entered womanhood. Even a well-bred hound sometimes follows the scent of a mongrel bitch in heat, is it not so?”
“Majesty, I am not well acquainted with the temptations to well-bred hounds.”
“Temptations?”
“As you say, Majesty.”
“Did I say? I am not certain that I did. Well. Wherever the maid is sent and for whatever reason, our best hopes travel with her. We are certain she will be missed.”
Kirsten wound a silver and ruby necklace around the index finger of her left hand and then slowly unwound it. She did not know the details of Vibeke’s relationship with the king, I was sure. She did not know that Vibeke carried her husband’s bastard, and I would not tell her. Kirsten sighed and released her necklace.
“No more from Ulfeldt?” she asked.
“No more, Majesty.”
She pointed to the parchment I carried, rolled and tied with red ribbon.
“Is that your horoscope for the king?”
“Aye, Majesty.”
“Does it reveal anything worrisome?”
“Nay, Majesty.”
“It never does, does it? And yet still there are worries. No, Soren, do not trouble to answer. You give the king the news he must hear to remain strong. Your charts are a tonic for him, and for us as well. I regret that I wished to interfere with your art before the king took our son into battle.”
Kirsten apologizing to me? I did not know what she was getting at.
“You are most gracious, Majesty.”
“Nonsense. Have you spoken with our son since he returned to Kronberg?”
“No, Majesty.”
“He is much changed after the battle. I do not know him sometimes.”
“Majesty, I think the prince but takes on the mantle of heir to the throne. He is fresh from the forge of war, and his spirit hardens like steel in the fire. Your royal son now comes into his own as prince and warrior.”
“You think he grows more like unto his father?”
“Aye, Majesty.”
Kirsten looked away from me and toyed with her necklace a moment.
“Will you be at the banquet this evening, Soren?”
“Aye, Majesty.”
“It will be a feast truly fit for a king. There will be all manner of dishes prepared from eels. Eels! I do not like them. Well, we will look for you there, sir.”
“I thank you, Majesty.”
She rose, and I stood.
“I would ask one favor,” she said. “Will you visit my son today, before the feast? I know how fond he is of you.”
“I will, Majesty.”
“Farewell for now,” she said.
I hurried to open the doors and bowed low to Kirsten as she passed into the hall. The two soldiers were at her side immediately and accompanied her as she glided around a corner, out of sight. The priest came back into the chapel and gave me an inquiring look, which I ignored. I sat down in a pew and pretended to pray.
I knew I took a great risk to trust the Swiss, for I had no strong reason to believe they would let the prince live when his father was dead. It was possible that they were secretly in the pay of some foreign enemy of Denmark. Such an idea had not occurred to me before, and I was alarmed at the thought. My musing was interrupted from its unhappy course by the voice of the priest.
“Lady Vibeke,” he said. “How do you in this time of sorrow?”
Vibeke had an expression almost of panic on her face, eyes wild and her skin bright with sweat. A bundle of twigs and branches was under one arm and her other hand fluttered at her side, a wounded white bird. She was still barefoot and the hem of her dress was dark with wet, as if she had been outside in the snow.
“Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark?” she asked, taking three slow steps down the aisle toward Ulfeldt’s corpse.
“Your poor father yet lies here,” the priest said gently.
“Say you? Nay, pray you mark,” Vibeke said, and began to sing:
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s
All in the morning betime
And I a maid at your window
To be your valentine.
Then up he rose and donned his clothes
And dupped the chamber door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
“Alas, sweet lady,” the priest said. “What imports this song?”
“They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Pray let’s have no words of this, but when they ask you what it meant, say you this: By Jesus and Saint Charity, alack, and fie for shame! Old men will do it if they come to it; by Cock, they are to blame. Quoth she, ‘Before you tumbled me, you promised me to wed.’ He answers,