by J. K. Swift
Lord God, please let Mera not be inside.
“We have to go in. Sutter is in trouble.”
“What do you mean? He does not know where your camp is so there is precious little he can tell them. They will kick around the chairs, ask some questions, maybe drink some of Sutter’s mead, and then be on their way.”
“Vreni and Mera are in there.”
Pirmin was oddly quiet for a moment. “Point taken,” he said, and then gritted his teeth and blew air from between them. “This is turning out to be one hunting trip I wish I had lugged my ax along for.”
The big man grabbed the dead boar by the scruff of its neck and dragged it close with one hand. “I will go first and you come when you have a mind to. I will not begrudge doing the lion’s share of the work, but I will be right pissed if I need to do it all.”
“What? That is your plan? You have no idea how many men are in there,” Noll said.
“Bah, you sound like Thomi,” a scowl crossed Pirmin’s face. “Sometimes you just got to have at ‘er. Do something, anything, and push your way through until the job is done.”
Pirmin hefted the boar onto his shoulders, stepped out of the bush, and walked straight towards the two guards at the main door to the inn.
“Inn would be closed,” one of the soldiers called out to Pirmin when he spotted him. The other one had his hand up inside his chainmail, scratching at something under his arm with a tortured look on his scrunched up face.
“Oh? For how long?” Pirmin said, stopping at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front doors. He shifted the boar on his shoulders and grunted, bending low under the weight.
“Go get your swill somewhere else, man. This tavern is closed until the Vogt decides otherwise.”
“That so? Suppose I will leave Sutter’s meat on his porch then. Which one of you has my payment?”
The soldier laughed and turned to his companion. “This one is either funny or daft as a stone. Do not know what smells more, him or his pig.” Smiling he turned back to Pirmin. “Take your pig and your own stinking hide away from here, now.”
“All right, all right. No need for a tongue-lashing. But I would leave this boar here.”
“Put it downwind on the far side of the porch,” the second man said. His hand was still under his armor but was now raking at the area near the small of his back.
Pirmin nodded and climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, and when he got to the top he bounced once and hefted the boar over his head in an incredible show of strength. Then, he launched it at the furthest soldier, the one with the rash. It hit him square in the chest, knocking him into the guardrail. His legs flipped out from under him, and he tumbled clear over the railing. He hit the dirt hard and a split second later the dead animal landed on top of him.
Noll sprinted out of the bushes and stood over the man in an instant, but there was no need. The man was unconscious.
Meanwhile, the other guard snarled and reached for his sword. Pirmin grabbed his wrist with one hand and his throat with the other. He lifted the man three feet off the deck and slammed him against one of the log posts supporting the porch roof. He grunted and his eyes glossed over. Pirmin let him slide down the post and then used it to pull himself into the man, and delivered a bone-jarring knee to the man’s sternum. Chainmail was designed to turn aside the points of blades. It did nothing against the full strength and momentum of a three hundred pound giant. The breath rushed out of the man and his ribs crackled like dry kindling. Pirmin held the man up long enough to take his sword and then tossed him away.
He glanced at Noll to make sure he was coming and then charged through the doors to the inn, screaming in a voice that froze Noll in place and chilled his blood. It was a wail filled with the anguish, hatred, and fear of war. It was the most terrifying thing Noll had ever heard, and it took a moment for its paralyzing effect to release its hold. God only knew the effect it had on the men Pirmin attacked.
By the time he made it through the door, one soldier was on the ground unmoving and Pirmin was exchanging sword blows with two others. Across the room was a flurry of movement as two more soldiers were struggling with Sutter, one of the men had his breeches down around his ankles, and Vreni, Sutter’s wife, lay behind them curled up on top of a table, her dress torn and tattered. Sutter had his hands around the breech-less man’s throat, while the other one had a handful of Sutter’s hair and was punching him in the back of the head. Then he stepped back and drew his sword.
Noll jumped over a chair and knocked the man’s blade aside before he could skewer Sutter. He slashed at the soldier’s side but his armor protected him. In his peripheral vision Noll caught movement and risked a glance to his left. To his surprise, he saw Berenger Von Landenberg himself holding Mera from behind, and at that moment, the Duke’s Vogt also saw Noll. His eyes went wide.
Landenberg’s face reddened and twisted. He looked like he was going to charge Noll, but he saw Pirmin swatting his men aside like gnats and he hesitated.
Noll yelled out Landenberg’s name in rage, but was forced to parry an attack and he lost track of the Vogt. All he could think of was how he had to get to Mera. Fury lent Noll strength and he sent a flurry of blows against his opponent. The soldier’s face blurred and was replaced with that of Landenberg. He heard the Vogt’s voice saying the same thing over and over.
His boy broke your fingers, so have your justice. Take the old man’s eyes. He heard his father scream and men’s laughter.
His father’s cry turned into a wet gurgle and Noll realized his sword was stuck in the throat of the soldier he was fighting. He pulled it free and scanned the room for Landenberg. He was nowhere to be seen, but Noll offered up a silent prayer when he saw Mera embracing with her parents. A dead soldier, his face blue, lay crumpled at Sutter’s feet as the innkeeper held his sobbing daughter and wife.
