Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights) (11 page)

The others continued to come at Pomponio with
powerful-looking attacks, but the swordsman weaved and spun about
them, deflecting blows only when absolutely necessary. He grinned
and laughed and twirled like the only man present at a ball of
princesses.

“Dead!” he said to another, who groaned and backed
out of the fray.

He parried an attack, and touched the man’s heart
with his slender blade.

“Dead!”

Only Salvatore remained. The anchor-shouldered man
charged, and Pomponio slipped to the side. He whacked the man on
his buttocks with the flat of his blade, and Salvatore jumped and
let out a squeal.

“Cut! But, not dead,” Pomponio said, grinning and
shaking his head. Salvatore roared and raised his sword over his
head. He brought it crashing down toward Pomponio’s head, but when
the blow fell it struck only hard dirt. Pomponio stood to the side
of Salvatore with the tip of his blade touching his neck.

“Dead,” he said. “Oh, so very dead, no?”

One villager had become so engrossed with the battle
that when Pomponio dispatched the last man, he could no longer
contain himself. He shouted and began clapping. Others also forgot
all sense of inhibition, and they too let out a few whistles. The
mood spread like wildfire and within seconds the entire crowd was
caught up in cheers for the Venetians.

Pomponio took his bows and then held up his arms for
silence.

“This is the Pomponio way. My friends and I will
teach you my methods, and in a few short months each and every man
here will be the equal of five Austrians!”

There were some doubtful looks exchanged throughout
the crowd, mostly amongst the older faces, but they were by far the
minority. To the young men of Altdorf and Schwyz, the flamboyant
Venetian represented hope.

“So today, my students, your first exercise is to go
into the forest and find for yourself a training sword. This is no
mindless task. Put careful thought into its selection, and treat it
as you would your best friend. We meet back here the day after
tomorrow to begin training in earnest.”

Thomas had seen enough. He pushed himself to his
feet, picked up his cloak off the rock, and almost walked straight
into Seraina. He hopped to one side to avoid hitting her and put
too much weight on his still healing leg. He grimaced and Seraina
reached out to steady him.

“Oh, I am sorry Thomas. I do have a habit of
startling you,” she said.

“It is my own fault,” Thomas said. He stood up
straight and tried his best to ignore the tremors of pain running
through his thigh.

“I could start wearing a bell, I suppose,” Seraina
said.

“I would not oppose that. At least until my injuries
have fully healed,” Thomas said. The truth was, he was recovering
amazingly fast. Whether it was thanks to Seraina’s skill, or simply
God’s Will, he could not be sure.

“Well? What are your thoughts?” Seraina asked.

“I… think you saved my life,” Thomas said. “In fact,
I am sure of it.”

Seraina cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look.
“Not about that,” she said, and nodded toward the center of the
courtyard. Pomponio and his men stood talking with Noll. The
villagers were filtering out of the courtyard since there would be
no more training for the day.

“I wish to know what your impressions are of the men
Noll hired to train his army.”

Thomas shrugged. “I think this Giovanni Pomponio
puts on a good show.”

“He does at that,” Seraina said. She stared at Noll
and the Venetians. “But I wonder if he is truly capable of teaching
farmers and goatherds how to use a sword.”

Is anyone?

Thomas kept the thought to himself and looked at the
sky. Thick clouds were gathering, blowing in over the Alps, where
an hour before there had been nothing but blue.

***

“The day after tomorrow? What is wrong with
tomorrow? Or even this afternoon for that matter,” Noll said. The
Venetians had been in Altdorf for six days, and they had yet to
hold a single training session for Noll’s army. But they had not
missed a single night of drinking at the Altdorf inn, compliments,
of course, from the Confederate Army of Free Men.

Army.

The word still sounded strange to Noll’s ears, even
when spoken in only his inner voice.

Pomponio sighted down the length of his sword,
looking for nicks. “One must learn to conquer haste, Master
Melchthal, lest it conquers you, no? That is the Pomponio way.”

Noll crossed his arms. “What about not keeping your
side of a bargain? Is that also the Pomponio way?”

