by Iny Lorentz
Marie stifled a smile, as she had understood Vyszo perfectly. Since Renata and the other women refused to speak German to her—even though some of them knew her native tongue—she understood Czech better than the others thought just from having listened to them. She kept her knowledge to herself, however, to retain this small advantage. Now her caution was paying off, since they were keeping her in the room because they assumed she didn’t understand what they were saying.
Since the men all had beer in their cups, she set the two jugs down, leaned against a post near the fire, and pricked her ears. Unlike the German noblemen, who sent their knights and soldiers home during the cold season so they wouldn’t have to feed them, the Czech leaders kept their troops together, raiding villages in the name of campaigns. Marie hoped she and Anni might join one of those groups one day, as an escape through the Bohemian Forest was too dangerous from what she had heard and seen. Plus, they were currently so deep in that foreign country that she had no idea where to even find a fellow countryman, but Anni and she could perhaps escape during a raid in Reich territory, where the Hussites weren’t familiar with the land.
While Marie dwelled on her thoughts, Prokop took a slug of beer and turned to Vyszo. “How are our provisions?”
Vyszo thoughtfully rubbed his forehead before replying. “They will last for some weeks yet.”
The preacher stood up with an admonishing look. “We have to leave before the cellars and storage barns of our enemies whom God will deliver to us are empty!”
“Also, we can still transport the meat of the slaughtered animals now without it spoiling along the way,” another leader added.
Marie struggled to follow the discussion, but she could guess the sense. Since the Czech peasant warriors were at arms all year-round, they couldn’t cultivate their own fields. Therefore, they had to find another way to feed themselves, their families, and also the cities that had joined them, so they fell upon other lands like locusts. Most Calixtines had retreated to their castles at the beginning of the winter in order to spend a few weeks with their families, and the Taborites cursed them for it, calling them soft and weak of faith. However, most of Prokop’s peasant warriors were unmarried or, like Vyszo, had brought their wives to the camp. The Taborite women took part in the campaigns, as it was their task to process the loot. Last fall, Marie had cut and salted meat, stuffed sausages, ground grain, and even helped brew beer for weeks.
Marie thought the comparison with the biblical plague was appropriate, as this camp alone held more than six thousand men, and it was only one of many. She wondered how the kaiser had ever hoped to subdue a country that could raise so many soldiers. As long as the Hussites managed to get their supplies from the surrounding lands, no German army would be able to beat them.
To her disappointment, Prokop was planning a campaign to Saxony and Silesia, countries that were even farther away from her home than Bohemia. As she refilled the men’s cups, fetched the spiced bacon and bread that they demanded, and served them like a mute, submissive maid, she also paid attention to every word spoken, since everything she learned might help her one day to escape. The meeting grew longer, and the beer started to loosen tongues, causing some of the leaders to brag about their deeds, both past and future.
“Woman, fill it up!” Prokop ordered her in barely intelligible German.
Marie rushed to him and refilled Vyszo’s and the preacher’s cup. The two men were the only ones still in the room with their leader as the others had since left. Vyszo looked at the brown liquid in his cup and raised it. “To the victories we will gain this year!”
Prokop gave an angry growl. “Not only do we have to beat the Germans, but we finally need to capture and kill that damned Sigismund and his Austrian son-in-law. Only then will our victory be complete.”
“But we shouldn’t forget the enemies in our own country,” the preacher warned. “There are still cities and castles loyal to those traitors!”
Vyszo pounded his chest. “The scum that soils our land will fall into our hands like overripe fruit in due course.”
Prokop nodded and turned back to the preacher. “Those disloyal citizens are still paying us to leave them alone, and I’m not planning on changing that right now. They deliver our provisions, clothing, and arms, make our culverins, and run our powder mills. We can’t do without them before our final victory.”
The preacher jumped up and glared at his leader. “I’m not talking about the cities whose people are secretly on our side already and just waiting for a sign to cut their obstinate leaders’ throats, but about stubborn fellows like Václav Sokolny. His example prevents many others from accepting the true faith and joining us. Only when we have nailed him to the gate of his burning castle will the others come crawling to us, begging for mercy. We should have done away with him long ago, but for years his brother has been stopping us from pulling this thorn from our flesh.”
Vyszo raised his cup to the preacher. “You’re right. Sokolny’s castle has to fall! I’ve heard that his brother is trying to get him to join the cursed Calixtines. We have to stop that by any means, or their influence will grow dangerously, making it even harder for us to create the divine order.”
The preacher made the sign against evil spirits. “Václav Sokolny would only pretend to deny his Roman faith and thereby mock Jan Hus’s martyrdom!”
Prokop raised his hands, trying to calm them down. “It’s just as well Ottokar Sokolny has left our meeting—you know how highly he thinks of his brother.”
Tearing his sword from its sheath, Vyszo threw it on the table. “Bah, I’m not afraid of young Sokolny or his older brother. If I have to, I’ll kill them both!”
Prokop sneered, as he hadn’t expected anything else from Vyszo. “And that’s why you will lead the attack on Count Václav Sokolny before the year is out. But first, we’ll get so much grain and meat when we plunder Silesia that our barns and pantries will be filled to the roofs.”
