by Tracy Falbe
The musicians called out their thanks and rushed onto the dock. They spared no time to guess at the motivations of their benefactor and hollered for the boatman that they were coming.
“I want to come with you!” Thal cried. His boots banged on the dock. More yelling up the street started when two more men, presumably in the Mayor’s employ, discovered their quarry.
The musicians jumped into the boat and made it rock so vigorously its captain complained that they would sink him. He yanked his ropes free of the posts as their pursuers raced onto the dock. Thal jumped into the boat and floundered on bags. One of the musician’s cases banged his head and someone climbed over him.
When Thal sat up, he yelled for his dog. The boat was loose now and the Vltava’s current grabbed it greedily. Pistol leaped and landed in the boat.
The men stuck on the dock cursed the musicians and shouted many threats, but the three players laughed uproariously now that they were escaping.
Thal moved to the back of the boat and watched the lights of Budweis recede. The shouting faded and he put away his pistol. The boatman uncovered his lantern and surveyed his cargo of fugitives.
“Who are you?” he demanded of Thal.
“A wandering knight who protects the weak!” declared one of the men who then put an arm around Thal.
“I’m just a man in need of transport down river,” Thal said and then introduced himself.
“I didn’t figure for four. We’ll be low in the water,” grumbled the boatman.
Thal apologized for his presence and offered a thaler for passage, which mollified the boatman.
His new companions introduced themselves as Raphael, Regis, and Carlo. They were from Venice and traveling the world to perfect their craft and learn new songs. They had been detained since fall in Budweis after performing for the Mayor who had decided to enjoy the prestige of his exotic musicians in his household indefinitely.
Thal found the story rather shocking and was glad to have aided in their escape. The musicians gushed with gratitude for his intervention although Regis was the only one whose Czech Thal could understand.
Regis introduced Thal to the boatman, Mander. The wiry man with dark hair kept his eyes on the dark water. “I don’t like being on the water at night,” he explained. He adjusted the rudder and the full boat veered around some unseen hazard.
“We’ll have to put into shore soon,” Mander announced.
“Go farther, please,” Regis implored.
Mander mumbled but kept to the middle of the water. “Somebody get in the front and watch for me,” he said.
Thal took the lantern and shifted to the prow.
The boat moved along smoothly until scraping against a submerged limb. “I told you to watch!” the boatman complained.
“No harm done,” Thal said as the boat glided onward.
Regis moved up beside Thal. “I not see you around Budweis,” he commented.
“I only got there today,” Thal said.
“We should’ve had sense to leave so quickly,” Regis said.
“How did you get Mander to agree to sneak you out?” Thal wondered.
“A friend helped,” Regis said.
Mander explained, “I wanted none of this trouble until I realized it would be good to be an unseen hand that annoys the Mayor. The docking fees in Budweis are a crime against Heaven.”
Thal noted how animosity toward authority had its uses. “Will you go as far as Prague?” he asked.
“No,” Mander answered.
“You’re bound for Prague?” Regis asked.
“Yes.”
“We’re heading there. It’s a place friendly to musicians,” Regis said.
Although Thal’s memories were spotty, he did recall that many players worked the streets of the city now that he thought about it.
“We should travel together,” Regis proposed.
Thal liked the idea but hesitated. He was a hunted man, and he did not want to bring any grief upon his new acquaintances. Pitching his voice low, he confided his concern.
The aura of mystery only seemed to interest Regis more. “Maybe I’ll write a great song about you,” he said.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Thal whispered.
“So you travel with us then?” Regis pressed.
Thal glanced over his shoulder. Carlo and Raphael smiled expectantly in the lantern light.
“It would not be safe for you,” Thal said and returned his attention to the river.
“Bohemia not safe for us alone. Maybe every household is a den of slavers in this land,” Regis worried. “Please Thal, I beg you, travel with us and protect us.”
“Protect you?” Thal said.
“Yes, like when you save us tonight. We need strong man like you,” Regis said.
Deep down Thal wanted to be a protector.
Carlo said something in Venetian, and then Regis said, “We’ll share our money with you.”
“All right,” Thal said.
Grinning, the three men hailed Thal as their new champion.
Mander steered the boat toward the bank. Even in the night he could recognize a safe landing on the river he had traded upon since he was a boy. The gentle bank ground along the bottom of the boat as it came to a stop.
“We wait here till dawn. Can’t take the rapids in the dark,” Mander said, and no one argued.
With the boat stable, the men took the opportunity to better arrange the sacks of flour for their seating. Then everyone got some rest. Before Thal closed his eyes he watched the moon sink into the treetops.
Chapter 11. Another Like Him
Mander took his refugees downriver a few miles more in the morning. Before reaching his home village, he dropped them off on a lonely stretch of the western bank and bid them good luck. He told them they would find a road a short hike away and then he pushed his craft back into the current with just its load of flour. Pleased with his good deed, he raised one of his thick arms and waved before turning away.
Regis groaned and embraced a hefty willow. “Thank God, we are free of Budweis!” he declared dramatically. “Never have I seen a lovelier bit of woods in all my life.”
