For a Song

by Kathleen Scarth

  Otto sighed and resumed his pacing. “This is really my battle. But I could use some help. Still, it’s a complicated situation. I would hate to risk my friends’ good will. . .” He seemed to be mulling over the idea, but offered no further enlightenment.

  “Forgive my inquisitiveness, my lord,” Willem murmured, fearing he had overstepped.

  “Nonsense. As a new member of this household, you have every right to know what is going on under this roof and abroad.”

  Sleep was elusive when Willem was ready to retire for the night. His thoughts roiled as he considered just what Lord Otto might do. He knew the cause—protecting his family and their possessions—was just, and Willem had no qualms about lending his support. But Lord Einhard should be advised.

  Still sleepless, Willem arose, lit a candle, and wrote a letter to his former employer. While Willem owed his new master his loyalty, he could not put aside his years as chief musician of Adlerschloss. And there was more. He would not desert the one he loved more than he loved himself—Margarethe. If Lord Otto’s army lost the war, her life might be at risk as well.

  ❧

  Albert roamed the battlements of the castle, scanning the countryside for signs of activity. Even at twenty, he was strategist enough to know that movement of troops at night would spell trouble. Indeed, every male in his father’s household knew, by the time he was a lad of eight, that an ominous silence could well signal the eve of battle.

  At midnight, a scout rode in with the news that a large battalion of foot soldiers was moving in their direction from the southwest. Albert called for his squire and a messenger, the first link in the relay system. “Tell Lord Otto that he is to come at once. We may not have much time before we are under siege.”

  He whirled to summon a page. “You, boy! Rouse the knights and the other fighting men and tell them it is full armor. But before you do, bring me the captain of the guard. I need a word with him.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The lad bowed and flew to do his bidding.

  Sir Jakob was not long in coming. “You called for me, my lord?”

  Albert nodded. “Choose the most convincing of your men and send them into the village. Have them wake the people and bid them come within the castle walls at once. They will find sanctuary here.”

  Such was not the case only two years past, when his father had first invaded this small pocket of civilization, Albert knew. Fearing the lord of the manor more than the approaching enemy, the villagers had refused to take asylum in the castle. Instead, they had faced Lord Otto and his men, confident that their lives could be no worse off with this invader.

  In truth, the “barbarian” invader had proven to be a benevolent ruler. Otto had built them a church, lowered their taxes, and otherwise looked out for them in the face of growing political unrest. Not only that, but hadn’t his father appointed Albert himself to manage castle affairs, including protecting the people from their enemies—whoever those enemies might happen to be?

  He could only pray that they would listen to the knights he had dispatched to warn them. He could only pray. . .

  ❧

  Leaving her bed sometime in the night, Margarethe fell on her knees, reasoning that if she were to be sleepless, she might just as well put the time to good use. As it was, there were plenty of targets for her prayers.

  She began with the one dearest to her heart. “Willem—” The very mention of his name sent a shaft of pain deep into her heart. “If I should not love him, Father, then change my mind and fill my thoughts with more useful things. I know Lord Otto has other plans for me, but I cannot imagine finding a better husband. Not in all of Bavaria!”

  She thought of her loneliness and prayed that her uncle would send quickly for Jolan. It would do her good to have another young woman about—someone she could trust with her dreams of Willem. Still, she must guard her tongue, lest she speak too much of him and betray her heart.

  She prayed silently for a few minutes more, until she realized that her prayers had all been selfish ones, directed toward her own sad state. She must remedy that at once, and so she addressed the matter of others—her aunt and uncle, the cousins, Father Bernard—

  Margarethe was unaware that she had been nodding until she awoke from a startling dream. She had seen Albert, riding horseback through a village, crying out in despair! Strewn about like so much litter were dead bodies, and smoke drifted about from sacking fires.

  For a moment she was embarrassed to realize that she had fallen asleep at her prayers, then wondered if it was God who had sent the dream. Then, fully alert, she gave herself to a frenzied barrage of prayer-like arrows aimed into the darkness, not knowing where they would land. Only God knew. She prayed her aim was true.

  ❧

  Willem was surprised to see Lord Einhard’s messenger, who arrived while the household was still at table breaking their fast. The message must be extremely important, and reminded him that he had an urgent message to send.

  “Stay, Sir Messenger,” said Lady Jolan when the young man handed her the scroll, “while I read this to see if a return reply is expected.”

  Recognizing the lad, Willem smiled as he walked up. “Greetings. Any luck with that serving maid yet?” he whispered behind his hand.

  “Uh. . .yes,” said the boy, glancing at the lady, who was absorbed in her letter. “In fact, we are going to take a walk today,” he whispered back.

  Relieved that he would have swift transit for his message, Willem smiled. “Then you are going back right away! You can take a letter for Lord Einhard.”

  “Indeed, I would go with you now,” said Jolan, showing her dimple, “had I not been promised a voice lesson first.” She looked especially beguiling when she pursed her lips in that way, Willem thought, wondering how such a thought had come to him with Margarethe constantly on his mind.

