by TJ Bennett
“And I, you,” she whispered, sweet love spreading throughout her body. “And I, you.”
The hasty arrival of the innkeeper at the table disrupted their tender moment. Such a large man moving so quickly was indeed a sight to behold. Both she and Fritz watched as he hurried to Günter’s side.
Federigo smoothed back a lock of his thinning black hair from his forehead in a gesture of agitation before leaning down to speak to Günter, his hands clasped before him.
“Signore, forgive me for disturbing you, but my servant tells me there is a gentleman at the front door who inquires about a man who looks very much like you, and of his beautiful companion.” He smiled worriedly at Alonsa. “My servant is paid very well to ignore such requests for information about our guests, but noblemen will have their way, will they not?” He punctuated the comment with a longsuffering sigh.
Günter straightened and slowly put down his mug. His gaze intense, he asked, “What did he look like?”
“The servant described him as very tall and very rich, in a nobleman’s cloak of black, lined with red.” The innkeeper fluttered his hands. “Do you know this man, Signore? Should I permit him to enter? It is a touchy business to deny such a one entrance if he wishes it, but for you …” He made an eloquent gesture that somehow managed to communicate both his desire for Günter to leave and his willingness to allow him to stay.
Günter was silent for a moment. He exchanged glances with Alonsa and then looked down the table at Fritz, as though he weighed his options. Finally, he rose.
“Tell him I’ll meet him. Outside. This pursuit has gone on long enough.”
Alonsa grasped his arm. “No! What if—what if he seeks to harm you?”
He glanced down at her, his features a cold mask.
“Then it is best I meet him on a field of my own choosing, is it not?”
Alonsa, frantic now, held onto his sleeve. “You cannot go!” She looked down the table at Inés first, then Fritz. “Tell him he cannot go.”
Inés realized she feared the curse had come to take Günter. Could it be true? So soon after they wed, danger reared its head. Could this be merely coincidence?
Günter sighed in exasperation. “Alonsa …”
Fritz stood. “I will go as well.”
Inés was proud of his courage. However, she had no more desire to see Fritz harmed than Alonsa did Günter.
“Perhaps it would be best if we pretended not to be here …” she began, but Günter interrupted her.
“Federigo,” he said, the finality in his voice speaking volumes, “give the gentleman my message.”
Federigo nodded and hastened off.
At Alonsa’s indrawn breath, Günter turned to her.
“Trust me,” he said softly. “All will be well.”
With those words, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. He glanced at Fritz, who seemed determined to accompany him, and shook his head.
“Stay here and watch over the women.”
Günter reached for his Zweihänder and a torch and strode from the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE NOBLEMAN—GÜNTER ACCOUNTED HIM TO BE about five-and-twenty—awaited him just beyond the passageway leading to the inn. A few lit torches lined the stone passageway, throwing their light into the darkness and casting flickering shadows on the ground, revealing enough to determine it was indeed the same man from the tavern in Voghera. He had removed his black cape and now watched Günter’s approach with deep intent, his sword held at his side, though he did not threaten with it.
Günter placed the torch into an empty wall sconce, and then allowed his Zweihänder to balance freely on his shoulder while he scanned the area, noting the absence of the man’s servant. The damp ground was not the best, and the narrow passageway would make maneuvering with the Zweihänder difficult, but its longer reach gave him the advantage over the nobleman’s shorter blade. The servant might be hiding somewhere nearby, ready to stab Günter when his back was turned. Günter knew enough about battle to understand all men, noble and otherwise, liked to have the odds of surviving in their favor, and might arrange matters to their own advantage whenever possible.
Günter approached him slowly and stopped just out of sword reach. The other man watched him, his grey eyes filled with an emotion Günter could only describe as cold rage, the steel of his blade reflecting the glow of the torches. They measured one another for a time, neither willing, it seemed, to make the first move. Finally, the noble spoke.
