The Warrior Maiden

by Melanie Dickerson

  “How can you say that? You know he falsely accused you of witchcraft just to get at me.”

  “He is a man, and you have tweaked his pride and defeated him. Of course he will see if he can discredit you. But ultimately, God may have more purpose in our survival than our demise. Either way, God should have the glory, and we will join Him in heaven. God has given us victory already. Is that not so?”

  “Yes, but I would rather talk about something else. As in, I need to know how you make your healing salve. My friend Wolfgang has been injured seriously and is in need of it, and I have no more.”

  “You were injured, were you not? I heard the rumor.”

  “Yes, but I am well.” Mulan lifted her shirt to show her mother the fresh-looking scar. “It was not serious.”

  “Oh my!” Mother examined it and probed it gently with her fingers.

  “An arrow. It passed cleanly through the flesh.”

  “Yes, a good place for an injury. Nothing important was punctured, it would seem.”

  “But Wolfgang was not so fortunate. He took a crossbow bolt—a large metal one—through here.” She pointed to a spot higher up and farther into the body. “It probably hit a rib, one of the monks said.” Her voice hitched as she thought of Wolfgang’s suffering and possibly not surviving the injury.

  “Yes, he will need the salve. I can tell you how to make it, but it works best after it has cured for eight days or more. I had just made a large amount of it when Rusdorf’s men came to take me away. They confiscated the salve and brought it here. If you could get some—”

  “Oh yes. I just need to find it and steal it.”

  “Perhaps one of the monks will take pity on you and your friend and will fetch some for you.”

  “That seems unlikely.”

  “You might be surprised. Pray and ask for God’s favor, for it surely rests upon you.”

  Mother was so quietly confident. Had she always been this way? Impulsively, Mulan put her arms around her mother again, laying her cheek against hers. “I love you, Mother. I want you to know how thankful I am that you were my mother, that you loved me and treated me with kindness.”

  “Of course, my darling.” Mother squeezed her in return.

  “And don’t worry. I am believing that God will get us out. He will save us, just as He has saved me numerous times in battle.” Her mother, along with the village priests, had taught her to trust God. “I do need to help Wolfgang. He’s in a lot of pain.”

  “Oh.” Mother was studying her face now.

  “What?”

  “You love this Wolfgang?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, perhaps it was your voice when you said his name or the look on your face when you speak of his injuries.”

  “I didn’t mean to love him.” Mulan’s voice was raspy.

  “Is he a good man?”

  “He is a very good man, but he cannot love me. He is from a wealthy family, the son of a duke.”

  “And you are a national hero.” Mother smiled again.

  Mulan shook her head. “That doesn’t matter.”

  “I loved your father, but he treated me badly. I always wanted more for you. I told myself Algirdas was not like your father, didn’t seem like the kind of man who would mistreat you, and would at least not leave you for months at a time. But I now realize I was wrong to push you to marry him. The way he spoke to you . . . He was not so different from your father after all. Demanding, cold and distant, without affection . . . That is not the kind of man you deserve.”

  “Wolfgang . . .” Mulan cleared her throat. “He’s nothing like that. Nothing like Father and nothing like Algirdas. But it doesn’t matter.” She turned away as a stab of pain took her breath away. “He can’t marry me.”

  Nothing would matter if she couldn’t save them.

  Someone was approaching the door and then scraping the key in the lock. The door opened. The monk was there to escort her back.

  “Fare well, Mother.”

  “Don’t give up hope, my daughter.” She hugged Mulan tight.

  “Of course.” Mulan pulled away and gave her mother a smile and a wink, willing away the pain of a moment before.

  She made her way down the steps with the monk. “What is your name, if I may ask?”

  “I am Sir Thomas of Bremen.”

  “Are you a skilled healer? I know your order was once Hospitallers in the Holy Land. And if you were ever in battle, you must know the value of a good healing salve.”

  “I know the value of God’s healing power.”

  Her heart sank at his answer.

  “But I have examined your mother’s healing salve, and she gave me the recipe for it.”

  Her heart lifted. “And what did you think?”

  “I do not understand why it would work. It is only wine and honey and ox gall and a few other things. There is nothing magical about the ingredients. Perhaps she does use a dark spirit to give it its power—if indeed it does possess any healing power.”

  “I know how you can test its healing power. You can allow me to spread it on Wolfgang’s injury.”

  He said nothing as they reached the bottom of the steps and continued walking. Was he dawdling so they could continue their conversation?

  “Truly, it is God’s own power, His own herbs and provision, that provide the healing. There is nothing dark about it. You can see for yourself.”

  “And if I allow you to apply the salve to your friend’s injury, who will you tell of this?”

  “If you wish me to say nothing, I will tell no one.” Perhaps she shouldn’t sound so eager. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “Perhaps I will bring you some and see it for myself. To help me judge in your mother’s trial.”

  “Yes, of course.” Mulan literally bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else, lest she cause him to change his mind.

  CHAPTER 24

  Wolfgang lay as still as he could, as every moment brought on sharper pain. And now he felt achy and feverish. Was he about to die? And without knowing if Mulan was able to free herself and her mother? God, don’t let me die. Please help Mulan.

