The Warrior Maiden

by Melanie Dickerson

  Straight ahead they rode toward the drawbridge. At the other end was the massive gatehouse, which was guarded by several men and a large iron portcullis.

  Mulan wore her fierce battle expression. A pile of bricks didn’t intimidate her.

  As their horses’ hooves clopped onto the wooden drawbridge, Wolfgang got a prickling feeling on the back of his neck. The guards in front of them seemed stoic and not particularly threatening—no more than the average knights standing guard in front of a castle.

  He and Mulan were in the middle of the drawbridge, the dark waters of the moat beneath it, when he heard it. Horses’ hooves and shouting coming from where they’d left Simon and Gregorius.

  Wolfgang turned in the saddle to glance over his shoulder. A man with a crossbow sat atop a horse on the grassy area behind them, taking aim. At Mulan.

  She was slightly ahead of him on the drawbridge. Wolfgang kicked his horse forward. Standing in his stirrups, he threw himself at Mulan, pulling her off her horse. But before they hit the wooden planks of the bridge, a sharp pain pierced his left side.

  He landed on his right side, holding Mulan against his chest so he took the brunt of the fall.

  She raised herself up, looked down at his side, and screamed.

  He followed her gaze. A red stain bloomed on his tunic, growing larger by the second. And just beyond that, lying on the wooden planks, was the large metal bolt that had passed through his body.

  Mulan’s gaze latched on to the hole in Wolfgang’s side.

  One look over her shoulder showed Simon and Gregorius knocking the crossbowman to the ground and pulling his hands behind his back. She turned back to Wolfgang.

  “No, no, no,” she moaned, pressing her hands against the wounds in the front and back. He couldn’t die. O God, help us! Don’t let him die!

  Guards surrounded them, running across the drawbridge, asking questions, shouting in German, but Mulan never took her eyes off Wolfgang’s wound, blood seeping through her fingers.

  “Can I help?” someone asked in Polish.

  “I need bandages.” Mulan’s voice was raw and desperate. “Make haste!”

  Someone shoved some linen cloth at her. She pressed it hard against the two wounds. Only then did she glance up at his face.

  Wolfgang was ashen, his eyes scrunched in a tight grimace. He was propping himself up on his elbows.

  A man dressed in the long white robe of a monk knelt beside her. “Allow me.” He pressed his own hands over the wounds and nudged her aside. Another monk joined him, and they started speaking German to each other. Since they seemed knowledgeable and willing to help, she moved to kneel by Wolfie’s shoulder.

  He was lying flat now, his eyes closed.

  “I’m so sorry.” Mulan leaned close, hoping he wasn’t unconscious.

  His eyes flickered open. “It’s not your fault.”

  He was obviously in great pain. Would he die? It was a more serious wound than hers had been, as the crossbow bolt was larger and had entered closer to the center of his body.

  Her tears dripped onto his neck. She wiped them gently with her sleeve. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” But the tears kept falling on him. “I’m so sorry.”

  He reached up and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t cry.”

  “Oh, Wolfie.” She pressed her face against his chest and made an effort to stop the sobs threatening to escape.

  She took a deep breath and lifted her head. He was stroking her hair. Looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, “You saved my life, didn’t you?”

  “Your hero.” He started to smile but winced, his eyes closing again.

  “Don’t die!” she cried, then bit her lip.

  “I’ll try not to.”

  She had to be brave, had to stop begging him not to die and stop crying, stop behaving like a child.

  “Who was that man who tried to kill us?” Mulan said in her most demanding voice to the monks who were applying pressure to Wolfgang’s wounds. “Are we safe here?”

  They looked at her, spoke to each other in German, then to her in Polish. “We don’t know why the knight shot your friend, but we can assure you that you will be safe at Malbork Castle.”

  She must have seemed skeptical because he added, “We are men of the cross and do not attack those who come in peace to our castle. And now we need to carry him inside to better tend his wounds.”

