Revenge of the Rose by Nicole Galland Page B

his wrist is Charity. The cardinal beside him is his brother Paul who has recently joined us from Rome as papal nuncio.”
    The two men were not speaking to each other. More precisely, Konrad was not speaking to his brother. He seemed to be speaking to his falcon, whose hood sparkled almost as brightly as the king’s own headpiece. Paul was earnestly, but unsuccessfully, trying to rally the few other men at the high table to converse with him. Willem felt a little sorry for him.
    “Look at that,” he said with continued artlessness. “They are alike in feature, but there is something to the king that the priest lacks.”
    “Good fortune in birth order,” Marcus observed.
    Konrad recognized Willem from Jouglet’s many loquacious descriptions— brown hair, brown eyes, handsome build, handsome rectangular face and a fighter’s handsomely broken nose, an air of confidence mixed with modesty. He returned Charity to her perch behind him and rose to greet the young man. He was pleased to see how strong he looked— he must be a good fighter, at least; the slavish dedication to the throne, so exalted by Jouglet, would prove useful. If nothing else, he could perhaps be made a reliable constable somewhere back in his home county.
    “Ah! The fabled Willem of Dole!” Konrad said, which brought all eyes to the young knight. The hum of the hall quieted a little. Willem was startled that the great man called him by name and bowed deeply; the emperor further astounded him by taking his elbow as casually as Marcus had, and drawing him back toward the table. He couldn’t wrest his eyes from the emperor’s jeweled hand on his arm. On the emperor’s little finger, simpler but larger than the other adornments, was his gold signet ring, the very ring that had sealed the invitation Nicholas had brought to Dole. Willem resisted a childish urge to touch it. “We have all been very much looking forward to your arrival,” Konrad said, booming. People were still gossiping in huddles, but it was noticeably more quiet as everyone tried to study the emperor’s new find. “Jouglet has sung your praises for weeks now, and Nicholas has added to the chorus since this afternoon.”
    He had Willem on the royal dais before the younger man had collected himself. “Allow me to introduce my little brother,” Konrad said with an insulting casualness, not addressing the priest directly. “This is Cardinal Paul, our official papal spy. Brother Paul, this is Willem of Dole, a celebrated knight of Burgundy whose arrival we’ve been anticipating for days.” Paul was on his feet before Konrad had finished the introduction. Everyone looked wary of the newcomer, but Paul looked almost frightened.
    Willem bowed. “And what great exploits have brought you to my brother’s attentions?” demanded the cardinal with an anxious smile, as if he were jealous that yet another person in the room might out-shine him. Despite sharing the emperor’s fair features, he appeared an oversize adolescent, soft in all the places Konrad was firm. And while Konrad’s expansive geniality heralded how entirely confident he was of being the center of the known world, the equivalent attempts in Paul betrayed the creeping realization that he was not, and might never be.
    “The court musician assures me he is worthy of attention,” Konrad said with suspicious offhandednesss. Paul was appalled.
    “You may as well believe the commendations of a prostitute,” he said in a loud whisper to his brother.
    “That’s not a bad idea,” Konrad mused. “But he’s no ordinary musician, Paul, haven’t you sniffed that out yet with that little bloodhound nose of yours? Come, Willem, sit with me— shove down, Alphonse,” he ordered his uncle, who had taken the seat closest to the king’s right. The count rose, with a look that Willem found shockingly disrespectful. Konrad ignored it. “Uncle, this fellow is from your county. Have you been hiding him from me and all the