Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights)

by J. K. Swift

  Sure enough, as he got nearer, Thomas saw that the boy had left something behind near the head of the grave. An old, chipped, clay pitcher stood on the ground. Thomas picked it up and liquid sloshed inside. He smelled it.

  Wine. Cheap wine.

  A wet bit of dirt in the middle of Pirmin’s grave told Thomas the full story. The boy had brought Pirmin wine, and then shared a drink with him. Thomas shook his head in amazement. Even in death, Pirmin had more friends than most. Thomas suddenly regretted thinking the worst of the ragged child.

  The cross marking Pirmin’s grave was thin, frail, and unassuming. It was so unlike the man and his life that it brought a sad smile to Thomas’s face. He could almost feel Pirmin’s giant hand patting him on the head like when they were children.

  “Thomi, Thomi. So this is where you will dump me. Marked with nothing more than a couple of twigs, for the rest of eternity. When did I ever piss in your oats?”

  Thomas gazed out over the rolling hills. With the small church at his back, the elevated grounds provided an idyllic view that stretched for miles down the mountain-lined valley.

  “Easy now,” Thomas said out loud. “This is a fine spot. You have your own cherry tree for shade. And you will have many visitors, for this rise will give them far more interesting things to look at than just your horse-sized pile of dirt.”

  “Only you could make being dead sound not so bad. But you better do something about that cross. I want a proper headstone. One with letters saying my name and all the great deeds I did over my life.”

  Thomas looked at the two uneven sticks lashed together. The crosspiece drooped so much the cross looked more like an ‘X’.

  Thomas nodded slowly. “I will write the words myself,” he said.

  He stood for a long time, staring at the grave.

  When he started to imagine he could see Pirmin’s outline beneath the mound of dark earth he closed his eyes and admitted it was time. He scooped up a handful of soil and bowed his head to pray for the soul of his friend. When he was done, Thomas released the soil from his stiffened fist and watched as the wind carried it the length of Pirmin’s final resting spot.

  When Thomas turned back to the church, he saw Noll standing in the shade of one of its walls. He leaned against the stone, unmoving, as though he had been there a long time. When he pushed away and started walking, Thomas could see he held a long staff in one hand. As he closed the distance, Thomas realized it was not a staff after all, but rather, Pirmin’s great ax.

  Noll held out the ax to Thomas and he took it in both hands. At over eight feet in length, it appeared cumbersome and unwieldy. But Urs had designed the handle and weighted it perfectly to serve as a counter-balance to the heavy, flanged ax head. He had also cut a small cross from the head’s center to make it lighter. Urs had created a number of shafts for Pirmin over the years, with each new version an improvement over its predecessor, but he had never managed to come up with a design superior to the current steel tube version.

  Thomas gripped it with both hands, squinting his eyes against the sun’s glare as it danced from the finely honed cutting edge to the pick-like hook extending from its opposite side like a giant finger. A digit Thomas had seen Pirmin use to flick many a man from the back of a horse or off a battlement’s wall.

  “I found it in the jail’s armory,” Noll said. “Thought you might want it.”

  Thomas shifted his grip and powerful emotions swept forward as an old memory of Pirmin overtook him. Dressed in his full red battle kit, Pirmin stood amongst several other Hospitallers as a few Genoese crossbowmen, their bolts spent, retreated behind the line of the Knights of Saint John. The Hospitallers braced themselves for the enemy’s charge. Pirmin held his ax horizontal to the ground with both hands. He gave the shaft a quick roll, making the ax head flip toward heaven, for the briefest moment, before it descended back down to point at Hell. It was Pirmin’s ritual salute to the Two Powers That Be, and he always followed it with an unabashed grin in Thomas’s direction. Like it was a jest only Thomas could appreciate.

  The image of Pirmin’s face faded and Thomas found himself staring at his hands as they clutched the cold steel shaft.

  “We are glad to see you alive, ferryman. For some time we feared the worst,” Noll said. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Seraina told me what you did for her. I am in your debt for that.”

