Morgarten (Book 2 of the Forest Knights)

by J. K. Swift

  “We will divide the men into units. Half will participate in martial training and the other half will work on constructing the defenses,” Thomas said. “They will switch every two days.”

  “That is a sound plan. The men will learn better in smaller groups. Tell me what sort of structures we will be working on so I can line up tradesmen and tools.”

  “The fortress wall,” Thomas said.

  “It is finished already,” Noll said. “You want to add to it?”

  “We must tear it down.”

  Noll laughed. “What? And rebuild it thicker? Higher?”

  “No. Just tear it down. But try not to damage the materials too badly. We may need them.”

  Thomas began walking away.

  Noll was no longer laughing. “You jest.”

  Thomas stopped and shook his head. “We have no hope of defending that structure. No sense leaving it standing for the Austrians to use against us in the future.”

  “Are you mad? It is a fortress! The only one we have, I might add. It represents the greatest victory we have ever made over the Habsburgs. ”

  “The only one, actually,” Thomas said.

  “I refuse to give it up. I will find the men to defend its walls.”

  Thomas stepped in close. He kept his voice low so no one could overhear.

  “Not with ten thousand men could you do that. And you have what, five hundred?”

  One end of Noll’s mouth lifted in a sneer, so Thomas continued.

  “You know nothing of siege warfare. The Austrians would surround the fortress, cut off your food supply, bribe someone to poison your well, and wait. For months. Years even. Half your men starve, most of the others are so weakened with gut-rot they cannot even keep down dry bread, if they can get any. Eventually, you turn on one another. Begin eating your dead. In the end, you throw open the gates and beg Leopold to save you from your own men.”

  Noll pushed Thomas away. He ground his teeth and stared at the Hospitaller, but eventually, what Thomas said found its way through his anger.

  “It is the only stronghold we have,” Noll repeated.

  Thomas held up his hands. “Then you defend its walls. But I warn you, it is a death trap. You swore you would not question me. That I could run this army how I saw fit. If you have had a change of heart, I would know it now.”

  After a long moment Noll gave a curt nod.

  “Very well. We will tear it down. But know this. I would slit my own throat before I would beg anything from Leopold of Habsburg.”

  Thomas let out a sigh. “I have seen stronger men than you fight over the boiled knuckles of a fallen comrade. Do not be so quick to preach of your convictions.”

  “Preach? Look who rants on about the end of the whole world like some crazy monk!”

  Not the end of the whole world. Just ours.

  Thomas was about to say more, but he noticed Noll’s eyes were focused on something behind Thomas.

  “Uh, oh. Here comes Seraina,” he said. “And she does not look happy.”

  Thomas turned just in time to get her finger jabbed into his chest.

  “I thought at least one man of god could be beyond lies!” she said.

  She jabbed him again. “You swore to me Thomas. I should have known better than to trust the word of any man. Especially one brought up by the Church. And you,” she turned and withered Noll with a furious glare.

  “Me? What have I done?” Noll said.

  “How could you ask him to lead the defenses? You know what I saw. You know what will happen to him if he stays in Altdorf!”

  Her voice verged on hysteria. Thomas sensed she was about to run off, so he grabbed her arms and turned her toward him. “Seraina, listen to me. I did not lie.”

  “You did.” She struggled in his grip and refused to meet his eyes.

  “I promised I would not stand upon the walls of the Altdorf fortress when the Austrians attack. And that is a promise I intend to keep.”

  Seraina wiped at her cheek. She looked at Thomas, her eyes red-rimmed slits.

  “How can I believe you?” she asked.

  “Oh, you can believe him,” Noll said, shaking his head like he could still not believe it himself. “For in a few weeks time those walls will be nothing but rubble.”

  She looked from man to man. “What do you mean? And do not bandy your words any more than you already have.”

  “We will leave the keep itself standing over the winter, so the men have shelter, but I intend to see that fortress destroyed,” Thomas said. “Before it destroys us.”

