Iny Lorentz - The Marie Series 02 (26 page)

2.

Preparations for the upcoming campaign continued despite the heavy onset of winter. Marie and Anni were shooed into an old barn with some other women to make sacks for the Hussites to transport their loot. It was hard work sewing the stiff strips of fabric together with a large needle and thick yarn, while Renata sat in a chair in the middle, supervising and encouraging them with her switch.

When their supervisor was at the other end of the barn, a girl nudged Marie. “They say you’re German. Is that true?” She spoke German with a slight accent.

Marie looked up in surprise. “It’s true.”

The woman sighed with relief, then immediately leaned over her work again so she wouldn’t draw Renata’s attention. “You know,” she said so softly that only Marie could hear, “I haven’t been in this camp for long and only heard about you yesterday. My father was German, too, and a loyal servant to the king. He didn’t want to renounce his beliefs, so the Hussites killed him. Since my mother was Czech, her relatives hid us, but neighbors betrayed us and we were put in a labor camp. My mother died last year, and I was sent here not long ago. The others know I’m
half-German
and torment me because of it. It must be the same for you? I’d like to talk with you more often if possible. My name is Jelka. That’s Helene in German.”

Marie finished the sack she was working on and nodded to the woman. “Then I’ll call you Helene.”

“I’m glad. I used to like hearing that name, but when the other women use it, it sounds like a curse.” Helene pinched her lips and fell silent, as Renata was walking past, waving her switch over the women’s heads. Once the supervisor had sat back down, she continued. “You have to watch out for that nasty woman. She’s worse than Vyszo himself. I know the couple from years past. They’ll kill you just for fun, as if squashing a fly.”

Marie stared at Helene curiously. “You say you know Vyszo? Have you heard how he got his armor? He claims he killed a German knight to get it.”

“Reportedly he didn’t kill him, but he took it off his dead body.”

“What do men like Vyszo do with people they kill and plunder? Do they bury them?”

Helene shook her head. “Usually they leave the dead lying where they are to scare their enemy.”

Marie felt a glimmer of hope again. If Michel hadn’t been dead, only injured and unconscious, he might have survived the Hussites. “So after Vyszo took the man’s armor, he probably left him lying somewhere in the forest?”

“No. One of the men there that day told a guard in the camp I was in that the German had noticed Vyszo’s trap and warned his companions, so they managed to fight them off and scatter the Taborites. Vyszo was so furious at the knight, he threw him into a river.”

Marie felt her longing for Michel give way to seething rage. If that was true, Michel had saved the lives of Falko von Hettenheim and Gunter von Losen, and in exchange, they betrayed him. She clenched her teeth and tried to keep calm. When she had finally gotten control of her anger, she had to fight against despair reaching for her with its long, scrawny fingers as it tried to drag her down into the black abyss that she had felt ever since the news of Michel’s death.

Fortunately, Helene noticed nothing amiss, continuing to tell Marie much about the Czech people and the Hussites. According to her, the whole country longed for peace, but men like the two Prokops and Vyszo oppressed the soldiers with an iron fist, breaking any resistance. Marie, whose mind was wandering a fine line between a dying hope and a wish for death, remembered Ottokar Sokolny and his brother, whom Vyszo was supposed to attack, and she was glad to find something else to think about. She had decided to warn the young nobleman of Prokop’s plans, so when she finally finished the last sack that evening, she slipped through the dark to Count Ottokar’s hut. She knocked on the door and he opened it, staring at her with surprise.

“Isn’t it a little cold to be running around in such thin rags?”

“I haven’t got anything else to wear!” Marie pointed inside. “May I come in? I need to speak with you urgently.”

“Come in! You will catch your death of cold.” Sokolny stepped aside and let her enter.

His servant Ludvik was heating a pot of beer at the hearth, with added spices and herbs, judging by the smell. Upon seeing Marie, he winked at his master. “Would it be better for me to leave you two alone?”

Sokolny shook his head and ordered him to fill two cups. Marie looked doubtfully at Ludvik. “Can you trust this man, sir?”

Sokolny’s interest was now clearly piqued. “Absolutely.”

Sipping the cup Ludvik handed her to moisten her dry throat, she started talking bluntly. “You have a brother named Václav.”

Ottokar Sokolny frowned. “That’s correct.”

“After you left the council of war the other day, Prokop, Vyszo, and the preacher decided to attack and kill him later this year.”

Sir Ottokar grabbed Marie by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “How do you know that? The three of them would hardly have discussed their plans in your mother tongue.”

“Since Renata usually shouts orders at me in Czech, I was forced to learn your language, at least enough to understand much of what was discussed in Prokop’s hut.” With this confession, she put herself utterly at Ottokar’s mercy. If he didn’t believe her and betrayed her to Prokop and Vyszo, she would die just as painfully as everyone else who came under suspicion of being traitors.

