by Iny Lorentz
Along the wall between the cart and his bed were one small and one large bed of leaves covered with old, almost hairless sheepskins and rags. A few steps away on the other side of the cave, a small fire was burning underneath a kettle hanging on some green branches, and a skinny, middle-aged woman was putting another log on the fire. She was wearing a simple woolen dress that had seen better days, and a jacket that must have once belonged to a much larger person. Turning around, she smiled at him uncertainly.
“Praise God! You’re finally awake. We were afraid you were drifting into eternal sleep.” She was speaking German, but with a strange accent, as if she had learned the language later in life.
Uneasily, Michel shrugged his shoulders. “Have I been sleeping for that long? What happened to me?”
“You were seriously injured and almost drowned in the river before washing up on a sandbank. Reimo found you just in time. Initially, he wanted to leave you there because he thought you were a Hussite, but then you called out in German, so he dragged you here out of pity for a fellow countryman.”
“Where is ‘here’?”
“This is our hideout, where we’ve lived for the past three years. But we’ll soon have to leave, since the same day he found you, Reimo also found tracks of Hussite patrols.”
“Who is Reimo, and what are Hussites?” Michel couldn’t remember anything.
The woman shook her head in amazement. “You can’t know Reimo, because he saw you for the first time down by the river. But you should know who the Hussites are, because judging by your injuries, you were fighting them.”
“I was? But why can’t I remember it? I don’t know what I did . . . or who I am. Oh my God! I’m . . . no one!” The panic in his voice intensified his headache until it was unbearable.
“But you must have a name! My name is Zdenka, and I’m Reimo’s wife.”
“What sort of name is Zdenka?” Michel wondered why her name sounded strange to him, while her husband’s name sounded familiar.
“I’m Czech and my husband is German—and that’s our trouble,” Zdenka explained. “At the beginning of the uprising against King Sigismund, my people left Reimo in peace for my sake, but later on, when the struggle became about freeing the Czechs from the German yoke, we had to flee our village. Good friends secretly brought us our horse and cart, some seeds, and two goats, and they warned us against returning. We’ve been living in the forest ever since, constantly afraid of being discovered and killed by the terrible Taborites.”
“Who are they?”
“The worst among the Hussites. They slay anyone who isn’t Czech or doesn’t take up their cause. They’ve even killed noblemen who joined the uprising but didn’t agree with their leaders on other matters.”
“How can you know all this when you’ve been hiding in the forest?”
“Reimo occasionally meets with a cousin of mine to barter herbs, resin, and mushrooms I collect and to find out what is going on. But tell me your story. You must remember something about yourself!”
Michel spread his arms with a helpless smile. “My mind is completely empty. It’s terrible, but I don’t even know my social standing or where I’m from.”
“That’s awful!” Zdenka scratched her head and looked at him in disbelief. “But what about Marie?”
The name didn’t jog any memories for Michel. “Who is that supposed to be?”
“When you were hot with fever, you called out her name and swore never to forget her.”
“Marie . . . Marie . . . I like the name, but I can’t remember anyone called that.”
“Maybe you’ll recollect in time. For now, though, we need to address you somehow.” She bit her lip and looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ve been calling you Nemec, which is the word for a German in my mother tongue. But that’s not a proper name.”
“Honestly, the concept of Germans or Czechs means nothing to me. But as you say, since the Czechs aren’t exactly my friends, it would be better for you to give me a German name . . .”
Their conversation was interrupted by a noise at the entrance. Pushing aside some of the branches hiding the entrance to the cave, a boy slipped in, followed by a stocky man around forty years old with ash-blond hair and wearing a dirty brown shirt that had been patched up many times, and pants of the same color. The man, whom Michel assumed to be Reimo, must have been out hunting, because he was holding a partridge and two hares inside some snares. The boy, about ten years old, had his father’s pale hair and his mother’s dark eyes.
“Our Nemec has finally woken up!” Zdenka said to them excitedly. “But just imagine, he can’t remember anything, not even his Marie whom he called for so many times.”
