ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1)

by J. K. Swift

A month earlier his patrol had ridden to the rescue of an Italian caravan under attack by Bedouin raiders. His horse took an arrow in the lung and threw Thomas in front of the archer. He recovered, and without thinking thrust his sword into the raider’s guts, mortally wounding him. As the figure writhed in pain on the ground, his face covering came away, and Thomas saw his attacker was a young boy, no more than twelve years of age.

  Both the horse and the boy took a long time to die.

  “Boys grow into men. Men who would undermine the one true faith. You carried out God’s will and that is the end of it. Think no more on it, for there will be more. Many more.”

  De Villaret turned back to the window and gazed out. “If I grant you permission to work extra hours in the hospital, then you must do something for me. You will learn to read and write. First in Latin, then Arabic.”

  Thomas perked up, hardly believing his ears. He was going to learn to read! But he was not sure he had heard the knight correctly.

  “Arabic, Commander?”

  “Of course. Latin may be the word of God, but Arabic is the language of medicine. Although Frankish doctors are loath to admit it, the Arabian hakim are vastly superior. The works of the great Greek and Roman physicians have been lost to the West for centuries, but not to the East.”

  “But the writings of Galen and Hippocrates have been translated to Latin,” Thomas said. “One of the monks showed us copies.”

  “Copies, yes. Copies of Arabic texts. The originals are long lost, so the Latin versions are translations of Arabic works. I feel the Latin copies possess a sometimes diluting layer of interpretation that the Arabic texts never intended.”

  “You have read them?”

  “Yes, and so should you, provided it does not interfere with your military training. But not only the works of Galen and Hippocrates. Arabic medicine is the medicine of the Islamic world, not just the Arabs. That means that the Persians and Nestorians in the east and even the Spanish and Jews in the west have all contributed to Arabic medicine. You will become familiar with these works as well.”

  Thomas was shocked. What de Villaret suggested was blasphemy. “Even the Jews? But they are the enemy of Christ.”

  “So we are told. But as His soldiers, then is it not our duty to learn from the enemy? The truth is, as Hospitallers we owe the Jews and Moslems a great deal for keeping the knowledge of the ancients alive. Knowledge long ago lost in the west, due in no small part to the Church’s fear of the common man exploring the divine mysteries of the human body. The Church is content to have us refuse medical treatment and pray while sickness ravages our body, leaving our lives in the hands of God alone.”

  There was a hard edge to de Villaret’s voice. Thomas glanced around the room, looking for any place that may conceal an eavesdropper. The talk made him nervous.

  “But surely the Church’s position has changed. We are, after all, an exempt Order subject only to the Pope himself. If the Church was truly against the study of medicine, why would they have allowed the Hospitallers to form in the first place?”

  De Villaret’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the youth before him and he shook his head. “Although both the Templars and the Hospitallers are sworn to poverty, we control vast fortunes that rival that of many monarchs. In fact, a good deal of that fortune has been earned by lending money to Kings. But often wealth is merely the illusion of power. For the moment only the Pope himself has the power to command us, but that will not always be so. Change is the only certainty in life.”

  He turned to look out the window, and spoke quietly. “We tread softly here. Much softer than you can possibly imagine. Especially now. The Mohammedans are not the only wolf baying at our door.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then de Villaret wheeled around. “But I did not summon you here to lecture. In return for me allowing you to study in the hospital, I have a task that you are to complete for me. But it is for me alone. No one is to know of our conversation today. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Marshal.” Thomas’s eyes darted around the room once before answering.

  De Villaret reached down to his desk and lifted a rolled up scroll.

  “First you must learn to read the three hundred names on this list. Then you will learn to write well enough to prepare your own list of the one hundred young men you think are the most suitable. They must be strong of arm and skilled in combat. But above all, loyal. Select only those you would trust with your life, and make no mistake on it, for that is precisely what you will be doing. You have sixty days to complete your task before we depart.”

