by Iny Lorentz
The two armored knights and the servants entered the gorge without hesitation, while the more lightly armored man held back his horse, carefully eyeing his surroundings. Vyszo quickly signed to his men to crouch down lower, but the horseman saw the movement and let out a sharp warning cry.
Vyszo raced down into the gorge, raising his war hammer and attacking the first knight, who fell to the ground and stayed there lifelessly. Leaving him, the Czech rushed to the aid of his men. One of his comrades was already lying on the ground, and a second one was sinking to his knees, covered in blood, struck by a ferocious German who was now forcing another Hussite against the wall of the gorge with his horse, his back turned on Vyszo. The Czech leader saw his chance, shot forward, and raised his mace.
At the same time, he noticed one of the other knights watching his attack and prepared to fend off this opponent. The man turned around, however, and, with a perverse grin, ran his sword through the back of one of Vyszo’s friends. The Hussite gritted his teeth, jumped up, and struck at his first opponent with all his might. He only hit the man’s thigh, however, causing him to double up in the saddle. As Vyszo pulled his weapon free from the German’s leg guard, blood seeping through the metal plates, the pointed head of the weapon broke off. Vyszo snarled angrily and brought his weapon down hard on the horseman’s helmet. The man soundlessly fell out of the saddle and was dragged away by his bolting horse. Looking around, Vyszo saw that only two of his comrades were still standing, and he shouted at them to follow him into the forest, noting with relief that the Germans stayed behind, probably because their own losses were too high.
Falko von Hettenheim had been the first thrown off his horse, but he had sustained only a few scratches, whereas Gunter von Losen and two servants were more seriously injured. While the servants examined their comrades for signs of life and Losen angrily decapitated the injured and dead Bohemians, Falko walked over to Michel, who was tangled up in a bush. The wound on Michel’s thigh was bleeding, and a steady stream of red ran out from under his helmet. But to Falko’s surprise, he moved his fingers and gave a long, low moan.
Falko clenched his fists. “The fellow is tougher than I thought. More’s the pity.”
Turning away, his mouth twisted into a sneer, he addressed Losen. “We’d better get out of here right away. Where there’s one Hussite, more are bound to turn up soon.”
“Shall we just leave our dead lying here like this?” one of the servants asked indignantly.
“Do you want to stay here and wait for a Bohemian heretic to bash in your head? Come on, catch any horse and hop in the saddle. We have to return to camp as fast as we can!”
Falko von Hettenheim waited for the servants to go before mounting his horse. Riding past Michel, he looked down and spat. “Enjoy your knighthood, innkeeper’s brat! Soon the wolves and bears will be fighting over your dead body.” Suddenly, Michel opened his eyes and stared distantly at Falko. The knight raised his sword to finish him off, but then lowered it again with an evil laugh.
Gunter von Losen turned and rode to Falko’s side. “What’s with the innkeeper’s bastard?”
“He’s still alive! We’ll leave him here for the Bohemians. I’m sure they’ll come back and send him to hell.” Falko made no effort to hide his satisfaction, and Losen laughed maliciously.
“That’s what he gets for refusing me the cup of wine. If he’d acted differently, I’d take him back to camp.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” Falko wheeled his horse around and waved for Losen to follow. An hour later, he was reporting to Heribald von Seibelstorff that they had been attacked by a large group of Bohemians, only managing to escape at the last moment. “An army of heretics is right behind us. We have to withdraw immediately before their horsemen catch up with us.”
The blood on Falko’s armor seemed to support his statement, and Heribald von Seibelstorff nodded grimly, giving the order to prepare for departure. Those who couldn’t sit up in a saddle were laid on their horses’ backs, and the men beat a hasty retreat.
10.
When the three Czechs realized they weren’t being followed, they paused and leaned against the trees, breathing heavily. Vyszo looked back at the spot where five of his comrades had died, and he clenched his teeth to stop himself from screaming with rage.
“What should we do now?” one of his men asked.
“We’ll continue as planned. We’ll follow the Germans and leave signs for our people so they know where to go, and then . . .” He made a gesture as if cutting his throat and ordered one of his men to keep an eye on the enemy’s camp. To his surprise, the man returned only a short while later. “The Germans have already left the village and are retreating as if pursued by the devil.”
Raising his hands heavenward, Vyszo accepted this unexpected gift without question. “Come on men. Let’s follow them. But first we’ll check if any of our fallen comrades are still alive.”
When the Czechs reached the place of the attack, they furiously stared at their friends’ headless bodies and noticed that the Germans had left their own dead lying there, too, as if fleeing in a panic. While his companions were plundering the servants’ bodies, Vyszo walked over to the armored man who had noticed their trap, noticing with satisfaction the blood pooling under his body. The man’s mail shirt was undamaged. With his friends’ help, he removed it, wiped it clean with some grass, put it on, and walked back and forth a few paces, rolling his shoulders and nodding in approval.
One of his comrades pointed to the motionless figures scattered across the road. “What should we do with the dead? If we bury them, the Germans will get away.”
