“Oh, you just startled me. I was . . .” Mikolai cleared his throat. “I was just searching for my hair tie.” He held it up. “Found it.” He quickly snatched his hair back.
“Well, I can hardly wait for my bath. It’s been too long since I’ve had a proper one.” Wolfgang pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. He started to take off his hose, and Mikolai scurried away as if he was trying to hide behind the screen.
“The servant is bringing us some dried fruit, bread, and cheese. Will you meet her at the door?”
“Oh, yes.”
Why did the lad seem so nervous? And why was he hiding behind that screen?
Wolfgang stepped into the tub and sank into the water. It was still quite warm thankfully. He closed his eyes. Nothing would stop him from enjoying this bath. He felt his muscles relax, all the tension of the battle melting away . . . the ugly resentment of watching Mikolai scale that rock face when Wolfgang didn’t even think it was possible . . . of seeing Mikolai reap the glory of victory, being carried on the other soldiers’ shoulders. It all seeped out of him as he remembered how Mikolai had saved his life, how the lad had been so brave, in spite of his lack of brute strength and skill with the sword. Respect had welled up inside him at the heart the boy had displayed.
Wolfgang had even felt a bit guilty for how he’d treated him. But the fact that he had also saved Mikolai, at least once, during the heat of battle . . . He felt a kinship with the boy, a bond that was somehow similar to his bond with Steffan.
Steffan. He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to release the tension that suddenly formed a knot in the middle of his back. His water would be getting cold soon, so he emptied his mind and just focused on how good it felt to be soaking in a tub of warmth.
A knock sounded at the door. Was that a groan he heard?
Mikolai shuffled out from behind the screen and went to the door, pulling at his new clothing. He didn’t look quite so small and childlike wearing garments that weren’t drooping and hanging off of him, but he seemed ill at ease.
“Bring some food over here,” Wolfgang called over his shoulder.
Silence. Finally he heard quiet footsteps padding up behind him.
“Do you want to wait until you get out?”
“Just give me a handful of something.” Wolfgang held out a hand, his eyes still closed. Finally he felt something being pressed into his palm. He opened his eyes, but Mikolai was still behind him. He shoveled the handful of raisins and nuts into his mouth, then held his hand out again. “Got any cheese?”
Wolfgang swiveled his head around to see why Mikolai was so quiet. The boy’s eyes were closed, as if he were in pain!
“Mikolai?” He turned his body and looked up at him.
The boy’s eyes flew open. He held his gaze as steadily as one of those hypnotized snakes in the Holy Lands, as if terrified to turn away.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Here’s some cheese.” He placed the cheese in his hand and stared down at the floor.
He didn’t tell the boy he was being strange, for he must know it himself. Wolfgang watched him a minute longer, then took a bite of the cheese and sat back in his bath.
“Will you not eat any of the food?”
Mikolai shuffled away. “Of course. I am.” The last two words were muffled by food. At least he was not too addled to eat.
The water was already starting to cool, so he sank in over his head and proceeded to wash his hair and body with the soap. Finally, when the water was too cold to be relaxing, he stood in the tub and groaned at having to leave his comfortable position. Water sluiced off of him. When he’d dried himself, he donned the clean clothes that had been provided.
“It feels good to take a bath, huh, Mikolai?”
“It does.” His voice came from behind the screen.
“Mikolai, were you injured somehow and just don’t want to tell anyone?”
“No, I’m not injured. Why would you say that?”
“You are behaving strangely.”
A pause, then, “I’m sitting down, resting and . . . contemplating.”
“Are you feeling bad about your first real battle? Is that what’s amiss?” His father had told him about the effects of battle, nervousness and guilt and such, especially after a soldier’s first.
“I do feel a bit strange, about killing and injuring other men.”
“I feel that way too.” He was trying not to think about it, so why had he brought it up? But there was something Father used to say . . .
