by J. K. Swift
“Pirmin Schnidrig. I am told you hail from Wallis,” Leopold said. “That is a long way from Altdorf, and beautiful I hear. I suspect you wish you where there now.”
Pirmin looked straight ahead and tried to blank his mind, but it coursed off on its own. The snow-capped Matterhorn flashed in his head, a small cloud skewered by its sharp peak, and then an image of him as a boy slitting the throat of a black-necked goat. He saw a field, and perhaps the face of his mother, but he could not be certain that it was she. Her features had faded over the years.
The priest’s intonations and the sound of sap bubbling and spitting in burning logs drove away the few memories he had.
“You may yet return there if you answer my next question wisely,” Leopold said.
Pirmin looked closely at the Duke for the first time and was shocked to see he was no older than Noll. But the similarities ended there. Noll was quick to anger, but he could be just as fast with a joke that would leave men laughing, or a smile that would have women swooning. Leopold, on the other hand, had the look of a man who had been angry his entire life. But he kept it deep, simmering, and let only bits and pieces of it out at a time. He had no light side.
Pirmin glanced at the cauldron and then met Leopold’s gaze. “I expect this will be one hell of a question,” he said.
“Where is Arnold Melchthal?” Leopold said.
“I will not fall in your hole,” Pirmin said, nodding towards the boiling water. “You think I do not know the makings of Lex Salica when I see them?”
“Your Latin is good,” Leopold said, and the way his face lit up made Pirmin cringe.
“As a lad, I learned enough to keep the monks and their sticks satisfied. Nothing more.”
“You truly do not know where Melchthal is, do you?”
“Ah, now, you would like me to say that. But I will not give you or your cursed priest any statement of mine to test.”
Leopold shrugged and gestured to the table in the corner. “We could simply torture a confession from you if you prefer.”
“Go foul yourself. I would rather die on that table with my guts spilling onto the floor than play your game.”
“Very well,” Leopold said, and turned to Mathias. “Boy. Did you steal from the food stores of the Holy Roman Empire?”
“Do not answer that!” Pirmin said. But it was too late. The boy’s words came out in a torrent of fear.
“No my lord, I swear. Please! Do not cut off my hands. I need them to help me mam. Without them we will both starve before the first snows…”
Leopold nodded to the boy’s handler, and the man jerked the rope and forced the boy towards the steaming cauldron.
“Bring a stool for the boy. And something to set the rock upon. The boy’s arm is too short to reach the bottom,” Leopold said to the jailer.
Heller’s face lightened to a shade of grey, but he did as he was told. Moments later he lowered a metal stand into the bubbling cauldron and dropped a round stone the size of a man’s fist into the boiling water, jumping back as he did so to avoid the splash. The rock landed on the stand, and rolled to a halt a foot below the water’s surface.
“Come now! The boy cannot even lift a stone that size,” Pirmin said. He made to stand up but three men forced him back down to his knees.
Mathias, bewildered, turned his dirty face from man to man. “Please, lords. Do not cut off my hands,” he said. “I took the wine, but I did not know it was the Empire’s—I swear!”
Leopold leaned over the boy. “A moment ago you said you did not take the wine. How can I be sure you tell the truth?”
“I swear, I did not know it was my lord’s. I would never take something belonging to m’lord. I swear it to God.”
Leopold stood up straight and put his hands on his hips. “Well that is a comfort. For God is indeed the only one who can prove the truth of your words. Perhaps you can keep your hands, and we will send you home to your mother. Would you like that?”
Mathias nodded, but his eyes narrowed. “What must I do?”
“A simple test. If you pass, you go free.” Leopold turned to the black-robed judge. “Explain the conditions.”
The judge cleared his throat and, in an officious voice, recited from memory the rite of Lex Salica.
