The Warrior Maiden

by Melanie Dickerson

  He stepped toward her. “I love you.”

  Mulan blinked once, then rapidly. Her chin quivered and she pressed her lips together.

  He walked the rest of the way to her and whispered, “Please, let me do this.”

  She shook her head and took three steps back. When she finally spoke, her eyes were swimming in tears. “You cannot even sit on a horse in your condition.” She blinked and the tears disappeared. A scowl replaced them.

  “I’ll be well enough tomorrow. I’m getting better every day.”

  “You cannot get well that quickly and you know it.”

  “Can you hold a lance weighing twenty-five stones and aim it at your opponent, all while sitting atop a galloping horse? You’ll get yourself killed, and I cannot let you do that.”

  “And I cannot let you die in my place.” She was glaring at him.

  This, again, was not how he had planned this meeting. He wanted to reason with her, to make her see that she should let him do this. And while he was right about her not being able to hold and aim a heavy lance, she was also right about him. He was in no condition to joust and fight, but it was easier to believe that he’d be better tomorrow than it was to believe that she wouldn’t get killed. He rubbed a hand over his cheek.

  “Mulan,” Andrei spoke up. They all looked at him. “Perhaps you should let Wolfgang do it. After all, he’s trained and you’re not.”

  Slack-jawed, Mulan stared at her attendant and friend. “I appreciate that you are willing to sacrifice Wolfgang’s life for mine, but I am not willing.”

  “I won’t die,” Wolfgang protested, his heart twisting inside him. She must love him, mustn’t she? Or perhaps . . . she just didn’t want a man’s death on her conscience. And if he failed, her mother would die as well.

  “You have an open wound, a broken rib—”

  “I can put on many layers to protect the wound, and a broken rib won’t slow me down. I can do it.”

  She bit her lip, then shook her head.

  “It’s the best hope of saving your mother from Rusdorf.”

  “What about God? Isn’t God’s will and intervention the whole point of trial by combat?” She stared first at him, then at Andrei and Gerke. “God will fight for me. I only have to be there.”

  Everything inside him still screamed to take her place, although he didn’t want to argue that God would not give her victory. “If God will fight for you, wouldn’t He also fight for me?”

  Mulan pointed to her chest. “It is my responsibility, my fight, my mother. It is me Rusdorf hates.”

  “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t let him draw you into his schemes.”

  “No.” She pointed her finger now at Wolfgang. “No, I will not let you do this. I will not be responsible for your death.”

  What hurt the most? The fact that she wouldn’t let him help her, or that she had slammed a door on him that he thought she’d finally opened? He could see it in her eyes: she had shut him out.

  He tried one last time. “Let me do this. Trust me, and trust God.”

  Was her lip trembling? She bit it and folded her arms over her chest.

  Abruptly, she turned around and stomped to the door, her silk skirts swishing. She yanked it open and was gone.

  Gerke, Andrei, and Wolfgang all glanced at each other.

  “I didn’t want to do this,” Wolfgang said, “but I have no other choice. Men, will you help me?”

  “Whatever you wish,” Gerke said.

  “I will, if it will save Mulan,” Andrei said.

  “Good. This is the plan.” Wolfgang proceeded to give them their precise instructions for the next day.

  Steffan was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the bell that would call everyone to midnight prayers. His one small candle gave off a feeble light that sent shadows dancing on the walls.

  A knock came at his door. Steffan opened it and Rusdorf stood there.

  “Grand Master Rusdorf. Please come in.” He stepped back.

  “Steffan. I have an assignment for you.”

  “Of course. As you wish.” But his gut twisted at what he feared his superior was about to say.

  “I know you are skilled in all that a knight should be skilled in—you are one of the best jousters I’ve ever seen. You brother Valten, Lord Hamlin, was the greatest tournament champion of our time.”

  Steffan tried not to moan.

  “And you proved yourself a very good soldier during our recent battles with Duke Konrad in Poland. I probably should have knighted you so you could take your vows . . .”

