by ich du
She had seen a small band of beastmen attacking the sheep on the high pasture and told the priest. He had dismissed it as a young girl's fancy at first, but when news reached him that half the flock had been slaughtered he came for Ursula in the night, getting the truth out of her with a birch switch. She had run away again the next day, still bruised and bloody.
And so for the next five years, Sigmar had spoken to her on occasion. Sometimes she just heard his voice, warning her, telling her to get away. Like the time she had left Lessenburg just a week before an army of the Ottilia had crossed the border and burnt it to the ground.
Sometimes, like today, Sigmar sent her visions of events, such as the assassination of the elector heir Prince Fredrick four years ago, or more personal ones as in the time she foresaw a hellish storm three years ago, and managed to seek shelter in a derelict barn before the rain and lightning lashed down for four whole days and nights.
The vision today scared her. It had been more terrifying than any before, and yet felt like one of the personal warnings, as if it were really only a threat to her. She could still feel the fear within herself, and shuddered. She hoped Kurt had not noticed, as she could not afford for him to find out. Or anyone else for that matter, more importantly. Kurt was a knight of the Osterknacht, bodyguard to the count, and if it was found out that he was due to marry a seer, or possibly a witch, it would be very bad for him. So Ursula had stayed silent, though it cut her to her soul to lie to her love. And why had the visions suddenly returned, after two years of peace and calm? Ursula fretted inside, afraid that great turmoil was about to upset her life once again.
KURT WAS WORRIED too, for when he had entered the shrine he had seen Ursula almost faint, holding herself up on the statue to Sigmar. He hoped that she was not falling sick. When he had last travelled to Bechafen four weeks ago, he had heard tales of the red pox reappearing in the Ostermark. And if she were ill, the cruel winter that was coming would severely lessen her chances of fighting off any plague or fever, and Kurt would be away, perhaps for several months, unable to tend to his beloved.The priest might care for her, but the rest of Badenhof's inhabitants were ignorant, rural folk who would sooner burn a plague victim alive then try to tend to their ills.
Not for the first time, Kurt longed to have enough money to take Ursula to Bechafen, away from this place, and to leave behind the long separations that his duty imposed on them. But he was not a wealthy man, what little he had, was scraped together from his monthly pay and added to the small bequest that Lord Gerhardt had left him in his last testament two years ago. Gerhardt had been kind, and for that Kurt thanked the ghost of the old knight, wishing him peace. But the life that Gerhardt's patronage had allowed him to build was in danger of unravelling, and without funds it would be impossible to marry Ursula and give her the stable, loving home she craved and deserved.
So the two of them were sombre in their thoughts as they passed between the two- and three-storey wooden buildings either side, some of them with timbers still showing, others crudely plastered. The slick grey of the slate roofs stood out against the crisp sky, and the smoke of early morning fires began to drift intermittently from chimney holes and brick stacks. The first sounds of life began to grow louder as they approached the square at the centre of Badenhof. The town was waking up to the noise of barking dogs, the shouts of children and the clatter of shutters banging against walls as windows were thrown open to air musty rooms.
A goat that had strayed from its pen trotted out into the middle of the Sigmarstrasse in front of Kurt and Ursula. It had odd-coloured eyes, one of them yellow, the other blue, and it regarded them calmly. It reminded Ursula of the beasts in the vision, indistinct as it had been, and she wondered if it was beastmen again, like her first gifted sight. A small girl, perhaps no more than eight years old, came running out from the same direction, in a plain woollen smock that dragged through the mud and threatened to trip her up. She grabbed the goat around the neck and then appeared to notice Ursula and Kurt for the first time. She stared at Kurt in his polished full plate armour, her mouth open in amazement. Blushing heavily, she dragged the goat away, muttering into its ear.
It was another half a mile until they reached the square, where the market was just being set up. A handful of stalls were already there, but pitifully few were being wheeled in or assembled, compared to the bustling commerce that had kept Badenhof thriving only a decade ago. There was little gold around these days, and brass and bronze pennies were seen more often than silver coins.