“You will be tried by the Ordeal of Water. You must reach your arm into boiling water up to your elbow, grasp the stone, remove it, and place it on the ground outside the cauldron. Twenty-four hours from the Ordeal, a priest and myself shall examine your limb. Some redness is to be expected, but if we perceive any blistering of the skin, or worse, we shall conclude you did not warrant God’s protection, and shall deem you guilty in Our Lord’s eyes, and therefore, guilty in this court. Do you understand the conditions of your trial?”
“Enough!” Pirmin shouted. All eyes turned to the man. Pirmin glared at Leopold.
“You are a snake, not a man.” He turned his head and looked at every man in the room in turn. “All of you. A nest of god damned vipers spitting and hissing, and weaving about the feet of a young lad for your own bloody entertainment.” His eyes stopped on Heller, and the jailer quickly looked away.
Leopold’s lips spread into a tight smile.
“Perhaps you would prefer to take his place? Surely a Hospitaller does not fear one of God’s trials?”
Pirmin closed his eyes and nodded once. “I will submit to the Ordeal. But the boy goes free first and all charges against him are dropped. There. You have what you wanted.”
“And why, pray tell, would I negotiate with a thieving outlaw?”
“Because you are a pox-carrying minion squeezed from the Devil’s own arse. Now let us get down to it.”
Leopold’s eyebrows arched up at the insult but other than that he showed no emotion. The man had the features of a hawk, but the blood of a snake, Pirmin thought. Trusting someone like him would be a fast road to hell.
“Bernard, make a note that the Hospitaller offered to volunteer for Lex Salica to spare a young boy its discomfort,” Leopold said to the scribe. He gestured to the soldier holding Mathias. “Take him outside the walls and release him.”
“No. Heller takes him or our arrangement is off. I will not have your Cyclops giving the boy a farewell bugger at the walls.”
The man holding the boy’s rope, growled and stepped towards Pirmin with his arm raised, but Leopold cut him off and stared him down.
“Very well,” Leopold said. “But remember, we can hunt him down easily enough if need be.”
Pirmin nodded. His mouth was suddenly too dry for words.
Heller loosened the rope from around Mathias’s neck, grabbed a handful of the boy’s shirt, and guided him to a door opposite the one that led to the other cells. When he opened it fresh air blew into the room and Pirmin was sure he glimpsed a far off star.
Mathias spread his arms and legs in the doorway and cast a long backwards glance at Pirmin before Heller said something and propelled him through the opening into the cool night beyond. The door slammed shut and Pirmin was once again trapped in his inferno.
The guards put ropes around Pirmin’s neck, tore the remains of his shirt off, and forced him to the cauldron’s edge. Seeing that the cauldron’s top stood at the same height as Pirmin’s navel, the judge removed the unnecessary stool. When all were ready, they took off his hand chains. The soldiers spread out like the spokes of a wheel and kept firm grips on their ropes.
Finally, the judge took a long set of tongs off the wall and used them to retrieve the stand from inside the cauldron. The polished rock fell off and came to rest on the cauldron’s iron bottom, four feet below the surface of the water.
Pirmin looked over the edge into the roiling water. Steam wafted up and flattened his wavy, blonde hair tight to his head. Through the steam and bubbles breaking the water’s surface, he could see the distorted shape of the rock lying on the bottom. The thought of refusing to go through with The Ordeal flitted across his mind, but he knew that was just fear creeping into
his soul. If he backed away now, they would simply find some other method of torture. And the Devil only knew what they would do to the boy.
He stared into the swirling waters, and for the first time in many a year, mumbled a heartfelt prayer. He took a deep breath.
Sometimes you just got to have at ‘er until the job is done.
With a scream that vibrated the iron cauldron, Pirmin plunged his left arm into the boiling water.
***
Leopold watched Pirmin with rapt attention. He was an ordained member of the Hospitallers, a soldier of God, absolved of all sins in this life by the Pope himself. If anyone had a chance to survive the Ordeal of Water it was this man.
Morbid fascination gripped the room in silence as everyone watched the giant thrust his arm up to his armpit in the scalding liquid. He yelled bravely going in, but the pitch of his voice soon turned into a howling scream as he floundered along the bottom of the cauldron for the rock. Then he yanked his arm out so fast, the white-hot stone slipped out of his hand and flew straight at Leopold’s head like it had been launched from a ballista.