Vyszo raised his clenched fist, regaling the preacher with tales of what he was going to do with the riffraff in Sokolny’s castle, while Prokop leaned back contentedly, waving to Marie to refill his cup. Then he sent her and Anni out.
2.
Preparations for the upcoming campaign continued despite the heavy onset of winter. Marie and Anni were shooed into an old barn with some other women to make sacks for the Hussites to transport their loot. It was hard work sewing the stiff strips of fabric together with a large needle and thick yarn, while Renata sat in a chair in the middle, supervising and encouraging them with her switch.
When their supervisor was at the other end of the barn, a girl nudged Marie. “They say you’re German. Is that true?” She spoke German with a slight accent.
Marie looked up in surprise. “It’s true.”
The woman sighed with relief, then immediately leaned over her work again so she wouldn’t draw Renata’s attention. “You know,” she said so softly that only Marie could hear, “I haven’t been in this camp for long and only heard about you yesterday. My father was German, too, and a loyal servant to the king. He didn’t want to renounce his beliefs, so the Hussites killed him. Since my mother was Czech, her relatives hid us, but neighbors betrayed us and we were put in a labor camp. My mother died last year, and I was sent here not long ago. The others know I’m half-German and torment me because of it. It must be the same for you? I’d like to talk with you more often if possible. My name is Jelka. That’s Helene in German.”
Marie finished the sack she was working on and nodded to the woman. “Then I’ll call you Helene.”
“I’m glad. I used to like hearing that name, but when the other women use it, it sounds like a curse.” Helene pinched her lips and fell silent, as Renata was walking past, waving her switch over the women’s heads. Once the supervisor had sat back down, she continued. “You have to watch out for that nasty woman. She’s worse than Vyszo himself. I
know the couple from years past. They’ll kill you just for fun, as if squashing a fly.”
Marie stared at Helene curiously. “You say you know Vyszo? Have you heard how he got his armor? He claims he killed a German knight to get it.”
“Reportedly he didn’t kill him, but he took it off his dead body.”
“What do men like Vyszo do with people they kill and plunder? Do they bury them?”
Helene shook her head. “Usually they leave the dead lying where they are to scare their enemy.”
Marie felt a glimmer of hope again. If Michel hadn’t been dead, only injured and unconscious, he might have survived the Hussites. “So after Vyszo took the man’s armor, he probably left him lying somewhere in the forest?”
“No. One of the men there that day told a guard in the camp I was in that the German had noticed Vyszo’s trap and warned his companions, so they managed to fight them off and scatter the Taborites. Vyszo was so furious at the knight, he threw him into a river.”
Marie felt her longing for Michel give way to seething rage. If that was true, Michel had saved the lives of Falko von Hettenheim and Gunter von Losen, and in exchange, they betrayed him. She clenched her teeth and tried to keep calm. When she had finally gotten control of her anger, she had to fight against despair reaching for her with its long, scrawny fingers as it tried to drag her down into the black abyss that she had felt ever since the news of Michel’s death.
Fortunately, Helene noticed nothing amiss, continuing to tell Marie much about the Czech people and the Hussites. According to her, the whole country longed for peace, but men like the two Prokops and Vyszo oppressed the soldiers with an iron fist, breaking any resistance. Marie, whose mind was wandering a fine line between a dying hope and a wish for death, remembered Ottokar Sokolny and his brother, whom Vyszo was supposed to attack, and she was glad to find something else to think about. She had decided to warn the young nobleman of Prokop’s plans, so when she finally finished the last sack that evening, she slipped through the dark to Count Ottokar’s hut. She knocked on the door and he opened it, staring at her with surprise.
“Isn’t it a little cold to be running around in such thin rags?”
“I haven’t got anything else to wear!” Marie pointed inside. “May I come in? I need to speak with you urgently.”
“Come in! You will catch your death of cold.” Sokolny stepped aside and let her enter.
His servant Ludvik was heating a pot of beer at the hearth, with added spices and herbs, judging by the smell. Upon seeing Marie, he winked at his master. “Would it be better for me to leave you two alone?”
Sokolny shook his head and ordered him to fill two cups. Marie looked doubtfully at Ludvik. “Can you trust this man, sir?”
Sokolny’s interest was now clearly piqued. “Absolutely.”
Sipping the cup Ludvik handed her to moisten her dry throat, she started talking bluntly. “You have a brother named Václav.”
Ottokar Sokolny frowned. “That’s correct.”
“After you left the council of war the other day, Prokop, Vyszo, and the preacher decided to attack and kill him later this year.”
Sir Ottokar grabbed Marie by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “How do you know that? The three of them would hardly have discussed their plans in your mother tongue.”
“Since Renata usually shouts orders at me in Czech, I was forced to learn your language, at least enough to understand much of what was discussed in Prokop’s hut.” With this confession, she put herself utterly at Ottokar’s mercy. If he didn’t believe her and betrayed her to Prokop and Vyszo, she would die just as painfully as everyone else who came under suspicion of being traitors.