  With effort, Thomas pulled his eyes from Pirmin’s ax and looked at Noll. “No one owes me anything,” he said.

  Noll stepped around Thomas to stand in front of Pirmin’s grave. “I know I only met him a short time ago, but Pirmin was one of the best men I have ever known.” He turned and looked down the valley. “I chose this spot for him, but I will understand if you want him moved.”

  Thomas studied Noll’s face. The young man had aged ten years since he had seen him last. His chiseled features were overgrown with stubble and haunted by the shadows and creases of responsibility. He had finally gotten his war, and if he was anything like most people, it was not what he had envisioned.

  “It is a fine spot,” Thomas said. “Pirmin would complain, of course, but I believe he would be happy with it.”

  Noll turned to Thomas, but did not meet his eyes.

  “I was there when they took him,” Noll said.

  “I know.”

  “Hiding in the woods like a frightened hare.”

  “You already told me that.”

  “I watched Habsburg soldiers take him to the ground and beat him without mercy. He fought back, and it took forever. I had all the time in the world to act, to help him, but instead I watched like a child seated on the ground in front of a puppetry troop.”

  Thomas said nothing.

  “If I had given myself up—”.

  “You would now both be dead,” Thomas said. He stood the great ax upright and drove its butt-end against the ground. “Most men would have done the same as you.”

  Noll shook his head. “Not Pirmin. He would have waded into the midst of an army to save a friend.”

  “Pirmin was not most men. Do not compare yourself to him. Ask forgiveness from God, if that is what you seek. But do not look for it from me.”

  Noll turned away once again to stare at some far point down the valley. Thomas bit back the urge to say more. He was not one to waste words. In his experience, words never changed a man’s intentions, stopped wars, or brought friends back from the dead. Perhaps Noll felt the same, for he continued to stare at that far-off point, as though Thomas was no longer beside him.

  “What will you do now?” Thomas asked, finally.

  Noll’s blue eyes came alive when he looked at Thomas, but not in a warm, inviting way. They were the color of a cold mountain stream running over a bed of rocks, which, near the surface, were polished smooth. Those in the dark swirling waters below, however, were jagged and dark.

  “I mean to finish what we started. The Habsburgs will attempt to take back their fortress, but we will see them broken against their own walls.”

  “I trust you have the men to do this,” Thomas said.

  “I will have. When the time comes.”

  Thomas doubted that, and he could tell by Noll’s voice he was not fully convinced himself. Thomas had seen the walls of the Altdorf fortress and knew how many men it would take to man them against a siege.

  But what did it matter?

  “Very well,” Thomas said. “Then I will stand on your walls and fight against Leopold’s men.”

  Noll blinked. His mouth opened but no words came out at first.

  “We would welcome your sword, Thomas. But I must admit I am surprised you would fight for me.”

  Thomas shook his head. “Not for you. I said I would stand on your walls, but I do not fight for you. It is best we get that in the open.”

  Thomas watched Noll’s teeth clench and a tremor run the length of his jaw. He held his tongue for some time before he spoke.

  “Very well. No matter the reason, I accept y
our offer,” Noll said.

  What choice do you have? You are in the deepest pit of your life, and you know that the only way out is to climb upon the backs of many a dead man.

  Noll was brave, Thomas admitted. There was no denying that. But he was also young and rash, and had yet to experience the darkness of a bottomless pit.

  “While I remember,” Noll said, as he turned to go. “There is a merchant in town that has been asking after you.”

  “I know no merchants.”

  Noll shrugged. “Said he came from Zug and would be staying at the Altdorf inn should I see you. Whether you meet with him or not, is no concern to me. The fool tried to sell me spices, of all things. What use do I have of spices?”

  Spices?

  Noll left Thomas standing in the cemetery, leaning on Pirmin’s giant ax. Thomas decided to pay his respects to Pirmin once more, and then, when he was ready, he would go to the inn to meet Maximilian.

  A sadness came over him as he thought about how much Pirmin would have wanted to join them.

