by ich du
'Has everyone gone mad?' Ursula asked bitterly, spooning the food out onto the men's plates.
'In a sense, yes,' admitted Marius, wiping the last drops of broth from the bottom of his cup with a hunk of bread and dragging the vegetable meal in front of him. 'People are like sheep and need good shepherding. Badenhof is in the grip of a strange disease, whose symptoms are fear and suspicion. Hungry and cold, isolated from the outside, its people are terrified and are looking for some solution to their woes. A few individuals have lashed out and the others have latched on to this. It is a hysteria that is sweeping through the town, fuelled by uncertainty. While the town leaders do nothing, it will continue to grow until the town tears itself apart.'
'We've seen it before,' Ruprecht confirmed with a sorrowful shake of his head. 'And the real problem is that it does nothing but hinder our work here. While everyone cries "witch" and points at their neighbours, the real culprits for these crimes and disturbances can hide behind the confusion and anarchy.'
'So surely you have to find out who profits best from this mess,' suggested Ursula. 'Perhaps I could help if you told me more about why you are here.'
'Perhaps, but perhaps not,' Marius replied solemnly. 'Not only are the original instigators involved in this, but all manner of opportunists will have exploited the situation to their advantage. Petty-minded people try to settle scores, like Frau Linde and you. In many ways, I fear my presence has accelerated the decay and disorder, giving the people even more of a focus to direct their suspicions to, I'm inundated by accusations and complaints every day. It is better that you stay out of affairs as much as possible, the feelings you arouse might simply complicate matters.'
'Our presence can even trigger off this madness,' added Ruprecht. 'One sniff of a witch hunter and suddenly everyone starts wondering why we're there and their prejudices and superstitions are brought to the fore.'
'So how do you thread through all of this tangle?' asked Ursula with a frown, annoyed that they did not trust her.
'To be honest, in this sort of situation things are far beyond a simple remedy,' Marius admitted forlornly. 'We have to be patient, and a little lucky. There may be nothing amiss apart from hunger and disease and disaffected people, in which case we will move on. But if there is something else, we have to be sure of ourselves before we move.'
'And we have to be watchful!' put in Ruprecht with more optimism. 'If we're diligent then somebody may slip up. The important thing is to be prepared for when that happens, so we can act swiftly.'
'Be lucky? Be prepared? Wait for them to slip up?' exclaimed Ursula in exasperation. 'What good is that?'
Marius and Ruprecht looked at her and then at each other and shrugged. There was nothing else to say.
NEARLY A THIRD of Badenhof was now in ruins and almost all control had been lost in the poorer areas. Some of the watch were little better than the bloodthirsty crowds and looters they were supposed to be keeping in order. Ursula herself had been told by Marius not to venture out. Ruprecht had also confided in her that he was concerned for her safety, and he seemed convinced that it was not just the petty-minded gossiping and vitriol of Frau Linde that directed the ire of the superstitious townsfolk. He had told her, after some coercion by the persistent redhead, that someone behind the scenes appeared to be using all of the disturbance and violence to mask their own nefarious activities, but Marius and his band were no closer to locating or identifying that person. Ursula was not unduly worried, for she knew she was innocent of any crime and whatever her enemies tried to do, Sigmar would keep her safe.
Two more days passed without significant event, as Ursula continued her housekeeping duties for the witch hunter and his comrade. Others in the group dropped by occasionally to report their findings, but there seemed to be little real activity to report and most complained of the constant distractions caused by the local watch, the wildfire mob violence and the ineptitude or complacency of the town officials. News arrived daily that nearby towns were suffering similar outbreaks of violence, and the whole of northern Ostermark seemed on the verge of outright revolt.
Ursula did not realise just how bad things had got until Marius burst through the door shortly before lunchtime, quickly followed by Ruprecht and another two of his men. Ursula was cleaning down the floor in front of the wood stove and stood up, startled.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
'It's getting serious,' growled Ruprecht, 'very bad indeed. Get something warm on, we have to move you out of here.'
'Why?' Ursula demanded indignantly. 'What am I supposed to be running from?'
