The Lady of the Castle (The Marie Series Book 2)

by Iny Lorentz

  8.

  The snow had been a long time coming, but flakes were finally falling, more thickly than anyone could remember. The skinny little horse was barely managing to pull the cart through the waist-deep snow even though Reimo and Vúlko were clearing a path before it. For the first few days, Michel, Zdenka, and Karel had been able to sit in the cart, but now they stomped along behind it, tired and disgruntled, Michel struggling to keep up with his crutch. Indeed, Michel had to watch helplessly when the cart got stuck and the other men pushed the cart free; his injured leg had almost healed, but he still couldn’t use it because the icy weather and the strain of the journey were making the wound fester again.

  When Zdenka heard the howling of a pack of wolves not far from them, she struggled through the snow to her husband and clung to his side. “Reimo, we have to leave the cart behind, or we’ll never make it to Falkenhain alive.”

  They had already been attacked by wolves three times, but the men had managed to fend off the animals, Michael killing two of the wolves and Reimo the third. Now, three wolf skins clattered in the wind on the side of the wagon, frozen stiff, but both men knew that the next wolf attack could be the last.

  Since her husband didn’t immediately answer, Zdenka pulled on his sleeve. “Didn’t you hear me, Reimo? We have to leave the cart behind.”

  Reimo shook his head vigorously. “We’re beggars if we abandon the cart. It carries all of our possessions.” But he, too, knew that unless Falkenhain was around the next corner, they would have no other choice.

  Michel followed Zdenka’s footsteps in the snow and joined the three others. “Do you think we’re still heading the right way?”

  Vúlko nodded. Though he longed for his wife and children, he had to accept that it was better for his family if he was considered missing rather than if he returned home without the others, so he had joined their group. He was the only one of them to have traveled to Falkenhain before—in peaceful times—and his presence was turning out to be a blessing. He pointed to the left. “The clouds are low, but I’m sure that ridge over there is the northern spur of the Lom, where Falkenhain lies. We should reach the castle before nightfall.”

  Staring doubtfully into the gray sky, Reimo was unable to distinguish any contours. “Let’s hope so; otherwise we’ll end up as a feast for the wolves after all.”

  Michel squinted and peered ahead. The snow had let up, and he believed he saw a distant outline that might be a castle. He pointed it out to the others, and Vúlko shouted in joy. The discovery gave them all renewed strength, and even the horse seemed relieved to be nearing their destination, strongly pulling ahead so hard that they reached the castle gate two hours later, tired but happy. But their hopes of rescue were squashed when a grim and hostile reply answered their calls.

  “Go away, beggars! We’ve hardly got enough to eat for ourselves for the winter, not to mention for people like you.”

  “Please have mercy on us. We’re refugees who have lost everything,” Zdenka pleaded, gazing up at the tower room behind which they could just make out the gatekeeper’s shadow.

  “If you don’t help us, we’ll freeze to death,” Vúlko cried out.

  The gatekeeper remained unmoved. “I’d rather you freeze than we starve because of you.”

  Michel, who had remained silent until then, limped forward on his crutch and banged against the gate. “Open up, lad, or do you want me to flay you alive?” He had no idea where these bold words had come from. His companions stared at him in surprise, and even the gatekeeper was rendered momentarily speechless. Then he remembered that he was well protected behind a closed gate, and he laughed scornfully. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you. But I think you’ll have to flay a few wolves first.”

  The gatekeeper’s words gave Reimo an idea. He walked back to the cart, grabbing the frozen wolf skins and holding them up for the gatekeeper to see. “My friend has already done that. He is a mighty warrior who has killed these wolves as well as three Hussites who attacked us, even though he’s injured and had only his crutch for a weapon.”

  “He is a German,” Zdenka added quickly.

  The gatekeeper seemed to waver. “Are you a soldier of King Sigismund, then?”

  Michel helplessly raised his hands. “I don’t know. I’ve lost my memory due to a blow to the head.”

  “What nonsense,” the gatekeeper jeered, but then another, more authoritative-sounding voice entered the heated conversation.

