Iny Lorentz - The Marie Series 02 (11 page)

7.

Marie stood looking out the window of the tiny garret where she now lived, reachable only by several narrow, steep staircases. The one advantage of her cold, drafty room was the view all the way to the Black Forest and the Vosges, and from her vantage point, she could see the blue ribbon of the Rhine River rolling sluggishly northward in the pale light of the winter sun. There was no snow on the ground yet, but the biting wind made her shiver.

Quickly closing the window, she covered it with an old coat to block the icy wind from gusting into her room through the ripped piece of scraped animal hide that was there in place of glass. It would have taken barely half an hour to fix the window, but none of the servants dared do anything for her anymore because they feared Sir Manfred’s threats. A few weeks ago, when the men had carried Marie’s chests and furniture up to the tower attic where she had been forced to move, the castellan had watched the men like a hawk, threatening to dismiss anyone who further lifted a finger to help Marie. Some of them might have stood by their former mistress anyway, but Marga had made an example of one maid who dared to smuggle food to Marie. She had beaten the poor girl black and blue with her rod and then chased her into the cold wearing nothing but a thin shirt. Marie could only hope that Hedwig or Hiltrud had taken care of the girl. The only servant Marie could rely on anymore was Ischi, who would be leaving Sobernburg Castle in the spring and therefore wasn’t afraid of Marga. Indeed, her handmaid defied the new masters, doing everything possible to make Marie’s life bearable given the difficult circumstances.

After banishing Marie to this tiny garret, Lady Kunigunde had then seized anything Marie hadn’t been able to secure. As a result, Sir Manfred, his eldest sons, and Perchtenstein now wore Michel’s clothes. Sir Götz’s trousers flapped loosely around his legs, and his skinny chest could have fitted twice into Michel’s jerkin, but he wore the warm, elegant fabrics with ridiculous pride. The new castellan also claimed the expensive provisions and delicacies Marie had purchased as well as the wine cellar, filled almost entirely with barrels from Marie’s own vineyards.

While Lady Kunigunde and her family were feasting on Marie’s ham, sausages, and wine, she had to content herself with the simple food from the servants’ kitchen that Ischi brought up to her. Marie knew that a single word would change her situation, but she wasn’t prepared to give in. She could imagine what would happen to her lands and her other possessions once Sir Götz laid his hands on them. And even if Perchtenstein had been the kindest man in the world, Marie wouldn’t have married him so soon after receiving the news of Michel’s death. She still didn’t feel like a widow, perhaps because of their child growing inside her, giving her the illusion that in some way Michel was still with her and making it almost impossible to believe the news of his death.

For a time she was tormented by the certainty that she was lost without Michel, and she wasted her time hoping for him to come back and rescue her from her miserable situation. Then she shook herself sternly. Unlike so many other women, she had never accepted her fate without a fight, and she wasn’t going to give up this time, either.

One afternoon, about to call for Ischi to fetch a spill from the kitchen to light the tallow candle, she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. It didn’t sound like her housemaid, so she reached for the dagger she kept in case she needed to fend off unwanted advances. As soon as the shadow entered her chamber, however, she put down her weapon and happily greeted Hiltrud. “By God, Marie, it’s as dark as a church at midnight in here,” her friend responded.

Marie pointed to the window. “The covering was torn, so I plugged up the hole with my coat to stop the wind from blowing in.”

“There’s still a draft,” Hiltrud replied with concern, quickly crossing over to the window and pulling down the coat. “Now I can see you properly. I heard of Michel’s death and came to console you and keep you company, but it looks like you need help of a different kind.”

Marie waved her fist in the air. “I’m not as helpless as I look. All I need is a messenger who’s not afraid to approach the count palatine on my behalf, because I don’t think Lord Ludwig will like how his new castellan behaves toward me.”

Hiltrud had a different opinion of the mighty lord, but she didn’t want to worry Marie even more. “My Thomas will travel to the count and present your complaint.”