'No arguments!' snapped Marius. 'Events have taken a turn for the worse for all of us, our enemies are being very manipulative. It seems their interest in you has not passed, and they are going to try to use that against me. I suspect you have been put up as a scapegoat ever since I arrived, and I am more convinced than ever that there is something dark afoot in this town. Now, get ready to leave.'
'I'm not going anywhere until you explain what is going on,' Ursula told the group, crossing her arms stubbornly.
'Accusations have been made concerning our, ah, arrangements here,' Marius mumbled, glancing out of the window. The sound of shouting grew louder outside.
'Our arrangements?' Ursula's voice rose to a shriek. 'I can just imagine the kind of hateful rantings of witches like Emerelde, they never believe anything good of me. I've seen their looks and heard the whispering when I've been out. Well I've had enough of it!'
'The prattling of old wives I could live with.' Marius replied with a sour look, gesturing her to stand next to him and look out of the heavily leaded window.
Turning her gaze outside, Ursula saw a group of around fifteen men running down the Sigmarstrasse. Amongst them, she spotted a few red armbands, indicating that members of the town watch were present. She spun on her heel and strode towards the door, slapping away Ruprecht's outstretched arm as he tried to intercept her. Throwing open the door she stood on the step and waited for the crowd to get to the gate into the small garden at the front of the cottage.
'Haven't you all got work to do?' Ursula asked them scornfully.
'You may have cast your glamours on the witch hunter, bitch, but you'll not cloud our minds!' The speaker was a middle-aged man at the front of the crowd. He was short and wiry, with a prominent boil on the left side of his nose that gave his face a lop-sided look.
Ruprecht shoved past Ursula and began remonstrating with the mob, as Marius pulled her back through the doorway.
'Let us handle this, you impetuous girl!' the witch hunter hissed in her ear, feeling that events were about to overtake him if he didn't take control. Ursula's rashness could put them all in serious danger. 'That is Eiger Winckler, the senior court usher. There's more to this than just a noisy crowd you stupid child!'
Marius's sharp words stung Ursula and she stepped back as if slapped in the face. She stood silent for a moment before thrusting Marius back out of the way and charging past Ruprecht.
'What do you people want from me?' she shouted at the crowd, a few members of which, including Winckler, had now moved into the garden. 'I've done nothing wrong!'
'Then you won't mind facing a proper public trial then.' Winckler responded, stepping forward, a sly look on his face. 'You know the charges.'
'A trial?' spat Ursula. 'It would be a mockery of justice.'
'Don't do this-' warned Ruprecht at her shoulder. 'Be careful-'
'Magistrate Fenster foresaw such an argument.' Winckler told her, now a little ahead of the mob, his hands clasped in front of him like a rodent guarding its food. 'To dismiss your doubts, and also to give Herr van Diesl an opportunity to protect his own name, Magistrate Fenster proposes that the witch hunter officiates the proceedings.'
'What nonsense is this?' Marius exclaimed from the doorway, and then turned to Ursula. 'We have nothing to prove here. Someone is trying to trick you.'
'What have they been saying?' she asked the witch hunter, glancin
g back at Winckler.
'It isn't important, lass.' Ruprecht told.
'What are they saying about us?' Ursula's voice was little more than dangerous hiss.
'That I'm protecting you in return for, well, for certain physical favours.' Marius replied after a pause. 'You have bewitched me into agreeing this arrangement. Pay it no heed, though!' he insisted.
Ursula's fury was incandescent. She rounded on the crowd, her face flushed, and stalked up to Winckler.
'I'll stand trial!' Ursula spat, thrusting her face into his. 'This town will learn just who's responsible for this whole mess, and when the time comes I'll be there for when the judge at their trial sends them to prison to rot!'
'Well, that's us buggered then.' she heard Ruprecht mutter from behind her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fugitive
The Kislev Road, Winter early 1709
'WE STILL HAVE to work out where we'll cross the Urskoy.' Kurt pointed out, tossing another twig on to the small campfire Jakob had built.