“Our people will take care of them when they come past. Throw the Germans into the river over there.” Vyszo pointed to the other side of the gorge, where rushing water followed the path for a while before disappearing into the dark depths of the forest. Thinking that Michel’s clothes also looked useful, he undressed the knight completely, dragged him to the riverbank, and threw him into the water. Briefly watching as the current took hold of the man and carried him away, Vyszo then turned and ordered the other two to hurry. The war wasn’t over yet, and each battle they won brought them a little closer to their liberation from the German yoke.
PART TWO
THE WIDOW
1.
Marie was woken by her screams. Trembling, she sat up, pressing her hands on her wildly beating heart and gasping for breath as if she’d just run up every staircase in the castle. She’d dreamed of Michel again, and the images were still dancing in front of her eyes, taunting her. This time, too, he’d been close enough to touch. The knights who accompanied him had mocked and ridiculed him before leaving him to fight a crowd of demons on his own, under whose bodies he was eventually buried. This nightmare had been even worse than previous ones, because she’d watched Michel, covered in blood, falling into a river that was already dyed red. In vain she’d reached out her hand to rescue him, but the waves carried him into a raging whirlpool, dragging him into the depths.
A strong kick from her unborn child reminded her that her thoughts should not only be about Michel and the past, but also about the future. She stroked her stomach softly and made a quick calculation. Michel had left in March, and it was now the beginning of November, so her child would be born in one and a half months at the latest. Until then she had to continue to be careful and do everything she could to protect herself and the unborn baby.
Marie rose and filled her cup with cold tea from the jug standing on the bedside table, inwardly thanking Hiltrud for collecting and mixing herbs that were supposed to be good for pregnant women. Over the summer, Marie had spent more time on the goat farm than at Sobernburg Castle, which seemed gloomier and more depressing every day that Michel was away. She dreaded having to spend winter behind these cold walls with the unsympathetic Marga, but since she couldn’t ride Bunny anymore and the carriage rattled her bones, the trip to
the goat farm had become too difficult. Hiltrud now made the long trip to the castle herself almost every day, and though Marie was glad for her friend’s visits, she would have preferred to be spoiled by Hiltrud at the homey goat farm.
“To hell with Marga and to hell with this castle!” Marie swore. She wanted to ask the count palatine to appoint a deputy for Michel so she could move to the goat farm. But that would have disappointed Michel. For more than ten years they had managed Rheinsobern together, and she knew her husband was relying on her and presumed she would do her duty.
If he’s still alive, she thought, a shiver running down her spine. She lay back down, breathing deeply to relax, and wondered yet again why she hadn’t received a single message from Michel. She’d written to Nuremberg twice already, because she had heard that the imperial troops assembled there before each new attack on the Bohemians. In the first letter she had told him about the pregnancy, and at the end of summer she had assured him that she and the unborn child were well. But he had neither replied nor sent his greetings through the count palatine. The only news she heard from Bohemia was from merchants and wandering minstrels, and it wasn’t good. Apparently, the kaiser wasn’t having any better luck in defeating the Hussite rebels nor in defending neighboring countries.
Marie’s thoughts turned back to Michel, her worries and fears rising up inside her. She tried to push them aside and go back to sleep but only tossed and turned, fighting tears. The hours crept by slowly until a faint glow in the east announced the new day and she could get out of bed.
Shortly after the ringing of the ten o’clock bell, a herald of the count palatine raced through the gate and stopped his panting horse outside the great hall.
“I have a message for the mistress!” he called out to Marga, who was looking out the door curiously.
“Oh, that,” the housekeeper replied with a shrug.
Opening his sheepskin coat, the herald laughed cheerfully.
“Sir Michel Adler was made a knight of the Reich by the kaiser for his courage in battle. If that isn’t a reason to celebrate and give the messenger a cup of good wine, then I don’t know what is.”
“You’ll get your cup of wine and more.” Appearing at the main door, Marie held out her hand for the officially sealed letter and tore it open. She was so nervous, she could hardly read the document, but the messenger was right. Her Michel had been elevated to the rank of a free knight, which made him equal to Mechthild von Arnstein’s husband, Dietmar.
“Lead the messenger to the kitchen, Marga, and give him wine and a decent meal. But first call Kunz to take care of the horse. I don’t want man or beast wanting for anything,” she instructed her housekeeper. The woman nodded sullenly and harshly ordered the man to follow her.
Marie disregarded Marga’s bad mood and pressed the message against her glowing cheeks. She wanted to sing and dance at this sign that he was alive, and she regretted not being able to ride to Hiltrud to share this joy.
All of a sudden she turned and followed the servant taking the messenger’s horse to the stable. “Kunz, hitch the little carriage. I’m going to the goat farm.”
The haggard servant cast a wary eye at the overcast sky. “I wouldn’t take the open carriage, mistress. It’s mild for November, but it’s going to rain.”
Marie laughed. “We’ll be there in less than half an hour, and you can give me the furs from the sled for the cold and get a tarred sheet to protect us from the rain.”
Grumbling, the servant nodded, handed the horse to one of the stable boys, and walked to the carriage shed to get the cart and push it out into the courtyard. He had thought less of his mistress than of himself with his warning. He’d be exposed to the weather far more than she, but when his mistress set her mind to something, there was nothing he could do but obey. Morosely he got to work, dawdling so much that the first raindrops were falling even before they’d left.