“It’s important not to ignore it—the harsh ugliness of killing, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father says a soldier can become hardened to battle and to killing other human beings. Or . . . they can feel so guilty they can’t stop thinking about it. They can’t forgive themselves, and they don’t believe God forgives them.”
“Oh yes. I’ve heard of knights who go on pilgrimages to try to receive forgiveness of their sins, or who think they need to perform some feat or quest to have their guilt absolved.”
“Exactly.”
“Truthfully, I’m not thinking I’m in danger of either of those things.”
“Good. Have you eaten all the food I went to so much trouble to acquire for us?”
“So much trouble? All you did was ask a servant to fetch it for you.”
“Yes, but I asked her, didn’t I?”
Mikolai laughed, a rather musical sound. One eye appeared around the edge of the tapestry screen, then he came toward Wolfgang carrying the food tray. They shared the rest of the food, and Wolfgang realized Mikolai was not behaving in the odd, nervous way he had before. They talked and laughed until a servant came to fetch them for the feast.
At the banquet in the same large hall where they had met Duke Konrad, the duke introduced them to the crowd. One of the duke’s own soldiers who had fought in the battle explained their brave acts—embellishing and exaggerating them a bit, Wolfgang thought. When he glanced at Mikolai, he was grimacing, too, also embarrassed. But everyone around them cheered and made so much noise, it seemed impractical to correct him. So they accepted the praise as graciously and modestly as possible.
The food was delicious. As barren and oppressed as the area had been due to the recent raids from the Teutonic Knights, Wolfgang was in awe of such sustenance—pheasant, eel, pork, eggs, and several fruits that were stewed and spiced and poured over the meat. He’d not had a meal this good since he left Hagenheim. But he could hardly enjoy it, wondering what their fellow soldiers were eating back in camp.
CHAPTER 7
Wolfgang and Mikolai arrived back at the field where the men would be sleeping that night. The few small fires burning around them, along with the full moon, illuminated Mikolai’s face as they walked toward their respective tents. He looked as if he wanted to say something. Wolfgang nodded at him and he stopped.
“Do you know what is next for us?”
Wolfgang fixed his eyes on him. He had disliked the boy, but that was only because of his clumsiness during the archery contest. Since then he’d shown bravery and resourcefulness. He was not the most skilled soldier, but his courage had made up for it. And he was younger, probably only seventeen or eighteen, and Wolfgang felt a certain protectiveness toward him.
And yet, at the same time, an uneasiness, almost a suspicion toward the boy, nagged at him.
“It seems we were able to rout the enemy because most of their men were out gathering supplies from the peasants in the countryside. They were unaware of our presence and thought they could attack the castle without the bulk of their troops.”
Mikolai nodded thoughtfully.
“For now, we are waiting to see how and where they attack next.”
Mikolai grunted, as if trying to appear more manly. He had such a baby face.
“Where did your father fight?”
“Many places. He owed fealty to his lord, Butautas, who was allied with Duke Ko
nrad and most of the noblemen of Poland and Lithuania. He also did some fighting in the Kievan Rus.”
“Is that where your mother was from?”
“It was thought she was Mongolian, but I don’t remember her.”
Perhaps that was rude of him to ask. Of course Mikolai wouldn’t want to talk about something so personal. And perhaps painful as well, by the look on his face. His birth must have been illegitimate, but half the men here were born outside of wedlock, with fathers who were dukes or earls or margraves.
“You knew your father?”
“My father was rarely at home.” Mikolai shrugged. “I didn’t see him often, and he died two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks is a short time. I’m very sorry.”
Mikolai waved his hand. “Do not feel sorry. I didn’t mourn him.”
“You didn’t mourn at all?”
Mikolai rubbed a hand down the side of his face.
There seemed to be no stubble at all on Mikolai’s jaw and chin.
“I was sorry he was dead, of course, for my mother’s sake.” He was not looking Wolfgang in the eye.
“But I thought your mother was . . .”