Abruptly releasing her, Sokolny paced the sparsely furnished room. In addition to the campfire that also served as a hearth, there were two
three-legged
stools, a makeshift bed made of boards nailed together, and a straw mattress for his servant. Only the weapons hanging on the wall, Sokolny’s armor, and an old chest with a coat of arms showed that the person living there was not just a simple peasant.

Sokolny couldn’t hide his agitation. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

Count Ottokar cursed under his breath. “It’s all that damned Vyszo’s fault! That stupid peasant hates all noblemen and would as gladly massacre us as the Germans.”

“I don’t understand. You’re fellow countrymen and you both worship Jan Hus,” Marie said, puzzled.

“I’m a nobleman, someone who has learned to use his head, not just to roar like an ox. Furthermore, I belong to the Calixtines, not to the stinking pile of dung calling itself the Taborites. If they had their way, we would murder and slaughter our neighbors, taking everything until there’s nothing left. Our country is falling to pieces without hands left to work the fields, and yet the Taborite leaders are calling for more and more men to join the army. For them, it’s no longer about our faith or the liberation of our people—it’s just about their personal power.” Ottokar Sokolny pressed his forehead against the center post supporting the roof, staring past the edge of the timber at Marie.

“Thank you for your warning, but you should go before it’s completely dark. There’s too much riffraff in this camp, and, unfortunately, not everyone respects a woman who has the blessing of our saint.”

Marie emptied her cup, curtsied, and darted out the door. Sokolny gazed into thin air for a while before slamming his fist against the post. “I was afraid it would come to this.”

Refilling the cup, Ludvik handed it to his master. “What should we do now? If Little Prokop attacks the castle with his troops, Falkenhain will fall.”

“There’s only one solution: Václav has to come over to our side immediately. My friends and I have enough influence that neither Little Prokop nor Vyszo can ignore us.”

“When are you leaving for Falkenhain?”

Count Ottokar shook his head. “I have to stay here to keep the situation under control and to take part in the council of war. You will travel to my brother in my stead and talk to him. Tell him we need the support of every honest nobleman to curb the Taborites’ influence. If we don’t manage to tame them, they will eventually drown our beautiful Bohemia in blood.”

Ludvik groaned. “It’s hard riding home alone at this time of year. I can only hope I won’t become a meal for wolves or bears along the way.”

Sokolny laughed and patted his servant’s shoulder. “If anyone can get through to Falkenhain in this weather, it’s you, my friend. Please look after yourself and remember that I need you!”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Ludvik jokingly pretended to be offended and started pulling together clothes and gear for his trip.

3.

Michel was spending his third winter at Falkenhain, and yet he increasingly felt he didn’t belong here. It couldn’t be because of Sokolny, as he had admitted him into his circle of confidants and made him his preferred adviser. It couldn’t be because of other castle residents, either, as they all treated him with the same friendship and respect as if he’d grown up there.

Instead, it felt as if something within him were trying to tear off the veil covering his past, but the result was nightmares and an almost unbearable longing for the woman called Marie. As often as his duties allowed, he wrapped himself in his warm sheepskin coat, sat in the windswept solitude of the tower, and pondered his dreams, which appeared to be shadows from his former life. The only thing he could remember quite clearly, as if he were gazing upon it from the top of a hill, was a large river with ships the size of toys traveling past. And at some time in the past he must have traveled on a river himself, because he remembered the sound of the waves breaking against wooden planks.

When the shouting of the guard startled him from his thoughts, he realized his fingers were almost frozen despite his thick,
fur-lined
gloves. He stood up, shook himself to warm up, and looked over the tower battlements onto the road leading to the castle where a horseman was approaching on an impressively built steed that was stumbling with exhaustion up the winding path to the castle. The man looked as bulky and shapeless as if he were wearing several layers of sheepskin, and in one hand he was holding a pike. Anyone traveling alone at this time of year, Michel thought, was either a fool or running away. Grabbing the rope attached to the wall to stop people from slipping on the icy steps, he hurried downstairs.

Huschke had reached the gate before him and looked at him questioningly. Michel nodded, and the tower guard pushed the heavy bar aside, opening the left side of the gate.

Drawing his sword, Michel quickly sheathed it again when he saw the man didn’t pose any danger. The rider was at least as exhausted as his horse, which stopped in the courtyard, its legs trembling. Michel walked over to the man, freed the pike from his stiff hands, and lifted him out of the saddle.

While holding him, he called to a servant peering out from the stables. “Jindrich, take care of the horse! I’ll help our guest inside.”

Then he pointed to the stairs. “Come, my friend. What you need is a seat by the fire and one of Wanda’s warm brews.”

“Don’t let her be stingy with the beer,” the man replied with a pathetic smile.