The Duke managed to lean his head away in time to avoid the missile, but the man behind him was not so fortunate. The steaming rock caught him flush on the side of his face, sizzling as it made contact. He went down in a heap, cradled his head in his hands and began screaming from the pain of the burn.
Pirmin too was on the ground, moaning and thrashing in agony, tossing the guards around on the ends of their ropes like kites in a windstorm. The room was in chaos for almost a minute until, finally, Pirmin passed out and the guard’s own suffering reached its climax and his uncontrollable screams changed to muttered curses and groans.
Leopold leaned up against a wall and observed the room. He tapped his foot and waited for some semblance of order to return. Everyone breathed easier when the big man’s thrashing eased and then stopped altogether.
The judge was the first to regain his composure. “Quickly now, gather straw to his arm and bind it to keep the heat in.”
As the soldiers gathered dark handfuls of straw from the floor, Leopold walked cautiously over to Pirmin and inspected his arm. At first it appeared only ruddy, and he thought God had indeed intervened on the Hospitaller’s behalf. But then the skin blackened before his eyes, and when the soldiers moved his arm to wrap it in straw, the whole outer layer of skin separated and the arm twisted inside it like a sword in a sheath that was too large.
Leopold backed away just as the first scent of burnt flesh watered his eyes. There would be no need to wait twenty-four hours. The Hospitaller had failed The Ordeal by Water. Disgusted, and more than a little disappointed, he turned and strode to the courtyard door. He threw it open and left the judge and soldiers to their pointless tasks.
Pirmin remained unconscious as the judge gave specific directions on how to pack straw around the arm and tie it in place. Once finished, they dragged Pirmin into the cell in the middle of the room. Before locking the door, the one-eyed soldier loosened his breeches and, to the snickers of his fellow men-at-arms, relieved himself on Pirmin’s straw-covered limb.
Chapter 32
“WHERE ARE you going?” Seraina asked.
“To get Pirmin. Where would you have me go?” Thomas threw the under pad over Sutter’s pony and then bent down and hefted the saddle. The horse regarded him with suspicious eyes. Being saddled after dark was not a normal occurrence for her.
“Did you not hear what I said ferryman? They have him in the fortress. You cannot simply march in and ask the fifty guards watching him if they will hand over their prisoner.”
“What choice do I have?”
Seraina stepped in front of Thomas. “You mean what choice do we have. I am going with you. Noll would not get near the jails without someone recognizing him, but I can.”
Thomas scowled at Seraina but she met his look with firm resolve. She would not be swayed and Thomas knew better than to attempt it. “Very well. I could use your help.”
“Seraina is right when she says I cannot go with you, but that does not mean I cannot help. Pirmin is my friend too.”
Thomas could take no more. He dropped the saddle and shoved Noll in the chest with both hands. Noll stumbled backwards, cursed, and had to leap over the fire to avoid falling into it.
“Thomas, please!” Seraina said, coming between them and putting her palms on Thomas’s chest.
The heat of the moment passed, and when Thomas looked at Seraina his breathing slowed. “He is not welcome here. I want him gone.”
“Or what ferryman?” Noll stood across the fire smiling, taunting. “What will you do? Sink down into the grass like a spotted fawn and pray danger passes you by? As you did when Landenberg torched your home?”
“We both know why he burnt my ferry,” Thomas said.
“Just how much suffering do you need to experience before you see the truth? How many friends do you need to see hurt? Or raped?”
“Enough!” Seraina’s voice boomed through the dark night like a thunderclap. Both men froze, then turned together and looked at her in surprise.
“You are both acting like children,” she said, her voice once again her own. “And selfish children at that. Our friend is in trouble. We must do all we can to help him, and that means working together. Thomas, Noll has connections, and if he offers help, it would be wise to accept.”