  “Who are you, and where are you from?”

  Reimo instinctively lowered his head and replied. “I am Reimo the German. My family and I are from the village of Kyselka, and we had to flee from the Hussites.”

  “Only now, after all those years of Hussite rule? Do you seriously believe we’ll believe that?” The gatekeeper’s voice was caustic, but the new man admonished him.

  “Quiet, Huschke. Let the people speak.”

  “Thank you, noble lord.” Zdenka breathed a sigh of relief and explained that they had fled Kyselka several years prior and had been hiding in a cave ever since. “But our enemies discovered our hiding place, and if Frantischek hadn’t saved us from them, we’d all be dead.”

  The gatekeeper wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Frantischek—that’s a strange name for a German warrior.”

  “It’s not his real name, because he’s forgotten it.” While Reimo struggled to explain Franz’s name, the snowstorm set in again, and Karel began whimpering softly against the biting cold.

  They could hear a subdued yet passionate conversation in the tower. A short while later, the small group heard the sound of a large bolt being pushed aside. The gate swung open, sweeping away the snow in its path.

  Five men received them in the entryway, their torches flickering wildly in the wind and barely managing to penetrate the gloom. Dressed in rough but warm clothes, they had their swords unsheathed. When the cart rolled through the gate, a sixth man came down the stairs from the tower and looked the new arrivals over with interest. He was wrapped in a skillfully sewn wolf-skin coat decorated with braids. Knee-high laced boots padded with sheepskin protected his feet, and on his head was a hat of fox fur.

  “I am Václav Sokolny, lord of the castle. Welcome to my home.” His German was good, but a strong accent suggested it wasn’t his mother tongue.

  “We thank you, noble lord.” Zdenka rushed toward him, falling to her knees and grasping his hand in order to kiss it. But since he was wearing thick, padded gloves, she only held it to her forehead.

  Noticing her embarrassment, the man smiled in amusement as he helped her back to her feet. “Let’s get you inside. You look like you’re frozen. Wanda will heat some beer to warm you from the inside, and Hynek will take care of your horse.”

  While his companions followed Sokolny with lowered heads, looking neither left nor right, Michel scrutinized his surroundings. The castle had been built at an ideal spot, with the steep mountain offering protection on three sides. The walls that appeared to rise seamlessly from the cliffs were only half as high and a lot less solid than the wall on the face, which would be the first place exposed to an attack, and a bulky but not particularly high tower protected the gate. The castle itself was oval in shape and rather small, and aside from the main hall, the other buildings were squat and huddled against the large, rough-hewn blocks of the outer wall like frightened children.

  Count Sokolny led his guests across the narrow courtyard and into the kitchen attached to the main building. The cook was already pouring steaming beer into cups. “Drink up,” she said to the new arrivals. The two soldiers accompanying them also accepted her invitation, helping themselves eagerly. Sokolny’s lips twitched with amusement, but he didn’t say anything, taking a cup as well. The cook curtsied, took down a few more cups from a shelf, and filled them with the fragrant steaming brew; then she handed them to Michel and his friends. While the men took careful sips of the h
ot drink, trying not to burn their lips, Zdenka started a conversation with the cook. They both spoke Czech, which was more familiar to them than German, and judging by their animated tone, they had a lot to say to each other.

  Count Sokolny waited until his unexpected guests had recovered a little, then pointed to the door. “Follow me into the hall. It’s almost dinnertime, and we don’t want to disturb Wanda any longer.”

  Zdenka pointed to the pots exuding a pleasant smell. “If I’m allowed, I’d like to help.”

  “Today you should rest, but if Wanda agrees, starting tomorrow you can help in the kitchen for the usual pay.” Sokolny shooed them out the door and into the great hall. When he saw how impressed his guests were by the high ceiling of carved wooden beams, the weapons and trophies on the walls, and the long row of tables lined with heavy chairs, he nodded contentedly and gave them time to look around. Reimo and Zdenka agreed that the four largest houses in their village would fit inside the hall, though Michel shook his head slightly at the amazed exclamations; he didn’t think the hall was particularly large and its furnishings seemed uncommonly old-fashioned. Instead of carpets, chopped pine branches covered the floor, and more than a dozen dogs were fighting over a bone under the table.