“That would be very kind! Wait, I’ll write a quick letter to let Lord Ludwig know how shamelessly I’ve been treated.” Marie searched the little chest next to her narrow bed for paper, ink, and a quill pen, writing her letter with numb fingers that she had to breathe on repeatedly to keep from freezing.

“Very well, now my signature and seal and we’re done.” She folded the piece of paper, picked up the sealing wax, then called through the open door. “Ischi, please run and fetch a spill for me—I want to light the lamp!”

Her words echoed down the tower and through the attic below, and the young maid soon turned up with a small burning chip that she touched to the tallow candle just in time. The wick caught fire, flickering in the draft, and Marie trickled some sealing wax onto the paper.

After pressing her signet ring into the wax, she handed the letter to her friend. “Please hide this when you leave the castle so Lady Kunigunde doesn’t find it.”

Hiltrud clenched her fists. “Just let her try to get close to me!”

Marie nodded gratefully, then stopped and thought for a moment. “Do you think you could smuggle out a few other things for me? I’d like to know that my title deeds and my most precious jewelry are in a safe place.”

“Of course!” Hiltrud replied.

Marie retrieved a bundle and a leather pouch from a small box she kept under the bed. “Can you get all this out of the castle without it being discovered?” she asked uncertainly.

“I’ll put it where no man dares touch me or else he’ll get a slap in the face that will make his head spin.” Hiltrud winked at her conspiratorially, then pulled up her skirt and patted her lower belly. “You must have forgotten what you learned in our wandering years, Marie, and how you smuggled the evidence against Keilburg to the Count of Württemberg.” Giggling at the memory, she remembered that Marie had only recently become a widow and became quiet with embarrassment.

“I’ll be visiting often throughout the winter. I’ll bring a sausage or some ham. Not even you can live on that porridge, not to mention your child.” She pointed to the bowl Ischi had brought up and placed on the wobbly stool that served as a table.

“Yes, please do.” Marie suddenly felt a ravishing appetite for one of Hiltrud’s excellent smoked sausages, and she desperately wanted to return with her friend to the goat farm. Kunigunde had warned her more than once, however, about what would happen to her if she tried to leave the castle without permission, and she was worried they might find the documents and jewelry on Hiltrud during the unavoidable confrontation.

“Come, Hiltrud. Sit down and let’s talk about better times.” Marie moved aside to make room for her friend.

Hiltrud stayed with Marie for several hours, consoling her as best she could. She didn’t leave Marie until the new captain and his family were sitting at the dinner table and Hiltrud was safe from being questioned and examined. As she descended the steep stairs in the gloomy light, Hiltrud quietly cursed the riffraff making itself at home here. She would have liked to storm into the hall, giving Kunigunde and her
pathetic-looking
husband a piece of her mind, but the favor Marie had asked of her took precedence, so instead she hurried down and through the castle gate. Once outside, she gave a sigh of relief and adjusted the bundle pressing against her thigh. Then she walked into the falling night with flying skirts, unafraid of robbers or wild animals, secure with her sharply pointed walking stick by her side. Anyway, she was sure Thomas would come meet her soon.

8.

The snow had been a long time coming, but flakes were finally falling, more thickly than anyone could remember. The skinny little horse was barely managing to pull the cart through the
waist-deep
snow even though Reimo and Vúlko were clearing a path before it. For the first few days, Michel, Zdenka, and Karel had been able to sit in the cart, but now they stomped along behind it, tired and disgruntled, Michel struggling to keep up with his crutch. Indeed, Michel had to watch helplessly when the cart got stuck and the other men pushed the cart free; his injured leg had almost healed, but he still couldn’t use it because the icy weather and the strain of the journey were making the wound fester again.

When Zdenka heard the howling of a pack of wolves not far from them, she struggled through the snow to her husband and clung to his side. “Reimo, we have to leave the cart behind, or we’ll never make it to Falkenhain alive.”