She kept speaking. Her words were soft, and much slower than Thomas remembered her ever speaking. Yet soothing, the way a warm bath is after a hard day’s ride. His anger subsided, and Thomas once again felt in control. Seraina made perfect sense. He needed Noll. They would sort out their differences another time.
Thomas cast a doubtful glance at Noll across the fire. “Can you get us into the jails?”
“Perhaps. I will talk with Walter Furst. He may have an idea.”
Thomas saw the beginnings of a plan coming together. Not a good one, but if he could get past the guardhouse and into the jails there was hope. He would have the long trip to Altdorf to worry about getting out.
“To the house of Furst then,” Noll said. “If we leave now, we can be there by dawn.”
Thomas glanced at Seraina and was surprised at the look of concern on her face. She turned quickly away when she caught him staring. No, not concern, he realized. For all her previous talk of selfish children, she had, for a moment, worn the expression of a child caught in a lie.
Chapter 33
“QUICKLY NOW. Get inside and bar the opposite door. It leads to the main cells and is where the guards will be patrolling. I have to get back to the gatehouse and make sure no one notices that key ring missing.”
Walter Furst, dressed in his magistrate robe, ushered Thomas and Seraina through the heavy door and closed it behind them.
Seraina pushed back the hood of her cloak and allowed her eyes to adjust to the torch-lit room. The moment she stepped into the chamber her heartbeat quickened to a painful crescendo and the air stuck in her throat; every fiber of her being screamed at her to flee. The energy of the room was terrifying. She swayed on her feet and leaned against Thomas for a moment to catch her breath.
When she looked up into his face she saw him staring at a large cauldron on the far side of the room. It was blackened with soot. The remains of a burnt-out fire lay below it, now nothing more than a cold pile of ash. Before Seraina could speak, Thomas was moving. His long legs carried him across the room in a few quick strides. He stopped at a cell in the room’s center and fumbled with the ring of keys Furst had given him. Seraina joined him and peered into the blackness of the cage. Someone was chained to the floor.
Someone huge.
She ran to the nearest wall and pulled a lit torch from its sconce. By the time she returned, Thomas had the door open and was crouched in the darkness at Pirmin’s side.
Seraina’s torch bathed the two men in light and what she saw made her gasp.
Pirmin, his ankles chained to an iron hoop embedded into the stone floor, la
y on his back unmoving, his arms splayed out from his sides like a giant bird fallen from the heavens. One was wrapped in a thick layer of straw held in place by twine cinched tight in several places. His once handsome face was beaten and swollen beyond recognition, and his blond hair was caked and matted in blood and dirt.
“Oh God, what have you done?” There was panic in Thomas’s voice, and although it frightened Seraina, it also shocked her into action. She jammed the torch into a holder inside the cell and dropped to her knees beside Pirmin.
“Pirmin! Can you hear me?” Thomas said. He pulled his knife and began cutting the twine encircling Pirmin’s left arm. His hands shook.
Seraina put one hand to Pirmin’s forehead and the other to his heart. He stirred under her touch and moaned. He whispered something that sounded like a name. Mathias? Who was Mathias?
Although Pirmin lived, he was burning with fever. His right shoulder had a wound that had soured. Even in the low light, she could see his upper arm beginning to darken. Soon the poison would drain into his torso and then it would be too late. She dug into her pouch and removed a small knife and several vials. They did not have much time.
Distracted by the task at hand, she was unaware that Thomas had unwrapped Pirmin’s other arm, until a rotten stench assaulted her nostrils, forcing the contents of her stomach into the back of her throat.
She turned to see Thomas sitting with his head in his hands, his knife on the ground beside him. He looked at her with vacant eyes.
“Oh God. Seraina…”
She looked down at the source of the odor, already fearing the worst. A blackened log of flesh, bloated to three times its normal thickness, had replaced Pirmin’s left arm. Scattered over his arm, a demonic harvest of straw poked up from the congealed mass. Seraina realized that what she had thought before was dirt and filth on the left side of Pirmin’s chest, was actually rivers of decay flowing through his blood.