  Thomas’s head spun. “Depart Marshal? Where are we going?”

  “Our hospice on the island of Cypress,” de Villaret said. His intense blue eyes dimmed and when he looked at Thomas he had a sad, faraway look. “Ready all your possessions to take with you, Thomas, for once we leave, Acre will no longer be your home.”

  The Alpine wind suddenly changed direction and the ferry’s sail luffed, fluttering uselessly for a moment until the boom started a slow swing to the other side of the barge. So lost in thought of the past, Thomas did not see it until the last moment. He ducked, and the long beam, crafted from a young tree as thick as his leg, swung harmlessly overhead and the sail once again filled with wind.

  Thomas cursed the ever-changing winds on the lake. The influence of the Alps could send breezes whistling in from any direction. He would have to pay more attention. The emerald waters were as unpredictable as they were beautiful.

  With his hand clutched around the steerboard, Thomas stared out over the dark waters, but all he could really see was his quill tracing the names of one hundred Schwyzer youths onto parchment. They would become members of the newly created Hospitaller Navy, under the direction of the Order’s first Admiral, Foulques de Villaret.

  The other two hundred Schwyzers would perish defending the walls of Acre less than a year later.

  Chapter 13

  HABSBURG CASTLE lay a half-day’s ride from the easternmost inlet of the Great Lake. ‘Castle’ was a generous term, for it was more a stone mansion surrounded with a low fence to keep the animals out of the courtyard. Servants and farmers that looked after the estate lived in a dozen hovels that extended beyond the grounds and were scattered throughout the surrounding woods. Leopold’s father had used the estate as a hunting lodge and referred to it as his summer castle. He came here to escape court life in Vienna, however, it was not a place he had shared with his family. Neither Frederick nor Leopold had ever visited the estate while their father was alive.

  Immediately upon his father’s death, Leopold had masons and carpenters from Berne construct a soldier’s barracks, courtroom and prison cells just far enough outside the walls to be hardly visible from the main keep. He burned most of his father’s furniture and stuffed boars from countless hunting expeditions and made the castle his new, albeit temporary, home. He intended to relocate to Altdorf once the fortress was complete.

  The remoteness of Habsburg suited Leopold and he could understand why his father spent so much time here. However, the past week had been anything but peaceful. French and Austrian nobles had invaded Habsburg Castle, along with their baggage trains of servants and guards, and the odd Italian or Spanish popinjay flitted about as well. They had all come to see Catherine of Savoy marry Prince Leopold. A union that Leopold had opposed for years, but after spending everything he had on construction of the Altdorf fortress, he began to develop an appreciation for Catherine’s charms, along with the dowry her father Amadeus, the wealthy Count of Savoy was offering.

  It was a match ordained in heaven, Leopold had assured the Count. Amadeus had agreed and blessed the marriage wholeheartedly, contributing generously towards their new life together. He knew full well Leopold planned to control the Gotthard Pass from his fortress at Altdorf, but he also knew the French King had been showing expansionistic tendencies towards the pass as well, and he had no love for the French Crown. Having his own son-in-law overseeing the Gott
hard would be far more advantageous.

  The Archbishop of Savoy performed the ceremony in the largest church the Kussnacht area had to offer, which was not saying much. The local clergy were awed to have His Eminence conducting a royal wedding in their humble House of God, and so they fretted to make it a raucous event to be remembered by all. For Leopold, it had been the longest day of his life. After being subjected to the insufferable pomp and ceremony of the Catholic Church for hours on end, he and his new wife had to endure the feast at Habsburg Castle with foreign crowds of fickle well-wishers and bawdy entertainers. His own jester, the Habsburg Fool, reveled in it, and performed several times throughout the day to the cheers of the spectators. Leopold swore he would slit the throat of the next man who told him how fortunate he was to have such a talented entertainer in his court.