Pulling the branches back over the entrance, Reimo slowly turned to Michel, while the boy ran to his mother, snuggling up to her shyly.
“This is our Karel,” said Zdenka, introducing the boy with obvious pride.
“A wonderful lad.” Michel smiled and nodded at the boy, then looked at Reimo, who was thoughtfully scrutinizing him.
The man shook his head in amazement. “I’ve heard of people losing their memory, but I always thought that was old wives’ tales.”
“Unfortunately, it’s true. I don’t know anything about my past—it’s as if I’ve never existed. But Reimo, I thank you! It was very noble of you to bring me to your hideout. And I thank you, too, Zdenka. You two saved my life and cared for me even though you couldn’t know whether I’d become a burden. Not everyone would have done the same.”
Reimo handed the hares and the partridge to his wife, who immediately started to skin and gut them. “Of course I asked myself whether I was doing the right thing. But I assumed you wouldn’t pose any danger to us with your injuries, and I hoped you could tell us what Sigismund is doing to win back his kingdom and protect loyal subjects like us from the Czech murderers.”
Zdenka flared up. “Not every Czech is bad, and there are plenty of murderers among the Germans as well. Remember the village near where you found Nemec.”
Reimo lowered his head. “I’ll never forget that. When I saw what Sigismund’s troops had done there, for the first time in my life I was ashamed to be German.”
“But why then did you save me? You must have assumed I was one of those murderers, too.”
“I had already found you and carried you some distance into the forest before I sneaked into the village, and at first I really did feel like leaving you there for the wolves. But I hoped you could tell us about the situation in the Reich and why the Germans were acting so badly, plus I didn’t want all that effort I’d taken to save you to be for naught. Now I can only hope you’ll find your memory again soon. In your delirium, you talked not only about your beautiful Marie, but you also threatened to break someone named Falko’s neck the next time you saw him.”
This name meant as little to Michel as the name Marie. While Michel examined his painful head, rubbing his temples as if to bring back his memory, Reimo helped his wife prepare the game. “Tonight we’ll have roast hare. We used to drink beer with it, as my Zdenka knows how to brew a beer that warms your heart, but unfortunately we only have water left.”
Reimo sighed and pointed at Michel’s left thigh. “That injury will probably bother you for a long time. The spike of a war hammer was lodged inside, and we struggled to pull it out. You’ve also got a wound on your head as large as my hand, and you can consider yourself lucky your skull seems intact. You must have been wearing a good helmet, because otherwise your head would have been shattered.”
Michel laughed discordantly. “I’d like to know who tried to part my hair in such a rough manner, since I could be sitting in a tavern having a drink with the fellow without knowing that he was after my blood.”
“That would be disastrous, because he might be tempted to stick a knife in your back to finish the job. Do you want to try to stand up? I’ve made you a c
rutch to get around.” Reimo lit a primitive torch from the fire and walked to another part of the cave, returning with a solid stick that ended in a fork padded with moss and bast fiber.
Trying to get to his feet, Michel sank back down with a cry of pain. Reimo ran to his side and gently helped him stand up and support himself on his crutch. Michel attempted to walk a few steps, but he kept weakly stumbling over his own feet, and Karel helped lead him back to his bed. Reimo took a simple stool, sat down by Michel, and went to work repairing a few household items while talking to him. When Michel mentioned his surprise at how much he and Zdenka knew about what was happening in Bohemia, a smile flashed across his face.
“It’s thanks to my wife’s cousin, who occasionally travels the country as a peddler and brings us things we urgently need. I was just coming back from a meeting with him when I found you, and, without his warning, I would have either fallen into the hands of the Hussites or been mistaken for a rebel and killed by the German soldiers.”
“I thank God that nothing happened to you,” Michel replied seriously. He liked the burly man with his trimmed beard and light blue eyes. He also liked Zdenka, who was around thirty-five years old and attractive despite traces of fear still showing on her face. When Michel looked at Karel, he felt a longing to hold a child of his own, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether there was a boy somewhere awaiting his return.
