Escape from the Past (19 page)

I tied the horse behind the shop and helped Bero down. We rounded the corner and entered from the front. The shop room was empty and gloomy as usual.

“
Hallo
?”

The shelves were even less well stocked than last week. Something moved in the rear. The curtain was pulled aside and the dressmaker appeared. He wiped his mouth.

“Yes?”

“We need winter tunics,” I hurried. “And pants.”

“I’m not bartering this time.” The dressmaker turned toward the backroom.

“We have money, I mean coin to pay.”

“How much?”

“How much will it cost?”

The dressmaker’s hand stopped on the curtain. Then he approached, his eyes squinting and scanning for obvious signs of a purse on my waist. When he saw none, he turned back around.

“Can you show us the coats?”

“Tunics,” Bero whispered.

“Eh, we want to see the tunics.”

The dressmaker hesitated and threw another suspicious glance at us. Then he shuffled into the back corner and
reappeared with several bundles.

“That’s all I have. If you want something else, I’ll have to make it.”

I unfolded the cloth and held it up to Bero’s neck. The fabric was dark brown and woven.

“Made from boiled wool. You wear it with this.” The dress-maker held up a second longer tunic. “It’s lighter weight.”

“We’ll take both sets,” I said. “You have hats or these hoods?”

“Gugel,”
the dressmaker nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’ll have to get them.”

He disappeared behind the curtain and it became quiet.

“Let’s try this,” I said. We yanked on the two layers of wool. The undershirt fell to our calves. The outer Surcot was shorter. We needed belts, but I felt instantly warm. Now all we needed were shoes.

We looked at each other and for the first time in ages, Bero giggled. It sounded like the old Bero.

“Like a squire,” I said.

Instantly Bero’s face clouded over.

I patted him on the back. “What did I say? You look good.”

“Hot?”

I stared at Bero. “What?” Then I understood. Bero had tried to joke.

I grinned. “Yeah, hot. Except you use it for girls.”

The room turned quiet as we waited. Where was the slowpoke of a dressmaker? It wasn’t like him to leave us out of his sight. I felt the coins in my pocket. I still carried Werner’s fortune, an easy target for thieves.

“You think he can be trusted?” I asked. Subconsciously, I’d pulled out the coin bag. “We better go.”

“What about the hoods?”

“He should’ve been back by now.”

“Maybe he’s—”

Somewhere a horse neighed. I placed a finger on my lips and
tiptoed to the grimy window. Cleaning off a spot I peeked outside. To my horror, half a dozen men, dressed in armor and helmets, were dismounting their horses. Unlikely, these guys had come to shop. Way more likely, they were Ott’s men.

“Let’s go,” I whispered and threw one of the gold coins on the table. It was probably way too much, but I wouldn’t be accused of stealing. Even if the dressmaker was a lousy spy who ratted out his customers.

I pulled Bero through the curtain into the backroom. The tailor sat quietly at a table, sewing.

“Traitor,” Bero muttered under his breath as we raced past. The dressmaker jumped up and tried to stop us. I grabbed a piece of firewood and hurled it at the man’s face. It smacked into his forehead. More surprised than hurt, the dressmaker slumped on his butt.

“Thieves! I’ve been robbed,” he shouted.

“Money is on the table,” I yelled over my shoulder as we raced through the backdoor. The mighty Hanstein horse snorted in greeting. Bero climbed up—a bit of squirrel-like quickness had returned. He grabbed a fistful of my new cape and yanked. We both squeezed in the saddle. The horse, sensing danger, took off in gallop. I struggled to stay upright, the robe restricting my legs, the horse bucking beneath me. Every fiber in me rejected it, but I embraced Bero and joined him holding the reins.

Behind us men shouted and cursed. Then it turned quiet. Undoubtedly, they were getting their horses. And they’d be a lot faster.

“Whatever we do, let’s stay on this horse,” I yelled into the wind.

As if the dead knight’s horse had heard me, it sped up, making us bounce and juggle to remain in the saddle. The path rose steeply now and we had to lean forward to avoid sliding off. The castle loomed near, but behind us, I heard horse gallop and shouts. They were catching up.

“Faster,” I shouted.

Our horse sprinted on. The curve in the path announcing
Rimbach
appeared. And was past. The racket of horse hooves, angry voices and metal clinking melted into a roar, growing louder with each second. I felt the hair on my neck stand up, imagining six sword tips at my back, ready to slice me in two. Still, I couldn’t turn—afraid to face the enemy, even more afraid of falling off at the last minute. If we weren’t cut into pieces, I’d break my neck.

