by J. K. Swift
That was enough for Leopold.
“I think the men at the end of the line have not had their fair share of you this trip. Go ride with them. If I see your painted face again, or hear your voice, I will have the men eat your pony and you can walk back to Habsburg.”
The Fool clamped one hand over his mouth and covered his eyes with the crook of his other arm. Somehow, he managed to turn his pony around and plow his way through the soldiers all the way to the back of the formation.
Leopold did not balk when Klaus raised his fist and brought the column to a halt before the bridge spanning the Salzach river. Klaus had been responsible for Leopold’s safety for all twenty-four years of the young duke’s life, and his dedication to the task was genuine. He was one of only two people in this world that Leopold felt he could trust. The only other was his brother, Frederich.
Klaus stood in his stirrups and his head turned from side to side on his thick neck. He motioned for Leopold and his soldiers to remain where they were. He spurred his horse ahead and rode up to the narrow bridge. His horse hesitated, at first, but Klaus nudged it forward onto the wooden planks.
Leopold watched as Klaus examined the bridge and the far bank for any sign of treachery. A slow moving barge floated down the water. It was piled high with blocks of salt from the nearby mines. Klaus waited until it had passed beneath the bridge and faded into the distance, before he took his eyes from it and continued his inspection.
The old soldier had not yet forgiven himself for being absent when Leopold and Gissler had been ambushed on the forest road in Kussnacht. Ever since then he had been especially diligent when it came to his lord’s security. Each of the twenty soldiers in Leopold’s personal guard had been hand-picked by Klaus for their loyalty to the House of Habsburg. Although that thought did little to comfort Leopold, the fact that Klaus trusted each man did.
Leopold was confident Klaus would never betray him. He could never hope to gain a better position than the right hand of the Duke of Further Austria. Especially at his age. Leopold heard the whispers at court. Many thought Klaus was already too old to serve Leopold and they were lining up to suggest friends, sons, or cousins that would swear undying loyalty to the Duke.
But Leopold understood well the transient nature of loyalty. He pinched the top of his high-bridged nose and closed his eyes.
Damn that Schwyzer Hospitaller.
Gissler would have been the perfect replacement for Klaus. Unconnected at court and with not a trace of blue blood in his veins, his loyalty would have been easily bought. Owning a man with Gissler’s skills would have been a great boon to the House of Habsburg.
And what would he have done with Klaus?
Leopold had not even thought about that. Of course he would have to keep him near, for the gruff veteran knew more Habsburg secrets than almost anyone. Perhaps even more than Leopold himself. But Klaus had served the Habsburg line well, and Leopold would ensure he lived out his last years in comfort. Still, he would need to be watched and kept near. For the man’s own protection, Leopold told himself.
Leopold opened his eyes and stared at Klaus as he rode back toward them. For such a big man he rode well, and his body was as fit as any knight twenty years younger. Leopold realized it would be a few years yet before he would need to be replaced. That was a small measure of relief, for Leopold had no shortage of problems that required his immediate and full attention.
Chief among them, of course, was Arnold Melchthal and the ragtag army of peasants he had managed to raise. He had assumed it was Berenger von Landenberg’s ineptness that had allowed the outlaw to remain at large for so long. But now that Melchthal was in full control of the new fortress in Altdorf, Leopold had to admit that he had underestimated the young man from Unterwalden.
He would not do so again.
The iron shoes of his own mount clattering against the wooden planks of the bridge pulled Leopold from his thoughts. He realized they were on the move again. Up ahead in the distance he saw the beginnings of Salzburg’s Low-town, and perched five hundred paces above it, on a dramatic rock outcropping, stood Salzburg Castle; home to the Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg who, Leopold hoped, would be the solution to all his problems.
Farms and garden plots lined the road leading to Salzburg, and gradually gave way to the simple bungalows of the common classes. The grand Church of Saint Peter loomed high over these, and seemed to serve as a buffer between the cramped quarters of the simple townsfolk and the more elaborate two and three-story houses of the nobility. As Leopold and his escort came nearer to the base of the castle mountain, the houses became larger and more ornate; many with fenced off grounds of their own.
Leopold and Klaus dismounted in front of a stone gatehouse that seemed to grow out of the rock itself. Two soldiers snapped to attention in its arch and several crossbowmen leaned over the wall above to get a look at the new arrivals. The gate was the only access to the serpentine path that wound its way up the rocky slope to the main keep of the Castle.
Leopold ignored the guards and motioned for Klaus to follow him. Klaus grunted something to the captain of Leopold’s men, then he followed Leopold through the great archway.
The Archbishop’s steward stood waiting for them. He held the reins of two long-maned horses draped with silk blankets of red and white. On their heads they wore towering feathered headdresses to match.
The steward folded at the waist and held out the reins of the horses.
“Welcome to High-Salzburg, Duke Leopold. The Archbishop apologizes for being unable to greet your arrival in person, but commands we attend him immediately. He has supplied fresh horses to spare you the long climb to the castle.”
Leopold did not even glance at the offered reins. Instead, he fixed the man with a withering glare and removed his gloves, one finger at a time.