“I’m also excited about our lack of shelter,” Carlo commented brightly.
“I’ll miss that poor girl who did so much for us,” Raphael moped, thinking of the maid that had aided their escape.
To console him, Regis said, “You’ll honor her best by being a success. She wanted you to follow your dream.”
Raphael nodded. He hardly wanted the alternative of staying in Budweis the rest of his life even with an adoring if plain-faced maid.
When Regis realized that their native tongue was excluding Thal, he apologized and said, “Let our hero lead us to the road.”
Thal spotted the easiest route through the vegetation and started up the bank. His new companions hoisted their instruments and puffed along behind him. Regis growled at his sore ankle with every step. Pistol wove in and out of sight beneath the bushes.
Bugs buzzed in the warming sun and ducks quacked conversationally on the river. Thal felt remarkably at ease. The distance from Budweis gained so quickly upon the water reassured him. If anyone had been on his trail they were certainly thrown off it now.
As Mander had said they found a road not far from the river. Its twisting lane followed the valley just above the floodplain.
Before their escape Raphael had thoughtfully packed some food from his unwanted patron’s larder. The men broke their fast on the roadside. Thal ate his cheese and bread gratefully.
“Some wine would be nice,” Carlo lamented.
“Perhaps we’ll find a good tavern tonight,” Raphael said.
“I think we better pass a few villages before we try playing for our supper,” Regis said. He interpreted his statement to Thal and asked his opinion.
Thal agreed that they should avoid contact until they got a little farther from Budweis.
“We have you to protect us from bandi
ts and warlocks now,” Regis added.
Thal nodded thoughtfully. He had not really considered that dangerous people would be lurking along the roads.
“So what are you wanted for?” Regis asked, trying to sound casual.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Thal said.
Regis grinned broadly. The pleasant expression suited his handsome face. “Perfetto! You wanted for crime you not do. I shall write a grand song about you,” he said.
Thal was not sure how to respond to the concept of being an inspiration.
When they started packing up, he asked them about their musical instruments. Carlo had a zink. Its slightly curving tube had a mouthpiece and holes that he played with his fingers. Raphael played the lute. His slender fingers strummed the strings confidently. Regis opened his case and showed off his harp. Its richly polished wood and shiny knobs marked it as a masterfully constructed instrument. Pride twinkled in Regis’s eyes as he looked upon his precious possession.
“This is the wife of my voice,” Regis explained.
He closed the case and Thal helped him settle it over his back. The four men started down the road. After a while Thal asked them how they had been trapped in Budweis.
“At first we feel only delayed,” Regis explained. “Mayor Kronkeet like showing us off to his cronies. He always throwing dinner parties and we play. It nice for a while, but we were keen to get to Prague. We only stop in Budweis to rest and practice the language.”
“Why are you going to Prague?” Thal said.
“It is a place of musicians,” Regis said.
“Is not Venice grander?” Thal said because even he could remember the fame of the city-state renowned for its wealth.
“Yes, but we just talent in a sea of talent. We can make ourselves better by taking to the road. We’ll learn new songs and ways to sing and play. The best singers must see the world. Someday when we get home, a great patron will want us because we are best,” Regis explained.
“I see,” Thal said, impressed with the dedication they were giving to their craft.
Regis continued, “Kronkeet say he would give us letter of recommendation. We wanted this letter to aid us in our travels in this foreign kingdom, but he always put off writing it. Finally when spring come, we simply took our leave of him. Then he round us up like livestock and lock us in our rooms at night. It was a nightmare!”
Raphael spoke up and when Regis interpreted, Thal learned that a scullery maid had begged her brother to find a boatman willing to help. Once that had been arranged, the musicians had climbed out their windows.
“We were saved by love,” Regis concluded and grinned at Raphael who had been the darling of the maid during the long winter.
******
As the footsore days advanced, Thal’s choice to travel with the musicians proved fortunate. He was less conspicuous in their company. Once they got farther north, they stopped at taverns every night, and the owners and guests welcomed the musicians. By himself Thal suspected that he would have engendered more suspicion, but his apparent role as a bodyguard for the musicians added to everyone’s prestige. Regis often embellished their story by saying they were traveling to Prague at the invitation of King Ferdinand. Locals accepted this fabrication with smiles.
The spring days passed sublimely. Men and women worked the fields sowing their precious seeds. Pastures were abundant with frolicking calves and lambs, and fluffy ducklings and goslings waddled around ponds. The musicians were content to spend a leisurely day strolling to the next village where they could gain supper and a place to sleep.
Thal enjoyed how his companions conveniently gained him food and lodging. People liked their music and lavished them with praise. Sometimes they were even convinced to stay on another night. Thal enjoyed their music as well. Regis had a lovely voice that could bring smiles or tears. When not performing, the gregarious Regis practiced his Czech, especially with women, and his pronunciation improved. Carlo and Raphael were mostly content to communicate through music, and Thal studied the social scenery every evening and grew more at ease among people. The grip of the forest was loosened a little as he grew more accustomed to four walls around him when he slept and a hot plate of food being presented to him. But when his hand would inevitably stray toward his soft fur under his cloak, the wilds tugged at his heart.