  Through his feverish haze of pain and sleep, he thought he heard Mulan’s voice from near the door. Then she was by his side, and a monk was with her. The monk removed the bandage from Wolfgang’s side. Mulan was giving him instructions, and he smeared something cold on Wolfgang’s wounds. Too much pain would make him lose consciousness, and the familiar darkness was closing in.

  He tried concentrating on the small crucifix that hung on the wall next to his bed. Was this how Jesus felt before He died on the cross? Pain seeping through him as if he were an overly full sponge and the pain was a river . . . fever taking over his mind . . . hot and cold at the same time . . . always half asleep but never feeling the blessed peace of unconsciousness?

  Perhaps he was hallucinating, but he saw Jesus’ eyes on him as He hung there, becoming life-size. The gaze was so real, healing comfort seemed to flow into him through that look. Compassion and love poured from those eyes.

  Wolfgang finally sank into perfect, restful sleep.

  Mulan awakened to Wolfie’s eyes staring across at her.

  She sat up in the cushioned chair and rubbed her eyes. “I must have fallen asleep.”

  “You can go back to sleep.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Am I losing my mind, or do I smell your mother’s salve?”

  “I procured some for you.” She smiled.

  “How did you manage that?”

  “My monk friend, Sir Thomas, fetched us some that they brought here as evidence against my mother. He was curious to see if it would work.”

  “And probably charmed by you. Be careful.”

  “Worry not. I still retain my fighting skills.”

  “You are wearing women’s attire.”

  “I must if I wish not to be tried for violating Church law.” She came to stand closer and notice
d he was not sweating anymore. She laid a hand on his forehead. “No more fever.” She breathed out a sigh.

  “I am feeling better. When did you apply the salve?”

  “Yesterday. You’ve been asleep for twelve hours. You look much better.”

  “I feel better.”

  Just then Sir Thomas of Bremen came into the chamber. He approached Wolfgang’s bed.

  “What do you think?” Mulan watched the monk’s face for his reaction.

  “He seems improved. Perhaps it was the sleep.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She and Wolfie shared a wry smile.

  “How is your pain?” Sir Thomas asked.

  “It is better. In fact, I think I need to . . . have some privacy.”

  Mulan immediately turned and headed for the door. “I shall return later,” she called over her shoulder.

  Wolfgang sat, propped up with pillows. Mulan’s mother’s trial was supposed to start that day. Would Mulan be allowed to attend? Probably not. But at least they had been allowing her to visit her mother. And were allowing Wolfgang her salve. But probably no one knew about that except Sir Thomas.

  But where was Steffan? Was he here at Malbork Castle? What would he think of how they were treating Mulan’s mother? He was not completely without compassion or good sense, and what Rusdorf was doing must surely violate both, even in Steffan’s mind.

  Someone knocked on the door. Mulan said, “May I come in?”

  “Yes, come in.” His heart lifted.

  She wore a pretty blue-and-yellow silk gown, much like one his sister Margaretha wore several years ago, before she married and moved away to England. But Mulan’s skin and hair were much darker, she was smaller both in stature and girth, and . . . he wished he could kiss her.

  Her silk skirts rustled as she walked across the room. “You’re not pale anymore. How do you feel?”

  “I feel like a man who was run through with a sword and trampled by a horse.” He grinned. “But much better than yesterday.”

  “No fever?”

  He wished she would put her hand to his forehead as she had done before, but her hands remained by her sides.

  “I don’t feel feverish anymore, and the pain is less.”

  “You still have a lot of healing to do, Sir Thomas said, so you must be careful not to move around too much.”

  Breathing was still painful, which he suspected would last for weeks, as the rib would have to mend.

  “And Sir Thomas has agreed to let me know what happens today with my mother’s trial.” She was chewing on the inside of her lip as she glanced at the floor.

  “I am praying for her.” He held out his hand to her.

  She took it and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

  He was very aware of the softness of her skin. Would she stand this close to him if he weren’t injured? Would she still hold his hand if he had not gotten shot protecting her? She’d seemed angry with him when he kissed her lips that day in the woods.

  Staring down at their joined hands, she brushed the back of his hand with her thumb. Perhaps now was a good time to speak of their kiss. He should hurry, before a servant or Sir Thomas came into his room.

  “I am sorry if I offended you,” he began, his voice raspy, “when I kissed you a few days ago.”

  Her thumb stopped caressing his hand and she went completely still.

  “It was impulsive of me, but I want you to know I’d never take advantage of you.”

  She took a step back, her hand letting go of his. His stomach twisted.

  “I know you are a woman of great character and integrity, and I respect you too much . . . That is, I’m hoping . . .” Why was he so tongue-tied? “If you will accept me, I would like to marry you, Mulan.”

  She finally brought her gaze up to his face. “I’m not sure what that means.”

  He must have said it wrong. This was not going the way he’d meant it to. “It means—” What could he say? That he, who had nothing, would marry her as soon as he had a house? Was she supposed to wait for him? “I know I don’t have any fortune or possessions—yet—but I—”

  Someone knocked on the door and immediately opened it. Sir Thomas entered. “How is Wolfgang? You look a bit pale.” His face scrunched in concern. “Shall I change your bandage?”