  ***

  The Altdorf inn was filled to capacity when Thomas arrived that evening. With Noll’s army attracting so many men and women from the neighboring villages and farms, the innkeeper and his staff were wearing ruts in the floor trying to keep up with food and drink orders. Thomas stood inside the door and scanned the twenty or so tables crammed into the low-ceilinged room. Smoke hung trapped between ceiling beams, and the smell of both sweat and old ale made his lip curl. He found himself wishing for the spotless oasis of order that was Sutter’s place in Schwyz. He and Vreni knew how to run a traveler’s house.

  “Cap’n, over here.”

  Ruedi had his arm raised a half dozen tables away. A stocky form sitting across from him twisted on his bench and looked over his shoulder. Max, his neatly trimmed beard grayer than Thomas remembered, waved and his mouth spread into a grin. As Thomas weaved his way over to the two men, he realized that a woman also sat with them.

  Max stood and grabbed Thomas in a rough embrace. “There he is! Been looking all over for you,” Max said. “Some said you were dead. Others, you were in prison. One said you got yourself a woman and moved away when they burned your ferry,” Max said. He looked at Thomas sideways as they sat down. “Was pretty sure that fellow was spinning a tale, though.”

  “You look good Max,” Thomas said. “Judging by your clothes, you managed to set up a little shop in Zug after all?”

  “Little shop? Look at him,” Ruedi said. “Another few years and Max will own that town. I hear he has so much extra coin he makes loans to the nobles.”

  Max shook his head. “Now, I would not say that. Usury is a sin after all.”

  “It is at that,” Thomas said.

  “You mean you would not admit to it,” Ruedi said.

  “My money is made from pepper, believe it or not. I thought turmeric would have been my future, but it seems the noble households cannot get enough of plain black pepper. Apparently, nothing hides the flavor of rotting meat better—”

  Ruedi cut him off by introducing Thomas to the woman sitting beside him.

  “This here is my sister, Margrit Burkhalter. That damn Norseman knew what he was talking about.”

  Perhaps five years younger than Ruedi, she had dark hair and gray eyes.

  Thomas bowed his head. Burkhalter… was that Ruedi’s last name? Thomas realized he had no idea what his true name was. Ruedi Schwyzer was all he had ever known him as. And the same went for Max. They were all Schwyzers.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Captain,” Margrit said. “These two boys have been talking non-stop about you and your friend Pirmin. Enough to make a lady blush. If one happened to overhear, that is.” She was a handsome woman, and she looked Thomas straight in the eyes when she spoke. He had no doubt Pirmin would have found her attractive.

  Max and Ruedi fidgeted when she mentioned Pirmin’s name and she caught their sidelong glances to one another.

  “What,” she said. “A friend leaves this world and suddenly you have to stop talking about him? You think he would like that?”

  Max grinned. “No, he most assuredly would not.”

  “Well then,” Margrit said. “I look forward to hearing more stories about the man. But another time. Got to get home to the family. Some people may be able to waste their day with their head in a mead barrel, but I am not one of those.”

  So Burkhalter was most probably her husband’s name. Maybe someday Thomas would ask Ruedi what his real name was. But then again, maybe not.

  Once Margrit had left, Thomas managed to flag down one of the inn’s women. Tired and bored, she listened to Thomas while juggling a tray in one hand and three pitchers in the other. He asked her to bring him wine and whatever food the kitchen was serving that night.

  With Margrit gone, the three men sat in silence for a moment, not quite sure where to begin. Max was the first to speak.

  “Glad to see you made it out of that mess, Thomas. Ruedi told me what Gissler done.” He shook his head. “Never would have believed it.”

  “And I would be in a prison cell in the Aargau if it were not for Ruedi,” Thomas said.

  “I doubt that,” Ruedi said. He turned away and examined something crawling up the wall.

  “You will be glad to hear I still have your Genoese war bow,” Thomas said.

  This got Ruedi’s attention and he turned to Thomas. “Well, do you now,” he said, twirling one of the braided ends of his forked beard between his fingers. “Did not expect to see that one again, to be honest.”

  “What are your plans, Thomas?” Max asked.

  Thomas shrugged, but said nothing.

