II.
9 September 1155 – 8 May 1156
‘Vojta’s turning out to be quite the young gentleman,’ Czenzi noted.
She and the king were crossing over the north bridge, their feet tapping across the wooden planks. As they reached the other side, they turned off onto the dirt track that led down to the river’s edge below, and made their way along it at an easy, amiable pace.
‘Is he?’ Bohodar asked off-hand.
‘Come. Don’t tell me you don’t know about it.’ Czenzi’s mobile mouth quirked upward at him from the side. ‘Our little boy has made quite the impression on Vladimil with his errands of mercy—delivering his own old cloaks and blankets to widows’ homes in advance of the oncoming cold season. He’s taking after his father that way, clearly.’
‘And… do you approve?’
‘Well—you know me,’ Czenzi slipped her arm affectionately over the crook of her husband’s elbow and craned her neck toward his shoulder. ‘Of course it’s a fine and proper instinct in a thoughtful young man. But at first I didn’t quite appreciate him doing
my work for me. It isn’t a man’s job to go paying visits and running social errands.’
Bohodar let out a cough that might have been disguising a laugh.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Don’t you go telling me you wouldn’t
insist on paying calls, even if it
were a man’s job by your lights.’
The Magyar
Kráľovná gave him a light, friendly slap on his near shoulder. ‘Good thing they’re
not just my lights, then, but established custom. It’s only proper for a wife to manage and smoothe her husband’s friendships and acquaintance—just like
looking after the children myself is only proper! As Almighty God in Great Blue Heaven sees me, I’ve
never understood why you Slavs adopted that horrible
német practice of hiring wet-nurses and nannies to do for your children what a mother ought!’
‘Now, don’t be too hard on them,’ the half-Anglo-Danish Bohodar chided Czenzi. ‘The tutor offered us this chance, didn’t she?’
‘Because I know you appreciate your time alone and out-of-doors,’ Czenzi offered considerately.
‘Doesn’t being out here bring back memories, though?’
‘What, you kicking me in the shins?’ Czenzi smirked. She slipped her hand out of his arm, unbooted and unwrapped her heels, lifted her skirts and went ankle-deep in the shallows.
Bohodar felt his heart skip, watching her sable hair cascade down over her shoulders. Of course she was perfectly aware of
the memories it brought back. Even though he was thirty-one and she thirty-five now, joined fifteen years in the single bed of an honourable marriage, the parents of three beautiful children—even though they could now speak each other’s tongues as naturally as they could their own—somehow she was causing time to stall and wrap around itself. He was watching the ‘Krescencie’ he’d just met play around in the water, in the sweet innocence of a youth long past. Bohodar found himself caught somewhere between a chuckle and a tear in the eye. He was convinced in the depths of his soul, as time continued to whirl in its strange eddy, that he had
always loved Czenzi—had loved her out of the depths of his heart—since the very day and the very hour that they’d met.
And it caught his eye, in that moment. It was resting right against his heel in the stony bank where he stood. Half a mussel shell. Perfect and pearlescent. A mirror of the one she’d given him, way back then.
‘Krescencie!’ Bohodar called out to her.
‘
Igen?’
She turned in the water, her hiked-up skirts in her hands, her amber eyes sparkling, her mouth parted in a vibrant grin. The same grin he remembered upon her nine-year-old face. Bohodar bent and picked up the mussel shell, went to the water’s edge, and with ceremony presented it to her with both hands. She glided back to shore toward him and—never minding that her skirts fell into the water and got wet—took it in the same wise.
‘
Ez kettőt jelent, amit nekem adtál,’ she whispered to him.
‘
Urob z nich medailónik,’ Bohodar answered her. ‘
Môžeš v ňom držať… moje srdce.’
Their kiss drew time itself into a perfect circle. A five-year-old Slovien boy, and a nine-year-old Magyar girl, standing in the shallows of the Morava, drew their innocent lips together and gave each other’s warm, pure and fluttering hearts into each other’s outstretched hands.
It had become something of a weekly custom, even when Prisnec had been king, for Czenzi to invite the noble ladies of Moravia to join her in conversations and snacks, which she was happy to provide. She had early on discovered that the ladies were not all fond of
kumisz, and so she had gracefully switched to a more conventional and broadly-appreciated red wine. The
pogácsa, on the other hand—pan-fried Hungarian pastries with a dumpling-like filling of meat, fresh cheese or turnips—had been a hit, especially with Gorislava Pavelková (who fancied herself something of a
gourmet). And so there was usually a trencher of those readily available for the ladies to sample.
‘You
are in rather a good mood today,’
Vojvodkyňa Ladina observed of her hostess as she sipped at a glass of wine during one of these weekly meetings.
‘Oh, no more so than usual,’ Czenzi replied. Ladina and Gorislava shared an unconvinced smirk.
‘Must be the entertainment she has planned for us today,’ hinted Slavomíra Bijelahrvatskića.
