ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1) (23 page)

“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.

The beast increased his pace to a bouncing trot and Thomas found himself sliding around on the animal’s back like it had been slathered in olive oil. He berated himself for not having the business sense to keep his saddle. Knowing how ridiculous he must look with his long legs wrapped around the underbelly of his long-eared mule, Thomas was surprised to not be greeted by a stream of laughter from Seraina.

She stood when she saw him approach and paced to and fro until he dismounted and stood before her. When she looked up he saw the trails of recent tears on her cheeks. She said not a word, but walked to Thomas and threw her arms around his neck, put her head on his chest, and let out a deep breath.

“Seraina, what is it? What has happened?” He tried to lean back and turn her head up but she only clung to him all the harder. Her slim frame shook with a few silent sobs and he surrendered, reaching his arms around to hold her close.

He realized he had yearned to be this close to her since that first day she had appeared on his ferry, but now, holding her tight, he experienced a paralyzing sense of dread. He squeezed her gently and was overcome with the scent of wildflowers and warm, dark earth. Finally, he moved his hands to her shoulders and eased her back.

Hesitantly, Seraina told him how Landenberg’s men had beaten and raped Vreni and would have done much worse if Pirmin and Noll had not intervened. By the time she was finished, her voice had risen and a quiet anger flashed in her eyes.

“Why do men talk of honor and god yet feel they can take a woman anytime they wish? Is that something your god teaches?”

“What happened at Sutter’s was the Devil’s doing. Not God’s.”

“You are wrong, Thomas. It was men who raped Vreni. Men with power given to them by other men. Men from foreign lands who treat us like animals, because in their eyes, we are not true people.”

“I do not condone their actions, but Sutter must have done something to incur Landenberg’s wrath.”

“What could he possibly have done to deserve such a punishment? What did Vreni do?”

“They harbored outlaws. Everyone knows Noll is close with Sutter.”

Seraina took a step back. “Noll cannot be blamed for this. The Habsburgs are a festering wound on our people and Noll is but the dressing.”

“I do not understand how you can have such confidence in a common thief.”

Seraina’s tone softened, but her eyes still burned with conviction. “You underestimate him Thomas. I do not know when, or how, but Noll will make all the difference. Our people, your people, will remember his name for centuries.”

Thomas shook his head. “History is the words of conquerors. That boy will conquer no one, but he will make the lives of many short and painful. Just ask Sutter and Vreni if you doubt—”

Seraina slapped him across the face. It was so fast and sudden Thomas doubted for a moment that it really happened. But then the residual heat of her hand registered on the left side of his face, and the skin burned everywhere, except of course, for the chord of scar tissue. It felt as cool as ever.

Seraina’s eyes widened and she stared first at Thomas’s face and then at her own hand. She shook her head and backed further away.

Thomas stepped towards her and reached out.

“Seraina, wait.”

“No,” she said, her voice breaking. “I was wrong to come here.”

She opened her mouth to say more but it caught in her throat. Then she turned, and fled into the trees like a startled deer.

Thomas stood alone. His eyes scoured the dark woods for the slightest hint of someone’s passing. But all he had for company was a stinging handprint on his cheek, and the soft scent of wildflowers dissipating into the cool night air.

And one long-eared mule.

Chapter 24

T
O PUT SERAINA from his mind, Thomas threw himself into rebuilding his ferry. He had decided the ferry would take precedence over the cabin, for without the ferry he had no source of income. He would live in a tent all winter if need be.

Thomas was so focused on peeling the charred layer from a log with his double-handled drawknife that he did not hear a man and horse approach. When a voice called out, he jumped, gouging a long divot in the wood.

“You. Peasant. I am searching for a man feared in the lands of Islam. A leader of men and a keeper of the One True Word. Perhaps you know where I might find this man.”

Thomas put the drawknife down and straightened up. He wiped his blackened hands on his breeches, squinted into the sun, and pointed southeast.

“You will find him a thousand miles from here. That way I believe.”

Gissler leapt down from his horse laughing, and the two men embraced. Thomas made a show of not touching Gissler’s clothes with his charcoal-covered hands.

Gissler turned in a full circle and surveyed the burnt-out remains of what had once been Thomas’s cabin and ferry.

“What in God’s name are you playing at here?” Gissler said.

“Nothing that cannot be put off until we are sharing a meal and some drink. Let me wash up. Then, what do you say we ride to the local inn?”

“Only if we spend my coin, Thomas. I have been fortunate and come into a position.”

“So it would seem,” Thomas said, giving a nod to Gissler’s outfit. He wore a thick, burgundy traveling cloak and a white, finely embroidered tunic, which almost completely covered his light chainmail vest. On his head was a sleek cap with a peacock feather stitched into the hatband. Thomas had seen similar caps on well-off merchants and nobles, but he thought it looked ridiculous on Gissler.

“You found your kin then? Well, I look forward to hearing it all.”

Gissler’s eyes blackened for the briefest moment. “Better than that. I am now a member of the Duke’s household.”

This news caught Thomas by surprise. He turned his back on Gissler and ladled water onto his hands from Anid’s trough. Or what used to be his horse’s trough. It now belonged to an ornery mule.

“And which Duke would that be?” he said, rubbing his hands together. Rivulets of water cut trails through the charcoal dust on his forearms and dripped off his elbows in blackened streams.

“Which Duke?” Gissler said, incredulous. “Your Duke. The only Duke this land knows. Duke Leopold of Habsburg.”

“Duke Leopold’s man then? You have indeed done well for yourself, Gissler.” Thomas ladled more water over his arms, scrubbed them once more, and gave them a vigorous shake. “So would you be here in an official capacity?”

Gissler laughed, and the sound set Thomas on edge. Gissler was never a man to be so receptive to humor.

“Yes, and no,” Gissler said. “The Duke has been happy with my service, I suppose, and when I mentioned I knew of a Captain of the Order living in his lands, he suggested I seek out my friend and offer him a position. I thought that rather generous of our lord, would you not agree?”