“That command was intended only for you, I assume. For one prince does not command another,” Leopold said. “Come, Klaus. We will take the rope-carriage. My arse has been beaten enough by horse flesh for one day.”
The two men walked past the open-mouthed steward and approached the Archbishop’s carriage. Decorated with ornate red and gold carvings, it had only two small wheels at its front, which made it list against the mountainside at an odd angle. The metal-rimmed wheels rested on iron rails and a series of ropes stretched from the carriage up the side of the mountain, disappearing far above.
Leopold made a show of opening the door for Klaus and gestured for him to climb in. Klaus hesitated and his usually emotionless face creased with the discomfort of having his lord open a door for him.
“Come now, Klaus. The good Archbishop would not have us thumping up these meandering paths on the backs of beasts when we could ride in comfort. Wipe your boots and climb in.”
The steward managed to awaken from his stupor and scurried over. “My Duke, perhaps I could call another carriage from the keep if the horses are not to your liking.”
“When there is a perfectly good one here? Nonsense. Why bother your stable hands?”
Klaus’s huge boots had managed to collect enough dirt and manure to nurture a small garden, and when he scraped them off at the base of the door, more fell inside the carriage than without.
“It is just that… the rope-carriage… is reserved for the Archbishop’s personal use. No one is permitted—”
Leopold held up his hand to silence the man.
“I understand completely. But, do not fret. I will be sure not to lend it out to any unsavory characters,” Leopold said.
He resisted the urge to help the slow-moving Klaus squeeze through the narrow doorway with a shove. When the big man finally fell into a seat with his back to the mountain, Leopold stepped in and slammed the door shut behind him. He reached his arm through the half-door’s opening and slapped his hand against the outside of the carriage like he would the rump of a horse.
“Do not stand there gaping, man. Get those oxen spinning their wheel. The bishop awaits!”
; The steward puckered up his face and replied in a small voice. “The Archbishop, Duke Leopold.”
Leopold narrowed his eyes at the man. “The aged Archbishop. In fact he is getting so old he may no longer be with us by the time I get to the top of this mountain. You, on the other hand are much younger, and if fortunate, will be on this earth much longer than your bishop. I wonder who your next lord will be?”
The steward took a step back and bowed his head. He turned and shouted at the wheel house. “Hitch up the oxen! Send runners to the top. The Archbishop’s cart is coming up!”
Leopold leaned into his upholstered seatback, out of the sun’s heat, and tried to ignore the stench of disturbed manure wafting up from Klaus’s boots.
Chapter 3
Noll Melchthal found himself alone in the Altdorf keep, and he did not like it.
He sat on the lowest step leading up to the throne platform and kept his eyes locked on the stone floor, for every time he looked around the cavernous room he could not help but be overwhelmed by its man-made grandeur. Four tall men could stand atop one another’s shoulders and still be unable to touch the timber supports of the floor above. The cold, flagstone floor, white with the recent dust created by mason chisels, stretched far into the distance.
He stared across that gray sea with an unfocused gaze. The cracks between the blocks of stone faded away the nearer they came to the dark alcove of the main doors, and once again, Noll could not keep his thoughts from settling on Seraina.
He had sent messengers to Habsburg Castle proposing a trade. Landenberg, Vogt of Unterwalden, for Seraina and the ferryman, if he yet lived. His messenger had returned two days ago with the news that Duke Leopold had refused to see him, and rumor had it that the Duke had departed for Salzburg.
Noll was crestfallen. If Leopold had taken his prisoners to Salzburg, they could at this very moment be in the hands of the Archbishop’s confessors. A vision of Seraina defiantly holding back her screams as Leopold’s torturers worked their dark trade forced Noll’s stomach into the back of his throat. He clenched his eyes in vain and ground the heels of his hands hard against his temples.
Crippled by the strength of his own imagination, he could not bring himself to look up when the great doors grated on their hinges. He waited for the sound of boots on stone, the inevitable approach of someone who needed him to make yet another decision. But the footsteps never came. Whoever it was, must have recognized this was not a good time to seek Noll’s counsel, and had left him alone with his grief.
Noll let out a breath, thankful. But as he breathed in, he sensed a presence. There was a life besides his own in the cold stone room. And it smelled of pine.
The realization that he was not alone saved him from jumping when a warm hand touched his shoulder.
“Noll,” Seraina said.
He raised his head, and although he did not jump, his heart almost burst in his chest when he saw Seraina standing before him. Her green eyes flashed, filling the keep with more life than if it had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people. For the briefest moment, he thought it was the cruelty of his imagination at work once again, but when she smiled and pulled him to his feet, he knew it was no trick.
“Seraina!” He pulled her into his arms and laughter flowed from her lips. The sound settled over him like a hot bath. He closed his eyes, and breathed in great mouthfuls of the pine and sunshine from her auburn hair, hardly daring to believe she was there.
“I thought you lost,” he said, and pulled her in even tighter. He would have been content to stay that way, but Seraina gently eased out of the embrace.
“Gissler is dead,” she said. “Thomas found me.”
Noll nodded, and let her escape from his grip.