Reimo interrupted his thoughts. “What should we call you? I don’t want to say Nemec anymore, because that’s a swear word these days.”
“On what day did you find me?” Michel asked.
“On the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi.”
“Then call me Franz for now. It’s as good a name as any.” Taking a deep breath, Michel gazed down at his idle hands. “Reimo, even if I’m injured, I can do something to help. If you’ve got a job for me, I can do it sitting down . . .”
Zdenka looked up and gave him an admonishing glance. “You’re too ill for that, Nem . . . er, Franz.”
“Yes, we could use another pair of hands since we have to leave the cave and reach a safe place before snow makes the roads impassable. Even the wolves will soon freeze in the forest with the icy wind already blowing from the east.” Reimo rummaged around in the back of the cave and returned with a damaged basket. “I’ll show you how to fix it. Karel will bring you the withies you need.”
The boy eagerly jumped up and slipped out of the cave while Michel examined the wickerwork and listened to Reimo’s instructions. A short time later, he had to admit that he wasn’t a natural at basket weaving. Reimo helped him patiently, but when the basket was finished, it was misshapen and crooked.
Apologetically, Michel smiled. “That’s the best I could do. I’m afraid weaving baskets apparently wasn’t my trade—if I’ve ever learned one, that is.”
“No one is born a master,” Reimo consoled him with a laugh. “I couldn’t have done much better. The main thing is we can use this old basket again.”
5.
Michel soon realized that his hosts were glad to have found someone with whom to share their loneliness. After two days, the boy already regarded him like an older brother, showing him his collection of odd-shaped stones and various other forest treasures and letting Michel fix his leather ball filled with oat bran. Zdenka praised Michel at his ease with children, convinced he had some of his own. Michel liked the thought, but he couldn’t remember any children’s faces. He quickly learned to move around the cave on his crutch, helping his rescuers as best he could and spending hours talking about what they knew of the world.
Apparently, the German knights were no longer able to penetrate the Hussite heartland but had to retreat in order to defend the borderlands of Austria, Bavaria, Franconia, and Saxony. Meanwhile, the Taborite patrols undertook quick, targeted attacks that their slow and heavy opponents rarely managed to fend off, threatened castles and towns in the area that had remained faithful to the kaiser, and searched out refugees like Reimo and Zdenka to eliminate any possibility of resistance. Their cousin believed the cave was too close to their village to be safe, because people working with the rebels knew of it, too. When Michel asked Reimo where he thought they could find secure shelter, the man shrugged his shoulders.
“If I knew that, we would have gone a long time ago. I’d really like to leave Bohemia and settle down far away among the Germans. But I’m worried that Zdenka wouldn’t be accepted, and the risk seemed too great that we’d run into soldiers or marauders on the journey west who might kill us because one of us doesn’t belong to their side. The only option I can see is to make it to Falkenhain Castle. They say Count Václav Sokolny is still loyal to the kaiser, and his castle has never been conquered.”
“Every castle can proudly make that claim until the day the enemy takes over.” Michel was immediately annoyed at his thoughtless words, because he didn’t want to rob Reimo and Zdenka of their courage and hope.
Reimo helplessly raised his hands. “At Falkenhain, we’d be safer than here. We might have left already, but we wanted to wait until you were strong enough to travel in this cold.”
Since Michel assured him he was feeling better, they began preparing for departure. That same day, Zdenka gathered scraps of blankets and rabbit furs to make clothes for Michel to protect him from the icy wind, and Reimo organized their cart and provisions. By the evening of the second day, most of their things were loaded onto the cart, Michel’s equipment was almost ready, and they were discussing over dinner whether to leave on the following afternoon or the morning after that. Suddenly they heard twigs breaking outside.
Reimo put down his bowl and reached for the ax. “I hope it isn’t a bear looking for a place for the winter.”