They had already been attacked by wolves three times, but the men had managed to fend off the animals, Michael killing two of the wolves and Reimo the third. Now, three wolf skins clattered in the wind on the side of the wagon, frozen stiff, but both men knew that the next wolf attack could be the last.

Since her husband didn’t immediately answer, Zdenka pulled on his sleeve. “Didn’t you hear me, Reimo? We have to leave the cart behind.”

Reimo shook his head vigorously. “We’re beggars if we abandon the cart. It carries all of our possessions.” But he, too, knew that unless Falkenhain was around the next corner, they would have no other choice.

Michel followed Zdenka’s footsteps in the snow and joined the three others. “Do you think we’re still heading the right way?”

Vúlko nodded. Though he longed for his wife and children, he had to accept that it was better for his family if he was considered missing rather than if he returned home without the others, so he had joined their group. He was the only one of them to have traveled to Falkenhain before—in peaceful times—and his presence was turning out to be a blessing. He pointed to the left. “The clouds are low, but I’m sure that ridge over there is the northern spur of the Lom, where Falkenhain lies. We should reach the castle before nightfall.”

Staring doubtfully into the gray sky, Reimo was unable to distinguish any contours. “Let’s hope so; otherwise we’ll end up as a feast for the wolves after all.”

Michel squinted and peered ahead. The snow had let up, and he believed he saw a distant outline that might be a castle. He pointed it out to the others, and Vúlko shouted in joy. The discovery gave them all renewed strength, and even the horse seemed relieved to be nearing their destination, strongly pulling ahead so hard that they reached the castle gate two hours later, tired but happy. But their hopes of rescue were squashed when a grim and hostile reply answered their calls.

“Go away, beggars! We’ve hardly got enough to eat for ourselves for the winter, not to mention for people like you.”

“Please have mercy on us. We’re refugees who have lost everything,” Zdenka pleaded, gazing up at the tower room behind which they could just make out the gatekeeper’s shadow.

“If you don’t help us, we’ll freeze to death,” Vúlko cried out.

The gatekeeper remained unmoved. “I’d rather you freeze than we starve because of you.”

Michel, who had remained silent until then, limped forward on his crutch and banged against the gate. “Open up, lad, or do you want me to flay you alive?” He had no idea where these bold words had come from. His companions stared at him in surprise, and even the gatekeeper was rendered momentarily speechless. Then he remembered that he was well protected behind a closed gate, and he laughed scornfully. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you. But I think you’ll have to flay a few wolves first.”

The gatekeeper’s words gave Reimo an idea. He walked back to the cart, grabbing the frozen wolf skins and holding them up for the gatekeeper to see. “My friend has already done that. He is a mighty warrior who has killed these wolves as well as three Hussites who attacked us, even though he’s injured and had only his crutch for a weapon.”

“He is a German,” Zdenka added quickly.

The gatekeeper seemed to waver. “Are you a soldier of King Sigismund, then?”

Michel helplessly raised his hands. “I don’t know. I’ve lost my memory due to a blow to the head.”

“What nonsense,” the gatekeeper jeered, but then another, more
authoritative-sounding
voice entered the heated conversation.

“Who are you, and where are you from?”

Reimo instinctively lowered his head and replied. “I am Reimo the German. My family and I are from the village of Kyselka, and we had to flee from the Hussites.”

“Only now, after all those years of Hussite rule? Do you seriously believe we’ll believe that?” The gatekeeper’s voice was caustic, but the new man admonished him.

“Quiet, Huschke. Let the people speak.”

“Thank you, noble lord.” Zdenka breathed a sigh of relief and explained that they had fled Kyselka several years prior and had been hiding in a cave ever since. “But our enemies discovered our hiding place, and if Frantischek hadn’t saved us from them, we’d all be dead.”

The gatekeeper wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Frantischek—that’s a strange name for a German warrior.”