  Was Steffan about to receive what he’d always wanted? But the prospect did not fill him with joy as he’d always imagined it would.

  The candle cast long shadows over the grand master’s face, encircling his eyes with darkness and elongating his goatee and swooping mustache. He stared at the wall, as if forgetting where he was.

  “I have always wished to be a Teutonic Knight,” Steffan prompted.

  “And you shall be, my son. But there are some who question your loyalty, with your brother fighting on the side of our enemies. They think perhaps your getting captured by your brother and the heretic woman was only a ruse.”

  “I assure you it was not, and my loyalty is to the German Order of Knights and to God only.”

  “You feel no loyalty to your family, then?” One of Rusdorf’s eyebrows went up to a point in the middle. His eyes were hawkish as they focused on Steffan’s face.

  Steffan remembered how he had parted from his father, though if he was truthful, the contention and anger came mostly from Steffan. “No.”

  Rusdorf’s head dipped in a slow nod.

  “What is it you wish me to do?” Steffan shifted his feet. Why couldn’t Rusdorf simply say what he wanted to say? He did not like this mystery and suspense.

  “I wish you to uphold the cause of Christ.” Rusdorf turned his body fully toward Steffan and leaned forward. “I wish to eradicate witchcraft and paganism from the world, once and for all. If I see anything heretical in our society, I wish to stamp it out. The Lord’s zeal is on me!” His face was so animated, even in the half light, Steffan found himself taking a step back.

  Steffan inhaled deeply to infuse a bit more patience in himself. Get to the point.

  Rusdorf seemed to catch himself and relaxed his shoulders. “What I wish is for you to be God’s champion. I wish you to face the champion of the woman accused of witchcraft. I am choosing you to joust in the trial by combat.”

  Just as he’d suspected, but Steffan’s stomach sank anyway.

  “Are you willing to face the woman soldier, Mulan, in battle?”

  He did not like the idea of fighting a woman—he’d already shot and injured her once and felt less than noble about that. But if he said no, he might never be a knight. “I am.”

  Rusdorf grinned.

  “There is a rumor that Wolfgang, not Mulan, will be Frau Feodosia’s champion.”

  “So I have heard.” Rusdorf’s eyes narrowed. “Are you willing to face your brother in combat? You must examine again where your loyalties lie.”

  Again, if he said no, he would never be able to join the Teutonic Knights. He’d never wanted to be anything but a knight. Without that, he had no purpose. And what was life without a goal or purpose of some kind? He wouldn’t know what to do next.

  Surely Mulan and their attendants would never allow Wolfgang, with his recent serious injury, to fight. The rumor was surely untrue. But if Wolfgang did fight, Steffan could easily knock him off his horse and defeat him. And, hopefully, Rusdorf wouldn’t insist they had to fight to the death.

  “I am.”

  Rusdorf nodded, a quick, curt movement. “You may wear the crest of the Teutonic Knights into combat tomorrow. And afterward, you shall be knighted and we shall celebrate and honor you, after you take your vows, with a feast. You shall have a great career, lofty responsibilities, and all of your brother knights shall look up to you.”

  “
Thank you, sir.” Steffan bowed his head. He should have felt pleased and proud, but the emotion inside him was something completely different. Still . . . he would do what he had to do. If the entire order of the Teutonic Knights was behind him, which included the Church, how could he be wrong? For once, he should feel like the good son, not the one bad one.

  So why did it seem as if a boulder had settled on his chest?

  A strange calm settled over Mulan as she readied herself for the trial by combat. It all felt a bit unreal.

  Andrei helped her strap on her armor—real hammered-steel armor, which she had never worn before and which had been loaned to her by one of the smaller Teutonic Knights. But Andrei was taking so long, she finally spoke up.

  “You know I’m doing the right thing, don’t you?”

  Wolfgang’s face haunted her, and his words, “Trust me, and trust God.”

  “You must do what you think is best.” Andrei kept working, not meeting her eye. “My prayers are for you, and for those who love you . . . Wolfgang and Ponia Feodosia.”

