Iny Lorentz - The Marie Series 02 (12 page)

9.

In the dim light of a flickering candle, Marie stared at the small pile of snow that had blown onto her chamber floor despite the tattered coat covering the window. It was so cold in her room that snowflakes didn’t melt, and Marie was freezing despite three layers of clothing and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Since her chamber didn’t have a fireplace and she was refused a bed warmer with glowing charcoal, her bed had become damp, and a thin layer of ice had formed where she breathed on her pillow.

She would be giving birth soon, and she was painfully aware that her child wouldn’t survive its first night in these conditions. During a few dark moments, she had considered giving in and accepting the fate Lady Kunigunde had in mind for her. It was all about Michel’s child, after all, and she shouldn’t risk its life out of defiance. But every time she was about to go to the new mistress of the castle and submit, her pride and desire for independence rebelled. She could imagine what a miserable life she would have under the thumb of this woman, because the man Kunigunde wanted her to marry wouldn’t lift a finger to protect his wife from his cousin. And, most of all, a marriage to the pathetic Götz von Perchtenstein would besmirch Michel’s memory.

Gripping her belly where she felt her restlessly shifting child, Marie clenched her teeth and flung numerous curses downstairs where Kunigunde’s tribe was gorging itself on her provisions while she herself hadn’t eaten in
twenty-four
hours. Usually Ischi brought her food, but the girl had gone to her fiancé’s house the day before and was probably stuck there due to the snowstorm that had been raging overnight. Over the past few days, Marie had become so heavy and awkward that she was no longer able to walk the
well-worn
steps of the steep staircase.

Marie was rubbing her numb hands and moving closer to the edge of the bed to get away from the draft, when she suddenly heard a noise in the attic below. She assumed it was Lady Kunigunde’s brats once again, who had already broken into two of her chests and emptied them, but she no longer had the strength to climb down the stairs and chase them away. But then she heard steps on the stairs leading up to her chamber and sat up expectantly.

A few heartbeats later, Ischi opened the door. She was wrapped in a shapeless coat, and only her eyes, nose, and mouth were visible under the thick woolen scarf she had tied around her head. She was carrying Marie’s warmest fur coat and her winter boots. Laying the clothes on the bed, she gave her mistress an encouraging smile.

“The storm is particularly bad today, mistress,” she said quietly, “bad enough to keep Lady Kunigunde and her family in her warm chamber, and the gatekeepers more interested in their braziers than the gate. I can finally take you to the goat farm as your friend asked me to do some days ago. It won’t be easy getting there, but so far there hasn’t been an opportunity to smuggle you out of the castle.”

Marie heard the words
goat farm
and thought how homey and warm it would be at Hiltrud’s. There she would also receive enough to eat and the help she needed to bring her child into this world alive and well. The thought roused her spirits, and she gave Ischi a relieved nod. “You’re a darling, Ischi. I had almost given up, but thanks to your help, I can play one last trick on Lady Kunigunde.”

Standing up, Marie slipped into her boots and pulled the coat around her shoulders. Ischi cast a critical eye at her mistress’s rumpled clothes, which looked less than suitable for such a long walk, and she quickly fetched other clothes from downstairs. Helping Marie out of her coat, she wrapped her in layer after layer of the warmest clothes she’d been able to find. Then she put Marie’s coat back on and twined a thick scarf around her, holding the
fur-lined
hood in place. Finally, she supported her mistress slowly down the steep stairs despite her lumbering steps.

Marie was in a hurry to leave the inhospitable castle but nevertheless paused in the attic next to her tower, opened several chests, and took out a few items of which she was particularly fond. There were some small pieces of jewelry Michel had given her over the years as well as a few things belonging to Michel that she didn’t want to fall into the greedy hands of Kunigunde’s clan.

The icy cold castle worked to their advantage, keeping the servants in the warm kitchen and Lady Kunigunde’s preferred maids in her chamber, and so Marie and Ischi reached the courtyard unnoticed and trudged toward the castle gate through the
knee-deep
snow. The large doors were shut, but the small door was unguarded and open. Marie gazed one last time at the old castle that had been her home for eleven years, now barely visible in the driving snow, and she shook her fist at it. “Kunigunde wanted to let me starve. The devil take her and her family!”