  “But how will we defend ourselves?” Seraina asked.

  “Now there is a fair question,” Noll said.

  “We will rebuild the line of ancient forts we passed on our journey together.”

  Seraina blinked and her mouth opened but no words came forth.

  “You mean the overgrown rubble piles to the north of Schwyz?” Noll said.

  Thomas nodded.

  Noll turned a full circle and threw up his hands. “Now I know you have lost your mind! Those are ant hills and fox dens. They have not been forts, by any stretch of the word, for centuries.”

  “They will be once we relocate the stones and timbers from Altdorf.”

  “But how will a few hastily built forts be more effective than an already completed fortress?” Seraina asked.

  Thomas drew his dagger, flipped it over in his hand, and crouched low to the ground. Using the handle, not the blade, he began drawing in the dirt.

  “Leopold will come from the north and most probably take the town of Schwyz. From there he can resupply and march on to Altdorf. If we construct a series of stone barricades and wooden palisades above and to the west of Schwyz, we can fight a retreating battle from one wall to the next.”

  As he drew more lines and X’s, his dagger handle picked up speed, as did his words. He took a breath to slow himself down. “If we stagger them properly, we will always be able to attack him from two sides and never allow either his cavalry or infantry to achieve proper formations. We could never hope to face the Habsburg army head on. Outflanking them at every turn is our only hope.” He stabbed one last time at the ground and looked up.

  Noll and Seraina’s eyes were wide and they glanced at one another. Seraina smiled.

  “I have no idea what you just said, ferryman, but you do draw a pretty picture,” Noll said.

  Chapter 15

  As the men filtered into the courtyard, Thomas saw the puzzled glances, darting eyes, and hushed voices questioning one another about the whereabouts of the Venetians. They knew something had changed. As those few, who had been at the inn two nights before, eagerly shared what they had seen, the noise of conversation began to rise.

  Thomas wondered just how far the story had strayed from the truth. Judging from some of the wide-eyed glances he and Anton were getting from men, he suspected a fair ways.

  Noll picked up a horn and blew a lingering note that brought silence to the crowd.

  “The Venetians are gone,” he said. “They should have never been here in the first place. And that is my fault. I should have known better than to put my faith in outsiders. From this moment on, the ferryman will command this army and see to its training. Now, those who are still with us, line up and be counted.”

  No one cheered, or applauded, at the news, but not a single man left the courtyard. And throughout the day, at one time or another, Thomas would receive a back-slap or a ‘well-done’ nod from nearly every one of the five hundred men present, starting with a certain innkeeper from Schwyz.

  The day wore on as Thomas, Noll, and Anton sat on a log with a never-ending line of men stretched out before them. With quill in hand, Thomas leaned over a sawed-off log end that served as a desk. Each man shuffled forward, stated his name, and answered any questions he was asked. Then Thomas would scratch his name onto one of several yellowed sheets of parchment that Furst had provided.

  “Name?”

  “Marti Rubin.”
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  Thomas looked up at the young man. He had red hair and his fair skin was tanned and heavily freckled from spending a great deal of time outside. Thomas was sure he had already seen him today.

  “Were you not already here?”

  “No, sir.”

  Noll chuckled. “That was his brother. Marti and Sepp are twins.”

  Thomas shuffled through the parchment pages until he found the one with Sepp Rubin’s name on it. Each page represented a unit that would train, build, and fight alongside one another. Many years ago he had learned that it was best to avoid having brothers on the same squad, but to never separate twins. They had an eerie way of reading one another’s thoughts and did wonders for a group’s cohesiveness.

  He wrote Marti’s name beside his brother’s, then re-dipped his quill and held it out to the young man.

  “Make your mark,” he said.

  Marti took the feather in his fist and stared at what Thomas had just written. “How do I know that is my name?”

  “It is yours,” Noll said. “And right next to it is your brother’s.”

  Marti screwed up his face as he examined them side by side. His face lit up and a self-satisfied grin took over his freckled features. “Mine is prettier,” he said.