'We should follow river for bridge or ford, road too risky.' agreed Jakob, pulling off his mittens and warming his hands at the growing blaze.
For the last few weeks, they had moved southwards as quickly as they could, but the harsh weather and the need to keep their route secret had hampered their speed. Now they would be crossing over into Ostland within the next day or two if they could, and from there turn southeast towards Badenhof.
'We'll have to be careful.' warned Kurt, following the servant's example. 'Those places will all have settlements, and who knows what might be waiting for us. I suppose you can try and get some of your people to help us.'
'My people?' Jakob answered with a frown. 'Not understand your meaning.'
'Well, this is your country after all.' Kurt explained. 'Are you from this area?'
Jakob was silent, poking at the fire with a stick.
'You've said hardly a word since we left.' Kurt complained. 'You won't even tell me why you insisted on coming with me.'
Still Jakob refused to comment, his expression surly.
'Give me one good reason not to leave you here and now!' demanded Kurt, rising to his feet.
Jakob shook his head slowly, still staring at the fire, and Kurt stomped off through the small copse of trees in which they had chosen to make their campsite. He snapped a twig from one of the snow-laden branches and twisted it between his fingers in agitation. The whole flight south had grated on his nerves. The need for stealth constantly warred with his desire to gallop to Badenhof as quickly as possible. Several times they had doubled back and circled to confuse the trail they left, and on one occasion had actually seen a small party of knights in the distance. Now Kurt was even more worried. The delay in finding a crossing point of the Urskoy, which would take them the wrong side of the river and hopefully throw off their pursuers, meant that there was no way of telling if the pair were still ahead of the hunt, or if any of the Osterknacht had overtaken them in the wilds.
The young knight was desperately worried about Ursula. He knew in his heart that she was capable, resourceful and able to take care of herself. She had done so for years. And yet, he felt responsible for her. Whether she could look after herself or not, he wanted to look after her, to free her from worries and cares. He wanted her to have a life worth living, and share in her fortunes and woes, regardless of whether they were his doing or not. He longed desperately to wake up and find that this had all been a bizarre dream, but the chill of the wind and the cracking of the icy snow underfoot was all too real.
A movement in the periphery of his vision and a quiet rustle drew his attention to his left. Kurt's hand strayed to the sword hanging at his belt and he stepped up to a tree to conceal himself.
'Master?' he heard Jakob call softly, and Kurt stepped out.
'I'm over here. Why aren't you watching the horses?' he asked.
Jakob picked his way through the snow-buried tree roots and rocks until he was stood a few feet from the knight.
'I wish to be sorry.' Jakob told him, avoiding Kurt's gaze. 'Not meaning to anger you, am afraid.'
'We're both afraid.' agreed Kurt, offering a hand of friendship, which Jakob took with a smile. 'But you don't have to be afraid of me, I'm not the enemy.'
'Not yet.' Jakob said sadly, letting go of Kurt's hand, hanging his head.
'What do you mean, "not yet"?' asked Kurt, growing suspicious. 'What have you done?'
'Cannot say why leaving the knights.' mumbled Jakob, kicking at the snow. Suddenly he looked up at the knight. 'Why you leave? You never say.'
Kurt thought for a moment, looking at the weary manservant. Could he trust Jakob? Then again, he thought, he couldn't expect Jakob to trust him with his secrets if he concealed his own. A sudden urge grew within Kurt to tell Jakob just what it was that had set him on this seemingly mad path. For too many years only he had known the full truth of his life, and here in the wilderness, isolated and hunted, it seemed fitting that the man who was his only companion should know the full truth about his travelling partner.
'Walk with me back to the fire, and I will tell you.' offered Kurt, receiving a look and a nod from Jakob. 'I have never told this to anyone, not even Ursula, and you must swear to secrecy.'
'Yes, I swear, as you when I tell the tale of me.' Jakob said.
'I agree, this shall by our pact.' Kurt replied, walking through the snow. After a moment, Jakob followed.