  The messenger, it appeared, was in no hurry to be gone—despite his plans for an outing with the scullery maid. “I must let the horse rest. I’m afraid I rode him too hard on the way here.”

  “Then let him rest and ride the horse I borrowed. He needs to be returned to Lord Einhard anyway.”

  Willem walked out with the messenger and stopped off at the stables to wish the lad Godspeed and send him on his way. He was appalled to see the condition of the horse the messenger had ridden in.

  “How would you like to run so far with a great beast on your back?”

  The lad had the grace to blush. “I wouldn’t like it at all. And the groom has already abused me on this same point.”

  “He’s a good man then.” Willem nodded. “Now be off with you. And treat this animal better. Ride and walk alternately on your return trip.”

  Willem watched the messenger mount up and begin his journey home to Adlerschloss. Immediately the vision of the familiar halls beckoned. How he wished he could be making that trip right now—back to Margarethe.

  ❧

  By mid-morning, Albert was dismayed at the turnout. Only a handful of villagers had answered his summons and shown up here at the castle. But he greeted them all courteously. “Why didn’t the others come?” he asked one old man, who had shuffled over to stand by the fire.

  “Because they were all warm in their beds and felt no need. They have forgotten the former invaders before you. Begging your pardon, your lordship, but they too safe now to bother leaving their homes.”

  Albert was truly concerned now. “Good sir, would you ride back into the village with my knights and speak to your people? I fear for their lives.”

  “I will go if you require it, my lord.”

  “I do not require it. I merely ask it.”

  The old man nodded. “Then I will go.”

  Albert arranged for a good horse and a sturdy cloak for the man and sent him out with instructions to the knights who accompanied him. “Take care now. And bring him back with you—along with all the others you can persuade. I think I see the glint of armor in the morning sun.”

  An hour later, when th
e knights returned, there was still only a trickle of peasants coming in from the countryside. And when the last of his soldiers, including the old man, were safely within the walls, Albert reluctantly secured the gates and posted archers on the walls.

  six

  Lord Einhard took Willem’s letter into the solar to read as soon as it arrived.

  He found Lady Mechthild there, working on her tapestry—an intricate design of flowers and leaves bordering a forest scene. “What is it?” she asked, looking up from her loom.

  “Willem writes to tell me of the situation at Beroburg. I did not know the war had taken such a turn. He says Otto will not ask his allies for troops but may hire mercenaries instead.”

  Mechthild appeared puzzled. “He hates that practice. Why would he do such a thing?”

  He handed over the letter so she could read it for herself. “It sounds quite serious,” she observed, clearly alarmed.

  “I am stricken with guilt that he would not call on me for help.” He rose to pace restlessly, then turned to regard his wife. “Would Otto take offense if I sent troops without consulting him?”

  She cocked her head and gently posed a question. “Would you do it out of a guilty conscience, or because my brother truly needs your help?”

  He shook his head. “It is this letter, Mechthild. Willem has always had keen discernment. If he senses that Otto’s army is depressed, then I believe it. A few extra men might lend encouragement. Besides, hiring mercenaries could take weeks. Ewald might hit Otto hard before a new contingent of forces could be ready to fight.”

  Einhard stood and gazed out the window at the soldiers drilling in the field below. “I will put it to the men.”

  ❧

  The attack—a flurry of arrows launched over the castle walls—came just before dawn while Mass was being said. Tower guards also reported enemy activity in the nearby village. It was a minor siege, broken off after scarcely an hour, thanks to Albert’s well-executed defense. There was only one casualty—an archer on the wall, who took a crossbow bolt in the neck.

  Unfortunately, the unprotected villagers had not fared as well, he feared. To assess the damage, Albert mounted the turret and looked out over the valley. It appeared that the enemy had withdrawn, but the source of the heavy smoke was surely other than random cooking fires, built by the peasants as they went about the business of preparing their morning meal.

  “We suspect there might be soldiers still in the village, my lord,” the lookout said.

  At that, Albert felt a wave of disgust, confident he knew what the marauders were up to. “Any sign that the main body of the army is simply feinting?”

  “No, my lord. From what I could see, the main force has withdrawn.”

  “Then keep a sharp eye until relieved and report any further activity.” He waved the young man away and descended the stairs to the bailey to learn the latest from his scouts who had ridden in.

  The enemy troops seemed to have pulled back, at least for the moment, but Otto’s men, who had been alerted as to the problem at Engelburg and should have set out by now to reinforce the castle guard, had not yet been spotted. It was not a good omen.

  Albert summoned his men, and they gathered in the early morning sunlight, plumed helmets gleaming, shields reflecting the morning sun. It was a small, but formidable-looking battalion, and their mounts shifted restlessly beneath them as they awaited orders from their commander.

  “We must ride into the village at once. Bring back—alive—any soldiers you find loitering behind. I must learn today where Ewald has drawn his extra troops.”

  Albert then called for his squire to bring his war horse. “My lord, surely you would not risk your own life on such a mission,” the squire objected.

  Albert donned his helmet and swung into the saddle. “These are my people, and it is my duty to protect them. You there, Sir Jakob, half the foot soldiers will remain here with you to guard the castle. The remainder will follow me. Forward!”