The outer wall of castle Hanstein had never looked more inviting.

“Help,” I shouted. “It’s Max Nerds.”

The two guards appeared as we slowed down at the gate. The horse knew its home and neighed. Behind us the six pursuers came to a stop. For the first time, I turned before jumping off the horse.

“Make haste,” the guard grumbled, his eyes glued to the pack of men, his sword raised. “Let us take care of these unwelcome guests.”

I wanted to kiss the man on his gristly cheek. We hurried through the gate, the horse leading the way.

Behind us, shouting erupted.

“You’re harboring a cutpurse,” someone said. “He stole from the dressmaker.”

“You’ll have to take it up with the Lord,” the guard said. “You may request an audience. My Lord is a busy man.”

“Listen to them. We paid in gold and they’re accusing us.” I stopped abruptly, the stallion nibbling at my arm. I leaned against it, rubbing its broad jaw. It had saved our lives. From now on I’d make a point of visiting.

“Rotten liars,” Bero said. He looked pale despite the flushed cheeks and bruises. “My skull is pounding.”

The inner gate loomed ahead and we slipped into the courtyard. I led the horse to the stalls.

Enders rushed out, a brush in his plate-sized hand. “What’re you doing with a knight’s horse? Where is he?”

I swallowed to clear my throat. The burly knight’s face, his gruesome wound, reappeared in my mind. “He’s dead. We found his horse by his side and returned it.”

Enders stared, his mouth open. Nothing came out.

“Lord Hanstein was ambushed by Duke von Schwarzburg’s men. Has the Lord returned?”

Enders shook his head. He absentmindedly patted the horse’s neck. I was stunned noticing tears in the squire’s eyes.

“You knew the knight?”

“He was my uncle and guardian.”

“Sorry, man.” I patted Enders on the shoulder.

“His horse saved our lives,” Bero said. He looked ready to keel over.

A small smile appeared on Enders’ face. “I trained him myself.”

“Will you tell us when Lord Werner arrives?”

Enders nodded. “Go to the kitchen. Tell them I sent you. They’ll have food and drink for you.” He turned and led the horse into the dark end of the stalls. I could’ve sworn I heard sobbing. Life in medieval Germany sucked.

We entered the small room where we’d eaten breakfast two days earlier. The place looked deserted, the fire in the hearth nearly extinguished. I thought about heating a place like Hanstein. They’d use an entire forest in one winter.

“Where’s the kitchen?” Bero said, sticking his head through the door at the backside of the room. I grinned. Food never failed to get Bero going.

“No idea, Juliana knows.”

We stared at each other. “Juliana!” we both yelled at the same time.

“She’ll slay me,” Bero said matter-of-factly.

“Let’s find the kitchen and ask for her.” I’d stay out of it. Let Bero and Juliana fight it out. I needed a nap—after the meal, of course.

Down the corridor someone moved.

“Wait,” Bero shouted. “We’re looking for the kitchen.”

The maid curtsied. “To the landing and up the stairs. Follow the sounds.”

We marched down the hall and up the steps. On the main floor, a large oak door led to a cavernous space with several cook fires. Cast-iron pots and pans bubbled. A dozen cooks and helpers were cutting, slicing, scrubbing and stirring. The smell of roasted meat and baking bread was overwhelming. I gulped away the saliva.

Soon we sat in an alcove near the outer wall, demolishing some kind of roast. The meat was too oily for my taste, but at least it wasn’t spiced to death yet. Grease ran down my chin as I bit into a hunk of bread. The ale tasted full strength and I soon felt my cheeks burn. Bero sat across smiling and chewing. Then his mouth dropped open and he stared.

“You scoundrel of a tanner’s son.”

I would’ve recognized her voice anywhere. Juliana suddenly loomed above us, hands on her hips, cheeks red with fury.

“I was sick with worry. I thought you were dead,” she cried. I leaned back. Maybe it was best to leave. No need to listen any further. The hay in the barn would be perfect for a snooze.

“I waited and waited. Why didn’t you send word?” Juliana poked a forefinger at Bero’s chest.

Why didn’t we call and leave a voicemail, I thought. Better yet, sent a text. I smiled.