“Hiltrud or Thomas was supposed to wait for us at the gate, but I couldn’t get word to them in this terrible weather,” Ischi shouted into Marie’s ear over the howling wind. Looking at the young woman, Marie tilted her head in concern. Ischi’s clothes were warm enough to visit neighbors in town or go to church, but they weren’t suitable for a long hike through the open countryside. She’d be frozen before they got halfway to the goat farm. Marie would have to go alone.

The maid fetched a solid stick and a thickly padded basket that she’d hidden in a narrow gap between two houses on her way to the castle. Inside the basket was a lidded bowl filled with a nutritious stew of chopped barley, turnips, and a little chicken. Marie almost tore the spoon out of Ischi’s hand and wolfed down the meal as fast as she could, thanking the young maid between each bite.

While Ischi stowed the empty bowl back in the basket and slung it over her shoulder, Marie picked up the stick and focused her thoughts on the dangerous trip lying ahead. The storm’s fury was felt throughout the town, whipping around walls, sweeping across roofs, and covering houses’ façades like freshly shorn wool, making the narrow streets look like towering gorges. It was still daylight, but night was fast approaching and shutters were already closed. Only here and there did a faint ray of light reveal signs of life beneath the white drifts.

Marie and Ischi didn’t meet a soul until they reached the village gate, where guards eyed them suspiciously. The guards, city bailiffs who answered to the council of Rheinsobern, soon recognized them and exchanged a few knowing glances, then turned their backs to the women to refocus their attention on an iron pan emitting some heat from glowing charcoal.

Ischi tugged at the bolt with numb fingers and opened the gate to let Marie out. When she felt the howling wind in her face, she held her mistress back. “You’d better stay here. You’ll never make it to the goat farm in this weather. Come, I’ll take you to my
in-laws
. They’ll gladly shelter you.”

Vehemently shaking her head, Marie took Ischi’s hands off her coat. “I’m sure you’re right, but it would also be the first place Lady Kunigunde would look for me. I don’t think she’ll assume I’ve gone to my friend’s in this weather and in my condition. By the time she sends someone to the goat farm, I hope to be holding the count palatine’s writ of protection in my hands.”

Ischi cried out in despair. “This weather scares me—I’m afraid you’ll die along the way!”

Marie stroked her cheek, smiling. “Believe me, Ischi, I’ve traveled roads in far worse weather than this.”

“But not with a child on the way in a few days’ time.” Ischi deliberated calling the guards to hold back her mistress, but before she could make up her mind, Marie had slipped out of her grasp and was trudging away through the snow.

“May God and the Holy Virgin protect you!” Ischi called after her. Then she closed the gate and, full of
self-reproach
, sadly returned to her fiancé’s house.

Marie felt far less confident than she had pretended to be for Ischi’s sake. Even in good weather it was an hour’s walk to Hiltrud’s farm, and each step through this snowstorm would be a battle she could easily lose. The Rhine valley lay before her, completely covered in snow, reminding her of a shroud. “It won’t be mine!” she shouted into the wind, clenching her fists to give herself courage.

If she’d had to lean into the wind, she couldn’t have gone more than a few steps, but fortunately the wind was at her back and she used this force to her advantage. The most difficult part was staying on the road and finding the correct turns, as bushes and trees were transformed by snow, and the city walls, which might otherwise have served as a point of reference, soon disappeared behind the densely shifting white curtain. Marie had to stop repeatedly and orient herself, but she still wasn’t sure she had gone the right way. When the storm abated for a moment, she heard a wolf howling in the distance. Then another one, much closer, answered with a hungry cry.

A shiver ran down her spine. Wolves rarely roamed the valley, but, during hard winters, they still came down from the mountains. Tightening her grip on the stick as if that lifeless piece of wood would protect her, she walked as fast as she could, the exertion paired with the burden of her unborn child soon causing her to break out in a sweat. The drops of perspiration running down her cheeks froze in the cold, forcing her to constantly wipe off the little beads of ice, and at the same time her back started to itch terribly. It had been almost seventeen years since she was whipped in Constance and thrown out of town more dead than alive, but all of a sudden it seemed like yesterday.