  With that, he moved out in front and, taking the lead, clattered across the drawbridge, down the rutted road, and toward the village at full gallop.

  To his horror, the first sight to greet him was the bodies of two small children, sprawled lifelessly along the road. “See to a proper burial for these little ones,” he ordered a couple of his knights. “In the churchyard yonder.”

  Then noticing the destruction of a portion of the church he had ordered built, he barked out a few brisk orders, dispatching some of his knights to enter and search each building and hut. “The villagers must be persuaded to return with us to the castle where they will be safe,” he said. “But go gently. So great will be their terror that even we will be suspect.”

  Riding down the path in the central part of the village, he saw the smoking remains of several thatched-roof cottages, the dairy, and the blacksmith’s hut. But not a solitary soul was in view. They must be huddled inside, poor souls. Or worse still—dead.

  Suddenly he was aware of a fluttering movement through the open doorway of a merchant building. “Ho, there! Are you friend or foe?” There was not a sound. Perhaps it was one of the enemy soldiers, caught in the act of looting. On the other hand, it could be a villager.

  “If you are one of us, we mean you no harm. We’ve come to give you safe escort back to the castle.”

  In a moment, a sallow-faced, middle-aged woman emerged, holding onto the doorframe, her features contorted with pain and horror.

  “Good woman, get you to the castle, where you may find sanctuary.”

  “I cannot leave my husband,” she said, despair ravaging her voice.

  “He is welcome as well. Is he inside?”

  “He is dead. All of the merchants are dead, save me.”

  “Then praise be to God who has spared you,” he said, not knowing what more to say to ease her grief.

  “I hid in the cellar. They did not find me, for the door is underneath the bed. I could hear all the screaming. . .and did not come out to help. I stayed there and let my husband and neighbors die—” Her voice trailed off in a keening wail.

  “There is nothing you could have done, madam. These barbarians are heartless wretches.”

  Albert’s squire caught up with him and waited for his lord to turn to him before speaking. “I caught one rascal and turned him over to the prison squad.”

  “And here is one of our people who will be glad to hear it. This good woman needs escort to the castle. Make sure she has her belongings with her.” He calculated the damage done her establishment with a practiced eye. “It will be some weeks before she can return—and only when the danger is well past.”

  “And where will you go next, my lord?” the squire asked.

  “To the mill to see what might be left of it.” Without the mill to grind their barley, rye, and wheat, the villagers could well go hungry come winter.

  Albert moved off, but it was only a matter of minutes before the squire caught up with him again. “My lord, there are so many dead.”

  Albert glanced sharply at the man, whose usual ruddy complexion had paled to the color of parchment. “Are those who survived now consenting to go behind the castle walls?”

  “They are reluctant to leave their loved ones behind. But I think they would be willing to follow us, my lord.”

  Albert let out a long sigh. “There will be time to bury the dead. But we must make haste to assure that there will be no further loss of life this day.”

  They rode in silence until the mill was within sight. Before he had come abreast of the oak tree in the bend of the road, Albert could hear the blood-curdling screams of a woman in distress and urged his horse forward, his squire following.

  The cries came from within the mill itself, and Albert and his man dismounted. “Tether the horses, then wait here.”

  With that, he drew his sword and hurried into the mill. Inside, he found the miller and his daughter pressed back against the wall, their faces white with terror. The girl had blood streaming across
her face. Their attacker, his unsheathed sword in his hand, whirled to face Albert.

  Albert was grateful for the protection of full armor, though it made him ungainly, for this one was obviously a seasoned fighting man, all scars and wariness.

  Albert’s rage fueled the fight in him, and he struck the first blow, which was expertly parried by his opponent. In fact, to his dismay, Albert could not land a single thrust at first, so deftly did his enemy counter every move.

  “Is the fine knight getting tired now?” the soldier taunted. “Drop your sword and I will give you a little rest.”

  Intrigued by the man’s accent—one he could not identify—Albert attempted to keep up the conversation. To do so might be crucial to discovering the identity of the invaders.

  “You have a fine voice, ruffian. Likely you are a singer,” Albert baited him, hoping he would give himself away before dying.

  “I am the delight of every girl back home,” the man boasted, momentarily dropping his guard. “These women here in Bavaria are nothing but simpering fools.”

  Albert pressed his advantage and backed the soldier to the wall, then finished him quickly. Glancing about the room, he called out to the miller, crouched between his daughter and the body of the fallen soldier. “Miller, are there any more of these cursed soldiers in the place?”

  “No one, my lord. Only this one. But he has caused harm enough,” he croaked out in a raspy voice.

  Albert approached gingerly, not wishing to alarm them. The girl slid down against the wall, as though her legs were too weak to hold her. Her face was so pale, the blood streaked it almost black in contrast.

  “Is there wine or ale in the house?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” the miller whispered.

  Seeing the small dwelling next to the mill, Albert entered, found a gourd, and filled it with water from a pail. He carried it to the miller. “Good miller, give this to the girl.”