it provided some relief. "Rakoczy is here," said the ambitious young Jesuit priest who served as his secretary as he returned from delivering Istvan's formal thanks to the nobleman whose estate they occupied. "He arrived an hour ago." "Rakoczy," said Istvan, straightening up and ignoring the renewed pain it caused. "Already. He came quickly." "Your summons said it was urgent. He acted promptly, which is fitting." The priest never smiled, but occasionally he showed an inner satisfaction; this was one such instant. "Hrabia, Prinz, or whatever he styles himself, you are King." "Yes," agreed Istvan, his weathered eyes thoughtful. He righted the coronet he wore. "But he has complied immediately, unlike some others" "The Turks are swarming over his homeland," the priest reminded Istvan. Though he was only twenty-six there was already a deep vertical line between his brows and it grew more pronounced. "He was driven out, in spite of long resistance. It has been the fate of many Transylvanians. He must be very pleased to have any notice at all." Istvan regarded his secretary with sharp attention. "Father Mietek, I depend on men like him. Without them we could not do the Pope's bidding. There would not be men enough to advance on Russia. We would have no hope of gaining Russian help to stem the Ottoman tide. That the Turk overwhelmed Rakoczy's land is not to his discredit. There are many more who have surrendered, joining their enemies, and that is the disgrace, not heroic resistance." He rarely gave such a stern reprimand to the priest, out of respect for his calling and for fear of the power the Church could wield in these times. "They say the Rakoczys have fought valorously," said Father Mietek as a kind of peace offering to Istvan. "The name has long been honored." "Yes," said Istvan, establishing a truce between them. Father Mietek indicated the massive, closed doors that led to the corridor beyond. "And Rakoczy is waiting." "In the corridor?" asked Istvan, scandalized that a noble would be given such poor treatment. "In the antechamber," said Father Mietek. "I left him there with two of your guards. To show respect." "I hope he sees it that way," said Istvan dryly. "Better bring him here. Hrabia Saint-Germain ought not to be kept waiting like a simple tradesman, guards or no guards." He made an impatient gesture to Father Mietek. "Where is my aide? Where is my Captain, that I must send a priest to escort Rakoczy." "They are at supper, Majesty," said Father Mietek. "Where you sent tYarbro, Chelsea Quinn is the author of 'Darker Jewels' with ISBN 9780312890315 and ISBN 0312890311.