  Five guards dragged the shooter across the drawbridge toward the gate, his hands bound. His eyes were wild and crazed as he went past. His clothing showed him to be the man she had glimpsed following them from Zachev Castle.

  Some other men brought a litter, tanned leather stretched between two poles. They half lifted, half rolled him onto it. Wolfgang groaned, squeezing his eyes closed. Sweat beaded his face. Mulan’s insides twisted at his pain.

  They hoisted the litter with him on it. She followed them through the gate.

  Someone set his hand on her shoulder. Mulan turned to see Andrei, along with Gerke, Simon, and Gregorius. At least with the five of them, they could put up a good fight if they needed to.

  CHAPTER 23

  Wolfgang rolled onto his back. Pain blurred his vision, and his eyes were reluctant to open, not wanting to dwell on where he was—Malbork Castle. But a glimpse of Mulan peering down at him made him come more fully awake.

  “Drink this.” She raised his head and shoulders, pushing a pillow behind him. Then she brought a cup to his lips.

  He drank the liquid as he gazed at her over the rim of the cup. Drinking in her gentle features was a more pleasant distraction than what was in the cup. He wanted to tell her she looked beautiful, but the drink went down the wrong way and he coughed, pain ripping through his side.

  The coughing ceased and he lay back, gritting his teeth. Every breath brought pain, but the coughing was a hundred times worse. He concentrated on keeping his breaths shallow.

  Something cool touched his forehead. He opened his eyes again to Mulan stroking his face with a cloth, her jaw tight, her brows drawn together.

  “I’m not dying, am I?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then don’t look so worried.” He forced himself to smile.

  “I wish I had some of my mother’s salve for your wounds. But the monks promised to let me speak to her for a few minutes tonight. Perhaps she will tell me what is in her salve and I can make some myself.”

  To distract himself from the pain, he let his mind focus on their kiss . . . and on the gentle way she was bathing his forehead with the wet cloth.

  “The monks who bandaged you up think the bolt struck a rib and broke it. That’s why it hurts when you breathe.”

  He reached up and placed his hand on hers. He was in too pathetic a state for her to feel threatened by him. “Thank you,” he rasped between breaths. “For taking care of me.”

  Her dark eyes were soft, beautiful, and brightened by the tears swimming in them. “And thank you, for saving my life.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

  His heart tripped over itself.

  Heavy footsteps were approaching. Someone knocked on the door.

  Wolfgang’s winces and his shallow breathing broke Mulan’s heart. When he thanked her for taking care of him, she couldn’t resist leaning down and kissing his forehead.

  A knock on the door had her turning away. She kept her hand on her knife, just in case, as she opened the door.

  Two heavily armed Teutonic Knights stood in the doorway. “Are you Mulan, the woman soldier?”

  “I am Mulan.”

  “Grand Master Rusdorf will speak to you. Come.”

  “Mulan.”

  A look over her shoulder showed Wolfgang had raised himself to sitting. He was making an effort to get off the bed.

  “Lie still. I shall be well. Rusdorf won’t attack me in his own house.” And she went with the knights.

  They walked down a long corridor, and then she noticed t
he man behind her, dressed in the habit of a monk of the Teutonic Order—a long white robe, split in the front, with a black cross on one side of the chest.

  “Where are you taking me?” She addressed the monk behind her, as the Teutonic Knights seemed friendlier when they were wearing their monk’s garb than when they were dressed and armed for battle.

  “To the Chapter Room to meet with Grand Master Rusdorf.” His voice was even and emotionless.

  “Who will be there?” she demanded. She could do nothing to control her situation, and it mattered little to know who would be there, but she wanted to appear strong and fearless. Anger seemed her ally toward that goal.

  “Grand Master Rusdorf and several of his officers, and your friends as well.”

  Fury choked her, and she allowed that fury to edge her voice. “What does he want with us?”

  “I do not know.”