  Strange, Leopold thought, how a man with hundreds of people listening to his every word and watching his every movement could feel so alone. He had been disappointed to hear his brother Frederick would not be able to attend his wedding because war had finally broken out between him and Louis over the German crown. Frederick’s presence could have made this entire farce bearable.

  When he finally entered the wedding chamber and left the world outside, the last thing he felt like doing was breaking in some plain in the face, skinny virgin. But the bones had been cast and the moons read. This day had been chosen for the wedding because it was the most auspicious time for a successful consummation, and Leopold’s physicians assured him it was the perfect time for his seed to take root.

  So, as his new wife waited dutifully under the sheets of his four-poster oak bed, he had his servants remove his own clothes and then dismissed them. The girl was nervous, as to be expected, so he took his time. One of his two principal physicians recommended a gentle approach to intercourse to avoid loosening the tenuous purchase of his seed in her virgin womb. She cried out when he penetrated her, but quickly bit her lip and remained quiet until the Duke was spent. Afterward, he propped himself up on his elbow and caressed the young girl’s hair and spoke soft, reassuring words.

  “I hope to give you many children my lord, if God wills it,” she said.

  Leopold leaned over and kissed her forehead, noting how her eyes were spaced too far apart. Leopold hoped that trait would not show in his children.

  “Nothing would make me happier, my sweet. But we have a responsibility to more than just one another now.”

  “My lord?”

  “Our families depend on us as much as you and I depend on one another. Your father needs a grandchild and I need an heir.”

  And with Frederick at war, the sooner the better.

  Her brows furrowed, accentuating the division between her eyes. Leopold forced himself to not look away.

  “But my father has several grandchildren already. My three sisters are all married, and father had eight children with his first wife before she died.”

  “But how many of those grandchildren are heirs to the Holy Roman Empire? Your son stands to be King of the largest empire in the world. You must hold a special place in your father’s heart for him to entrust you with this union.” Leopold stroked her cheek once with the back of his hand. “And I for one, will be eternally grateful to him.”

  Catherine beamed at his words. He kissed her once on the mouth, and tasted the willingness to please on her lips. Leopold got up from the bed and pulled the servant chord as he shrugged into a nightshirt. Catherine sat up.

  “Are you leaving my lord?”

  “I leave for Altdorf at first light. I am afraid sleep will not find me if I stay within reach of your loveliness,” Leopold said. He gave her a coy smile and kissed her hand. “I will not be gone more than a fortnight.”

  Leopold opened the door and the hulking figure of Klaus, his faithful man at arms, entered holding a lit lantern. Gone were his usual armor and weapons, and instead, the bearded man wore a knee-length, simple woolen tunic, which hung unbelted and loose at the waist. He looked at Catherine on the bed with no emotion in his face. Unruly tufts of hair, more grey than black, poked out the top of the v-shaped neckline that extended deep down his massive chest, and with his hooded eyes, he looked like a great eagle scouring a field for mice.

  Catherine gasped and pulled the sheets up to her neck to cover her nakedness.

  “Our family has a tradition, my sweet. One that I must honor, though it breaks my heart. But now that you are a Habsburg, I know you will understand.”

  “My lord?” she said.

  “Klaus is a virile man, my sweet. He has served my family for many years and has been selected for his impeccable breeding. He is a Kingmaker. Remember that.”

  Her eyes widened and seemed to overtake her entire face.

  “My lord, no, please.”

  Leopold took the lantern from Klaus, and the man bowed his head. He smiled revealing a mouth full of yellowed teeth, but all seemed intact. Admirable for someone as old as Klaus, Leopold thought.

  Leopold exited the room. He stood in the hall and listened at the door. He heard the bolt being slid into place, and the sound of the oak bed creaking as a ponderous weight fell into it. A muffled scream followed soon after, followed by some frenzied thrashing about and more protests from the wooden bed.

  Leopold’s second physician favored vigorous sexual intercourse because it made for a stronger, more robust fetus. One that would be more likely to survive a difficult birthing.

