ALTDORF (The Forest Knights: Book 1) (5 page)

John shook his head slowly from side to side. “No—this is not what you promised. You said I would be granted lands and titles when Frederick became King.” He pointed his finger up at Leopold. “You gave your word!”

Leopold rolled his eyes and walked over to his horse. “My word was it?”

He pulled himself up into the saddle and said, “Sorry cousin. I can deal with princes and kings, but a Papal Ban is beyond even me.”

John stood on shaky legs and stumbled over to the two mounted men. Klaus grabbed the pommel of his sword, but Leo held up a restraining hand as John wrapped himself around the young Duke’s boot and pleaded.

“No, do not go Leo. Please, I am sorry I accused you. I have been alone too long…my mind is not right. Surely there is something we can do. I will stay in hiding and when Frederick becomes king he can beseech the Pope…”

Leopold gently placed his hand on John’s head and leaned over him. “My dear cousin, can you not see I have no choice?” One corner of his thin lips turned up in a smirk. “And besides…you did kill my father. Why would I assist the likes of you?”

Leopold pushed John away by his head, turned his horse, and jammed his heels into its side. He held up a hand in parting and called out, “Good luck on the road cousin. Beware old ladies and children trying to kill you in your sleep.”

He left John the Parricide, slack-legged and hunched in front of the age-blackened shack, a man with no country and no god.

Chapter 3

W
HEN THEY CAME to Altdorf, a town near the southern end of the Great Lake, Ruedi abruptly announced he would separate from the party.

Altdorf was a thriving town for these parts. Almost a city, Thomas thought. Easily the largest settlement they had seen since coming over the Gotthard Pass. On a rise in the distance he could even see new construction under way. It appeared to be a large stone keep beginning to take shape.

“Heard a rumor about five years back I have a sister in these parts,” Ruedi said. “Course it came from a drunken Norseman, and he was not sure if he was in Burglen or Altdorf at the time. Still, nothing better to do. Might as well check it out.”

“Best of luck finding her. I swear, this town has tripled in size since I saw it last. It was nothing more than a few farmer’s huts clustered together from what I remember,” Anton said.

“Well that is no farmer’s hut,” Pirmin said pointing at the keep on the hill.

Thomas remembered the Norseman Ruedi talked about.
The Wyvern
had been patrolling the waters off the coast of Turkey and they came across the remains of a burned out merchant knarr floating dead in the water. Only one man remained alive, though he hovered precariously close to death.

Thomas ordered him to be taken to the Hospital in Rhodes, where to everyone’s amazement and thanks in no small part to the skill of the Order’s doctors, the man had survived and spent almost two months amongst the Hospitallers. He was well traveled and a tireless storyteller, provided he was kept in his cups, and told endless tales of the far North and how most people there still believed not in one god, but in many, similar to the Greeks of old.

The seven men dismounted in front of a church, which, though small, was still the most impressive building in sight. Next to it was a recently constructed barracks, with three Austrian soldiers standing about eyeing the travelers. It was midday, the street quiet as most people were at work.

Each man said some parting words to Ruedi and embraced him in the quick emotional manner of men who had forged a bond of incredible strength over the years. As a parting gift Thomas gave him a dozen crossbow quarrels.

“You will make better use of these than I ever could,” Thomas said.

“Aye. You never had much of an eye, Cap’n. I will come find you sometime—maybe take you hunting. Try not to starve before then.” His voice broke slightly and the forks of his mahogany beard twitched as he clamped his mouth shut.

Thomas mounted up and the men rode out of Altdorf, leaving Ruedi standing alone in the middle of the road, the occasional townsman scurrying past, pretending not to stare.

***

It was already dark when they rode into Schwyz, but they had no trouble finding a large inn. The village was a common stopping point for travelers who had made it over the Alps and the inn’s business seemed good. The high-ceilinged common room held a dozen tables, half of them filled with patrons, when Thomas’s party entered. A staircase, with sturdy treads formed from split logs, led up to several rooms on the second floor.

Faces looked up but quickly turned away again when someone from Thomas’s group met their gaze. Good things rarely came from prolonged eye contact with six heavily armed men weary from the road.

The owner, a thin, tight-lipped man with strong hands, watched the new arrivals suspiciously from behind a high counter, which separated the crowd from several tapped kegs. He seemed to relax slightly when Max paid some coins up front and negotiated for rooms and horse stabling.

Soon, heaping bowls of chamois stew and ceramic mugs of ale were placed before the six men. As the owner brought the food out of the kitchen, Thomas glanced an older woman and a younger pretty girl with sand-colored hair. She stared at Thomas and his companions with wide eyes, and then the door swung shut obscuring her from view.

Thomas surveyed the patrons. A few tables of traveling merchants, and another with two grizzled and grey men and a woman hunched over their drinks, talking in hushed tones. Then he looked at his own group of dirty, rough men-at-arms as an outsider might and did not blame the innkeeper for hiding the womenfolk away in the kitchen.