Kurt was quiet for a moment, the silence broken by a distant owl and the creak of branches under the weight of snow. He could recall the scene in every minute detail. The flicker of the fire through the trees made the memory all the more clear, and Kurt glanced at Jakob beside him. The man was watching intently, concentrating on the knight's words.
A DISTANT NOISE in the night's silence woke Kurt from a dream of sunlit meadows. It was a dog's bark, the young boy noted as the noise sounded again, closer and louder. More than one, he realised as a chorus of howls and barks erupted, drawing him from his bed. The night felt still and cold, despite the fire still dying in the grate and the warmth of the wooden panelling of the bedchamber. Brushing aside the light curtain of the four poster bed he stepped across to the window, his bare feet shrinking from the coolness of the bare flagstones. Pulling aside the left-hand shutter, he looked out over the ground of his father's estates.
In the distance, something glowed in the moonless dark. A ruddy halo approached through the trees, and more yapping and barking echoed towards the ancient family house. Fear gripped Kurt, the pit of his stomach tightening, as he listened to the clamour approaching, the noise swelled by the voices of men as well as hounds.
Behind him, the door crashed open and he span, a shriek about to erupt from his throat. Kurt relaxed when he saw it was Renschel, his father's gamekeeper, with a shielded lantern in his hand. The man was sweating hard, his face red and puffy, and his eyes darted side-to-side nervously.
'Grab some clothes, young master, and quickly,' Renschel told him, trying obviously to keep his voice calm.
'What's happening?' demanded Kurt, not moving. 'Where's my father?'
'He's downstairs, young master, now don't tarry, get something to wear!' The gamekeeper's voice became insistent and Kurt took a few steps towards the large wardrobe opposite the foot of the bed. He stopped and turned back to Renschel.
'Is it trouble?' he asked, his stomach churning again. 'Who is out there?'
'Yes, lad, it's trouble,' Renschel replied, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. 'Now stop dawdling or you'll be out in the cold in just your nightshirt, young master.'
Kurt hurried to the wardrobe and flung the door open. He paused self-consciously for a moment before flinging aside his linen night robe and grabbing a pair of breeches from one of the shelves inside. He grabbed a thick woollen shirt, deep red like the covers on his bed, and pulled it over his head. Lastly he pulled on some riding boots, scuffing the skin of his feet on the tight leather and wincing to himself.
'I'll grab a cloak from the hall downstairs,' Kurt told the gamekeeper as the two of them headed out the door. They were on the landing above the reception hall, twin stairways arcing down gracefully to either side of the main doors. Barely half the torches were lit in their sconces, giving the hallway a lopsided shadow that left the feet of the stairs in darkness. Below he saw his father running out of the door to the servants' scullery and he was about to call out when something boomed against the thick oak doors and made them rock in the hinges.
'What was that?' Kurt asked querously, snapping a glance at his father, who had stopped in mid-stride.
'No more questions,' Renschel replied hoarsely, grabbing the seven-year old by the arm and dragging him down the stairway. His father, Lord Leitzig, met them at the bottom, dressed in full travelling clothes, a cloak over one shoulder. In his left hand he carried a heavy bag, and he grasped a thin fencing sword in the right.
'Pay that no heed, son,' Lord Leitzig reassured his son with a wink. 'Just the neighbours getting jealous. Follow me, your ma and Katherina are waiting in the west chamber.'
Another boom shook the main doors, and for the first time Kurt noticed that the ancient iron braces had been lowered into place, barring the entrance. Not since his great grandfather had been besieged by the army of Baron Klein of Ostland had the defences been used. The thought worried the boy even more, and he gripped Renschel's hand tightly as the two adults led him through the door under the landing into the centre of the mansion. Turning left, they followed a narrow passage between the kitchens and the dining room, coming out to the chamber that dominated the west wing. Kurt's mother and sister were waiting there, a few candles lit on the massive candelabra that swung above their heads barely relieving the gloom. Low armchairs huddled in the shadows, filling the air with the fragrance of old leather. Wisps of candle smoke drifted lazily in a draught from the large windows that looked out on the gardens.
