The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [90]
Berimund smiled and said something in Hanzish. Muriele followed enough of it to know that he was repeating Alis’ remark.
The reaction was a sort of group smirk.
“Lukka?” One of the nobles said. “Nei, sa haliurunna.”
“No, no, enough of that,” Berimund said. “Enough about the war.”
That was interesting. What was a haliurunna? Berimund seemed to have thought it had been a mistake to bring it up.
She would bring it up again when they were all a bit drunker, she thought.
Fish was next: a huge pike stuffed with trout sausage, salmon with grapes and leeks in pastry shaped like a halibut, cold roasted eel in a green sauce, bream in violet sauce.
And the toasts went on, and the mead flowed. Muriele sipped her drink.
By the time the fowl course arrived, the singing had started. A largish fellow who had been introduced as a landrauhtin began it. Berimund tried to wave him down, but the prince was pretty drunk by then, and with a sheepish, apologetic grin at Muriele, he joined in. She didn’t know the song, but Sir Neil stiffened.
“What is it?” she asked. “Do you know this song?”
He nodded. “It’s a naval song about a great victory at sea. They’re celebrating.”
She shrugged. “That’s hardly a surprise.”
“But in front of you? And even without that, this isn’t proper behavior in the presence of a queen.”
She covered his hand with her own. “Most of William’s dinners ended up like this, especially when he had his best men around. I think it’s no different in Liery.”
“I never dined with a queen in Liery,” Neil admitted. “Still, I don’t like it.”
“Keep calm.” Everyone in the room but Neil, Alis, and Muriele was singing loudly now, including the women.
She leaned close. “What’s a haliurunna, Sir Neil?”
“It’s a sort of shinecrafter, one who can see the future. They say Hansa breeds them.”
“Do you believe it?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “That’s how they met our ships at sea. They’ve done it before.”
That’s it, Muriele thought. That must be it.
“We need Berimund’s goodwill, Sir Neil. I’ll tell you why later.”
The song broke off, and somebody tried to start another one, but the prince shouted him down.
“We’re being rude to our guests,” he said.
Muriele came to her feet, mug in hand. “Forgive my pronunciation,” she said. She took a deep breath and sang:
“Wha gaf sa ansu gadrauhta fruma?”
They stared at her for an instant, then exploded out with, “Sein mahteig arm ya sein hauh-thutsitha!”
Mead sloshed from tankards.
She knew only the first three questions in Hanzish, but after that they got going again, and it didn’t matter.
Berimund made no effort to restrain them, and they drank until they either passed out or went stumbling away to wherever they were quartered.
Berimund himself, impressively, managed to stand up.
“I bid shou guh night, Majesty,” he said, his words slow. “You are good, ah, good—I hope you weren’t insulted.”
“Not at all. In fact, it made me a bit nostalgic.”
“Goth. Min shervants will show you home.”
“I wonder, Prince, if I could ask a favor.”
“Name it, Mashesty.”
“I wonder if you would take me hunting tomorrow.”
His eyes widened. “With my father?” Then he laughed. “Jah. That will be fun.”
Then he bowed and staggered out of the hall. A serving girl led them back to their rooms.
“Well, that was jolly,” Alis observed once they were alone. “How did you know a Hansan drinking song?”
“William used to sing it—sort of. It’s question and answer. The first question is ‘What did the saint give the first Hansan Warrior?’ I think the real answer was ‘The strength of his arm and courage,’ or something like that. William sang, ‘His sister to fondle and kiss.’ And so on.”
“Resourceful,” Alis said. “Shall I help Her Majesty with her gown?”
“Please.”
Alis stepped very close and began working at the fastenings in the back.
“I heard Sir Neil,” she said. “I think I see why we’re here.”
“Why didn’t Anne just tell us?” Muriele wondered.
“Maybe she didn’t know. Or maybe the sorcerer would have seen that.”
“Find out what you can while I’m away