  “Because you are the better looking one,” Noll said. “Now scratch your mark and move on. We have two hundred more to go this afternoon. Next!”

  A young boy appeared. He looked hauntingly familiar to Thomas, but he could not quite place him, until he saw Vex, Pirmin’s dog, beside him. The boy was the one he had seen at Pirmin’s grave.

  “Who are you signing up Matthias, you or the dog?” Noll asked.

  “Who do you think?”

  “Well, do not look at me. It is Thomas that you have to plead with,” Noll said.

  The boy, who was not older than eight or nine, turned to Thomas. “I want to sign up,” he said.

  “How old are you boy?” Thomas asked.

  “Fourteen,” he said.

  Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Does this look like an army of liars to you?”

  Matthias glanced over at Noll. “Could be,” he said.

  Noll laughed. “You will have your hands full if you take on this one,” he said to Thomas.

  “Why do you want to join this army?” Thomas asked.

  “I am going to kill Duke Leopold.”

  Thomas could not keep the hint of a grin from taking over his face. Noll chuckled. Matthias looked back and forth between the two men. “I mean it! I do not care if you let me into your army or not. I am going to stick my sword in his neck and watch him bleed to death!”

  The anger behind his words wiped the smiles from both men’s faces and made them sit up straight.

  “Why would you want to do that?” Thomas asked.

  “He deserves it. He killed my friend.”

  “What was your friend’s name?”

  “Pirmin,” Matthias said.

  Even though he knew what the boy was going to say, it still took a few seconds before Thomas spoke.

  “Leopold has killed a lot of people’s friends,” Thomas said. “But you are too young to be thinking of killing men.”

  “Yeah, I thought you would say something like that. Come on Vex.”

  As the boy turned away, Thomas said, “Can you ride?”

  Matthias turned back and his distrusting eyes fixed on Thomas. “No,” he said. “Well, I sat on an ox a few times.”

  “You will have to learn, then. I need a runner. Someone to deliver messages for me. Until you are able to ride, you will have to do it on foot. Can you run?”

  His face lit up, the distrust in his eyes fell away, and he looked just like any normal eight-year old should. He pointed at Noll. “Almost as fast as him!”

  “That will have to do,” Thomas said. He looked around and saw Ruedi standing not far away oiling his crossbow. “See that man over there with the forked beard? Go ask him to teach you how to ride. But ask nice. If you do not, he may shoot you.”

  The boy nodded and hooked one arm around Vex’s neck. “Come on, boy.”

  “And one more thing, Matthias. A good soldier never lies to his captain. A poor one often does. You choose which one you want to be.”

  Thomas could see the boy thinking as he led the dog away. That was a good thing. He had been forced to grow up too fast, but then again, so had Thomas.

  The next man stepped up and placed his hand on Thomas’s makeshift desk.

  “Touching,” he said. He was missing the top half of most of his fingers. In his late twenties, the man had thick arms but long, sleek legs that looked like they could carry him for days without any rest. His eyes were hard and restless.

  Thomas recognized him immediately. He was the brigand leader of the band that had tried to ambush him and his men near the Gotthard those many months ago. The memory of that time was so far away from his life now, it seemed to belong to another man. He glanced at Anton. He too was eying the man curiously.

  “Hello Erich,” Noll said, his tone flat.

  The man’s eyes jumped from Thomas to Noll. He nodded and gave Noll an imaginary tip of the hat with his stumpy right hand. “Nice to see you Noll.”

  “Better here than on the road,” Noll said. “What brings you to Altdorf?”

  “The lack of soldiers,” Erich said.

  “Must be quite the experience for you. Being able to walk into a town without a Habsburg man trying to take your head.”

  Erich shrugged. “It might be something a man could get used to. But I do not need to tell you that.”

  “What do you want, Erich?”

  He stared at Noll and his chest rose and fell. “A place for me and my men in your army.”