Marie was soon steaming like an exhausted mare, begging God and the Holy Mary Magdalene for help, preferring to pray to the patron saint of courtesans rather than the Virgin Mary, because she saw a fellow sufferer in the fallen woman from Galilee. Lost in her thoughts, Marie almost walked past the goat farm, but the bleating of a goat and the nearby outline of a stable sticking out from the snow showed her the way. She stumbled toward the house, knocking on the door with her last reserve of strength. At first nothing happened. Then Hiltrud opened the door and stared at her
wide-eyed
, briefly afraid she was being tricked by some winter demon. Then she held out her arms to catch Marie.

“Oh my God, Marie! Have you gone insane, out walking alone in this weather? If you had sent word, I’d have come right away to get you!”

“More easily said than done,” Marie managed to sputter between chattering teeth. “Ischi would have gotten lost on the way and frozen to death.”

“Well, you made it.” Though Hiltrud’s tone still carried a faint undertone of reproach, she knew her friend was right. Only a woman as
strong-willed
as Marie could manage the walk in this weather.

“Come, I’ll take you to the fireplace and heat up some spiced wine.” Hiltrud closed the door, steered Marie into the kitchen, and helped her sit down on the bench next to the stove. Filling an earthen jug with wine, she then added a few herbs and spices and wrapped a cloth around the handle of a poker that was lying with its tip in the fire. When she held the iron’s glowing tip into the liquid, it hissed, and steam rose up to the ceiling. Hiltrud slowly counted to ten before pulling out the poker, then sniffed the steaming jug and filled two cups with the strong drink.

“I need a drink to get over this fright, too,” she said with a weak attempt at a laugh. Handing one cup to Marie, she kept the other one, then asked her eldest daughter to prepare some food. Mariele went into the pantry, took out a large board, placed farmers’ treats of ham, cheese, smoked blood sausage, and liverwurst on it, and set down the offering in front of her godmother with a shy smile. Marie’s mouth watered as Hiltrud started cutting thick slices of freshly baked bread. She helped herself enthusiastically and only stopped eating when the board was almost empty.

Hiltrud shook her head. “They must have starved you. Thank God you’re with us now. I’ll fatten you up again so you’ll be strong enough to give birth. But now you need to go to bed. Come with me! You’ll sleep next to me while Thomas is away.”

Marie looked up in surprise. “Thomas is away? But where has he gone?”

“You’re funny!” Hiltrud lightly touched her friend on the nose. “He traveled to the count palatine to deliver your letter. I only hope he can stay there until the storm has passed, because the weather is bad enough to kill a grown man.”

“I’m sorry I’m causing you so much trouble,” Marie replied dejectedly.

But Hiltrud was having none of that. “My dear friend, if we can’t do a little something for you after everything you and Michel have done for us, we’re not worth our lives. So chin up and forget those gloomy thoughts! Your child needs a happy mother, not a whiner, or it’ll become one, too!”

Marie waved dismissively. “Children can’t tell what mood their mothers are in.”

“You’re mistaken. Children know exactly how their mothers are feeling. Come on, the others are all in bed.” Hiltrud sounded as determined and concerned as always, and for the first time in a long while Marie felt secure. She knew she would be able to give birth without fear now, but she was sad that Michel wouldn’t be there to witness it.

10.

Count Sokolny stood at the window of his chamber, gazing into the courtyard at his soldiers practicing with various kinds of weapons under the instruction of Marek Lasicek, his captain of the guard. The new arrival stood out from all the rest, and the longer the count watched him, the more he regretted the man’s memory loss. Sokolny was confident he was a good judge of character, but Franz remained a mystery.

The German was an excellent fighter and now that his leg injury was almost healed, an asset to him, but the count didn’t know whether the man was of noble rank or simply a common soldier who had worked his way up to mercenary captain after long years of service. When Franz practiced with the other men, his language was as rough as a mercenary’s, but he acted like a nobleman toward him and his family. The count didn’t know how to act toward him, because if the German was a nobleman and he had been treating him like a servant, enmity would arise between them the day Franz regained his memory. But on the other hand, he couldn’t invite a mercenary to his table.