  “People are scared in Zug,” Max said. “The Habsburgs have tripled the soldiers in town and they been building barracks and supply houses.”

  “Is that why you came?” Thomas asked. “To warn us that the Habsburgs are going to invade? That is old news around here I am afraid.”

  “I been up to the fortress and I saw what Melchthal and Stauffacher are doing up there.” Max shook his head. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “They have no idea what is coming for them, Thomas. Zug is being turned into a base camp for a real army. Judging from the structures so far, I would say upwards of eight or nine thousand men.”

  Ruedi also leaned in. “I asked Max to help me get Margrit and her family out of Altdorf. You should come with us.”

  As soon as he heard Ruedi say he intended to leave Altdorf, Thomas let out a breath. Tension slipped away from his shoulders and he reached a hand behind his head to rub his neck. The moment he first heard Max was in Altdorf, a gnawing fear had begun to fester inside him. He was worried Max and Ruedi had decided to join Noll’s army and was relieved that they had made more sensible plans.

  “Travel on the roads is restricted, these days. Even to merchants,” Max said. “But I have made arrangements to get a small group of people safely to Berne. We have room for another three or four people if there is anyone you would like to bring along.”

  Before Thomas could answer, the inn woman dropped three cups of mead on the table and a bowl of something that could have been brown porridge, with chunks of black meat in it.

  “Armin says he is too busy to water down a new cask of wine right now. So mead is all we got,” she said.

  “That will do,” Thomas said, grateful for the interruption.

  She turned and was about to leave, but Thomas touched her arm. She spun on him and all three men swayed back on their bench seats.

  Thomas pointed at the bowl of food. “What is this?”

  She leaned over and peered at it like she was seeing it for the first time. “Porridge. With meat. What do you think it is?”

  Thomas nodded. That was good enough for him. The woman leaned her wooden tray on one hip and stared at Thomas.

  “I was there, you know. The day you bled those Habsburg boys up on the hill.” She nodded in the direction of the Altdorf fortress. “Some people talk and say how you best not h
ave done that. How we will all pay for what you did. But I was there, and I seen how you tried to help Seraina. She pulled out my first baby, you know.” Her voice lost its calloused edge for just a moment. “You did a good thing that day.”

  A waving customer caught her eye. “Finish what you got, first!” she shouted across the room. She started walking away, but after a few steps she called back over one shoulder, “Just wanted you to know why you got extra meat. But do not expect it every night.”

  Max wisely waited until she was out of earshot before he laughed. “Now that is a woman,” he said. “But I am afraid she would chew a man like me up and spit me out like so much gristle.” He scratched his beard with one hand. “But Margrit on the other hand, now she might be more my taste. Just how good does she get along with her husband these days, Ruedi?”

  Ruedi took a sip of his mead. “I been working on a new crossbow bolt,” he said, ignoring Max and looking only at Thomas. “It has two, side-by-side, rusty broadheads on its tip. I call it the plum-picker.”

  “Have you tried it out yet?” Thomas asked.

  Ruedi shook his head. “Just waiting for the right time.”

  Chapter 9

  Encircling the four Venetians, nearly five hundred men sat on the ground. They were silent and attentive, perhaps some of them nervous, for none of them knew what to expect from a training session lead by the flamboyant outsiders. It was a cloudless, late autumn morning, and though the ground frost had retreated under the morning sun, the air still had the bite of winter to it.

  Thomas sat on a stack of stone blocks at the sunniest end of the courtyard, far away from the center ring. He pulled his cloak tighter over his shoulders, and then abruptly changed his mind and took it off. He folded it several thicknesses deep and sat on it.

  How did they do it?

  He shook his head at all the men lounging about on the half-frozen ground, many wearing thin, sleeveless shirts, and watched the man called Giovanni Pomponio put on a display of swordsmanship. Thomas had lived with the men of the valleys and mountains for almost a year, and though they kept their feelings to themselves for the most part, Thomas felt he could often read them now. A wince here, a shake of a head there, the complete silence in the square; these were all indicators of a crowd in awe.