  Liar. But she had to suppress this anger. It threatened to overwhelm her. She focused her eyes on Jesus and the crucifix that hung over the doorway ahead of them, a three-foot wooden carving of Jesus suffering on the cross.

  Jesus, give me strength. Don’t let me be intimidated by these men who wish me harm or by their false piety and unrighteous hatred for me. But perhaps it was only Rusdorf who held that opinion.

  They crossed from the Middle Castle, with its high, vaulted ceilings, grand frescos on the walls, tall, arched windows, and colorful tiles on the floor, to the equally massive High Castle. They finally came to an enormous closed door at the end of the corridor. The armed men opened it and ushered her into what must have been the Chapter Room, which was three times bigger than the church nave in her home village.

  Rusdorf sat in a throne-like chair at the other end of the room, while a dozen of his “brethren,” wearing the white robes of their order, flanked him on both sides. Ominous and still, they sat staring at her.

  Mulan refused to look directly at them, as if they weren’t important—though she was fairly certain she had offered at least one or two of them some of her mother’s healing salve for their wounds when they were captured and installed in Duke Konrad’s Great Hall after their last battle.

  She held her head high and did not acknowledge Rusdorf as her escorts led her to the middle of the floor facing the grand master. Then the door opened behind her and more people entered. Soon Simon and Gregorius appeared beside her.

  The monk behind her suddenly stepped forward, bowing to Rusdorf. Then he turned and said in a loud voice, “The Grand Master, Champion of the Cross, Paul von Rusdorf, has summoned you, and you will answer for why you have disturbed this peaceful place.”

  Mulan’s heart raced as heat filled her face. How dare you.

  “Thank you, Brother. Now, will you tell me the names of these . . . surprise guests?”

  As if he didn’t know.

  “These are soldiers belonging to Duke Konrad, the Pole. Their names are Simon and Gregorius, both soldiers, and Mulan, the woman soldier of Lithuania.”

  Rusdorf stared impassively at her. His face was that of a fortyyear-old and looking none the worse after his recent battle, defeat, and imprisonment. His black goatee appeared freshly trimmed and oiled, as did his black mustache, which was quite long, curled up on the ends.

  “Mulan of Lithuania. We meet again. What brings you to our brotherhood’s humble fortress?”

  She had a sudden urge to laugh, but her mother needed her to use every bit of wisdom God provided. “You know exactly why I’m here.”

  “Do not be insolent,” the monk closest to Rusdorf hissed.

  She kept her eyes focused on Rusdorf. “My mother was wrongfully taken from her home by you and cruelly placed in your dungeon because of your false accusations.” Perhaps it would have been better to be meek and polite, but with the anger pulsing in her head and casting a red mist over her eyes . . . She would not bow to this oppressor.

  “Your mother has been accused of witchcraft, of using the devil’s power to conjure the healing of fatal wounds.”

  “What do your own men use to heal wounds? Herbs from God’s provision? My mother uses the same—herbs and fruit and roots. There is no witchcraft, no conjuring of the devil.”

  “That is for us, men who have made vows to God and consecrated our lives to Him, to decide. We will try her and determine that. Or I should say, God shall determine it.”

  “I trust God, but it’s your interpretation of God’s judgment I don’t trust.”

  Rusdorf glared at her, and she was fairly certain his cheeks turned crimson.

  “You dare to malign a man approved by the pope to lead our order?” One of the larger monks leaned forward, as if about to stand.

  “You have dared to malign my mother, and she is a Christian who has done nothing wrong.”

  Several other voices were raised while Mulan said, “‘God is no respecter of persons.’” She and Wolfgang had recently read that passage.

  The first monk raised his hands, and everyone quieted.

  “Now then.” Rusdorf steepled his fingers together, tip to tip. “My men and I will begin the trial tomorrow. All will be done in a manner that behooves us as Champions of the Cross. God is our Sovereign, and we will not shirk any duty He sets before us, even the trial of an accused witch.”