Wanting to distract himself from the sorrow of losing his pack, he focused on the humanity around him. He learned new card games at the taverns, and sometimes played dice, but he preferred the cards because he could adapt his sensitive intuition to their play. He honed his talent for interpreting the feelings of his opponents and won more hands than he lost. He imagined that Andreli would be proud of him. The stakes tended to be low in these friendly games, but Thal did not mind. His best victory scored him a new hat. The broad brim shaded his eyes nicely, and he liked its blue felt band and the pheasant feathers stuck in it. And the hat hid much of his strangely colored hair that always drew attention. Although he tried to stay in the background while his colleagues took center stage, comments about his eyes or hair reached him almost nightly. People had never seen his coloring before. Wenches liked to look at him closely when they delivered a stein of beer. One night a girl even toyed with a lock of his hair and purred about how lovely it was. He thanked her politely and she drifted away obviously dissatisfied with his lack of enthusiasm for her.
One evening in the village of Mirotice he found the public room stuffy at a dingy establishment. In his opinion, the bleak house with watery beer was hardly worthy of his friends’ talent, but Regis had not wanted to push on to the next village because the weather had turned hot and he was tired.
When the sun went down, Thal strolled the streets for fresh air. The fur hidden beneath his cloak was hot against his back. He had been careful not to let his companions have a good look at it.
A few lanterns were lit around the town fountain. Pistol hopped up on the edge of the fountain and got a drink. Thal sat beside his dog and petted him. Life on the road was stimulating and helping him to adjust to his new existence, but he worried that he was taking too long to reach Prague. He still hoped to find his mother. She would know more about the magic that was entwined with his life. Thal decided to confide his need for better urgency to Regis. His friend would understand and quit being so lackadaisical.
Banging down the street at the village gate aroused his attention. Two watchmen emerged from their guard house to investigate the insistent pounding and opened a little window in the gate. A surly guard challenged the latecomers in an irritated tone, but a terse reply sweetened him up. Begging for pardon, he and his mate scrambled to unbar the entrance.
Thal watched expectantly. His senses reached out and examined the arriving group. Men. Horses. And then a scent hit his nose that put him on his feet.
Wolf.
The watchmen opened the gates. Eight men on horses clattered inside. Their steeds snorted with eagerness for water. The two foremost riders wore long brown robes. The six riders behind them were armed and bearing torches. The smoking flames reflected off their oily helmets and sword handles.
After the riders came a dozen men on foot. They were dressed as monks and most had walking sticks. Sober looking they were in their brown robes with crosses upon their chests. Sandaled feet with dirty toes poked out from dusty hems. Beards clung to their gaunt cheeks.
Pistol jumped down from the fountain and rushed out barking. He circled the horses well out of reach of their hooves, barking for the sake of being annoying.
Thal watched the group intently. His first thought of wolf seemed a little off after closer examination. The scent was wolf-tainted but not the pure and comforting essence of his lost kin. This scent was adulterated.
Cold shock prickled his skin. Someone in this group smelled like him.
The marching monks headed straight through the village square toward the church. As they passed the fountain Thal stared at them openly. One monk abruptly looked over at him. He
was in the middle of the group. Thal glimpsed his face. Dishwater hair and a wispy beard and dark sunken eyes connected briefly with Thal. He sensed a great unease in the man’s emotions. The man’s expression was confused. He soon disappeared as his group exited the meager light by the fountain.
The riders stopped at the fountain and their horses slurped at the fresh water. All the men dismounted. The apparent leader with his bald head and neatly trimmed brown beard dismounted and approached Thal. A finely detailed little metal Jesus hung from the cross at his neck. The shriveled little figure in a loin cloth was a disquieting image to Thal, who lifted his eyes and met the gaze of the tall man. The monk regarded him with searing authority.
“Do my brothers interest you?” the monk inquired. He spoke Czech but the accent of the Italian Peninsula marked his speech, similar to when Regis spoke.
“Yes,” Thal said because there seemed no point in lying after eyeballing the group so strenuously.
The tall monk looked Thal up and down, noting the weapon and the strong body.
“I am Brother Vito of the Society of Jesus,” the man said.
“Hello.” Thal’s greeting irked the man because it lacked any awe or respect.
“What’s your business in Mirotice?” Vito asked.
“Just passing through,” Thal said. He glanced over his shoulder as Brother Vito’s armed guards spread around the fountain with their horses. Their expectation that Vito would command something of them was palpable.
“Idleness does not serve our Lord,” Vito admonished.
“What’s your business in Mirotice?” Thal asked.
Vito’s regal composure wavered for half a moment. Thal recognized how he had jarred the man.
Reinstating his poise, Brother Vito said with a crocodile smile, “Just passing through.”
“This little town is good for that. The beer at the tavern is watered,” Thal said.
“Strong drink does not concern me,” Vito said.
“What concerns you? You seem to have important business,” Thal said, aching to know more about this group and the strange one within it.
“It takes a bold man to question a leader among Jesuits,” Vito remarked.