Michel recognized him at once. “Ludvik! Is your master still out in the cold?”

“No, I’ve come alone. I must speak with Count Václav to warn him.”

At this, Michel grabbed Ludvik under his arms and carried him into the kitchen. Wanda was kneading dough for dumplings. When she saw the shaking, frozen man staggering toward her, she threw up her hands and rushed to the stove, where a large pot of hot, spiced beer was waiting for those who had to work outside.

“Here, drink!” she urged the man, holding the steaming cup to his lips.

Clasping the cup between his numb hands, Ludvik eagerly drained its contents. Then he wiped the drops from his beard. “That’s good! When you’ve ridden through this cold for three days, only finding shelter in a
half-collapsed
barn for one night, this drink is the perfect greeting. I had almost given up hope of making it here. All the villages and small cities I know from my youth are in ashes, and if you get close to them, you step on bones. It was like a ride through hell.”

“That’s what Jan Ziska and his successors have done to our beautiful country!” Count Sokolny’s voice roared behind them. He had heard about Ludvik’s arrival from the guards and known immediately where to find the unexpected visitor. Stepping close to Michel, he looked down on his brother’s servant, slumped in his chair,
worn-out
and miserable. “Forgive me, Count, for not greeting you as respectfully as I should, but my legs won’t carry me any longer.”

“It’s all right, Ludvik. A man who manages to get to Falkenhain in this weather has earned the right to sit in my presence.” Sokolny patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, then pulled over a chair for himself and looked at Ludvik with concern. “What on earth has caused my brother to risk your life? I know how highly he values you.”

Ludvik smiled with embarrassment and cast a doubtful glance at Wanda and the maids, who were pretending to be busy nearby while trying to eavesdrop. “I’ve got news, but it’s not good.”

Waving Wanda over, he pointed at Ludvik and Michel. “Pour beer for the three of us. Then take your women and leave us alone.”

The count waited impatiently until the women had closed the door behind them, then stared at Ludvik. “What happened?”

“My master urgently appeals to you once more to join his allies and him in helping to curb the Taborites’ influence. He said there’s no other way he can protect you. Little Prokop and Vyszo plan to attack your castle this year, probably right after the attack on Silesia.” Ludvik looked pleadingly at the count, who growled in response.

“Ottokar is a fool if he thinks he can help me that way. Once that pack has tasted blood, they won’t stop until they’ve drowned in it. They will attack Falkenhain, whether or not I renounce Sigismund and join the Calixtines.”

Michel shared the count’s opinion. From everything he had learned up to now, the Taborites especially wouldn’t let anyone whom they considered an enemy live. But he was surprised at how deep the discord between the two rebel groups already was, and thought this was probably the beginning of the end for the Hussites. At the same time, he was aware it would probably take years until this blaze at the edge of the Reich was extinguished, during which time Falkenhain would be a place of death like all of its neighbors.

“I agree, Sir Count. These Taborites will come whether you swear allegiance to the league or not. We have to prepare for their attack.”

A bitter smile flashed across Sokolny’s face. “For years we’ve been living in anticipation of this day, but we always hoped it would never come.”

The count sounded so dejected that Michel responded with angry fervor. “It doesn’t help to tremble with fear while waiting for the enemy’s arrival. We need to think about ways to shore up our defenses.”

“For example?”

“We could start by reinforcing the east wall and enlarging the tower above the gate,” Michel suggested, “or we could repair all our wagons, pack everything we need, and make our way to the Reich. With luck, we could make it.”

Ludvik objected vehemently. “Don’t even think of doing that! You’ll be far too slow with the women and children, and the Taborites would soon catch up and kill you all.”

“Then we can do nothing but fight and hope for God’s mercy. Maybe you’ll find some friends willing to stand by you,” replied Michel, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Sadly, Sokolny shook his head. “What friends? You just heard that all of the surrounding towns and castles have been burned down. The only person who can help us now is King Sigismund.”

“Then ask him for help!” Michel’s voice snapped through the room like the lash of a whip.

For a moment, the count stared at him. Then he nodded and straightened up. “That’s worth thinking about. Call Feliks, Marek, and the other leaders to the hall so we can discuss it. No, not the hall! We’ll take the tower room, as I don’t want people to know what a precarious situation we’re in. Ludvik, do you feel strong enough to give us a detailed report?”

Ludvik nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, my lord. I just need another cup of beer and a bite to eat, and then I’ll tell you everything my master and I have learned about the Taborites’ plans.”

“Good! Come upstairs. I’ll make sure we get a meal served up there.” As the count opened the door, Wanda jumped back, and her guilty expression told him she had eavesdropped.

“I hope you know how to keep your mouth shut!” he said quietly but firmly, and the cook nodded shyly. “Now, go. Send a few maids with bread, beer, and roast meat for nine men up to the tower.”