“Dead. Yes, but the woman who raised me was Mikolai’s wife, Feodosia. I have always called her Mother. She was a good mother to me. She had no other children.”
Something about Mikolai’s manner heightened Wolfgang’s suspicion. Was the boy hiding something?
“I hope I don’t sound as if I wish to dishonor my father. He was my father, after all.”
“Of course. Understood.”
“So, what is your reason for being here? Did your father send you to fight?”
“He was sending a small band of his knights and soldiers to fight for Konrad, and he gave my brother and me permission to join them.”
“Your brother is here, too, then?”
“No, he did not . . . join us.”
“And your father is a duke, I heard.”
“Yes, the Duke of Hagenheim.”
“German, is it not? Why did you not join with the German Teutonic Knights?” A tiny smile graced Mikolai’s face as a brow quirked up.
“My father doesn’t like the Teutonic Knights’ practices. They oppress other people for their own gain, and my father does not—I do not—approve of that.”
Mikolai was studying him with such calm interest, almost concern, in his eyes.
“My brother, who left Hagenheim with me, vanished from our group a few days ago. I only hope . . .” Wolfgang shook his head. “He doesn’t listen to me anymore, if he ever did. We were such good friends as children, being close in age, but he has chosen a rebellious path.”
“I’m sure that causes you pain. But prayer is powerful, as our priest says. What is his name? I shall pray for him.”
“Steffan.”
Mikolai seemed as if he might reach out and hug him, but then he took a step back and cleared his throat.
“I thank you for that. All will be well, no doubt.” Wolfgang nodded. “Nothing is too hard for God, and He will surely hear the prayers my parents speak for Steffan. They are godly people.” Next he’d be telling this boy his deepest secrets. It was almost as if Mikolai had put a spell on him. Was he some kind of spy for the Teutonic Knights?
Shouts came from the other side of the field. Wolfgang turned his head, his nose and throat suddenly stinging at the smell of smoke.
The shouts grew louder and the horses whinnied. A faint orange glow came from the direction of where the horses were tethered. Mikolai bolted toward them, and Wolfgang was right behind him.
Mulan raced to her tent.
Andrei was with the horses, untying Aksoma. Mulan seized Boldheart’s bridle and untied him as fast as she could. Stay calm, Mulan. Be strong and brave. Her heart pounded. The Teutonic Knights had to be behind this. They would be setting the fire all the way around them to block them in and burn them and their horses alive. God, save us.
Andrei grabbed her bundle out of her hands and tied it to the saddle. Then he turned and took a step.
Mulan grasped him by the arm. “Where are you going?”
“To get the rest of our things, our tent—”
“No.”
“Your father’s sword!” He broke free from her grasp and ran like a rabbit, twisting his way through the crowd of men running all around, shouting.
Mulan gripped the reins of both horses. The sound of licking, consuming flames sent a tremor through her limbs. Her pounding heart stole her breath.
She couldn’t leave Andrei.
She hurried after him, pulling the horses behind her. Aksoma’s eyes were wide and wild. She wasn’t trained as Boldheart was for chaos and danger and loud noises. Would Aksoma bolt? Mulan wrapped her reins around her wrist.
Men swarmed around her, impeding her progress across the field toward their tent, as the sky began to glow orange.
Andrei emerged from the tent with a big bundle, her father’s sword hanging at an awkward angle. Mulan pulled it from his arms.
“Get on your horse!” Andrei flung himself, the bundle still in his arms, into Aksoma’s saddle.
The flames were getting closer. A tree behind Andrei transformed into a giant torch as it suddenly burst into red-orange color.
Mulan struggled to scale Boldheart’s great height without help, but how could she slow Andrei by making him get down to boost her into the saddle? God, help me.
She grasped the saddle horn with both hands, the sword handle wedged between her hand and the saddle. With her foot in the stirrup, she pushed and pulled with all her might.
Lying across the saddle on her belly, she nearly dropped the sword but held on as she used her other hand to push herself up to sitting.