One of the stallholders, Herr Schamp, lifted his battered hat in greeting to Kurt, but his gaze avoided Ursula. The spindly little man turned and shouted at his wife, who was struggling across the square, her arms filled with old, brown-looking cabbages. Not only was the grain poor, blight had descended on many of the farms, further complicating the local food shortage.
The clang of metal began to reverberate around the square as smith Klein began his days work, the glow from his furnace clear in the open front of his shop opposite the decaying town hall. Next to Klein's smithy were the stables and farrier, and Kurt led Ursula between the market stalls, nodding in greeting to those they passed, receiving many a 'Good morning' and 'Fine day to you' in return.
When Kurt pushed open the door of the stables and he and Ursula stepped inside, the stable boy, a sandy-haired lad called Mika, gave a start and pulled himself to his feet. He had been napping against a hitching post.
'Knacht Leitzig!' the boy blurted, straightening out his tunic and hose. 'Heldred's just out the back being saddled.'
'Bring him out to the square soon as you like.' Kurt replied sternly, but as the boy scurried off the knight gave a wink to Ursula and led her back outside. A few more people had started to gather, waking early to try and buy the best of the meagre supplies available. They shuffled about in their heavy cloaks and furs, trying not to appear too eager, but subtly jostling each other to get to the front of the growing queues. The growing whispers of plague did little to help the demand for fresh food, though these were put down to gossip and rumour. Still, there were worried glances whenever someone gave a sneeze or cough, and the gathering people would move slightly further away from such unfortunate individuals.
The square was dominated by the town hall, which stretched four storeys above the heads of the people at the market. Built entirely of dark stone, pierced by scores of narrow windows, it looked as much a bastion of defence as a civil building. Gargoyles around its many slanted roofs spat thin dribbles of water from the previous days drizzle onto the cobbles, splashing those below. The main doors stood twice the height of a man, but the hinges and locks were so rusted it had been nearly half a century since they had been opened. Glistening moss and tendrils of ivy crawled across the ancient stonework, obscuring the worn carvings and faded murals that had once decorated the most important building in Badenhof.
Neither Kurt nor Ursula spoke. There was no need to, the conversation would run the same way it had done the first few times Kurt had to leave.
'Must you go so soon?' Ursula would ask.
'I wish I did not have to, but I must be back in Bechafen by the end of the week.' Kurt would reply.
'Then I'll come with you,' Ursula would state firmly.
'There's no place to stay, and you do not have a horse,' Kurt would respond evenly.
'Then I shall run after you!' Ursula would assure him.
'I know you would.' Kurt would agree, half believing her.
'Be careful, say your prayers.' Ursula would demand, running a hand down his cheek, with a tear in her eye.
'I will, and you stay out of trouble.' Kurt would reply, stroking her long red hair with his gauntleted hand.
Now there was nothing more to say, more than a year after their first meeting. Now they simply stood next to each other. Kurt pulled off one armoured gauntlet and held her hand in his, bending down to kiss her hair, delighting in the flowery scent of her plaited locks. She craned her head back and to the s
ide to catch his lips on hers, and they kissed for a moment, eyes closed.
The clip-clop of hooves broke the spell as the farrier, Herr Struben, led Heldred out onto the cobbles of the square. Kurt's horse, another bequest from Lord Gerhardt, was a broad and powerful stallion, nearly sixteen hands high, black as pitch with a grey mane, tail and socks. Named after the founder of the Osterknacht, Lord Heldred Orcbane, he was not the finest horse Kurt had ever seen, but he was fast when spurred, placid when led and the two of them shared a bond of battle with each other.
Heldred nuzzled the knight affectionately, nipping at his dark hair, which brought a laugh from Ursula even as she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
'Ride with me to the edge of town,' Kurt said suddenly, pulling his gauntlet back on. Ursula paused for a moment, taken aback by the change in routine.
'What?' she stammered.
'Ride with me. I'll go by the western road first, back past the shrine and drop you off by the gatehouse.' Kurt explained. 'I feel like showing you off today, a fine sight you'll be on the back of Heldred! It won't be a long walk back.'