Abruptly releasing her, Sokolny paced the sparsely furnished room. In addition to the campfire that also served as a hearth, there were two three-legged stools, a makeshift bed made of boards nailed together, and a straw mattress for his servant. Only the weapons hanging on the wall, Sokolny’s armor, and an old chest with a coat of arms showed that the person living there was not just a simple peasant.
Sokolny couldn’t hide his agitation. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
Count Ottokar cursed under his breath. “It’s all that damned Vyszo’s fault! That stupid peasant hates all noblemen and would as gladly massacre us as the Germans.”
“I don’t understand. You’re fellow countrymen and you both worship Jan Hus,” Marie said, puzzled.
“I’m a nobleman, someone who has learned to use his head, not just to roar like an ox. Furthermore, I belong to the Calixtines, not to the stinking pile of dung calling itself the Taborites. If they had their way, we would murder and slaughter our neighbors, taking everything until there’s nothing left. Our country is falling to pieces without hands left to work the fields, and yet the Taborite leaders are calling for more and more men to join the army. For them, it’s no longer about our faith or the liberation of our people—it’s just about their personal power.” Ottokar Sokolny pressed his forehead against the center post supporting the roof, staring past the edge of the timber at Marie.
“Thank you for your warning, but you should go before it’s completely dark. There’s too much riffraff in this camp, and, unfortunately, not everyone respects a woman who has the blessing of our saint.”
Marie emptied her cup, curtsied, and darted out the door. Sokolny gazed into thin air for a while before slamming his fist against the post. “I was afraid it would come to this.”
Refilling the cup, Ludvik handed it to his master. “What should we do now? If Little Prokop attacks the castle with his troops, Falkenhain will fall.”
“There’s only one solution: Václav has to come over to our side immediately. My friends and I have enough influence that neither Little Prokop nor Vyszo can ignore us.”
“When are you leaving for Falkenhain?”
Count Ottokar shook his head. “I have to stay here to keep the situation under control and to take part in the council of war. You will travel to my brother in my stead and talk to him. Tell him we need the support of every honest nobleman to curb the Taborites’ influence. If we don’t manage to tame them, they will eventually drown our beautiful Bohemia in blood.”
Ludvik groaned. “It’s hard riding home alone at this time of year. I can only hope I won’t become a meal for wolves or bears along the way.”
Sokolny laughed and patted his servant’s shoulder. “If anyone can get through to Falkenhain in this weather, it’s you, my friend. Please look after yourself and remember that I need you!”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Ludvik jokingly pretended to be offended and started pulling together clothes and gear for his trip.
3.
Michel was spending his third winter at Falkenhain, and yet he increasingly felt he didn’t belong here. It couldn’t be because of Sokolny, as he had admitted him into his circle of confidants and made him his preferred adviser. It couldn’t be because of other castle residents, either, as they all treated him with the same friendship and respect as if he’d grown up there.
Instead, it felt as if something within him were trying to tear off the veil covering his past, but the result was nightmares and an almost unbearable longing for the woman called Marie. As often as his duties allowed, he wrapped himself in his warm sheepskin coat, sat in the windswept solitude of the tower, and pondered his dreams, which appeared to be shadows from his former life. The only thing he could remember quite clearly, as if he were gazing upon it from the top of a hill, was a large river with ships the size of toys traveling past. And at some time in the past he must have traveled on a river himself, because he remembered the sound of the waves breaking against wooden planks.
When the shouting of the guard startled him from his thoughts, he realized his fingers were almost frozen despite his thick, fur-lined gloves. He stood up, shook himself to warm
up, and looked over the tower battlements onto the road leading to the castle where a horseman was approaching on an impressively built steed that was stumbling with exhaustion up the winding path to the castle. The man looked as bulky and shapeless as if he were wearing several layers of sheepskin, and in one hand he was holding a pike. Anyone traveling alone at this time of year, Michel thought, was either a fool or running away. Grabbing the rope attached to the wall to stop people from slipping on the icy steps, he hurried downstairs.
Huschke had reached the gate before him and looked at him questioningly. Michel nodded, and the tower guard pushed the heavy bar aside, opening the left side of the gate.
Drawing his sword, Michel quickly sheathed it again when he saw the man didn’t pose any danger. The rider was at least as exhausted as his horse, which stopped in the courtyard, its legs trembling. Michel walked over to the man, freed the pike from his stiff hands, and lifted him out of the saddle.
While holding him, he called to a servant peering out from the stables. “Jindrich, take care of the horse! I’ll help our guest inside.”
Then he pointed to the stairs. “Come, my friend. What you need is a seat by the fire and one of Wanda’s warm brews.”
“Don’t let her be stingy with the beer,” the man replied with a pathetic smile.
Michel recognized him at once. “Ludvik! Is your master still out in the cold?”
“No, I’ve come alone. I must speak with Count Václav to warn him.”
At this, Michel grabbed Ludvik under his arms and carried him into the kitchen. Wanda was kneading dough for dumplings. When she saw the shaking, frozen man staggering toward her, she threw up her hands and rushed to the stove, where a large pot of hot, spiced beer was waiting for those who had to work outside.
“Here, drink!” she urged the man, holding the steaming cup to his lips.