  Her stomach twisted as she thought of her mother, facing her own execution. And Andrei . . . He was only a child. What would happen to him if both she and her mother perished today? But Wolfgang would take care of him. As would God.

  “We are all in God’s hands, Andrei, never more than now. And in God’s hands is a good place to be.”

  Andrei nodded, still not looking at her. “But perhaps you should let Wolfgang take your place. You have never jousted before, after all, and he’s very experienced.”

  “How can you say that? This isn’t Wolfgang’s responsibility.”

  “But he wants to help you, to do it for you.”

  Tears instantly stung her eyes. Why didn’t Andrei understand? “I can’t.”

  “But why?”

  “I . . .” Was it because she loved Wolfgang too much to let him get killed for her? That was part of it, but it was more than that. Even though he’d proven himself, part of her still didn’t trust him. Was she imagining that all men, even Wolfgang, would hurt her, like her father did? She’d risked her own life so many times in battle. She’d always taken responsibility and never asked anyone for help. She had to do it herself. Was that wrong? Never to let anyone help her?

  “I just can’t, Andrei.”

  But Andrei was giving her a look that said, “That’s not good enough.”

  “Whatever the reason, I can’t let Wolfgang put himself in harm’s way for my mother.”

  “He said he loves you.”

  Her heart fluttered. She’d pushed that memory aside, unsure how to fit that into what she knew was true. Why did Andrei have to bring it up now?

  “Do you not believe him?” Andrei’s eyes were clear, blue, and innocent.

  “Today is about saving Mother, not about me and not about Wolfgang.”

  “You don’t believe him, do you?”

  “He can’t marry me, Andrei. How could he? He’s the son of the Duke of Hagenheim. Look at me! I’m not a suitable woman. It’s not possible, and I don’t want to talk about it. You’re too young to understand.”

  “I understand that he cares about you. And just remember, he does what he does because he loves you.”

  Her face heated. To be lectured by a twelve-year-old about Wolfgang . . .

  A knock came at the door.

  “I’ll see who it is.” Andrei hurried to the door, jerked it open, and said over his shoulder, “Forgive me, Mulan.”

  He was out the door in a trice and shut it behind him, the key scraping inside the lock.

  “Andrei!” Her heart leapt into her throat. She ran to the door and attacked the handle, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Andrei! Andrei, no!” She pounded on the door with her fists. “Open this door!” But nothing happened. No sounds came from other side.

  The blood drained from her face, making her skin tingle. Her friend had tricked her.

  This was Wolfgang’s doing. She turned and looked all around her little chamber. No window, and the room did not adjoin any others.

  She was trapped.

  CHAPTER 27

  Wolfgang made sure his helmet visor was closed as he waited atop his horse just outside the lists behind Malbork Castle. The large jousting field was divided down the middle by a short wooden wall to keep the jousters’ horses from colliding.

  A tall, wooden platform where Rusdorf and his officers would watch the combat loomed at one end. Many of the Teutonic Knights stood around the perimeter watching. But most attention grabbing was Frau Feodosia standing at the bottom of the platform with her hands bound to a pole behind her back. Firewood was stacked all around her, piled up to her waist.

  Rusdorf’s plans were clear, if and when her champion failed to defeat Rusdorf’s champion.

  The trial by combat was to start at noon, and the sun hung straight overhead. The assembly was silent as Rusdorf raised his voice. “Who will champion this woman, accused of witchcraft, in this sacred trial by combat? Come forth.”

  Wolfgang rode forward into the middle of the field of battle. He wore no colors and no crest on his helmet. His horse also wore no trapper or other decorations, and he carried no flag. His armor was plain and indistinguishable. He turned his horse all the way around and faced Rusdorf.

  Wolfgang’s vision was somewhat obstructed by the helmet, as the eye holes only allowed him to see straight ahead, but his eyes met Rusdorf’s, who obviously knew that he was not Mulan. The grand master’s face reddened, his expression rock hard. But there was nothing he could do. It was a sacred trial that he himself had ordained.

