The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(166)
With another, final bow, the page hurried off. Reuben tugged on his immaculate, white surcoat, straightening it and showing off the crowned red lion on the front with all claws raised. As if by magic, his best irresistible smile appeared on his face. Pushing open the door, Reuben stepped into the hall.
Light and chatter greeted him. The light stayed, but the chatter subsided the minute people caught sight of his towering form. The herald beside the door pounded the floor with his staff and, in a voice that carried all across the room, called out, “Sir Reuben von Limburg! All hail the victor of the Royal Tournament!”
If anyone hadn’t been staring at him before now, they were now. Reuben felt the admiration of the crowd and drank it like nectar and ambrosia. This was it! This was why he had come to Palermo!
He was swept up by a crowd of people—particularly ladies—and questions rained on him from all sides. How old was he? Where had he learned to fight like that? Did he intend to stay for the melee?
The last one made Reuben want to laugh.
As if I’d ever miss that!
He was handed from group to group, being introduced to anyone and everyone who had not met him yet, climbing steadily up the social ladder of Palermo and moving ever closer to back of the great hall, where a raised dais with the Hohenstaufen coat of arms and the Imperial Eagle was just visible above the heads of the crowds.
Reuben enjoyed the attention very much, particularly the smiling ladies who batted their lashes at him and whispered secret suggestions into his ears. What he didn’t enjoy much, though, were the introductions. A typical case in point was his meeting with a fat little Palermo merchant halfway to the dais.
“Ah! The brave victor of the Joust!” The merchant clapped his fat little hands. “Marvelous, Sir! Marvelous! Forgive me, what was your name again, Sir? The herald called it out, but my hearing isn’t what is used to be.”
Reuben lowered his head—not a bow, just the hint of respect due to a man in high standing who still was a commoner. “I am Sir Reuben von Limburg, Son of Heinrich, Duke von Limburg, Count von Berg, and High Commander of the Imperial Crusade Forces. I am glad to make your acquaintance, Master Merchant.”
“Imperial Crusade Forces?” The jolly little man’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t mean the crusade where all the old ladies in Jerusalem showed their naked butts to—?”
“Yes,” Reuben ground out between teeth clenched in a smile that wasn’t quite sincere anymore. “That crusade.”
“Ye God! That must have been embarrassing, don’t you think?”
“I would imagine so.”
“But quite funny in a way, too, if you think about it.”
“Indeed?” Reuben asked, his face hurting from the smile he kept on it, cursing the fact that a knight couldn’t challenge a merchant to a duel to the death. He only hoped that the Emperor had better memories of his crusade than naked old ladies’ butts.
Soon enough, the opportunity was provided for Reuben to find out whether his hope was justified. A path opened in the crowd, and at the end of it, on the dais, he could see the diminutive man with red hair and beard who held the whole of Europe in awe.
“Your Imperial Majesty.” Striding forward, Reuben knelt at the feet of the Emperor, meeting those intense hawk-eyes head on. “I am at your service.”
“We are glad to hear that.” Pulling a bejeweled dagger from his belt, the Emperor speared a date from one of the plates arranged around him and lifted it to his mouth. “From what we saw earlier, your service should prove quite useful.”
“I fervently hope so, Your Majesty.”
“Sit.” Patting an empty seat beside him, the Emperor gave a slight smile. “And tell me of your father. He was well last time you saw him, I trust?”
He was throwing a fit and threatening to disinherit me.
“He, um, was most energetic, Your Majesty.”
“Does he ever speak of the old times?”
Well, he forgot to mention the old ladies’ derrières.
“Oh yes, Your Majesty. He might have forgotten a detail or two, but his memory of Your Majesty is as clear in his mind as if your adventures had only happened yesterday.”
The Emperor’s smile warmed. “I’m glad to hear it. Just as I am glad—more than glad—that he has a son he can be justly proud of. Page!” Gesturing, Friedrich called the boy who was attending him to his side. “Bring wine for us and Sir Reuben. We wish to hear more and to toast the victor of the joust!”
~~*~~*
A man entered the great hall of the Royal Palace of Palermo and threw a searching glance around. It was clear from his clothes that he stood on the upper rungs of the social ladder, and even if he had not been wearing a stitch, the dismissive way in which his gaze skimmed over those around him would have marked him as a nobleman.
“Lord Francesco d’Altavilla!” called out the herald beside him. “Baron of—“
“Yes, yes.” Lord d’Altavilla cut the man off with an impatient wave. “I know my title, as, I’m sure, does everyone in this room.”
“Yes, Milord.”
“The Emperor has arrived?”
“Indeed he has, Milord. And he asked me to inquire, Milord, if I may be so bold, whether the Lady Salvatrice is accompanying you.”
D’Altavilla’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”