Andrei urged Aksoma forward. She whinnied, reared up, and then bolted forward. Mulan followed after them on big black Boldheart.
The ring of fire was nearly complete, but horses and men were charging toward one tiny opening about as wide as one horse length. Men were beating at the flames on either side of it with blankets, but the flames seemed to grow bigger with their efforts and they soon stopped.
Suddenly horses screamed, and the shouts took on a sharper tone. Mulan watched as a rider was flung from his horse, an arrow sticking out of his chest. Another horse and rider both went down in a heap beside him, arrows protruding from their bodies.
The Teutonic Knights were picking them off as they rode through the opening in the fire ring.
“Andrei! Stop!” Mulan screamed at him. How could she bear it if he and Aksoma were killed?
Andrei hauled back on the reins, stopping Aksoma short, and looked back at her.
“Where is my bow?” she yelled.
Andrei dug through the bundle that lay across the saddle in front of him and pulled out her longbow and quiver. She grabbed them and nocked an arrow. She searched through the flames. There stood Wolfgang, just on the other side of the flames, shooting one arrow after another into the darkness where the Teutonic Knights were launching arrows at their riders.
Mulan strained her eyes toward where he was shooting, but because of the bright flames, she could see nothing past the light of the fire. She shot a few arrows in that direction anyway. She had to cross these flames, to get to the other side and help Wolfgang, because where he had positioned himself he was almost certain to be shot.
Other men were reining in their horses as they saw their fellow soldiers go down. They milled about, fury and confusion on their faces.
She glanced around, then motioned for Andrei to follow her as she turned Boldheart hard to the right, following alongside the flames, searching for a place where the fire was not so high. There was one spot, and she headed toward it. But just before she crossed, some movement caught her eye. A Teutonic soldier aimed an arrow at Andrei.
“Andrei, get down!” Mulan screamed.
He ducked his head. The arrow hummed past Mulan’s ear as she nocked an arrow to her own bow and sent it in the archer’s direction. Unable to t
ell if her arrow found its mark, Mulan turned her horse back toward the way they had come.
The big black gelding bounded forward. She glanced back to make sure Andrei and Aksoma were following. If they didn’t escape from the ring of fire, the smoke could kill them. It was already so thick she could hardly breathe, her throat burning.
She had to get back to Wolfgang. But first she had to make sure Andrei and Aksoma escaped the smoke. She turned and waited for them to catch up to her.
Aksoma’s eyes were glowing white in the firelight. She kept raising her head and pulling back against the reins, pulling up short. “No, Aksoma. Trust us.” But her horse reared, her front legs lifting off the ground. Then she danced sideways.
Mulan leapt off Boldheart’s back. She pulled him along behind her, took off her hood from around her neck, and draped it over Aksoma’s head, covering her eyes. She tied it in place.
She tried to get back into Boldheart’s saddle, but her arms were too weak. She fell back to the ground. “God, give me strength.” She grasped the pommel tighter and used her leg muscles to push as hard as she could. Scrambling the last bit, she found herself sitting high atop her horse.
She motioned Andrei forward, and pushing Boldheart into a gallop, she aimed him straight toward the fire. He leapt at the last moment, and they burst through the line of flames.
She pulled on the reins, stopping him. An arrow sailed past her and stuck in the ground thirty paces away. She took note of the angle and direction from which it came and, almost without thought, nocked an arrow to her bow and spotted the archer aiming at her. She shot. The arrow struck him in the arm. He cried out and dropped his bow.
She turned around to see Aksoma, with Andrei on her back, gallop through the fire. She only hoped her hooves would be tough enough to withstand the heat. She’d check for burns and injuries later.
Now that they were on the outside of the ring of fire, she sent Boldheart galloping toward where she’d last seen Wolfgang. He was kneeling behind the body of a fallen horse and shooting one arrow after another—as if he didn’t have an arrow’s shaft protruding from his shoulder.
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