As Mika tied the saddlebags to Heldred and Herr Struben tightened the cinch of the saddle, Kurt mounted, and then pulled Ursula up across his lap, where she sat precariously in a side-saddle position, his arms around her holding the reins.
'I've never ridden a thing in my life before.' Ursula said nervously. 'I'm going to fall off and break my arm!'
'I'll keep a tight hold, we'll not go fast.' Kurt comforted her. Heldred's head came up and he whinnied, taking a clattering step to the left.
'Good journey!' Herr Struben wished Kurt, patting Heldred's flanks.
'Will you be hunting orcs?' Mika asked, his smile beaming.
'If I do, I'll bring you back a head in a sack!' Kurt promised the youth, before gently kicking his heels into Heldred and setting off at a walk.
They had been gone for no more than a few minutes, Kurt's arms clasped tightly around Ursula's waist, when she leant backward and whispered in his ear.
'You can go a little faster if you like,' she urged him.
Without saying anything, the knight pushed Heldred into a trot, and Ursula squealed as she slipped to her left, and he hugged her tighter, the unforgiving metal of his armour chafing slightly against her.
'Faster still?' he asked, smiling down at her.
'Yes, faster still!' she laughed back, slapping his shoulder and pulling him forwards.
With a shout, Kurt dug in his heels and Heldred leapt into a gallop, causing Kurt to laugh and Ursula to shriek girlishly. The horse thundered along the mud throwing up great clods of dirt with his freshly shod hooves. There were few people in the streets as the pair sped across Badenhof, though they had to swerve quickly at the crossroads of Sigmarstrasse and Lernrod when a miller's horse and cart appeared in front of them. His angry shout echoed in their ears, as they laughed together and sped on. They raced back past the Sigmarite church, and Ursula gave a wave to Brother Theobald as he made his way up the steps to the shrine. Heldred galloped on, taking them towards the outskirts, passing Kurt's small two-storey townhouse as they turned onto the Bechafenstrasse and towards the town walls. Another part of Lord Gerhardt's bequest, it had once been part of the Gerhardt estate, but now Kurt lived there as a free tenant. The house was small but well appointed, allowing Kurt to live in a small measure of comfort when he visited Ursula. Kurt only wished Ursula could live there while he was away, but it was better not to fuel the wagging tongues of the townsfolk.
It was on the Bechafenstrasse, just as they were storming up the hill towards the east well, that Ursula saw Frau Linde. Walking back towards them, a yoke laden with two brimming buckets across her shoulders, Kurt's neighbour gave an angry snarl as Heldred ran past. Ursula couldn't suppress the laugh which burst from her lips as she looked back over her shoulder and saw Frau Linde roundly cursing them.
It was only a short while before they reached the gatehouse, the crumbling towers covered with ivy, the shutters on the windows mildewed and broken. The town could no longer afford to employ permanent watchmen, and maintenance of this gatehouse, just like the other on the opposite side of Badenhof, had ceased a few years ago. The town leaders claimed vehemently that prosperity would return soon, but few believed their promises of fortune and wealth.
Kurt slowed Heldred to a trot as they passed under the rusting iron portcullis, and then pulled him to a stop. Ursula slipped off the horse's back, almost losing her footing on the uneven ruts of the road. Kurt did not dismount, but pulled the horse round so that he could bend down and kiss Ursula on the cheek. He did not say anything, but kicked Heldred into a walk again and rode away, not looking back. He had told her once that he would never look back, lest he change his mind and never leave. Ursula had laughed, saying that he always put his duty first. He had protested that she was the most important thing in his life, but she assured him that if it were any other way, she would probably love him less.
She stood there for a long while and watched the receding shape of horse and rider become nothing more than an indistinct blob, which then passed out of sight over the brow of a hill. With a heavy sigh, Ursula turned on her heel and paced slowly back through the gateway.