Salvatore heard Noll’s comment and made to step
forward, but Pomponio put his hand on the taller man’s broad
chest.

“Easy now, my friend. If you are unsatisfied with my
methods, I give you back your gold. We return to Venice and I shall
go back to teaching at my famous school, where I have students from
the families of nobles and kings begging me to impart even a small
piece of my fighting style. It is no problem.”

“Just how much time do you think we have? The
Austrians will be here next summer and our only hope is to create
an army from nothing,” Noll said.

Pomponio nodded and placed his hand on Noll’s
shoulder. “I hear what you say. And it can be done. But we must
mold these villagers of yours into fighting men, and to do that we
must treat them like iron. We heat them, little by little. Then
pound out their imperfections, and then we heat them some more.
Only when they are ready, do we dare thrust them into water. It is
a process that cannot be rushed, no?”

Noll looked into Pomponio’s eyes. “The day after
tomorrow then. But no later.”

Pomponio smiled. “You carry too many worries for one
so young. Let us carry some of them for you.”

Noll spun and walked away.

Two of Noll’s burliest men dragged the shackled and
weakened form of Berenger Von Landenberg from his prison cell out
into the frigid courtyard. When they let go of his arms, he groaned
and dropped to his knees. He squinted against the direct sunlight
and attempted to shield his eyes with his manacled hands.

Walter Furst, Werner Stauffacher, and his wife,
Gertrude of Iberg sat at a simple table in front of him. To their
right stood Noll, shaking his head. Seraina leaned against a
boulder in the background holding the boy Mathias on her lap. She
cringed when the men brought out Landenberg. Noll recognized the
pity in her eyes, but he could not understand it. Landenberg was a
monster, and the world would be a better place without him.

“Stand up,” Noll said.

Landenberg blinked and turned his head in Noll’s
direction, but did not make any attempt to push himself to his
feet. Noll nodded to his two men. “Make him stand,” he said.

They each grabbed an arm and lifted the overweight
Vogt unceremoniously to his feet, as if he weighed no more than a
child. Landenberg’s legs shook, but before he could collapse, his
captors steadied him.

Walter Furst, the once Habsburg appointed Justice of
Uri, cleared his throat. Today, he did not wear his black cloak of
office. All three of them seated behind the table were dressed in
the normal, loose-fitting garb of peasants who worked the land.

“Sir Berenger Von Landenberg, we the Council of the
Eidgenossen, find you guilty of all charges. Do you have anything
to say before we pass sentence?”

Fueled by his hatred of Noll, the Vogt summoned up a
small burst of energy, enough to spit in the young man’s direction.
Noll did not bother moving, for the small ball of phlegm stopped
far short of his boots.

“Missed again,” he said.

“Your time will come! All of you, your time is near.
Heed my words you godless, peasant gecks! Soon this place will be
thick with soldiers cutting off your heads and having their way
with your rotting corpses.”

Landenberg had to break off his mad sputtering due
to a series of coughs. Red-faced, and exhausted by his brief
tirade, his chest heaved as he glared at the three people seated in
front of him.

Noll too looked to the table. “Anyone wish to recast
their vote? I still stand behind a hanging.”

Furst shook his head. “That is in Landenberg’s hands
now.”

Landenberg’s eyes widened. Apparently, the thought
that he might be executed had not yet entered his thick skull. “You
cannot hang me. It is not within your rights!”

Gertrude spoke up. “As of this moment, we have every
right. For we have decided that we will no longer be subject to the
laws of the Holy Roman Empire. Or the Habsburgs. We, this council,
will be the final stage of justice for all of Schwyz, Uri, and
Unterwalden and will recognize the authority of no other court.
Now, do not speak again unless you have our leave.”

Landenberg looked from face to face, his skin was
suddenly pale.

“What Gertrude says is true,” Furst said. “However,
we are determined that this court will not be unjust. Therefore,
today you will be presented with two choices.”

Noll rolled his eyes.
Who ever heard of giving
criminals choices?