Václav Sokolny’s followers didn’t really know what to think of the stranger, either. The Germans among them welcomed him as a fellow countryman, but the Czechs kept their distance, wondering whether he had belonged to those leaving a bloody trail through unprotected villages. Many of them secretly followed Jan Hus’s teachings but couldn’t do so openly, as Count Sokolny, a faithful Catholic, didn’t permit his followers to pass judgment on their bishops or the pope. Despite their beliefs, however, none of the men were prepared to betray their lord to the Hussites, whose patrols had thus far spared the castle and its surroundings.

Marek Lasicek was similarly puzzled by the man calling himself Franz. If the man had been a simple recruit who could be trained, like Vúlko and Reimo, he might have liked him. Yet after just a few days handling weapons, the German had shown himself to be an exceptionally skillful fighter and had disarmed Marek in a practice fight. That was something Marek wouldn’t soon forget, especially since it hadn’t happened to him since his own days as a recruit.

Watching Michel trying to teach Vúlko the correct way to hold a sword, Marek noticed his master observing from the window, and he smiled. He’d show this German who was the better fighter.

“Hey, Nemec, what do you think of a practice fight with me? Not just a weak clanking of swords, but a real fight?”

Michel nodded. “Why not? The little practice we do here isn’t even enough to warm you up.” Marek stepped forward and tested his footing on the trampled snow. The other soldiers formed a circle, while Michel exchanged the wooden practice sword for a real one and stepped into the ring. But before their swords touched, the count appeared and raised his hand. “Men, I know something better to do than bashing in each other’s heads. It’s sunny and not too cold today, so we should take this opportunity to fill our storerooms again.” Christmas was near, and the count wanted fresh meat on his table for the feast days.

“You want to go hunting, my lord?” Marek usually rejoiced at this news, but this time he made a face before thrusting his sword back into its sheath.

“We’ll do this another time, Nemec. Now let’s see if you can hold your bladder when you hear the wolves howl.”

Marek’s friends laughed. The Czech was unchallenged thus far as the best fighter, reigning over his armed servants, and Michel knew that it was hard for the man to accept that someone else was at least his equal.

“I’ve rarely been afraid of a wolf.” Michel stroked the jacket Zdenka had made for him from the wolves he had killed and flayed, and this time the other men laughed.

Marek seemed as if he might attack Michel right there, then just waved dismissively. “We’ll yet find out which of us is the better man, Nemec.” Turning his back on Michel, he addressed his master.

“Will the young lady be joining us,
pán
?”

“I wouldn’t know how to stop her, because she certainly won’t listen to me,” Sokolny replied with a laugh.

As if on cue, his daughter, Janka, appeared on the steps outside the main building. She was clad in
solid-fur
hunting boots and a long riding dress with several layers of woolen skirts, topped with a fur coat. Her head was protected by a warm hat with fur pieces reaching down over her ears, and she was wearing thick gloves made in such a way that allowed her to operate a crossbow.

“You’re early. We’re not yet ready.” Her father’s voice was full of pride for his brave daughter. Janka wasn’t fully grown, but it was already clear that she would be a great beauty. In peaceful times her father would have found a spouse for her long ago, but now there wasn’t a single nobleman left in the surrounding area to marry the count’s daughter.

“Tell Jindrich to saddle Norka for me,” Janka ordered one of the servants. While he hurried off, Sokolny waved for his manservant to dress him in his hunting clothes. Marek’s soldiers, who were to serve as beaters, had only to arm themselves.

As Michel stepped out of the armory, Sokolny watched him with interest. The German had decided on a solid boar spear and a long hunting knife, which he had attached to his belt in such a way that he could grab it with either hand. The longing and appraising way in which he looked at the horses the stable boys brought out told the count that he was used to riding. Sokolny considered ordering a horse for him, then decided not to antagonize Marek any further. The faithful fellow would surely have taken offense at such a preference for the German, because he got on a horse only when he had to travel long distances, and he wasn’t skilled enough in the saddle for hunting.

