Revenge of the Rose by Nicole Galland

And don’t trust a soul there. Even Konrad. He’s disarmingly friendly most of the time, but he can snap, and when he does— and I am not speaking figuratively— heads roll. Do not make any alliances or enemies until you understand what is really in your interest. Smile politely and keep your guard up. You’ll be under intense scrutiny. Be careful how you speak. Every sentence must suggest you are beyond any kind of reproach. Don’t say, ‘I can’t ride in the upcoming tournament because I have no helmet.’ Say instead, ‘Ah! A tournament! I’m the man to win it! All I need is a helmet!’”
    Willem rolled his eyes, but Jouglet was serious. “Say it.”
    The knight took a breath and repeated, dubiously, “Ah, a tournament, I’m the man to win it, all I need is a helmet.”
    “That was convincing,” Erec said with mild sarcasm.
    Jouglet clapped Willem’s wet shoulder approvingly. “Good man. And when in doubt, just keep your mouth shut. That always impresses Konrad because nobody ever does it. He’ll think you are profound.”
    Willem felt dizzy contemplating how entirely his fortune was hanging on the minstrel’s plans. It was thrilling and yet terrifying— and for a moment, extremely claustrophobic. “Will I know anyone there but you?”
    Jouglet hesitated. “Perhaps you’ll recognize some garrison knights from tournaments. And…from here to the western border, things are prickly, so Konrad likes to keep an eye on the counts and margraves, especially with France recently become so aggressive. So there are a number of nobles here from your backwater part of the world.”
    Willem tensed slightly, then made himself recline against the back of the wooden tub. He voiced a sigh so tense it could be heard across the yard. “And would that include His Majesty’s uncle, fat old Alphonse, Count of Burgundy?”
    Jouglet shrugged. “Probably. So what? He won’t hurt you.”
    Willem glanced toward Erec, whose attention was distracted by watching Musette saunter back down the stairs. Willem whispered, tensely, “I have a vendetta with Alphonse. He sinned against me and tried to cover that sin with another far more heinous.” Automatically, as he always did at the thought of this, he crossed himself. “He’ll try to undermine me— “
    “Don’t worry about anything, my friend!” Jouglet insisted. “I’ll be there as your guardian angel, and the whole point of the evening is that you will meet the emperor and some potential patronesses who already think you are sensational.”
    A tentative smile of disbelief washed over Willem’s face. “This is all extraordinary, Jouglet,” he breathed, and for reassurance again sought the minstrel’s calming gaze.
    Jouglet smiled back and whispered, with sincere affection, “I am delighted that you chose to play along.”

5
    Occasional Poem

    [verses commemorating a particular event, such as a feast]

    27 June
    M arcus, in his duties as court steward, never liked introducing unmarried gentlemen to Imogen’s father; he could almost hear the balance shift against his own favor as Alphonse sized up every bachelor as a potential son-in-law. At least this fellow, however rugged and hearty, had no land to speak of and no proper title; also his tunic, although a nice bright scarlet, was simple and hardly suggested wealth. He had the bedazzled look of a country boy entering the gargantuan sandstone fortress for the first time— coupled with the unease of a knight who’d had to surrender his weapons at the gate.
    They stood at the extreme lower end of the hall by the primary entrance. “Willem, son of the late Henri Silvan of Dole, and one of your vassals,” Marcus said, politely but as offhandedly as he could. “Willem, you may recognize your liege lord, Alphonse, Count of Burgundy.”
    The count’s pale eyes began to widen in the appraising manner Marcus was so used to, but then the widening increased until he was indecorously close to bug-eyed. And yet he