“Who are you?” he asked. He spoke in French, his accent both educated and elegant, though his words were clipped.
Günter gave him a cold smile and answered in kind.
“You followed me, and yet you do not know who I am. Odd. Mayhap I had best have your name first.”
The man lifted one eyebrow. “Does it matter?”
Günter shrugged. “Nay. If you intend to do me or mine harm, you will be dead just the same.”
The man shifted his feet, and Günter raised his weapon. The noble held his ground.
“Where is your servant?” Günter asked. “Or is this to be a fair fight?”
“He had other matters to attend to. He will not interfere.” The noble’s jaw firmed. “This is between the two of us.”
Günter nodded; for some reason—his famous instinct, mayhap—he believed him.
“Why are you here?” Günter asked.
The Frenchman drew himself up. “I want answers.”
“Then ask the right questions,” Günter fired back.
The Frenchman’s gaze narrowed. “The carbuncle ring.”
Startled by the change in subject, Günter frowned. “What of it?”
“Where did your whore come by it?”
Günter went deadly still. “She is my wife. Take care how you speak of her, patrician.”
The noble moved his head in a gesture of irritation. “Bien. Your wife, then. Answer the question.”
For a moment, Günter considered telling him to go to hell, but his curiosity about the other man’s intentions drove him to answer truthfully.
“I gave it to her. To mark the occasion of our wedding.”
At this response, the Frenchman raised his sword.
“Then I challenge you, Monsieur, to a duel of honor. Defend yourself, or today I make your wife a widow.”
He moved quickly toward Günter.
The Frenchman was fast, but Günter was faster. He guarded and flanked the noble’s blade with his own, the sudden contact igniting sparks. He swung around, counterattacked with focused intensity, but the Frenchman dodged and spun away, anticipating his move. They faced each other, each man taking the other’s measure, trying to gauge the next attack.
Suddenly, the noble made a sloping parry and managed to get close enough to slice through Günter’s sleeve before he passed back. Günter ignored the stinging scratch on his arm and passed forward, making a straight cut for the head, but the other man reacted quickly and the two blades clashed perpendicular to one another, the clanging sound of steel reverberating loudly.
For a moment, they pushed against one another’s blades, their breathing harsh. Günter saw a flicker of admiration in the Frenchman’s gray eyes and understood. He had rarely met anyone to match his own abilities, and a part of him couldn’t help but respect the other man’s skill. Still, fighting in such close quarters would prove difficult. He needed open ground to maneuver before he could gain the upper hand. His gaze flicked over the other man’s shoulder, and he smiled at what he saw behind him. The nobleman’s eyes grew wide at his expression, and he frowned in concentration and pushed harder to free himself.
Günter thrust the man away with a grunt, and the fighting resumed. He allowed himself to be pushed toward the trees and away from the torches. For long minutes they fought, their blades clashing while they tested each other’s strength and commitment. At one point, Günter slipped on a patch of mud and stumbled, fumbling his sword. Rather than press his advantage, the Fren
chman took a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes, giving Günter the precious seconds he needed to recover. He scrambled up, raising his sword just as the other man came in for the kill. The nobleman spun away in time to prevent Günter’s sword from hacking into his chest, and they resumed the fight. Their movements took them away from the inn to where the light from the torches shined weakest, but Günter had eyes like a cat. He went on the attack, his footing surer now, the swinging arc of his blade driving his opponent to the tree line where it was more difficult for him to maneuver with his back against the barks.
Günter did wonder why the Frenchman was trying to kill him, but he’d ask the question later, if he survived the contest. He decided to end the match quickly since he’d taken the man’s measure. He went down on one knee, briefly, his hand sinking into the drier dirt near the tree line, but he recovered quickly.
The Frenchman had one disadvantage. He fought like a knight, that is to say, by rules of order. Günter was not averse to fighting outside the rules, if the occasion warranted it, and this certainly did. Günter flung the dirt in his hand into the other man’s face. The soil hit its mark, blinding the Frenchman, who screamed in pain and indignation.