Therefore only three people led the hunting party on horses: Sokolny, his daughter, and Feliks Labunik, a nobleman of lower rank in the count’s service. Though the snow was almost
knee-deep
, the riders made good progress. Michel felt the painful pulling of his leg injury, but he gritted his teeth and kept up with Marek, who was shorter than he was by almost a head but considerably stouter. Just over a hundred paces from Falkenhain Castle, they entered an
enchanted-looking
forest. The trees were wearing thick white caps while the ground below the mighty trunks was largely free of snow, though frozen
rock-solid
and, like the undergrowth, covered in a layer of glittering hoarfrost. Every now and then, a horse or a beater would brush the bushes, creating a silvery cloud.

Marek divided his men, telling them to drive the game toward the horsemen. “Remember, a wild boar is always faster than you, in flight as well as on the attack. And don’t think our Bohemian boars are harmless—they’ll attack half a dozen Germans.”

Michel ignored the dig and smiled. He couldn’t remember ever having hunted an animal before, yet everything about the situation was familiar to him, though he had to fight the feeling that he should be sitting on a horse with a crossbow at the ready, waiting to spot a stag or a wild boar. Quickly pulling himself together, he fell in line with the beaters, holding his spear out in front of him, and kept pace with the men.

The count had taken only three dogs, including Michel’s friend Mozak. Hynek struggled to hold them on the leash because they had already picked up a scent. Sokolny beckoned to the servant to release the dogs, and within moments they had flushed out the first boar. It tried to escape, but Janka’s arrow was faster and the beast collapsed with a discordant cry. The count congratulated his daughter on her fine shot, and in so doing missed another boar that was now running away, grunting and screaming, despite Mozak’s efforts to chase it back toward the hunters.

“That was unfortunate, my lord,” Marek criticized, with the privilege of a loyal liege man. His master laughed dismissively, but it was clear he was just as annoyed. Each boar they killed meant food for the people in the castle, and if too many got away, they’d all have to tighten their belts.

Over the course of the afternoon, the line of hunters and beaters gradually dispersed, and servants carried the game back to the castle. When the first beaters paused with exhaustion, Count Sokolny stopped his horse. “The hunt is over. We have enough,” he shouted, issuing the signal for everyone to gather. Most of the hunting party turned up shortly after, but Janka, Michel, and another beater were missing, and while two of the dogs were already enjoying some fresh meat, Hynek called for Mozak in vain.

“The German and Antonin followed Miss Janka. They were in front of us and off to the right last time I saw them,” one of the men reported.

Sokolny sounded the horn once more. Putting his hands to his mouth, Labunik yelled into the forest, but there was no reply. Exhaling sharply and pinching his lips, Sokolny looked at the sky turning black in the east.

“Feliks, come with me. Marek, see to it that the rest of our kill is taken home. It’ll be dark in an hour, and it would be a shame to leave our boars for the wolves.”

Marek ordered a few men to take the remaining game back to the castle, but he himself stayed at Sokolny’s side. The count glanced at him with annoyance, but Marek only replied with a stubborn shake of his head. This concerned little Jaschenka, after all, whom he had bounced on his knees when she was a
two-year
-old
.

“Hopefully nothing has happened to her,” he said, gasping several times as he struggled to keep up with the horses. His words expressed the count’s fears. When they found prints of Janka’s horse, the dog, and her two companions, they breathed a sigh of relief. Sokolny spurred his white horse, leaving Labunik and Marek behind.

Suddenly he saw someone running toward him. It was Antonin, one of Marek’s men and a brave soldier. But he now appeared to have discarded his spear and was hurtling toward the count’s horse in a blind panic. Barely able to avoid colliding with him, Sokolny grabbed Antonin and pulled him up.

“What’s the matter?” he shouted at him.

Completely terrified, Antonin was pale as death.
“Medved, medved!”

“A bear?” Sokolny shuddered with fright. At this time of year, most bears were in their caves, hibernating. The few who hadn’t found a cave or had been chased from their cave by stronger bears, however, were particularly aggressive, and many a hunter had paid with his life in this kind of encounter. Imagining his bloodied daughter in the claws of such a beast, the count pushed Antonin aside and spurred his horse forward. “Please, God, don’t let me be too late!”