While with the Order, Thomas and his men had always worn brown cloaks and tunics with the white Hospitaller cross prominently displayed on the chest or shoulder. His friends looked different now in plain traveling garb, albeit their weapons and partially visible chainmail marked them as more than simple travelers.

“Our coin will go a long way in this land,” Max said, obviously pleased with the outcomes of his negotiations.

“A good thing that is. Since you still owe me for re-shaping that sword you carry,” Urs said. During his years of service to the Order of Saint John, in addition to being a sergeant-at-arms, Urs had been apprenticed to one of the Order’s weapons-makers. A quiet perfectionist with forearms almost as large as Pirmin’s, Urs was far happier handling hammer and anvil than using the quality weapons he forged.

“I told you. Once we get to Zug I will sell some of my spices at the market and buy you a new horse. A good mountain pony that will carry your bulk to Basel without balking at every slope.”

Urs grunted—a noncommittal sound that meant he neither agreed nor disagreed with Max. For a moment it looked like he might say more but instead wrapped his thick fingers around the mug in front of him and drained it.

Since leaving Ruedi at Altdorf, the reality that their journey together was at an end had finally sunk in, and Thomas had been debating with himself where his own path would finish. Max had family in Zug, Urs was from Basel, Gissler’s father was a steward of land in the Aargau, Anton was headed to Appenzell, and Pirmin could not stop talking about the mountains of Wallis and his family’s black-necked goat farm, although he seemed to be taking the long way home by going through Schwyz.

Schwyz. This was where their journey together had begun so many years ago. It was fitting that it should also end here.

“Max, I would collect my share here in the morning,” Thomas said.

Conversation within the group ceased and as one they turned to look at Thomas. When they were on campaign, Max had always looked after the troop’s money. He had a mind that never forgot a sum and he could write numbers. He knew a few letters, but the only one of the group who could truly read and write was Thomas.

Money had not played a large part in the sergeants’ military lives, since their everyday needs were supplied by the Order, but they were given a small salarium every month to be spent how they chose. Before leaving Rhodes for the last time, Max had collected the meager life savings of his friends together and exchanged the coins for a letter of credit from the Order of Saint John, which was redeemable at any of the Order’s hospices or estates scattered throughout Europe. Many merchants took advantage of this deposit and withdrawal system offered by both the Hospitallers and the Templars, since it was a safe way to conduct business in lands rife with thieves and highwaymen.

Max had redeemed the letter at a hospice they found in northern Italia a week ago, but since everyone trusted him, he still held all the coin himself, doling it out carefully when they needed to purchase meals or lodging.

“So you will be staying here in Schwyz then?” Max asked, looking over his half-eaten bowl of stew.

Thomas shrugged. “For awhile. Remember that old man and his ferry we passed on the lake close to Brunnen? It gave me an idea.”

“You will be wasting yourself here in the poor country,” Gissler said. “Come with me up north to the Aargau. My father has connections—I am sure he knows someone who could put our swords to use.”

Thomas shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, Gissler, but I mean to try my hand at something different. It seems the Good Lord has more than hinted that my time as one of His sword bearers has come to an end, and frankly, I have no desire to see it put to another’s use.”

“Thomi, Thomi. Your days on the water are over. What would you be wanting with an old rotten barge I wonder?” Pirmin said, already drinking from his third mug of ale.

Thomas’s eyes came to life. “She will not be rotten when I finish with her.”

Pirmin stared at Thomas for a moment while he sopped up the juices of his stew with a chunk of crusty bread. He popped it into his mouth and spoke around it, which had the effect of lessening his Wallis accent, and curiously, made his speech easier to understand.

“Well I know as soon as I get back home to Tasch my family will want to marry me off to keep the Schnidrig line going strong. And I admit I look forward to one part of that. Those Wallis women are easy on the eyes and know how to keep their men warm at night, I tell you that much.”

“What do you know about Wallis women? You were eight the last time you saw one,” Thomas said.

“Must be talking about his mother,” Anton said.

“It is the air and the water,” Pirmin said, ignoring them both. “Something about it produces the most handsome animals, and people. Similar to how the bitter water in Appenzell keeps all Anton’s people small and stunted. Talk nice to me lads, and maybe I will bring some of that Wallis nectar and sell it to you. No reason your children need to be ugly—God knows you and your kin have suffered enough already.”

Anton punched the giant man in the shoulder, while Gissler dipped his fingers in his ale and flicked them at Pirmin. Pirmin wiped his face and crossed himself and then held up a finger.

“But first, I think I will stay here for a time and help Thomi build his boat. Raise up gentlemen and let us drink to making ugly people better looking!”

“To new ventures,” Max said, raising his mug.

They echoed Max’s toast and clanked their mugs together, splashing ale over the table. They laughed hard and drank long into the night, reminiscing over thirty years of shared exploits. For the remainder of the evening, they peeled back the years until each man saw only the faces of boys before him, and the aches and pains inflicted by a lifetime of war dissolved into the night.

Chapter 4