Then he remembered Leopold had been together with Gissler when they had taken Seraina. Perhaps that was why his messenger could not make contact with the Duke. Perhaps he too was dead.
He could not keep the excitement out of his words. “And Leopold? What of the boy tyrant?”
Seraina shook her head. “He escaped. The Red Lion lives. The Habsburg threat is still very real.”
He should not have let his hope go unchecked. Leopold would not give up his place in the world so easily. “But the ferryman is still alive as well. Your face tells me as much.”
“I would have come sooner, but Thomas was badly injured. I have been by his side these many days past,” Seraina said.
“He is here then?”
“No. Thomas is still too weak to move. I left him in good company, but I cannot stay long.”
“Why come at all then?”
He could not keep the hard edge from creeping into his words, as it always did when he spoke of the ferryman. Was it the man himself who he disliked so much? Or was it the way Seraina spoke his name? Noll closed his eyes and shook his head. This was madness. His people were now at war with the Holy Roman Empire. A war he had started. And he was fawning over a girl like some fresh-faced boy yearning for manhood.
“I had to see you Noll.” Seraina paused before continuing. “I had another vision.”
Noll studied her face. She tried to smile, but it was an awkward attempt. “I would wager the omens were not good,” he said.
Seraina turned away. Her nose crinkled as her eyes swept the room from the flagstone floor to the heavy timbers supporting the next level of rooms high overhead.
“There is something wrong,” she said. “Something I do not understand.”
“There is plenty wrong,” Noll said. “For starters, I have an army of only five hundred men. Farmers and woodcutters, with only one sword for every ten men. The defenses of this fortress are only half complete and all my master builders have gone back home to their families. The Austrians could march in here with a thousand real soldiers and take this pile of stones before nightfall. And now, I have word that he has gone to Salzburg, where he will surely demand that the other princes rally to his cause. What about this situation is not wrong?”
The lines of worry that had creased Seraina’s face only a moment before, faded. She stepped in closer to Noll and pulled one of his waving hands out of the air and covered it with her own. As always, all concern for her own troubles vanished when confronted with someone else in need.
“There is still so much to be thankful for,” she said. She let go of him and spun away, her dress swirling with the sudden motion, and began pacing. Her steps were light and silent. “We have all this,” she said sweeping one arm around the room. “Whereas, only a short time ago, we had nothing. You have awoken our people, but even more than that, you have shown them what is possible. Surely, that is worth more than a few soldiers?”
“But have I woken enough of our people? There is still no word from Berne or the guilds of Zurich. Nor has Lucerne offered any support for the Eidgenossen.”
“Do not worry about them. More will come. I have seen it, remember? There are many yet who wish to awaken and climb out from under Habsburg rule.”
Noll shook his head. “I hope you are right, Seraina. I truly do. But I also know it is impossible to awaken a man who only pretends to sleep.”
Seraina laughed. “This is a fine turn,” she said. “It is usually you accusing me of talking in riddles. We become more alike everyday.” She took Noll’s arm. “It is damp and lifeless in here. Come, my mushroom-man, let us put some sun on that frowning face.”
She led him to the balcony overlooking the courtyard and they stepped out into the fresh air. Noll squinted into the afternoon light, and a soft breeze tousled his hair. He immediately felt better. Seraina was right, Noll thought. Shutting himself away in that cave, trapped alone with only his self-doubts for company, had dampened his spirits.
“Now tell me. What preparations have you made and what can I do to help?” Seraina asked.
Noll pointed to the gatehouse. “I have directed most of the work, so far, on finishing the gatehouse and the outer walls. But as it stands now, there are still a dozen breaches.”
“How long before Leopold comes?”
“That is the only good news in all of this. The first snows will be here in another six weeks, so he has missed his opportunity for this year. He could possibly attack in spring, but the passes will still be too soft for an army. And besides, Leopold is too practical. He will wait for us to bring in the first crops so he has food for his men.”
“Midsummer then?”
Noll nodded. “Those are my thoughts.”
Seraina’s face brightened. “So we have time. Time to find more allies and prepare. You see, things are not as bad as you feared.”
Noll rolled his eyes. “Perhaps. But I will feel much better when I have Pomponio.”
Seraina frowned. “What is a pom-pony-o?”
“Not what, who. Giovanni Pomponio. He is a Venetian, and a master swordsman. I have contracted him to come and train the men.”
The way Seraina’s eyes narrowed told Noll she was not keen to the idea.
“How much is this mercenary charging you for his services?”
“Not just him. He says he will bring a dozen of his best men as well. And it is Habsburg gold anyway, for we found a small chest in Leopold’s room.”
“How much?”
Noll hesitated. “All of it,” he said.
Seraina shook her head and stepped away from the balcony railing. “Noll, you could have bought swords for your men with that money. And really, do you think it wise to bring in outsiders?” she asked.
Noll felt his jaw tighten. He grabbed Seraina by the arm.
“What good is a sword in the first place if a man does not know how to use it? Ten months from now, an army of battle-hardened killers will be at our doorstep. We need to surround ourselves with men like these, learn from them, if we are to survive. And the sooner the better.”
He let go of her arm. “I am sorry,” he said. “I forget myself at times.”