  Leopold had ordered Klaus to be rough. Being a Habsburg was a dangerous business these days, and when it came to family planning, it was best to play it safe.

  Chapter 14

  HARVEST CAME quickly that year, and once the crops were in, farmers rounded up their cows, sheep, and goats from the higher meadows where they had spent the summer, and marched them into town. There, they were placed in holding pens to await the festivities and fall market.

  The town of Schwyz tripled in population over the course of the week as inhabitants of nearby smaller villages came in to celebrate the end of harvest. It was the biggest gala of the year, and for many, it was the one chance they would get to see relatives and friends from some of the more remote settlements.

  Pirmin stayed in town all week of course, not wanting to miss a single day of the celebrations. But Thomas had remained at his cabin on the lake, using the busy ferry business as an excuse to avoid coming to town. The week of celebrations had indeed been good for business with a vast number of travelers seeking passage across the water. Thomas saw many new faces on his barge during the week, and almost every one looked at him with suspicion in their eyes and asked what happened to the old ferryman.

  As the week came to an end, the number of people on the road lessened and things quieted down. Just when Thomas was sure he had avoided the festivities, Pirmin showed up at dawn on the last day.

  “You drunk?” Thomas said.

  “Drunk on the love of a good woman,” Pirmin said slapping Thomas on the arm with one of his huge hands.

  “Found out her name yet? Perhaps she had time to shout it at your back while you were riding away in the dark.”

  “Why so negative brother? I know just what you need to fix that sour song of yours. Breakfast. In fact, that is precisely why I have come. To break fast with my brother and thank God for all our fortunes.”

  “You have come all the way out here to make me breakfast?”

  “Aye, Thomi. And after that, I mean to drag you kicking and screaming into town where I will revel in your discomfort.”

  True to his word, Pirmin did make them a hot breakfast of boiled oats with a handful of blackberries thrown in, and several thin slices of dried meat. Of course, he used Thomas’s stores, and ate enough himself for three men.

  ***

  Thomas did not recognize Schwyz. Brightly painted flower boxes hung from every window, overflowing with even brighter red and purple autumn blossoms of every shape and size. Freshly cut spruce and fir boughs adorned doors and hung from poles, filling the ai
r with their scent. And people were everywhere: in the street, hanging off balconies, waving and calling from open windows, clustered in small groups on the ground, drinking mead and ale, or sharing bread and sausages smeared with spicy mustard. Children chased each other in and out of the crowd of people, screaming as loud as possible, but no one seemed to mind.

  It was a time of celebration, the calm before the storms of winter set in. Women revealed dresses they had worked on in private all year and spent hours braiding and tying ribbons in their friends’ and daughters’ hair. Men donned short, colorful vests and put fresh feathers in their well-worn forester caps. But the real stars of the festival were the cows. Adorned in towering headdresses of pine boughs decorated with gentians, carnations, and edelweiss, their owners marched them through the main street of Schwyz like heroes returning from war.

  Thomas and Pirmin watched a dozen cows saunter past, the bells at their necks announcing their passage. A group of proud farmers followed closely behind, waving at friends in the crowd lining both sides of the hard-packed earthen street.

  “These beasts are pretty, I will give them that. But the cows of Wallis, now those are fine animals.”

  “More beautiful than the finest Arabian mares, I am sure,” Thomas said.

  “Beautiful? Naw, Thomi. Ugly as the Devil’s arse. But strong, mean, and black as sin. Every spring we have a festival similar to this, but our farmers do not dress them up in girly headdresses and sweet smelling oils. We watch them fight.”

  Thomas smiled. “Fighting cows.”

  This was a new tale on the superiority of Wallis, the land of the Matterhorn; where the water was pure, the men brave, women descended from goddesses, and now, apparently, the cows ferocious.

  “Do you doubt me?” Pirmin shook his head and wagged a finger in Thomas’s face. “You are too mistrusting. I bet you only drank milk from one of your mother’s teets.”

  “I have known you too long to start believing everything you say, my friend.”