Another man was dead on the floor near Pirmin, and the last soldier was on his knees begging for his life. Noll dashed through the kitchen to the back door. The stable gate was open and several horses were moving about some distance away in the woods. Landenberg had scattered them before taking flight himself. Far away up the road Noll saw a lone horseman receding into the distance. He kicked an empty milk can next to the door, grimacing as he felt the hard metal against his toes.
God had granted him a rare opportunity for justice today, but Noll had missed his chance. He had failed his father three years ago on the family farm, and he had let him down yet again here today.
Take the old man’s eyes.
Noll kicked the can once more and screamed.
Chapter 21
SERAINA EASED the door to Vreni’s room closed and made her way softly down the stairs to the inn’s common room. Sutter, Mera, Pirmin and Noll sat around a table. They all looked up with pained, expectant faces and awaited her news.
“She will be fine. In time,” she said.
The relief on everyone’s face told Seraina she had chosen her words well. Vreni was a strong woman, but Seraina doubted she would ever be truly fine. Seraina had seen too many scars left on women by men to ignore the truth. The physical healed quickly, but those of the spirit ran deep, and in most cases, could only be concealed. Wounds of the spirit may scab over, but they never fully heal.
When Seraina had arrived at the inn, she had found Vreni on her knees praying to her god, thanking him over and over again for sparing her daughter the rape she had suffered. The sight had infuriated Seraina, but she allowed the woman her prayers, while inside she seethed at the uselessness of worshipping a god who would subject his faithful subjects to such torture.
Sutter stared at her, his eyes dull and the sockets around them black with exhaustion. The usually taciturn man could not conceal his gratitude.
“Thank you Seraina. I know your presence means a lot to Vreni. And to me. You have always been a friend to this family.”
Seraina’s vision clouded briefly with the beginnings of tears, but she blinked them back. She
would be strong for them. She had suffered nothing, after all, and had no right to subject them to her own childish tears. She forced her lips into what she hoped was a smile, and stalled until her emotions were under control, and she was sure her voice would not quaver when she spoke. She handed Sutter a vial.
“Give her five drops in tea every night. It will help with the dreams.” She wanted to say ‘nightmares’. “Mera, your mother will need more help with her work than usual for the next few days.”
“Of course.” The young girl’s eyes were still glossy with her own tears. “She spoke against the Vogt on my behalf. Perhaps if I had agreed to what he wanted none of this would have happened.”
Noll stood up from the table, banging it with his hand. “Mera! Do not even think on that.”
Mera flinched and Pirmin shot Noll an angry glare. He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. “What Noll means to say is this is not your fault. Nothing you could have done would have changed this.”
Chastened, Noll eased himself back onto the bench.
“Yes, forgive my abruptness, Mera,” Noll said. He flashed her a weak smile.
“Please, Noll. Do not apologize. If you and Pirmin had not risked your lives to help us…” Mera could not bring herself to finish the thought.
“My daughter is right. I owe you more than I can ever pay, but I swear to damn well try my best,” Sutter said.
Mera placed her hand over her father’s for a moment and then stood slowly from the table. “I had best put something on the stove for our customers tonight. People need to eat,” she said. The men watched in awe as she left them.
“Brave girl, that one,” Pirmin said.
Seraina took Mera’s seat at the table. She sensed anger rolling off the men in waves. Pirmin and Sutter both looked at Noll, their faces grim.
Noll said, “We live in Landenberg’s shadow, cowering behind his back where his arms cannot reach. Where we pray he will not find us.”
Noll stood from the table and drew out his bone-handled hunting knife.
“I, for one, am ready to once again feel the sun on my face.” He drove his knife into the center of the table. It continued to quiver after he removed his hand.
“And I can see by your eyes, that your thoughts echo mine.”
Seraina’s breast swelled with both fear and hope for what Noll had in mind.
Chapter 22
GISSLER STOOD in the antechamber to the main hall in Altdorf.
A runner had come for him in Habsburg yesterday morning. Leopold requested his appearance in Altdorf immediately. He had made the trip with all due haste, not only because he sensed he was on the verge of a breakthrough with the Duke, but also because he was bored. He had never been one to sit around idle.
He stepped closer to the door and listened to the Duke and Landenberg arguing in raised voices. Or rather, listened to Leopold reprimanding Landenberg for botching a simple task.
A few minutes later, the door opened and Landenberg blustered out. He cast a contemptuous look in Gissler’s direction.
“So, you are here. Leopold said to send you in, but I warn you. His mood is fouler than usual. Hold your tongue if you know what is good for you.”
Gissler fought the urge to unleash his tongue on the Vogt at this very moment, and managed restraint. He appeased himself by imagining how he would talk to the fat man if he were knighted, and settled for locking eyes with Landenberg as he pushed past the man into the hall.
Landenberg held his gaze, but stepped aside without a word.
Chapter 23
THE STARTLING BLUE eyes of Abbot Ludovicus went wide when Thomas took the quill from his hand, and instead of scratching an ‘X’, began writing his full name on the bill of sale.