“The first choice, is a quick and painless hanging.
Someone will pull on your legs to ensure that it is so,” Furst
said, almost cheerfully.

Landenberg’s mouth twitched. “What is the second
choice?” he asked.

Stauffacher spoke up. “You will swear the
Urphede
.”

“What is that?” Landenberg said.

“You must swear an oath that you will never return
to these lands upon pain of death.”

“And what happens to me if I take the oath?”
Landenberg asked.

“You will be allowed to go anywhere you like, so
long as you never set foot in Uri, Schwyz, or Unterwalden ever
again. If you do, your life will be forfeit.”

Noll could not help himself. “Does not a simple
hanging sound so much better?”

When Landenberg spoke, he could not get the words
out fast enough. “I swear to never return. I choose the oath! I
swear it,” Landenberg said.

“Of course you do,” Noll said. He addressed his next
words to the council. “And I swear to see Sir Berenger Von
Landenberg delivered safely to Habsburg Castle.”

“Noll, I do not think we can allow that,” Furst
said.

“He is my prisoner. My responsibility. That is the
least
the Council should allow.”

“He has a point,” Gertrude said. “Someone must
escort the Vogt off our lands, and who better for the task than
Noll Melchthal? No one knows better than he where our lands begin
and where they end.”

“You might as well hang me now as allow this
highwayman to slit my throat on the road to Habsburg!” Landenberg
said.

Furst glanced over at Gertrude and Stauffacher.
Something passed between them and then he turned back to Noll. “Do
you swear you will do all in your power to deliver him
unharmed?”

“Define
unharmed
,” Noll said.

“Alive, then,” Gertrude said.

“That I can do. I swear it on my father’s good
name.”

“A father you have not visited in years,”
Stauffacher said.

“How does that concern you?” Noll said.

“Henri is a friend. A blind friend who spends far
too many evenings alone,” Stauffacher said. “I know for a fact that
he would more than welcome a visit from his wayward son.”

“You know less than you think,” Noll said.

“The whole lot of you are mad!” Landenberg
shouted.

“Gag him,” Gertrude said. “He has had his say.”

The two men complied and within seconds Landenberg’s
shouts were reduced to muffles.

Noll called Mathias and the boy bolted over to him.
“Pack me some food and water for the road.”

“Will you need horses?” the boy asked.

“No. I will go on foot. It will be safer that way.”
He glanced over at Landenberg. “But our fat friend will never make
it. So get me the most ornery, skittish mule you can find.”

Mathias grinned and saluted. He was off running
before anyone could say another word.

Noll took no chances. He pushed deep into the
forests and traveled only on seldom-used game trails. If he had
been alone, he would have stayed closer to the main roads, but with
Landenberg draped over the mule, grunting at every jostle, he could
not risk being heard by one of the frequent Habsburg patrols. Noll
was well aware of how human sounds had a peculiar way of echoing
through the trees and off of boulders, and carried much further
than most people realized.

He kept Landenberg gagged for the entire two-day
trip. He had sworn to deliver him alive, after all, and he was not
sure he would be able to keep his word if the man were allowed to
speak. He had tied Landenberg on his stomach, with his face hanging
over the mule’s backside. So long as Landenberg had the strength,
he could keep his head up and mostly avoid the mule’s swishing
tail. But, once his neck muscles gave out, his head bounced in and
out of dark places, competing with the flies.

Noll kept up a constant stream of chatter to make up
for the Vogt’s relative silence. He spoke of all the times he had
raided Landenberg’s camps, the tricks he had played on his men, the
various occasions when Landenberg had almost captured him, but
always failed.

“Who would have thought it?” Noll asked. “That day
you had my father’s eyes cut out, that a few short years later you
and I would enjoy a stroll through these woods together. As
traveling companions…” He gave his head a shake.

One of the mule’s hooves slid off a moss-covered
rock and he stumbled. Landenberg’s head smacked against the
animal’s flank several times before the mule regained its
footing.

“Yes, it will sadden me greatly to have to part. But
I suspect the mule will be happy enough to get your head out of its
arse.”

***

“My lord…”