‘Well,’ Czenzi owned frankly, ‘Not to boast, but… Alswit-
anyós has had a copy of the
Exeter Book in her own tongue from when she was little. It was given to her by Grandpa Prisnec. The way I hear it, the former king wanted
Anyós to keep touch with her English roots, despite her being raised as a fosterling here in Olomouc. The
Kráľ himself agreed to read it aloud for us today—he’s one of the privileged few who’s allowed to touch
Anyós’s books.’
‘Ahh, yes,’ Ladina sighed with a sniffy note of disapproval. ‘I do remember that tome. And if I am remembering
correctly, not one or two of those poems are on the more
salacious side of things.’
‘Ladina,’ Czenzi chuckled, ‘I assure you that Botta will only keep to the
front half of the book. I doubt we’ll get to any of the more off-colour riddles.’
Bohodar arrived at the appointed time, having in his hands the desired book, and met all four of the ladies in their sitting-room on the northern side of the castle. After Czenzi bade him to start from the front of the book—but surprise them all with poems taken from therein at random—the
Kráľ did his best. He understood enough of both his mother’s tongue and his father’s, to do passable translations of the riddles from the
Exeter Book on the fly.
‘I am busy with light; I sport with the wind.
Wound ‘bout with wonder; by weather enwrapped.
Bound forth on a way, by fire bothered.
A blossoming branch, a burning brand.
Often friends send me from hand to hand,
That men and women might boldly kiss me.
When I rise up, they bow down to me,
Many with gladness, as upon men I shall
Grow their oncoming blessings.’
‘Hmmm…’ Slavomíra considered. ‘Lots of plant imagery there. It must be some kind of tree, to be bothered by fire – a blossoming branch and a burning brand.’
‘I agree there, but there’s more to it. Do men often go passing trees around to kiss them?’ Ladina added.
‘I know—!’ Czenzi sent one of her fists into an open palm, her amber eyes brightening. ‘A piece of wood which burns with
light as well as fire. Perhaps gilt? And when it rises up, men bow down… what other kind of wood would we gladly bow down to when it’s shown to us, or kiss when it’s passed to us, or hope to receive blessings from? It’s the
priest’s Cross!’
Bohodar gave his wife a nod and a wink of affirmation. She glowed. He flipped to another page, cleared his throat, and recited another.
‘My rail is still when I tread the ground,
Or abide in the river-town, or drift in the wade.
Betimes my habit lifts me high, over
Hero-bight and heights of hurst,
And welkin-strength beareth me far
Over dwellings of folk. My fair tokens
Sing loud and sonorate
With lovely tones—when I thole not
Floating or roosting, a faring-guest.’
‘Okay…’ Slavomíra ventured. ‘Something that flies. Clearly a bird.’
‘And a pretty one at that, if it has a “habit” and a “rail” that is deemed “fair”,’ Czenzi added.
‘Wait,’ Gorislava chimed in, considering carefully. ‘There’s more to it than that. He said “floating or roosting”, “abide in the river-town”, and “drift in the wade”. It’s a waterfowl… a waterfowl with a beautiful voice—
a swan!’
‘And one point for our
Kňažná of Podkarpatská!’ Bohodar opened a palm to Gorislava, who grinned. ‘I’d imagine you might get a fair few of those migrating by Maramoroš, yes? Nice. I’ll say these are too easy. Moving on, then…
I saw treading turf—ten were in all,
Six brothers, and their sisters with them;
Quick and having fere, their hides hung,
Tidily to be seen on the wall of the house,
Each and every one, nor was any the worse
Nor side the sorer, though thus they must,
Of clothing bereft, aroused by the watch
Of heaven’s Lord. With mouths they slice
The ashen blades. Their rail is renewed,
From there forthcoming, their tokens they leave
Lying forgotten as they tread the ground.’
‘Well, that’s a fright and a half,’ Ladina shuddered. ‘What sort of living creature leaves their
skin hanging on the wall of their house?’
‘But “nor was any the worse”, “nor side the sorer”. Whatever that meant, they didn’t seem to have come to any harm by it,’ observed Slavomíra sensibly. ‘And “though thus they must” and “aroused by the watch of heaven’s Lord” suggests that they do so
naturally, whatever they are.’
‘
Snakes and
lizards shed their skins without hurting themselves,’ Ladina bristled again, shuddering.
‘Ten siblings—six brothers,’ Slavomíra went on, thinking to herself. ‘I guess that leaves four sisters. I’m put in mind of a litter of newborn pups.’
‘They
lose their clothing, but then “their rail is renewed”…’ Czenzi considered. For a moment it look like she had some kind of epiphany, but she shook her head. She looked toward Gorislava, who shrugged blankly. The ladies were silent for a long moment.
‘… Give up?’ asked Bohodar with a wicked smirk.
‘Not for a moment,’ Czenzi glared at him. ‘Give us a little while. What about those “ashen blades” that they “slice” with their “mouths”? Slavomíra—I think you might be onto something with those newborn pups of yours. But pups are born blind and helpless. Whatever these are—they’re clearly not that.’