Thomas took his time and formed the letters carefully. It had been some time since he had set ink to parchment, and if truth be told, had never achieved a high skill level in it. Reading and writing were as different as walking and riding to him. But the mere act of writing his own name was something even most bluebloods were incapable of performing.
Thomas set the quill down. Pleased with himself, he stepped back to appraise his work. He turned, and when he saw Anid, his good mood fled. He stepped in and let the horse nuzzle the left side of his neck; for some reason he always favored the side of Thomas’s scar.
“Easy boy. The monks will treat you well. You will have all the mares you could ever wish for and food aplenty.”
Thomas ran a hand one last time over Anid’s long, black head, to his velvety nostrils. He patted his neck and relinquished his grip on the bridle. Abbot Ludovicus took the reins and passed them off to another monk quickly, as though the worn leather were crawling with lice. The monk bowed his head to the Abbot and led Anid away.
Thomas watched until they disappeared through Einsiedeln’s gates into the monastery courtyard. His throat tightened, but he reminded himself he had no need of a warhorse. It had been selfish to keep Anid for as long as he had. He was a ferryman now.
“He is a magnificent beast and will be in fine hands here, I promise you. Our farriers are the best in the Empire.”
The Abbot of Einsiedeln was a round man with a fleshy neck and cold blue eyes that continuously wandered, as though he were impatient to be somewhere else.
“Remember, per our agreement, he is not to be sold,” Thomas said. “I want him to finish his days here, on these green slopes. Stud him out all you like but Anid is not to leave these meadows. Understood?”
Ludovicus bowed his tonsured head. “As agreed. But we will of course have to rename him. We cannot allow a heathen name within our walls.”
Thomas disliked the Abbot more with every passing second.
“He will not answer to another name,” he said.
“How is it a good Christian like yourself came to possess a pure-blooded Arabian like him in the first place? I know horseflesh well enough to say that his kind can only be found in the stables of princes. Infidel princes.”
Thomas looked into the Abbot’s eyes and said, “A friend gave him to me. A heathen friend.”
The Abbot’s eyes flicked over Thomas, and his nose wrinkled. “Well, he is small for a destrier. But fast, and strong. Coupled with the right mare, he should produce excellent stock.”
Thomas nodded. The man did know horses. In fact he reminded Thomas more of a horse trader than a monk. “When can I expect delivery of my lumber?”
“In five days time. Now if you will excuse me, I must make arrangements. Brother Titus will be along with your new mount shortly.”
Ludovicus picked up the parchment from the low table and turned to leave, but Thomas interrupted him.
“It is a long way back to Brunnen. I had planned to partake of your hospitality this evening. Perhaps a hot meal, and a place to sleep would not be too much to ask?”
The Abbot turned and smiled, but his eyes were cold and unsympathetic.
“I regret that we are unable to accommodate you. Bandits recently ransacked our stores and we have little enough to see us through the winter. The brothers have taken up a vote and decided not to allow outsiders into the grounds for the time being.”
Thomas bit his tongue and resisted the urge to lash out at the man. A traveler would never be denied refuge in a Hospice of the Knights of Saint John. In the fields behind the monastery he had counted over a hundred head of horses, most of them bred to be destriers, the ultimate weapons of any army, and each one worth more than a farmer in Schwyz could make in ten years.
Thomas looked at the high walls surrounding the monastery’s keep. This was no true house of God; it was a house of war. He idly wondered what ruse Pirmin and Noll had used to get past the main gates and into the courtyard.
Thomas let out a breath to calm himself before he spoke. “The man who gave me Anid would see his own children go hungry before refusing a guest food and shelter.”
The Abbot smiled and nodded sagely.
“Such is the way of the Infidel, I am told.” He looked
towards the gate and said, “Ah, here comes your mount.”
Thomas turned to see a monk pulling a squat mule through the gate. The animal balked, reluctant to leave the courtyard and the comfort of the stables. Its long ears twitched and it let out an offensive snort, which sounded more like a donkey’s bray than the proud whinny of a horse.
Thomas could not stop his hand from balling up into a fist. “Our deal was lumber and a horse,” he said.
Ludovicus scrunched up his face. “Was it? Oh, well let me confirm. I would hate to be mistaken.”
The Abbot held up the parchment and made a show of examining it carefully.
“No, I am afraid it simply says you will receive four wagons of lumber and one ‘mount’. There is no mention of a horse.” He held out the parchment to Thomas. “Written in Latin, the language of God, and witnessed here by your very hand.”
Thomas glowered at the Abbot. He thought of the Schwyz harvest festival and suddenly wished he had had the foresight to stuff his belly with enough pork to feed ten men.
***
By the time Thomas coaxed the mule back to the remains of his lakeside cabin, the sun hovered behind the tallest surrounding peaks. In the twilight, he saw a shadowy figure move near the entrance to his tent.
He reined in the mule and his hand drifted to the knife at his belt. He scanned the area, while the mule plodded ahead, ignoring Thomas’s leg commands. Smoke rose from a small cooking fire, and since Thomas doubted anyone wishing him harm would first prepare dinner, he allowed himself to relax.
As he approached his camp, Thomas recognized the figure as Seraina. His pulse quickened and he urged the mule ahead.