  She wanted to say something sarcastic about his pious assertions, but she held her tongue. Nothing she said would make a difference, except to incite these men’s ire.

  “And I must ask you never to wear men’s clothing again while you are in this place. It is forbidden by church law and therefore by us.”

  “I have no objection, now that I have reached my destination and am not riding in the company of five men.”

  A few moments of silence passed, then he said, “How is the Duke of Hagenheim’s son, Wolfgang?”

  “He is badly injured, and no one has told me who shot him or why.”

  Rusdorf turned his head to the side, not even bothering to look at her. “One of our brother knights shot at you. He was in the battle with us in Zachev, Poland. He was not captured but escaped. He stayed on his own for many days in Poland. He was stalking you, seeing you as the enemy who had caused our defeat. He chose to shoot at you as you were entering the castle. He said he believed you were coming here to assassinate me.”

  “You are saying he is mad? Will he be allowed to harm us again?”

  “He is not mad.” He glared at her. “But he will not be allowed to harm you. No one will, as long as your behavior here is in keeping with our rules. And now you may go.”

  The guards stepped forward to escort her, Simon, and Gregorius from the Chapter Room.

  “Oh, and . . .”

  They all turned to look back at Rusdorf.

  “You will be allowed to visit your mother.”

  Was she supposed to thank him? Mulan simply nodded.

  Mulan was led, not back to her chamber in the Middle Castle or to Wolfgang’s chamber, but up a long staircase in a tower. “Are you taking me to my mother?”

  The guards had all gone, and the monk escorting her nodded.

  Her heart leapt. But what if it was a trick? She followed up the winding stairs. They passed windows at regular intervals. She could see the lush green forest, then the river, then some more of the red brick buildings, and then the woods again. She might be locked in a battle with their leader, but Malbork Castle was undeniably impressive, the surroundings picturesque.

  Finally the monk stopped at a door and unlocked it. Mulan entered behind him and found her mother sitting on a stool by a window overlooking the river.

  “I shall leave you and come back soon.” The monk backed out and locked the door again.

  “Mulan!” Mother’s face was so joyful that Mulan flung herself into her outstretched arms. “Oh, I am so proud of you, my soldier daughter!”

  A lump formed in Mulan’s throat. She had to swallow to speak. “Mother, I missed you so much. You are the most beautiful sight.”

  “And you are as well. Let me loo
k at you.”

  Mulan knelt beside her. “They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

  “No, no. I am unharmed, and I rather like this room they’ve given me. I’ve never lived beside a river. How could I not be pleased with such a view? Have you seen it?” She motioned toward the window.

  Mulan shook her head. “Only you could be pleased with being held prisoner in a tower and accused of witchcraft.” And in danger of being executed in a horrific way. But she wouldn’t mention that.

  “I’m not pleased with being accused and held prisoner. But I am pleased to hear that you have been so courageous as to gain the attention of powerful men.” She grinned like a little child. “My Mulan. I always knew you would do great things for the Lord, as was foretold.”

  Though she wouldn’t want to admit it, Mulan’s heart swelled a bit at her mother’s praise. It was quite gratifying to have done something most men were never able to do—to distinguish herself in battle so that she gained the grand master of the German Order of Knights as her particular enemy. After all, the Polish and Lithuanian people had fought and struggled with the Teutonic Knights for centuries.

  “You are a hero.” Mother smiled. “Your name was beginning to be spoken of in Lithuania, stories of your bravery, of the fierce Lithuanian soldier who turned out to be a woman. Even Mikolai would have been amazed and proud. Sometimes I laugh when I think about it.”

  “Well, we are hardly in a position to laugh at this situation, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, it hardly matters. Although I do want to see you live long and be happy.” Mother’s face lost some of its animation as her smile faded.

  Mulan straightened. “I’m not planning to die.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Though they both knew it was a possibility, and her mother’s death was even more likely.

  “Grand Master Rusdorf does seem to have some measure of piety and uprightness. Perhaps he will not deal treacherously with us in the end.”