  “Well, big fellow,” Michel said when a massive dog walked toward him, checking him out with its yellow eyes. The dog gave a low growl, but Michel fearlessly placed his hand on its neck. “If we are to be friends, you should be a little more polite!”

  The dog wrinkled its forehead, sniffed Michel all over, and finally put its head on his thigh. It was his injured leg, and the dog’s touch hurt, but Michel clenched his teeth and patted the massive animal, glad to have found his first friend at Sokolny Castle.

  9.

  In the dim light of a flickering candle, Marie stared at the small pile of snow that had blown onto her chamber floor despite the tattered coat covering the window. It was so cold in her room that snowflakes didn’t melt, and Marie was freezing despite three layers of clothing and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Since her chamber didn’t have a fireplace and she was refused a bed warmer with glowing charcoal, her bed had become damp, and a thin layer of ice had formed where she breathed on her pillow.

  She would be giving birth soon, and she was painfully aware that her child wouldn’t survive its first night in these conditions. During a few dark moments, she had considered giving in and accepting the fate Lady Kunigunde had in mind for her. It was all about Michel’s child, after all, and she shouldn’t risk its life out of defiance. But every time she was about to go to the new mistress of the castle and submit, her pride and desire for independence rebelled. She could imagine what a miserable life she would have under the thumb of this woman, because the man Kunigunde wanted her to marry wouldn’t lift a finger to protect his wife from his cousin. And, most of all, a marriage to the pathetic Götz von Perchtenstein would besmirch Michel’s memory.

  Gripping her belly where she felt her restlessly shifting child, Marie clenched her teeth and flung numerous curses downstairs where Kunigunde’s tribe was gorging itself on her provisions while she herself hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. Usually Ischi brought her food, but the girl had gone to her fiancé’s house the day before and was probably stuck there due to the snowstorm that had been raging overnight. Over the past few days, Marie had become so heavy and awkward that she was no longer able to walk the well-worn steps of the steep staircase.

  Marie was rubbing her numb hands and moving closer to the edge of the bed to get away from the draft, when she suddenly heard a noise in the attic below. She assumed it was Lady Kunigunde’s brats once again, who had already broken into two of her chests and emptied them, but she no longer had the strength to climb down the stairs and chase them away. But then she heard steps on the stairs leading up to her chamber and sat up expectantly.

  A few heartbeats later, Ischi opened the door. She was wrapped in a shapeless coat, and only her eyes, nose, and mouth were visible under the thick woolen scarf she had tied around her head. She was carrying Marie’s warmest fur coat and her winter boots. Laying the clothes on the bed, she gave her mistress an encouraging smile.

  “The storm is particularly bad today, mistress,” she said quietly, “bad enough to keep Lady Kunigunde and her family in her warm chamber, and the gatekeepers more interested in their braziers than the gate. I can finally take you to the goat farm as your friend asked me to do some days ago. It won’t be easy getting there, but so far there hasn’t been an opportunity to smuggle you out of the castle.”

  Marie heard the words goat farm and thought how homey and warm it would be at Hiltrud’s. There she would also receive enough to eat and the help she needed to bring her child into this world alive and well. The thought roused her spirits, and she gave Ischi a relieved nod. “You’re a darling, Ischi. I had almost given up, but thanks to your help, I can play one last trick on Lady Kunigunde.”

  Standing up, Marie slipped into her boots and pulled the coat around her shoulders. Ischi cast a critical eye at her mistress’s rumpled clothes, which looked less than suitable for such a long walk, and she quickly fetched other clothes from downstairs. Helping Marie out of her coat, she wrapped her in layer after layer of the warmest clothes she’d been able to find. Then she put Marie’s coat back on and twined a thick scarf around her, holding the fur-lined hood in place. Finally, she supported her mistress slowly down the steep stairs despite her lumbering steps.