  “Can you come back in a few minutes? I need to finish speaking with Mulan. Please.”

  Sir Thomas looked from Wolfgang to Mulan and back again. “I see.” He turned to go. “I shall return in half an hour.”

  Mulan’s cheeks were red when Sir Thomas left the chamber. She folded her arms in front of her chest.

  “Forgive me, but I would like to marry you, someday, when I have a house for us to live in. I know I am only a lowly soldier.”

  Her brows were lowered as she stared at him. “So you want to marry me . . . someday.” She rearranged her arms across her chest, folding them tighter. “When you have a house.”

  He nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Her expression, body, and tone of voice all said she was not impressed with what he was saying. And now that he’d said it out loud, it did not sound chivalrous or romantic. He was failing miserably at this and desperately wished he hadn’t said anything.

  How could he mend this? He was afraid to say anything else, lest he make things worse. An awkward silence ensued. Was she angry? Was she only thinking?

  “Well, that is what I wanted to say. I’m sorry for kissing you. That is, I’m not sorry, because I’d like to kiss you every day, but I know I have no right to kiss you at all.” That also did not sound the way he’d meant it to.

  She was still staring at him, but now her brows were raised and one side of her mouth curled down in a wry frown. This was getting worse and worse. He wished she would say something, anything.

  “Well, I should go. Sir Thomas needs to change your bandage and put more salve on your wound.” She walked backward toward the door.

  “But you will come back, later? To let me know what happened with the trial?”

  “Of course. I’ll come back later.” She darted out the door.

  He groaned. How could he possibly have ruined that more completely?

  When Mulan ducked out of Wolfgang’s chamber and closed the door, her hands were shaking.

  Wolfgang wanted to marry her. But someday, when he had a house.

  Her heart throbbed. Why would he say that but not say anything about loving her? Did he not know that she wanted to be loved, not just married?

  A sob escaped her and she stifled it with a hand over her mouth. She would not let him hurt her, or at least would not let him see that he had.

  She hastened down the corridor to her chamber and shut the door.

  But he did wish to wed her. That was flattering, wasn’t it? She had thought it would be impossible for him, a duke’s son, to wed her, a peasant girl who didn’t even speak German, his native language. But to be asked in such a manner . . . Was she wrong to feel insulted?

  He had looked so uncomfortable and even embarrassed. Perhaps he just wasn’t ready to tell her he loved her. Perhaps she could make him love her after they married.

  The whole idea of begging for, or hoping for, his love made her feel sick in her stomach. And angry! Was that how Mother had felt when she married Mikolai? That she could make him love her? That had only turned into pain and heartache when Mikolai rejected and abandoned her over and over again. Mother was a good, kind, wonderful woman who deserved to be loved and cherished, not deprived of even the smallest scrap of love and affection from her husband.

  If Wolfgang didn’t love her, why should she marry him? She was worth more than that. She was worth a man who loved her and wouldn’t ask her to marry him as if he cared more about a house than about being with her.

  Her father had probably asked Mother to marry him in just such a feeble, unromantic manner as this. And she would not be trapped in that kind of marriage, no matter how handsome the man was or how much she loved him.

 
; She could not let him know that she was in love with him. After the way he had asked her to marry him, it would be humiliating. He thought she was foolish enough to wait for him five, ten, a dozen years or more, pining for him while he did as he pleased, while he waited for Duke Konrad or someone else to provide him a house. And if he knew she had been in love with him for weeks . . .

  She would rather die in battle.

  CHAPTER 25

  Steffan glanced around the room at his brothers in arms, all wearing their monk’s garb, all pious in white with their black crosses over their hearts.

  He had been afraid they thought of him as little more than a mercenary. But the fact that they had asked him to sit in on the trial proceedings for Mulan’s mother gave him hope. Perhaps someday soon he would be knighted and then could advance quickly through the ranks to become the next grand master. Then Father and Mother would have to think of him as more than the one who was different from the rest. He’d be powerful and respected, and they’d have to give him their approval.

  They brought in the woman, her hands bound in front of her with a white cloth. She looked a bit confused as they led her up to stand upon the platform at one side of the chamber. Any whispered conversation halted and a hush fell.

  “Frau Feodosia, widow of Mikolai of Lithuania.” Grand Master Rusdorf spoke. “You have been brought here to answer for your crimes, or to refute the accusations against you, if you are able.”

  The woman said nothing as one of the other knights, Sir Thomas was his name, walked forward and translated Rusdorf’s words into Lithuanian. The woman made no answer, so Rusdorf continued.

  “You have been accused of colluding with the devil, or his demons, and creating a salve that has supernatural, demonic powers to cure the sick and injured, even fatal injuries, and of giving this salve to unsuspecting people all over the Continent.”

  “Unsuspecting? Do you mean that I am forcing it on them? Because they come to me when they have an injury.”

  Sir Thomas translated her words into German while she spoke.

  “Silence.” Rusdorf glared at her while Sir Thomas translated. “You are not allowed to speak unless invited by the court.”