  “Do you agree to champion this accused sorceress?” Rusdorf shouted.

  Wolfgang bowed at the waist to show his agreement.

  Rusdorf then glared down at Mulan’s mother. “And do you accept this combatant as your champion?”

  “I accept.”

  But Rusdorf suddenly didn’t seem as upset when he turned and looked to the other end of the lists. “Let the knight come forth who has accepted the sacred duty of fighting against the accused.”

  A knight rode forward dressed in armor. His visor was also closed. But Wolfgang recognized that horse, and he recognized that suit of armor. Rusdorf had played one final evil trick on them—he had designated Wolfgang’s brother to be his opponent.

  Wolfgang’s blood went cold. He certainly was not at his best. His body still pained him just to sit up straight, and riding his horse caused even more pain as his wound was jostled by the movement. He was still a bit weak from blood loss. But Sir Thomas had kindly given him a bracing potion of powerful herbs to help him ignore the pain, give him more strength, and keep away the dizziness.

  Wolfgang had no more desire to injure his brother than he desired to be injured. They had jousted against each other many times in practice, but this was not practice. An innocent woman’s life was at stake, not to mention that she was the mother of the woman Wolfgang loved.

  Steffan rode straight up to him and turned his horse toward Rusdorf. He carried a flag with the Prussian cross and crest of the Teutonic Knights, and wore a white surcoat with the familiar black cross over his armor.

  “Do you fight against the accused’s champion, to determine justice in the name of the Lord almighty?”

  Steffan raised his visor. “I do.” He quickly lowered it without turning his gaze toward Wolfgang. But he must know who it was he was about to face.

  The herald called to them to take their places. Wolfgang rode his horse to one end of the long jousting field. Gerke brought him his lance, and Andrei handed him his shield.

  Wolfgang was ready.

  Mulan periodically beat on the door. She paced the floor, at turns growing so angry she thought her head would explode, and then becoming so horrified at what was happening in the lists with Wolfgang and her mother. Had the combat begun yet? Was Wolfgang lying dead? And her mother . . .

  She ran to the door and beat on it again with her fist. The fleshy side of her hand below he
r little finger was bruised all the way down into her wrist, but she continued knocking, now using her knuckles. But her efforts must continue to be fruitless, as anyone who might hear her was outside watching the trial by combat.

  She leaned her head against the door, too overcome with dread to even cry.

  Were those footsteps she heard outside the door? She beat both hands on the door. “Help me! Open the door! Is someone there?”

  A metallic scraping came from the lock. Her heart pounded and the door opened.

  Sir Thomas stood in the doorway. He stepped back as she grabbed his arm. “Is it over? What is happening?”

  “The combat is just beginning.”

  Mulan ran down the corridor, trying to pray in her head, but no words would come except, O God, please. Please, O God.

  She raced out of the castle and down the slight hill toward the lists. When she reached it, Wolfgang was sitting atop his horse, his lance ready, as he faced a knight at the other end. She ran through the gate toward Andrei, who stood near to the field of combat. Gerke stood with him.

  “Is this . . .?”

  “The first tilt.”

  Then she noticed her mother, standing with her hands and feet bound together. She didn’t look terrified, hurt, or even angry. She was watching the joust as if she were just another spectator.

  In contrast, Mulan’s heart was racing, and she imagined climbing up that platform and choking the life out of Rusdorf.

  She crossed herself. “Father, forgive me,” she whispered. Murder, and even contemplating it, was a sin.

  “Please let Wolfgang win.”

  She was so angry with him. I only want him to win so Mother can be saved. She quickly added, But please don’t let him be killed.

  The herald had not given the signal yet for them to charge each other, so she grabbed Gerke’s arm. “Who is that other knight?”

  “I . . . I think it’s Steffan.”

  “Does Wolfgang know?”

  “Probably.”

  Mulan’s gut twisted. Though they did not have the best relationship, Wolfgang loved his brother. O God, please, in Your infinite mercy . . .