  Noll leaned back on his log. “How many men are we talking about?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “You realize what we are doing here? You know this is not just some warm place to spend the winter?”

  Erich nodded slowly. “Like I said. A man could get used to being able to walk free in this town.”

  Thomas put his quill down and spoke up. “I am afraid we cannot accept your offer.”

  Noll looked at Thomas like he had just bitten the head off a chicken. “Uh, Thomas… maybe we should discuss this? Sure, Erich is an outlaw, but who can fault someone for that? He just offered us twenty-seven men.”

  “Twenty-eight, including me. And this.” Erich pulled a leather-bound manuscript out of a sack at his feet and dropped it on top of Thomas’s pile of parchment.

  Thomas struggled to keep the surprise from his eyes, but as soon as he saw the title, he recognized the book. It was Duke Leopold’s Malleus Maleficarum. The Hammer of Witches.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Found it a while back in a cage wagon in the Kussnacht. Along with the corpse of a man both you and I know only too well.”

  He held up his shortened fingers and ran his palm over their blunt ends. He directed his next words to Anton. “You did a fine job firing these. Healed up real nice. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

  Anton shrugged. “I have done better work. But I usually reserve that for people who do not try to kill me first.”

  Erich looked back to Thomas. “What do you say? I have some skilled men in my band.”

  “And that is one of the reasons I must say no.”

  Noll held his head with both hands. “Thomas, I can vouch for this man. As far as I know, he has never preyed on our people. His targets have always been rich merchants or travelers from far away lands.”

  “And me and my men,” Thomas said. “I am sorry, but I cannot take the chance. His kind are easily bought and I will not expose our army to that risk.”

  Thomas pushed Leopold’s manuscript back toward Erich. “I commend you for the change you are trying to make. And even though I suspect your intentions may be true, I regret I cannot allow you a place amongst my men.”

  Erich looked down at the book, his face pinched. These were obviou
sly not the words he had expected to hear. “You let that waif join, but refuse skilled men?” He pointed and sneered at the manuscript. “Keep it. Put it toward the cause. You are going to need all the help you can get.”

  He spun on his heel. “Out of my way,” he said as he pushed through the men behind him.

  Noll said something to Thomas as Erich walked away, but Thomas heard nothing. His eyes, as well as his thoughts, were fixated on the book in front of him. He ran his fingers over the fine leather cover.

  Malleus Maleficarum.

  Leopold’s choice of Latin made Thomas’s hand curl into a fist and an image of Seraina being forced into a cage wagon flashed before his eyes. Maleficarum was the feminine form of witch, so the title presupposed that all witches were women. Otherwise, he should have used maleficorum, which could mean either a male witch or a female witch. Was it a simple Latin mistake on Leopold’s part? From what he knew of the man, Thomas doubted it.

  Thomas was still staring at Leopold’s manuscript when the next man in line dropped a scabbarded sword on top of it. Scowling, Thomas looked up and saw nothing but forearms. He knew the man before he even saw his face or heard his rough, guttural voice.

  “Add me to your list, you distrusting bastard, and make whatever mark you want next to it.”

  Thomas shielded his eyes against the midday sun. He was afraid this would happen.

  “Hello Urs. I see you got yourself a new blade.”

  “That one is yours. I made it with your awkward form in mind.”

  Thomas raised his eyebrow at that and picked up the short sword. He freed it from its scabbard with one quick motion. The sun glinted off it so fiercely Thomas had to squint. It was a straight, double-bladed weapon that reminded Thomas of an ancient Roman gladius. But the cross-section of its blade was shaped like a diamond. It was thick near the simple curved crosspiece, but it tapered to a deadly point.

  “An in-fighter’s weapon,” Urs said. “The four-sided design makes it stronger than anything I have come up with yet. It separates chainmail like a straw mat and will punch a hole through plate if given the proper encouragement.”

  Thomas took hold of the honey-colored wooden grip and sighted down the finely honed blade. Urs was not one to exaggerate. If he said it could pierce plate armor, Thomas believed him.