With a startling shout and a flurry of blows, Günter got close enough to knee the man in the stones. The Frenchman, astonished, gasped and folded up. Günter brought the pommel of his sword down and struck the man hard enough on the forehead to stun him. The Frenchman went to his knees still gripping his cock, his head now bleeding from the blow.
Dazed from the pain, the noble nevertheless had the wherewithal to cross his blade and protect his head from further strikes. The rapid attack had rendered him senseless enough, however, for Günter to disarm him easily.
Günter stood over the man with his Zweihänder primed for a final strike. Breathing hard from exertion, he stared down at the nobleman prostrate at his feet. His opponent raised his unusual steel-gray eyes, red-rimmed and watering from the dirt irritating them. Those eyes neither pleaded for mercy nor seemed to expect it.
“Bastard!” he barked. “Do it, then. Why do you wait?”
Günter gripped his blade tighter. “I wondered if you would care to share with me why you wish to kill me. Call it idle curiosity.”
His opponent clenched his teeth. “I took an oath. I will kill the man who killed my brother, or be killed by him instead. You have me at your mercy. Why do you hesitate?”
Günter shook his head.
“A soldier does what he does. It is not personal. Your brother, if he fought in battle, would have known that. To swear vengeance against someone for such a reason is not only foolish, but the act of a green knight.”
The man blinked at the insult. Then his eyes narrowed. “You say you are a soldier?”
Günter nodded, realizing the man had not already known. The puzzle grew more complicated.
“Soldier or not, you are a bandit with no honor,” the man accused, his lips clenched in a grim snarl. “The way you won only confirms this.”
The hatred pouring from the French noble confounded Günter. “Unlike the man who wore the carbuncle ring, I am no bandit. As does any mercenary, I sometimes take my pay in the form of spoils fairly won, but I do not lie in wait, nor take from those who can ill afford to lose the little they have. And I might have killed you, but I chose to disarm you instead. Be grateful I used the dirt instead of my usual method, which would have been hacking off your fighting arm.”
The Frenchman shifted as though he intended to rise, the muscles bunching in his neck. Günter’s raised sword served as an effective deterrent.
“Liar! You stole the carbuncle ring from my brother,” the noble snarled, “the day you murdered him like a dog by the side of the road.”
Comprehension dawned. “I did not steal the ring. I took it as spoil, fairly won.” Günter slowly edged his blade away. Things were becoming clearer. “Are you certain the ring is your brother’s? And did you see the men who did this deed?”
“I did not witness the attack, but I know what happened. His servant survived and described it. As to the ring, it is unique. Only four of them exist.” The Frenchman held up his right hand and an exact replica winked from his finger. “I wear one. The others are worn by my father in his grave and by my two brothers, one of whom is now dead.” The side of his mouth rose in a cynical sneer. “Your wife conveniently displays one on her finger, and you say you gave it to her. Yet you deny you stole it from my murdered brother’s hand.”
“I do not deny I removed it from a dead man’s hand,” Günter responded. “However, unless your brother was given to banditry, the man I obtained it from was not he. He and another tried to violate my wife. I killed them for it. I took what they had as spoil. I intended to return the ring to its rightful owner if the opportunity arose.”
He lifted his blade and swung it over his shoulder, effectively rendering himself defenseless. Let the truth be his protection. “It appears it has,” he finished. “The ring is yours, and I offer my condolences on your brother’s death. I can offer this as consolation: the man who murdered your brother will kill no others.”
The nobleman stared up at him in disbelief.
“You killed the bandit?”
“Actually, six of them,” Günter answered.
Astonished, the French noble gaped. “Six of them?”
Günter narrowed his eyes. “They threatened those under my protection.”
“I … see,” the man murmured. “I will heed the warning. But why should I believe this story?”
Günter gripped the hilt of his sword in annoyance, but then remembered this man had recently lost a brother. He knew the devastation he would feel if he lost one of his own siblings.