“It’s not his real name, because he’s forgotten it.” While Reimo struggled to explain Franz’s name, the snowstorm set in again, and Karel began whimpering softly against the biting cold.

They could hear a subdued yet passionate conversation in the tower. A short while later, the small group heard the sound of a large bolt being pushed aside. The gate swung open, sweeping away the snow in its path.

Five men received them in the entryway, their torches flickering wildly in the wind and barely managing to penetrate the gloom. Dressed in rough but warm clothes, they had their swords unsheathed. When the cart rolled through the gate, a sixth man came down the stairs from the tower and looked the new arrivals over with interest. He was wrapped in a skillfully sewn
wolf-skin
coat decorated with braids.
Knee-high
laced boots padded with sheepskin protected his feet, and on his head was a hat of fox fur.

“I am Václav Sokolny, lord of the castle. Welcome to my home.” His German was good, but a strong accent suggested it wasn’t his mother tongue.

“We thank you, noble lord.” Zdenka rushed toward him, falling to her knees and grasping his hand in order to kiss it. But since he was wearing thick, padded gloves, she only held it to her forehead.

Noticing her embarrassment, the man smiled in amusement as he helped her back to her feet. “Let’s get you inside. You look like you’re frozen. Wanda will heat some beer to warm you from the inside, and Hynek will take care of your horse.”

While his companions followed Sokolny with lowered heads, looking neither left nor right, Michel scrutinized his surroundings. The castle had been built at an ideal spot, with the steep mountain offering protection on three sides. The walls that appeared to rise seamlessly from the cliffs were only half as high and a lot less solid than the wall on the face, which would be the first place exposed to an attack, and a bulky but not particularly high tower protected the gate. The castle itself was oval in shape and rather small, and aside from the main hall, the other buildings were squat and huddled against the large,
rough-hewn
blocks of the outer wall like frightened children.

Count Sokolny led his guests across the narrow courtyard and into the kitchen attached to the main building. The cook was already pouring steaming beer into cups. “Drink up,” she said to the new arrivals. The two soldiers accompanying them also accepted her invitation, helping themselves eagerly. Sokolny’s lips twitched with amusement, but he didn’t say anything, taking a cup as well. The cook curtsied, took down a few more cups from a shelf, and filled them with the fragrant steaming brew; then she handed them to Michel and his friends. While the men took careful sips of the hot drink, trying not to burn their lips, Zdenka started a conversation with the cook. They both spoke Czech, which was more familiar to them than German, and judging by their animated tone, they had a lot to say to each other.

Count Sokolny waited until his unexpected guests had recovered a little, then pointed to the door. “Follow me into the hall. It’s almost dinnertime, and we don’t want to disturb Wanda any longer.”

Zdenka pointed to the pots exuding a pleasant smell. “If I’m allowed, I’d like to help.”

“Today you should rest, but if Wanda agrees, starting tomorrow you can help in the kitchen for the usual pay.” Sokolny shooed them out the door and into the great hall. When he saw how impressed his guests were by the high ceiling of carved wooden beams, the weapons and trophies on the walls, and the long row of tables lined with heavy chairs, he nodded contentedly and gave them time to look around. Reimo and Zdenka agreed that the four largest houses in their village would fit inside the hall, though Michel shook his head slightly at the amazed exclamations; he didn’t think the hall was particularly large and its furnishings seemed uncommonly
old-fashioned
. Instead of carpets, chopped pine branches covered the floor, and more than a dozen dogs were fighting over a bone under the table.

“Well, big fellow,” Michel said when a massive dog walked toward him, checking him out with its yellow eyes. The dog gave a low growl, but Michel fearlessly placed his hand on its neck. “If we are to be friends, you should be a little more polite!”

The dog wrinkled its forehead, sniffed Michel all over, and finally put its head on his thigh. It was his injured leg, and the dog’s touch hurt, but Michel clenched his teeth and patted the massive animal, glad to have found his first friend at Sokolny Castle.