Marie let Ischi wrap her up in the carriage until only the tip of her nose was sticking out. “Come on, Kunz. Hurry up!” the maid told the servant. He put on his old hat and threw a felt shawl around his shoulders. Still annoyed he’d had to leave the warmth of the stables, he vented his anger on the horse, making the carriage bounce across potholes like a leather ball. Marie had to hang on with both hands, but because she was so excited, she didn’t say anything, enjoying the fast ride despite the jolting and bumping. When they reached the goat farm, Mariele helped her out of her coat, and Marie waited until Hiltrud had served Kunz a generous snack and a jug of wine. The older man’s mood brightened visibly at the sight of a rosy ham and sausages.
When her friend pulled her into the living room where they could sit and talk comfortably on a cushioned bench, her voice failed her at first. Hiltrud stroked her hair. “Calm down, my dear! Think of your baby. What news do you have that brings you here in such a state?”
“I received a message from Michel, or rather, about him. He was brave in battle and has been made a knight of the Reich by the kaiser.” Marie could barely sit still with excitement and handed her the document. “Here, read! A messenger from the count palatine brought this today.”
Hiltrud had learned enough letters with Marie’s help to understand most of the message. Sighing, she gazed at her friend with mixed emotions. “Congratulations, Marie. That really is great news for you. I’m only sorry that we’ll have to say good-bye soon.”
Marie shook her head. “But why? I don’t understand . . .”
“Look here! It says the kaiser will invest Michel with an imperial fiefdom, so you’ll move to wherever the kaiser orders.”
Skimming the passage to which Hiltrud was pointing, Marie exhaled deeply. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.” Her happiness disappeared, and she almost wished she’d never received the letter. She would have preferred a brief message written in Michel’s own hand and the assurance that he was well.
Hiltrud deciphered the rest of the text as best she could and wrinkled her nose. “It says here that he was made a knight back in June. They really took their time to tell you.”
Marie snatched the letter from her friend. Hiltrud was right. Michel had been knighted half a year before. That meant the message was only half as precious, because the campaigns against the Bohemians had continued well into the fall, and he could have been injured or even killed in any of them. She couldn’t help but think of her dream, the images still fresh in her mind, and she shivered.
Hiltrud jumped to her feet. “You shouldn’t have taken the open carriage in this weather. I’ll make a brew to warm you up.” Going into the pantry, she broke off a few stalks of herbs from the bunches hanging there and threw them into a pot. In the kitchen, she ladled hot water from the copper kettle standing on the brick stove and brought the potion back to the living room, which immediately filled with a pleasantly fresh aroma.
While the tea was steeping, an oppressive silence descended on the room, and Hiltrud knew that Marie was losing herself in gloomy thoughts. Pouring a cup of tea sweetened with a large chunk of honey, Hiltrud handed it to her friend. “Here, drink this and forget your worries. If Michel has made it to knight of the Reich, he doesn’t have to be afraid of a few Hussites.”
Hiltrud took care of Marie like a mother, and, not wanting to appear ungrateful, Marie forced a smile. “You’re right. We should be happy about the message. Who knows, maybe Michel is already on his way home, because the kaiser certainly won’t be going to war in the winter.”
Marie brightened at this thought, and two cups of refreshing tea later, when Marie was in her carriage on the way back to town, neither the cold wind blowing down from the mountains nor the pouring rain troubled her.
2.
Two weeks later, winter had arrived. The countryside around Rheinsobern was only covered in hoarfrost, but the tops of the Black Forest and the Vosges peeking through the fog and heavy gray clouds were already covered in a thick layer of snow
. Hoping every day for Michel’s return, Marie sat in a window overlooking the courtyard as often as her duties permitted.
One particularly stormy morning, she shuddered to think of Michel riding through the sleet or even the snow in the mountains. Pulling the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, she focused on her needlepoint, a pillowcase for her unborn child. With delicate stitches she embroidered leaves around flowers, dreamily thinking how surprised and happy Michel would be to find her so far along in her pregnancy. Now that he was a knight, he’d be especially happy to have a son. But a daughter also could marry another noble knight and leave the imperial fiefdom to her children, as was stated in the certificate of appointment.
Lost in her dreams of a happy future with Michel, Marie didn’t immediately notice the three oxen-drawn carts rolling through the castle gate, only lifting her head when she heard the iron bands of the wheels on the cobblestones in the yard. At first she thought it was Michel, but her hope vanished at the sight of the decrepit wagons and gaunt animals. Six mounted men accompanied the procession, their thick coats as wet as the wagon covers, while the four men and three women walking alongside the carts wore only simple shawls of woven straw to protect them from the rain and cold. Marie was surprised at this large number of unannounced guests and wondered who these people might be. When the carts had come to a halt, the cover of the first wagon was pulled back, and a large woman wearing a noble lady’s headdress and clothing looked around curiously. Next to her, a more plainly dressed woman and a number of children of various ages climbed down from the wagon. To Marie’s relief, the two other vehicles didn’t appear to contain anyone other than the drivers.