“The bandit and his cohorts accosted us by the river outside of Broni. We barely escaped with our lives. The bandit who had your brother’s ring wore red and black clothing, like yours, but it fitted him poorly, as if it was not made for him. If he was a noble, then so is my horse. I believe everything he possessed was stolen property.”
Günter motioned his head toward the inn.
“You may ask after my character of the innkeeper, and the details of the attack from the monk who keeps the abbey in Broni.” He smiled slightly. “And if you are interested, you may nose the bandits yourself as you pass the river Po about one hour’s ride outside Broni. I decided the wolves could dispose of them more efficiently than we, so we did not waste the effort in burying them.”
The man looked up at Günter, a dazed expression on his face. “Then it appears my quest for vengeance has come to an abrupt end.”
Günter held out his hand in treaty. After a brief hesitation, the man took it and allowed Günter to help him rise.
“Come, we will return your brother’s ring to you,” Günter offered. “My bride has certain reservations about wearing it regardless.”
The Frenchman retrieved his sword from where it had fallen and turned to face Günter. He dragged a hand through his reddish brown hair. Guilt wore heavy on his thoughtful brow and he gazed at Günter, his expression troubled.
“Our Lord said, ‘Vengeance is mine.’ In my eagerness to usurp His authority, I might have killed an innocent man. This has been a valuable lesson, and one that with God’s grace I will only have to learn once.” He stood straighter. “If all you say is true, I owe you a debt for ridding the earth of the villains who murdered my brother. I owe also an apology. How can I ever repay you?”
Günter grinned. “The beer here is truly excellent,” he said, “but I only drink with men whose names I know.”
The Frenchman bowed.
“I am Robert.” In the French way, he did not pronounce the final “t.”
Günter raised his eyebrows. “Just… Robert?”
For the first time, the other man smiled.
“For now. This might not be the best place to proclaim one’s identity. Particularly to a mercenary. Ransom is such a bothersome business.”
“Ah. Well, Robert,
I am Günter, and today is my wedding day. I refuse to spoil it by taking captives. You are welcome to join our table, if you are buying the beer. I warn you, however,” Günter said, tongue not entirely in his cheek as they turned back toward the inn, “I am a great drinker of beer.”
Robert laughed. “My purse can accommodate your thirst, I think.” He slapped Günter on the shoulder. “I will accept your invitation, and drink a toast to your bride.” His gaze flickered toward the inn’s passageway. “Provided she does not run me through with that very fine steel of hers.”
Günter turned to see Alonsa standing in the doorway of the inn, brandishing her sword. Fritz attempted without success to stand before her, and Inés peered over her shoulder in agitation.
Günter strode to her in exasperation. “Didn’t I say to stay inside?”
She raised her chin in defiance. “You did. I only intended to come out if you needed my assistance.”
“If I needed—” Günter sputtered with indignation, insulted beyond words. He heard Robert chuckle behind him but quickly subdue the sound. Finally, Günter managed to speak.
“Woman, I am a mercenary of seven years’ fame. I have successfully defended myself in a half-dozen countries. I would not require your assistance under any circumstances I can possibly imagine.” He took her blade away. “The next time, follow my instructions.”
She stiffened. “You cannot order me about as if I were one of your soldiers.”
“Nay,” he agreed. “For if you were, I could not do this.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and crushed her body to his. She gasped. When she did, he dipped his head and took her open mouth in a hot, wet kiss that had him forgetting his surroundings, his name, and the fact that they had a highly amused audience watching their every move.
To his astonishment, Alonsa wound her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with open abandon. Only Robert’s admiring whistle and the persistent throat clearing of Fritz caused Günter to lift his head and unsteadily put Alonsa from him. She slowly opened her eyes, her expression stunned.
“Perhaps,” Robert said behind him, a smile in his voice, “you will wish to delay the drink until another time, no?”