It was a long trudge back up the Bechafenstrasse for Ursula, her heart heavy with loneliness. With Kurt gone again, she was going to have to fend for herself. It was nothing new to her, even since they had met. She would do what she always did: spend her time tending the shrine and gardens to earn her board in the outhouse. She would attend prayer sessions held by Brother Theobald and perform her own morning ritual. And she would spend her other waking hours counting down the time until Kurt returned.
She longed for the time when they could marry and move to Bechafen and live in the Ostermark's capital. Over all the years of her wandering from town to village to town, she had felt herself inexorably drawn northwards towards that great city. She had felt that somehow Sigmar had guided her along some path he had laid down for her. Always fuelled by the belief, she had pressed on. Whenever she had been cast out, chased from her many homes, or accused of witchcraft, she had turned to Sigmar time and time again and he had led her onwards. And now that faith and patience was paying off. She had come here to Badenhof and by chance encounter, or perhaps the will of Sigmar, she had met Kurt.
Ursula remembered that day as she walked slowly back towards the shrine, passing the well where they had nearly run down Frau Linde. It had been cold, blustery and she had been pulling weeds from the flowerbeds in the eastern consecrated gardens. She could picture herself, slightly damp and dishevelled, her long, wind-tossed hair stuck to her face, her hands covered in dirt and her long grey woollen skirt patched and stained.
The creak of the gate opening had cut through her idle thoughts and she had turned to see who it was. There, under the natural arch formed by the two yew trees that flanked the gate, stood a handsome young knight, his horse tethered to the post just outside. She had thought she was dreaming at first, as he stood there gazing along the path towards the shrine. Like most young girls, when she had been small she had often daydreamed about a brave, virtuous knight falling in love with her, and she laughed to herself at the memory. Looking at Kurt, he had seemed slightly confused. She had stood up, dusted herself down as best she could and walked over to him. He was even more handsome up close, with dark eyes, a strong chin, and a stern expression on his face.
He had not noticed her at first, but as she got closer, his gaze moved from the church to her face and she was trapped in that instant. Looking back, Ursula wondered what it was that had instantly attracted her to Kurt. Naturally suspicious from her harsh life, she had trusted nobody, but looking into the knight's face she had been filled with the urge to tell him everything about herself, even though they had just met. He had asked, in his quiet polite way, if this was the shrine of Brother Theobald, and she had said yes. She had later found out that the priest's older brother had been a knight in
the Osterknacht, alongside Kurt, and he had been sent to bring news of the death of Theobald's kin.
'You wretched child!' Frau Linde's voice cut through Ursula's thoughts like a saw through a rusted nail, grating on her nerves immediately. The middle-aged woman was glaring at Ursula over the low wall surrounding the Linde cottage that sat next to the shrine, a black shawl wrapped tightly around her head and shoulders, giving her thin, pinched face the appearance of a crow's.
'And good morning to you, Frau Linde,' Ursula replied curtly, turning her look of agitation away and continuing towards the church. She knew exactly where the exchange would go, the two of them having long since dropped any pretence of civility. This morning, Ursula simply was not in the mood for one of Emerelde's haranguing outbursts.
'Don't ignore me, you worthless strip of a girl,' rasped Emerelde Linde, pointing a thin finger at Ursula, the fingernail blackened and cracked. 'I see the way you've bewitched that man! There's many a hard-working lass in this town deserves a fine young man like him, and yet it's you, wastrel and harlot that you are, who turns the handsome head of Knacht Leitzig.'
'You speak, of course, of your own daughter, the enchanting Gelda,' Ursula responded. Like many of the town's womenfolk, Gelda had seen Kurt several times and made plans for wedlock, but her ruddy complexion, wide hips and second chin were less than appealing to the handsome knight.
Though she knew she should not bite on the bait dangled by the meddling housewife, Ursula could not stop herself. She turned back towards the cottage and strode up to the wall to stand face to face with her critic. It was nothing new, at least once a week they would have these vitriolic exchanges, and on more than one occasion Ursula had felt like pulling out the interfering woman's hair and gagging her with it. 'Perhaps the smell of a fish is not quite the perfume Kurt wishes to wake to every morning.'