‘Okay, let’s think, then,’ Slavomíra suggested to Czenzi. ‘Whatever these are, they’re
not born helpless, but they
are born naked, or… without skin?’
‘Are we sure about that?’ asked Gorislava. ‘The riddle just said “of clothing bereft”. So now I’m thinking of birds again. Eggs hatching—couldn’t we say that that’s “bereaving” the newborns of “clothing”? And birds would have to
peck their way out of their eggshells, their “mouths” “slicing” “ashen blades”, don’t you see?’
Czenzi laughed. ‘Our Gorislava has birds on the brain today!’
‘She’s close, though,’ Bohodar muttered.
‘
You—shush,’ Czenzi smirked at her husband. ‘The riddle-master isn’t allowed to drop hints.’
‘
Chickens,’ Gorislava said suddenly. ‘Or rather—
chicks! Ten hatchlings in a nest. Their skin sticks to the eggshell when they peck their way through, but then their coat of down grows in and dries out!’
‘She got it,’ the
Kráľ tilted his head toward her, before adding bracingly for his wife’s benefit, ‘and with no help from me, I’ll add. Shall we go on?’
‘Please, let’s!’ said Slavomíra. Ladina, Czenzi and Gorislava all nodded their agreement.
Bohodar flipped to another page.
‘I saw a thing in the barrows of men
That feeds the fee, full of teeth.
Its neb is of note: it netherward goes.
It hauls into harbour and tugs toward home.
It elts along walls, it seeks for herbs.
All things it findeth—those not tied down.
It lets those fair things which are fast
Stand still in their woning-steads,
Bright and blithe, blooming and growing.’
‘Something that goes neb-down, is full of teeth, and drags up things along walls which aren’t “tied down”? Well, that’s a common garden rake,’ Slavomíra guessed at once.
‘Got it in one,’ Bohodar told the
kňažná.
They went on for some time longer in this wise, until the sun got low in the sky outside the window. True to his word, Bohodar kept himself to the front of the book, and skipped over the more ribald riddles which he found, for Ladina’s benefit. Actually, Bohodar took on a strong suspicion, to garner from the ancient old lady’s benevolently gleaming eye, that she actually solved a lot of these riddles in her mind long before any of the younger women did, but was letting her younger friends talk and reason their way toward them on their own—sometimes doing some gentle hinting and nudging of her own along the way. Czenzi noticed this too, and caught her husband’s eye appreciatively.
After Czenzi saw her guests off to their own rooms and dwellings in town, she turned to her husband and told him:
‘Thank you. It means a lot to me that you spend time together with me and my friends.’
‘And you seemed to be enjoying yourselves, more to the point.’
Czenzi turned to her husband and caught his hands in hers. She then drew her arms around him, pressed in against him and lifted up her face expectantly. Bohodar obliged her. Actually—even though they’d been husband and wife this long, he never ceased to be amazed at the sheer
skill of her kisses. A mouth as long as hers seemed to be built for it, but then she also knew
just how to use her tongue and her teeth to guide—stir—slow or speed as she liked—excite her younger lover to the slow simmer she wanted. By the time she broke away, Bohodar was left smouldering and longing for more.
Czenzi caught her husband’s gaze and held it a long time with her own yearning amber one. She lifted her shoulders in a wide, eloquent shrug, and Bohodar obediently unlaced her gown in the places she had thus indicated. Then she took him and swung him inside the door of their bedroom.
Their whole world condensed down to their bed—and further down, to their two shared bodies, as they went about the business of loving and pleasuring each other. Bohodar was familiar enough by now with his wife’s body to understand the way she preferred to be embraced. Here too Czenzi was a lover of tradition—with a twist: one leg below and between his; the other either lifting up over his shoulder or wrapped to the side around his waist. Thus entwined and partly mobile, Czenzi still had the advantage of being able to look into his eyes, reach up to his neck and reel him down for kisses if she felt like it… or simply lie back beneath him and enjoy the undulating motion of their hips rolling together. But now it was a little different, different in subtle ways. The tenderness that Bohodar was showing this time, reaching down and stroking her along one cheek, or teasing aside a strand or two of sable-black hair as his expression wordlessly conveyed the movements of his mind and his heart… were enough for Czenzi to feel
cherished, not merely
desired—
needed, not just
wanted. She reached up to touch him just as gently as he was doing to her.
One stroke of the finger behind his ear was enough to make his breath to catch—and her own heart to flutter in response, so intimately were they joined. A tremble. A groan. And then the
dénouement.
But they stayed linked in lairteam for who knows how long after… Bohodar rolling off to one side, holding her and touching her all the while. Like the unspoken solutions to the riddles they both knew, they needed no words between them to understand.
.png "Screenshot 2022-08-16 at 09-49-00 511e9cfb9a542.webp (WEBP Image 620 × 466 pixels).png"){kind=tracking}