Just then, they heard voices and the cover was torn aside. Three armed men appeared in the entrance, contemptuously surveying the small group in the cave. A fourth man slipped past them and stood next to the horse, trembling. Underneath their sheepskin capes, all four of them wore tattered linen pants and oft-mended shirts, and on their feet were wooden shoes padded with grass. The leader of the intruders, a square-built man of medium height with a sooty face, muscular arms, and large scarred hands, laughed and said something in Czech that made Reimo and Zdenka shout in terror.
“What does he want?” Michel asked.
All the blood had drained from Zdenka’s face. “This is Bolko, our village blacksmith. They want to kill you, Reimo, and Karel, on the spot, but before they kill me, they want to . . .” Her voice was choked with tears.
Reimo exhaled sharply and ran toward Bolko, swinging the ax above his head. The two other men leaped forward, grabbed him, and threw him to the ground. Despite his thrashing and struggling, they tied him up, and Bolko put down his morning star and placed a blade against Reimo’s throat. “This is for stealing the girl I wanted to marry,” he said with a grin.
Zdenka screamed, momentarily distracting the men. Even though he still couldn’t put much weight on his injured leg, Michel used that opportunity to pull himself up with his crutch and limp toward the smith as fast as he could, while the man casually reached for his weapon. Before Bolko could lift his morning star, however, Michel rammed the end of his crutch into the smith’s belly with great force. Opening his mouth in a soundless bellow, Bolko sank to his knees. In one smooth movement, Michel took the morning star from his hand and smashed in his skull.
The smith was dead before the other intruders realized what was happening, but when his body hit the ground, two of the other men sprang into action. Shouting angrily, they raised their weapons and ran toward Michel. Even though Reimo was tied up, he managed to trip the first attacker; Michel saw him fall, swung at him, and killed him, too, while knocking the other man off his feet with his crutch and then breaking his neck with one heavy blow.
As Michel limped toward him, the fourth man fell to his knees, wringing his hands and showering him with a stream of unfamiliar w
ords. Since Michel couldn’t understand him, he raised his weapon.
Zdenka grabbed Michel by the arm. “Not him! It’s my cousin Vúlko. He says the three scoundrels forced him to lead them here.”
“I swear by God and all the saints!” Vúlko shouted in broken German.
Undecided, Michel lowered the morning star only when Reimo joined his wife in her plea. He suddenly realized that the pain in his thigh was unbearable, as if a glowing dagger were stabbing into his flesh and ripping the muscle apart. Feeling faint and starting to tremble, he had to lean against the wall despite his crutch.
He watched helplessly as Karel untied his father, who then turned to Michel, staring at him in disbelief. “I . . . I can’t believe what I just saw. Despite your smashed leg, you struck down three fit, strong men as if they were toothless dogs who dared attack a fully grown bear.”
Zdenka knelt down beside Michel, pressing her forehead against his hand and kissing both his hands. “Rarely has a good deed been rewarded more quickly and generously than you have today. If Reimo hadn’t saved you, we would have died a terrible death.” Her husband followed suit and then clasped Zdenka tightly to his chest.
Karel cautiously moved close to Michel and looked at him with shining eyes. “May I help you back to your bed? You must be exhausted.”
Barely hearing the words of thanks, Michel couldn’t take his eyes off the dead bodies, wondering what just happened. He had acted intuitively as if driven from within, killing the intruders with ease. He now had to assume he was really just like those men who attacked innocent people in their villages. Repelled by the thought, he was at least glad he had been able to spare the people who had saved his life from a horrible fate.
Pulling his hands away from his rescuers, he limped to the mouth of the cave. Outside, frost was shimmering in the light of the setting sun on the ridges of the wooded hills, and treetops swayed in the wind. The air was clear and uncomfortably cold, suggesting late fall or even winter, because it smelled of approaching snow. He began to worry that Reimo had delayed their departure for too long. If they were unlucky, they might not be able to leave the cave the next day, or they might encounter heavy snow while they were traveling. He confided his fears in Reimo when he returned to the fire, chiding him for showing too much consideration for his injuries.