  Marie was in a hurry to leave the inhospitable castle but nevertheless paused in the attic next to her tower, opened several chests, and took out a few items of which she was particularly fond. There were some small pieces of jewelry Michel had given her over the years as well as a few things belonging to Michel that she didn’t want to fall into the greedy hands of Kunigunde’s clan.

  The icy cold castle worked to their advantage, keeping the servants in the warm kitchen and Lady Kunigunde’s preferred maids in her chamber, and so Marie and Ischi reached the courtyard unnoticed and trudged toward the castle gate through the knee-deep snow. The large doors were shut, but the small door was unguarded and open. Marie gazed one last time at the old castle that had been her home for eleven years, now barely visible in the driving snow, and she shook her fist at it. “Kunigunde wanted to let me starve. The devil take her and her family!”

  “Hiltrud or Thomas was supposed to wait for us at the gate, but I couldn’t get word to them in this terrible weather,” Ischi shouted into Marie’s ear over the howling wind. Looking at the young woman, Marie tilted her head in concern. Ischi’s clothes were warm enough to visit neighbors in town or go to church, but they weren’t suitable for a long hike through the open countryside. She’d be frozen before they got halfway to the goat farm. Marie would have to go alone.

  The maid fetched a solid stick and a thickly padded basket that she’d hidden in a narrow gap between two houses on her way to the castle. Inside the basket was a lidded bowl filled with a nutritious stew of chopped barley, turnips, and a little chicken. Marie almost tore the spoon out of Ischi’s hand and wolfed down the meal as fast as she could, thanking the young maid between each bite.

  While Ischi stowed the empty bowl back in the basket and slung it over her shoulder, Marie picked up the stick and focused her thoughts on the dangerous trip lying ahead. The storm’s fury was felt throughout the town, whipping around walls, sweeping across roofs, and covering houses’ façades like freshly shorn wool, making the narrow streets look like towering gorges. It was still daylight, but night was fast approaching and shutters were already closed. Only here and there did a faint ray of light reveal signs of life beneath the white drifts.

  Marie and Ischi didn’t meet a soul until they reached the village gate, where guards eyed them suspiciously. The guards, city bailiffs who answered to the council of Rheinsobern, soon recognized them and exchanged a few knowing glances, then turned their backs to the women to refocus their atte
ntion on an iron pan emitting some heat from glowing charcoal.

  Ischi tugged at the bolt with numb fingers and opened the gate to let Marie out. When she felt the howling wind in her face, she held her mistress back. “You’d better stay here. You’ll never make it to the goat farm in this weather. Come, I’ll take you to my in-laws. They’ll gladly shelter you.”

  Vehemently shaking her head, Marie took Ischi’s hands off her coat. “I’m sure you’re right, but it would also be the first place Lady Kunigunde would look for me. I don’t think she’ll assume I’ve gone to my friend’s in this weather and in my condition. By the time she sends someone to the goat farm, I hope to be holding the count palatine’s writ of protection in my hands.”

  Ischi cried out in despair. “This weather scares me—I’m afraid you’ll die along the way!”

  Marie stroked her cheek, smiling. “Believe me, Ischi, I’ve traveled roads in far worse weather than this.”

  “But not with a child on the way in a few days’ time.” Ischi deliberated calling the guards to hold back her mistress, but before she could make up her mind, Marie had slipped out of her grasp and was trudging away through the snow.

  “May God and the Holy Virgin protect you!” Ischi called after her. Then she closed the gate and, full of self-reproach, sadly returned to her fiancé’s house.

  Marie felt far less confident than she had pretended to be for Ischi’s sake. Even in good weather it was an hour’s walk to Hiltrud’s farm, and each step through this snowstorm would be a battle she could easily lose. The Rhine valley lay before her, completely covered in snow, reminding her of a shroud. “It won’t be mine!” she shouted into the wind, clenching her fists to give herself courage.