Juliana turned to me. “You think this is funny? I fretted…I waited and worried…” Juliana came up for air. “Why didn’t you return? What happened?”

I ducked lower. Why was she yelling at
me
?

“We were detained,” I offered. It sounded lame but communicating in the Middle Ages was ridiculously difficult. Mad girls are like a stirred-up hornet’s nest, better to take off as fast as you can or you’ll regret it. I wiggled toward the edge of the bench.

Juliana had obviously run out of steam as she sighed with relief and looked back and forth between us. At last, she bent low and carefully touched Bero’s face, the swollen eye and bruises on his cheek.

“What happened?” she said, her voice back to regular volume.

“If you wouldn’t just scream like a market tramp, I’d explain,” Bero said. “Sit down. My skull is breaking as it is.”

Juliana carefully touched the terrible contusions on Bero’s head. To my surprise, she slumped next to me, her closeness making me short of breath.

“I was attacked.
Heiliger Wendelin,
my sows…are dead,” Bero started. He looked like he’d finally grasped that his beloved pigs were gone. The paleness around his nose spread to his cheeks. He looked ill again.

Juliana patted Bero’s hand across the table. “Oh, no. Was it Ott? He wants to get to me through you.”

“I can’t remember. Luanda cared for me.”

“I found him in the pig barn,” I offered. “Carried him to Luanda’s cabin. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You carried me?” Bero stared at me.

“Like a baby.”

“Nay, that’s an hour’s walk.”

“Tell me about it. More like two.” I tried a grin, but the memory of the punishing hike, Bero’s lifeless body in my arms, chased it away. “Did you think you flew to Luanda’s?”

“You saved his life,” Juliana’s voice had turned into a whisper. “How can I ever thank you?” She turned sideways, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek. I felt my face turn into an inferno. I’d kissed before, real French kisses, groping in the dark, almost everything, but the real thing. And here, Juliana made me blush as if I were a school girl.

Bero hadn’t said anything. He just looked at me with something like admiration in his eyes.

“Who did this to you?” Juliana said, turning back to her brother.

Bero shrugged. “Can’t remember anything from yesterday.” Juliana put a hand on my arm and left it there. “We spent the night and wanted to hike back. We came across this horrible battle,” Bero continued. He gave a quick summary of the dead men in the blood-soaked field, the horse, the dressmaker’s betrayal and being pursued to the castle. I was glad that Bero remembered that part.

“Who followed you?”

Bero shrugged. “Probably Ott’s men.”

Juliana covered her face with her hands. “It was the Duke. He’ll stop at nothing.”

“What do we have to do with him?” I asked. “We weren’t in the battle, though most of the dead men were his.”

After scanning the room for obvious eavesdroppers, Juliana whispered, “Lady Clara arrived yesterday. Lord Werner freed her and she’s taken refuge upstairs. Few people know and it’s
supposed to be a secret. The Lord left this morn to visit his friend, the landgrave…and now…the Duke must have attacked him.”

“How did she get away?” Bero said.

“A clever ruse,” Juliana giggled. “My lady insisted she visit the dressmaker in Bornhagen for a fitting. The Duke was busy at castle Rusteberg. So, he sent six of his men to take her. What he didn’t know”—Juliana’s eyes flashed with satisfaction—“was that My Lady had sent a note about the dress shop to Knight Werner on the night of the festival. When both of you…” Juliana hesitated.

“Were at Ott’s place,” I finished.

Juliana nodded. “Lord Werner slipped inside with two of his loyal knights and
convinced
the dressmaker. When My Lady went in for the fitting, the Duke’s watch dogs waited outside. She left through the backdoor and disappeared in a covered wagon, passing right by the men. She was long at the castle before the guards found out.” Juliana laughed. Her hand patted my arm.

“No wonder the tailor sold us out,” I said. “He must’ve been scared to death. No wonder, Schwarzburg is pissed. I would’ve loved to see his face when he heard that his trophy had melted into thin air.”

“He put it together, probably tortured the dressmaker,” Bero said, frowning. “He obviously wasted no time attacking the Lord and his men today.”

“And us. I bet those were the same men who lost the Lady yesterday. They’d have taken us for questioning, maybe ransom.”

“Or executed us…” Bero let out a belch.

“Are you serving her now?” I said.

Juliana nodded. “I need to return to My Lady’s chambers.”

“I wish Lord Werner would return,” I said. Even more so I wanted to keep her hand on my arm.